SPN Fic: "Tell Me a Secret" - Rated R - Sam/OMC, Sam/Jess
Um, I have not watched the SHOW yet tonight. I was out drinking beer and eating pizza and watching the OC elsewhere. But I made a story.
Title: Tell Me a Secret
Author: femmenerd
Characters/Pairings: [SPN] Sam/Jess, Sam/OMC, some John and Dean.
Rating: R. Light NC17, maybe?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not for profit. Don't sue.
Summary: Framing narrative set during Stanford era. Flashbacks to Sam's junior year in high school. “Can I tell you a secret, Sam?” Josh asked, looking uncharacteristically nervous as he palmed his jeans-covered knees. Sam looked up from his book, wondering. What kind of secrets could someone like Josh have? What did people who weren’t Winchesters hide from the rest of the world?
Author's Note: Thanks to onelittlesleep for audiencing and assuring me that this was okay to post. Warnings for wistfulness and almost-legal boysexing.
Word Count: 2000+
(Also, *pssst* a porny outtake from this story is posted here.)
Sam didn’t play sports in grade school, but he kind of wanted to. Dean always made cracks about jock assholes, and how they thought they were tough but didn’t know shit about what it takes to really be a man. But there was something about being on a team-about working towards a goal with other people that appealed to Sam.
When they were young, every neighborhood they lived in Sam saw boys his age-and some girls-outside on the lawn playing catch with their fathers, or impromptu two hand touch football games made up of small crowds of what he imagined were brothers, cousins, friends. He overheard other guys talking baseball or basketball on the bus, talking about their heros, finding common ground even if they weren’t really saying anything much.
*****
Jess was an athlete in high school. Not a cheerleader, but a field hockey girl, lacrosse. She’s traded in mouth guards and tartan skirts for art history and working on her grades by the time Sam meets her, but he’s seen the pictures. They’re cute.
And he sees that competitive streak in her sometimes when they play trivial pursuit drinking games with her friends. She gets excited, animated. “I’m gonna rock your ass, Winchester!” she says, ruffling his hair.
“Sure you are, baby,” he says, loving her ability to take joy in little things.
Sam doesn’t let her win. He doesn’t have to. She had the kind of life that allowed her to accumulate information about movies and TV, other minutiae. She has a memory like a steel trap.
When they go home to her parents’ house for the weekend her dad shows off her trophies in the rec room. Jess rolls her eyes and steps up to kiss Sam on the cheek, leaving a sticky, chapsticky imprint on his blushing skin.
Her parents are liberal and open-northern California. They let Sam sleep in her room. Jess instigates a tickle fight their first night there, and the two of them end up wrapped up in each other, panting, calling a truce with arms entwined. Sam spits out long strands of blonde hair from his mouth and laughs. “Girl, you’re everywhere!”
She smiles and touches his face with her hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says, kissing his lips softly. “I want you to know about me.”
*****.
Sam’s a people watcher. His life has always given him ample opportunity to do so. New towns, new schools every few months or years. And John trained Sam and Dean to always look before they leap, to assess every situation ahead of time for possible unexpected twists.
The weirdest person he knows is his brother, yet Dean’s who Sam knows best. He was the one constant in Sam’s life. Dad came second but he was away a lot.
Dean never really tried all that hard to fit in. It’s all temporary, Sammy. Get your kicks where you can. Dean, with his anachronistic musical tastes and tendency to get in fights with dudes far bigger than him, invariably getting his bruises and cuts patched up by the other guy’s girlfriend.
But Sam’s junior year in high school, Dean started going away on hunting trips with John a lot more often. Sam hadn’t even hinted yet that he wanted to go to college and relative peace still reigned in the Winchester household. Dean sent Sam postcards even when they were only gone for a week. Things like pictures of jackrabbits with antlers and cheesy girls with greasy, bursting-bubble tits overlaid over state maps.
Sam was always glad to see them come back, the Impala rolling up in a cloud of dust, soon followed by familiar low voices and the clanking of Dean’s bag of weapons on the linoleum floor in the kitchen. But Sam liked it when they were gone too; things got quiet. He could do what he wanted.
*****
Their place that time was at the end of a long, dirt road. It was the only house besides the large, sprawling ranch presiding over the rest of the surrounding land. Next to the neighbors’ their little rented house was like an afterthought, dirty white shutters and no barn, only two bedrooms. Sam had to walk to the pavement to catch the bus to school, but he didn’t really care-always was an early riser. One day though, Sam was running late because he was up into the wee hours reading for English and slept through the alarm. The big yellow school bus sped right on past as he futilely ran to try and catch it. He was screwed. Not only did he have no way to get to school, but his Dad couldn’t call him in sick-out of cell phone range. Just as Sam was catching his breath and considering his next move, the neighbors’ son rolled up in a red Ford truck.
