Not Thinking About It
Feb. 8th, 2010 12:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gothic_elvisTitle: Not Thinking About It
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gothic_elvis
WC: 4,705
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Warnings: Weecest [Sam is 13], pretty much a PWP no matter how much I whine it's not
Summary: "Dean knew that Sam thought he was being sneaky. Hell, the kid probably thought he was the pinnacle of stealth. But there’s only so many times something can happen before you realize that, no, your door opening while showering was not a freak breeze."
Authors Notes:So this is the first S/D fic I've written and the first fic I've attempted after two years of no creative juices. Also first at writing *gulps* sex. Con-crit welcome but please be gentle. Comments very much appreciated!
Not beta-ed, all mistakes my own.
Dean knew that Sam thought he was being sneaky. Hell, the kid probably thought he was the pinnacle of stealth. But there’s only so many times something can happen before you realize that, no, your door opening while showering was not a freak breeze. Or those quickly averted eyes were not on the sandwich in your hand but the revealed strip of skin as you stretched. Tiny things, things he could easily ignore and forget about.
He knew Sam was getting older now, was curious. And what with their constant moving he never had a chance to really get to know anyone, go on dates. He knew Sam’s only encounter with a naked body was either with the porn mags Dean stashed under his mattress or the late night infomercials for Girls Gone Wild. Even those pixilated tits would get any thirteen year old riled.
So, Dean let it slide for a while; the odd glances and mysteriously ajar doors (he could have sworn he’d shut) as he changed. He knew Sammy was only acting like this because he was frustrated, needed some sort of release for all his pent up energy. Dean wasn’t sure why he chose to use him as his means for a sexual outlet but he was the only person around and it wasn’t like he was about to let his baby brother go out and buy a hooker to stare at (or fuck.) Sam wasn’t at an easy age and Dean could deal with a little awkwardness on his end if it made his little brother happy.
But that didn’t mean that it didn’t make Dean uneasy, because it did. Very uneasy. It was fine when the glances were fleeting; eye contact never met and glances never exchanged. Because that meant it didn’t need to be questioned, he didn’t need to ask what the fuck was going on. Was sure if he asked he wouldn’t be able to stay long enough to hear the answer; knows it with a sick tilt to his stomach - he’s not sure how - doesn’t want to think about it.
But when Sam’s gaze started to linger too long, his stare becoming too intense... it was difficult. Someone looks at you that hard and you have to look back. But he can’t. Because if he looks that means he’s acknowledging Sam, acknowledging this weird fixation Sam has.
Dean almost snaps a few times, almost barks at Sam “what the fuck is wrong with you, go look at porn or something.” Anything for him to stop looking at him like that.
It’s especially disconcerting when he’s eating, chewing on a burger while flipping through some hot-rod magazine all the while feeling his brother’s eyes on him - his lips and then following the food as it moves down his throat. He looks back up at him sometimes, throws him a shit-eating grin, grabbing the ketchup or mustard and shooting a glob at his face. Sam will squeal “Dean!” in his high, pubescent voice and a half-assed food fight will ensue. It’s the only thing he can think of to do.
When the looks progressed to actually spying on him while he showered or dressed, he found it increasingly hard to ignore mostly because it just seemed so unnecessary. Sam had his own junk he could stare at as long as he pleased that wouldn’t require sneaking around and trying to get a glimpse of his naked brother.
The first time it happens Dean’s rinsing the shampoo from his hair, face tilted up towards the spray, eyes closed when he hears a click that would be silence to anyone else. He stops, says, “Sam?” before peeking around the curtain and seeing the bathroom door open, not a lot but still not fully latched like he’d left it. It meant nothing to him the first time and still not much the few times after. The motels they stayed at were shit, the doors were bound to be just as useless.
The sixth time it happened Dean was curious, especially curious after finding out on the fifth occasion that the clicks were timed almost exactly the same every shower he took.
The curtain was dark, little circular openings cutting its way through the middle in weird, diagonal patterns. His eye was trained through one of them near the rear of the shower. He’d put the water on warmer than usual, letting steam fill the bathroom and fog the mirror. Exactly seven minutes in – the usual time – the door clicked and slowly moved inward. It was barely six inches but he could see eyes peer around the corner, wide and blinking owlishly as they tried to adjust to the mist.
Dean tried not to choke on his own spit when he saw those hazel cat-like eyes looking towards him in the shower. Sam moved in a little more; dark bangs falling and concealing his face. He was being more daring this time, pushing himself to go a little further. Dean stood upright then, looking over at the rust-encrusted soap dispenser and felt his eyes begin to sting. He still had three more minutes to go before he could get out; his usual shower time. He was conflicted; to keep going on as usual or call him on it. It’d been so much easier to ignore when he’d thought it was the motel’s fault and not his little brother had just wanted to perv on him. Humming, he went on like always, soaping up his body and scrubbing the dirt away. A few moments later he heard the door click shut again and exhaled jaggedly. This was so fucked up.
~**~**
All the times Dean had undressed in front of Sam began to reinsert themselves back into his brain unwanted and he shivered uneasily, suddenly remembering all the little things that should be insignificant. He knew that was one thing that had to stop though didn’t dwell on why, same as he treated every other nuance of Sam’s odd behavior. But of course it wasn’t like Sam to accept change easily, had to make a big fuss out of (what should be) nothing.
It was a few days later and Dean had just stripped off his shirt, hands grabbing at his buckle when his spine stiffened and he remembered Sammy behind him on his bed, doing his math homework.
Throwing a casual glance over his shoulder he called, “How’s it going? You getting it?”
Sam didn’t answer right away and Dean turned around to see Sam now staring down intensely at his book, color buried high on his cheeks.
“Yes,” He replied shortly, voice almost a squeak.
Dean gave him a nod and picked up his white tee he always wore to bed along with a faded pair of sweats and headed towards the bathroom.
Sam’s “Where are you going?” stopped him halfway to the door and he threw back a “Duty calls, squirt” without stopping.
“But you just went half an hour ago.”
That stopped him and he whirled slowly, staring at his brother with what he hoped was his most “are you shitting me?” expression in the history of forever.
“You tracking my bowel movements now, Sammy?”
Sam’s blush returned and he shook his head, nonplussed.
