FIC - Legos and Boba Fett
Title: Legos and Boba Fett
Author: verucasalt123
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam/Dean (warning for underage)
Claim: Theme 07: Get Your Kink On
Theme: http://verucasalt123.livejournal.com/147817.html
Prompt(s): #12, Toys
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These boys do not belong to me.
Summary: Sam’s still a kid. Kind of. This is not the take on ‘toys’ that most people probably expect. But it’s what I got into my brain, so…here it is.
Dean looked down at Sam, passed out with his mouth open and his feet hanging off the edge of the bed, one sock still on. He couldn’t get enough of it, ever. It didn’t even make him feel bad anymore, contrasting the image of this sweet, sleeping boy with the image of that boy who had given him a spectacular blow job half an hour earlier.
Not even when his eyes wandered to the other side of the tiny room in their ‘home’ for the past six weeks in Benevolence, Georgia; just east of the Alabama border. The sight he took in was still just a little difficult to reconcile. Beside their duffle bags and Sammy’s school backpack, there was a pile of Legos. Brightly colored blocks that his brother had arranged into a strange geometric shape; holding it up next to an illustration in his math book, filled with pride that he’d been able to recreate the figure.
With his toys.
Dean was seventeen and had foregone enrolling in school this year, with no more than a token protest from their father. School was compulsory up to age sixteen in most states, including Georgia. By the time they’d gotten there, Dean had been several months past his last birthday and John figured he wouldn’t get in trouble if his oldest didn’t want to finish. They’d all seen it coming, and John didn’t have the energy to fight over it. Not like you needed a diploma in their line of work, anyway. Sam had been the only one who’d bitched about Dean’s decision, but he had no control over it.
No matter, honestly, Sam fucking liked school, got shuffled ahead in some of his classes because he was brighter than other kids his age, which meant this year he’d be in ninth grade instead of eighth. He needed a challenge, because a bored Sammy was nothing to be trifled with.
That’s how all this started anyway, their dad having taken off for a hunt in the Midwest after getting Sam set up at Randolph Clay High School ten miles away in Cuthbert. He’d left the Impala for Dean, so that he could work while Sam was in school. Two days after John had left, Dean was drinking a beer on the steps outside their little rental house and Sam came outside holding his treasured Boba Fett and holding it out to Dean, saying in a poorly imitated voice, “I take it you have no love for the Empire”.
“Cut out that stupid crap, Sammy. Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”
“Shut up, jerk. Boba Fett isn’t a toy, he’s a kick-ass bounty hunter. A hunter, Dean, just like Dad.”
“Yeah, I guess”, Dean had to concede.
But then Sam settled next to him on the step…close. Too close, for how fucking hot it was.
“Dean. I’m bored. There’s nothing to do here, this doesn’t even count as a town, seriously. There’s not even an arcade here”, he half-whined, half-bitched, rolling his eyes in that uniquely Sam eye-rolling way.
“Arcade’s in Cuthbert. I could take you, if you want. Maybe get a look at that school you’re gonna go to. I have to look for a job anyway, I could drop you off and let you play games while I check out where I could find some work.” Dean still hated leaving Sam alone in any public place, but as he’d gotten older, it was kind of ridiculous. Thirteen year olds didn’t need a babysitter. Dean knew that, in his brain, but…some things just never leave you. Like that time he’d gone out for a soda all those years ago…fuck, shut up, forget that, don’t remember that, don’t think about that, the worst most horrific mistake you’d made in the mere twelve years or so you’d been alive at the time, he told himself.
“Don’t feel like the arcade. Don’t wanna go anywhere. You can keep me company right here.” Sam was already close but he moved even closer, slotting his hand over Dean’s knee and looking up at him with a look that could not possibly be mistaken for anything other than what it was.
“Sam. Come on. I get it, okay? I know what it’s like to be your age and get a stiffy every time the wind blows but don’t - please? Don’t. I already know what you’re thinking and you’re going to regret it. I swear you will, and so will I.”
“I won’t. Please, Dean? We don’t have to, you know, like…do everything. Just something. I want it. I really do, I want it and if you think for a second I haven’t already figured out that you want it too…”
“Who gives a shit what I want, Sam?” Dean shouted, louder than he meant to. He hadn’t expected Sam to come right out and say what he knew they both had already been thinking for months, stealing heated glances and too-long touches whenever they could get away with it.