Josh was the nicest guy that Sam had ever met. Everyone loved him. He had the kind of sleepy, southern drawl that made all women crinkle their eyes at him, want to bake him cookies. But he’d been dating the same girl since junior high-Alice, who had gleaming blonde hair as shiny as his, and a matching white smile. She was head cheerleader and Josh was QB1. People should’ve hated them for being so beautiful and blessed, but no one seemed to.
When Josh rolled down his window, grinning wide and blithe, and asked, “You wanna ride?” Sam knew exactly why.
*****
Jess was a funny-looking baby, bobble-headed and bald. But as page after page in her photo album flip on by Sam watches her grow more like herself over the years-the proud, beautiful girl who’s been making him dizzy just from looking at her ever since the first day she caught his eye across the quad.
She bustles around her childhood bedroom in the sleepy, pajama-time low light, gathering up historical proof of her life to show him. A love-worn, faded pink teddy bear. Diaries with broken locks that she lets him flip through, laughing about how she kicked one of her brother’s friends in the ass once for daring to take a peek inside.
Sam wants to sit back and watch her-soak in the easy, confessional grace of her. He wants to touch her body for comfort, stroke his hands over her sweatpant-clad butt.
He wants for the fact that he listens to be enough.
*****
Josh and Sam’s friendship wasn’t a secret, but it was certainly an oddity. It happened slowly yet easily with rides to school, and then Sam helping Josh with his Algebra II homework-there was a concern that his suckiness at math was going to keep him from playing football, which was not. an. option. Apparently.
It wasn’t like Sam hadn’t had friends before or anything-he’d always had more of them than Dean. But he’d never had one like Josh. It wasn’t that Josh was “popular” or whatever; it was the way that he was interested in Sam’s stories but didn’t ask the wrong questions, his bizarre lack of sarcasm, the way he just smiled like a toothpaste commercial when Sam outshot him at target practice.
*****
“Tell me a secret, Sam,” Jess whispers into Sam’s ear, draping her long legs over his. “Something no one else knows.”
*****
“Can I tell you a secret, Sam?” Josh asked, looking uncharacteristically nervous as he palmed his jeans-covered knees. Sam looked up from his book, wondering. What kind of secrets could someone like Josh have? What did people who weren’t Winchesters hide from the rest of the world?
“Sure,” he said, purposefully smiling. “Of course.”
Before Sam got the last word out of his mouth, Josh was kissing him, hard and firm. No tongue, like he was testing Sam-asking a question. Making a statement.
Josh pulled away slowly, eyeing Sam steadily with wide, blue eyes as Sam sat motionless, fingers to his own lips. At first it was all Sam could do to parcel together words into a sentence in his head; it took even more effort to get them out of his mouth. “What-what about Alice?” he asked, hearing his voice crack like he was thirteen instead of seventeen, almost a man supposedly.
“She knows,” Josh said, still not looking away. “She’s always known. She’s the only one who knows. Except, well, except now for you.” And that’s when his face turned vulnerable, the perfection of it marred with worry and fear. “I hope you’re not freaked out,” Josh said then, much quieter.
“No,” Sam said immediately, and actually, it was completely true. This was unexpected, yes, but in no way weirder than the infinite number of weird things Sam had been exposed to in his life. And Josh was-the way he was looking at him, like Sam could make or break him. No one had ever looked at Sam like that before. So Sam closed the gap between them before Josh could say anything else. Josh’s mouth opened to his and Sam could practically taste the relief on Josh's tongue as they twisted and twined together. And it wasn’t that different from kissing a girl really; it was all about want and trepidation. Desire.
*****
“A secret?” Sam says, low.
Jess nods.
He cups her face and looks, half afraid but somehow knowing that she won’t think about him any differently, or rather that maybe she will but it’ll be in a good way.
Sam takes a deep breath.
*****
“You haven’t told anyone about this, have you?” Josh asked, burying his face in Sam’s stomach after the question exited his mouth.
Sam looked down and touched Josh’s hair with one hand, thinking about Josh’s stone-faced father shooting his mouth off about “wetbacks” and “faggots” over the dinner table, how Josh’d gulped and changed the subject to safer topics like college ball and his mama’s biscuits. The pleading, apologetic expression on his face when he’d looked across the table at Sam.
