Pre-series...Sam/Dean...Slash/Wincest


Dean groaned to himself as he walked into the room. Sam was doing it again. He was reading, and it made Dean slump against the doorjamb and close his eyes, swallowing hard. Because, Sam had a way of reading that made his brother go warm and his body react in ways he knew it shouldn't.

Sam had finally gotten to an age where his body was catching up to his height. Gone was the gangly youth who was uncomfortable in his own skin, falling over his own feet from the most resent growth spurt. Sam had begun to 'fill out', becoming a lean, lithe figure that had made his brother notice. Now he was reading again.

Seldom being able to get comfortable on any of the aged and dented sofas, ubiquitous with the rentals they occupied, having become too tall, Sam had taken to stretching out on the floor. Dean could not help but let his gaze wonder over the frame spread out before him, from the feet, in worn pumps crossed at the ankles, all along the length of those legs, up to that butt hidden in the baggy worn denim. There was a dimple in the hollow of his back visible where the faded navy t-shirt had rucked up to expose just a glimpse of smooth flesh. It made Dean want to taste it.

Leaning up on bent arms, Sam was oblivious to Dean's presence. His right foot was tapping repeatedly as he turned another page, all his attention on the book open on the floor before him. Dean could not see from his vantage point but could imagine as those long fingers held, then slid over the paper just before the page was turned. But his attention came back to that hollow.

Shifting from foot to foot, Dean ran a hand through his hair as his eyes caressed that place where the too large waistband rose up to let him see just the beginning of the divide of Sam's ass. He licked his lips imagining crawling up those legs, his hands and knees moving slowly, ever closer to being able to dip the tip of his tongue into a dimple, then catch up the skin between in his lips as he moved to lick the mirrored one.

Dean knew he had a serious problem. It was not as if he had gone out of his way to have sexual feelings about his younger brother, he had not decided to 'perv' after the teenager, it had just happened gradually over the last few months as little Sammy had suddenly 'grown up'.

Seeing someone every day was a little like seeing changes in yourself, they were gradual and could go unnoticed for long stretches of time. That had happened with his brother. Until that morning, when Dean had walked into the kitchen just as his brother, who was leaning into the refrigerator in nothing but a pair of faded jeans, had stood up and yawning, stretched his arms high tensing up onto tiptoes then 'fallen' back to his feet.

Dean had been mesmerised by the play of muscles across the naked back and caught by that dip at the bottom on his spine as it lifted from beneath the waist on the ill fitting jeans. It had been as simple as that, as quick as that.

Sam had turned around, milk carton in hand and, on seeing Dean, smiled. It was at that moment Dean thought that he had fallen in love with him. He had been stood there suddenly overwhelmed by an attraction which was stirring up feelings of lust, but it had been that smile that had undone him.

If Sam had not smiled it might have been easier. Dean could have just realised that his baby brother was growing up and then, if he had still felt that slight arousal, he could have gone out and found someone to use it on. But Sam had smiled at him and it was such a glorious smile, a private smile, that was for Dean only. It was a smile of home and family, friendship and joy. And it had made his brother's face beautiful.

Dean had smiled back. Then, on an impulse to move over to him and reach out a hand to touch that face, cradle that face and run his thumb across that mouth, he had left asking himself, 'just what the fuck was he thinking?', just what the fuck was wrong with him?

He had his answer now. He was, basically, fucked. He was in love with his brother and he wanted him. Every time he saw him, Sam seemed to be doing something that would make Dean go warm, would make him shift as his jeans, already tight, became constricted. Dean was only just heading out of teenage years himself and he found near everything Sam did 'turned him on'.

Especially reading. Because Sam did not just read, he got absorbed and that left Dean free to watch him for long stretches of time.

He loved the way that leaning up on bent elbows, his arms crossed under his chest, forced Sam's shoulders up which in turn made that hollow in his back prominent and his butt push up. He wanted nothing more than to be able to sit on the floor next to him and idly let his fingers caress that exposed lower back. He sighed.

It must have been loud in the room as Sam's head jerked to the left and, on seeing Dean, rolled onto his side leaning head in hand. "Hey."

"Hey."

"What you doing?"

"Watching you." and Dean could have quite easily hit himself in the head.

