[NaNo] Ass Out of You and Me: Risk (Sam/Dean) 4/30
Title: Risk
Author: destial
Pairing: One sided Sam/Dean
Theme: 30 NaNo-Shots Special Table 2010
Prompt: Risk
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Does any of it count as underage if it's with a 16 year old? Oh, and the ingesting of fast food.
Spoilers: Pre-series, so if you saw episode one, you're good to go.
Word Count: 1630
Notes: Takes place a few months after Rock and a Hard Place and The Hard Place. Now being made into awesome podfic by the lovely and talented weimar27 found here! Check often for updates!
Summary:Sam doesn't think because his brother is beautiful and Sam is in love, so there is no more room for trivial things like thought and reason. He leans forward and kisses Dean because it is perfect and right and no matter the outcome, he cannot be sorry.
Risk
The thing about this whole situation is Sam doesn't have enough experience to do anything with what he's feeling. He's never really asked a girl out - or a guy, not that he's ever been interested in people that aren't his brother, but he is sixteen, so the issue has come up a few times - and, from what he understands, it's complicated enough starting a romantic relationship between friends. Starting one with your brother… Sam doubts they have an Idiot's Guide to that.
He knows he wants to do something though. He just doesn't know what. Well, he has a few ideas, but they'd probably alarm Dean more than help the situation any.
But it's the start summer between his freshman and sophomore year and everyone and their brother are dating - and doesn't he just love that expression? He's suddenly twice his own size, making him equal in height to his father and an inch taller than Dean. And they were all still uncomfortable with that.
So, to put it simply, his body hurts, he's basically a social outcast, and he has all these urges that he can't indulge in and it's all really just starting to piss him off.
So that's where he is now. He and Dean are sitting in the Impala, eating a late lunch. Their dad is fact checking or something with Bobby, so he and Dean really have nothing better to do. If they wanted, they could spend the rest of the evening right here, at the edge of a McDonald's parking lot in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, eating fries and drinking shakes.
That's not really what Sam wants, but he's begging here so choosing is no longer an option.
"Dude, these fries taste weird?"
Dean says it with all the elegance of a dog, gnawing at a bone and keening around it. He had just shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, sans ketchup for one - "You get a single drop of that shit on the leather, and I'm tanning your ass to fix it." - and Sam saw as much fried yellow as white as Dean spoke.
He must be desensitized, because all he can concentrate on is the sheen caused by the grease smeared across Dean's full lower lip. There is salt, just barely visible fine, white powder, caught in the hairs above Dean's mouth. Sam wants to lick it away and compare it to the natural salty taste of Dean's skin.
"I think they refried these," Sam answers, because Dean is all sorts of sexually liberated, but it'd still probably startle his sensibilities to be licked by his little brother. Even if Sam wasn't so little anymore.
"Refried?" Dean scowls at the bag sitting in the seat between them, where they had dumped out all the fries to share. "You saying you think they gave us old fries?"
Sam shrugs. He doesn't even know if they refry French fries. He's never worked in a fast food joint, so he doesn't have the knowledge to judge. Just another field Sam has no experience in.
He really doesn't care what they did to these fries and can't bring himself to form a response anyway because now Dean's licking his fingers.
"You know, I'm about ready to just give up on this whole fast food thing," Dean grumbles around his middle and ring fingers and Sam's entranced by the slick of spit left behind by Dean's tongue. "This isn't even a chocolate shake. They just put chocolate syrup in the vanilla shakes and it comes out tasting like strawberry. Fucking McDonald's."
"Fucking McDonald's," Sam agrees readily, having heard only one word in that tirade and liking it.
Dean turns to him, just slightly, and one side of his mouth tilts up as his thumb slides free, catching on his bottom lip. It tugs down, just slightly - Dean probably doesn't even realize it - and springs back into place immediately.
Sam doesn't think because he can't. It's late evening, the sun is setting someplace behind him and the angle is bringing a stark contrast to Dean's features. His cheekbones are standing out as they so rarely do; his stubble, longer than five o'clock shadow but too short yet to be called a beard, is more noticeable and almost causes his freckles, lighter in the late spring than they are any other time of year, to almost blend in. The sun must be on the horizon, because Dean's eyelids flutter before settling at half mast; Sam sits taller than Dean now, so his big brother has to look up through his long, dark eyelashes and his eyes are so very, very green. His lips are shiny and slightly parted because when Dean is happy, he's always laughing, even if it's like this, silent and still.
