
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3651750.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest, underage!Sam, Blow_Jobs, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Mirror_Sex,
      Bottom_Sam, Anal_Sex, Pre-Series
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-31 Words: 2254
****** Show Me My Heart ******
by lightinthehall
Summary
     He doesn't know if the curse reveals his heart’s greatest wish, or
     his future, but he aches with wanting, heart beating impatiently,
     wondering when he'll get to touch – to love – Dean that way.
     (Newly edited. Written for chomaisky (LJ) for the prompt 'Hall of
     Mirrors' for the 2015 spnspringfling)
Notes
     Newly edited. Written for chomaisky (LJ) for the prompt 'Hall of
     Mirrors.' Original (non-edited) post here at spnspringfling.
     Edited here.
     (Spring Fling is a double blind art/fic challenge. Prompts are sent
     out, and creators have 1 week to submit fic/art. Fics must be within
     500-2500 words. I encourage everyone to check out the rest of the
     works!)
See the end of the work for more notes
“Hey. Earth to Sammy,” Dean says, all Big Brother, toothbrush jabbing between
Sam’s ribs before leaning over to spit into the sink. “Quit daydreaming. You’ve
got five minutes, pipsqueak.”
Wide-eyed and slow, Sam pushes through the white noise in his head and wills
his arm to move, toothbrush dragging over his molars where it had been
stationary for the past minute. Dean’s turned back to the mirror, gelled
fingers quickly running through his short hair, pink tongue peeking between his
teeth and clearly oblivious to the heated embrace playing out right in front of
him.
Luckily, the dim lighting in the motel bathroom masks the blush unfolding
across Sam’s face. He’s hallucinating. Vividly. Must be. Sam blinks, then
blinks again.
It’s still there.
“I’m serious Sam, five minutes,” Dean repeats as he ruffles Sam’s hair and
leaves.
Dean’s reflection leaves with him, extracting himself from Sam-in-the-mirror’s
arms and walking out of frame with significantly messier hair, and noticeably
swollen lips.
HisDean is nagging at him from the other side of the door, but Sam can barely
hear over the thundering of his pulse.
                                     0-0-0
Dad’s nose, dark brown hair grown longer than Sam’s ever had it, light hazel-
green eyes. He picks apart the details again and again; the conclusion never
changes.
Sam’s never been particularly vain, would rather avoid being reminded of his
gangly teenage limbs and his perpetual baby face. But that’s not who he sees in
the mirror anymore.
His reflection is at least ten years older than him, typical Winchester-plaid
stretching over wide shoulders and muscular arms. He’s grown up – he’s
handsome.
Sam’s hands reach up to feel the roundness of his cheeks, then to his ears,
grabbing at air while the mirror man’s fingers close over shaggy strands.
Disappointment meets insecurity, wallowing in his chest. He can’t help but feel
stuck on the wrong side of a Before-and-After spread.
This is who I will be, he thinks, poring uncomprehendingly over the
transformation his 15 year old self will eventually take. He’s like two ends of
a disjointed chain, has no idea how one links to the other.
The first time he sees Dean’s reflection, he has to stop himself from gasping
out loud because Dean – Dean is beautiful. He’s always thought so, his annoying
big brother too pretty to be real, but the Dean in the mirror (undeniably him:
the expressive green eyes, the fan of his eyelashes over freckled cheeks, the
pink, pouting lips) has clearly been gifted by time, rather than burdened by
it. The Other Sam seems just as enamoured, staring at Dean with a soft, fond
smile that Sam recognizes all too well.
Dean catches on to his sudden fixation with his reflection, and Sam is tempted
to reveal his new secret, wants to tell Dean that his freckles don’t go away
like he’s hoping, and that Sam loves it, loves him – now and ten years from
now.
“Never seen your face before, Sam-I-Am?”
Sam pays his brother no mind, too busy watching himself lean down (he’s taller,
oh God) and pressing smiling lips to Dean’s.
