Beneath the Magnolia's Boughs - Part Seven
Beneath the Magnolia's Boughs - Part Seven
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Pairing: Dean/Sam, other characters include John, Mary, Missouri, OMC, OFC, and a person who bears a resemblance to the YED.
Category: M/M, AU, Historical
Summary: In the Old South, the heirs of two plantations are married against their will. One a tool to his father's aspirations, the other struck for life by a repulsive curse, will they be able to make a happy future together?
Author's Note: I am going away for a month on a lovely cruise around Australia, so I won't be uploading any more fic until I get back. But don't think I've abandoned the story! Antychan, Sallycandance and I are as committed as ever to the ongoing plight of the Winchesters. ;-)
Part Seven
Having resolved to do something to improve their marriage, Sam set about acting on that as soon as he could. It took him two whole days and another awkward night to make up his mind, but having done so he made no further delay. He knew that a large part of their problem was their disastrous sexual relationship, and that was something he was fairly certain they could fix. To know where to begin, however, he needed information, and it wasn’t the kind of information that could be easily acquired. He would have to go to the city; where you could find anything if you just knew where to look. By sheer coincidence, Sam did. So he got up early one morning, left word with Jenkins that he was going to town and that he would be home later that evening, and then saddled one of the Winchesters’ sturdy horses.
The ride gave Sam more than enough time to contemplate what he was planning, and he nearly turned around several times as a consequence. It was the memory of silent, hard-fought tears slipping from pained green eyes, and the sound of choked suffering that could not be stifled, that kept him firmly on the road. Dean was a stronger man than anyone, including Sam, had given him credit for, and he deserved better than what they had so far experienced. So Sam would find a way to make their couplings better. He knew there were men who chose this lifestyle, and found pleasure in it, therefore there had to be a way, something they were missing. Around and around, the argument ran through Sam’s mind - from firm resolve to wavering insecurity and back again - until he had reached the outskirts of the city.
Sam had only been to the city a few times, but he was sure he could find the store he had once, by complete chance, stumbled upon. His father, on one of his rare and misguided attempts to educate his boy in the ways of the world, had brought Sam here when he was fifteen. While the back alleys and pleasure rooms had held much to meet his father’s fancy, for Sam it had held little appeal. He had wandered about on his own at one point, and had discovered a small bookstore. Finally having found something of interest, Sam went in and quickly realised his mistake. The books in this store were not the kind of books he was accustomed to reading. These were the books the boys at school had whispered about and, occasionally, had managed to smuggle into the classroom. They were exactly the type of books Sam was sure he needed right now.
It took Sam an hour of riding about aimlessly through many identical streets, embarrassingly being harassed and accosted by various women of obvious ill-repute, before he spotted the storefront. It had not changed much from what he recalled of his past visit. There was nothing to draw attention, or stir the curiosity of a passer-by, just the simple sign that proclaimed ’Bookstore’ and the open door. Sam rode past it on the first go, watching to see who might be paying attention to visitors going into the store, then passed it one more time, to make sure he hadn’t missed anything on the first pass. The third time he didn’t even try to pretend to himself that he wasn’t stalling, so he decisively rode up to a hitching post only two doors down, dismounted, and tethered the horse. Squaring his shoulders, and taking a deep breath, Sam strode up to, and through, the store door.
***
Dean lowered himself gingerly into the dining room chair. There was no sign of Sam, and Dean wasn’t sure whether he was glad or disappointed. He looked forward to the time he could spend with Sam that had nothing to do with their efforts to get him pregnant. Last night, however, they had tried again, and it was always awkward the morning after. Sam was trying to be gentle, Dean knew, but nothing seemed to prevent the tearing pain as he was taken. Dean wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this. He was starting to feel ill whenever Sam suggested they give it another go.
Jenkins came in with his breakfast and a steaming cup of coffee. Dean took a sip of the bitter brew and sighed in contentment. Sam preferred heavily sweetened tea, and Dean remembered with a soft smile the morning he had convinced Sam to try the coffee, and how he hadn’t touched it since. He wondered again where Sam might be and enquired of Jenkins. His reply left Dean cold. Sam had gone into the city and he would be late coming home. There was only one thing, in Dean’s opinion, that Sam could want there. At least, he reflected bitterly, Sam had taken to heart his request to be discreet. As suddenly as it came, the anger went, and Dean’s shoulders slumped. He had told Sam he was free to seek his pleasure elsewhere and, although Dean had meant after he was pregnant, he really couldn’t blame his husband. That didn’t mean that Dean didn’t feel a stomach-churning sense of disappointment, or a twitch of jealousy.
