SUNDAY
Sam had laughed like a maniac when his boxers slid back down Dean's slim hips. The kid didn't find it quite as hilarious and Sam had agreed to toss the kid's things into the laundry before they set out. Dean is about to put his clean jeans back on, but Sam can't help but fold them. Years of living under a military man had made that habit indelible. The shirt gets the same treatment.
His blood runs cold as he picks up a frilly, pink thong between his thumb and forefinger. He stares at them, reeling as if he's been punched in the gut. Biting his lip, he dutifully folds Dean's boxers, rolls his socks together and takes a deep breath. With the panties on top of the heap like a coral-colored cherry, he hands Dean his clothes and swiftly retreats from the bedroom.
Sam is still worrying his lip as he holds out a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. Dean accepts the breakfast but just stands there. "Want me to say something?"
"No."
Dean shrugs. "I was at this party and this hot -"
"Would you not?" Sam winces. "Please."
"I mean, it's not like we…"
Sam drops the spatula into the pan and walks out of the kitchen.
He focuses all of his energy on packing his small Samsonite bag when he senses Dean behind him. Sam looks over his shoulder to confirm that he's standing in the door well, silently watching. It's an odd moment because although they both know they're leaving together, it feels like Sam is packing to walk out.
"Maybe this trip thing isn't such a good idea."
There's no good reason those words should sting Sam all over like they do. "Why?" He braces himself to hear about Dean's girlfriend since the kid seems hellbent on talking about her.
"If you're going to spend the whole time pissed at me…"
"I'm not pissed at you," Sam says through clenched teeth.
Dean scoffs. "Yeah, right."
"Honestly, I'm not."
"You're telling me you're not mad right now." Dean doesn't even dare to approach him.
"I am." Sam nods, slowly closing the zipper.
"I knew it."
Sam turns to face Dean and slings his bag onto his shoulder. "I'm not angry with you."
Confusion is plain on Dean's flawless face.
Sam can only be peeved with himself for getting this hurt. Exclusivity between them isn't even a blip on the horizon. He knows that Dean likes girls, too. Sam hadn't expected such a blatant reminder of those facts, but it's good that he was reminded what this is before he gets in any further over his head.
'Upset? Yes. At myself. Not you.'
Still, the kid gives him a wide berth for the next hour or so.
Dean wanders quietly into the kitchen while Sam is preparing some food to take along on the trip. He sidles up behind him and wraps his arms so tight around Sam's chest that it takes his breath away for a moment. Sam taps his wrist, and he loosens up a bit. Dean presses his face into the center of Sam's back and murmurs, "That girl -"
"Dean." Sam nearly whines, trying to get away. He doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want to know.
"She ain't got nothing on you, Sam. I mean..." Dean clears throat.
Sam unlocks the arms and turns around so he can see Dean's queasy-looking face. The kid shuffles his feet and doesn't meet Sam's eyes.
"It's not important," Sam says, although he isn't sure whether it's true or not.
Dean looks relieved and that's all that matters. "We good?"
"Always." Sam smiles and looks at Dean's mouth.
He wants to kiss him so badly; his body vibrates with it.
"Cool." Dean nods and takes a step back. "I mean, we should just go and have a good time, right? Forget about ... everything else."
Sam licks his lips and nods. "Yeah. Just let me finish these up."
Dean bends over to get a better look at the scraped up car door. "What the hell happened here?"
Sam sighs. "Oh. Someone…" He shakes his head.
Dean raises his brow but doesn't ask for further explanation. Once he's in the driver's seat, he adjusts the leg room, then reaches up and fixes the mirror. "We'll be changing names when we move. Jody'll just get me my license then."
He never tells anyone about their way of life. It's weird telling Sam, but also kind of nice to have someone know something real about him for a change. "Buckle up, Sam. You're about to see your baby do things you didn't know she could."
Once you get past the initial douchery of the electric motor, the Prius is not bad. Dean gets her out on the road. She handles all right. Has a little pickup. She's no GTO (which he knows, having once jacked one), but she'll do. He glances over. "She got a name?"
"The car?" Sam asks like Dean is speaking French.
"No?" He shrugs. "How 'bout Loretta? She seem like a Loretta to you? No, wait. She's Japanese, right? Yoko." He smiles and nods, petting the steering wheel. "Hey, Yoko. How you feeling today, sweetheart?" He grins over at Sam who only quirks a brow at him like he's flirting with an inanimate object.
"Take a left here. We're heading due east."