"Okay," puzzled but slightly amused. "Why?" Dean had been acting weird lately, often just disappearing suddenly, so it was a nice change for him to be hanging around. Sam missed him.

Crap! "What'ya reading?" pushing away from the door frame and, hands in pockets, moving slowly towards his brother.

"Steinbeck," marking his place with a finger.

"Oh." As Dean hesitated, then sank to sit cross legged next to his brother but moving his hands to his lap. "You should read something newer. Stephen king or something."

"When I read, I want to escape. I don't want something that's like 'what I did in my summer vacation'." Laughing lightly, showing Dean his other dimples.

Dean smiled, almost sheepishly, watching as his fingers nervously picked at each other. He was sure he could smell Sam. A good smell. "Speaking of which. You up for some fight practice?" maybe then he could burn off some of this nervous energy, and get to touch Sam without feeling guilty about it.

His brother let out a groan and rolled onto his back, arms over his face. "Do we have to? It's freezing out there." It was only warm in here because Dean had 'fixed' the meter.

"Guess not. I'll leave you to it." And moved to get up.

"Can't you stay? Talk to me?" uncovering his face, letting his arms flop to the floor over his head.

Dean settled back smiling. "Sure." And looked at Sam, really looked at him, seeing him relaxed with his head turned towards him just waiting. He wasn't often like this anymore, so calm. Sam always looked like he had things on his mind and often not pleasant things. He would get an expression that made him seem older than he was, world weary.

His 'little' brother should be thinking about girls and playing hooky, not about the best way to kill the monster of the week or how to patch up a knife wound or claw marks. He should be out too late with his friends getting yelled at by Dad because he missed another curfew. But he did not seem to have any friends and that made Dean sad for him.

Growing up, Sam had always been able to make friends, much better than himself, but Dean had only been interested in making girlfriends, 'making out' with girlfriends. He laughed, "Well? What do you want to talk about?"

Sam just shrugged and closed his eyes.

Dean waited, turning slightly, and let his eyes travel over the figure next to him. The old t-shirt was stretched tight across Sam's chest being too small now and Dean thought about getting him some new ones before his brother started wearing his clothes again. He was desperately not thinking about that line of dark hairs descending from the exposed navel atop the taut belly, skin so pale and blemish free, wondering if they would be soft or coarse on his lips. What the skin would taste like on his tongue.

"Dean?"

"Umm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." His eyes not moving.

"You won't laugh?"

"Oh, I'm sure I will." Grinning, finally dragging his eyes away to gaze at his brother's face.

"Nevermind then." Sounding dejected.

"Just messin'. Course I won't. What is it?" and seeing the uncertainty clouding Sam's face, moved and stretched out beside him on the floor mirroring his posture, but with arms crossed under his head. Maybe if he wasn't looking at him, Sam would feel more comfortable asking whatever was eating at his mind now.

In a hesitant voice, Sam asked, "When did you first do, It?"

Oh, it was going to be one of those conversations because it was obviously the 'It' he meant. Well, he could deal with that.

"You not done 'it' yet?" kind of surprised but then, this was Sammy, 'always got a book in his hand' Sammy.

There was no answer. Turning his head towards his brother, Dean told him, "Just turned fifteen. Not much younger than you are now."

"Right. I'm sixteen. Be seventeen soon." sounding morose.

"Sammy. It's not a race."

Silence then, "Did you love her?"

"For about a week."

"Why only a week?"

"That's how long it took for her to give it up."

"Dean!"

"What? You asked." Rolling onto his side, facing his brother. Head propped in hand, he asked, "Is there someone you like, some girl at school maybe?" And saw the blush. It warmed up Sam's skin, giving him a flushed appearance, his eyes downcast. Dean felt a stabbing in his gut as he realised he was jealous. He wanted to put that rose bloom on his brother's face. He wanted to be the cause of his heated flesh.

He had a sudden vision then of what his brother could look like as he came and he wanted more than anything to see it. He pulled his shirt closed over his hip, surreptitiously covering the bulge. "So there is someone." hoping the sudden disappointment had not made it to his voice.

Sam also rolled onto his side, this time he mirrored his brother, but could not look at him. He wished he had not said anything now. It was so embarrassing, but he did like someone and did not know what to do. She was so out of his league and he needed help, advise and Dean had them all falling at his feet, throwing themselves at him. And he in turn, used them and threw them back.