Dean turned his attention forcefully to his breakfast, gulping it down with single-minded determination until his plate was clear. The coffee, usually relished and enjoyed, was swallowed like medicine. He got up from the table and headed out of the room, out of the house, and into the bright sunshine. He didn’t feel its warmth, or the swishing breeze across his unaccountably wet cheeks. Ignoring everyone around him, Dean strode into the machinery shed and numbly picked up working where he had left off the day before.
***
Sam was surprised, some hours later, when he felt a warm sense of homecoming as he rode up to the Winchester Plantation. The house was a welcome sight, and for the first time all day he felt like he could finally relax. It still vaguely embarrassed him, knowing what was in his saddle bag. The man behind the counter in the little store had looked up at him as soon as he walked through the front door. Apparently, a fifteen year old boy had not held any interest for him, but seeing a new, potentially ongoing customer, he had shuffled forward with a disturbing grin plastered on his face. Sam would have been quite happy to be left alone, even if it meant having to explore the whole store for what he wanted, but the conscientious seller had immediately sought to know if he could direct him to any particular area of interest. The blush that heated Sam’s face amused the proprietor immensely; prodding him to reassure the young sir that there wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen or heard in all his years of trade. Sam knew, intellectually, that a man running such an establishment would think nothing of his customers’ predilections, and felt silly for thinking it was any different in his case. That didn’t stop his voice from stuttering out nervously that he required books that involved two men. Without so much as a blink, the owner had launched into a well-rehearsed spiel about the large variety and high quality of the ‘literature’ available in his store including, he had happily added in a voice rather too loud for Sam’s liking, a fully stocked section on sodomy and rough trade. Sam’s eyes had darted about the store rapidly, trying to see how many people might have been within earshot, and whether they were looking at him. The only person Sam had seen was another man standing as far into the shadows as he could get, back turned defensively toward them. Sam wished for the same form of anonymity and quickly thanked the owner, asking to be given time to browse on his own. Either he had taken the hint, or considered his job done, for the man shuffled back behind his counter once more. Sam had taken a couple of deep, calming breaths before finally turning his attention to the books in front of him. By the time he had finished, Sam’s blush had become a permanent colouration to his face, but the merchant had ignored his embarrassment this time, more focussed on toting up the sales gleefully. Only when Sam had asked that his books be wrapped in paper did the man give him a knowing smirk, but he wrapped them as requested without further comment. There was no one, Sam was sure, who had ever left a store, and city, behind them as fast as he had that day.
As he rounded the driveway to the back of the plantation, Sam heard the sharp bark and echo of a rifle. It came again after a short interval, breaking through the peace of the early evening. Sam moved his horse into a trot, rather more curious than alarmed by the sound. Another crack as he cleared the house gave him further direction and he spotted Dean, rifle at his shoulder, taking aim at mud plates being thrown into the air by several of the slave boys. It looked to Sam as though it had become something of a challenge between the boys, who were jostling for their next chance to throw. Another plate flew into the air, and Dean raised the rifle smoothly and fired. The plate shattered. Sam blinked. Dean, it appeared, was an incredible shot with the rifle.
Quickly, Sam took his horse back to the stable, handing him off to the stable hand. He grabbed his package from the saddlebag with a blush that the hand wouldn’t, thankfully, understand. Then he rushed back out to the display of marksmanship his husband was putting on. Dean hadn’t moved, still shooting the clay discs out of the sky as soon as they were airborne, making the children cheer. Sam walked up behind him, enjoying the economical movement of his partner, marvelling at the smooth grace and controlled strength of that slim body. The sun’s dying rays limned Dean in a burnished glow while the soft evening breeze fluttered his white shirt against his body, emphasising just how well-made he was. Lowly, Sam made his presence known. “Dean.”
Dean turned, his eyes impossibly green in the light of the setting sun. They were also narrowed and angry as they focused on Sam. Suddenly, one of the boys yelled, “Now!” The other man pivoted, aimed and fired in a lightening quick, polished move that stole Sam’s breath. He had always known that John Winchester was a dangerous man, not to be trifled with or taken lightly, but for the first time it occurred to Sam that the man’s son was not so very different. Dean hid it under a quiet demeanour and dignified poise, but he was a man of heat and temper, dangerous in his own right. And he was angry at him. Sam didn’t know why, couldn’t remember anything he had done to make Dean furious enough to start shooting things, but he knew it was directed at him.
“That’s all for tonight, boys.” Dean told them firmly, but smiled when they groaned in disappointment. “You don’t want to be late for this evening, do you?” Quick as that, they were all squealing with excitement and running off towards the slave barracks, leaving Sam nervously watching his still-armed husband. Dean turned that narrowed gaze on him once more and growled, “We need to talk. Inside.” Noticing Sam’s hesitation and his wary glance at the rifle crooked over Dean’s arm, he gave a small smirk. “It’s alright. I’m not planning to shoot you.”
