Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4403576.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Weecest_Relationship/Wincest_Relationship
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Original_Male_Character
      (s)
  Series:
      Part 1 of Let's_Play
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-23 Words: 2245
****** Let's Play Pretend ******
by lexstiel
Summary
     Dean does something unforgettable when he catches Sam kissing a guy,
     and the consequence is a pretty damn weird game of pretend.
Notes
     Disclaimer: I suck at titles but I'm an okay writer. Bear with me.
Sam and Dean are at another school, no surprise there. But Dad says they're
going to be staying here for a while, at least two months, which gives Sam the
opportunity to try out for the soccer team since the season is just starting
up. He figures he could play for at least a few weeks and if he's lucky he
might get to finish out the season before they move again. So after their
second day of school Dean hangs around the gym and chats up some giggling
cheerleaders while Sam heads to conditioning for the try-outs. There's a cute
guy there - should he even be noticing those things about boys? he feels
uncomfortable but he can't help but find this one attractive - who looks a
little like Dean. He has carefully styled hair and striking green eyes, almost
as beautiful as Dean's. Sam is instantly drawn to him. And the funny thing is,
this dude seems drawn to Sam as well.
After the final day of try-outs Sam sits by himself on the field for a while to
catch his breath before going to the locker room to change. He finds himself
alone except for someone showering a few feet away, and hurriedly shrugs on a
clean shirt and tugs on a new pair of gym shorts, feeling a little awkward. But
before Sam can escape the room to find Dean a head pokes out of the shower
stall and it's that guy, whose name, Sam recently learned, is Dylan, sheepishly
looking at him and asking him to fetch the towel he forgot. One thing leads to
another and the next thing Sam knows, he's stepping inside the shower fully
clothed and kissing Dylan feverishly. It's different, it's nice, and Sam is
exploring a whole new galaxy until the locker room door bangs open and Dean's
exasperated voice - "What the fuck is taking you so long, Sam?" - sends him
hurtling back to earth, the furious blush creeping up his neck and flushing his
entire body with heat, a weak imitation of the flames of a meteor falling in
the night. He prays desperately to whatever god will listen to please, please
not let Dean round the corner and come looking for him among the showers. He
barks a hysterical laugh as his brother does exactly that and drags him
unceremoniously away from Dylan, remembering that Sam Winchester never gets
what he asks for.
Sam squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the blow, but the punch he's expecting
from his brother doesn't come. Instead he feels something soft and warm touch
his lips briefly and Dean yelling, "He's not yours!" at Dylan and holy shit was
that Dean’s mouth on his? Dean yanks him out of the locker room and shoves Sam
down the hall toward the exit, clearly furious.
"What the actual fuck was that, Dean?" Sam demands. "Did you seriously fucking
kiss me? That's gross!"
Dean shakes his head, his face tight with anger. "I had to, Sammy. That boy, he
can't. He can't corrupt you like that. And I, I don't know, the first thing I
could think of to explain that was to pretend I'm your..." he shudders
slightly, "boyfriend."
Sam is utterly disgusted and highly pissed. “Are you out of your damn mind,
man?" he presses, his hands fisted at his sides. "Sure, we haven't told anyone
yet but people probably have figured out that we're brothers, dude. And even if
they haven't, I know, and you know, and it's...it's fucking weird!" He slumps
against the wall, trembling with anger at his stupid brother, embarrassment at
being caught in such an intimate setting, and painful disappointment at the
fact that Dean is clearly not okay with Sam being gay. Or whatever he is.
Dean doesn't reply, just lets Sam blow off some of the steam. Eventually he
starts moving toward the doors again, and Sam reluctantly follows, because the
shitty house they're staying at is a good ten miles from the school and he
doesn't feel like walking soaking wet. They drive home in stony silence, and
Dad doesn't even question the storm that's almost tangibly crackling with
energy between the boys, just claps a hand on their shoulders and announces
that he's headed out for the hunt, and you boys be good, you hear? Sam and Dean
grunt their acknowledgement and stomp off to opposite ends of the house as soon
as they hear Dad peel out of the driveway in his truck.
It isn't until about ten that evening that Dean approaches Sam uncertainly with
a bowl of vegetable soup, a peace offering. Sam sighs and accepts it, because
as pissed as he is, he hates fighting with his brother.
Dean sits awkwardly beside his brother on the couch as Sam alternately sips his
soup and works math problems in the textbook he has propped on his knee. He
fiddles nervously with the silver ring he's started wearing on his right hand,
chewing his bottom lip raw, and Sam finally shuts his book and sets his soup
down in irritation.
"What is it, Dean?"
His infuriating older brother shakes his head minutely. Sam slaps his shoulder
and repeats his question. Dean mutters something intelligible. "Dude. Speak
up."
"You're just gonna say no," Dean mumbles a little louder. Sam's confused.
"No to what?"
Dean glances shyly at him from under his impossibly long eyelashes (why the
fuck was Sam thinking about how pretty they were?) and lowers his eyes again,
sighing. "I just. I. Was thinking that that guy -"
"Dylan," Sam interjects.
"- that guy is pretty popular and he's probably going to tell the whole school
and, and, well. We can't just go acting like brothers after my colossal fuck
up," Dean finishes in a rush. Sam stares hard at his brother.
"What are you saying?" he inquires, not sure he wants to hear the answer.
Dean swallows, buying himself a few seconds before answering, "You know what,
Sammy."
Sam drops his head into his hands. "You want us to pretend to be dating," he
states matter-of-factly, his voice muffled slightly.
He doesn't even look up when Dean murmurs, "...Yeah."
As gross as it is, Sam hears himself agreeing with Dean. His brother's right,
after all; they can't just act like the brothers they are now that Dean has
kissed Sam - ew - and they can't pretend to break up, either, because how would
they explain the fact that they ride to and from school together every day?