“Course not, but, uh – uh, I mean, it can’t be….I mean you shouldn’t…it’s not…healthy.” Sam stuttered out, finishing lamely with his head hanging and his chin resting pathetically on his chest.
Dean had to strain to bark out a laugh, “Whatever, Sammy, you should be using those brain cells of yours to finish your math and not worrying about me.”
Sam looked back up at him then and Dean’s stomach jolted unpleasantly at the look he gave him but didn’t give himself time to mull over it and high-tailed it to the bathroom.
It was only later on, listening to Sam softly snore in the bed beside him, that he realized what it was.
Accusing.
~**~**
The next morning Dean woke up to Sam lying in bed awake, head propped up on his elbow, studying him. Who knows how long he’d sat there, silently watching him sleep. He tried not to think about it.
“Hey there, Sammy.” Dean greeted him amiably enough, albeit still weirded out, stretching his arms up to the ceiling, neck falling back with a pleasant pop.
Sam was quiet, but he could feel his eyes on him. Deciding to ignore it Dean stood and winced at the impact of his feet on the ice-cold wooden floor.
“You cold?” He asked, trying to get a response out of him because the staring was getting a little unnerving, especially done so unabashedly.
“A little, yeah.” Sam finally confessed, getting up and repeating the stretching then standing before Dean and looking up at him with a small smile on his face.
Dean tried not to seem too skittish in his haste to put some distance between them, stopping when he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating from Sam’s body.
“Well why didn’t you turn the heat up then, squirt?” He checked the dial on the meter and saw it read a whopping 67 degrees and immediately shivered, muttering, “Goddamn. No wonder.”
“I dunno.” Sam’s voice was odd, a quality in it that Dean didn’t want to think about. It seemed
Dean was doing a whole lot of thinking about not thinking about things lately.
It was only then he’d realized he must have stripped his shirt off randomly through the night and was shirtless in Sam’s presence, which before would have meant nothing but now meant a hell of a lot. He prayed to God Sam wasn’t staring at what he was pretty sure he was staring at.
Sure enough when he turned Sam’s eyes were definitely not at eye level and he had the quick thought to make the ‘you better be staring at my amulet’ joke but the impulse faded when Sam took a step forward.
“Dean.” He whispered, the only thing he’d said with real resonance behind it the whole morning. He said it softly, almost reverently, and took another step towards him.
“Yeah?” God he hated the way his voice broke; the way Sam’s often did now. He was seventeen, damn it, not twelve.
Sam’s little pink tongue darted out, tasting his lips quickly before vanishing. Goddamnit he should not be looking anywhere near his little brother’s mouth, especially not while said little brother is quickly approaching with a rather heated expression, hands balled into nervous fists.
“Dean.” He said again, closing the distance between him and cautiously raising a hand towards his chest.
Amulet, he’s reaching for the amulet. He just wants to look at the amulet, Dean’s brain practically sang to him in a repeating mantra.
His hopes and dreams were quickly shattered in a jolting “shitfuckno” when instead Sam’s sweaty palm settled on his heart, thumb barely brushing his nipple.
“Dean.” Third time’s a charm apparently because with that last breathy call of his name Dean seemed to finally fall back into his own body after watching from afar and almost threw himself backwards.
“You hungry? I’m hungry, really hungry, actually. I’m going to go, uh, get - uhm, food. Yeah, food. I’ll be back. Get dressed, Sammy.” He could barely get out his thought and didn’t look back before he was skidding towards the bathroom, throwing on the dirty button down that he realized while hurriedly fastening was not his. If the way it stretched across his chest and the top three buttons refused to clasp was any indication.
He tried not to run out of the room, though couldn’t help noticing their bedroom door was now shut and no sound was emitting from behind it.
With a resigned sigh he pulled on his boots, sockless, and only when he stepped outside and felt a cold gust of autumn air brush his thighs did he notice that he was still wearing his boxers, sans jeans.
“Shit, shit, shit.” He cursed, stomping back into the motel and searching wildly for any form of two legged garments that he could wear without looking like a hobo or an emo-wannabe.
As his luck would have it, there were none and he was left with the only option of shuffling back to the bedroom and therefore having to greet bitch-faced Sam.
Though when he opened the door with a small “Sam?” did he see that Sam was not, as aforementioned, bitch-faced but red-faced. It was obvious by the wet cheeks and reddened lips that he’d been crying. Dean made the split second decision to carry on as usual, quickly walking to his bag and pulling out a pair of jeans.
“Forgot m’pants.” He muttered in response to the look he felt Sam giving him.
“I coulda told you that, stupid.” Sam replied, voice a little watery and choked but he could hear a smile behind it.
“Ha ha.” Dean deadpanned; looking back at him and seeing one arm go across his face to rid of the moisture.
He kicked off his boots and pulled on the jeans, before his boots again and clomping back towards the door. It was only when he had shrugged on his jacket did the usual guilt encircle his heart and squeeze, reminding him of the sad little brother he was leaving alone in his room.
Not even needing to think twice he yelled back, “Pull on some pants Sam, you’re coming with me!”
The sound of ruffling through a bag was almost immediate and Dean couldn’t hold back a smile when he heard a thud followed by a quick, “Shit – ow” of Sam stubbing his toe or falling.
He appeared from the hallway, smile lighting up his face and jacket through one arm. His shoelaces were undone, hair sticking straight up on one side and he knew Sam hadn’t brushed his teeth but Dean simply returned the smile, and opened the door, ushering Sam out first.
“Okay, so, pancakes and bacon or donuts?” Dean asked, locking the door behind him.
He looked back at Sam to see his sly smirk, “Both?”
Dean laughed loudly and patted him on the back, jokingly quipped, “Brother after my own heart, Sammy.”
He tried to ignore the brighter-than-the-sun grin he gave received and raced him towards the diner.
~**~**
Dad called later that night to say he’d be a few more days, the wendigo he was hunting giving him more trouble than usual. Wendigos lived in dense, forest areas and tracking one was not high on a hunter's wish list.
Dean gave him one last yes sir at his “Sam doing alright?” before hanging up and glancing at his brother, reading a book the size of War and Peace at the table. What a nerd, Dean thought fondly, getting up to grab a Coke from the fridge.
He found himself asking, “Whatcha reading?” while popping the tab, leaning back against the counter.
