Title: Untitled
Written for the: SPN_HURTCOMFORT Fic Meme
Warning: Embarassment?
Summary: Written for: NINHURSAG

Theme Given: Sam and Dean or Sam/Dean. Sam's first attempt at losing his virginity (to either gender) goes drastically wrong. Dean makes it better.

Note: I didn't quite get the story on theme.

Sam re-discovers girls the summer of his sophomore year. He's awkward and still growing, but he makes up for it with a lopsided smile and a distinct lack of acne. It's not every girl that turns to look at him, and it's not the cheerleaders or the quarterbacks' girlfriends, but it's enough notice that Sam's developed a cocky little smile that shows up every now and then when he catches someone looking. It makes Dean tease him relentlessly because even though he's got the cock-sure grin Sam still blushes like a girl every time he says something dirty.

"Come on," Dean needles, sitting on the roof of the Impala with his legs partially splayed and his arms behind him. "You can't tell me you weren't checking out her ass."

"Dean," Sam hisses, rolling his eyes and dribbling melted Italian ice down one of his wrists. They're at the start of the Deep South, the City of God, and it's creeping towards a hundred degrees without counting the humidity that makes every piece of clothing stick to their bodies like cling wrap.

Dean loves it, but that's only because by this point the locals are wearing practically nothing and half of them are bright blond co-eds with rich tans. He smirks and slides off the roof of his car.

"What?" Dean laughs and smirks again. "It's not like they mind."

Sam crosses his arms over his chest and decides not to answer while Dean pops a few more quarters into the meter. Two hours, that should be enough time to find a girl and a party for the night. It's a college and tourist town, so if there's not half a dozen parties to crash that night, Dean would be surprised.

They're hunting a Boohag, a Gullah Charleston special—something that's not a vampire and not a zombie but all flesh and soul sucking anyway. They look pretty good when they have their skin on but they're hard as hell to kill that way. It's better to find their skins while the beasts are hunting. If they can salt the skins, the boohags will burn when they put them back on. The smell is awful as the flesh rots and burns from the inside-out, but a boohag, something just a bit more than an energy vampire, is nothing to sniff at.

"You sit tight and look cute and you might get more than looks." Dean grins at Sam and ruffles his hair as he passes him. Sam sucks some of the lemon-flavored water off his hand while straightening his hair with his other hand. "And call me if you need anything. I'll meet you by the fountains in an hour and a half—got it?"

Sam walks around the pier and down to the paths that lead to Battery Park, which is little more than a sea wall and some fancy mansions down by the water. To the left is what's left of the marshland and to the right are the last of the fountains. There's one that looks like a layered cake with pineapple on it, and Sam stops to squint at it. He will never understand why the pineapple is the symbol of hospitality in the south.

He left Dean chatting up a girl who works as a bike cab. She was all trim muscle and curly blond hair, and Sam knows when to make himself scarce. He'll catch Dean in an hour. Until then he can try to find a library or someone his age wandering around the park--probably on some horrific family vacation which involves ghost tours and civil war museums.

He gets one of his of his wishes.

He meanders around the fountain to change paths. The one he is on winds around the water's edge but the one on the other side has shade—and in this heat, shade is important.

There's a woman sitting on the other side of the pineapple fountain. She has a violin case leaning against her calves and a shaved pineapple in her lap. She's too old to be interested in an unpolished teenager, about twenty-six by Sam's estimation, but she smiles at him anyway—all blood red lips and long black hair.

"Hey, Sugar," she says with a sort of bemused curve of the lips. Sam stares back at her bright blue eyes, then at her carefully manicured fingertips as she offers him a chunk of fruit. "Pineapple?"

Sam nods and reaches to take the fruit. She grins teasingly and draws her hand away. "Open up."

Sam looks at her funny, then, which makes her laugh. "Come on, my hands are clean."

He looks doubtful—never take candy from strangers—but opens his mouth anyway. It's a piece of fruit, and it may be silly, but the woman is pretty and it's going to be a long hour if he spends it avoiding people.

She'll probably ask him for money next anyway, he decides. She's wearing clothes with raggedy ends and she looks like she'd be right at home playing her violin on the street corner around the market place for tips. She's probably on break, or maybe she's selling the pineapple.

The pineapple is sweet on his lips and thick on his tongue. The kiss that follows is surprising—but better and he lets out a little moan as he feels a little whoosh of air sliding by his lips.

There are heavy hands on his face and a full bust against his chest. Sam wants to think he was too old for this, but he's half-hard in a second and she's still kissing him—lips just barely ghosting over his own, and it feels better than his last kiss with Kelly Kerstin from home economics.

Juice dribbles down his lips, down his chin, and he drops the crumpled up paper cone from his Italian Ice on the ground.

He wakes up over two hours later sprawled next to the fountain with Dean hovering over him. "Sam? Sammy? You okay?"

Dean's hands are on his face after that, then his neck—checking his temperature and his breathing. He's too hot and too cold at the same time. "Fuck, Sammy, did you decide to sleep on the ground or something?"

Sam's embarrassed when he realizes he came in his jeans. It's wet and uncomfortable and worse when he sits up with Dean's hand on his back.

"I'm okay," he mumbles, trying not to blush and looking away from his brother and back towards the fountain. The sun seems to be setting, and it's darker than it should be. Five o'clock was he and Dean's meeting time and the sun should still be bright. "What time is it?"

"Past seven, Dude." Dean is trying to sound annoyed, but there's worry in his voice and Sam turns his head to squint back at him. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Sam isn't going to tell Dean that he came in his jeans from a kiss. He isn't really sure that happened anyway. The woman isn't here now, after all. If he passed out on her he would like to think that she would have called for help. It's uncomfortable to think of her as a heat inspired hallucination. Its almost just as uncomfortable to think of her as real, though.

Dean helps him the rest of the way to his feet and ruffles his hair again, pulling him tight against his side as he leads them back down a path towards the pier. "Call me next time if you start feeling woozy."

Sam straightens his hair with his hand that isn't pinned to Dean's side and mutters 'yeah, yeah' under his breath as if he doesn't still hear the worry in Dean's voice.

"Seriously, dude. And you're so totally grounded tonight for not calling."

"Hey!"

"Mmhm. Water and corn chips with bad motel cable for you."

Sam knows that means Dean won't be going out either and shoves back the bite of guilt that settles in his belly with the embarrassment and uncomfortable feeling of wrong he's already feeling. Maybe Dean knows that too because he looks him over one last time before they reach the Impala.

It's seven-thirty and the church bells have started to chime the half hour. It's summer and Sam's started noticing girls again but tonight all he notices is his brother's concerned look and his warm hands on his shoulder when all Sam wants to do is shiver.