He had to admire Dean in that sort of hero worship way that teenage boys had for others who 'got it' all the time, but Sam already knew he was not like his brother. Not only was he not a 'babe magnet', he wanted more. Sure he would not turn down the chance of sex, he was alive and male after all, but he hankered for a relationship.

He liked this girl, a lot, and he wanted to date. He wanted to take her out, to go to the cinema, go dancing, to go to a restaurant. But there were two major problems. One, she hardly knew he existed and two, she was rich. Well, not dripping in diamonds rich, but her family was well off and, if Sam ever did find the courage to ask her out, he could only spring for a pizza and coke and that was pushing it.

And then there was her brother. A third problem. Twins, they were always together and the odd times he had managed to talk to Stacey her brother, Thomas had turned up. Where as Stacey was all curves and soft white skin, Thomas was all hard muscle and angled with that bronzed completion from being out on the sports field all the time. He could see it now, glowing, marred only by the odd mole and freckle. He liked his face, liked it a lot, but wished the odd freckle was in abundance. He liked freckles. If he had his way, Thomas would have more, just like Dean. He loved Dean's freckles but then again, he loved Dean.

He groaned to himself. He was an unattractive boy who was attracted to three people and could have none of them. His life sucked. And that was without the things that go bump in the dark that could kill you.

He thought about Stacey. She was, after all, the safest route to be going down. And he did like her, he liked her laugh and he liked the curves and soft white skin. He looked up at Dean's surprisingly patient expression, then back to the floor between them. "Stacey." He finally admitted.

A picture conjured itself in Dean's mind. Stacey. He saw lipstick and handbags and high heels and a giggling blond High School girl who had moved from dressing up dolls to dressing up herself and other equally vapid girls. So not what he went for. Still she could be the school slut but, looking at and considering Sam, he doubted it. Wait. A math geek. Better, but whoever she was, she was not good enough for his brother. But if Sam liked her? "So what's the problem?"

Sam looked at him sharply. "Who said there's a problem?"

"You did." Laughing lightly.

"No, I didn't." sure that he hadn't.

"Well, you've not nailed her yet have you?"

"No!" shocked, but this was Dean he was talking to.

"So what's the problem?"

"Me."

"What do'ya mean?" surprised. He'd thought she must already have a boyfriend or something.

"She's beautiful and popular and rich and I'm just me."

"And just what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sam looked up, taken aback by the anger in his brother's voice. "She's beautiful."

"And you're not?" still angry.

"No." resigned.

Dean had never had teenage insecurity. He had grown up knowing he was good looking. He had been receiving praise for his looks for as long as he could remember. Sure it had started with 'oh how cute' and 'aren't you just perfect' to surreptitious glances, appraising glances and then blatant ones. Even some of their Dad's hunting 'buddies' had changed the way they regarded him after he hit puberty. He was used to it. Hell he traded on it.

Sam seemed not to realise how damned 'hot' he was. His looks, so different to his brother, had their own genuine appeal and, although Dean had garnered most of the attention as they grew, he was not blind to the way people had begun to look at his brother. Not now he had to stop himself from blatantly doing the same.

He wanted to tell Sam just how beautiful he was but figured he would not believe him. When Sam had a set idea, it was damned hard to dissuade him from it. He placed gentle fingers on his brother's jaw, lifting his head. He wanted to show him how attractive he was but instead said, "But you sure is real pruid-dy boy." In that hillbilly, inbred kind of voice.

Sam laughed, he couldn't help it. "Jerk."

"Bitch" and smiled, relieved. "Sam. You are a good looking boy. You're tall," understatement, "slim and your face isn't too bad." Grinning, "Not half as good looking as me but hey, you're not bad." 'You're beautiful' he thought.

Perhaps Sam believed him a little as he blushed again, and Dean felt so good. He let his fingers stroke Sam's cheek, and his brother let him. He did not want to add, but thought it was his big brother duty, "You should just ask her out."

"But I've got no money."

"I can give you a twenty."

"Thanks, but…"

"But what?" it was like getting blood from the proverbial stone these days getting anything out of his brother. Patience, he told himself, after all he had spent most of his own teenage years trying to get little Sammy to shut up.

"Nothing." Sighing dejectedly, wondering how long Dean would continue to push his hair behind his ear if he told him about wanting to ask Thomas out and not Stacey.