So, the next day finds them awkwardly fumbling to hold each other's hand, each
brother trying hard not to let his instinctive grimace show in his face. The
act works, though, and no one is suspicious. Dylan won’t even look at them,
which is fine by Sam, who quit the soccer team before the season was even
underway; he couldn’t bear the thought of having to withstand that negative
energy between Dylan and him for hours at a time.
The worst reaction they face is the occasional "fags" tossed at them from
homophobic assholes in the halls between classes. The facade gets easier the
longer they keep it up, and Sam is surprised when he realizes that he's no
longer bitterly counting down the days until Dad's due back and they can leave.
 
Things all go to hell the moment Sam realizes that he likes holding Dean's
hand. He likes his brother pulling him in close and tucking him under his arm.
And he's started craving those touches when they're not in the school putting
on a forced show for ignorant spectators.
He wants it. Dean. His brother.
Man, he's fucked six ways from Sunday.
He desperately tries to hide the new feelings that have surfaced, but they
continue to blossom until he can no longer cover up the fact that he's falling
in love with his own brother. Dean starts to catch on and Sam's sure his
world's going to start spiraling downhill really soon. Especially when, a month
and a half into their arrangement, he unthinkingly tilts his head and lifts up
onto his toes to press a kiss on Dean's lips after third period, realizes what
he's just done, and promptly flees, leaving Dean shell-shocked and utterly
dumbfounded behind him.
Sam spends the rest of the day carefully avoiding Dean until the last possible
moment and, as expected, when school lets out Dean is waiting impatiently
outside Sam's last class of the day while he slowly packs his books into his
bag and drags his feet to the classroom door. As soon as Sam steps through the
door frame Dean wraps a fist in his shirt and hauls him up against the wall.
Sam closes his eyes against his brother's fury, which will likely be of unholy
proportions. But Dean doesn't hit him, doesn't shake him, doesn't even speak.
He just stands there, Sam's shirt wadded in his clenched hand, hips pressed a
little too closely against Sam's. When he realizes he's half hard Sam trembles
and wrestles violently to escape Dean's grip, to run as far from his brother as
he can. But Dean isn't budging.
He presses himself closer to Sam, shoving him hard against the wall. Sam’s
panic flares and he is rooted to the spot, terrified of whatever is about to
happen.
But what happens is Dean nudging his leg between Sam's knees. What happens is
Dean kissing Sam like there's no tomorrow. What happens is the melding of their
bodies into one flesh, one being, or at least that's what it feels like until a
teacher spots them and hollers at them to knock it off. Dean glares after the
teacher and Sam giggles breathlessly, slightly drunk from Dean’s lips.
They barely make it to the Impala before they're on each other again, hungry
and devouring each other, dissolving into heated kisses and the push-and-pull
motion of rocking against each other in search of more friction. Dean has the
presence of mind to unlock the car and throw Sam into the backseat, looming
over him with an absolutely predatory glint in his gorgeous lust-blown eyes. He
all but collapses on top of Sam, barely pausing to breathe out a shaky "Sammy"
before licking desperately into his little brother's mouth as though he'll die
if he doesn't get his tongue inside Sam, now. Dean's hands are rucking Sam's
shirt up and his fingers are on his stomach and Sam, being the fourteen-year-
old boy he is, nearly comes in his pants at the feel of his brother's
fingertips tracing the trail of coarse little curls that start at his navel and
disappear below the waistband of his jeans.
Dean's actually panting now with want, with need, and Sam realizes a beat too
late that he is unbuttoning Sam’s jeans and slipping a hand inside to palm at
his little brother's dick, which offers an eager lurch under Dean's skillful
hand. He lifts his head, starts to tell his beautiful, beautiful brother that
they should take this home, take it somewhere more private, take it - but then
Dean's fingers are feeling past the elastic of his boxers and fuck that, this
is the perfect place and they can stay right here forever.
Sam gasps and his mouth remains agape in wonder and sheer pleasure as Dean
fists his cock, gentle at first but gradually increasing in intensity and
speed. He'll probably be embarrassed later, but right now Sam's already at his
peak and he can't care less if his brother teases him for his lack of endurance
as long as he gets the sweet, sweet release that Dean's tugging from him and -
Oh God but it's the most wonderful thing he's ever experienced, the world
shattering into millions of pieces as everything goes white; Sam almost blacks
out under the influence of the most extreme pleasure he's ever known with
Dean's hand on his dick and Dean's mouth on his and Dean, Dean, Dean...
A few minutes later Sam gathers himself back into some semblance of astute
awareness and manages to ask Dean hoarsely (anyone would think he'd spent the
last hour screaming at the top of his lungs, the way his voice is rasping and
clawing its way out of his throat) how he wants Sam to get him off, but Dean
shakes his head a little sheepishly. He takes Sam's hand into his and guides it
to the crotch of his own jeans, which are soaked through.
Huh. Dean, the self-proclaimed master of sex, fell apart jerking his little
brother off in the backseat of the Impala. Came untouched in his pants like a
kid who's just entered puberty and sees porn for the first time. Sam is caught
in an odd mixture of amusement, pride, and awe. He ultimately settles on the
latter and pulls Dean down into a crushing hug, his mind reeling in the utter
amazement at the effect he never knew he had on his big brother.
 
Now, Dean will be the first to tell you that he's not into chick-flick moments,
nah, he's more of a fuck-'em-and-leave-'em type. But what he'll never admit to
you is that he was perfectly willing to lie in the backseat of his car in a
high school parking lot for over an hour, cuddling his little brother in a bout
of post-sex sentiment he never expected to feel. And what he'll never
really admit to himself is that he loved it.
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