Dean has decided in atonement for the thong, he's going to suck it up and deal with the fact that he doesn't know where they're going. That's a lot easier to accept seeing that he's driving and Sam's the lowly navigator. "I guess I'm gonna have to get used to surprises... if I keep hanging out with you."
"Was it really so bad at Charlie's?"
"No. She's incredibly cool. Wouldn't tell me what she's making, but…"
"Because it's a surprise."
Dean chuckles.
"Canton, Ohio." Sam spills, although it still doesn't tell Dean anything.
He and Jody have driven through Canton. It's no New York. It is, however, a good little piece of driving from Kansas City, Missouri. "That's like…"
"Half a day," Sam answers, catching his drift.
"At least." Dean checks out of the window before pulling into the far right lane so he can really start sailing. "What the hell's in Canton?"
"Pro-ball hall of fame."
Dean's eyebrows raise. "Huh."
He hadn't expected Sam to just tell him. He also hadn't expected it to be such a great idea. The grin spreads slowly as he glances over at Sam who smiles at Dean's approval.
"How about we get some tunes going in here, Sammy?" Dean says and smacks Sam's thigh like he owns the thing. When a man's behind the wheel, he might as well own the passengers, the car, the road and the whole goddamn country.
"Listen, Dean. Seriously. Don't call me Sammy. Please." Sam scratches his forehead, face drawn and suddenly so solemn again.
But he taps the button on the stereo and watches Dean's face to gauge his choice in music. No, thank you to easy listening jazz crap. Big fat frown to talk radio.
Eagles' Desperado, almost from the beginning. Guilty pleasure.
Sam starts to change it. Dean catches his hand.
"Seriously?"
Dean shrugs. "Good song."
"Is it?"
"Listen. Where I come from, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."
Sam rolls his eyes and doesn't point out that it's his car. He keeps quiet for most of the song. At the tail end, he starts to speak. Dean holds up his hand for silence and croons along on that last line. "Before it's tooooo late."
When the piano is done, he waves his hand, allowing the man to continue.
Sam chuckles. "You are a ridiculous person. You know that?"
Dean shrugs. He's not going to argue.
"So, is your name really Dean?" Sam's face is tight, like he's scared of the answer. "You said, you get a new ID every town, so…"
"Yeah. We just switch up the last name. Johnson, Jones, Miller, you know. Whatever generic thing she thinks of. Keep trying to get her to got with Clapton or Van Halen. Closest I ever got was Richards."
Sam snickers. "Jagger's not exactly inconspicuous."
"Guess not."
Sam's voice drops so low Dean can barely hear the question over the music. "How long do you usually stick around?"
"No set pattern. That would sort of defeat the purpose."
Sam nods, thoughtfully - like he does everything.
"Longest we ever stayed anywhere was Barstow, for about a year. She had met this guy. Complete prick, but that's how she likes 'em."
Sam thinks some more, leaving Dean to his Sabbath, before he says, "I like Dean. The name."
"Yeah?" He grins softly. "I like Sam. Sammy."
"It's what my ex called me…"
Dean takes a breath and nods through the sudden, unexpected chill. "So, he's just ruined it for the rest of it?"
"Afraid so." Sam clears his throat and leans back against the headrest. "What about your birthday?"
"We switch that up, too. Apparently, it's the first thing he would look for."
"So, you could actually still be 15?"
"No," Dean says firmly and changes the station when the commercials start.
"How do you decide which one to celebrate?"
"We don't... I got to memorize the new one every time, which is kind of a drag. You know, your dad gave me a cupcake. He's really an okay guy. I don't understand why you two -"
Sam gives a small, but final shake of his head. "Not going there, Dean."
Dean shrugs and bops his head along to the hip-hop on the radio.
Sam sighs. "When is it? Your real birthday."
"Couple weeks ago. Day after the fake one this time." Dean keeps his eyes on the road, so he doesn't have to see what kind of face Sam is making. His voice is quiet and sad sounding enough.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Dean just shrugs. "Not a big deal."
Sam nods courteously as the patrol car passes. He's bent slightly forward pumping the gas. From behind, a hand slips between his legs, and by reflex, his back snaps upright. "Jesus, Dean."
The hand remains firm against the center of his back, urging him to lean forward again. Flame licks right up the center of Sam's chest as the other palm slides between his legs again and cups his groin. "Dean."
The man at the bay in front of them glowers and climbs into his car. Dean stands on his tiptoes to nip Sam's ear before chuckling and taking the passenger's seat.
