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“What was it like?”
“Hm?”
“Your first kiss.”
Sam turned his head to the side while waiting for a reply, looking at Dean’s hair where it was pressed against the pillow of their bed. It was ruffled and a little dirty, but they were both too wasted to care about what either of them looked like.
It was Sam’s first night being drunk, actually. Of course he had drank before, but not so much he could become shit-faced. He still hadn’t, because at that moment they were just a little tipsy. Just enough to make stupid confessions.
The TV in front of them, playing some old western movie Dean picked out, became just another blurred out sound in the background as they began to talk again after a few minutes.
“Bad, I guess.” Dean replied, now looking back at Sam.
He loved it when Dean stared at him like that. Drunk and careless, like he was ready to spill all the things he buried down again when the sun rose and he sobered up.
“Why?” The question was inevitable, but Dean still looked at him like he was regretting his answer, and Sam wondered if he could have made it better than the girl Dean was talking about. He probably could.
“‘Cause.. we were young, y’know? Didn’t know how to use tongue or anything.” He shrugged. Like it wasn’t a big deal to have wasted his first kiss. But Sam saw the faint flush creeping up his neck. “What ‘bout u? You even kissed a chick before?”
Now it’s Sam’s turn to blush. Fuck. Did they have to talk about him?
“No.” He answered truthfully. He hadn’t kissed a ‘chick’…
“Aww, Sammy’s a total virgin!” Dean chuckled, clearly amused about his brother’s ‘virginity’.
Sam shoves him playfully in the shoulder with his own. “Dude, shut up! I’m not a virgin!” He half laughs, half regrets-every-word-he-just-said.
“You said you never kissed a girl before. Stop lyin’ Sammy.” His grin is still there, just more confused now. Sam doesn’t blame him, this must sound like a total shock for a heterosexual, masculine guy like him.
“Yeah. Not a girl.” He lowered his head, looking intensely at the bed before him and definitely regretted it now. He’d fucked up. God, he’d fucked up.. Nobody was supposed to know, and now Dean’s gonna make him tell.
“But then-” Dean paused. His grin faded completely, utter shock displaying across his entire face.
“Oh.”
“Mhm.”
“Ohh..”
“..Yup.”
Awkward was the least he could describe this, coming out to his brother drunk while they were sitting in his bed, slowly leading to the subject he had been hiding for years. Their* bed, actually, ‘cause their Dad was too much of a cheap shot to buy two beds. He did buy his own room, though. With the way it suddenly appeared in John’s hands when he was renting rooms, Sam guesses it’s magic money. Fairy money, or something..
“But- who?”
Fuck. He was hoping to avoid this question.
“You know Mike Bloonie..?” He answered anyway, shy and uncertain eyes moving up to Dean’s again, who apparently had never looked away from his brother.
“Mike fucking balloon!?? Oh my god, Sammy. He’s 4 years older than you!” They had given him the stupidest name after he inhaled helium in class one day to sing as high pitched as the girls. Stupid, but worth it for a dick like him.
“You guys had a sleepover once or somethin’. Was that when he..?” The sentence went unfinished, but Sam knew what he meant. If he and Mike had slept together at the sleepover at his house. But Dean worded it as if Sam didn’t consent. He did. He had given him an uncertain nod, not knowing if he actually wanted it. But he let him, and that was consent nonetheless. Right?
“..Yeah. I guess." Sam could hear his own voice, small against Dean’s, and he knew he didn’t mean to but the way he was talking to him right now, made him uneasy.
Scared, if he were to be honest, but he wasn’t, so ‘uneasy’ it was. If he was gonna be honest, he would tell Dean why. He didn’t let him because he wanted to do it, he let him because he looked like Dean. Acted like Dean. Same age as Dean. He let Mike do it because Mike reminded him of Dean. And he’d let Dean do that. But he could never, ever, admit that.
Said boy interrupted his thoughts with his own. “Did you take it up the ass?” It was silly. A silly, unserious, question that the beer in his belly made him ask. But it reminded Sam of what had happened, how much it hurt.. just everything.
“Uhm,”
Play it off.