"Just talk to me, Sam." It was a rare moment, but he really wanted to know what was on his brother's mind. He didn't push, just left the moment silent as he watched Sam's face while he continued to smooth that too long hair away from his face.

Thinking about the twins, Sam did like them both, his mind settled on wanting to know if Thomas' butt was as firm as it looked in those football leggings. Damn, he had the 'hots' for a school 'jock'. He groaned, he had the hots for a High School jock who reminded him of his brother. The same brother, who was now stretched out next to him, so close.

He shifted just a little closer, and spoke quickly before he changed his mind. "Say I do ask her out and I don't get laughed at and she says yes and we go out and I don't embarrass myself because I'm not a jock and he doesn't hit me for asking and he does like me too what am I supposed to do as I've never really kissed anyone 'ceptin that girl at the last school but she was the class slut and it was horrible and I want to be good and I want to know what to do but should I kiss him or do I let him kiss me cause he's bound to have more experience cause of what he is every one likes him and he'd be able to have anyone and I don't know why he's not with all the cheerleaders that are always hanging around but he's always with Stacey and every time I see her I want to touch her and then there's him and and life sucks and I want to be older so I know what to do but if I was I wouldn't be in school and then ….Fuck!" and he sort of collapsed down half on Dean, his forehead buried in the elbow of the arm holding his brother's head up.

Dean's head was spinning. Who was the more confused, him or his brother? He put his free hand on Sam's back as he tried to digest what he had just heard. So did Sam want to ask out a girl named Stacey or a boy named, Stacey? Or was she a cheerleader dating a jock or was it the jock or…?

"Sam? Do like boys?" and his brother just groaned, pushing his face further into the crook of Dean's elbow as his body tensed then relaxed heavily onto him. Dean was feeling several things at the moment. Confusion high on the list, but a kind of hope because if Sam did go both ways? and the way he was half lying on him now was doing all sorts of things to Dean.

"Sam?"

But Sam was mortified that he had let all of that out, and the only place he could hide right now was here, because if he tried to get up, Dean might see what a freak he was. Because although he had, he had not really been talking about Stacey or Thomas but Dean. He was so worried that if Dean knew what was happening right now to Sam, lying so close to him, he would knock him into next week.

"Sam?" and Dean shook his brother with the hand on his back then moved to push at his hip rolling him, with some effort, onto his back. "Sam, look at me." as his brother just lay there acting dead with his eyes shut. He lent up, crowding over him, and moved his hand to Sam's face once more. "Damn it. Open your eyes and look at Me." and he did.

Sam looked up at Dean, and Dean's breath fled.

An instant, one glance and that's all it took for Dean to forget that they were talking about someone else, to forget that this was his brother, to forget that this was something he knew he should not do. He rolled over to lie atop of Sam and, gazing into those wide open, beseeching hazel eyes, he was kissing him.

Dean was on top of him. Dean was kissing him. It was fast and passionate and so fucking fantastic as his brother's lips forced his own open. Sam's whole body rose up against the bulkier one pinning him down. As a hot tongue surged into his mouth, he moaned out and held on for dear life, his arms encircling Dean's back, his hands grasping through the fabric as he opened his mouth wider, his own tongue finding his brother's.

Thoughts of not knowing what to do fled as he was swept up in the feeling of Dean's hands holding his shoulders, of his body moving on his. He forced his legs apart, out from under his brother, bending his knees, bringing them up high as Dean began to slowly, shallowly grind against him.

What the fuck was he doing? Dean's mind was screaming at him to stop but was drowned out by his body moving, pushing his, so hard prick, against Sam. His brother, Sam, who was pushing up against him, who was wrapped around him. He could feel those long fingers digging into his shoulder blades pulling him down, caught up in the rhythm as Dean ground against the prick he could feel growing hard beneath him.

Sam's mouth was pure nectar. He tasted pure, sweet and the knowledge that Sam had never been kissed like this, had never kissed like this, just fuelled his lust, ardour, whatever. He wanted it all, could not get enough of the heat around his tongue or Sam's tongue meeting his, his teeth scraping against his tongue as he licked around them. He pulled back wanting to feel naked skin against his demanding prick, but still could not give up that mouth, licking, sucking, causing Sam to make noises that should be obscene on someone so young.

