Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/10438272. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア_|_Boku_no_Hero_Academia_|_My_Hero_Academia Relationship: Kaminari_Denki/Kirishima_Eijirou Character: Kaminari_Denki, Kirishima_Eijirou, Bakugou_Katsuki Additional Tags: bnha_fest_prompt, Wet_dreams_are_written_out, That's_the_explicit material Collections: BNHA_Fest Stats: Published: 2017-03-25 Words: 4141 ****** Look At Me ****** by Justaperson1718 Summary “Hey, Kaminari, will you look at me?” Denki opened his eyes and Eijirou grinned. “What?” “Nothing. You’ve just been avoiding me for a few days.” Eijirou placed his forehead against Denki’s and closed his eyes. Denki continued to stare at him, befuddled by the request. “So why did you want me to look at you?” “I just like it when you look at me.” It started with a light touch. Only on small places. The neck, the cheek, the small of his back, a thumb across his lips. “Kirishima…” From there the two are kissing. He doesn’t remember why, because nothing was said. Just a name. It makes no sense to him. Then again, dreams often never do. An excellent segue into him wondering why Eijirou is groping him. Their lips touch, tongues dance, fingers skim across his skin. He doesn’t remember when they fell over, but apparently Eijirou is on top of him and grinding against him, slow and steady, hard and wanting. He has no idea of their surroundings, where they even are, just that there’s a hand trailing its way down his stomach and another squeezing his ass, a pair of lips on his and a tongue roaming his mouth. He finds it hard to take in everything, only ever able to focus on one thing at a time. His attention very easily chooses the hand that has finally made it down between his legs. There’s a faint gasp. He’s vaguely aware of Eijirou’s head turning, that hand that was on his butt now tipping his head back so that Eijirou can deepen the kiss. He can’t find his own hands. They can’t even be felt. He’s only aware of the kiss and the hand. Everything else is gone in this moment. Eijirou’s hand is about to move, about to start stroking, for some reason he knows it– “Get up!” Denki jerks upward, hastily taking in his surroundings. Upon sight of Katsuki glaring at him his legs come to close in on themselves. “I’m up, I’ll start getting ready.” He does little to hide the panic in his voice, focused wholly on keeping Katsuki from seeing the bulge threatening to appear the second he spreads his legs even a little. Katsuki stares at him, curious about the look on his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “N-nothing.” “You’re lying.” Denki pursed his lips and threw his pillow at Katsuki. “I’d appreciate some space on the matter! I don’t want to talk about it.” Katsuki blocked the pillow with his arm. As much as he wants to find out about it, he doesn’t want to be late for class. Which is the same reason he woke Denki up after spotting him on the common area sofa. “Whatever.” Katsuki is gone with that, leaving Denki to finally realize he’s in the common room and there’s other people going about their business. He wrapped the blanket he slept with around himself and hurried back to his own room. He nearly ran into Eijirou on the staircase, and memories of what he can safely assume were a dream come rushing into his head. His gaze moved to the side to avoid looking at him. “Hey, you okay?” Eijirou leaned to the side to try to meet Denki’s eyes. Denki’s gaze shifts to the other side almost instantly. “Yeah. I just need to get ready or I’ll be late.” Denki slips past Eijirou and rushes up the stairs. The rest of the day he feels awkward any time he’s around Eijirou. Whenever he sees the other boy thoughts of soft touches and hard kisses come to mind. He can’t maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds without feeling awkward. It’s good the dream got stopped where it did, though he’s afraid of whether it’ll come back up tonight. That bridge will have to be crossed when he comes to it. Until then he just has to get through the day without raising any suspicion. As sensible as every excuse Denki uses is, Eijirou believes something is wrong. It’s a minor annoyance. Regardless, he can understand having an issue to deal with, so he leaves it at that and tries to cheer his friend up whenever possible. An especially hard thing to do when said friend will barely look at him. Come the time that people start heading for bed, Denki is in his own room. An uncommon occurrence, being that he normally falls asleep in the common room where he can have the comfort of a television playing in the background. However, given what happened last night, he thought it best to be in his own room tonight. He’s got the cover up to his waist, hands gripping the edges tentatively. He both wants to continue where the dream left off and never wants to see it again. Kirishima… The name is repeated in his head, the tone the same as in the dream. Flirty. Wanting. Denki shakes his head lightly and turns over to bury his face in the pillow. There’s only one way to find out if the dream will be continued, and that’s to fall asleep and see what happens.   ===============================================================================   “No, no, no, wait… no.” “You never like anything,” Eijirou complained, flipping through channels with the remote. “I do, just not anything you like,” Denki said. He moved his foot a little for Eijirou after it’s pushed away, then whines when Eijirou is moving out from under him all together. Often during the late night the two will wind down from the day lying on the couch with Denki on top of Eijirou, their heads on opposite sides of the couch and Denki’s feet perched up on Eijirou’s shoulder. They’ll watch television, sometimes a movie if a channel can’t be decided on, sometimes Denki will read a book while Eijirou watches what he wants, and often Denki’s feet will find their way into Eijirou’s face. Tonight happens to be a ‘You can’t decide on something so I’m going to bed because we have class in the morning’ night, much to Denki’s dismay. “I’m heading off to bed. Try not to stay up too late, alright? You’re always so dead in the morning.” Eijirou tossed the remote to Denki, who ducked away from it rather than catching it. “I’ve only been late once,” Denki argued back, though he knows no one is there to hear him. He’s also aware the only reason he hasn’t been late any more than once is because someone always wakes him up. Usually Katsuki, Eijirou, or if he’s really running late, Tenya will on the way out. That’s when he knows he needs to hurry. He glances at the clock off to the side to see that it’s almost eleven. Normally he won’t even consider sleep until at least one in the morning, but tomorrow there’s supposed to be a test, so it would be prudent to sleep a little earlier tonight. It’s been a little under a week since he had that dream, and no other