Don’t say it like a total slut.
Just tell him you had fun.
Dean will get angry if not.
But maybe he’ll comfort-
No. Don’t say anything.
But, maybe..
“I didn’t really take it. He..” His voice was shaky now. God, someone kill him already.
“He what?” Dean was brave. Dean’s voice wasn’t fragile and small. Sure, a bit slurred ‘cause of the alcohol, but he wasn’t like Sam. He was just.. better. A better soldier, like their Dad would say.
Sam took a deep breath. Here it comes.
“um, he just sorta did it, y’know? Made me.. ‘take it up the ass.’ ” He tried to chuckle, he really did. He tried to play it off and act like it didn’t ache in his chest and throat just thinking about it. But the grin he’d put on faded slowly as Dean didn’t return it. He just looked, looking becoming staring, and staring becoming a pity look filled by anger.
“He made you?” Dean’s voice was rough. Just like it had been so many times. But it was different now, because they were talking about something that Sam couldn’t even be forgiven for. He was disgusting. All the ‘sorry’s could pour out of his mouth and his brother would accept none of them, convinced it wasn’t his fault. But it was.
This wasn’t a case, where he could mess up and Dean would patch him up with a soft kiss on his head, putting him to bed and telling him that mistakes are okay, as long as you learn from them. This was bad, scary, awful, and all the other similar words above.
“uhm.. I told him he could.”
“You told him.”
well..
“..I nodded when he asked.”
Dean looked away for the first time in a long time, dragging his hands over his face. Like he was annoyed. At Sam. Because Sam couldn’t even do sex right. “Did you wanna do it?” He asked, palms still covering his face and muffling his words. “Did you want him to..” He made a gesture with his hand and added a little frown to it. “whatever he did?” He returned his gaze to Sam.
He thought about it. No. He didn’t want Mike to do that. But he wanted it generally. With someone who had a similar attitude, similar jacket, similar hair. But he was nothing compared to Dean. He had no freckles that showed just a little bit extra in the hot summer mornings, he didn’t have the little spot under his jaw where Sam’s head fit perfectly, there was no wooden smell mixed with hamburger following him around wherever he went, he just wasn’t the same. Sam realizes that now, years after giving his body up to something that he thought would calm the wrong and burdening thoughts about his fucking brother.
“Kinda?” He mumbled, unsure whether he should be honest or not. Well, Dean would probably find out anyway, so fuck it. Honesty it is. To a certain degree.
“Kinda?? Sammy, what’d you mean? ‘N you gotta be honest here, man.”
Fuuuuckkk.. he was not sober enough for this conversation.
“He looked like, uhm.. this other guy that-” Deep breath. “That I really really like. And I'd maybe let him do it, but he never will, so uhm.. Mike it was. But it didn’t feel good or anythin’ so I guess I can just forget about it.” He lifted his head to check for the horrified look on Dean’s face, but the man seemed unphased, waiting for Sam to say something more.
“Are people always mean in bed? To you too?” The words blurted out. Fuckass alcohol.
“Uh.. some. I guess it’s about preferences if they got a kink or somethin’.. what’d he say?”
At least he didn’t mention Sam’s so-called ‘crush’.
“He said my skin was ugly and that he didn’t like how deep my voice was getting.”
Dean hesitated, then brought his hand up to Sam’s cheek. He had to turn a little so it’d be more comfortable, and finally decided to just lay down on his side, propping his elbow on his hip. “Your skin is nice, Sammy. A-and your voice too of course.” It was barely a whisper but Sam heard it. Sam always listened to what Dean wanted to say.
“No.. not that skin. Not my face.”
“Huh?”
ARGHHH. Did he always have to fuck himself over? It’d be easier if he just shut up, didn’t show or tell Dean anything about it. But that jerk will find out anyways, he always does. So, with shaky hands, he started un-buckling his pants. Dean lowered the hand he’d put on Sam’s cheek, putting it down to lift himself up into a more sitting position than the slumpy half-sit-half-laying-down pose he was in previously.
“Woahh Sammy, at least buy me din-” His eyes widened as Sam pulled his pants to his knees, revealing the lines of scarred skin, something he had hid since it began.
