Part One

Sam followed the head of spiky, light-brown hair through the crowd as his schoolmate dodged between boys joking and jostling in the corridor and pushed his way out the doors at the end of the hall. The older boy was the only other American at the school and Sam wanted a chance to talk to someone who wasn't all about cricket and football. Especially when the British students were talking about soccer instead of actual football. Sam had seen the other boy around the campus quite a bit, though they were in different years. It was pretty much impossible not to notice Dean Winchester, his gorgeous face seemed unreal outside the pages of a fashion magazine, but Sam hadn't had the opportunity to do anything more than smile at his fellow countryman as he walked past. He was taking that opportunity into his own hands today as he tracked Dean's path around the side of the building.

Despite being slightly homesick, Sam was thrilled to have won a scholarship to the exclusive Winchester College in England. He knew that an education from one of the best schools in the UK would afford him far more possibilities for the future than a regular high school education in Lawrence, Kansas. He'd had several calls with his grandparents back home, but after a month away he was desperate for personal contact and conversation with someone who wouldn't constantly think up words for him to say so they could laugh at his accent.

He rounded the corner of the stone building and nearly walked into the boy he was tailing. Dean froze mid-way through lowering the lighter from his cigarette, then relaxed when he spotted Sam.

"Oh, hey. I thought I was busted just then. Glad it's just you. You out here to bum a fag?"

Sam sputtered and the Dean's eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth as he started to laugh heartily at Sam's shocked expression.

"British slang, dude. You're gonna have to get with the program. You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Smokes are called fags here." He waggled his packet of cigarettes at Sam, who took one awkwardly.

"How did you know I was from Kansas?" Sam asked as he stared down at the thin tube between his fingers, then back up at the other boy, who was even more handsome up close. Who had lips like that? He tried not to stare but couldn't help himself.

"Uh, I didn't, actually, but that's good to know, I guess. My dad is from there but I grew up all over the place. Dean Winchester," he announced as he lit Sam's cigarette, his green eyes fixed intently on Sam's.

"Sam Campbell," answered Sam and he held out his hand to shake Dean's as he took a deep drag, then doubled over coughing when the harsh smoke hit his lungs.

Dean regarded Sam with an amused expression on his face, the corners of his eyes creasing in amusement. "Not really a smoker, are you, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Sam coughed, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he leant against the stone wall. "I guess it's been a while and maybe these are different than American ones..."

Dean rolled his eyes but gave Sam a friendly grin. "Yeah. That's probably it." He took a drag then blew a few smoke rings, eyeing Sam with a cheeky 'check me out' expression as he sent a small ring through a larger one. "How'd you end up here, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," he repeated, with more emphasis in case Dean hadn't heard him the first time. "And I won a scholarship. You?"

"Ooh, brainy too. I'm here because of family connections. They like to have Winchesters attending Winchester, ya dig? My uncle is some sort of long lost relative of the Earl of Wiltshire or something. I tuned out once they started talking about all the various complicated connections. I'd been kinda, well, kicked out of every place they tried to send me back home. Apparently they have a hard time kicking out legacy students here, though.

"So, you gonna smoke that or just watch it burn?"

Sam looked to his hand and the lit cigarette, embarrassed, and took another tentative drag, causing the same coughing-fit reaction again.

"Here," Dean said, stepping into Sam's personal space as he took a long drag. The world around Sam melted away and he was suddenly aware of nothing but the plump, pink lips pursed around the cigarette and then leaning in to come to rest almost touching Sam's.

"You gotta open your mouth," Dean whispered, the movement of his lips brushing air across Sam's, and Sam obeyed without thinking, parting his pink bow as Dean exhaled the smoke into his open mouth.

The smoke was much gentler that time, moistened already by Dean's lungs and mouth. I'm breathing air that was inside Dean. Sam's brain stalled out on that thought and he almost reached forward the last couple millimetres to claim Dean's mouth in a kiss. Instead, he exhaled with a sigh, and Dean stepped back, a slight frown between his brows.

"So yeah," Dean said, scratching at the back of his hair as he took a final long drag and crushed the cigarette against the stone before putting the butt back in the pack. "I'd best get back inside. Professor Johnson-Smith has it in for me, and if I don't pass Physics, not even my last name is gonna keep me here."

"Oh, okay," Sam replied, still somewhat dazed from lack of oxygen and the moment of Dean's lips being so close to his. Finally his brain caught up with his ears and he blurted, "I'm pretty good at physics, so if you ever need any help. I know you're the year ahead of me, but I really am pretty good-"

"Really? Fuck, you're a lifesaver, man. That would be amazing. My room is 512; come up tonight after dinner?"

Dean was gripping his shoulders and looking so eagerly at Sam that he couldn't help but laugh. "Sure. Like seven o'clock?"

"Awesome." Dean gave Sam's hair a tousle as he walked away, chuckling at Sam's indignant squawk.