Sam grinned sheepishly, but Dean didn’t reciprocate, so he turned and headed for the house. Dean followed at his heels, and Sam would have sworn that he could feel the emotions emanating from the smaller man. Dean was upset, and angry, and trying so very hard to control it all. Sam was afraid; not of physical harm - because he knew, somewhere deep down and undeniable, that Dean would never hurt him like that - but of whatever it might be that could bring Dean to this level of distress. As soon as they entered the study (the gun safely left by the door), Sam turned around and searched Dean’s face anxiously. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I know I said you could, and I understand why you did, but I didn’t mean until…after.” There was pain in Dean’s eyes, despite the matter-of-fact tone of his voice.
For his part, Sam felt like he had walked in on the middle of a conversation. “Dean? I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
Dean looked down, and Sam could read shame in every line of his body. “I know that you’re disgusted by what we’re doing, and that you want someone else, a woman, to give yourself to, but I wanted you to wait until after I am pregnant. Please?”
“Disgusted? Dean, no…”
“Yes. God, you’re going to deny it?” Dean’s eyes were glittering with angry tears when he finally looked up at Sam. “You barely touch me, like I’m something dirty, and you can’t wait to get it over so you can leave. You treat me like a stallion covering a mare.” A tear spilled over, and Sam reached out, but Dean flinched back and whispered harshly, “You’ve never even kissed me. Not once!”
The accusation stung, and Sam yelled, “I’m doing the best I can!” Seeing Dean cringe away, Sam understood that, while he had every reason to believe he would never come to harm at Dean’s hands, Dean had no grounds for such a belief, and perhaps even expected Sam to hurt him. In trying to do right by his husband, he had in fact done the exact opposite, and that realization made him feel sick with dismay. His voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Oh, God, Dean.” Gathering himself together, Sam tried to explain, “I don’t know what I’m doing, but it’s my responsibility, so I tried to do the right thing. I…I don’t have much knowledge about…sexual relations. I only know what I’ve been told, and none of that really applies to what I do with you. I saw my parents once…” Sam trailed off, embarrassed, but Dean was looking at him, green eyes still wary, so he went on, “My father was on top of my mother, and…was not kind in taking what he wanted. She just lay there and took it. Father looked…satisfied with what was happening, but it didn’t seem like Mother was enjoying it very much, just keeping her face turned away the whole time, and appeared…relieved when Father left. I thought…”
“What?” Dean prodded. “You thought what?”
Taking a deep breath, Sam told him, “I thought that I…you… You just lie there, still, and take whatever I do to you as a necessary burden to bear. I didn’t want to keep prolonging it, or make you suffer any longer than was required. Since that very first night, I have wanted to reach out to you, but I couldn’t, not without forcing any further intimacy on you.”
“I suppose…that makes sense.” Dean agreed, understanding starting to lessen his guarded stance.
“I’m sorry.” Sam offered. “I never meant to make you feel like it was your fault, or that I hated touching you. In fact, I, ah, it isn’t so bad for me. It’s actually quite pleasurable, but then I would see how I was hurting you. I didn’t know how to make it any better for you, but that’s where I went today.” Sam belatedly remembered the package he had dropped on the desk as they entered the room and quickly fetched it. Dean was frowning like he couldn’t see what the paper-wrapped bundle could possibly have to do with their current situation. “I went to the city, to get some books. They, um, involve two men doing, ah, what we’re doing.”
Dean searched his flushed face with suddenly soft eyes, and asked with fragile hope in his voice, “You didn’t go to see a girl?”
“No, of course not.” Seeing Dean was about to argue, he told him, “I know what you said the other day, but I vowed to be loyal to you. I like you, Dean, and I…care about you…very much. I’m just not so good at…showing it. But I’m not going to give up on us.”
The smile on Dean’s face was happier than anything Sam had seen there before, dazzling him with just how special his husband was. Dean took the books from Sam’s hand and placed them back on the desk before heading for the door. Once there, he turned back to Sam and held out his hand. “Come with me. I want you to see what I have learned about love.”
***
The slave barracks were lit up like a carnival, and it appeared as though every piece of furniture that could be sat on had been pulled outside. Tables laden with food took pride of place and, though it did not compare to the overabundance Sam had seen at their wedding, this was a generous feast indeed. The slaves were uniformly happy, without one unsmiling face to be seen. The noise rose and fell at amazing levels. Grizzled old men sat at the edges, smoking their pipes and generally watching the celebrations. Older women sat in groups, talking and laughing, while children ran about them. Younger women kicked up their heels in a lively jig with the young men, while a trio of banjos and a guitar played out the tune for them, bursting into rowdy song. Sam had never seen anything like it, and couldn’t help but smile. The grin on Dean’s face was huge, and only grew as Missouri called out and came towards them.