instances of it have popped up in his sleep, so he went back to talking to Eijirou like normal the day after. It was a one-time thing, apparently. He still isn’t sure if he’s happy about that. As long as he gets to spend time with his friend without the awkwardness then anything works for him. He used the remote to turn the TV volume down some, and then rolled over to go to sleep. He would go get a blanket and a pillow, however doing so would require getting up and going all the way up to his room just to come right back down. Which, in his mind, is absolutely not worth it. A pillow lands on top of his head, followed by a balled up blanket. He beams over his shoulder at Eijirou, who is grinning back as if he foretold this dilemma earlier. “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks.” “I don’t need my quirk to be a hero. It just helps with the fights.” Denki grabbed the pillow that fell on the floor and propped it up against the arm of the couch, then spread the blanket out across himself and pressed his face into the pillow to go to sleep. He expected to dream of fighting villains or food, the two most common things he dreams about, so he’s caught off guard from that familiar call of his friend’s name. “Kirishima…” There’s a light touch again. Eijirou’s hands are on his waist, sliding down into his pants and across his thighs, then up to his chest to toy with his nipples. Their lips are connected again, he can briefly feel the sharp edges of Eijirou’s teeth and the tongue flitting across his own, and Eijirou is grinding against him again. This time he’s aware of the wall against his back. It’s hard to focus, for more than one reason, and he still has no idea where they are. Everything around them is black, yet he can see the two of them clearly. Even more weird is that he can see himself. He can see Eijirou kissing him, touching him, groping him. He can see the one hand moving down, dipping into his pants to start stroking him. He’s breathing in small gasps while Eijirou is kissing and licking his neck. He has no idea how long this is going on for before Eijirou is pulling his pants off and lifting his shirt up to lick and suck at his nipple. Denki covers his face with one arm and suddenly he’s moving up. He can feel the hands on his thighs that are lifting him up, and he wraps his legs around Eijirou in response, his other arm coming to rest on Eijirou’s shoulder. “Kaminari.” Eijirou breathed the name against his neck, grinding against his almost naked self while holding him up. “I want you.” “Then take me.” There’s a suggestive smirk on Eijirou’s face. He can feel one hand taken off his thighs, hear the sound of a zipper, and then both of Eijirou’s hands move around to grab at his ass. They squeeze hard while Eijirou takes the chance to kiss him again. “Kaminari, Kaminari.” “Kaminari,” Eijirou called to him one last time, shaking him harder. “Come on. We got like an hour before class starts. You haven’t even showered yet. Get up.” Denki rouses from his sleep and glances over his shoulder. His eyes bulge wide at the sight of Eijirou, and he quickly pulls the cover over his head. “Kaminari?” After hearing that voice say his name in the dream, hearing it in real life feels so awkward. Not even a moment ago that voice was chanting his name wantingly, lustfully. Hearing it now, even in that curious, slightly worried tone, only serves to remind him of what the Eijirou in the dream sounded like. “Are you okay?” Denki opened his mouth to answer and no words came out. His mouth feels dry. Even more so after he realizes his hardened dick is throbbing, a wet patch of precum slicking the tip and the front of his boxers. Definitely worse than the first time this happened. “Y-yeah. I’m awake. I’m fine.” Eijirou furrowed his brows. His hand reluctantly left Denki’s shoulder and he took a couple of steps back. The hoarseness of Denki’s voice very obviously tells another story, especially coupled with the fact Denki immediately tried to hide from him the moment they made eye contact. “Are you sure?” Eijirou crouched down and tilted his head to the side. One hand came to rest on the edge of the couch. A sign to let Denki know he’s close without actually touching him, in case he wants space. “We have some time to talk.” Denki gripped the pillow and shoved it backwards, hoping it hit Eijirou in the face, to shut the boy up. He can’t stand hearing Eijirou’s voice right now, especially so low and close. Not because he doesn’t like it. It’s because he likes it. It’s turning him on more and more, and he wishes Eijirou would say his name again, but he needs to get away because this isn’t the time or the place. More importantly, this is horribly embarrassing to be thinking of such things with people moving all about the place. “I said I’m fine,” Denki said while rolling over and off the sofa, nearly knocking Eijirou over in the process. He covered himself in his blanket and retreated to the safety of his room, leaving a confused and slightly concerned Eijirou in his wake. He slammed the door to his room shut and locked it, then dropped down onto his bed and let the cover fall to his sides. He knows he should be heading to the showers right now, should be getting ready for school, but he can’t get Eijirou’s voice out of his head. Can’t get the image of them kissing out of his head. He can still feel phantom fingers touching him even. A vague remembrance of what those fingers felt like on his skin, on his thighs, on his… His body shuddered at the thought, and soon enough he finds he can’t resist the urge telling him to tug at his boxers. He feels cheated of an orgasm and his body is in need of satisfaction. Right as he’s about to begin someone starts pounding on his door. “Get the fuck up!” Denki has never been so unhappy to hear Katsuki’s voice before. There’s been a few times where that voice calling his name would instill a small bit of anxiety. This time, however, it’s just extreme unpleasantness caused by horrible timing. “I’m not getting Aizawa on my case about where you are again damn it!” “I’m already up,” Denki called back, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone. “I’ll be out in a minute.” “You better be outside in twenty minutes.” He waited a few moments to make sure Katsuki was gone. When he’s sure Katsuki is gone, he notices his urges are just about gone as well. Frustrating as it is, he needs to get ready to go, which leaves no time to bother with that. This time around his day is spent trying not to talk to Eijirou. He gives in and sits with Eijirou at lunch, and at that time he learns that it’s safe to be around the boy. More than anything he wanted to avoid Eijirou’s voice, afraid of what it might do to him after last night, though evidently it isn’t doing anything to him now. So that means it’s safe after all. Right?   ===============================================================================   “Kirishima…” There was no light touch this time. No kissing or fondling, no biting or holding. Denki was already on his knees the moment the dream started, his face pressed down into his arms and ass in the air for Eijirou to use however he pleased. He isn’t really aware it’s a dream, yet there’s no confusion as to where he is in the darkness or what is happening. There’s only pleasure. Eijirou is on his knees behind him, holding onto his hips and thrusting into him roughly. He doesn’t know why he can see both Eijirou and himself, but that’s the last thing on his mind. He’s pushing back with every thrust Eijirou puts into him Strangely enough he doesn’t hear the sound of their skin hitting each other, the whining or moaning he knows is coming from him by the way his mouth is moving, the grunts he feels like Eijirou is emitting. He even saw Eijirou say something a few seconds ago, saw his mouth move, and heard no noise. Though he does hear his voice calling Eijirou’s name. It’s coming from every direction. Or, at the very least, not from his own mouth. Eijirou’s hands moved up to his ass to squeeze and spread the cheeks apart. Denki’s toes curled, and he can read his own lips even with no sound coming out. ‘More…’ He pushed himself up onto his elbows, and then up onto his hands, and finally up onto his knees. His hands moved back to grab at Eijirou’s ass and squeezed hard. The grin on Eijirou’s face is arousing, as is the faint feeling of his hands gliding down Denki’s waist and touching the area around his cock, all without Eijirou losing his momentum. Eijirou’s arms came up and wrapped around Denki’s chest, hugged him close, and pulled him down. The two fell backwards with Denki landing on top of Eijirou, the thrusting only coming to pause for the time it takes them to adjust. Once Eijirou’s legs are used to pull his apart, Eijirou is right back at it. This time with his hand stroking Denki’s cock and the other playing with one of his nipples. Denki grabbed onto Eijirou’s thighs and bit his bottom lip, trying to endure for as long as he can without cumming. As close as he’s getting, he doesn’t want it to end. Not yet. Then he jerked awake just in time to feel the cum paint his boxers. He bit into his pillow to silence any noise that might try to escape and rode the afterglow of his orgasm. Lingering thoughts of the wet dream cropped up in his mind. He can still feel phantom touches on his waist, hips, thighs… The wetness and stickiness that clings to him when he shifts reminds him that he should get to his own room. Or, at the very least, off the couch that doesn’t belong to him and that other people will want to use at some point. A glimpse at the clock shows that it’s barely four in the morning. The room is still dark save for some scant moonlight and the light from the television he left on. Before this week he went an entire two weeks without any of those dreams. It was great, yet lacking at the same time. Then, right at the start of this week, he had one. Then another two weeks later. Tonight, a week after that, marks the third. All three of them ranged from making out and fondling to the two having sex in a multitude of different positions. He doesn’t regret the dreams, nor is he ashamed. Not in the slightest. In fact he enjoys them at this point. The only bad part is the sheer embarrassment when he sees Eijirou and images of his dreams flash into his head, making him want to touch Eijirou in ways he believes he shouldn’t. It’s gotten to the point he starts avoiding Eijirou for a few days every couple of weeks in preparation. Denki is halfway up the stairs to his room, intent on never leaving so long as his friend is within speaking distance. He nearly bumps into Eijirou at the turn to the third floor and quickly looks down. He can’t make eye contact after that. “Oh, Kaminari, I was just coming to see if you were asleep.” Eijirou’s grin faded at the sight of Denki staring almost directly downward. He looks down to see what’s at their feet and spots nothing of interest. “What’s the matter? You’re not sleepwalking are you?” “No,” Denki croaked. He cleared his throat and tried to get past Eijirou, refusing to attempt even a peek at the other. “Going to sleep in my room.” “Wait,” Eijirou said and grabbed hold of Denki’s shoulder, “I know it’s really early, but I wanted to see if you want to do anything? We haven’t hung out in a few days and I can’t sleep.” I don’t think you’ll want to do what I’d want us to do.Denki shrugged the hand on his shoulder off and tightened his grip on the blanket around him. “Maybe tomorrow.” “Kaminari.” Eijirou’s voice is stern. He’s not angry; although it’s very obvious something isn’t right. He’s very aware of the pattern of avoidance that shows up every few weeks. “Why are you avoiding me?” “I just haven’t slept well for a while.” Denki forced a grin and faced Eijirou with his eyes closed. “We’ll do something tomorrow, all right?” Eijirou is a little happy Denki’s eyes are closed right now. It means Denki can’t see the sadness or worry on his face. He misses being with Denki. So much so that he has no qualms asking his next question. “Would it help if I slept with you?” Denki’s grin vanished. His eyes grew wide and he had to tear away from Eijirou’s gaze. That phrase has a very different connotation in his mind right now, and he definitely wasn’t prepared to hear that. He wants to say yes. To drag Eijirou to his room. “Nah, I think I just need to be away from the TV.” Denki manages a few steps up the stairs, and then Eijirou’s quiet voice stops him in his tracks. “Can I anyway?” Denki turned around and stared at him. He won’t look Eijirou in the eye, so he looks everywhere else. To Eijirou’s hair, which isn’t spiked upward right now. Instead it’s partly covering his face. To Eijirou’s mouth, which Denki remembers has done a multitude of things to his dream-self. To Eijirou’s hands, both of which have done a number of things to his dream-self as well. With the decision this isn’t helping, he chanced a look to Eijirou’s eyes. He can see Eijirou waiting patiently for an answer, and he’s fighting to not look away regardless of the heat accumulating on in his face. “On one condition.” Eijirou grew confused, though nodded nonetheless. “Sure. Anything.” “This’ll sound crazy, but I need to try something first.” Denki felt infinitely stupid for doing this. He moved toward Eijirou and stopped just one step above the other. “Close your eyes.” Eijirou is quick to oblige. He trusts Denki completely, and if this is all it takes for Denki to stop avoiding him then he’s happy to do it. Whatever is about to happen can’t be bad. He’s waiting with his eyes closed for what feels like forever. He’s starting to think Denki just left him there and ran off. Still he waits patiently for whatever is to come, trusting completely that his friend wouldn’t do that to him. Suddenly he feels it. Something soft touching his lips. A