Sam adjusts himself in his pants, gets in and shuts the door. He considers the many different ways to express what he's thinking and says, "Dean, you can't just -"
"Check this out." The plastic bag crinkles loudly as he lines up its contents on the dashboard. "Slim Jims, white cheddar popcorn, Combos, which is pretty much a meal unto itself. A couple of cokes. And..."
Dean smirks and waggles his eyebrows at what appears to be a lifetime supply of Trojans. Sam tries not to cringe at the spread. It's incredibly considerate of Dean to have brought two of everything, except that none of it is actual food. "You know I brought those wraps, right?"
"With the leftover tofu? Yeah. I'm not eating that." He peels the plastic from one of the jerkies and offers Sam the first bite. "Made with real beef."
And all kinds of other things that Sam refuses to put into his body. He turns away from the fake meat Dean tries to force between his lips. Finally, Dean shrugs and chomps half of the thing himself. Then, he presents Sam with a pamphlet for a haunted house wax museum in Hannibal, Missouri along with wide, eager eyes.
"You do know that it's twelve hours to Canton."
"Just for like ten minutes. They got a serial killer's exhibit. How can you say no to that?"
Dean elbows his way to the front of the line. He dances down the steps like Fred Astaire, feet making a little rhythm as he hurries along after the tour guide. He glances back over his shoulder, once, eyes wide. His tongue breaches an even wider grin.
Sam chuckles and waves him on, content to bring up the rear behind a portly family all wearing neon orange shirts.
In the bone-chillingly cool cellar, Dean's hand ventures to touch one of the statues. The guide clears her throat. He swiftly locks his hand with the other one behind his back. She carries on with her memorized spiel, leading them to the next exhibit.
Bouncing on his toes and flapping his fingers, Dean raises his hand to ask what would be the fifth question in as many minutes. Sam covers his smile with his hand while the guide overlooks Dean completely. As advertised, she continues the tour into a room of Missouri-based serial killers.
Here, Sam gently glides towards the front of the group for a better view. Dean looks over and nods. When the guide's back is turned, his hand runs over Fay Copeland's rifle and noisily knocks the thing to the floor. Sam puts a few inches between them, laughing to himself and shaking his head.
As Dean stoops to pick up the weapon, the tour guide snatches it away. She adjusts it properly in the exhibit. Then she scowls at Dean as if he had murdered five drifters instead of just making a little mess.
They let the group move ahead of them. Sam slips his arm around Dean's waist but moves away immediately when the bright-orange clad mom turns to give them a disapproving glare. Dean clutches Sam close, nearly throwing him off balance. Sam huffs and offers the woman a tight, apologetic smile.
Her eyes move down the line of their bodies, joined hip to thigh. She turns away quickly and grips her son by both ears to keep him from peeking at them. Dean chuckles. Before they proceed to the next exhibit, he pokes the statue of Ray Copeland right in the chest.
On their way to the car, Dean spins on his heel, walking backwards so he can face Sam. He grins like a much younger kid. "Dude, that was awesome. Did you see the guts?"
Sam grins, too. He had seen the guts. Mostly, though, he had seen Dean.
Dean smacks Sam's arm the moment he sees the sign. "Dude."
Sam raises a brow. "We're not making it to Canton, are we?"
"It's not going anywhere."
So, they pull into the parking lot of the Largest Arcade in Missouri.
Dean stands in line for quarters while Sam runs to the bathroom. He's already done by the time Sam comes out, and searches the dark, noisy room. Dean grins and creeps along the shadows so that he can pounce. From behind, he takes two handfuls of Sam's insane chest and presses himself up against Sam's ass.
Sam spins and knocks him back. He grips Dean's arm tightly and drags him to a corner. "Hey. You need to knock that off. I'm not one of your little girlfriends."
Shock, along with Sam's anger, slam into Dean like a flash of lightening. All this PDA shit is not something he has ever done with anyone else. He feels like a blue ribbon moron for thinking he could try it with Sam. He frees his arm and steps aside, blinking through the ache in his chest.
"Dean."
Dean nods sharply and goes to find something to shoot. In no time, Sam is at his side like a chattering devil, and it's a damn good thing this gun isn't real. There's no telling what or who Dean would put a hole in if it was.
Sam stands there like he's just watching Dean play, but he murmurs, "What's between us is... it's private, okay?"
"Yep. Got it." The machine makes a loud series of beeps as Dean picks off fifteen mummies in a row and gets upgraded to zombies.
"I'm sorry, I…" Sam touches Dean's wrist.
He yanks away, aims and fires. "It's cool."