But Sam already knew about secrets, things that aren’t safe to tell. Some things you keep in the family, others in the Jones’ abandoned barn, nestled between rusting tractors and hay bales. Always remembering to lock up again on the way out, and never letting anything show at school.
“No,” he replied, squirming as Josh’s breath tickled his navel, needy.
“You’d make a great basketball player, I bet,” Josh said, undoing Sam’s fly button by silver button and looking up.
“What makes you say that?” Sam panted out.
“Well, you’re even taller than me,” Josh started, tonguing his way down Sam’s happy trail. “And you’re...coordinated,” he continued, pairing his words with a leer that somehow managed to look innocent, sincere. “I mean, you’re a better shot than I am and I was raised on a ranch. And the way you broke in here...”
Sam laughed then. “Those things just mean I’d make me a good criminal, I think. Funny how I wanna be a lawyer.”
“Yeah,” Josh breathed, wrapping his thick hand around Sam’s cock, culling a gurgling groan from Sam’s throat.
It was always like that with Josh. Friendly friend normal, then hot and sex and instinct and now. Neither of them had any idea what they were doing really. It was funny-they both seemed over-large and fumbly, all hormones and confusion and friction-rubbing against each other. At least they both had the home court advantage as far as parts were concerned.
But as Sam watched Josh suck his dick this time, deliberate and slow, deep, it just seemed-it was. What he wanted.
Sam called out when he came, arching his back. He touched a fingertip to Josh’s hollowed cheek, looking down as Josh swallowed him down, eyelashes touching his cheeks in utter concentration. And it made Sam sad, because he knew how much worse it was going to be for Josh after he and Dean and Dad were gone. Which would be soon. It always was.
“Promise me something,” Sam said once he’d come down. “Promise me that whatever happens you’ll get out of this town. Go somewhere else where...”
Josh looked uncomfortable but nodded. “You could...?”
“Yeah maybe,” Sam deflected, thinking about his dad, about college. “But promise me anyway?”
*****
“Did you ever see him again?” Jess asks solemnly.
“No,” Sam says, and she cries a little, rubbing his lower back with soft, loving hands. But Sam’s glad that this was a secret he could tell her. That he can offer her a part of his past at least.
*****
Title: Tell Me a Secret
Author: femmenerd
Characters/Pairings: [SPN] Sam/Jess, Sam/OMC, some John and Dean.
Rating: R. Light NC17, maybe?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not for profit. Don't sue.
Summary: Framing narrative set during Stanford era. Flashbacks to Sam's junior year in high school. “Can I tell you a secret, Sam?” Josh asked, looking uncharacteristically nervous as he palmed his jeans-covered knees. Sam looked up from his book, wondering. What kind of secrets could someone like Josh have? What did people who weren’t Winchesters hide from the rest of the world?
Author's Note: Thanks to onelittlesleep for audiencing and assuring me that this was okay to post. Warnings for wistfulness and almost-legal boysexing.
Word Count: 2000+
(Also, *pssst* a porny outtake from this story is posted here.)
Sam didn’t play sports in grade school, but he kind of wanted to. Dean always made cracks about jock assholes, and how they thought they were tough but didn’t know shit about what it takes to really be a man. But there was something about being on a team-about working towards a goal with other people that appealed to Sam.
When they were young, every neighborhood they lived in Sam saw boys his age-and some girls-outside on the lawn playing catch with their fathers, or impromptu two hand touch football games made up of small crowds of what he imagined were brothers, cousins, friends. He overheard other guys talking baseball or basketball on the bus, talking about their heros, finding common ground even if they weren’t really saying anything much.
*****
Jess was an athlete in high school. Not a cheerleader, but a field hockey girl, lacrosse. She’s traded in mouth guards and tartan skirts for art history and working on her grades by the time Sam meets her, but he’s seen the pictures. They’re cute.
And he sees that competitive streak in her sometimes when they play trivial pursuit drinking games with her friends. She gets excited, animated. “I’m gonna rock your ass, Winchester!” she says, ruffling his hair.
“Sure you are, baby,” he says, loving her ability to take joy in little things.
Sam doesn’t let her win. He doesn’t have to. She had the kind of life that allowed her to accumulate information about movies and TV, other minutiae. She has a memory like a steel trap.