He didn’t want anybody to know, he’s not a baby who can’t deal with it himself. But.. there was some strange feeling buried deep in his chest, almost like a relief that he could finally talk about it. “How’d the vampire get you there? And why are they so.. cleanly done?” There was genuine confusion in his voice as he referred to their most recent case. Did Dean seriously have no idea what self-harm was?
“It wasn’t the vampire.” He replied.
“Which monster then?”
“Not a monster, Dean.”
“Someone at school draggin’ your pants down?”
“No, no one else did.. this.”
“No one else? You mean you- you did that shit to yourself?” Rough and caring, two words very opposite but fit together anyway. That was the voice he heard. It was scary. Maybe Dean would make him show him how he did it, make him cut himself in front of him. He’d heard of people who had experienced that stuff when people they knew found out about it.
But Sam nodded anyway, what else was there to do?
At that moment, he felt something. A little prickle in his eyes letting him know that he was about to cry. But the second he felt fingers on his thigh, it was over. No tears were gonna fall from his face, he’s Sam Fucking Winchester and he will never, ever cry over some stupid problem he had. Especially not when he has his brother right by him the whole time. His brother who was tracing his scars, touching them gently with the tip of his fingers as if they could fall apart if anything rough was to come near.
‘What’re u doin’, Dean?’ He tried saying. But nothing came out, all he did was stare where Dean’s fingers were drawing up and down the lines of repaired skin. He whispered something then, just a little too softly for Sam’s ears to pick it up.
“Hm?” It was merely a sound. Apparently this was a quiet conversation.
“You. It’s not- just, you’re. goddammit.” Dean sighed, gaze flicking up to Sam’s.
“What the guy said.. it ain’t true, Sammy. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous. And.. your scars too.” His eyes were pleading like he meant it to be sweet and didn’t want Sam to see it as anything else. He didn’t. Sam thought it was nice, so so much more than nice, actually, being called gorgeous by the boy he loves the most in the whole wide world. He’s sure nothing could ever top that. Well, maybe a kiss.. but he’ll take what he can get and this is possibly the most vulnerable talk they’ve had in months.
“Really?” Sam’s hand reached out to Dean, he needed to feel him like Dean was feeling Sam. Wanted, no, had to feel his growing biceps underneath his palm, knowing he would have to look at them a bit more some time to really get used to how big Dean was becoming. He wasn’t a little kid anymore like Sam, he was bold and brave and every single fucking thing you could ever want in a guy. Plus, a little oblivious.
The tip of his fingers finally got to those beautiful arms, marvelling at them and just taking in how handsome his brother was. How handsome, adorable, and beautiful he was. God, was he beautiful.
“Yeah.” Dean shifted a little, pulling himself lower and lower until he was at eye-level with Sam’s thighs. Sam felt himself getting hard, having his brother so close. But it wasn’t in a ‘I wanna fuck you omg ur so hot daddy i need your big sexy cock!!’ kinda way, it was more like a ‘my soul yearns for your love, and my body is willing to show it to you, so would you please care for me as I come from the simple touch of our skin together, making myself more vulnerable than I have ever been with anyone else?’ Type of feeling.
A kiss. Then another kiss. Both planted on the same scar. It was a soft gesture, as careful as it could get. Sam squeezed where he was still holding Dean’s arm, not letting go of the feeling that they’re both there, together.
Neither of them dared to speak, until Sam made a sound unbelievably close to a moan when he felt Dean’s tongue lapping at his skin, hungry. “Ah, fuck- sorry..” He whispered, ashamed of the sounds Dean managed to pull out of him.
“ ‘s okay Sammy.” Dean’s voice was slurred like he was drunk on the taste of Sam’s skin. A couple more licks and kisses, until Dean stopped, giving one small kiss on the only scar the hadn’t yet gotten his lips on.
“Uh.. you feelin’ better?” He asked.
“Mhmm.. much bett’r.
And just like that, they fell asleep, Sam cradling Dean who had propped his head onto Sam’s hip. It was perfect.
So fucking perfect…