"I…"
Dean rolls back his tense shoulders, wishing the guy would shut up and fuck off.
Sam whispers, "I like when you touch me. I … love it. I can't stand people watching. I don't ... It makes me uncomfortable."
"To be seen with me." Dean mows down a line of zombies.
Behind those, an army of werewolves approaches.
"Come on, Dean. You know that's not it."
"Because of my age."
Sam hesitates.
"Or you just don't want people to know you're a fag?"
Jackpot. That has the desired effect. Sam huffs, takes a step back and says, "Text me when you're done."
Dean doesn't watch him leave. He kills some kind of creepy cat-people and goes on murdering creatures until his right arm feels like it's going to fall off.
He wanders between the games for a while, but nothing else really catches his eye. He buys himself a slice of pizza, chats up the girl behind the counter, half hoping Sam will see. She has on too much makeup, but it's just something to do anyway.
When he finally leaves the place, Sam is sitting on his hood reading some thick-ass book. "What is that, the bible?"
Sam looks up and shows him the cover. In Search of Lost Time.
Dean shrugs. He's never heard of it. "Any good?"
"Yeah." Sam nods to the arcade. "How was your …."
"Well, I'm apparently a professional level hunter of supernatural entities. So, if you ever need that, let me know."
"Yeah. I'll do that." Sam smiles softly. "You want to drive?"
"Nah. You go ahead."
It's Sam's idea to stop at the roadside farmer's market. He pulls over, thinking maybe a little fruit will split the difference in their food preferences. While Sam picks out apples and pears, Dean meanders into the pumpkin patch.
With his bag hanging from his forearm, Sam leans against a post and watches Dean strike up a conversation with an older gentleman in muddy jeans and a sun hat. Dean waves and Sam returns the gesture. After a while, he wanders back from the patch with his hands in his back pockets.
"What was that?"
"That's Carl. He owns all this." Dean indicates the property and the produce. "Hey, come here."
Sam follows.
"What the hell is that?" Dean points.
For the first time, Sam notices that there are handwritten prices, but no tags on the various bins. He picks up a vegetable and offers it to Dean. "Turnip, meet Dean."
"Is it as nasty as it looks?"
Sam laughs. "It's… kind of bland. You want to grab a few and I'll cook 'em when we get home… back… to my place."
"Nah." Dean drops it back into the bin.
They skip the broccoli and cauliflower. Dean points to the next basket.
Sam calls out each by name. "Beets. Parsnips. Those are squash. Those, too. Actually, the whole rest of this row."
"All squash?" Dean picks up one and turns it over in his hands.
Sam nods. "Yeah. There's at least thirty different kinds of squash. Technically, pumpkin is a cultivar of squash, as well."
Still holding the gourd, Dean looks up at him. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
He asks the question so matter-of-factly that Sam's mouth falls open. His hands rest on Dean's shoulders. When he notices Carl, the farmer, watching them, as well as, the prying eyes of the woman behind the counter, he drops them again. What Sam really wants is to hug this kid and kiss his forehead and just rock him. Instead, he steps back and leans forward to capture his eyes. "I think that your mother has had other things on her mind than cooking parsnips."
"How confident are you in your driving?"
Dean almost doesn't bother to answer Sam's question. He's got one hand on the wheel, his elbow out of the window and a sweet cube of Asian pear in his mouth. A little silence would be just the thing right now. Sam talks a lot. "Completely. Why?"
"So, I could... go to sleep and you'd be fine?"
"Sure. You tired?" Dean opens his mouth and leans over for another piece of fruit.
Sam feeds him the last bit, wipes off and folds Dean's Swiss Army Knife back together. "And if I were to do something... potentially distracting…"
Dean looks over, brow raised. "Such as?"
"It's a hypothetical question."
"I told you, Sam. I'm a better driver than you are." To prove it, he weaves around the slowpoke in front of him and back into their lane, narrowly avoiding an oncoming pickup truck.
Sam gasps and clutches the door handle. "You're a more aggressive driver than I am, which is not the same thing."
"I could drive with my eyes closed."
"See." Sam shakes his head. "That does not instill confidence."
"I'm kidding." Dean smiles softly, pleased to have worked Sam up a little bit. It's entertaining. "What do you got in mind?"
"Just keep your eyes on the road."
Dean had hoped, but had not dared to ask. The fact that he's driving Sam's car without a license is already surprising. When Sam's hand comes for his fly, Dean sucks in his stomach and forces himself not to look down.