“Dean! Sam! You came. Wonderful!” She was laughing too, and Sam believed she truly was delighted to see them.
“What is this?” Sam asked, awe colouring his tone.
“Bartholomew and Rachel - that couple dancing in the middle over there - were married today.” Dean told him, pointing out a young man and woman who could not take their eyes off of one another. It was, Sam reflected, a glaring contrast to their wedding dinner.
“Oh. Are you sure it is alright for us to be here then?”
Missouri answered up, reassuring, “Of course! The Winchesters have always been welcome.”
“I…” Sam stopped. He was a Winchester now. The ease of that acceptance had never truly hit him before, but these people - Dean and his father, their household staff, and even the slaves - had opened their home and their hearts to him. Humbly, Sam offered, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Missouri gave him a soft smile, knowing exactly how affected the young man was. “Now, come on over and get yourself some food!”
***
The evening progressed, and Sam knew he was being observed, surreptitiously, by all the slaves. His conversations with them still came across as awkward, but he was trying, and that seemed to be enough of an assurance for them. He had lost Dean some time ago to the matronly women who had, he assumed, been the ones to raise Dean. No wonder Dean’s experience with love was so different to his own. Dean knew acceptance here, fawned over by women with maternal hearts, shyly admired by girls he had grown up with, and welcomed as a friend amongst the menfolk. Meanwhile, Sam’s mother had been too fragile to lavish him with the physical affection these women dished out carelessly, and his father never had viewed him as an equal. He never would. Sam sighed.
“Now, now, Samuel. Dean didn’t bring you here to make you unhappy.” Missouri appeared at his elbow, and Sam attempted to smile at her. She laid a warm hand on his arm. “That boy was born to be loved, and he craves it with all his heart, so we give him what we can. What he really needs, though, is someone of his own. Can you be that person, Samuel?”
Sam looked over to where Dean stood, laughing with embarrassment and delight at all the attention he was receiving. Just as it had this afternoon, Dean’s beauty struck him, and this time it was as much his inner man that touched Sam’s heart. What woman could be both so fragile and so strong that Sam would prefer her over his husband? He turned to Missouri, and this time his smile was real. “I hope so.”
***
As the evening slowed down to a close, Sam and Dean headed back to their own home, walking in companionable silence and bumping arms every now and then. Sam was still trying to reconcile everything he had seen and heard since moving to the Winchester plantation with all he had been taught to believe growing up. These slaves were no different than anyone else Sam had ever known; they fell in love, married and started families, they had friends and people they cared for, and they had hopes and aspirations. It was no wonder Dean had felt the affection lacking in their relationship so keenly. And that thought led him to glance over at his husband. Dean seemed to be almost glowing with a palpable sense of contentment. There was a small smile playing across his lips, and a happy glint in his eyes. Sam felt his own satisfaction rise at the sight, swelling his heart until he realised, with a start, that he must be falling in love with Dean. He stopped Dean by grabbing his hand.
“What?” Dean asked, turning back to see why Sam had stopped. “What’s wrong?”
Sam tugged him closer, until they were standing toe to toe. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.” He let go of Dean’s hand so he could reach up and cup Dean’s face in both his palms. As his gaze flickered wonderingly over that stunning face, Dean’s eyes widened.
“Don’t.” He whispered. “Don’t do this just because I...”
“I’m not.” Sam assured him. “I mean, I want to kiss you. Is it alright if I kiss you?”
Dean searched his face, that frail hope flickering through his eyes again. He must have found what he wanted in Sam’s stare, because he answered softly, “Yes.”
Sam moved in, tilting Dean’s head to the angle he wanted, and brushed his lips over the other man’s. Dean’s lips parted ever so slightly on a sigh, and Sam pressed in again, this time sealing their mouths together for a full kiss. He gripped Dean’s head tighter, surprised by the pleasure tingling through him at the soft give of Dean’s lips beneath his own. He felt Dean’s mouth open further, and licked in to taste his husband. The sound Dean made couldn’t be classified, but Sam was sure it was a pleased sound, so he did it again, lapping at the roof of the other man’s mouth. Going by Dean’s enthusiastic response, that was fine with him. They didn’t pull apart until they needed desperately to breathe. Sam rested his forehead against Dean’s until their panted breaths slowed back to normal.
