I Loved You First
Title: I Loved You First
Author: taintedlove
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess
Rating: PG-13, probably.
Warning: HET! Also, angst. Like, I cried writing it. For what it’s worth.
Summary:
A/N: For kiwiana , who wanted Stanford era break up fic. Hope you like it, doll. <3 Unbeta'd, be nice.
Not mine, obvs. Title and cut from ‘Samson’ by Regina Spektor.
Dean let out a steady stream of curse words as he poured the vodka over the slice in his arm. Damn spirit had nicked him before he could waste it. The cut wasn't deep, but it was long and would definitely leave a scar. Sometimes he really hated this job. Not enough to ever try anything else, but something about stitching up his own skin just bugged him. This is what he needed-
He sighed deeply and polished off the rest of the drink that wasn't sterelizing his wound. It didn't matter. Only a couple more days and he would casually make his way over to California. It had been a month since he had seen Sam last, surely his brother felt the pull as tightly as Dean did. They didn't call, didn't write. Dean visited whenever the need to see Sam, to feel Sam under his fingertips, became too strong to resist.
Three days, tops.
***
College had always confused Dean. Sammy was already so smart, already good at so many things, why did he need a degree to validate himself? But it didn't matter, his brother seemed happy at Stanford, for however long that would last. Sam had gone through a soccer phase, too. It wouldn't be too much more time before Sam got bored and called Dean to pick him up. The Impala made quick work of the miles between Nowhere, Colorado and Palo Alto, California, as if he could sense Dean’s urgency. Sure, there were lots of busty, beautiful barflies willing to give themselves to Dean, even a few men who had tried to explain what a waste it would be to not put those cock sucking lips to use, but Dean didn’t really care. Didn’t notice. They were a fine distraction, when he wanted to be distracted, but for now his mind was full of Sam. Sam, long and lean beneath him, Sam’s dimples fully showing when he heard Dean’s moans of pleasure, Sam’s hazel skin stretching for miles and miles above him, around him, inside him…
Dean jolted himself out of his thoughts as he passed the California state line. Wouldn’t do to go getting himself worked up just yet, he wanted to save it. It crossed his mind momentarily to call, just to be sure Sam was home, but he shook it off. Sam would make time for Dean. Always did.
***
Sam’s door was locked and the lights were out. He must be out with friends, Dean decided. Not a big deal, responsible Sammy never stayed out too late. Dean let himself in with the key Sam had given him, and wondered around the apartment, running his fingers over things. He’s in Sam’s bedroom when he hears he door slam. He started walking down the hall towards the door, unable to keep the grin off his face, when he freezes. Sam’s not alone. Two sets of footsteps, one heavy and obviously Sam’s, the other light and unfamiliar. Dean grabbed the first door he could, and stepped into the closet as fast as he could, leaving it only cracked open, but enough for a direct look into the kitchen.
His brother was tall, even taller than Dean remembered. He was bent over someone, kissing someone. Dean could make out slender arms wrapped around Sam’s neck, and a mass of blonde hair, but that was it. He could only watch silently as Sam picked the girl up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist… Around Sam’s waist… As she stripped him of his jacket and overshirt, and Sam slipped the sundress over her head and dropped it to the floor. Dean couldn’t see her face.
Dean Winchester wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t a pussy, he didn’t get attached. With as fucked up of a life as he lead, there was no room for emotions. Nothing in his world had enough power over him to hurt him, or bring him down. Nothing except Sam.
“Sam, Sam, Sam…” The blonde head was moaning as Sam sat her down on the kitchen counter and started doing things Dean couldn’t make out. Dean looked away, trying to block out the images and sounds that were bombarding his senses. He wanted to jump out of the closet, to run for the car and drive as fast as he could, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t get away. The moment Sam knew he was here, everything would be ruined. Besides, a small voice in Dean’s head sneered, it’s about time Sam had a semi-healthy relationship. Who the fuck are you to take away normalcy from him? It’s all he ever wanted, and a jealous boyfriend for a brother is the farthest thing from normal. So Dean stayed still. Stayed crouched down and watched as Sam and this faceless blonde began moving together in earnest, their moans getting louder and finally Sam’s back tensed and the girl shouted his name in unison and it was finally over. They picked up their clothes and the girl giggled and made some comment about a public sex kink. Sam kissed her and slapped her ass, saying he’d be back to the bedroom in a minute. Dean tensed, could Sam have known he was there? He held his breath, as Sam’s eyes roamed around the room, and rested momentarily on the closet door, then he shrugged and moved down the hall, calling to the girl. Dean put his hands over his ears, determined to not hear whatever followed. Knowing her name was too much as it is. Their voices tangled in the air for a while longer, laughing and talking and joking. Finally, finally, the lights went out.
After ten more torturous minutes, Dean straightened and silently opened the door, and crept towards the exit. Sam and (he couldn’t even bring himself to think her name) must’ve been asleep. Dean opened the door to Sam’s apartment, and slowly, quietly, walked away from his little brother’s life.
***
"Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica. Anything you can say to me you can say in front of her."
As if he would forget. He flirted casually with her, emotionally distanced enough now to see that his little brother had good taste. Jessica was a beautiful girl. Dean would probably have liked her if he hadn't spent two years hating her for existing. He hadn't returned see Sam since that last time, had sworn he would never ask his brother for another thing. It hadn't worked that way, with Dad missing Dean had no choice.
Two days, Sammy, he thought. Two days and you can return to your perfect girl and your perfect life, and I'll be gone again. Because, honestly? If I never see that mass of blonde again I'll be happy.