                                     0-0-0
They had been after the spirit of a witch who’d been haunting an abandoned
fairgrounds. He and Dean had entered the rickety, paint-peeled building that
housed the ‘Hall of Mirrors.’ He remembers examining a peculiar frame – the
sudden cold. Dean yelling. The world exploding.
He remembers waking up after, cradled in Dean’s arms and all the mirrors around
them reduced to glass dust.
The air had been heavy with the smell of magic, like sweet, settling smoke.
Turns out their father had found and torched the witch’s tent – Marie-belle’s
Matchmaking – just as her ghost had found Sam.
He blames the fervent, new-onset horniness for his missing the obvious. This
must be a curse, some sort of death magic.
The thing is, Sam’s fairly certain he’s not supposed to enjoy being cursed.
                                     0-0-0
Dean’s across from him in the diner booth, pigging out on food and relaxing
into the seats the way he does when Dad’s away and it’s just the two of them.
Sam’s own food is untouched, his stomach in knots as he dazedly watches Dean
make out with him in the faint glare of the window, where Dean’s kissing him as
enthusiastically as he’d downed his burger and fries beforehand. His large,
adult hands are cupping Dean’s face, Dean’s fist still closed tight in his
shirt from when he’d pulled the Other Sam over the booth table.
“Huh. Good eye Sammy, she’s a hot one.”
Distracted, he follows Dean’s gaze out the window where a leggy teenage girl is
standing in the parking lot (just past the reflection of their heated kisses),
talking to her friends. Dean is looking at her with the kind of appreciation
that Sam can’t seem to swing his way with his awkward, lanky body – unlike Sam
in the mirror, who claims Dean’s admiration so easily.
He doesn’t know if the curse reveals his heart’s greatest wish, or his future,
but he aches with wanting, heart beating impatiently, wondering when he'll get
to touch – to love – Dean that way.
Dean-of-the-present is waggling his eyebrows at him, but Sam just rolls his
eyes, stuffing fries into his dry mouth so he doesn’t have to respond. In his
peripheral vision, the two of them are finally separating, panting and pressing
their foreheads together, shiny, spit-slick mouths mere inches apart.
Sam’s lips tingle for hours.
                                     0-0-0
He really is a researcher at heart, surrendering to the curiosity plaguing his
mind until he finds his answers, and the curse provides a well of questions,
factors and limits he’s eager to investigate. But there are just some things
Sam does notwant to know.
Dean’s taken the Impala to fill up on gas before they left town, leaving Sam
with their father to pack up. They’re loading their bags into the truck, and
Sam is determined to avoid looking into the side mirror – or any other
reflective surface, for that matter. It makes him nauseous, thinking about the
possibility of the curse showing him –
- he gags, bile rising at the thought, lodging in his throat.
In the end, it’s all for nothing. His eyes catch on a puddle pooling around a
flooded storm drain right next to where his father’s standing, speaking gruffly
into his phone.
His relief is heady. He doesn’t see his father’s reflection at all.
                                     0-0-0
It quickly develops into an addiction.
The images follow him as they walk down the street: he and Dean are kissing,
touching or groping in every window, every shine of metal they pass by. Sam
learns to wear long shirts and baggy pants whenever they go out, feeling horny
and inadequate and terrified of being caught out.
He’s not even safe in the Impala. Riding shotgun to his brother is usually his
favourite place to be, especially when they’re alone, and their father is
blazing ahead of them in his truck. Today, it provides new (delicious,
tempting) torment as Sam presses his flushed cheek against the cool, passenger
side window, eagerly taking in the sight of the Other Sam’s long body bending
over the bench, head bobbing between Dean’s legs, spread encouragingly wide in
the driver’s seat, a strong hand clenched tight in his hair.
He’s blindingly hard, tilting his hips away so Dean doesn’t notice. His dick
throbs with the rhythmic grip of Dean’s hand, pulling at the Other Sam’s roots.
