
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/457535.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-12 Words: 1756
****** Polaris ******
by starkotics
Summary
     It occurs to me that I don't know how many girls Sam has kissed
     before; I know there was Jamie from Little Rock but was she his
     first?
Notes
     Stargazing! Handjobs! \o/
     ps. I love writing from Dean's POV :)
Sam's a kid again.
Sam's a goddamn kid again – and that's his little five-year-old hand tugging on
mine when he saw a candy store. Except now, the hand doesn't belong a child: it
belongs to my weed of a baby brother, nearly sixteen now and apparently not at
all interested in sex.
I guess it doesn't run in the family.
The clearing is only a few dozen feet from where we've parked the Impala, mossy
grass dotted with little yellow flowers. It's a little too 'romance novel' for
me, but God help me, I'll do anything for the little brat. Cicadas chirp
noisily around us in a constant hum.
Letting go of my hand, Sam settles in the middle of the clearing and tugs the
rumpled print-out from his coat pocket. I watch him pull out a pocket
flashlight, place it between his teeth, and examine the sheet. I sit next to
him.
"There's Ursa Major, look," he says, pointing to the patch of sky right in
front of us. "And there's the north star."
"Where's the Big Dipper?" I ask, just trying to yank his chain. He gives a
long-suffering sigh, pointing back to where he'd pointed before. "It's there; I
told you this already, they're the same-"
"Dude, I know." I chuckle, shoving his shoulder. "You should know by now I do
that just to piss you off."
He shoves me back. We're touching from shoulder to knee now. He gives me a
sideways smirk and catches my eye; my throat closes up a little.
He points again, drawing a cross in the sky. "That's Aquila – the eagle." I
follow his finger, leaning closer.
I can't count the times I've used this as a line – the girls I pick up at bars
are usually tipsy enough to eat up any of the bullshit I spout about the
'constellations' I'm 'pointing out' to them. Everyone knows that move is just
an opportunity to lean in nice and close.
Everyone, apparently, except Sam.
Sam legitimately wants to look at stars.
"Where's Orion?" I ask. Orion has always been my favorite constellation. Call
me crazy, but I tend to relate to the guy.
"He's not in the sky this month." He's already checked on his nerdy little star
chart. "But look – there's Pisces."
He could literally go on for hours if I don't stop him. I press my palm to his
shoulder and push him towards the ground, saying: "Ok, squirt, this ain't a
science lesson I signed up for. This is meant to be a romantic date-"
"It's not a date!" he whines for the millionth time. When Sam'd first suggested
this, I teased him about it, not admitting how much I wanted it to be true.
I simply chuckle, and I wonder if Sam can tell there's no real humor to it.
There's blissful silence for a few moments, and I watch the dragon-clouds of my
breath rise up to the stars. I don't give a damn what the constellations are or
what the ancient Greeks may or may not have thought what they meant – I love
looking at the stars because I love the way how it makes me feel so
insignificant. I'm a tiny speck in the universe. The universe doesn't care
about me. I'm not important.
"If it was a date…" Sam begins, and woah, that was out of the blue. I lean up
on my elbow to look him in the eye.
"What?"
Sam's face remains mostly calm but he doesn't make eye contact.
"You know. Have you ever…um. Is this…something you do often? With girls?"
"It could be," I say after a short pause. "What's it to you?"
"Just wondering." He continues to just look at the stars.
Another moment of silence, and I think the topic's been dropped.
"I've just always thought it was kinda romantic, that's all."
I lean up again, putting on my patented Dean Winchester 'I can show you a good
time' smirk. "Aw, shucks Sammy, you tryin' to put the moves on me? 'Cause you
know…"
Sam puts on his patented 'Why do I hang out with you oh that's right I have to
because you're my brother' bitchface. He points a finger at me. "You, shut up."
There's a smile on his lips that belies his annoyance as he looks back up at
our infinite ceiling.
I look at him a second longer. He must catch me because he glances from the sky
to my face, his forehead wrinkling.
"What?"
I don't know how it happens, but one second he's sitting up, the next he's less
than three inches away from me – eyelashes tinted from the moon, eyes all
glassy. They flicker down to my lips for a second, then back up.
"What were you saying?"
I don't answer with words.
Sammy's lips are soft and generous – languidly accepting my kiss and slowly
moving to meld with them. It occurs to me that I don't know how many girls Sam
has kissed before; I know there was Jamie from Little Rock but was she his
first?