They finally stepped apart and continued on their way back to the house. Sam shyly reached down and twined his fingers with Dean’s, unsure if Dean would accept such an...unmanly show of affection. Dean just smiled up at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
TBC
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Pairing: Dean/Sam, other characters include John, Mary, Missouri, OMC, OFC, and a person who bears a resemblance to the YED.
Category: M/M, AU, Historical
Summary: In the Old South, the heirs of two plantations are married against their will. One a tool to his father's aspirations, the other struck for life by a repulsive curse, will they be able to make a happy future together?
Author's Note: I am going away for a month on a lovely cruise around Australia, so I won't be uploading any more fic until I get back. But don't think I've abandoned the story! Antychan, Sallycandance and I are as committed as ever to the ongoing plight of the Winchesters. ;-)
Part Seven
Having resolved to do something to improve their marriage, Sam set about acting on that as soon as he could. It took him two whole days and another awkward night to make up his mind, but having done so he made no further delay. He knew that a large part of their problem was their disastrous sexual relationship, and that was something he was fairly certain they could fix. To know where to begin, however, he needed information, and it wasn’t the kind of information that could be easily acquired. He would have to go to the city; where you could find anything if you just knew where to look. By sheer coincidence, Sam did. So he got up early one morning, left word with Jenkins that he was going to town and that he would be home later that evening, and then saddled one of the Winchesters’ sturdy horses.
The ride gave Sam more than enough time to contemplate what he was planning, and he nearly turned around several times as a consequence. It was the memory of silent, hard-fought tears slipping from pained green eyes, and the sound of choked suffering that could not be stifled, that kept him firmly on the road. Dean was a stronger man than anyone, including Sam, had given him credit for, and he deserved better than what they had so far experienced. So Sam would find a way to make their couplings better. He knew there were men who chose this lifestyle, and found pleasure in it, therefore there had to be a way, something they were missing. Around and around, the argument ran through Sam’s mind - from firm resolve to wavering insecurity and back again - until he had reached the outskirts of the city.
Sam had only been to the city a few times, but he was sure he could find the store he had once, by complete chance, stumbled upon. His father, on one of his rare and misguided attempts to educate his boy in the ways of the world, had brought Sam here when he was fifteen. While the back alleys and pleasure rooms had held much to meet his father’s fancy, for Sam it had held little appeal. He had wandered about on his own at one point, and had discovered a small bookstore. Finally having found something of interest, Sam went in and quickly realised his mistake. The books in this store were not the kind of books he was accustomed to reading. These were the books the boys at school had whispered about and, occasionally, had managed to smuggle into the classroom. They were exactly the type of books Sam was sure he needed right now.
It took Sam an hour of riding about aimlessly through many identical streets, embarrassingly being harassed and accosted by various women of obvious ill-repute, before he spotted the storefront. It had not changed much from what he recalled of his past visit. There was nothing to draw attention, or stir the curiosity of a passer-by, just the simple sign that proclaimed ’Bookstore’ and the open door. Sam rode past it on the first go, watching to see who might be paying attention to visitors going into the store, then passed it one more time, to make sure he hadn’t missed anything on the first pass. The third time he didn’t even try to pretend to himself that he wasn’t stalling, so he decisively rode up to a hitching post only two doors down, dismounted, and tethered the horse. Squaring his shoulders, and taking a deep breath, Sam strode up to, and through, the store door.
***
Dean lowered himself gingerly into the dining room chair. There was no sign of Sam, and Dean wasn’t sure whether he was glad or disappointed. He looked forward to the time he could spend with Sam that had nothing to do with their efforts to get him pregnant. Last night, however, they had tried again, and it was always awkward the morning after. Sam was trying to be gentle, Dean knew, but nothing seemed to prevent the tearing pain as he was taken. Dean wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this. He was starting to feel ill whenever Sam suggested they give it another go.
Jenkins came in with his breakfast and a steaming cup of coffee. Dean took a sip of the bitter brew and sighed in contentment. Sam preferred heavily sweetened tea, and Dean remembered with a soft smile the morning he had convinced Sam to try the coffee, and how he hadn’t touched it since. He wondered again where Sam might be and enquired of Jenkins. His reply left Dean cold. Sam had gone into the city and he would be late coming home. There was only one thing, in Dean’s opinion, that Sam could want there. At least, he reflected bitterly, Sam had taken to heart his request to be discreet. As suddenly as it came, the anger went, and Dean’s shoulders slumped. He had told Sam he was free to seek his pleasure elsewhere and, although Dean had meant after he was pregnant, he really couldn’t blame his husband. That didn’t mean that Dean didn’t feel a stomach-churning sense of disappointment, or a twitch of jealousy.