The driver's seat makes a quiet mechanical hum as Dean slides back a few inches to make space. Sam chuckles, "Hands on the wheel."
Dean grips that thing at 10 and 2.
His lips fall open slightly as Sam reaches in, pulls him out and slowly strokes with his left hand. Dean blows out a slow, calm rush of air, promptly straightening the car when he notices that they are veering - ever so slightly, to the right.
"You okay?"
"Oh, yeah," Dean answers breathless and eases his foot off the gas so that the slowpoke can overtake them.
They're crawling down this two-lane highway at about 40 miles per hour. There's hardly any other traffic, but Sam breathes the words warm into his ear, "I'm putting my life in your hands."
Dean nods. Sam unbuckles his seatbelt, spits into his palm and wraps it around Dean's dick.
Dean fights the desire to close his eyes and prove that claim he just made. He pants through the heat and tension as it builds. Sam has the nerve to ask, "Is that good?"
Dean swoons for a second. "Yeah."
He shakes his head to clear it and keeps his eyes on the road, even if all the blood in his body is elsewhere.
Sam tucks his hair behind his ears and Dean's mind goes on auto-pilot. Sam lowers his head, but doesn't take him in. He just kitten licks the tip and moans. "You know, if you eat a lot of fruit, you'll get even sweeter."
"Is it sweet?" Dean slides his right hand through Sam's hair, because there's no way not to.
"You taste so good," Sam answers, winded, like he's starving for it.
Dean knows better. He's tried his own cum and had it from a variety of other sources. It's like snot with none of snot's redeeming qualities. But he is not going to debate about it. Sam sticks his tongue into the slit.
"Jesus, Sam."
His tongue slides around the tip.
"Take it." Dean can't keep his hips from rising from the seat.
Sam pins him in place with those strong hands on his thighs. "Sh. I'm not going to bring you off."
"What?!" Dean nearly drives off the road at that revelation.
Sam sits up and wipes his mouth with his thumb. "Until we get to the hotel."
"You... " Dean sucks in loudly, willing himself not to cuss and call Sam what he's thinking. "This is payback, isn't it?"
"It's not payback. I don't want anyone to get hurt."
"Look at me." Dean frowns down at his rock hard, sorely abandoned dick. "You little... big fucking tease."
He doesn't have a choice but to take matters into his own hands.
Sam catches his wrist. "Dean. You have to wait."
"Oh, fuck you." He pulls his hand away.
Sam wraps his palm around Dean's neck and kneads hard. "It'll be worth it. I'll make it worth it, I promise."
"Tease." Tears pool in the corner of Dean's eyes.
"Just a few minutes, baby." Sam leans over and coos right into his ear, "Three more exits. I'm going to suck you so good. I can't wait to get your pretty cock in my mouth. You going to wait for me, baby? Huh?"
Burning alive, Dean's head lolls forward. "You asshole."
Sam asks Dean to wait in the car. He doesn't say it's because he doesn't want the kid humping him while he's trying to talk with the concierge, but that is a deciding factor.
He gets two room keys. Dean will like that. On his way out of the automatic doors, Sam sees Dean lean into the passenger side of a huge SUV. The driver's legs hang out of the other side, back turned to Dean, so that the man must be completely oblivious to the kid trying to knab something from him.
Lips pursed, stomach sinking, Sam considers whether to let the little delinquent get away with whatever he's up to. Before Sam can decide how to handle the situation, Dean stands up and carries a cane around to the driver.
The older gentleman smiles and ventures to climb down to his feet. Dean holds out his arm in an offer of support. Finally, understanding correctly and puffing out a sigh of relief, Sam hurries across the parking lot.
The man shrinks back a bit as he approaches.
"It's okay." Dean pats his arm. "This is Sam. He's my… friend. Could probably carry you if you want. Sam, this is Dennis."
Sam nods a greeting and lets Dennis appraise him. He knows his size can be intimidating for some people.
"Dennis is riding on a pair of brand new hips. His nephew was supposed to meet him, but he got tied up at work. Good thing we're here, right? You want this sasquatch to lug you in there? 'Cause he can do it. Or you can hop up on his back."
Sam winces, unsure how he feels at being called a bigfoot and being volunteered as a pack mule. Thankfully, the old man, declines the piggy back ride. However, he accepts Dean's offer that they carry his luggage.
The minute they step through the double doors, Dean gawks at Sam. His mouth is wide open as he takes in the chandelier and the sunken sitting area in the lobby. The receptionist calls one of her associates to assist Dennis the rest of the way.