I wait for the inevitable push, the shove away and the 'What the hell, man?'
but it doesn't come. I only feel Sam's tongue pushing past my lips, and hear
the tiny bastard of a whimper forming in his throat.
Our lips break apart, but we don't move away. For a too-long moment, the only
sound is the cicadas. I don't dare open my eyes.
"What was that?" Sammy asks, his breath puffing out onto my damp lips. I should
pull away now – as the big brother, I should stop this.
If I believed in hell, I'd definitely be going there.
I start to shake my head, but our lips are so close that they brush together as
I move and breath leaves my chest like a punch. "I'm sorry, " I whimper,
breath-soft. I finally open my eyes.
The pain on Sam's face is something I can't bear – something I've spent my
whole life doing my best to eliminate.
"You're," he finally husks out, his voice thick. "You're sorry."
I wipe away the tear forming at the corner of his eye before it falls, almost
without thinking. My hand lingers on his cheek.
"Yes, I'm sorry, I'm a horrible person and I deserve to die and Jesus, you're
my little brother…and you're all you and I'm all me and Dad is going to skin me
alive, please Sam if you forgive me even a little you won't tell Dad-"
He shuts me up with another kiss.
We don't really break apart from this one – my hand stiffens on his jaw,
pulling him closer. "Sam," I choke out into his mouth. "Sammy, tell me you want
this, tell me this is ok…"
His 'yeah' is hardly a surprise as he rolls on top of me, a thigh in between
mine. And Christ, Sam's hard.
Above the constant 'oh my God oh my God oh my God' running through my head, Sam
mumbles against my jaw. "I want this, Dean, want you…been thinking 'bout it for
years. " My fingers find their way to weave into his too-long hair.
"Always…always been you."
"Christ, Sammy…" He's grinding against my hip now, little stilted circles that
are driving me crazy. "Lemme, " I insist, reaching gingerly for his fly. He
stutters to a halt, pulse hummingbird-quick where my cheek is pressed against
his neck, then, as I reach inside his jeans and wrap my hand around him, he
lets out a reed-thin whimper right by my ear.
He's leaking wet already, so slick as he fucks into my hand, and all I want to
do is taste it, touch every inch of my baby brother’s body, kiss his lips red
raw and make sure he knows that he's only mine.
Sam gets his lips on mine again, kissing fiercely, tongue twining with mine. He
smudges a kiss along my jaw again, lips closing around the spot just below my
ear that always gets me off like a firework.
"'M close," he whispers in between the little sexy-as-fuck breaths he's panting
into my ear, and it's embarrassing how close behind I am. I haven't even had a
hand on me, but Sam's thigh's been moving between mine, and it's too much not
to thrust my hips up to meet it.
"That's it," I urge him, my fingers digging into his hair to pull him closer,
my own voice breathy now. "That's my Sammy, that's my Sam."
He spills over the edge like a dam bursting, my name on his lips. As he
trembles, and I still cling onto him like a lifejacket, I can’t help myself and
shove my hand into my jeans.
I finally get a hand around myself, using Sam's come to slick the way, and it's
shameful how fast I lose it when his hand, still shaking, joins mine and our
fingers link.
Fireflies join the glow of the stars as we come down, breaths shallow and our
bodies still buzzing. It takes a few blinks for me to be able to see the
constellations properly, but the Big Dipper’s right overhead, and I press a
kiss into Sam’s hair where he’s limply resting on my shoulder, staring at it
the whole time.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but the moon is completely up once Sam
moves. The first thing he does is glance at his hand – the hand he was using to
jack me off. It's covered in come. Sam makes a face and wipes it on my shirt.
"Dude!" I scold, "That’s fucking gross!" With a laugh, I remember my hand still
has jizz on it, and I relish the horrified look on his face when I run it
through his hair.
His eyes spark with mischief. "Oh, I'm so getting you back for this one."
"Help, it's Cameron Diaz!" I taunt as he chases me back to the car. All thought
of revenge is forgotten when I pin him up against the driver's side door and
kiss him nearly breathless, though he's laughing against my lips.
He's eager – I can feel him starting to get hard again against me (ah, to be
fifteen). I lean down to tongue the spot just below his ear, suggesting: "Let's
get back to the motel. There's beds there." He nods with a grin.
Driving back with Sam in the passenger seat, I realize, is both everything I've
always had and everything I've ever wanted.
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