Dean turned his attention forcefully to his breakfast, gulping it down with single-minded determination until his plate was clear. The coffee, usually relished and enjoyed, was swallowed like medicine. He got up from the table and headed out of the room, out of the house, and into the bright sunshine. He didn’t feel its warmth, or the swishing breeze across his unaccountably wet cheeks. Ignoring everyone around him, Dean strode into the machinery shed and numbly picked up working where he had left off the day before.
***
Sam was surprised, some hours later, when he felt a warm sense of homecoming as he rode up to the Winchester Plantation. The house was a welcome sight, and for the first time all day he felt like he could finally relax. It still vaguely embarrassed him, knowing what was in his saddle bag. The man behind the counter in the little store had looked up at him as soon as he walked through the front door. Apparently, a fifteen year old boy had not held any interest for him, but seeing a new, potentially ongoing customer, he had shuffled forward with a disturbing grin plastered on his face. Sam would have been quite happy to be left alone, even if it meant having to explore the whole store for what he wanted, but the conscientious seller had immediately sought to know if he could direct him to any particular area of interest. The blush that heated Sam’s face amused the proprietor immensely; prodding him to reassure the young sir that there wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen or heard in all his years of trade. Sam knew, intellectually, that a man running such an establishment would think nothing of his customers’ predilections, and felt silly for thinking it was any different in his case. That didn’t stop his voice from stuttering out nervously that he required books that involved two men. Without so much as a blink, the owner had launched into a well-rehearsed spiel about the large variety and high quality of the ‘literature’ available in his store including, he had happily added in a voice rather too loud for Sam’s liking, a fully stocked section on sodomy and rough trade. Sam’s eyes had darted about the store rapidly, trying to see how many people might have been within earshot, and whether they were looking at him. The only person Sam had seen was another man standing as far into the shadows as he could get, back turned defensively toward them. Sam wished for the same form of anonymity and quickly thanked the owner, asking to be given time to browse on his own. Either he had taken the hint, or considered his job done, for the man shuffled back behind his counter once more. Sam had taken a couple of deep, calming breaths before finally turning his attention to the books in front of him. By the time he had finished, Sam’s blush had become a permanent colouration to his face, but the merchant had ignored his embarrassment this time, more focussed on toting up the sales gleefully. Only when Sam had asked that his books be wrapped in paper did the man give him a knowing smirk, but he wrapped them as requested without further comment. There was no one, Sam was sure, who had ever left a store, and city, behind them as fast as he had that day.
As he rounded the driveway to the back of the plantation, Sam heard the sharp bark and echo of a rifle. It came again after a short interval, breaking through the peace of the early evening. Sam moved his horse into a trot, rather more curious than alarmed by the sound. Another crack as he cleared the house gave him further direction and he spotted Dean, rifle at his shoulder, taking aim at mud plates being thrown into the air by several of the slave boys. It looked to Sam as though it had become something of a challenge between the boys, who were jostling for their next chance to throw. Another plate flew into the air, and Dean raised the rifle smoothly and fired. The plate shattered. Sam blinked. Dean, it appeared, was an incredible shot with the rifle.
Quickly, Sam took his horse back to the stable, handing him off to the stable hand. He grabbed his package from the saddlebag with a blush that the hand wouldn’t, thankfully, understand. Then he rushed back out to the display of marksmanship his husband was putting on. Dean hadn’t moved, still shooting the clay discs out of the sky as soon as they were airborne, making the children cheer. Sam walked up behind him, enjoying the economical movement of his partner, marvelling at the smooth grace and controlled strength of that slim body. The sun’s dying rays limned Dean in a burnished glow while the soft evening breeze fluttered his white shirt against his body, emphasising just how well-made he was. Lowly, Sam made his presence known. “Dean.”
Dean turned, his eyes impossibly green in the light of the setting sun. They were also narrowed and angry as they focused on Sam. Suddenly, one of the boys yelled, “Now!” The other man pivoted, aimed and fired in a lightening quick, polished move that stole Sam’s breath. He had always known that John Winchester was a dangerous man, not to be trifled with or taken lightly, but for the first time it occurred to Sam that the man’s son was not so very different. Dean hid it under a quiet demeanour and dignified poise, but he was a man of heat and temper, dangerous in his own right. And he was angry at him. Sam didn’t know why, couldn’t remember anything he had done to make Dean furious enough to start shooting things, but he knew it was directed at him.
“That’s all for tonight, boys.” Dean told them firmly, but smiled when they groaned in disappointment. “You don’t want to be late for this evening, do you?” Quick as that, they were all squealing with excitement and running off towards the slave barracks, leaving Sam nervously watching his still-armed husband. Dean turned that narrowed gaze on him once more and growled, “We need to talk. Inside.” Noticing Sam’s hesitation and his wary glance at the rifle crooked over Dean’s arm, he gave a small smirk. “It’s alright. I’m not planning to shoot you.”
