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mickeymTitle: First
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~900
Spoilers: None, it's pre-series
Warnings: Incest, Underage
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm not making any money off them.
Notes: Still not sure where my head is on this whole young!Sam thing, but working through it seems to be a good option. *smooches* to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wendy for patience, hand-holding and encouragement.
Summary: First kisses should be something special.
"I need to ask you somethin'."
Dean glances up from his homework -- stupid English essay -- and fixes a scowl on Sam. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed? Asleep?"
"Yeah, but--" Sammy shifts awkwardly and Dean watches in fascination as red slowly stains his cheeks and neck.
"But nothin'. It's bedtime. Past bedtime. Am-scray."
Sammy widens his eyes. The imploring look. "But I gotta *ask* you somethin', Dean. It's important."
Fuck. The last time it was something 'important', the conversation took hours, with Dean trying to explain to the best of his ability just why there really were monsters in the world, why mom was dead, and why dad was so obsessed with hunting. And why they couldn't have a dog. That one was actually harder than the others.
"What?" He says, finally, sure he's not going to like the question.
Sam squirms some more, shifting from foot to foot and chewing on his bottom lip until Dean's ready to shout with impatience. Whatever it is, though, it's big--and Sam obviously has to work up to it. He finally draws a breath and mumbles something about kissing that leaves Dean frowning and confused.
"What? Sammy, I can't--you gotta say it a little louder than that." Sam huffs a breath out and scowls. Brat. "Look, either say it so I can hear it, or get your ass back in bed. It's late, and I still got reading to do for class."
"I--" Another deep breath. "Iwantyoutoteachmehowtokiss."
Dean feels like someone just pole-axed him. "You can't be serious. You want--I mean. Um."
"Please?" He sounds hopeful, uncertain, maybe a little scared. He looks determined. "I--everyone's talking about it at school, and Mary Frances said how good kissing is, and it's like I'm the only one who doesn't know how to, and I really want to know."
"But. I'm. Sammy, we're brothers! And guys! Both guys! And brothers!" Dean takes a deep breath, way too conscious that he just hit a pitch he hadn't since his voice changed. "I can't kiss you, dude. No way."
"But you have to! I don't know anyone else who can show me, and if Mary Frances--. I don't want 'em laughing at me at school," he adds, looking down. For just a second Dean remembers the little, little boy with the bouncy curls who would come running up to Dean saying "you hafta, Dean!". His stomach twists, and his heart's pounding like he's just run five miles. Uphill.
"Sammy. Sam." Dean turns fully in his chair and looks up at Sam's hopeful, scared face. "It's--I don't even care about the guy thing. Or that--that we're brothers. Well, I do. I just. It's wrong, man. You're--"
"Don't you say I'm too young," Sam hisses, and his eyes flash angrily. "I'm old enough to go hunt werewolves and poltergeists but I'm too young to learn how to kiss? Give me a break." His shoulders slump, defeated, and Dean's stomach twists again.
If there's anything in the world he can't handle, it's disappointing Sam.
"Fine," he says, softly. "But Sammy--" He swallows down anything else he might say, because 'we can't do this again' goes without saying, and so does 'I don't want to hurt you'. "C'mere," Dean says finally, still amazed that he has to look up, even a little, when he's sitting and Sam's standing.
When he stands up, he and Sam are almost face-to-face. It won't be too much longer before Sam's as tall as he is.
"You're sure?" Dean asks, moving in a little closer. Sam nods, and this close to him, Dean can see how dilated his pupils are, only a thin ring of color surrounding the black. "You want to stop this any time, just--pull away. Or tell me. Something. Okay?"
"Okay," Sam breathes, and Dean watches his adam's apple bob when he swallows. Sammy licks his lips, and Dean watches that, a fine sheen of moisture wetting, darkening the pink of his mouth.
Dean cups Sam's face in his hands, thumbs rubbing over sharp cheekbones. "You can, um. Like this, or put your arms around--whoever. Cup the back of their head." He leans in, nostrils flaring at the warm, clean scent of Sammy; all soap and fabric softener and shampoo, and something fresh and innocent beneath it. "Just--slow. Easy," he whispers, and brushes his mouth across Sam's.
His mouth is so soft, yielding beneath Dean's. Just a little pressure and Sam's lips part. Dean licks over them, tasting sweetness, tasting something he shouldn't ever taste. He jerks backward, guilt and fear sliding over him along with an unwanted heat.
Sam makes a soft sound and follows him, hands clutching at Dean's waist. "No," he says. "Do--do it again."
"Sammy, I can't. I--" His words are lost when Sam surges forward, kissing him hard, too hard, because it bangs their mouths together.
Dean tastes the tang of blood, bright, sharp and coppery against his tongue. He slides one hand up to cup the back of Sam's head, tilting it to gentle the kiss, sighing when Sam licks into his mouth, tongue darting in and out, exploring the wet softness he finds.
The kiss ends slowly, Dean easing them out of it with licks and gentle suction. Sam's panting softly, and he looks stunned, eyes wide and glazed. That makes Dean's stomach clench again--both the look, and the warmth he feels knowing he caused it.
"Okay?"
"Yeah." Soft, shaky voice. Dean clears his throat.
"Okay. Then it's bedtime, Sammy." Dean keeps his voice gentle, light, and Sam nods and turns. Dean sees him lick his lips again as he goes, and closes his eyes to Sam leaving the room.