“War and Peace.”
Oh.
“Is it for school?”
“No, I just felt like reading something that’d take me longer than a day to finish.” Sam replied, looking up at Dean with a smirk.
Dean rolled his eyes, “Whatever, Einstein, I just happen to be naturally smart and don’t have to read those big-ass books to learn something.”
Sam snorted, “Sure, Dean, whatever helps you feel less like a moron.”
Dean scoffed and put a hand to his chest in mock offense, “I will have you know that I am quite skilled in many things.”
Sam’s mood change was instantaneous and the “Yeah?” he whispered a moment later was throaty.
Dean stiffened at the tone and nodded quickly before making his way back towards the ‘living room,’ falling down on the couch.
Just when he thought (wanted to believe) things were getting back to normal Sam had to go and get all weird on him again.
“Hey Sam?” Dean called, downing a gulp of the soda.
“Yeah?”
He jumped at Sam’s voice in such sudden, close proximity and swiveled his head to see him kneeling beside him on the couch, wearing a small smile on his face at having obviously scared his big brother.
“Uh, I was just wondering, I mean…uh, well I know we haven’t been here long but I was curious – have any girls here, well, anywhere actually, caught your attention?”
Sam’s face scrunched in confusion, lips pursing like a lemon had just materialized on his tongue.
“What kind of question is that, Dean?”
Dean shrugged a shoulder, “I dunno, isn’t that a question a big brother usually asks their pain-in-the-ass kid brother?”
Sam gave him a little glare, only recently hating all the nicknames Dean called him that in anyway resembled ‘child.’ Then he looked down, hair falling over his face.
“Uhm…there is…there is this one…” Sam started slowly, voice quieter and Dean could feel the blush from his face a foot away.
Dean had to struggle to not breathe a sigh of relief, instead settling for a grin, slapping Sam gently on the knee.
“Well, then, Sammy, out with it; what’s this chick’s name?”
“I…uh I- I dunno. She’s in my social studies class but she doesn’t talk to me. “
“Have you tried talking to her?” Dean asked, eyebrow rising.
Sam shook his head, “No, not really, she seems kind of bitchy.”
Dean laughed at that, “Oh, Sam, you’ve got a lot to learn about women. The default emotion for them is bitch…well, most of the time.”
Sam’s face scrunched up again and then he was leaning forward, too close and too quickly to give Dean enough warning to back the fuck up. Which is what he should have done immediately after Sam’s hand grasped his shoulder.
“Dean…Dean, I have a question.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he gripped his shoulder tighter, warmth radiating all throughout Dean’s right half.
“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean’s gaze had returned to the t.v., body stiff, and not quite trusting himself to look at Sam and see the look in his eyes.
“Dean, what…when did you first have sex?”
“Woah!” Dean bucked up, Sam’s hand dislocating from his shoulder abruptly and he fell back, having been leaning on his knees. “What the hell, Sam? Where did that come from?” Normally Dean would have no problem answering that question for him, maybe give him a quick wink with it but, what with the fucked up shit that’s been going on lately, the question took him by surprise and his brain didn’t feel the need to think it over and immediately overreacted.
Sam’s face fell a bit and he shrugged, “It seemed okay to ask…I’m just curious, is all.”
“Well, be a bit curious when you’re a little older, alright Sammy?” Dean’s voice was close to hysterical and he ran a hand anxiously through his hair, spiking it up.
“I’m thirteen, Dean. I’ll be fourteen in a few months; I think I’m old enough to know.”
“No, Sam, you’re not, go back to reading.” Dean spat out quickly, trying very hard not to get up right then and flee back to the bathroom and not come out until Sam was eighteen.
“Why won’t you tell me? What the hell are you so pissed about?” Sam replied taking Dean’s jittery anxiety the wrong way.
“Nothing, Sam, goddamn. Just. Just, go back and brush your teeth or something.” His knee had begun to jiggle up and down in beat to his favorite Metallica song and his fingers soon joined in on the chorus, tapping on the arm of the couch.
He was staring very intently at the t.v., silently willing Sam to just go away and heard the couch creak as weight was removed and was just about to sigh when an armful of Sam dropped its way into his lap.
“Sam! What the hell!?” He cried, trying to push him off onto the floor in a way that would hurt him as little as possible, but still as quickly as possible.
“You’re not listening to me, Dean,” is the only thing he said, squirming around in his lap and grappling with Dean’s hands that were trying to push him away. “Why won’t you just answer a simple question?”
“Get the fuck off my lap!” is all Dean said in reply, trying to stand up and simply dump him onto the floor but Sam was a strong little fucker despite his size.
“Answer my question!”
“Get. Off!”
“No!”
The brawl quickly escalated to both boys rolling on the couch, trying desperately to both get away and pin down. Sam grabbed at Dean’s forearm, trying to push it against his back but Dean quickly maneuvered out from under him and sat atop his stomach, pushing down hard enough to still him but not enough to hinder his breathing.
“Sam….stop.” He gasped, trying to catch his breath, hearing Sam do the same, even as he wriggled beneath him.
And that has to stop. Now.
“Sam, stop moving…Sam…” Dean panted, trying to reach behind him and still Sam’s hips but Sam was having none of that and bucked up hard, trying to get him off. That move only resulted in Sam’s groin smacking directly into Dean’s ass and he tried hard not to groan but obviously failed. Nothing more than a little moan could have escaped his lips but Sam immediately quieted and stopped flailing.
“Sam, please…just back off.” Dean said, ignoring the way his body was reacting to Sam’s underneath his.
Wrong, so fucking wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Dean.”
Goddamnit that was third time today Sam’s said his name like that and being in this position with him while he says it was not a fantastic idea.
“Sam just…just shut up.” Dean murmured, breath slowly easing back into his burning lungs. He couldn’t quite understand why he hadn’t yet moved off his brother, it’s like the lack of air flow through his body had somehow slowed down his brain to Stupid Speed.
“No, Dean, please.”
Dean didn’t understand what he was asking for but when his hands reached up to grab his chest, he got a pretty good idea and started to edge backwards.
Sam was quick though and stopped him while he used one hand to hook around his neck and jerk him forward. Dean’s face ended up mere inches from Sam’s own and his wide gaze mirrored his brothers.
