Title: Summer Heat [1/2]
Author: alakewood
Warnings: Wincest, underage (Sam's 16).
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1300+
Summary: It's more than the relentless summer heat that's got Sam all hot and bothered.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

oxoxo

Sam could feel the sweat trickle down his back as the afternoon sun beat down on him and Dean, the early August heat oppressive and stifling without the faintest breeze. He and his brother were sitting at the wooden picnic table behind their apartment complex, Dean teaching Sam the finer points of hustling poker. He'd been dealt his best hand yet – a pair of queens – and pushed his chips all-in, flipping his cards over, when the time came.

Dean turned over a jack and an ace and picked up the deck that had sat untouched at the edge of the table since Sam had dealt and, after wiping a few beads of perspiration from his hairline, laid down the flop. Jack. Seven. Ace.

Son of a bitch, Sam thought.

Dean smirked, laying down the turn: nine – not helpful at all. He quirked an eyebrow at his younger brother and pulled the final card from the deck. He placed the river on the table and the cocky grin on his face melted away. A queen.

Sam's grin was goofy, lop-sided. "Three of a kind trumps two pair, right?"

Dean shook his head, partly in disbelief that Sam had actually won and partly due to Sam's casual mingling of card-game terms. "Trip queens. You got me, Sammy. Remember: poker is a game of equal parts skill and luck. Dumb luck, in your case."

Sam snorted. "Maybe you're just not as skilled as you thought you were."

"I'm a man of many talents," Dean retorted, eyebrows raised.

Sam paused to think about that, then snorted again.

"One hand out of...how many? I'm sure if we'd really been keeping track of chips, you'd owe me...a lot. Cherry pie. A la mode. That should cover your debt."

"That's it?"

Dean shrugged a glistening, tan shoulder. "What can I say? I'm easy."

Sam couldn't suppress his laughter that time but fake-coughed in an attempt to cover it up. "Tell me something the entire county doesn't know."

Dean looked rather pleased as opposed to offended, which Sam had kind of been hoping for. "You're just jealous that I actually get laid. Pie and ice cream. Then I challenge you to a rematch."

Sam stood from the picnic table and combed the fingers of both hands through his hair, shoving it all back and away from his face. He glanced back at his brother as he ducked into the shade of the apartment building. He didn't stay inside long though – not only was the central air throughout the complex broken, but they were also out of ice cream. Sam returned to the back of the lot a couple minutes later with a t-shirt slung over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a few," he said, the bend of his elbow resting on his forehead as he shielded the sun from his eyes. "We're out of ice cream.

"Make sure it's vanilla vanilla this time and not that French stuff, all right?"

Sam saluted him before starting the three-block trek to the grocery store. The heat was suffocating but Sam couldn't find it in himself to pick up his pace, and the short walk seemed to take so much longer than it should have. The extra time allowed Sam's mind to wander back to Dean's comment – that he was jealous that Dean was having sex. A lot of sex.

It seemed that as soon as the heatwave had started a week ago was when Sam suddenly had the pressing need to just do it. Constantly on his mind, sex consumed most of his waking thoughts and every single dream. And his own hand wasn't enough any more. His favorite fantasies didn't do anything for him, neither did the ones he rarely ever let himself think about. He just needed the real thing.

He could remember back when Dean was his age and how, no matter where they went, he'd always had a willing and eager girlfriend by the end of their second night in town. Back then, it was like a never-ending parade of girls that Dean seemed to flaunt in Sam's face that intensified once Sam had reached puberty. Funny, though, Sam thought as he waited at the corner for a break in traffic, that Dean had become increasingly discreet about his conquests over the past couple of years. At least, as far as bringing them around the apartment or the house or the motel. But he never stopped bragging.

Sam slipped his t-shirt on and entered the blissfully cool supermarket, taking his time as he moseyed back to the frozen-food department. He didn't want to leave the haven he'd found in the grocery store, but Dean was waiting. And as much as he didn't want to waste his energy trying to get back to the apartment as fast as possible, the ice cream wasn't going to stay ice cream very long in the heat.

When he returned back to the apartment, he cut a large wedge from the cherry pie on the counter and put it in a Cool Whip container. There was barely enough room for the two heaping scoops of ice cream he slopped into the space between the pie and the inside edge of the bowl.

The ice cream did look good, but pie seemed too heavy. He opened the fridge, wondering if his last two root beers still remained hidden behind week-old Chinese take-out and was surprised to find both cans. He rinsed out a refillable plastic cup from the gas station on the corner and dropped a couple scoops of ice cream and emptied the can of root beer into it.

The ice cream in Dean's bowl had started to form a moat around his pie by the time Sam got out to the picnic table. At least Dean had moved the table into the slant of shade the lone Palo Brea tree formed in the corner of the lot. He passed the bowl over to his brother and took a seat on the worn bench of the table.

Even in the shade, it was nearly too hot to do much else but breathe. Sam pulled his already sweat-stained t-shirt off and wiped a dry edge of a threadbare sleeve over his face and under the hair that fell over his eyes. He shoved his hair back again and tossed the shirt onto the top of the table, his gaze falling on Dean's face and catching his brother staring at him.

Dean's spoon had stalled half-way to his mouth and the ice cream, which seemed to have lost whatever solidity it had had, dripped over the side of the shallow bowl and onto Dean's chest. He gasped as his nerves registered the sudden cold on his overheated skin, but his eyes were still – uncomprehendingly – focused on Sam's chest.

Sam's eyes dropped down to look at chest, but it looked as it always had. Just quite a bit sweatier. He glanced back up at his brother, watching as Dean's tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, his teeth scraping along the same path as he bit his lip. Sam's breath caught in his chest as the sudden, unbidden image of himself licking the smear of vanilla ice cream off of Dean's chest popped into his mind. It shocked him, and his reaction seemed to break Dean out of his daze. He averted his gaze from Dean entirely. "Jeez, maybe I should've brought you out a bib. Or a straw. You're supposed to eat food, not wear it."

Dean's laugh was awkward and strained. "Whatever," was his witty retort. Then he flung the soggy pie and remnants of ice cream off his spoon at Sam's chest. "Maybe you should be wearing a sh- bib."

"You didn't seriously just..." Sam trailed off, feeling his heartbeat falter as something like fear and hope and lust coiled in his stomach. The look on Dean's face...Sam's breath caught again.

Dean wrapped his mouth around the spoon, sucking cherry-vanilla residue from the metal. His eyes were dark when they finally met Sam's, his voice low as he spoke. "I seriously just did. What are you going to do about it?"