The old man shakes Dean's hand and offers him a wad of cash. The kid steps back, both hands raised. "No way, man. Just helping out."
Dennis nods at Dean and frowns suspiciously at Sam.
In the elevator, the kid folds his arms over his chest and watches the numbers light up on the overhead display. "You ever gonna stop looking at me?"
"Not likely."
By some miracle, Sam manages to wait until the hotel room door clicks shut behind them before he pins Dean to it. He breathes heavily wanting to devour every inch of him. Sam leans in close and Dean turns aside.
Sam whispers, "Let me kiss you."
The kid closes his eyes and shakes his head. Sam swallows thickly, opens Dean's button and presses his nose against his cheek. "Please."
"No." Dean shoves him away.
"Why?"
"I don't fucking want to." He storms across the room and empties balled up dollar bills from his pockets onto the desk.
Sam keeps himself pressed against the door to keep from marching over there and making a bigger nuisance of himself. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites down hard.
Dean smooths the bills out as flat as they'll go. "Fifty-six bucks. It's what I got. Will that pay for half?"
"This one's on me." Sam tries to smile, but his senses are still reeling.
"I need to contribute…"
For reasons unbeknownst to him, Sam is on the verge of tears. He wants to fall on his knees and beg, although he doesn't know for what. Love? Absolution? A kiss? "No, you don't."
"You can't just pay for everything."
"I want to."
Dean's jaw clenches. "I'll leave this here. You take it or the maid will." He marches past Sam and barricades himself in the bathroom.
Sam runs a hand through his hair and sits on the edge of the bed, breath shaky.
Twenty minutes later, when Dean still hasn't reemerged, Sam knocks on the door. "I've got to go take care of something. I left your room key on the desk."
There's no answer, so Sam shakes his head and leaves.
Dean doesn't respond to the knock on the door. Sam'll figure it out or he won't. Eventually, the knob turns and he enters, looking fricking humongous from this angle.
"Have you been in here the whole time?"
"Fell asleep." Dean licks the dried slobber from the side of his mouth.
"You're ridiculous. You know that?" Sam sits on the side of the tub.
"You're giving me whiplash, dude."
Sam cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy.
"First, you tell me not to touch you. Then, you fucking blow me in the car, but you don't let me come."
"Dean." Sam offers his hand to help him up.
Dean just looks at it.
"Oral sex in the car is a bad idea. It was stupid of me to have started and I'm sorry."
Dean scoffs. It wouldn't have been a bad idea if he would have just finished.
"Secondly, I never asked you not to touch me. I would never… I asked you to be more discreet in public."
"You want me to be scared?" Dean sits up in the tub.
"I want you to be wise. And realize that not everyone is so highly evolved as you are. Now, will you, please, come out of the bathtub and let me…" Sam shakes his head and laughs. "Just come on."
Dean sulks for a few minutes longer, before he hoists himself up with a groan. His neck is never going to be right again. He rubs it with both hands and sighs as he drags himself into the suite.
He hadn't even given himself a proper chance to appreciate how awesome this place is. It's more of an apartment than a hotel room. He trudges through the bedroom into the living room area to find Sam standing there with a Happy Birthday balloon in his hand.
There are wrapped presents all over the place.
"What'd you do, rob Santa Claus?"
"You'll be happy to know that I have now been inside of a Walmart. You need to start on that end." Sam points to the far side of the sofa. "I didn't know what to get."
"So you got everything in the fucking store?" Dean wants to storm out of the room or toss these things out of the window, but he's too confused to even budge. "What the hell is this?"
"It's for your birthday. For every one I've missed." Sam lets the balloon float to the ceiling so he can hand Dean the first present.
The wrapping paper crinkles in his hand, the sound soft like a sweet secret. Dean could listen to that sound all day. It's not one he's heard often, if ever. There are footballs and field goals on all of the paper, the whole line of gifts - it's too surreal. He feels like he's stepped into someone else's life for a moment or into a dream he might have had when he was a little kid.
"You going to open it?" Sam asks.
So, he opens it and holds up the trunks. They have octopuses (octopi?) all over.
"I don't know if you saw, that there's a pool. I know you didn't bring yours because we weren't planning to go anywhere."
Dean doesn't own any. Well, he does now, but he still doesn't know how to swim.
"You wouldn't believe how long I stood in front of those tight little speedos. That's why I got you tighty whities. Hope you don't mind. Actually they're black. But your underwear are on their last thread and I..." Sam's face flushes and he clamps his mouth shut.