“Sam…what are you doing?” He whispered, because for some reason being this close to someone obviously means you have to use the quietest voice possible.
“So green…” Sam said, voice so small and quiet, staring raptly at Dean’s face, eyes tracing over the contours of lips, his nose and jaw.
“Sammy.” Dean whispered again, licking his lips, watching Sam’s pupils dilate.
His dick was hardening rapidly in his jeans now and he could feel Sam’s already full and thick on his stomach.
This was wrong, so wrong on so many levels but Sam…the way he was looking at him now. This expression of completely open adoration and with such love and affection, it made him rethink all his morals and social taboos. It couldn’t be wrong if it made Sam look at him like this, if it made him look so happy. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, for once he wanted to just do and not second guess everything like he always did when it came to Sam.
There was just one thing he needed to know before he let both of their worlds collide.
“Sam…is this – is this what you want?”
Sam’s nod was given so quick Dean let out a soft moan and allowed Sam to drag his head down.
Their lips met and it was like a switch flipped in Dean’s brain, arousal coursing through every bit of him, and immediately his hands went up to grab Sam’s arms and pinned him to the couch, moving Sam’s body down with his so their dicks could semi-meet, their heights still too drastic to fully connect.
“Dean.” Sam gasped as he licked and nipped Dean’s mouth like he was a starving man, body straining up towards Dean’s, grinding his dick into his leg. His hands reached up under Dean’s shirt, grabbing at skin and smoothing over his nipples, moving them to harden and pebble under his touch.
Dean moaned and let his lips part, allowing Sam’s tongue to meet with his, tangling and coming together as one. The kiss was sloppy; all tongues and teeth, making it obvious that Sam hadn’t done it much – if at all – before. That thought, that he was Sam’s first, made Dean’s erection harden to a near unbearable state and if he didn’t get some friction now he was going to die.
He sucked on Sam’s tongue one last time before sitting up and unzipping his pants, trying not to come spontaneously at the look Sam was giving him as he got up on his elbows; lips red and skin flushed, chest rapidly falling as he panted.
“Dean, let me.” He whispered, reaching forward and moving a hand down into Dean’s boxers, wrapping his fingers around him.
“Ohh, God….Fuck.” Dean moaned, falling forward and having to catch himself on his hands, dropping his head down and watched as Sam worked him, pulling him free of the fabric and using both hands to stroke up and down, up and down.
He was extremely inexperienced but God was it hot, seeing Sam’s small hands working him furiously, wanting so badly to please; pumping harder when Dean demanded it and flicking his wrist over the head with each upward stroke, trailing his fingertips down to stroke softly at his balls. Sam’s own hips humped up into Dean’s leg, rocking relentlessly against him. Dean reached his hand down, undoing Sam’s pants and wrapped his palm around Sam, hand big enough to engulf his entire dick and squeeze. It took just one quick tug and Sam was coming in weak spurts over his fingers. The scream of his name as he fell apart almost put him over the edge himself and he only regretted not being able to see his face from the angle.
Through his orgasm Sam’s hands had slowed and as soon as he was able to gain just a bit of breath he went back at it with full gusto. It was when he leaned forward and licked a line up the shaft all the way to slip into his slit, poking a hesitant finger at his entrance with his other hand did Dean curse loudly and pitch forward, coming swiftly into Sam’s hand. He tried not to crush Sam beneath him but God if that wasn’t the best handjob ever.
Sweet Sam didn’t seem to mind, his chin resting on Dean’s shoulder, hand still squeezed between their bodies, fingers playing over Dean’s hole. He was having trouble getting his breathing to regular again and that wasn’t helping, especially when he slid a finger into the first knuckle, wriggling it around a bit.
“Sam!” He gasped, his dick giving a feeble attempt at another round but it was too soon and he was too tired.
“What?” Sam asked, and Dean bit back a groan at hearing his voice, all pitchy and rough.
“Get your fingers outta my ass so I can get up.”
And good God if wasn’t that a weird sentence to say to your little brother…
Sam laughed breathlessly but obliged and removed his hand from between them so Dean could sit up and fall backwards.
They sat in silence for a bit, just listening to each other’s breathing, feet and legs intertwined before Dean said, “Fourteen.”
Apparently Sam’s brain was only slow after a mind-blowing orgasm because he intelligently replied, “Huh?”
“That was the age I first had sex.”
“Oh.” Sam was silent for a moment before whispering, “You’re my first.”
Dean’s heart filled and expanded, taking up so much room his lungs couldn’t get air and he inhaled sharply. Sitting up, he gathered Sam into his arms and wrapped them around his stomach, sinking his face into his hair, breathing in deeply.
“I know.”
He’s not going to think about it but, truthfully, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
-FIN
Author:
gothic_elvisWC: 4,705
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Warnings: Weecest [Sam is 13], pretty much a PWP no matter how much I whine it's not
Summary: "Dean knew that Sam thought he was being sneaky. Hell, the kid probably thought he was the pinnacle of stealth. But there’s only so many times something can happen before you realize that, no, your door opening while showering was not a freak breeze."
Authors Notes:So this is the first S/D fic I've written and the first fic I've attempted after two years of no creative juices. Also first at writing *gulps* sex. Con-crit welcome but please be gentle. Comments very much appreciated!
Not beta-ed, all mistakes my own.
Dean knew that Sam thought he was being sneaky. Hell, the kid probably thought he was the pinnacle of stealth. But there’s only so many times something can happen before you realize that, no, your door opening while showering was not a freak breeze. Or those quickly averted eyes were not on the sandwich in your hand but the revealed strip of skin as you stretched. Tiny things, things he could easily ignore and forget about.
He knew Sam was getting older now, was curious. And what with their constant moving he never had a chance to really get to know anyone, go on dates. He knew Sam’s only encounter with a naked body was either with the porn mags Dean stashed under his mattress or the late night infomercials for Girls Gone Wild. Even those pixilated tits would get any thirteen year old riled.
So, Dean let it slide for a while; the odd glances and mysteriously ajar doors (he could have sworn he’d shut) as he changed. He knew Sammy was only acting like this because he was frustrated, needed some sort of release for all his pent up energy. Dean wasn’t sure why he chose to use him as his means for a sexual outlet but he was the only person around and it wasn’t like he was about to let his baby brother go out and buy a hooker to stare at (or fuck.) Sam wasn’t at an easy age and Dean could deal with a little awkwardness on his end if it made his little brother happy.