When they go home to her parents’ house for the weekend her dad shows off her trophies in the rec room. Jess rolls her eyes and steps up to kiss Sam on the cheek, leaving a sticky, chapsticky imprint on his blushing skin.
Her parents are liberal and open-northern California. They let Sam sleep in her room. Jess instigates a tickle fight their first night there, and the two of them end up wrapped up in each other, panting, calling a truce with arms entwined. Sam spits out long strands of blonde hair from his mouth and laughs. “Girl, you’re everywhere!”
She smiles and touches his face with her hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says, kissing his lips softly. “I want you to know about me.”
*****.
Sam’s a people watcher. His life has always given him ample opportunity to do so. New towns, new schools every few months or years. And John trained Sam and Dean to always look before they leap, to assess every situation ahead of time for possible unexpected twists.
The weirdest person he knows is his brother, yet Dean’s who Sam knows best. He was the one constant in Sam’s life. Dad came second but he was away a lot.
Dean never really tried all that hard to fit in. It’s all temporary, Sammy. Get your kicks where you can. Dean, with his anachronistic musical tastes and tendency to get in fights with dudes far bigger than him, invariably getting his bruises and cuts patched up by the other guy’s girlfriend.
But Sam’s junior year in high school, Dean started going away on hunting trips with John a lot more often. Sam hadn’t even hinted yet that he wanted to go to college and relative peace still reigned in the Winchester household. Dean sent Sam postcards even when they were only gone for a week. Things like pictures of jackrabbits with antlers and cheesy girls with greasy, bursting-bubble tits overlaid over state maps.
Sam was always glad to see them come back, the Impala rolling up in a cloud of dust, soon followed by familiar low voices and the clanking of Dean’s bag of weapons on the linoleum floor in the kitchen. But Sam liked it when they were gone too; things got quiet. He could do what he wanted.
*****
Their place that time was at the end of a long, dirt road. It was the only house besides the large, sprawling ranch presiding over the rest of the surrounding land. Next to the neighbors’ their little rented house was like an afterthought, dirty white shutters and no barn, only two bedrooms. Sam had to walk to the pavement to catch the bus to school, but he didn’t really care-always was an early riser. One day though, Sam was running late because he was up into the wee hours reading for English and slept through the alarm. The big yellow school bus sped right on past as he futilely ran to try and catch it. He was screwed. Not only did he have no way to get to school, but his Dad couldn’t call him in sick-out of cell phone range. Just as Sam was catching his breath and considering his next move, the neighbors’ son rolled up in a red Ford truck.
Josh was the nicest guy that Sam had ever met. Everyone loved him. He had the kind of sleepy, southern drawl that made all women crinkle their eyes at him, want to bake him cookies. But he’d been dating the same girl since junior high-Alice, who had gleaming blonde hair as shiny as his, and a matching white smile. She was head cheerleader and Josh was QB1. People should’ve hated them for being so beautiful and blessed, but no one seemed to.
When Josh rolled down his window, grinning wide and blithe, and asked, “You wanna ride?” Sam knew exactly why.
*****
Jess was a funny-looking baby, bobble-headed and bald. But as page after page in her photo album flip on by Sam watches her grow more like herself over the years-the proud, beautiful girl who’s been making him dizzy just from looking at her ever since the first day she caught his eye across the quad.
She bustles around her childhood bedroom in the sleepy, pajama-time low light, gathering up historical proof of her life to show him. A love-worn, faded pink teddy bear. Diaries with broken locks that she lets him flip through, laughing about how she kicked one of her brother’s friends in the ass once for daring to take a peek inside.
Sam wants to sit back and watch her-soak in the easy, confessional grace of her. He wants to touch her body for comfort, stroke his hands over her sweatpant-clad butt.
He wants for the fact that he listens to be enough.
*****
Josh and Sam’s friendship wasn’t a secret, but it was certainly an oddity. It happened slowly yet easily with rides to school, and then Sam helping Josh with his Algebra II homework-there was a concern that his suckiness at math was going to keep him from playing football, which was not. an. option. Apparently.
It wasn’t like Sam hadn’t had friends before or anything-he’d always had more of them than Dean. But he’d never had one like Josh. It wasn’t that Josh was “popular” or whatever; it was the way that he was interested in Sam’s stories but didn’t ask the wrong questions, his bizarre lack of sarcasm, the way he just smiled like a toothpaste commercial when Sam outshot him at target practice.
*****
“Tell me a secret, Sam,” Jess whispers into Sam’s ear, draping her long legs over his. “Something no one else knows.”