“Me. I give a shit what you want. And I think you want me.” Sam’s eyes were steady on him, challenging, that look he’d just acquired over the past few months, a stark contrast to the kid who’d slept in his lap in the back seat of the car all those years, sometimes only able to drift off when Dean stroked his hair.
A stark contrast to the kid who’d been given the first toy he’d remembered having, a model car that Dean gave him when he was almost five, picked up at a yard sale after he saw an ad saying there were kids’ toys and it was only a three-mile walk. Dad was home, so Dean wasn’t leaving his little brother alone, so he’d trekked the few miles on foot and come back with a pocket full of Matchbook cars Dean had paid a dollar for. As if a dollar was anywhere near the worth of Sam’s bright grin when Dean handed them over.
Had Dean been a normal nine year old, he’d have wanted to keep those cars for himself. But he wasn’t.
“Goddamn it, Sammy, you’re telling me you’re ready for - you want to - do things…with me, and you’ve got a fucking toy in your hand. Are you saying it’s ok for me to fool around with a kid who still plays with toys?”
“If it’s me, then yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. And I already told you, Boba Fett isn’t a fucking toy.”
With that, the plastic figurine was tossed onto the steps and Sam moved his hand just a little bit farther up Dean’s leg.
Instinctively, Dean responded, “Language, Sam”, but he didn’t try to move away.
Because Sam was right, Dean did want him, but he figured that if he’d ever do anything about it (which he probably wouldn’t), it would be at least a couple of years later.
Sam was nothing if not stubborn, though. That first day, they’d just rutted against each other, not even naked, both of them making a mess of their boxers. The situation moved quickly, though, and after a few weeks they’d ventured into mutual hand-jobs, watching each other jerk off so each of them knew what the other liked, and eventually even to kissing (which you’d think would be the first step, but things seemed to work differently in the small world of underage same-sex sibling incest).
Tonight had been the first time he’d let Sammy blow him, and how the hell did a thirteen year old virgin end up being really fucking good at that?
Dean’s eyes landed again on the pile of Legos, and the little Boba Fett sitting on the nightstand.
He was going to Hell when he died, he already knew it, for what he was doing with his brother. But it was too late now. Sam could play with his toys, and play with himself, and play with his brother, and there was really nothing to be done about it.
Author: verucasalt123
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sam/Dean (warning for underage)
Claim: Theme 07: Get Your Kink On
Theme: http://verucasalt123.livejournal.com/147817.html
Prompt(s): #12, Toys
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These boys do not belong to me.
Summary: Sam’s still a kid. Kind of. This is not the take on ‘toys’ that most people probably expect. But it’s what I got into my brain, so…here it is.
Dean looked down at Sam, passed out with his mouth open and his feet hanging off the edge of the bed, one sock still on. He couldn’t get enough of it, ever. It didn’t even make him feel bad anymore, contrasting the image of this sweet, sleeping boy with the image of that boy who had given him a spectacular blow job half an hour earlier.
Not even when his eyes wandered to the other side of the tiny room in their ‘home’ for the past six weeks in Benevolence, Georgia; just east of the Alabama border. The sight he took in was still just a little difficult to reconcile. Beside their duffle bags and Sammy’s school backpack, there was a pile of Legos. Brightly colored blocks that his brother had arranged into a strange geometric shape; holding it up next to an illustration in his math book, filled with pride that he’d been able to recreate the figure.
With his toys.
Dean was seventeen and had foregone enrolling in school this year, with no more than a token protest from their father. School was compulsory up to age sixteen in most states, including Georgia. By the time they’d gotten there, Dean had been several months past his last birthday and John figured he wouldn’t get in trouble if his oldest didn’t want to finish. They’d all seen it coming, and John didn’t have the energy to fight over it. Not like you needed a diploma in their line of work, anyway. Sam had been the only one who’d bitched about Dean’s decision, but he had no control over it.
No matter, honestly, Sam fucking liked school, got shuffled ahead in some of his classes because he was brighter than other kids his age, which meant this year he’d be in ninth grade instead of eighth. He needed a challenge, because a bored Sammy was nothing to be trifled with.
That’s how all this started anyway, their dad having taken off for a hunt in the Midwest after getting Sam set up at Randolph Clay High School ten miles away in Cuthbert. He’d left the Impala for Dean, so that he could work while Sam was in school. Two days after John had left, Dean was drinking a beer on the steps outside their little rental house and Sam came outside holding his treasured Boba Fett and holding it out to Dean, saying in a poorly imitated voice, “I take it you have no love for the Empire”.