But that didn’t mean that it didn’t make Dean uneasy, because it did. Very uneasy. It was fine when the glances were fleeting; eye contact never met and glances never exchanged. Because that meant it didn’t need to be questioned, he didn’t need to ask what the fuck was going on. Was sure if he asked he wouldn’t be able to stay long enough to hear the answer; knows it with a sick tilt to his stomach - he’s not sure how - doesn’t want to think about it.
But when Sam’s gaze started to linger too long, his stare becoming too intense... it was difficult. Someone looks at you that hard and you have to look back. But he can’t. Because if he looks that means he’s acknowledging Sam, acknowledging this weird fixation Sam has.
Dean almost snaps a few times, almost barks at Sam “what the fuck is wrong with you, go look at porn or something.” Anything for him to stop looking at him like that.
It’s especially disconcerting when he’s eating, chewing on a burger while flipping through some hot-rod magazine all the while feeling his brother’s eyes on him - his lips and then following the food as it moves down his throat. He looks back up at him sometimes, throws him a shit-eating grin, grabbing the ketchup or mustard and shooting a glob at his face. Sam will squeal “Dean!” in his high, pubescent voice and a half-assed food fight will ensue. It’s the only thing he can think of to do.
When the looks progressed to actually spying on him while he showered or dressed, he found it increasingly hard to ignore mostly because it just seemed so unnecessary. Sam had his own junk he could stare at as long as he pleased that wouldn’t require sneaking around and trying to get a glimpse of his naked brother.
The first time it happens Dean’s rinsing the shampoo from his hair, face tilted up towards the spray, eyes closed when he hears a click that would be silence to anyone else. He stops, says, “Sam?” before peeking around the curtain and seeing the bathroom door open, not a lot but still not fully latched like he’d left it. It meant nothing to him the first time and still not much the few times after. The motels they stayed at were shit, the doors were bound to be just as useless.
The sixth time it happened Dean was curious, especially curious after finding out on the fifth occasion that the clicks were timed almost exactly the same every shower he took.
The curtain was dark, little circular openings cutting its way through the middle in weird, diagonal patterns. His eye was trained through one of them near the rear of the shower. He’d put the water on warmer than usual, letting steam fill the bathroom and fog the mirror. Exactly seven minutes in – the usual time – the door clicked and slowly moved inward. It was barely six inches but he could see eyes peer around the corner, wide and blinking owlishly as they tried to adjust to the mist.
Dean tried not to choke on his own spit when he saw those hazel cat-like eyes looking towards him in the shower. Sam moved in a little more; dark bangs falling and concealing his face. He was being more daring this time, pushing himself to go a little further. Dean stood upright then, looking over at the rust-encrusted soap dispenser and felt his eyes begin to sting. He still had three more minutes to go before he could get out; his usual shower time. He was conflicted; to keep going on as usual or call him on it. It’d been so much easier to ignore when he’d thought it was the motel’s fault and not his little brother had just wanted to perv on him. Humming, he went on like always, soaping up his body and scrubbing the dirt away. A few moments later he heard the door click shut again and exhaled jaggedly. This was so fucked up.
~**~**
All the times Dean had undressed in front of Sam began to reinsert themselves back into his brain unwanted and he shivered uneasily, suddenly remembering all the little things that should be insignificant. He knew that was one thing that had to stop though didn’t dwell on why, same as he treated every other nuance of Sam’s odd behavior. But of course it wasn’t like Sam to accept change easily, had to make a big fuss out of (what should be) nothing.
It was a few days later and Dean had just stripped off his shirt, hands grabbing at his buckle when his spine stiffened and he remembered Sammy behind him on his bed, doing his math homework.
Throwing a casual glance over his shoulder he called, “How’s it going? You getting it?”
Sam didn’t answer right away and Dean turned around to see Sam now staring down intensely at his book, color buried high on his cheeks.
“Yes,” He replied shortly, voice almost a squeak.
Dean gave him a nod and picked up his white tee he always wore to bed along with a faded pair of sweats and headed towards the bathroom.
Sam’s “Where are you going?” stopped him halfway to the door and he threw back a “Duty calls, squirt” without stopping.
“But you just went half an hour ago.”
That stopped him and he whirled slowly, staring at his brother with what he hoped was his most “are you shitting me?” expression in the history of forever.
“You tracking my bowel movements now, Sammy?”
Sam’s blush returned and he shook his head, nonplussed.
“Course not, but, uh – uh, I mean, it can’t be….I mean you shouldn’t…it’s not…healthy.” Sam stuttered out, finishing lamely with his head hanging and his chin resting pathetically on his chest.
Dean had to strain to bark out a laugh, “Whatever, Sammy, you should be using those brain cells of yours to finish your math and not worrying about me.”
Sam looked back up at him then and Dean’s stomach jolted unpleasantly at the look he gave him but didn’t give himself time to mull over it and high-tailed it to the bathroom.
It was only later on, listening to Sam softly snore in the bed beside him, that he realized what it was.
Accusing.
~**~**
The next morning Dean woke up to Sam lying in bed awake, head propped up on his elbow, studying him. Who knows how long he’d sat there, silently watching him sleep. He tried not to think about it.
“Hey there, Sammy.” Dean greeted him amiably enough, albeit still weirded out, stretching his arms up to the ceiling, neck falling back with a pleasant pop.
Sam was quiet, but he could feel his eyes on him. Deciding to ignore it Dean stood and winced at the impact of his feet on the ice-cold wooden floor.
“You cold?” He asked, trying to get a response out of him because the staring was getting a little unnerving, especially done so unabashedly.
“A little, yeah.” Sam finally confessed, getting up and repeating the stretching then standing before Dean and looking up at him with a small smile on his face.
Dean tried not to seem too skittish in his haste to put some distance between them, stopping when he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating from Sam’s body.
“Well why didn’t you turn the heat up then, squirt?” He checked the dial on the meter and saw it read a whopping 67 degrees and immediately shivered, muttering, “Goddamn. No wonder.”