Author: taintedlove
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Jess
Rating: PG-13, probably.
Warning: HET! Also, angst. Like, I cried writing it. For what it’s worth.
Summary:
A/N: For kiwiana , who wanted Stanford era break up fic. Hope you like it, doll. <3 Unbeta'd, be nice.
Not mine, obvs. Title and cut from ‘Samson’ by Regina Spektor.
Dean let out a steady stream of curse words as he poured the vodka over the slice in his arm. Damn spirit had nicked him before he could waste it. The cut wasn't deep, but it was long and would definitely leave a scar. Sometimes he really hated this job. Not enough to ever try anything else, but something about stitching up his own skin just bugged him. This is what he needed-
He sighed deeply and polished off the rest of the drink that wasn't sterelizing his wound. It didn't matter. Only a couple more days and he would casually make his way over to California. It had been a month since he had seen Sam last, surely his brother felt the pull as tightly as Dean did. They didn't call, didn't write. Dean visited whenever the need to see Sam, to feel Sam under his fingertips, became too strong to resist.
Three days, tops.
***
College had always confused Dean. Sammy was already so smart, already good at so many things, why did he need a degree to validate himself? But it didn't matter, his brother seemed happy at Stanford, for however long that would last. Sam had gone through a soccer phase, too. It wouldn't be too much more time before Sam got bored and called Dean to pick him up. The Impala made quick work of the miles between Nowhere, Colorado and Palo Alto, California, as if he could sense Dean’s urgency. Sure, there were lots of busty, beautiful barflies willing to give themselves to Dean, even a few men who had tried to explain what a waste it would be to not put those cock sucking lips to use, but Dean didn’t really care. Didn’t notice. They were a fine distraction, when he wanted to be distracted, but for now his mind was full of Sam. Sam, long and lean beneath him, Sam’s dimples fully showing when he heard Dean’s moans of pleasure, Sam’s hazel skin stretching for miles and miles above him, around him, inside him…
Dean jolted himself out of his thoughts as he passed the California state line. Wouldn’t do to go getting himself worked up just yet, he wanted to save it. It crossed his mind momentarily to call, just to be sure Sam was home, but he shook it off. Sam would make time for Dean. Always did.
***
Sam’s door was locked and the lights were out. He must be out with friends, Dean decided. Not a big deal, responsible Sammy never stayed out too late. Dean let himself in with the key Sam had given him, and wondered around the apartment, running his fingers over things. He’s in Sam’s bedroom when he hears he door slam. He started walking down the hall towards the door, unable to keep the grin off his face, when he freezes. Sam’s not alone. Two sets of footsteps, one heavy and obviously Sam’s, the other light and unfamiliar. Dean grabbed the first door he could, and stepped into the closet as fast as he could, leaving it only cracked open, but enough for a direct look into the kitchen.
His brother was tall, even taller than Dean remembered. He was bent over someone, kissing someone. Dean could make out slender arms wrapped around Sam’s neck, and a mass of blonde hair, but that was it. He could only watch silently as Sam picked the girl up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist… Around Sam’s waist… As she stripped him of his jacket and overshirt, and Sam slipped the sundress over her head and dropped it to the floor. Dean couldn’t see her face.
Dean Winchester wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t a pussy, he didn’t get attached. With as fucked up of a life as he lead, there was no room for emotions. Nothing in his world had enough power over him to hurt him, or bring him down. Nothing except Sam.
“Sam, Sam, Sam…” The blonde head was moaning as Sam sat her down on the kitchen counter and started doing things Dean couldn’t make out. Dean looked away, trying to block out the images and sounds that were bombarding his senses. He wanted to jump out of the closet, to run for the car and drive as fast as he could, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t get away. The moment Sam knew he was here, everything would be ruined. Besides, a small voice in Dean’s head sneered, it’s about time Sam had a semi-healthy relationship. Who the fuck are you to take away normalcy from him? It’s all he ever wanted, and a jealous boyfriend for a brother is the farthest thing from normal. So Dean stayed still. Stayed crouched down and watched as Sam and this faceless blonde began moving together in earnest, their moans getting louder and finally Sam’s back tensed and the girl shouted his name in unison and it was finally over. They picked up their clothes and the girl giggled and made some comment about a public sex kink. Sam kissed her and slapped her ass, saying he’d be back to the bedroom in a minute. Dean tensed, could Sam have known he was there? He held his breath, as Sam’s eyes roamed around the room, and rested momentarily on the closet door, then he shrugged and moved down the hall, calling to the girl. Dean put his hands over his ears, determined to not hear whatever followed. Knowing her name was too much as it is. Their voices tangled in the air for a while longer, laughing and talking and joking. Finally, finally, the lights went out.
After ten more torturous minutes, Dean straightened and silently opened the door, and crept towards the exit. Sam and (he couldn’t even bring himself to think her name) must’ve been asleep. Dean opened the door to Sam’s apartment, and slowly, quietly, walked away from his little brother’s life.
***
"Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica. Anything you can say to me you can say in front of her."
As if he would forget. He flirted casually with her, emotionally distanced enough now to see that his little brother had good taste. Jessica was a beautiful girl. Dean would probably have liked her if he hadn't spent two years hating her for existing. He hadn't returned see Sam since that last time, had sworn he would never ask his brother for another thing. It hadn't worked that way, with Dad missing Dean had no choice.
Two days, Sammy, he thought. Two days and you can return to your perfect girl and your perfect life, and I'll be gone again. Because, honestly? If I never see that mass of blonde again I'll be happy.