Sam doesn't think because his brother is beautiful and Sam is in love, so there is no more room for trivial things like thought and reason. He leans forward and kisses Dean because it is perfect and right and no matter the outcome, he cannot be sorry.
He catches Dean by surprise, of course. Beautiful, oblivious Dean, who is so surprised his mouth falls further open. Sam considers taking advantage of the moment, thinks about licking into Dean's mouth, opened so nicely for him. But that's what it would be: taking advantage. When he licks Dean's lips open for the first time, it won't be a because of some cheap tactic or any sort of jumping on the opportunity. Sam had decided this long ago; his brother will open to him willingly or it simply won't happen.
It's only for a second or two that this happens, and then Dean's mouth is shut and he is pulling back.
"Sam, wha-what?"
"I love you, Dean," Sam says. It's true, and Dean already knows it but he doesn't comprehend just what it means. Love is a word with too many definitions and Dean's never been one to look these things up. "More than anything. I'm not confused. I didn't misunderstand something. I have wanted you, wanted this, since I was twelve years old. It hasn't gone away and it isn't going to, Dean."
He's not sure where the words came from. Sam thinks they've been building up for a long time because it feels like relief and not despair.
It's nowhere near strong enough, though, to soften the blow of Dean's expression. He's looking at Sam the same way the victims they save look after the monster. As if their world had tilted sideways and they suddenly knew more than they had ever wanted to know.
"You're going to have to deal with this, Dean," Sam says and the words are harsh because he is so very scared right now. "You'll have to learn to live with it because it isn't going away, no matter what you say next."
"Yea, well, that's not a way brothers show their love," Dean replies, an odd, pinched half grin overtaking his face.
Sam would roll his eyes if it were funny and not so very, very sad, Dean trying to make a joke now of all times.
"I'm in love with you, Dean," Sam corrects.
That gets a reaction he hadn't even considered.
Dean's face hardens, his eyes darkening and lips pressing thin. His fingers flex where they've fallen - one on Dean's thigh, the other on the seat between them - and Sam thinks Dean is trying very hard not to clench them into fists. He looks angry, of all things.
"You're too young to know anything about being in love," Dean snaps. "You've barely even- damn it, Sammy, a couple months ago you were barely four feet tall. You don't know anything about this shit, so don’t just throw that around like you know what it means."
"I'm not just throwing it around, Dean," Sam spits back at him. He runs a hand through his hair, longer than dad's ever let him throw it before, and has to stare just past Dean. His reaction is instinctual, taught to him through experience. He is so angry, too, now. He is always angry when Dean is - Dean should never be angry like this, it isn't natural. "This isn't something I just decided. I have been thinking about almost nothing but this for four long years."
Dean's jaw clenches but he can't hold on to his ire in the face of Sam's own wrath. He's never been able to. His eyes glance around, then, landing on everything but Sam. He's scared. Cornered like a dog, he barks and growls, then cowers and looks for an escape.
"I don't know why you're saying all this."
"Dean, I-" Sam makes a choked noise. He wishes he could have thought this over more before he'd said anything. Then again, he'd been thinking it over for years and it was doing him no good now. "I just… I want-"
"No. No, we aren't going there."
With a startled noise, Sam finally looks back at Dean, searching his face.
"What? Dean, please, just-"
"No." Dean's voice is cold and he won't look at Sam. He's turned away and is staring forward, glaring really, at the beat up McDonald's dumpster sitting just beyond the pavement. His hands are gripping the wheel so tightly that his ring, a new fancy he'd recently taken to, is being pushed into his finger; Sam can see a sliver of the dash from in between Dean's finger and the almost too shiny metal. "We aren't going to talk about this, Sam. We aren't going there."
Sam doesn't respond. The car is silent on the trip back to the hotel. Dean spends the rest of the night in the Impala. Even when their dad returns, he doesn't come in and John doesn't ask.