“I dunno.” Sam’s voice was odd, a quality in it that Dean didn’t want to think about. It seemed
Dean was doing a whole lot of thinking about not thinking about things lately.
It was only then he’d realized he must have stripped his shirt off randomly through the night and was shirtless in Sam’s presence, which before would have meant nothing but now meant a hell of a lot. He prayed to God Sam wasn’t staring at what he was pretty sure he was staring at.
Sure enough when he turned Sam’s eyes were definitely not at eye level and he had the quick thought to make the ‘you better be staring at my amulet’ joke but the impulse faded when Sam took a step forward.
“Dean.” He whispered, the only thing he’d said with real resonance behind it the whole morning. He said it softly, almost reverently, and took another step towards him.
“Yeah?” God he hated the way his voice broke; the way Sam’s often did now. He was seventeen, damn it, not twelve.
Sam’s little pink tongue darted out, tasting his lips quickly before vanishing. Goddamnit he should not be looking anywhere near his little brother’s mouth, especially not while said little brother is quickly approaching with a rather heated expression, hands balled into nervous fists.
“Dean.” He said again, closing the distance between him and cautiously raising a hand towards his chest.
Amulet, he’s reaching for the amulet. He just wants to look at the amulet, Dean’s brain practically sang to him in a repeating mantra.
His hopes and dreams were quickly shattered in a jolting “shitfuckno” when instead Sam’s sweaty palm settled on his heart, thumb barely brushing his nipple.
“Dean.” Third time’s a charm apparently because with that last breathy call of his name Dean seemed to finally fall back into his own body after watching from afar and almost threw himself backwards.
“You hungry? I’m hungry, really hungry, actually. I’m going to go, uh, get - uhm, food. Yeah, food. I’ll be back. Get dressed, Sammy.” He could barely get out his thought and didn’t look back before he was skidding towards the bathroom, throwing on the dirty button down that he realized while hurriedly fastening was not his. If the way it stretched across his chest and the top three buttons refused to clasp was any indication.
He tried not to run out of the room, though couldn’t help noticing their bedroom door was now shut and no sound was emitting from behind it.
With a resigned sigh he pulled on his boots, sockless, and only when he stepped outside and felt a cold gust of autumn air brush his thighs did he notice that he was still wearing his boxers, sans jeans.
“Shit, shit, shit.” He cursed, stomping back into the motel and searching wildly for any form of two legged garments that he could wear without looking like a hobo or an emo-wannabe.
As his luck would have it, there were none and he was left with the only option of shuffling back to the bedroom and therefore having to greet bitch-faced Sam.
Though when he opened the door with a small “Sam?” did he see that Sam was not, as aforementioned, bitch-faced but red-faced. It was obvious by the wet cheeks and reddened lips that he’d been crying. Dean made the split second decision to carry on as usual, quickly walking to his bag and pulling out a pair of jeans.
“Forgot m’pants.” He muttered in response to the look he felt Sam giving him.
“I coulda told you that, stupid.” Sam replied, voice a little watery and choked but he could hear a smile behind it.
“Ha ha.” Dean deadpanned; looking back at him and seeing one arm go across his face to rid of the moisture.
He kicked off his boots and pulled on the jeans, before his boots again and clomping back towards the door. It was only when he had shrugged on his jacket did the usual guilt encircle his heart and squeeze, reminding him of the sad little brother he was leaving alone in his room.
Not even needing to think twice he yelled back, “Pull on some pants Sam, you’re coming with me!”
The sound of ruffling through a bag was almost immediate and Dean couldn’t hold back a smile when he heard a thud followed by a quick, “Shit – ow” of Sam stubbing his toe or falling.
He appeared from the hallway, smile lighting up his face and jacket through one arm. His shoelaces were undone, hair sticking straight up on one side and he knew Sam hadn’t brushed his teeth but Dean simply returned the smile, and opened the door, ushering Sam out first.
“Okay, so, pancakes and bacon or donuts?” Dean asked, locking the door behind him.
He looked back at Sam to see his sly smirk, “Both?”
Dean laughed loudly and patted him on the back, jokingly quipped, “Brother after my own heart, Sammy.”
He tried to ignore the brighter-than-the-sun grin he gave received and raced him towards the diner.
~**~**
Dad called later that night to say he’d be a few more days, the wendigo he was hunting giving him more trouble than usual. Wendigos lived in dense, forest areas and tracking one was not high on a hunter's wish list.
Dean gave him one last yes sir at his “Sam doing alright?” before hanging up and glancing at his brother, reading a book the size of War and Peace at the table. What a nerd, Dean thought fondly, getting up to grab a Coke from the fridge.
He found himself asking, “Whatcha reading?” while popping the tab, leaning back against the counter.
“War and Peace.”
Oh.
“Is it for school?”
“No, I just felt like reading something that’d take me longer than a day to finish.” Sam replied, looking up at Dean with a smirk.
Dean rolled his eyes, “Whatever, Einstein, I just happen to be naturally smart and don’t have to read those big-ass books to learn something.”
Sam snorted, “Sure, Dean, whatever helps you feel less like a moron.”
Dean scoffed and put a hand to his chest in mock offense, “I will have you know that I am quite skilled in many things.”
Sam’s mood change was instantaneous and the “Yeah?” he whispered a moment later was throaty.
Dean stiffened at the tone and nodded quickly before making his way back towards the ‘living room,’ falling down on the couch.
Just when he thought (wanted to believe) things were getting back to normal Sam had to go and get all weird on him again.
“Hey Sam?” Dean called, downing a gulp of the soda.
“Yeah?”
He jumped at Sam’s voice in such sudden, close proximity and swiveled his head to see him kneeling beside him on the couch, wearing a small smile on his face at having obviously scared his big brother.
“Uh, I was just wondering, I mean…uh, well I know we haven’t been here long but I was curious – have any girls here, well, anywhere actually, caught your attention?”
Sam’s face scrunched in confusion, lips pursing like a lemon had just materialized on his tongue.
“What kind of question is that, Dean?”
Dean shrugged a shoulder, “I dunno, isn’t that a question a big brother usually asks their pain-in-the-ass kid brother?”
Sam gave him a little glare, only recently hating all the nicknames Dean called him that in anyway resembled ‘child.’ Then he looked down, hair falling over his face.