vague idea of what is happening comes to mind, though to be sure he cracks open his eyes just a little. Through the faint light Denki’s face can be seen, and his thoughts from a second ago are right. Denki is kissing him. It’s surprising, to say the least. He feels no unease and doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, yet he can’t help but wonder why right now? Still, his hand comes to rest on Denki’s cheek, and he pulls the other closer. Denki’s eyes open a small bit and meets Eijirou’s stare. He’s about to pull away when Eijirou jerks him closer, as if reading his mind. ‘I’m not done’ is written in Eijirou’s narrow gaze. Denki is more than willing to let him have his fill. He lets Eijirou move up to the same step as him on the stairs and press their bodies against each other. Doesn’t stop Eijirou from placing a hand on his hip. His own hands come up to rest on Eijirou’s cheek and grab him by the shirt collar. “You can sleep with me,” Denki answered after they’re done. “Just not in your room.” “Okay.” Eijirou doesn’t care, as long as he gets to be with Denki. Though on the way to Denki’s room, he begins to wonder, “So is that why you were avoiding me? Because you wanted to kiss me?” “Because I’ve been having wet dreams about you every few weeks. It was embarrassing to look you in the eye after the dream every time. I kissed you because, well, if you feel the same then it wouldn’t be awkward to be in the same bed as you.” “Oh, that’s why? That’s no reason to be embarrassed. I’d totally do that stuff with you.” “It’s still embarrassing to look someone in the eye right after having a dream like that about themwhen you don’t know if they’re interested. It wasn’t just kissing,” Denki argued. He shoved the door to his room open and got two steps in, then gets pulled back into Eijirou’s arms. “Well now you know, so you don’t have to be embarrassed.” “I’m not anymore. But I’m super tired, so come on.” Denki broke out of Eijirou’s hold and made it to his bed. He was already wrapped up in his blanket with his eyes closed while Eijirou climbed over him and placed himself between Denki and the wall. His arms are wrapped around Denki the moment he is settled in. “Hey, Kaminari, will you look at me?” Denki opened his eyes and Eijirou grinned. “What?” “Nothing. You’ve been avoiding me for a few days.” Eijirou placed his forehead against Denki’s and closed his eyes. Denki continued to stare at him, befuddled by the request. “So why did you want me to look at you?” “I just like it when you look at me.” Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work! nice— Life. holiday. That ought to cover it. Sam copies it carefully onto the stationery. Merry Christmas, Sam He seals the envelope, slips it down inside Mom’s silvery gift bag. Screws up all his nerve. Gray Jeep with an Avis sticker sits frosty in De—Mr. Smith’s driveway. Whole family’s in town. Last week, Sam hoped he might get to meet them. Light from the Christmas tree spills out to the porch. Sam doesn’t dare look. Can’t bring himself to ring the bell. Just, opens the storm door, hangs the gift bag on the knob and slips away.   [scene divider.] Sam wakes up smelling cinnamon rolls, Mom’s go-to Christmas breakfast. Soon the house starts filling up with family. Grandma and Grandpa Campbell, Aunt Gwen and her kids, Uncle Deacon. Packages stack up under the tree and the kitchen runs full steam. Sam keeps himself occupied chasing the little kids. Glad for the houseful—not like he’d get to watch Dean today anyway. Dad lights the fireplace. Calls everyone to the front room and hands out gifts. Sam manages real smiles, cousin on each side, worshipful. Teasing and laughter. Paper and bows slowly cover the floor. Usual socks and sweaters. Toys, booze, and perfume. Sam gets a couple of PlayStation games, the new Beck CD, a mall gift certificate. “Hey! Almost forgot!” Dad says, hands over a small box. White trees on a red background. Silver bow. He and Mom share a long look. Sam gives it a shake. Feels weight in there, moving around. He tears it open… “Dad?” Broad grin. Two keys on a silvery ring, little metal disk. Sam turns it over. Chevy logo, Blazer 4x4. He barely hears: “We’ll get you on the title after the new year.” Sam blinks. “You’re insured though,” Dad says. “I’ll run you down to the shop here in a minute. Let you drive it home.” Kind of in a daze, Sam shakes his grandpa’s hand, hugs Mom and Grandma and Aunt Gwen. “Go on,” Mom says, shine to her eyes they both ignore. Dad drives in silence. Glances over at Sam, half-smiles and head-shakes. Unlocks the garage. “You’re gonna have to take care of it. Keep the oil changed, tires rotated, you know the drill.” “Yes, sir.” Door rumbles open on an old-model Blazer. Black, two doors, sport package. “Dad, this is…” Sam walks around. Just a little beat-up, rust spots around the wheel wells. “Me and Mike rebuilt the engine. Figure we can put in the body work over the summer.” “I dunno what to say,” Sam kinda wants to pinch himself. “Thank you.” “Merry Christmas, son.” Dad grabs a shoulder, hauls him into a bear hug. Fist thumps Sam’s back. “Go on and fire it up. I’ll see you back home.” Sam climbs in the driver’s seat. Takes a second to catch his breath. Dad idles, waits for Sam so he can lock up. Must’ve busted his ass on this thing. Everything’s clean, new floor mats and an after-market stereo. Sam turns the key, fixes the mirrors, finds a radio station. Backs out careful and hits the street, blown away. He gets to drive to school next week. Ian’ll shit himself. He still thinks about Mr. Smith. Chest aches and his teeth grind. Sam tries shaking it off. Practically speaking, they only hung out for two days, even though Sam’s had a—a crush on him since seventh grade. Mom’s pulling ham out of the oven when Sam gets back. Still not hungry. Still pretends. Uncle Deacon gives him fuzzy dice before he leaves, which, Sam will not hang from his rearview. Everybody laughs and hugs and thanks. Sam sits in the Blazer, plays CD’s ’til he can’t take the cold anymore. Dad snores in his recliner. Mom pushes him more pie. Sam’s head feels too small. Shoulda been a perfect Christmas. Too bad his stupid heart can’t get the message. Sam begs off to his room, screws around with Tomb Raider a while. Come bedtime, he sucks it up and lets his blinds down. Turns the stick until Mr. Smith’s window disappears.   [scene divider.] Overnight snowfall puts him out in the yard the next morning, shoveling. Mom and Dad took off, hitting the after-Christmas sales. Sam’s truck sits by the curb. Eyes dart back and forth between it and the house next door. Last section of driveway, voices. Can’t help but glance as they pack the Jeep. Blue jeans and a full beard. “We’ll see ya for Jo’s graduation, boy.” Gruff. “Take care of yourself, son.” Smoky and kind. “I will,” Mr. Smith hugs his mom. “And I’ll see you in a few weeks, runt.” “Butthead.” Pretty blonde punches at him. Mr. Smith bats her away. “You damn kids.” Mrs. Smith rounds the Jeep and spots Sam. “Well hi there!” Sam’s heart rockets into his throat. Dad’ll kill him if he’s rude. He forces a smile. “Hello.” Mr. Smith gestures. “Bob and Ellen Smith, Sam Wesson.” “Dude.” Jo backhands him. “Right. My sister Jo.” Sam waves. “It’s nice meeting you all.” “Howdy, Sam.” Bob Smith tips his ball cap. “Smith and Wesson. If that ain’t—” “Sam?” Mrs. Smith interrupts. “The neighbor boy you’re always talkin’ about?” She treks right through the snow to give Sam a hug. “Why hell, you’re as big as a beanstalk.” Pats his cheek, “Handsome, too.” Sam hugs back, awkward. “Thank you, ma’am.” “Huh-uh. None of that ma’am crap. I’m Ellen.” Sam nods. “All right, let’s get a move on.” The elder Smith climbs in the Jeep. “Gotta haul ass if we’re gonna make our flight.” More goodbyes and Sam turns away. Clears the last patch of snow, eyes on his shovel. Jeep takes off down the street and he breathes. “Nice truck.” Sam jolts. “Your dad’s been gloatin’ about it for months. You drive it yet?” “I-uh…” Sam swallows. “I mean. Yes, sir. Just home from the shop, but—” “Take me for a spin?” He nods at the Blazer. Sam panics a little. “Uh, sure, just. Lemme grab my keys.” “Take your time.” Mr. Smith strolls out, leans on the passenger door. Crossed arms and ankles and nose red-cold. Sam tries to act casual, at least ’til he’s in the garage. He flies to his room and back. Stops at the front door, jackhammer heart. Be cool, Sam. As if. He takes a breath, heads out. “Where to?” Sam asks, once they’re loaded up. “Someplace we can talk.” Mr. Smith shrugs. “Tate’s Drive-in?” “Yeah. Okay.” Mr. Smith turns down the radio. “Listen, Sam. I owe you an apology. For all this. I thought… Shit, I dunno what I was thinkin’.” “I’m so sorry—” “No. None of this is on you, you hear me? I’m the adult here. And the other night—” No need to ask which night. “—all I had to do was get out of that chair and go to bed.” He rubs his mouth. “Fuck, but you…” Fingers drum. He shifts his weight. “You were what, twelve when I moved out here?” “Eleven.” “Right.” Teeth clench. “And you… well you grew up great, Sam. I dunno how else to say it. Like, you’re grown for your age, but you’re not, and I…” Sharp exhale. “Okay. You remember when you and Ty Brady put a baseball through my window?” “God.” How could Sam forget? “That little shit made you do all the talking, hung behind you, clearly not a damn bit sorry, and you… On the one hand you’re lookin’ up at me, like you think I’m gonna kill you but you stood your ground. Talkin’bout, you wanna own up, take responsibility…” He clears his throat. “And look, I wasn’t pervin’ on you back then, I swear to God, it was just—you were a neat kid. And you wouldn’t leave ’til I gave you somethin’ to do to make it up to me.” “Pulled all the weeds in your backyard,” Sam remembers. Blistered his hands, grass-stained his jeans something awful. “Only chore I could come up with! Man, there was a shitload of ’em too. I hadn’t messed with the yard hardly at all since I moved in. I figured, you’d pull until you got bored and I’d let it go.” Head shakes. “Ty took off in an hour, but damn if you didn’t work out there ’til the sun went down, ’til your dad came lookin’ for you.” “He was so pissed.” “Yeah, he was.” Mr. Smith grins, “Don’t tell him I told you, but, he also thought it was hilarious.” Serious. “And, he was proud of you.” Sam turns for the drive-in, parks in a stall. “Not many kids that age woulda done what you did.” Mr. Smith leans over, checks out the menu. “You drink coffee, Sam?” “No, sir.” Like a baby. Again. Heat springs to his cheeks and he feels Dean tense. “Hot chocolate then. Two of ’em. Tall.” He opens his coat to dig out his wallet. Hips hitch up off the seat and Sam crams down all the thoughts that conjures. Quiet in the truck after he orders. Carhop skates out, bundled in a high school jacket and sock cap. Mr. Smith hands her a ten and tells her to keep the change. “Thank you,” Sam says. Rolls up the window, warms his hands around the Styrofoam. “I guess…” Mr. Smith goes on. “Once I knew you’d been lookin’ at me, like that, I kinda thought, why not? You know, just, hang out. Go slow. See if we…” Twitch in his jaw, and he sips his chocolate. “I dunno.” Silence stretches. Sam screws up his nerve. “My freshman year, this senior girl, Madison, took me to prom.” Mr. Smith’s eyebrows go up. “Older women too, huh?” Smirky grin. Sam blushes hard. “We were friends, you know? From Quiz Bowl. I mean, I thought we were friends.” Sam blows steam off his cup. First taste kinda burns his tongue. “She-uh… I mean we…” Huff of breath. “I wasn’t out yet, even to me, so. You know, when she…” “Mm-hm.” Mr. Smith nods. “I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. She was nice about it though. I don’t think she’d ever—done it—either and, it wasn’t like, I hated it? But,” Come on, Sam, just say it. “I kept wishing it was you.” Eyebrows again. Mr. Smith drinks, hides his mouth. “So, I’m sorry I went too far. I thought—or I hoped, I guess—you wanted—” “Sam.” Soft. “Mr. Smith?” He winces. Tries to hide it but Sam sees. “I asked you to call me Dean.” Warmth blooms in his chest, just a speck. “Okay.” “We should head back, you think?” “Yeah,” Sam looks at his watch. “Mom and Dad’ll be home soon. I don’t want to worry ’em.” “See? This is what I’m talkin’ about. I tortured my parents when I was your age.” “I doubt that.” Sam chuckles. “Oh yeah? You should ask my mother. Or not, if you don’t want your ears scorched off.” Sam wheels away from his parking spot. Glances at Dean. Mumbles, “So what now?” “I dunno, man. I don’t wanna see you get hurt. Like, what if I scar you for life?” “Big-headed much?” Sam blurts, cringes. But Dean laughs. “Yeah… I guess I am.” Sam grips the wheel. “Would you, want to try again? Like you said? Slow?” No answer, long enough for Sam to think he screwed it up again. Then, “Shit. How many men have you even dated?” “Dated?” Sam shrugs. “None.” “See—” “I hooked up with my roommate at math camp.” “Math camp?” Shoulders shake but it’s not mean. “Well, in fairness I got laid three years running at wrestling camp.” “Okay, that sounds freakin’ hot.” “You have no idea. Wrestlers are bendy.” Sam gulps. Glances and their eyes meet. “Why don’t you come by tomorrow? Sandover’s closed, and you’re on break, right?” “Right.” “I don’t wanna promise anything. Are you cool with that?” Sam nods. “Just hangin’ out.” “Fantastic.” Dean turns up the radio, gripes about Green Day. “My truck, my tunes,” Sam says and Dean shows palms. “Speaking of, if you need a place to park this beast, you can use my driveway.” Sam blinks. “Wha… Are you serious?” “I only use the half close to the house. Garage is full of crap on the other side.” “Yeah.” Sam doesn’t know what to say. “I mean, thank you.” “Don’t mention it. Meant what I said, Sam. You’re a good kid. Whatever happens, we’re still—” “Neighbors,” Sam finishes. “We’ll be okay.”   [scene divider.] Mom knocks on Sam’s doorframe. “Can I come in?” “Sure.” “We should talk.” “Uh… okay.” Sam sits on the foot of the bed. Mom takes the chair. “What’s going on, with you and Dean?” “Nothing!” Mom’s chin tilts, bullshit. “We’re… hanging out, okay? Just talking.” “Talking.” She presses her lips. “But you’re hoping for more than that.” Sam nods. “And I get it, Sam. He’s a fox.” “Mom!” “What do you want from me? I have eyes.” Sam feels himself blushing again. “I won’t lie,” Mom goes on. “I don’t like how you look at each other.” He should’ve figured. “But, I wouldn’t like it with anyone.” Mom looks around. Pearl Jam and X-Files posters, school awards. “Not been so long ago, this room was all cowboys and dinosaurs.” She reaches out, squeezes his hand. “My little boy is growing up. No mom likes that.” “What about Dad?” “Your Dad…” She shakes her head. “I don’t think he’s figured it out yet.” “Think he’ll be mad?” “I think he’ll get over it.” “That’s… reassuring?” Sam grimaces. Mom chuckles. “Bottom line, I like Dean. He’s good people. And I’d rather have all this out in the open than you two sneaking around.” “For real?” “Yeah, for real.” Mom stands, Sam stands. She pats his chest. “Just, promise me you’ll be safe. I know you’re smart.” Sam ducks his head. “And you come talk to me, about anything. Everything.” “Okay, Mom.” “I love you, Sammy.” Sam swoops for a hug. ***** Chapter 3 ***** Sam lugs a crockpot of Buffalo chicken cheese dip down the sidewalk. Dad’s got a case of beer and Mom packs the chips. Novaks live four houses over, host the New Year’s block party every winter. “Hey, hold up!” Dean hustles down his front steps. Champagne bottles clink in their box. “Beer waits for no man, Smith,” Dad grumbles. Sam slows a little, lets Dean catch him. “Happy New Year.” Shoulders brush. “I’ll drink to that,” Dean says. “Well. Here in a minute I will.” Sam grins at him. Christmas lights on eaves and windows cast his face in red and green and blue. Eyes flick Sam’s way; mouth corner quirks. “Better watch where you’re going.” Sam rolls eyes. Mr. Novak welcomes them in. Directs the dip to the kitchen and booze to the back deck. Mrs. Novak adds Mom’s crock to a line of them: meatballs, nacho cheese, smoked sausage in barbecue sauce. Cold-cut and vegetable trays, cookies and brownies, two-liter pops and plastic cups cover every surface. People mingle. Sam, by default hangs out with Brady, same as it’s been since third grade. “Visited Florida State last week.” Sloppy. Raided the punch bowl. “You wouldn’t believe it, Sammy, it’s wild. The booze, the bitches. I can’t wait for college.” Sam barely listens. All his attention’s on Dean, though he tries to be subtle. Dean looks amazing. Blue jeans, white button-down and a sweater in dark green, thin stripe around his chest and his sleeves rolled up. Sam takes it for a good sign: pretty much every time he looks, Dean’s glancing back. Eyebrows and half- smiles, drives Sam crazy. Dining room table’s shoved aside to make room for a dance floor. Mini disco ball throws spots around. Mom and Dad show off, like they always do, until Dad gets too many beers in him. “Five-minute warning!” Mr. Novak stops the music. “Everyone outside!” Some kind of superstition about crossing the threshold after midnight. Party moves out to the back deck, crowds out smokers. Plastic champagne cups go around, Sam snags a sparkling cider and Brady calls him a pussy. Sam’s about ready to wheel on him but Dean’s there. Catches his elbow, leads him off to a shadowed spot by a tree. “Four! Three! Two! Happy New Year!” Somebody belts out Auld Lang Syne, off-pitch. Party horns and cowbells, couples kissing. Dean’s lips brush Sam’s ear, whispering, “Let’s get outta here.” Sam nods. Tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. He spots Dad, sloshing champagne and laughing, leaning on Mom. “Dean’s gonna walk me home. Is that okay?” Dad’s face screws up, head tilts, but Mom says, “Sure, hon.” And a pointed look. “Be safe.” Sam slips away, hears Dad, “The hell’s that about?” Mom shushes him. “Later, John.” Dean’s waiting, edge of the crowd. “We cool?” Sam swallows his nerves. “We’re cool.” Hands stuffed in his pockets and Dean threads an arm through the gap, hooked at the elbow. Street’s deserted. Everyone else will stay and party another hour, at least. Dean leads him down the block, not rushed. Whistles while they walk. They kick snow off their boots outside Dean’s door. Gloved hands fumble the keys. Inside, Dean takes Sam’s coat. “Turn on the stereo, wouldya?” Sam finds the right remote. Dean opens a cabinet, flips through records. “Perfect.” Black sleeve, vinyl, hiss of a needle and slow jazz. “Coltrane.” Dean sticks a hand out. “Dance with me.” “I don’t—” “Just follow me.” Hands on Sam’s hips, Dean guides him in a circle. Low light, Christmas tree casts crazy shadows. All Sam’s concentration goes to not stepping on Dean’s feet. “You gotta relax, Sam.” Dean pulls closer. Stubble tickles his jaw. Faded cologne mixes with champagne in his nose. Dean’s arms cross, small of his back. Sam’s dick perks up and Dean hums. Lips, then, teasing up under his ear. Dean’s head tilts, eyes almost all pupil, mingled breath. They’re not dancing anymore. Saxophone moans. Dean’s hand slips up between them, knuckles against Sam’s cheek. He leans into it, eyes closed. So close Sam almost can’t tell whose heartbeat is whose, both wild. Dean’s tongue runs out, mouth shines and Sam can’t wait anymore. Dean tastes like fruit and liquor. Perfect lips—still kind of cold—grip Sam’s, soft, slick, and suction. Hot tongue. Sam gasps, opens up and Dean licks, roof of his mouth. Sam groans and Dean feeds it right back to him. Squeezes behind his neck. Other hand rubs circles in Sam’s back and Sam’s hanging on for dear life, hard at Dean’s hip. Air. Sam pants, must’ve forgotten to breathe and Dean stares, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Jesus, kid, you’re…” Fingers trail along Sam’s spine and he bucks. “See?” Kissing again and Sam’s hips roll. Dean lets out a hiss. “What do you want, Sam?” Brushes hair behind his ear. “Fuck, give you anything. Wanna see you come again. God help me, I don’t wanna wait.” Sam damn near blows in his jeans. “I… wanna see you too, Dean. Feel you, hear you yell…” Dean stutter-breathes, staggers. Drags Sam down and they hit the couch. Sam spreads his legs, Deans slots between and Sam grinds, needy and loud. Dean throws his head back. Sweat shines in his open collar. He pops up, ditches his sweater and Sam goes for buttons. Pale skin, scattered freckles, muscle lines at his middle where Sam’s all ribs. Fingertips, Dean’s stomach jumps as he wrestles his shirt off. Sam attacks his belt, but he grabs Sam’s wrists. “Wait.” Full-body shiver. Sam says, “Yes, sir.” Dean’s eyes flutter. “Fuuuck,” under his breath and he hauls Sam up. Palms cup his jaws, mouths crash together and tongues rake. Sam pets Dean’s back, skin smooth and warm. So turned on he can’t even see straight. Dean roots under his shirts, strips him and shoves him down. “You wanna see, huh?” Strokes up the hard line in his jeans. Sam’s ass lifts clean off the cushions. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Sam’s belt. Dean’s belt. Buttons and zippers and waistbands. Dean kneels over him, cock out, dark and curved. Sam’s fingers flex, mouth waters and belly tightens. “Can I—” “Thought you liked to watch.” Hooded eyes, licked lips and a hand curled around. No sound, besides their breathing. Record ran out and Sam didn’t even notice. He swallows, links his fingers behind his head. Dean slides slow up his length. Makes a show of it, thrusting against his palm and grinning. Hips roll and his forearm flexes, cockhead dips in and out of his fist. Faster, soft grunts tumble out, jaws tight. Sam wants to touch so bad he shakes. “M’close,” Dean rumbles. “You want it on you?” Sam convulses. “Yes.” Crack in his voice. Dean pitches forward, braced on the couch arm, lost in it. Forehead-to-forehead. Knuckles graze against Sam and he can’t help running his hands up Dean’s thighs. Hard thrust and a ragged breath and Dean roars. First shot lands hot on his chest and he’s right behind. Fists ball and heels dig in. Vision blurs. Dean breathes, “Ohh God,” over and over. Paints Sam up. They mix together. Sam grabs his face, tilts into his mouth. Nose, chin, and teeth collide. Sam growls. Dean slumps. Fingers the mess on Sam’s stomach. “You,” breath catches, “you okay?” “Okay?” Sam laughs, dazed. “I’m fuckin’ awesome.” Dean sideways-smiles, rolls to his feet. “Stay put.” “Yes, sir.” Hitched eyebrow, gritted teeth. “You need to knock that shit off.” “You don’t like it?” Round eyes, over-innocent. Dean sighs. “So gonna kill me.” Sam shuts his eyes. Cat-stretches. Hand towel hits his face and makes him jump. “Hey!” Dean leans on the kitchen doorframe, unzipped. Dark spot stains his gray silk boxers. “Mop yourself up, huh? Then we’ll talk.” Sam almost says he has better ideas for that mouth, but Dean looks serious. “Okay.” He rubs down his middle, half-assed, cleans his hands and zips up. Sink shuts off. Dean lingers in the doorway. “So much for slow, huh?” “I’m not complaining.” “I know. It’s just.” Cheeks blow out. “I’m a little drunk.” “Is that a bad thing?” “Well no, I mean…” Dean joins him on the couch. Takes Sam’s hands. Thumbs his knuckles. “You sure you’re okay with this?” “Yes, Dean!” Sam huffs. “I’ve never been so okay in all my life.” Dean’s throat works. Sam plows ahead. “Were you here just now? I got off watching you.” “Sam.” Like chewing glass. “Can I ask you something?” “Anything.” “Why do you keep trying to push me away?” Dean takes a breath. “Because… I don’t do this. Get invested. I mean I… fuck around some. Kind of a lot when I was younger but I don’t date.” He shakes his head. “Men don’t take pretty boys seriously. Or. Serious men don’t hit on pretty boys, I dunno.” Hand drags his mouth. “Point is, I’m already invested in you. I never wanna let you go, Sam, and that scares the shit outta me. Because, I want you to live your life. I don’t wanna be the reason you don’t… go to prom, or, see the world, or, whatever it is you wanna do.” Sam stares. “And if it doesn’t work out, then what, huh? We’ll have to see each other, probably forever and I don’t wanna do that to you.” “Dean, stop.” “There’s just so many ways this goes bad.” “Okay, one? What makes you think I wanna go to another prom?” Rolled eyes. “And two, if I wanna see the world, I’ll take you with me.” Dean looks suckerpunched. “I know you think I’m young, and stupid—” “I don’t think you’re stupid.” “—or, I don’t know what I want—” Chin jerks. “—and maybe you’re right, but…” Sam swings himself across Dean’s lap. Dean groans, head falls back. “Look at me.” Eyes flutter. Sam sweeps a thumb along his jaw. “Right now,” drops a kiss on his mouth, “this is what I want. Fuck, this is my wish-come-true.” Dean presses his face to Sam’s hand. Whispers, “I never fell for anyone before.” “Neither have I.” Sam shrugs. “So we’re even.” Dean tangles hands in Sam’s hair. “You’re sure.” “Oh my God. I’m sure.” Impatient. Then, “You gonna kick me out now? ’Cause-uh…” All this contact, Sam’s half-mast again. Rocks down. “We could go upstairs.” Dean bucks underneath him. “Yeah, okay.” Dry kiss. “Upstairs.”   [scene divider.] Sam wakes to a sort of, wheezy-mechanical sound. Rolls over and rubs his eyes. Dean’s on the elliptical. Shirtless. Sweat gleams off his back and shoulders. Sam kinda wants to lick it. Basketball shorts ride up, cling to his ass. Thick hairy thighs ripple and strain. Smell of him hangs in the air, on the sheets. Beats the hell outta Sam’s cold treehouse. Eyebrow when Dean steps down, sees Sam checking him out. “Mornin’.” “Hey.” Sam arches up, full body stretch. Sweet ache in his abs from coming. Got off three times last night, and Dean barely touched him. Once just from having Dean’s dick in his mouth. Dean eyes the obvious tent in his lap. “Geez, kid, how many times can you come in a day?” “You wanna find out?” Sam grazes his fingers above the sheet. Dick jerks. Dean growls. “Some of us need sustenance. And you need to call your mom.” Stifled wince. “I told you she’s cool with this.” “Yeah, I bet cool’s overstating it.” He snags a towel from the top of his hamper. Sniffs it and shrugs. “And if she is, I’d like to keep it that way.” Rubs it behind his neck, over his chest. “Let me.” Sam springs out of bed. Dean grins, head shakes a little. “Anyway, I gotta run to Walgreen’s.” Sam scrunches his face. “Okay…” Snags the towel and wipes down Dean’s throat. “Fuckin’ Jo. Went out on Christmas and I guess she took my condom stash.” Sam loops the towel around, dries his back. “Do-uh… we really have to use one?” Eyes snap. “That is the first dumb thing I’ve heard you say.” “Why? Should I be worried about you?” “No, but shit. You can’t be takin’ a guy’s word for that.” “Dean.” Sam nuzzles up. “I trust you.” Jaw muscles spasm. “But if you’re worried about me—” “Goddammit.” Dean’s chin drops. “You’re sure.” “Question is, are you sure?” Sam rubs morning wood against his hip. Dean sighs. “Yeah.” Wraps sweaty arms around, tickles the back of Sam’s neck. “All right.” Sam dives for a kiss, ditches the towel and gropes Dean’s ass over slippery fabric. Dean stirs against him. Sam smirks. “How many times can you come in a day?” Dean bumps their foreheads. “Uh-uh. Phone, breakfast, shower.” Sam pouts. “Then, if you wanna hang around, I’ll fuck you ’til you beg me to stop.”   [scene divider.] Water runs warm over Sam’s shoulders, down his back. Tiles press cool at his forearms and Dean… Tongue scalds, stubble rakes between his cheeks. Soft lapping circles tease his hole. Just short of a whine when he nips the rim, wriggles his tongue up inside. Sam’s never had more than a finger in there and he couldn’t believe Dean wanted this. Sounded so gross but it feels so—God he wants to try it. Get Dean on his knees and… Head goes light, gut clenches. “I’m gonna come,” and he feels Dean laughing against him. Tug on his balls and, “Not yet.” Sam groans. Dean licks up his spine, sucks at his neck. “Next time you come’ll be on my dick.” Sam bangs his head on the wall. “You want that?” “God yes.” Dean cuts the water but Sam can’t move. Legs made of Jell-O. Soft, gigantic towel and Dean rubs circles on his back, around his sides, sweeps up and dries Sam’s hair. Sam shoves upright. Turns and cups his palms under Dean’s jaws. Wet, sloppy kisses. Dean feels up his ass, grinds them together. Heavy, thick against him. “Want you now,” Sam breathes. “Pushy.” Dean grins. “Horny,” Sam gripes. Drags them both out of the shower. Dean lays him out on the sheets. Bites at his ear, mouths down his throat. Sam pets at his face, his hair, his arms. Squirms under him, shower- and sweat- damp. Dean looks up through his lashes, licks his lips and Sam shakes. Tongue trails, lazy down his chest. Hands at his hips and Dean’s thigh pressed between his legs. Sam rides it, shameless. Grunts and shudders. Ass jumps clear off the bed when Dean gets that fucking mouth around him. Laps at the head, squeezes the base, Dean bobs. Sam balls fists in the covers and moans. Next thing he knows Dean’s shoving pillows under him. Folding and spreading, kissing between his thighs. Mouth works his balls, lips tug and tongue presses behind. Sam grits his teeth. Grip on his dick’s all that stops him from blowing a load. Cool air when Dean pulls back. Slick circling his hole. Sam grabs his knees, offers it all up. Fingertip dips in and Sam tries bucking against it. Needs it, but Dean moves with him. Sam starts cussing, begging, burning up, so hard he could cut glass. Dean’s hand spreads low on his belly. “More?” “Shit. Fuck. Yes, Goddammit.” Moan rips out on that second finger. Dean adds more lube, opens him slow ’til he’s buried, curling inside Sam. Dick can’t figure out what to do. Wilts with the pain but shoots back up every time Dean whispers, “Okay?” Sam bangs the mattress. Fists, heels. Hips and abs roll. Dean jacks up and down, tight-grips the base and Sam grays out. Prostate drifts through his mind and he heard it was awesome but holy shit. Sam curls up, knees to his shoulders, chin to his chest. Dean’s thumb spreads precome down his underside. Teeth grind and it hits him he’s fucking himself on Dean’s hand. “Damn, you are so hot.” Sam barely hears. Sweat runs from his temples, soaks his hair. Full-throated wail when Dean pulls out, pushes back in, three. “Almost there, doin’ so good, Sam.” Dean skates his prostate and if he doesn’t come soon he’s gonna cry. Dean mouths his cock. Splits him, pumps and stretches. Sam’s eyes roll back. “Dean, for God’s sakes, please.” “I dunno…” “Need to come so bad, just… get in me.” Dean lets out a wrecked sound. Fingers leave. Sam’s hole contracts, flutters on nothing. Pressure, hot and blunt. His core curls up, legs spread, far as they’ll go. Can’t hold still. Sam bears down, sucks Dean deeper. Dean rubs, pulls him apart and sinks, ungodly slow. Sam’s heart pounds. Bed shakes. Dean’s hands clutch at his hips, bruise-tight and he drives in. Growls low. “Don’t stop,” Sam chants. Paws Dean’s forearms, gropes for his chest until Dean hits bottom. Pitches forward. Sam grabs his face, kisses him, frantic. “God, you feel good.” Sam convulses. Dean sucks a breath. “I can’t—” “Fuck me,” Sam breathes. “Need it.” Dean moves, pressure shifts inside him, burns. “Sam…” Like it hurts. “Not gonna last long, you’re so—” “Do it,” Sam rasps. “Make me come.” Slow. Sweet, tormenting drag. Dean pushes, pulls. Sam sweats, rocks hips, fights for breath. Dean swirls, praises: hot and tight and needy. Sam’s eyes roll back, muscles seize. Dean’s hand snakes in between them. Barely a grip before Sam blows, yelling and thrashing. Hears his name. Dean slams home, writhes above him and floods his insides. Sam’s hips jump, whole body shakes. Dick jerks, soaked between them. Dean goes still. Panting. Dean’s come trickling out, hair tickling his face. Sam squeezes his neck, strokes down his back. Legs wrapped around—can’t let go yet. “I’ma need another shower,” Dean slurs into his collarbone. Sam laughs, makes Dean hiss. “I’m down.” Stings, softening cock retreating. “Kinda wanna eat you out this time.” Dean eyes him. “Some kinda mouth on you, I swear to God.” “We’ll find out, huh?” Smirk. Shiver. “Now you’re tryin’ to kill me.” Dean rolls halfway off, one arm and leg draped over Sam. “Nap first.” Sam tucks a hand behind his head. “You got it.” Goes out listening to Dean’s snores.   [scene divider.] EPILOGUE Sam dumps his cap and gown on the bed. Tie’s already loose, top button open. Total chaos downstairs, friends and family pack the house. Chorus of congratulations, envelopes of cash slipped in his hands. Hugs and tears and handshakes. Dad keeps bragging about, “Stanford! Full ride!” and Mom smiles, glimmer of sadness. Sam’s eyes, same as always, drift toward Dean. Something’s up with him, has a surprise planned, maybe. Little smirks and tics. Sam bets he sucks at poker. Closest kin share lunch at their favorite hole-in-the-wall. Dean, by his side, knees pressed together. Sun hangs low. Sam’s best shirt and dress pants sit in a crumpled heap on the floor. He sprawls across Dean’s chest, stares up at him, gorgeous in the fading light. Dean’s hand in his hair, scratches his scalp. “’M prouda you, Sam.” He sighs. Gonna miss this, out in California. “Been meanin’ to tell you. My boss, Adler, made me an offer last week.” “That’s awesome!” Sam still doesn’t fully get what Dean does. Sales, he knows. Just, what he sells? At Bridge and Iron? Total mystery. “Yeah, not so much.” Dean shifts. “I mean, the money’s good. Real good but,” nose-to-nose, both on their sides, “I turned him down.” “You… why?” “In his words? Seven days a week, lunch at my desk, and I’m just…” shakes his head, “uh-uh.” Sam fights a freak-out. “Please don’t say it was because of me.” “Of course it was.” “Dean…” Sam rolls on his back, forearm over his eyes. “Hey. Look at me.” Dean hooks his chin. “Adler can fuck himself.” He scoots close, presses their bodies from shoulder to toe. Lips graze. “I have everything I want right here.” “But—” “Listen. I been talkin’ to headhunters. Lotta good jobs out West, this whole, dot-com thing.” Sam’s heart races. “It’s a big move, I know. Draggin’ your geriatric boyfriend off to coll—” Sam pounces, kisses him hard. “You’re serious.” Dean nods. “And you’re so not geriatric. God.” Sam’s mind races with possibilities. Get an apartment, maybe a dog. Wake up every day like this, naked and tangled. “So what do you think?” Sam’s head spins. “I think…” No clue what to say. “I think you’re perfect.” Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!