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It's spring 1991. Sam and Dean are on their way home from school in New Orleans, Louisiana. The magnolias are in full bloom, and the bright April sun shines down a furious heat upon them. The humidity makes their palms sticky, clenched tightly as they are in the other boy’s grasp. The smaller boy shakes his bangs from his eyes before looking up at his older brother, cheeks pink as the flower bushes they walk past from exertion as he starts to say,
“There’s a snow-cone stand three blocks away. I was wondering if maybe..” he leaves the sentence hanging, pulling his plush pink lip between his teeth in lieu of finishing the thought. It’s clear anyway.
Dean grimaces sympathetically as he considers the nine dollars and eighty-two cents he has to get them through the rest of the week, before squeezing his little brother’s hand and shaking his head sadly. “I’m sorry buddy. Not this time.”
At nine, Sam can handle ‘no’ well, and only scrunches his eyebrows in disappointment before replying, “Okay,” and hiding behind his bangs once more.
Dean looks away too, heart aching at the sight of his disenheartened brother.
12 Days later, It’s a random day in April and Sam and Dean are staying in a rotting cabin a five minute walk from the most beautiful swamp Dean has ever seen. Their Dad is away on a case, so no one was around to stop Dean from swiping two popsicles from the gas station two miles up the road last night, and no one is around now to stop Sam and Dean from racing to the swamp, whoops and cheers of excitement coming from the two small boys as they skip and trip and run to the body of water. They’ve got nothing on them but the clothes on their back and the backpack Dean’s carrying with nothing in it but two popsicles squished between two bags of frozen peas. There’s nothing else they could need.
Sam beats Dean to the lake, a rare victory that he celebrates joyously, whopping and hollering and dancing around gleefully in the high flowers ringing the clearing as Dean jogs the last few steps to catch up.
Once standing beside his brother, the older boy takes his hand and leads him into the clearing. They step together over a fallen log, Dean lending a hand for Sammy to leap over the log nearly on his own before Dean graciously follows, ever the skilled hunter. They trek a few more feet into the slight clearing, finding a spot shaded almost entirely by the clusters of leaves growing high in the tree tops, the only spots of sun the outlines of the leaves in the glorious daylight.
Dean sits first, dragging Sam to join him on the ground only two feet away from the water’s edge. Close enough for the boys to take off their shoes and let their feet soak. As Sammy is taking off his shoes to do just this, Dean pulls the backpack from his back and reveals his surprise.
Sam squeals, delight instantly lighting up his face as he takes in the two white paper wrapped sticks Dean pulls from the bag. When Dean goes to hand it to him, Sam’s hands shoot straight past it, and instead wrapping around Dean’s torso and squeezing so tight the older boy can barely breath. “Thank you thank you thank you,” the small boy says, the words stated in such rapid succession they would be unintelligible if not for Dean’s degree in Baby-brother-speak.
He takes the hug graciously and smiles down at the sweet thing, offering a kind “You’re welcome,” as well as the icebar when the hug starts to get too warm for his taste. Sam takes it happily, ripping the paper from the bar so fast Dean is afraid he may lose his popsicle in the same breath, but, thankfully, all remains in place ‘cept for the wrapper, which lies discarded on the soft grass underneath them.
Dean watches the younger boy closely, pulling his treat from its plastic confines with far less urgency than Sam had. Sam, who is currently biting the head off of his popsicle and moaning in delight at the cool feel of it on his tongue. He grins widely at Dean when he catches the older boy staring, entirely unperturbed by his brother’s weird behavior. His eyes are closed in delight before Dean can even muster up a smile back, but it’s of no offense to the bigger boy. He loves to be able to watch his brother so intently without a care in the world. If they were ever around anyone else, Dean would get looks and remarks tossed his way for the stare down he’s giving his brother now, but Sam only basks in the warmth of his brother’s gaze and enjoys the cool popsicle on his tongue.
The sun shines down on them in glittery bits through the broken spaces of the tree’s leaves high in the sky. They cast freckles across Sam’s warm skin that Dean wants to lean forward and trace with his fingertips. Sam is licking at the remainder of his popsicle now, the Louisiana sun melting the golden liquid and sending it dripping down his wrists and mouth in the smallest of streams. Dean can’t take his eyes off that mouth. Pink and delicate as a flower, untouched by the sins of the world and now covered in cherry juice. It’s delectable. Dean has never craved something so much, and he only half understands what he wants now.
Dean sucks on his own treat passively as he watches Sam, who now has only about a third of his own popsicle remaining. Dean chomps down on his blue raspberry popsicle, feeling slightly left behind by his brother’s scramble to suck down his own icebar as fast as possible.
Sam is finished by the time Dean is halfway down his popsicle, twiddling the stick idly in his thumbs while Dean rushes to finish the rest of his own. It still takes him several minutes, and he even ends up passing it to Sammy a few times just to be nice, but eventually the icebar is demolished and both wooden sticks are tossed into the lake. The beavers will appreciate ‘em, Dean thinks.