“Uhm…there is…there is this one…” Sam started slowly, voice quieter and Dean could feel the blush from his face a foot away.
Dean had to struggle to not breathe a sigh of relief, instead settling for a grin, slapping Sam gently on the knee.
“Well, then, Sammy, out with it; what’s this chick’s name?”
“I…uh I- I dunno. She’s in my social studies class but she doesn’t talk to me. “
“Have you tried talking to her?” Dean asked, eyebrow rising.
Sam shook his head, “No, not really, she seems kind of bitchy.”
Dean laughed at that, “Oh, Sam, you’ve got a lot to learn about women. The default emotion for them is bitch…well, most of the time.”
Sam’s face scrunched up again and then he was leaning forward, too close and too quickly to give Dean enough warning to back the fuck up. Which is what he should have done immediately after Sam’s hand grasped his shoulder.
“Dean…Dean, I have a question.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he gripped his shoulder tighter, warmth radiating all throughout Dean’s right half.
“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean’s gaze had returned to the t.v., body stiff, and not quite trusting himself to look at Sam and see the look in his eyes.
“Dean, what…when did you first have sex?”
“Woah!” Dean bucked up, Sam’s hand dislocating from his shoulder abruptly and he fell back, having been leaning on his knees. “What the hell, Sam? Where did that come from?” Normally Dean would have no problem answering that question for him, maybe give him a quick wink with it but, what with the fucked up shit that’s been going on lately, the question took him by surprise and his brain didn’t feel the need to think it over and immediately overreacted.
Sam’s face fell a bit and he shrugged, “It seemed okay to ask…I’m just curious, is all.”
“Well, be a bit curious when you’re a little older, alright Sammy?” Dean’s voice was close to hysterical and he ran a hand anxiously through his hair, spiking it up.
“I’m thirteen, Dean. I’ll be fourteen in a few months; I think I’m old enough to know.”
“No, Sam, you’re not, go back to reading.” Dean spat out quickly, trying very hard not to get up right then and flee back to the bathroom and not come out until Sam was eighteen.
“Why won’t you tell me? What the hell are you so pissed about?” Sam replied taking Dean’s jittery anxiety the wrong way.
“Nothing, Sam, goddamn. Just. Just, go back and brush your teeth or something.” His knee had begun to jiggle up and down in beat to his favorite Metallica song and his fingers soon joined in on the chorus, tapping on the arm of the couch.
He was staring very intently at the t.v., silently willing Sam to just go away and heard the couch creak as weight was removed and was just about to sigh when an armful of Sam dropped its way into his lap.
“Sam! What the hell!?” He cried, trying to push him off onto the floor in a way that would hurt him as little as possible, but still as quickly as possible.
“You’re not listening to me, Dean,” is the only thing he said, squirming around in his lap and grappling with Dean’s hands that were trying to push him away. “Why won’t you just answer a simple question?”
“Get the fuck off my lap!” is all Dean said in reply, trying to stand up and simply dump him onto the floor but Sam was a strong little fucker despite his size.
“Answer my question!”
“Get. Off!”
“No!”
The brawl quickly escalated to both boys rolling on the couch, trying desperately to both get away and pin down. Sam grabbed at Dean’s forearm, trying to push it against his back but Dean quickly maneuvered out from under him and sat atop his stomach, pushing down hard enough to still him but not enough to hinder his breathing.
“Sam….stop.” He gasped, trying to catch his breath, hearing Sam do the same, even as he wriggled beneath him.
And that has to stop. Now.
“Sam, stop moving…Sam…” Dean panted, trying to reach behind him and still Sam’s hips but Sam was having none of that and bucked up hard, trying to get him off. That move only resulted in Sam’s groin smacking directly into Dean’s ass and he tried hard not to groan but obviously failed. Nothing more than a little moan could have escaped his lips but Sam immediately quieted and stopped flailing.
“Sam, please…just back off.” Dean said, ignoring the way his body was reacting to Sam’s underneath his.
Wrong, so fucking wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Dean.”
Goddamnit that was third time today Sam’s said his name like that and being in this position with him while he says it was not a fantastic idea.
“Sam just…just shut up.” Dean murmured, breath slowly easing back into his burning lungs. He couldn’t quite understand why he hadn’t yet moved off his brother, it’s like the lack of air flow through his body had somehow slowed down his brain to Stupid Speed.
“No, Dean, please.”
Dean didn’t understand what he was asking for but when his hands reached up to grab his chest, he got a pretty good idea and started to edge backwards.
Sam was quick though and stopped him while he used one hand to hook around his neck and jerk him forward. Dean’s face ended up mere inches from Sam’s own and his wide gaze mirrored his brothers.
“Sam…what are you doing?” He whispered, because for some reason being this close to someone obviously means you have to use the quietest voice possible.
“So green…” Sam said, voice so small and quiet, staring raptly at Dean’s face, eyes tracing over the contours of lips, his nose and jaw.
“Sammy.” Dean whispered again, licking his lips, watching Sam’s pupils dilate.
His dick was hardening rapidly in his jeans now and he could feel Sam’s already full and thick on his stomach.
This was wrong, so wrong on so many levels but Sam…the way he was looking at him now. This expression of completely open adoration and with such love and affection, it made him rethink all his morals and social taboos. It couldn’t be wrong if it made Sam look at him like this, if it made him look so happy. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, for once he wanted to just do and not second guess everything like he always did when it came to Sam.
There was just one thing he needed to know before he let both of their worlds collide.
“Sam…is this – is this what you want?”
Sam’s nod was given so quick Dean let out a soft moan and allowed Sam to drag his head down.
Their lips met and it was like a switch flipped in Dean’s brain, arousal coursing through every bit of him, and immediately his hands went up to grab Sam’s arms and pinned him to the couch, moving Sam’s body down with his so their dicks could semi-meet, their heights still too drastic to fully connect.
“Dean.” Sam gasped as he licked and nipped Dean’s mouth like he was a starving man, body straining up towards Dean’s, grinding his dick into his leg. His hands reached up under Dean’s shirt, grabbing at skin and smoothing over his nipples, moving them to harden and pebble under his touch.
Dean moaned and let his lips part, allowing Sam’s tongue to meet with his, tangling and coming together as one. The kiss was sloppy; all tongues and teeth, making it obvious that Sam hadn’t done it much – if at all – before. That thought, that he was Sam’s first, made Dean’s erection harden to a near unbearable state and if he didn’t get some friction now he was going to die.