Dean's chest warms at the color of Sam's cheeks. He puts the swim shorts on the table and watches Sam fold them up. It seems to be a habit of his.
The next package contains blue goggles. The next one is blue flippers. Sam smiles and shrugs. "Merman fetish."
There's a green, long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of black jeans.
"You're going to look amazing in that."
The smallest box has the coolest multi-tool that Dean has ever seen. Sam explains, "Yours is all dull. How long have you had that thing?"
Dean doesn't tell him that he had pinched it off an old guy in a homeless shelter a few years back. That guy could have had it in Vietnam, for all Dean knows.
This thing Sam bought looks like it was designed for space exploration. The box says it has 19 functions. Dean plays with it for a full five minutes before putting it on the table.
He tears the paper off of, but doesn't even open, the box for the Nintendo 3DS or for the game Resident Evil.
"The people at the store told me this is good, if you like, you know, killing things."
There's an electric toothbrush, like Sam's but green instead of blue. And an identical Norelco shaving kit.
"I saw you admiring mine this morning, so, I thought…"
This is the point when Dean realizes that this is actually happening. He stands there looking at the opened presents, the as of yet unopened ones, the growing pile of wrapping paper. He bites on his lip and looks at Sam. He doesn't know what he's feeling, because he's never felt it before. Maybe there isn't even a word for it.
There are words in his throat that won't form and emotions bubbling under his skin and boiling in his belly. All he can do is blink at Sam.
"I know you don't…" Sam huffs and licks his lips. "You are going to have to get used to me doing things for you. It's not going to stop. And… repaying me?" Sam shakes his head. "It's not about that. You accept and you're repaying me."
Dean's breath hitches. He shakes his head repeatedly and closes his eyes. It's too much. He doesn't open them when he feels Sam's hands on his face or on his waist. He doesn't watch Sam open his pants or wrap his warm lips around him. Dean doesn't open his eyes or even dare touch his shoulder or his hair.
It's not sex, what Sam's doing to him. It's too gentle, too tender. It's all whisper-soft and apple-sweet tugs of his lips. Dean doesn't think he can come from it - until he does. But it's not an orgasm. It's something else. It's this feeling that swells his heart up, like the Grinch, three four five sizes too big. So big, it aches in his chest. And when he can manages to speak again, it's only to breathe the word, "Sam."
Dean positively shines in the grey satin suit with the slim black tie over the emerald green button down shirt that Sam just knew would bring out his eyes. The shoes are too small and it's not yet cold enough for the winter coat. He still looks like something out of a daydream.
There's only ice cream on the dessert menu. Dean mumbles, "Did you plan this?"
Sam chuckles quietly, honoring the almost complete silence in which they had eaten their steak dinner. "I swear, I didn't."
By the time they're back on the road, the sun is setting. Sam pulls off on the shoulder right outside of Grafton. There's a bridge overlooking the point where the Mississippi and the Illinois Rivers meet.
They don't speak. They've hardly said a word since this afternoon. Instead, they've been floating carefully around each other in a formal dance of cautious courtesy. It's almost as if there's a thin thread between them that will break if either of them speaks or treads too loudly.
Dean shuts the car door softly. He walks over onto the bridge and clasps his hands on the railing.
Sam approaches him slowly, as if Dean were a feral animal that could so easily rip him apart. He wraps his arms around the boy's arms and chest and places a kiss on the side of his warm neck.
Silently, he pleads, 'Please, don't push me away.'
Dean has been going at this all wrong. Kissing Sam has become such a big, honking deal, not because it actually is one, but because he's making it into one. Still, just thinking about it sets off the circus in his gut. Some people say butterflies. Dean never had butterflies and this is way more activity than a swarm of bugs.
The air around them crackles. Sam's cologne is making him dizzy. Or maybe the way Sam holds him so tight is choking the life out of him. Dean takes a deep breath to be sure he still can.
Sam's chin rests on his shoulder. Dean squirms and Sam drops his arms, lets him go. "Do you want to keep moving?"
'Now.'
Dean turns, grabs a fistful of Sam's shirt, and pulls him down for a proper plundering. Before their lips meet Sam draws back slightly. Dean's heart is thudding like mad. He needs to get a hold of himself. Then, he'll have control of the situation.
'Fucking calm down.'
Sam smiles softly and takes Dean's face between his huge, hot hands. Their lips brush so briefly, so lightly and linger for only the sweetest moment before Sam searches his eyes and breathes the word, "Wow."
Dean can only imagine Sam is talking about the fucking sparks, which means he could feel them, too. Sam shivers slightly, hands on Dean's neck.