Struggling, Dean finally managed to get his jeans undone and pushed down around his hips, his prick springing free to lie against his belly and rub on the so coarse denim of his brother's pants. Sam's hands were on the bare skin of his hips and it just made him frantic to get at him. He fumbled with the fastening then, in frustration, with a snarl, knelt back, grabbing the waist of the baggy jeans and boxers and just pulled downwards.

Sam thrust his hips up off the floor, all the time staring at Dean's face. He had never seen it like this before, the eyes dark and hooded, his face flushed and determined. His jeans were stripped to his ankles and he reached up for Dean as his brother once more covered him, that prick that looked so angry in his brief glimpse, sliding in next to his own.

Sam let out a startled yelp swallowed as Dean once more claimed that mouth, swollen now from the pressure of his lips. He moved on him, his whole body burning from the friction of his cock rubbing against his brother's. Sam's slimmer body was pushing up against his own, their rhythm together frantic, quickening and Dean knew, peaking.

One arm wrapped around Sam's shoulders, he pulled him against himself, his tongue submerged in that blessed heat as his left hand spread against the floor. He ground against him harder, pushing against Sam who was pushing up from the floor. He was so close. He ripped his mouth from Sam's and pushed his face hard into his brother's neck.

The gasp Sam let out was so loud he thought the windows should shake. His legs either side of Dean were bent tight, his knees in the air, his feet caught by his pants. He wanted to hold on, wanted to wait for Dean but he couldn't. He thrust up and almost screamed as his first ever orgasm by other than his own hand caused his whole body to spasm, hot streaks of cum burning his belly and he held on as Dean's mouth spread on the side of his neck.

The cum seemed to burn between them as Dean's prick slid through it, pushing against Sam's quivering belly, his hip grinding still into the join of leg and body. Dean bit down on Sam's neck and shoulder as he too shuddered, giving his cum to mix with Sam's as he moved, once, twice, empting completely then collapsed down onto his fucking, beautiful, fantastic, brother.

Damn, Dean was heavy, but Sam would not have him move for the world. He breathed in as deeply as he could, his rising chest causing Dean to shift to the side then settle once more. He lay there, his legs relaxed but spread, his ankles still caught by his jeans under Dean. He bit his lips, desperately trying not to laugh but he felt so fantastic, and knackered. He felt fucked. He giggled, there was no over word for it.

"Wha…?" Dean lifted up looking at Sam's face wanting to know what was so damned funny, but he saw a kind of joy. He fell back rolling off Sam, turning his head to look at him and grinned. Then Sam rolled over onto him, to look down into his face. "Hey," he greeted. Not the most profound statement after just 'deflowering' your younger brother.

"Hey, yourself." And Sam lent down to kiss Dean's smiling, swollen mouth. It just looked so damn beautiful. Soft, slow, lingering, Sam explored the texture and taste of those lips that had been there his whole life but were so completely new. He slowly pushed his tongue up under Dean's top lip licking his teeth, licking the corner of his mouth before pushing inside.

Dean lay back, his hands loose on his chest and let Sam do as he would. And Sam seemed to want to taste. His mouth was everywhere. After his lips, his face, his throat, his neck was thoroughly explored, examined and tasted. Dean thought he would never, no matter how many other times, no matter how many other mouths, forget what it was like to be Sam's first experience. That surprisingly lush mouth on his nipple as hands pushed up his t-shirt. Fingers playing in the cum coated hairs on his belly, at the root of his prick. Those same fingers rolling his balls in their sack and that mouth, as it panted into his own as he slowly, so slowly jerked them off together.

They were a mess, faces slick with saliva and cum just like their bellies and stomachs. Muscles groaned and limbs ached, swollen lips and sucked up reddened skin. Nothing was said. No recriminations or doubts and no promises.

Dean was making his way slowly down Sam's side, his mouth nipping up skin, heading down intent on giving the seemingly insatiable teen his second ever blow job when Sam froze asking, "What was that?"

Dean listened and heard the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock on the front door. Fuck!

"Boys? I'm back. Anyone home?" John Winchester called out as he stripped off his jacket, dropping his duffle in the hall. "Hello?" as he moved into the living room, finding it empty save for one of Sam's ever present novels abandoned on the floor in front of the sofa.

tbc…