~fin~
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~900
Spoilers: None, it's pre-series
Warnings: Incest, Underage
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm not making any money off them.
Notes: Still not sure where my head is on this whole young!Sam thing, but working through it seems to be a good option. *smooches* to
wendy for patience, hand-holding and encouragement.Summary: First kisses should be something special.
"I need to ask you somethin'."
Dean glances up from his homework -- stupid English essay -- and fixes a scowl on Sam. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed? Asleep?"
"Yeah, but--" Sammy shifts awkwardly and Dean watches in fascination as red slowly stains his cheeks and neck.
"But nothin'. It's bedtime. Past bedtime. Am-scray."
Sammy widens his eyes. The imploring look. "But I gotta *ask* you somethin', Dean. It's important."
Fuck. The last time it was something 'important', the conversation took hours, with Dean trying to explain to the best of his ability just why there really were monsters in the world, why mom was dead, and why dad was so obsessed with hunting. And why they couldn't have a dog. That one was actually harder than the others.
"What?" He says, finally, sure he's not going to like the question.
Sam squirms some more, shifting from foot to foot and chewing on his bottom lip until Dean's ready to shout with impatience. Whatever it is, though, it's big--and Sam obviously has to work up to it. He finally draws a breath and mumbles something about kissing that leaves Dean frowning and confused.
"What? Sammy, I can't--you gotta say it a little louder than that." Sam huffs a breath out and scowls. Brat. "Look, either say it so I can hear it, or get your ass back in bed. It's late, and I still got reading to do for class."
"I--" Another deep breath. "Iwantyoutoteachmehowtokiss."
Dean feels like someone just pole-axed him. "You can't be serious. You want--I mean. Um."
"Please?" He sounds hopeful, uncertain, maybe a little scared. He looks determined. "I--everyone's talking about it at school, and Mary Frances said how good kissing is, and it's like I'm the only one who doesn't know how to, and I really want to know."
"But. I'm. Sammy, we're brothers! And guys! Both guys! And brothers!" Dean takes a deep breath, way too conscious that he just hit a pitch he hadn't since his voice changed. "I can't kiss you, dude. No way."
"But you have to! I don't know anyone else who can show me, and if Mary Frances--. I don't want 'em laughing at me at school," he adds, looking down. For just a second Dean remembers the little, little boy with the bouncy curls who would come running up to Dean saying "you hafta, Dean!". His stomach twists, and his heart's pounding like he's just run five miles. Uphill.
"Sammy. Sam." Dean turns fully in his chair and looks up at Sam's hopeful, scared face. "It's--I don't even care about the guy thing. Or that--that we're brothers. Well, I do. I just. It's wrong, man. You're--"
"Don't you say I'm too young," Sam hisses, and his eyes flash angrily. "I'm old enough to go hunt werewolves and poltergeists but I'm too young to learn how to kiss? Give me a break." His shoulders slump, defeated, and Dean's stomach twists again.
If there's anything in the world he can't handle, it's disappointing Sam.
"Fine," he says, softly. "But Sammy--" He swallows down anything else he might say, because 'we can't do this again' goes without saying, and so does 'I don't want to hurt you'. "C'mere," Dean says finally, still amazed that he has to look up, even a little, when he's sitting and Sam's standing.
When he stands up, he and Sam are almost face-to-face. It won't be too much longer before Sam's as tall as he is.
"You're sure?" Dean asks, moving in a little closer. Sam nods, and this close to him, Dean can see how dilated his pupils are, only a thin ring of color surrounding the black. "You want to stop this any time, just--pull away. Or tell me. Something. Okay?"
"Okay," Sam breathes, and Dean watches his adam's apple bob when he swallows. Sammy licks his lips, and Dean watches that, a fine sheen of moisture wetting, darkening the pink of his mouth.
Dean cups Sam's face in his hands, thumbs rubbing over sharp cheekbones. "You can, um. Like this, or put your arms around--whoever. Cup the back of their head." He leans in, nostrils flaring at the warm, clean scent of Sammy; all soap and fabric softener and shampoo, and something fresh and innocent beneath it. "Just--slow. Easy," he whispers, and brushes his mouth across Sam's.
His mouth is so soft, yielding beneath Dean's. Just a little pressure and Sam's lips part. Dean licks over them, tasting sweetness, tasting something he shouldn't ever taste. He jerks backward, guilt and fear sliding over him along with an unwanted heat.
Sam makes a soft sound and follows him, hands clutching at Dean's waist. "No," he says. "Do--do it again."
"Sammy, I can't. I--" His words are lost when Sam surges forward, kissing him hard, too hard, because it bangs their mouths together.
Dean tastes the tang of blood, bright, sharp and coppery against his tongue. He slides one hand up to cup the back of Sam's head, tilting it to gentle the kiss, sighing when Sam licks into his mouth, tongue darting in and out, exploring the wet softness he finds.
The kiss ends slowly, Dean easing them out of it with licks and gentle suction. Sam's panting softly, and he looks stunned, eyes wide and glazed. That makes Dean's stomach clench again--both the look, and the warmth he feels knowing he caused it.
"Okay?"
"Yeah." Soft, shaky voice. Dean clears his throat.
"Okay. Then it's bedtime, Sammy." Dean keeps his voice gentle, light, and Sam nods and turns. Dean sees him lick his lips again as he goes, and closes his eyes to Sam leaving the room.
~fin~