They met up in Dean's room to study and Sam walked Dean through the equations that had been giving him the most trouble. Dean looked incredulously at the younger boy, marveling at how easily the complicated principles seemed to Sam. By nine, they'd finished Dean's homework and settled in to watch a few episodes of The Simpsons on Dean's laptop.

Although they didn't share any classes, Sam and Dean fell into a rhythm of spending most evenings together either studying or just hanging out. They often went with a group of boys to the house one of Dean's classmates, Nathan Jones, a day student who lived off-campus with his older brother for a guardian. Dean's cool factor and Sam's novelty as an American brought him easily into the fold. The brother kept the fridge stocked with beer so long as the students left him cash to buy it. He spent most nights at his girlfriend's place across town, so the students used it as an unofficial clubhouse, drinking and playing video games or poker to blow off steam.

After a tough week of exams, Sam and Dean were over at Jones's place with the gang, unwinding and playing Halo. Sam was feeling relaxed and loose after a couple cans of beer and he was enjoying Dean sitting pressed up against him on the couch. Dean was often quite tactile but after a few drinks it was even more obvious and Sam wasn't sure how to interpret each time Dean punctuated a laugh with a hand to Sam's shoulder or thigh. They walked home at the end of the night with their arms around one another, laughing, stumbling, and belting out off-key Radiohead.

Dean was definitely a little worse for wear so Sam helped him to his room and into bed, pulling off his sneakers and jeans before tucking him in. Sam was pretty sure he felt Dean's lips brush against his throat as he helped arrange him on the pillows and it took a lot of willpower for Sam not to sneak a goodnight kiss from Dean's sleeping mouth. Sighing, Sam headed upstairs to his own room, and since his roommate had gone home for the weekend, Sam jerked off to the memory of Dean's arms around his neck and the fiery brand of Dean's lips on his skin.

As the term wore on, more often than not, they hung out together in Dean's room, since he didn't have to share with a roommate, unlike the younger students like Sam. They sprawled across his couch to read or study or watch videos on Dean's laptop. They talked a lot about what they missed about living in the US-Dean: decent burgers, for Sam: decent salads-and which things they actually preferred about living in England-easy access to beer and chocolate that didn't taste like wax. Some things, like calling Math 'Maths', they thought they'd never be able to get used to but it seemed like an okay trade-off.

Neither one of them had much family back home. Both boys had lost their mothers when they were young; Sam had grown up with his maternal grandparents, while Dean grew up with his Dad. Dean had been sent to the UK by a rich uncle he didn't know he had who decided to pay his way after he'd been kicked out of every school he'd attended in the US and his father had to go spend some time in prison (Long story, Sammy. I'll tell ya someday). The culture shock of school in England somehow snapped Dean out of his rebellious streak and he was doing better in his studies than he ever had. Being away from his father and the distractions that came from his father's nomadic lifestyle helped as well.

Sam wasn't entirely sure how to read Dean. He was really friendly and open, and he clearly wanted to spend time with Sam, but Sam couldn't tell if there was anything more there. They often sat with their knees touching while crammed into a booth at the diner they frequented when they needed a break from the dining hall. And when they were sprawled out on Dean's tiny couch, one of them often had his feet across the other's legs, and one incredibly memorable afternoon, Dean used Sam's lap as a cushion for his head as he read a novel for English Lit. Sam didn't get any real studying done that day, unless you counted the way he memorized the placement of the freckles dotting Dean's cheekbones and nose.

It had been months since Sam had left his boyfriend back in Kansas and he was lonely for touch beyond that of a buddy. He just couldn't tell if Dean was interested in him in a non-platonic way. Dean didn't talk about girls, but they were at an all-boys school, so there wasn't a lot of opportunity to meet them. He chatted and flirted with girls at the diner, but his behaviour was the same whether he was talking to a hottie his age or the 50-something waitress, and truthfully, it wasn't all that different than the way he talked to Sam.

They'd just finished up Dean's latest physics assignment when he slammed the book shut and opened his laptop. "I really need to blow off some steam," he said. "You wanna watch some porn?"

"Uh, okay," Sam replied. He'd only ever done this with his ex, Zach, and that had always ended with blowjobs. He and Dean hadn't so much as kissed; Sam didn't even know if Dean liked guys. Sam was completely confused but wasn't willing to say no to what might end up being something.

Dean hit play and the screen filled with images of a buxom brunette going down on a really well-hung guy. Straight, thought Sam. Shit. Well, at least the guy was in shape and not the hairy troll that often appeared in straight porn. Sam leaned back into the couch cushions and focused on the guy's nice cock and flat abs, trying to ignore all the hair flipping and over-the-top moans of the girl. Much to Sam's surprise, a few minutes in, the porn starlet slid a finger into the ass of the guy she was blowing, and Sam started to feel a sharp buzz of arousal.