Continued in : Rescue
Author: destial
Pairing: One sided Sam/Dean
Theme: 30 NaNo-Shots Special Table 2010
Prompt: Risk
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Does any of it count as underage if it's with a 16 year old? Oh, and the ingesting of fast food.
Spoilers: Pre-series, so if you saw episode one, you're good to go.
Word Count: 1630
Notes: Takes place a few months after Rock and a Hard Place and The Hard Place. Now being made into awesome podfic by the lovely and talented weimar27 found here! Check often for updates!
Summary:Sam doesn't think because his brother is beautiful and Sam is in love, so there is no more room for trivial things like thought and reason. He leans forward and kisses Dean because it is perfect and right and no matter the outcome, he cannot be sorry.
Risk
The thing about this whole situation is Sam doesn't have enough experience to do anything with what he's feeling. He's never really asked a girl out - or a guy, not that he's ever been interested in people that aren't his brother, but he is sixteen, so the issue has come up a few times - and, from what he understands, it's complicated enough starting a romantic relationship between friends. Starting one with your brother… Sam doubts they have an Idiot's Guide to that.
He knows he wants to do something though. He just doesn't know what. Well, he has a few ideas, but they'd probably alarm Dean more than help the situation any.
But it's the start summer between his freshman and sophomore year and everyone and their brother are dating - and doesn't he just love that expression? He's suddenly twice his own size, making him equal in height to his father and an inch taller than Dean. And they were all still uncomfortable with that.
So, to put it simply, his body hurts, he's basically a social outcast, and he has all these urges that he can't indulge in and it's all really just starting to piss him off.
So that's where he is now. He and Dean are sitting in the Impala, eating a late lunch. Their dad is fact checking or something with Bobby, so he and Dean really have nothing better to do. If they wanted, they could spend the rest of the evening right here, at the edge of a McDonald's parking lot in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, eating fries and drinking shakes.
That's not really what Sam wants, but he's begging here so choosing is no longer an option.
"Dude, these fries taste weird?"
Dean says it with all the elegance of a dog, gnawing at a bone and keening around it. He had just shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, sans ketchup for one - "You get a single drop of that shit on the leather, and I'm tanning your ass to fix it." - and Sam saw as much fried yellow as white as Dean spoke.
He must be desensitized, because all he can concentrate on is the sheen caused by the grease smeared across Dean's full lower lip. There is salt, just barely visible fine, white powder, caught in the hairs above Dean's mouth. Sam wants to lick it away and compare it to the natural salty taste of Dean's skin.
"I think they refried these," Sam answers, because Dean is all sorts of sexually liberated, but it'd still probably startle his sensibilities to be licked by his little brother. Even if Sam wasn't so little anymore.
"Refried?" Dean scowls at the bag sitting in the seat between them, where they had dumped out all the fries to share. "You saying you think they gave us old fries?"
Sam shrugs. He doesn't even know if they refry French fries. He's never worked in a fast food joint, so he doesn't have the knowledge to judge. Just another field Sam has no experience in.
He really doesn't care what they did to these fries and can't bring himself to form a response anyway because now Dean's licking his fingers.
"You know, I'm about ready to just give up on this whole fast food thing," Dean grumbles around his middle and ring fingers and Sam's entranced by the slick of spit left behind by Dean's tongue. "This isn't even a chocolate shake. They just put chocolate syrup in the vanilla shakes and it comes out tasting like strawberry. Fucking McDonald's."
"Fucking McDonald's," Sam agrees readily, having heard only one word in that tirade and liking it.
Dean turns to him, just slightly, and one side of his mouth tilts up as his thumb slides free, catching on his bottom lip. It tugs down, just slightly - Dean probably doesn't even realize it - and springs back into place immediately.
Sam doesn't think because he can't. It's late evening, the sun is setting someplace behind him and the angle is bringing a stark contrast to Dean's features. His cheekbones are standing out as they so rarely do; his stubble, longer than five o'clock shadow but too short yet to be called a beard, is more noticeable and almost causes his freckles, lighter in the late spring than they are any other time of year, to almost blend in. The sun must be on the horizon, because Dean's eyelids flutter before settling at half mast; Sam sits taller than Dean now, so his big brother has to look up through his long, dark eyelashes and his eyes are so very, very green. His lips are shiny and slightly parted because when Dean is happy, he's always laughing, even if it's like this, silent and still.