People write songs, they compose symphonies, about moments like this. Then they cut off their ears and jump off of bridges when those moments are over.
Dean has a deep breath, and steps back. His chest is still hot, circus animals stampeding in his stomach. He shifts his weight on his feet. "Need to piss."
He stumbles into the woods and wipes his hand over his mouth. Not wiping it away. Rubbing it in. Shutting his eyes. Soaking in it. Replaying the kiss over and over until he's soft and hard with it.
He huffs out a breath and looks at the water before he leans back against a tree and slides to the ground.
Eventually, Sam settles beside him - radiating warmth like a space heater. His hand hovers over for a second before he claims Dean's fingers - twining them together like this day hasn't already been chick-flicky enough.
Dean tells himself he's doing it for Sam. He would never hold hands like this or bask in the warmth and the blood-orange glow of the setting sun. Once it's set, he gets up and walks back to the car.
Back at the hotel, there is talk of swimming but no energy to follow through. There is also the crown jewel of Sam's gifts to unwrap. Sam holds his hands over Dean's eyes and leads him to the table in the kitchenette.
Dean brings the open box to his nose and smiles. He opens his eyes and the grin grows.
Sam takes it from him. "Wait here while I put this in the oven."
"We have an oven? Jody and me have stayed in actual apartments that didn't have an oven."
Sam smiles and sets the pie to bake at 250 degrees. Then, he turns his full attention on the incredibly handsome, impeccably dressed young man he has all to himself. "Is this your first time a suit?"
Dean shakes head. "Always wear one to court. This is the first one that's mine." He glances down at himself, still with an air of disbelief.
Sam's hands run down his arms. "It's yours. And you won't be wearing it to court."
"Ok, Dad." Dean smirks, sarcastic cockiness finally resurfacing after the long quiet of the evening.
Sam smiles and slides the jacket slowly off Dean's shoulders. He hangs it over the back of a chair. Then, he takes a fistful of the tie and drags Dean's mouth to his. The kid's eyes widen a little, but he doesn't resist.
Sam licks along the seam of his lips. They open like the Pearly Gates and Sam enters with all the reverence Dean deserves. Their tongues meet in the space between them and for a moment, Dean grapples for control of the kiss. Sam tightens his grip on the tie, pulling the kid even closer to his chest. After a moment, he relinquishes.
That is all Sam wants in this moment: this boy, pliant and willing. Sam sucks on his lush lower lip, nibbles it and then lets go. He loosens Dean's tie, though not all the way. Carefully, he releases each button on his shirt, as well as the pants. The zipper, he leaves in place. He smooths a hand down his ribs, reveling in Dean's soft skin over firm, lean muscle and the stilted inhalations he's trying not to make. Sam has a deep breath and steps back to survey his masterpiece.
Dean closes his mouth to swallow and it parts again immediately. Sam licks his lips, unbuttons and unzips his own fly. His head tilts to the side, breath catching in his throat as he realizes just how very much he wants to fuck this kid right now.
He spins a chair from the table and sits. Dean blinks but doesn't move.
Sam pulls himself out and watches Dean's eyes darken at the sight of his arousal. Dean licks his lips and Sam chuckles.
He wants to, but he won't. Not until Dean asks him for it.
Sam licks his hand and slowly strokes himself while he imagines entering that mouth with his thumb first and then two of his fingers. He'd make Dean get them nice and wet while his other hand finished getting those pants around his knees. Sam would lean him over this table and finger him until he begged for Sam's cock.
He would take his time and make them both crazy. But when he finally did slide into that heat - nice and steady - he would make Dean love it, make it so he never wanted Sam to stop.
The kid's new pants are tented and stained now. All for Sam. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. Sam wants inside of him so bad, he whimpers.
With his left hand, he beckons. Dean sways on his feet for a moment before stepping between Sam's knees. His hands fall on Sam's shoulders. He's trembling.
Stroking himself faster, Sam wraps an arm around Dean's thigh and drags him closer. He presses his lips to the boy's quivering stomach. Kisses it. Tongues his navel. It makes him shudder and Sam does it again. He sucks sweetly on Dean's salty skin and then sucks hard enough to stain him. Sam comes, like that: tremors racking his body as he sucks his mark over Dean's hipbone.
Warm, homemade apple pie eaten directly from the pan, canned laughter from Sanford and Son, Dean's head on his shoulder, Sam's hand tucked between Dean's thighs. Finally, for once, everything is right with the world.