Dean settled back into the couch, his knee falling against Sam's. Sam pressed back with the lightest touch, and though Dean didn't respond, he didn't pull away. Sam's heart started racing when Dean's hand fell to the space between their legs, then moved to Sam's thigh. He was almost afraid to breathe as he looked quickly over at Dean, who didn't react, his eyes forward on the movie. Sam's eyes snapped down as Dean's hand started slowly moving up Sam's thigh. Sam held his breath, not sure what to do, staring down at Dean's hand then looking over to Dean, who still hadn't moved. Just before his hand reached Sam's crotch, Dean grabbed Sam's closest hand and moved it into his lap.

Sam really felt like they should talk about this first, but then Dean's fingers brushed over his cock and he decided talking could be done another time. He fumbled with Dean's belt and fly and when he had them open, he traced the outline of Dean's cock through the cotton of his boxers. Dean sighed and pressed into Sam's hand while he reciprocated Sam's pressures with ones of his own.

When Dean's hand dipped beneath his underwear to grab Sam's cock, he whimpered. It had been too long since a hand other than his own had touched his dick, and he didn't want to shoot off too quickly. Dean made a thoughtful noise as he started stroking the full length of Sam's shaft but when Sam looked over at him, Dean's eyes remained resolutely forward, even when he tucked Sam's underwear under his balls, spat in his hand and started jacking Sam in earnest.

Sam mimicked the motion, using saliva and the small pulses of precome that were leaking from Dean's dick to slick his way. Sam kept his eyes cut to the side watching Dean's open mouth, the way the muscles in his throat and jaw clenched and released, listening to his ragged breath.

He was obsessed with the small grunts and moans leaking from Dean's parted lips. He wanted to press his own lips to Dean's so badly, wanted to swallow every sound that escaped, lick his way in and not come up for air until he'd memorized the internal topography of Dean's mouth.

Dean came first, spilling over Sam's hand and spraying up to leave small dots of moisture on his shirt. His lashes fluttered but he kept his eyes open and Sam alternated between staring at Dean's gorgeous O face and at his lovely flushed cock, still pulsing out small blurts of come as Sam worked him through the aftershocks. With those gorgeous images in his brain and Dean's hand working his cock, Sam came quickly after Dean, and as the last drops were wrung out of him by Dean's hand, Sam leant in to kiss his friend. Dean's lips were just as soft as Sam imagined, and although Dean tasted like cigarettes and Doritos, Sam thought it was the best thing ever. He was reveling in the feel of Dean against his own lips and tongue when he realized that Dean wasn't kissing him back.

Sam pulled away, confused and embarrassed. "That wasn't okay?"

"You kissed me," Dean breathed, eyes wide.

"Um, yeah," Sam responded. "I thought we were…You don't like kissing?"

"I've, um, never kissed, um, a guy. It's...it's kinda gay."

Sam started cackling with laughter until he saw the look on Dean's face. "You're not kidding!" He was still gasping a little for breath as he stared incredulously at Dean. "Holy fuck! You're not kidding. We just gave each other handjobs. Giving another guy a handjob is pretty fucking gay."

"That's...that's just a thing we do here. You'll notice there aren't exactly a lot of girls around."

Sam's heart dropped into his stomach and he felt sick. He knew he had get away from this ridiculous situation as fast as possible. He started looking around for something to clean himself up until he saw Dean pull off one sock and wipe his own belly. Sam did the same, suddenly realizing why he'd seen so many guys walking through the halls, smiling and wearing only one sock, being razzed and congratulated by other guys. It really was a thing that they did there.

He buttoned up, suddenly more confident than he'd been the entire three months he'd been at the school. He might have been out of his element. He was American. He was 16. He was gay. But he knew who he was and he was very comfortable with it. He wasn't trying to hide behind some sort of bizarre boarding school ritual. "I'm gonna go." Sam stated. "Clearly I misunderstood what was happening here. I'll see you around, Dean."

Sam closed the door on Dean's words of protest and was glad the hall was empty when he stalked to his room, soiled sock stuffed in his pocket. He was out of luck when he opened the door to discover his roommate sitting at his desk. Neville Rose looked Sam up and down and he gave an approving nod to Sam's missing footwear. "Nice job, Campbell. Didn't take you long to get with the program, did it? And with Winchester. He's a bit of a legend around here. Doesn't give it out to very many."

Sam huffed out a frustrated breath as he sat down on his bed and pulled off the other sock. "Yeah, well. Lucky me."

Neville gave Sam a pitying look. "Oh, man. You like him and you thought he liked you? I mean, he wouldn't have done it if he didn't like you, but you thought he liked you."

"Yep. Apparently I'm an idiot. Can't even find a boyfriend at an all-boys school." He grabbed his toiletries bag. "I'm going for a shower."