Sam grinned sheepishly, but Dean didn’t reciprocate, so he turned and headed for the house. Dean followed at his heels, and Sam would have sworn that he could feel the emotions emanating from the smaller man. Dean was upset, and angry, and trying so very hard to control it all. Sam was afraid; not of physical harm - because he knew, somewhere deep down and undeniable, that Dean would never hurt him like that - but of whatever it might be that could bring Dean to this level of distress. As soon as they entered the study (the gun safely left by the door), Sam turned around and searched Dean’s face anxiously. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I know I said you could, and I understand why you did, but I didn’t mean until…after.” There was pain in Dean’s eyes, despite the matter-of-fact tone of his voice.
For his part, Sam felt like he had walked in on the middle of a conversation. “Dean? I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
Dean looked down, and Sam could read shame in every line of his body. “I know that you’re disgusted by what we’re doing, and that you want someone else, a woman, to give yourself to, but I wanted you to wait until after I am pregnant. Please?”
“Disgusted? Dean, no…”
“Yes. God, you’re going to deny it?” Dean’s eyes were glittering with angry tears when he finally looked up at Sam. “You barely touch me, like I’m something dirty, and you can’t wait to get it over so you can leave. You treat me like a stallion covering a mare.” A tear spilled over, and Sam reached out, but Dean flinched back and whispered harshly, “You’ve never even kissed me. Not once!”
The accusation stung, and Sam yelled, “I’m doing the best I can!” Seeing Dean cringe away, Sam understood that, while he had every reason to believe he would never come to harm at Dean’s hands, Dean had no grounds for such a belief, and perhaps even expected Sam to hurt him. In trying to do right by his husband, he had in fact done the exact opposite, and that realization made him feel sick with dismay. His voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Oh, God, Dean.” Gathering himself together, Sam tried to explain, “I don’t know what I’m doing, but it’s my responsibility, so I tried to do the right thing. I…I don’t have much knowledge about…sexual relations. I only know what I’ve been told, and none of that really applies to what I do with you. I saw my parents once…” Sam trailed off, embarrassed, but Dean was looking at him, green eyes still wary, so he went on, “My father was on top of my mother, and…was not kind in taking what he wanted. She just lay there and took it. Father looked…satisfied with what was happening, but it didn’t seem like Mother was enjoying it very much, just keeping her face turned away the whole time, and appeared…relieved when Father left. I thought…”
“What?” Dean prodded. “You thought what?”
Taking a deep breath, Sam told him, “I thought that I…you… You just lie there, still, and take whatever I do to you as a necessary burden to bear. I didn’t want to keep prolonging it, or make you suffer any longer than was required. Since that very first night, I have wanted to reach out to you, but I couldn’t, not without forcing any further intimacy on you.”
“I suppose…that makes sense.” Dean agreed, understanding starting to lessen his guarded stance.
“I’m sorry.” Sam offered. “I never meant to make you feel like it was your fault, or that I hated touching you. In fact, I, ah, it isn’t so bad for me. It’s actually quite pleasurable, but then I would see how I was hurting you. I didn’t know how to make it any better for you, but that’s where I went today.” Sam belatedly remembered the package he had dropped on the desk as they entered the room and quickly fetched it. Dean was frowning like he couldn’t see what the paper-wrapped bundle could possibly have to do with their current situation. “I went to the city, to get some books. They, um, involve two men doing, ah, what we’re doing.”
Dean searched his flushed face with suddenly soft eyes, and asked with fragile hope in his voice, “You didn’t go to see a girl?”
“No, of course not.” Seeing Dean was about to argue, he told him, “I know what you said the other day, but I vowed to be loyal to you. I like you, Dean, and I…care about you…very much. I’m just not so good at…showing it. But I’m not going to give up on us.”
The smile on Dean’s face was happier than anything Sam had seen there before, dazzling him with just how special his husband was. Dean took the books from Sam’s hand and placed them back on the desk before heading for the door. Once there, he turned back to Sam and held out his hand. “Come with me. I want you to see what I have learned about love.”
***
The slave barracks were lit up like a carnival, and it appeared as though every piece of furniture that could be sat on had been pulled outside. Tables laden with food took pride of place and, though it did not compare to the overabundance Sam had seen at their wedding, this was a generous feast indeed. The slaves were uniformly happy, without one unsmiling face to be seen. The noise rose and fell at amazing levels. Grizzled old men sat at the edges, smoking their pipes and generally watching the celebrations. Older women sat in groups, talking and laughing, while children ran about them. Younger women kicked up their heels in a lively jig with the young men, while a trio of banjos and a guitar played out the tune for them, bursting into rowdy song. Sam had never seen anything like it, and couldn’t help but smile. The grin on Dean’s face was huge, and only grew as Missouri called out and came towards them.