Sam doesn't think because his brother is beautiful and Sam is in love, so there is no more room for trivial things like thought and reason. He leans forward and kisses Dean because it is perfect and right and no matter the outcome, he cannot be sorry.
He catches Dean by surprise, of course. Beautiful, oblivious Dean, who is so surprised his mouth falls further open. Sam considers taking advantage of the moment, thinks about licking into Dean's mouth, opened so nicely for him. But that's what it would be: taking advantage. When he licks Dean's lips open for the first time, it won't be a because of some cheap tactic or any sort of jumping on the opportunity. Sam had decided this long ago; his brother will open to him willingly or it simply won't happen.
It's only for a second or two that this happens, and then Dean's mouth is shut and he is pulling back.
"Sam, wha-what?"
"I love you, Dean," Sam says. It's true, and Dean already knows it but he doesn't comprehend just what it means. Love is a word with too many definitions and Dean's never been one to look these things up. "More than anything. I'm not confused. I didn't misunderstand something. I have wanted you, wanted this, since I was twelve years old. It hasn't gone away and it isn't going to, Dean."
He's not sure where the words came from. Sam thinks they've been building up for a long time because it feels like relief and not despair.
It's nowhere near strong enough, though, to soften the blow of Dean's expression. He's looking at Sam the same way the victims they save look after the monster. As if their world had tilted sideways and they suddenly knew more than they had ever wanted to know.
"You're going to have to deal with this, Dean," Sam says and the words are harsh because he is so very scared right now. "You'll have to learn to live with it because it isn't going away, no matter what you say next."
"Yea, well, that's not a way brothers show their love," Dean replies, an odd, pinched half grin overtaking his face.
Sam would roll his eyes if it were funny and not so very, very sad, Dean trying to make a joke now of all times.
"I'm in love with you, Dean," Sam corrects.
That gets a reaction he hadn't even considered.
Dean's face hardens, his eyes darkening and lips pressing thin. His fingers flex where they've fallen - one on Dean's thigh, the other on the seat between them - and Sam thinks Dean is trying very hard not to clench them into fists. He looks angry, of all things.
"You're too young to know anything about being in love," Dean snaps. "You've barely even- damn it, Sammy, a couple months ago you were barely four feet tall. You don't know anything about this shit, so don’t just throw that around like you know what it means."
"I'm not just throwing it around, Dean," Sam spits back at him. He runs a hand through his hair, longer than dad's ever let him throw it before, and has to stare just past Dean. His reaction is instinctual, taught to him through experience. He is so angry, too, now. He is always angry when Dean is - Dean should never be angry like this, it isn't natural. "This isn't something I just decided. I have been thinking about almost nothing but this for four long years."
Dean's jaw clenches but he can't hold on to his ire in the face of Sam's own wrath. He's never been able to. His eyes glance around, then, landing on everything but Sam. He's scared. Cornered like a dog, he barks and growls, then cowers and looks for an escape.
"I don't know why you're saying all this."
"Dean, I-" Sam makes a choked noise. He wishes he could have thought this over more before he'd said anything. Then again, he'd been thinking it over for years and it was doing him no good now. "I just… I want-"
"No. No, we aren't going there."
With a startled noise, Sam finally looks back at Dean, searching his face.
"What? Dean, please, just-"
"No." Dean's voice is cold and he won't look at Sam. He's turned away and is staring forward, glaring really, at the beat up McDonald's dumpster sitting just beyond the pavement. His hands are gripping the wheel so tightly that his ring, a new fancy he'd recently taken to, is being pushed into his finger; Sam can see a sliver of the dash from in between Dean's finger and the almost too shiny metal. "We aren't going to talk about this, Sam. We aren't going there."
Sam doesn't respond. The car is silent on the trip back to the hotel. Dean spends the rest of the night in the Impala. Even when their dad returns, he doesn't come in and John doesn't ask.
Continued in : Rescue