“Cut out that stupid crap, Sammy. Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”
“Shut up, jerk. Boba Fett isn’t a toy, he’s a kick-ass bounty hunter. A hunter, Dean, just like Dad.”
“Yeah, I guess”, Dean had to concede.
But then Sam settled next to him on the step…close. Too close, for how fucking hot it was.
“Dean. I’m bored. There’s nothing to do here, this doesn’t even count as a town, seriously. There’s not even an arcade here”, he half-whined, half-bitched, rolling his eyes in that uniquely Sam eye-rolling way.
“Arcade’s in Cuthbert. I could take you, if you want. Maybe get a look at that school you’re gonna go to. I have to look for a job anyway, I could drop you off and let you play games while I check out where I could find some work.” Dean still hated leaving Sam alone in any public place, but as he’d gotten older, it was kind of ridiculous. Thirteen year olds didn’t need a babysitter. Dean knew that, in his brain, but…some things just never leave you. Like that time he’d gone out for a soda all those years ago…fuck, shut up, forget that, don’t remember that, don’t think about that, the worst most horrific mistake you’d made in the mere twelve years or so you’d been alive at the time, he told himself.
“Don’t feel like the arcade. Don’t wanna go anywhere. You can keep me company right here.” Sam was already close but he moved even closer, slotting his hand over Dean’s knee and looking up at him with a look that could not possibly be mistaken for anything other than what it was.
“Sam. Come on. I get it, okay? I know what it’s like to be your age and get a stiffy every time the wind blows but don’t - please? Don’t. I already know what you’re thinking and you’re going to regret it. I swear you will, and so will I.”
“I won’t. Please, Dean? We don’t have to, you know, like…do everything. Just something. I want it. I really do, I want it and if you think for a second I haven’t already figured out that you want it too…”
“Who gives a shit what I want, Sam?” Dean shouted, louder than he meant to. He hadn’t expected Sam to come right out and say what he knew they both had already been thinking for months, stealing heated glances and too-long touches whenever they could get away with it.
“Me. I give a shit what you want. And I think you want me.” Sam’s eyes were steady on him, challenging, that look he’d just acquired over the past few months, a stark contrast to the kid who’d slept in his lap in the back seat of the car all those years, sometimes only able to drift off when Dean stroked his hair.
A stark contrast to the kid who’d been given the first toy he’d remembered having, a model car that Dean gave him when he was almost five, picked up at a yard sale after he saw an ad saying there were kids’ toys and it was only a three-mile walk. Dad was home, so Dean wasn’t leaving his little brother alone, so he’d trekked the few miles on foot and come back with a pocket full of Matchbook cars Dean had paid a dollar for. As if a dollar was anywhere near the worth of Sam’s bright grin when Dean handed them over.
Had Dean been a normal nine year old, he’d have wanted to keep those cars for himself. But he wasn’t.
“Goddamn it, Sammy, you’re telling me you’re ready for - you want to - do things…with me, and you’ve got a fucking toy in your hand. Are you saying it’s ok for me to fool around with a kid who still plays with toys?”
“If it’s me, then yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. And I already told you, Boba Fett isn’t a fucking toy.”
With that, the plastic figurine was tossed onto the steps and Sam moved his hand just a little bit farther up Dean’s leg.
Instinctively, Dean responded, “Language, Sam”, but he didn’t try to move away.
Because Sam was right, Dean did want him, but he figured that if he’d ever do anything about it (which he probably wouldn’t), it would be at least a couple of years later.
Sam was nothing if not stubborn, though. That first day, they’d just rutted against each other, not even naked, both of them making a mess of their boxers. The situation moved quickly, though, and after a few weeks they’d ventured into mutual hand-jobs, watching each other jerk off so each of them knew what the other liked, and eventually even to kissing (which you’d think would be the first step, but things seemed to work differently in the small world of underage same-sex sibling incest).
Tonight had been the first time he’d let Sammy blow him, and how the hell did a thirteen year old virgin end up being really fucking good at that?
Dean’s eyes landed again on the pile of Legos, and the little Boba Fett sitting on the nightstand.
He was going to Hell when he died, he already knew it, for what he was doing with his brother. But it was too late now. Sam could play with his toys, and play with himself, and play with his brother, and there was really nothing to be done about it.