“Dean! Sam! You came. Wonderful!” She was laughing too, and Sam believed she truly was delighted to see them.
“What is this?” Sam asked, awe colouring his tone.
“Bartholomew and Rachel - that couple dancing in the middle over there - were married today.” Dean told him, pointing out a young man and woman who could not take their eyes off of one another. It was, Sam reflected, a glaring contrast to their wedding dinner.
“Oh. Are you sure it is alright for us to be here then?”
Missouri answered up, reassuring, “Of course! The Winchesters have always been welcome.”
“I…” Sam stopped. He was a Winchester now. The ease of that acceptance had never truly hit him before, but these people - Dean and his father, their household staff, and even the slaves - had opened their home and their hearts to him. Humbly, Sam offered, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Missouri gave him a soft smile, knowing exactly how affected the young man was. “Now, come on over and get yourself some food!”
***
The evening progressed, and Sam knew he was being observed, surreptitiously, by all the slaves. His conversations with them still came across as awkward, but he was trying, and that seemed to be enough of an assurance for them. He had lost Dean some time ago to the matronly women who had, he assumed, been the ones to raise Dean. No wonder Dean’s experience with love was so different to his own. Dean knew acceptance here, fawned over by women with maternal hearts, shyly admired by girls he had grown up with, and welcomed as a friend amongst the menfolk. Meanwhile, Sam’s mother had been too fragile to lavish him with the physical affection these women dished out carelessly, and his father never had viewed him as an equal. He never would. Sam sighed.
“Now, now, Samuel. Dean didn’t bring you here to make you unhappy.” Missouri appeared at his elbow, and Sam attempted to smile at her. She laid a warm hand on his arm. “That boy was born to be loved, and he craves it with all his heart, so we give him what we can. What he really needs, though, is someone of his own. Can you be that person, Samuel?”
Sam looked over to where Dean stood, laughing with embarrassment and delight at all the attention he was receiving. Just as it had this afternoon, Dean’s beauty struck him, and this time it was as much his inner man that touched Sam’s heart. What woman could be both so fragile and so strong that Sam would prefer her over his husband? He turned to Missouri, and this time his smile was real. “I hope so.”
***
As the evening slowed down to a close, Sam and Dean headed back to their own home, walking in companionable silence and bumping arms every now and then. Sam was still trying to reconcile everything he had seen and heard since moving to the Winchester plantation with all he had been taught to believe growing up. These slaves were no different than anyone else Sam had ever known; they fell in love, married and started families, they had friends and people they cared for, and they had hopes and aspirations. It was no wonder Dean had felt the affection lacking in their relationship so keenly. And that thought led him to glance over at his husband. Dean seemed to be almost glowing with a palpable sense of contentment. There was a small smile playing across his lips, and a happy glint in his eyes. Sam felt his own satisfaction rise at the sight, swelling his heart until he realised, with a start, that he must be falling in love with Dean. He stopped Dean by grabbing his hand.
“What?” Dean asked, turning back to see why Sam had stopped. “What’s wrong?”
Sam tugged him closer, until they were standing toe to toe. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.” He let go of Dean’s hand so he could reach up and cup Dean’s face in both his palms. As his gaze flickered wonderingly over that stunning face, Dean’s eyes widened.
“Don’t.” He whispered. “Don’t do this just because I...”
“I’m not.” Sam assured him. “I mean, I want to kiss you. Is it alright if I kiss you?”
Dean searched his face, that frail hope flickering through his eyes again. He must have found what he wanted in Sam’s stare, because he answered softly, “Yes.”
Sam moved in, tilting Dean’s head to the angle he wanted, and brushed his lips over the other man’s. Dean’s lips parted ever so slightly on a sigh, and Sam pressed in again, this time sealing their mouths together for a full kiss. He gripped Dean’s head tighter, surprised by the pleasure tingling through him at the soft give of Dean’s lips beneath his own. He felt Dean’s mouth open further, and licked in to taste his husband. The sound Dean made couldn’t be classified, but Sam was sure it was a pleased sound, so he did it again, lapping at the roof of the other man’s mouth. Going by Dean’s enthusiastic response, that was fine with him. They didn’t pull apart until they needed desperately to breathe. Sam rested his forehead against Dean’s until their panted breaths slowed back to normal.
They finally stepped apart and continued on their way back to the house. Sam shyly reached down and twined his fingers with Dean’s, unsure if Dean would accept such an...unmanly show of affection. Dean just smiled up at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
TBC