He sucked on Sam’s tongue one last time before sitting up and unzipping his pants, trying not to come spontaneously at the look Sam was giving him as he got up on his elbows; lips red and skin flushed, chest rapidly falling as he panted.
“Dean, let me.” He whispered, reaching forward and moving a hand down into Dean’s boxers, wrapping his fingers around him.
“Ohh, God….Fuck.” Dean moaned, falling forward and having to catch himself on his hands, dropping his head down and watched as Sam worked him, pulling him free of the fabric and using both hands to stroke up and down, up and down.
He was extremely inexperienced but God was it hot, seeing Sam’s small hands working him furiously, wanting so badly to please; pumping harder when Dean demanded it and flicking his wrist over the head with each upward stroke, trailing his fingertips down to stroke softly at his balls. Sam’s own hips humped up into Dean’s leg, rocking relentlessly against him. Dean reached his hand down, undoing Sam’s pants and wrapped his palm around Sam, hand big enough to engulf his entire dick and squeeze. It took just one quick tug and Sam was coming in weak spurts over his fingers. The scream of his name as he fell apart almost put him over the edge himself and he only regretted not being able to see his face from the angle.
Through his orgasm Sam’s hands had slowed and as soon as he was able to gain just a bit of breath he went back at it with full gusto. It was when he leaned forward and licked a line up the shaft all the way to slip into his slit, poking a hesitant finger at his entrance with his other hand did Dean curse loudly and pitch forward, coming swiftly into Sam’s hand. He tried not to crush Sam beneath him but God if that wasn’t the best handjob ever.
Sweet Sam didn’t seem to mind, his chin resting on Dean’s shoulder, hand still squeezed between their bodies, fingers playing over Dean’s hole. He was having trouble getting his breathing to regular again and that wasn’t helping, especially when he slid a finger into the first knuckle, wriggling it around a bit.
“Sam!” He gasped, his dick giving a feeble attempt at another round but it was too soon and he was too tired.
“What?” Sam asked, and Dean bit back a groan at hearing his voice, all pitchy and rough.
“Get your fingers outta my ass so I can get up.”
And good God if wasn’t that a weird sentence to say to your little brother…
Sam laughed breathlessly but obliged and removed his hand from between them so Dean could sit up and fall backwards.
They sat in silence for a bit, just listening to each other’s breathing, feet and legs intertwined before Dean said, “Fourteen.”
Apparently Sam’s brain was only slow after a mind-blowing orgasm because he intelligently replied, “Huh?”
“That was the age I first had sex.”
“Oh.” Sam was silent for a moment before whispering, “You’re my first.”
Dean’s heart filled and expanded, taking up so much room his lungs couldn’t get air and he inhaled sharply. Sitting up, he gathered Sam into his arms and wrapped them around his stomach, sinking his face into his hair, breathing in deeply.
“I know.”
He’s not going to think about it but, truthfully, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
-FIN
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 07:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 01:41 pm (UTC)Yeah I realized that this morning when I woke up and changed it to a wendigo. Posting at 1 in the morning; not the greatest idea. :p
Thanks again for commenting.
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Date: 2010-02-08 08:25 am (UTC)I love Dean's running commentary on Sam and the whole situation...who said Dean was dumb? He just keeps his cards very close to his chest.
This would have to be one of the few first time stories with Sam and Dean that I read through to the end.
cheers! sarahk_63
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Date: 2010-02-08 01:42 pm (UTC)Aw, what a compliment, thank you!
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Date: 2010-02-08 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 01:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 09:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 01:44 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading. <3
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Date: 2010-02-09 03:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 10:58 am (UTC)<333
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Date: 2010-02-08 01:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 11:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 01:45 pm (UTC)It bugs me too! Don't worry. I changed it this morning to a wendigo and therefore saving me any further embarassment because of my terrible memory. :p
Thanks so much for reading!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 06:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 11:13 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for your review! <3
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Date: 2010-02-08 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 07:00 pm (UTC)I also liked the whole awkwardess and what Dean was going through in his mind, noticing Sam's looks and trying to keep things non-awkward between them. It really brought out Dean's character well, because we all know he loves his brother so much that he would do anything for him. Even ignore his awkward stalking so he wouldn't feel bad. :)
Very nice work for a first S/D fic indeed :)
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Date: 2010-02-08 11:13 pm (UTC)Thank you so much, hun! I appreciate your comment.
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Date: 2010-02-08 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 11:13 pm (UTC)haha, right. ;]
Thank you for reading/commenting!
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Date: 2010-02-09 01:59 am (UTC)Wow.
This is amazing.
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Date: 2010-02-09 03:22 am (UTC)Thank you SO much. <33
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Date: 2010-02-09 03:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-09 04:02 am (UTC)Again, thank you so much! I appreciate the comment immensely. Hoping to pop out another fic sometime soon. :]
wow
Date: 2010-02-09 06:23 am (UTC)I approve! Can't wait for more!
Re: wow
Date: 2010-02-09 08:46 pm (UTC)Glad you enjoyed it! Thanks so much for reviewing! <3
no subject
Date: 2010-02-10 11:41 pm (UTC)But yeah, this was awesome. I love the way you described the way Sam kind of stalked Dean - made me nervous. XD Anyway! Great job, and I look forward to more!
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Date: 2010-02-11 04:37 am (UTC)I'm already getting bombarded with ideas and started in on another one-shot tonight. ;]
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Date: 2010-02-11 10:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-11 02:56 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading/reviewing!
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Date: 2010-03-06 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-07 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 06:07 am (UTC)This was delicious, and sort of exactly the way I could see Dean reacting to a situation like a needy virgin Sam
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Date: 2010-03-15 07:15 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed it and thanks for commenting! :D
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Date: 2010-03-15 07:39 am (UTC)Because I failed to mention this at first and that was a fail on my part: I love that, even though Dean's 17, he still ends up with Sam's fingers in his ass (that man is basically a perpetual bottom)
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Date: 2010-03-15 07:47 am (UTC)xDDD Oh yes, Dean is always the bottom to me. [In fact, I refuse to read the opposite. :p ]