*****
“Can I tell you a secret, Sam?” Josh asked, looking uncharacteristically nervous as he palmed his jeans-covered knees. Sam looked up from his book, wondering. What kind of secrets could someone like Josh have? What did people who weren’t Winchesters hide from the rest of the world?
“Sure,” he said, purposefully smiling. “Of course.”
Before Sam got the last word out of his mouth, Josh was kissing him, hard and firm. No tongue, like he was testing Sam-asking a question. Making a statement.
Josh pulled away slowly, eyeing Sam steadily with wide, blue eyes as Sam sat motionless, fingers to his own lips. At first it was all Sam could do to parcel together words into a sentence in his head; it took even more effort to get them out of his mouth. “What-what about Alice?” he asked, hearing his voice crack like he was thirteen instead of seventeen, almost a man supposedly.
“She knows,” Josh said, still not looking away. “She’s always known. She’s the only one who knows. Except, well, except now for you.” And that’s when his face turned vulnerable, the perfection of it marred with worry and fear. “I hope you’re not freaked out,” Josh said then, much quieter.
“No,” Sam said immediately, and actually, it was completely true. This was unexpected, yes, but in no way weirder than the infinite number of weird things Sam had been exposed to in his life. And Josh was-the way he was looking at him, like Sam could make or break him. No one had ever looked at Sam like that before. So Sam closed the gap between them before Josh could say anything else. Josh’s mouth opened to his and Sam could practically taste the relief on Josh's tongue as they twisted and twined together. And it wasn’t that different from kissing a girl really; it was all about want and trepidation. Desire.
*****
“A secret?” Sam says, low.
Jess nods.
He cups her face and looks, half afraid but somehow knowing that she won’t think about him any differently, or rather that maybe she will but it’ll be in a good way.
Sam takes a deep breath.
*****
“You haven’t told anyone about this, have you?” Josh asked, burying his face in Sam’s stomach after the question exited his mouth.
Sam looked down and touched Josh’s hair with one hand, thinking about Josh’s stone-faced father shooting his mouth off about “wetbacks” and “faggots” over the dinner table, how Josh’d gulped and changed the subject to safer topics like college ball and his mama’s biscuits. The pleading, apologetic expression on his face when he’d looked across the table at Sam.
But Sam already knew about secrets, things that aren’t safe to tell. Some things you keep in the family, others in the Jones’ abandoned barn, nestled between rusting tractors and hay bales. Always remembering to lock up again on the way out, and never letting anything show at school.
“No,” he replied, squirming as Josh’s breath tickled his navel, needy.
“You’d make a great basketball player, I bet,” Josh said, undoing Sam’s fly button by silver button and looking up.
“What makes you say that?” Sam panted out.
“Well, you’re even taller than me,” Josh started, tonguing his way down Sam’s happy trail. “And you’re...coordinated,” he continued, pairing his words with a leer that somehow managed to look innocent, sincere. “I mean, you’re a better shot than I am and I was raised on a ranch. And the way you broke in here...”
Sam laughed then. “Those things just mean I’d make me a good criminal, I think. Funny how I wanna be a lawyer.”
“Yeah,” Josh breathed, wrapping his thick hand around Sam’s cock, culling a gurgling groan from Sam’s throat.
It was always like that with Josh. Friendly friend normal, then hot and sex and instinct and now. Neither of them had any idea what they were doing really. It was funny-they both seemed over-large and fumbly, all hormones and confusion and friction-rubbing against each other. At least they both had the home court advantage as far as parts were concerned.
But as Sam watched Josh suck his dick this time, deliberate and slow, deep, it just seemed-it was. What he wanted.
Sam called out when he came, arching his back. He touched a fingertip to Josh’s hollowed cheek, looking down as Josh swallowed him down, eyelashes touching his cheeks in utter concentration. And it made Sam sad, because he knew how much worse it was going to be for Josh after he and Dean and Dad were gone. Which would be soon. It always was.
“Promise me something,” Sam said once he’d come down. “Promise me that whatever happens you’ll get out of this town. Go somewhere else where...”
Josh looked uncomfortable but nodded. “You could...?”
“Yeah maybe,” Sam deflected, thinking about his dad, about college. “But promise me anyway?”
*****
“Did you ever see him again?” Jess asks solemnly.
“No,” Sam says, and she cries a little, rubbing his lower back with soft, loving hands. But Sam’s glad that this was a secret he could tell her. That he can offer her a part of his past at least.
*****