He looks over to Sam, who is a disgusting sticky mess, and something takes over his body. He leans forward, cheeks starting to heat in subconsciousness when Sam’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion; but he doesn’t stop.
“Let me just- you have,, uhm.. “ Dean's heart is beating so hard he can barely hear the half assed excuse forcing its way out of his mouth as he takes his little brother’s chin in hand and drags their faces close together. Sam doesn't say anything, eyes wide as saucers and cheeks rapidly pinkening under Dean’s gaze. Dean’s tongue peaks from between his lips and he turns Sam’s face barely an inch before bringing it to sticky, baby soft skin and licking a stripe up to the side of his mouth. It tastes like cherries and SamSamSAM and Dean feels a noise he’s never made before get clogged in his chest. He licks once more, to the right of the previous spot, just as slowly. This time his tongue touches Sam’s bottom lip and they both pull back, gasping. Dean can’t see himself but he knows his expression must match the wild one his little brother is making right now.
Dean doesn’t move forward again, afraid that the spell has been broken by his reckless action, but Sam doesn’t seem perturbed. Whatever it was that made him gasp wasn’t enough to stop him from leaning back into his brother’s touch, eyelids dropped to stare at his blue lips and avoid his bright eyes.
So, with a trembling hand he grasps his brother’s chin once more; and, this time, scoots his whole body forward rather than just his face. He tips their foreheads together and licks rapturously at his brother’s sticky chin and mouth; licking full stripes over his lips now, shame turned to ash in the fire burning through him.
Sam gasps the third time Dean licks over his mouth, and, for the briefest moment, Dean touches the gates of Paradise. He licks into Sam’s mouth, entire body shaking as his baby brother timidly parts his lips and touches his tongue to Dean’s. It’s the best thing Dean’s ever experienced.
He pulls back, out of breath and so full of emotion his entire body quakes with it. Both boys keep their eyes closed tight, terrified of the other’s expression, as they pant into each other’s mouths. Dean lets go of Sam’s chin at some point and tenderly lifts his left hand from where it was clutching his big brother’s bicep. He begins to lick up the lifeline on the boy's wrist, eyes slanting open to gauge Sam’s expression and finding the little thing red as his former cherry popsicle had been. It calms Dean down and sets off the butterflies in his stomach all the same.
Sam's eyes remain closed while Dean cleans his left wrist and hand, the little thing shaking all the way down to his fingertips by the time Dean is licking a stripe into the center of his palm. The older boy continues up his hand and descends upon his fingers, taking first the pinky into his mouth and sucking it clean, then the ring finger, and so on. Sam makes the noise he made when he first began eating his popsicle when his eyes peek open on the second hand to see Dean sucking his middle finger down, eyes on Sam’s face all the while. Dean’s eyes go wide as baseballs when it happens, but he doesn’t stop for a moment. He just stares Sam in the face and sucks him clean digit by digit.
The right hand is just as rapturous an experience. Sam actually holds it up for Dean to take, eyes open now but avoiding their brother’s like the plague. Dean starts with the back of the hand this time, licking and kissing over the delicate skin before flicking his tongue into the crevices between each little finger.
He takes them into his mouth two at a time now, tongue flitting between the digits inside his mouth while he suctions them clean. Sam won’t stop shifting in place, little legs squeezing and squeezing over and over again as Dean licks him clean. Dean isn’t ignorant to this, but he pretends to be.
He sucks Sam’s thumb clean last, reaching out with the hand not clenching his brother’s wrist to turn his face towards his own. Sam’s eyes go so wide they look able to pop, and his blush reintroduces itself loudly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he bites his lip and curls his thumb, pushing down on Dean’s tongue ever so slightly.
It shocks the older boy, Dean having been the only real active participant up until that point. His eyes go wide, and his lips part upon his brother’s demand. Slowly, it traces over his bottom lip and eventually pulls out entirely, replaced instantly by Sam’s mouth.
Dean gasps. Heart thundering in his chest as Sam messily kisses and kicks at his slack lips. He sucks Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue peaking shyly through to lick it clean before biting it in goodbye. He licks into Dean’s mouth after that, tongue exploring the crevice worshipfully. The back of his teeth, the bottom of his tongue, the insides of his cheeks. It all gets explored by Sam’s hot mouth, no rock going unturned in the exploration of his big brother’s mouth.
Eventually, the little thing pulls back, eyes wide and face pink; timidly murmuring something about Dean’s face being sticky too. Dean only nods his head shakily in agreement, eyes anywhere but his little brother.
They leave the swamp pretty soon after that, the walk home deadly silent but less awkward than Dean expected it to be. They walk hand in hand, just like always and make it home well before dark, thankfully.