His gaze jumps from window to the ‘V’ of Dean’s legs in quick succession, mouth
watering with each passing minute. He can practically hear the wet sounds and
moans through the reflection – he’s two seconds away from lunging at Dean’s
fly.
Sam almost cries with gratitude when they pull over, Dean hopping out to use
the gas station restroom. Finally alone, one soft touch and Sam’s coming and
coming into his boxers, mouthing desperately at the glass where their
reflections just vanished.
By the time Dean gets back to the car, Sam’s shorts are sticky and
uncomfortable, and he’s wiped the imprint of spit and condensation off the
window.
                                     0-0-0
Two weeks later, a swamp monster’s claws slash Sam’s thigh open. Quick as the
Impala can take them, Sam’s laid up on the motel bed, pain killers diffusing
through his veins. The room’s got a wide mirror on the wall across from the
bed, but no towels or anything of use. Their father’s off buying more first aid
supplies from the Pharmacy they sped by. In the meantime, Dean’s using his
bunched up jacket to elevate Sam’s leg, and blankets for the blood while Sam
watches his brother work through the mirror.
For once, their counterparts aren’t determined to sex each other up. The Other
Sam is injured just like he is, laying back as Dean stitches the two of them
up. He has a clear view of Other Dean’s face, the Big Brother Worry plain as
day, but there’s a reverence to each movement, each gentle pull of the needle.
Guiltily glancing back to his 19 year old brother, Sam’s muddled mind is
startled to see a matching expression on his face – Dean looks flayed open,
like every pained breath Sam takes is tearing him apart. The Other Dean leans
down to press soft kisses to each stitch he’s left in Sam’s skin. His Dean
doesn’t, but Sam feels loved all the same.
                                     0-0-0
Their first time (or rather, the first time Sam watches) is in a tacky retro
motel, the only one for miles – the greasy-moustached desk manager shrugging at
them, Sorry only got singles left – you payin’ or not?
Dad ends up in his own room, while Sam and Dean shuffle into the other,
unspoken that they’ll share a bed tonight.
Exhausted, Sam settles onto his back, while Dean lies on his stomach, wrapping
his arms around his pillow like someone might snatch it away while he sleeps.
It’s been a while since they’ve shared, but they know their places, and Sam
looks forward to the morning, when they’ll no doubt wake up, limbs tangled and
inseparable.
There’s light shining in from the parking lot streetlamp, pouring through the
window like a fog light. The ceiling sparkles and shines, and it takes Sam a
moment to realize he’s staring up at tiled glass.
His eyes fly open, the scene above him making the skin under his shirt collar
flush hotter than even the dirtiest porn Dean’s stolen from rental stores. The
Others are naked, Dean’s freckled back exposed and bare, ending in the enticing
curve of his round ass, and the long extension of bowed legs. He’s on top of
Sam-in-the-mirror, trapping him against their bed, and they’re kissing,
clinging to each other with raw desperation. Sam’s arms are around Dean’s neck,
but Dean has one hand in Sam’s hair, and the other is moving out of view and –
oh. Oh.
Sam’s fully hard in an instant, back arching as he watches Dean’s arm work,
slow thrusts that make the Other Sam jolt with each push. In the mirror, Dean
continues his movements until the Other Sam hitches his hips up impatiently,
mouth shaping around silent whines.
Long legs are hitched over Dean’s shoulders, bending him near in half and Sam
gets half a glimpse of Dean’s cock pushing in, and his breath leaves his lungs
as if he were the one being pressed into the bed.
Soon, Sam’s got his own pyjama pants pulled down to his thighs, and his hand is
wrapped around his own dick, moving his fist to the sharp thrusts of Dean’s
hips. Other Sam is burying his face into Dean’s neck, no doubt muffling his
moans, but Sam’s got nothing to impede his gasps and whimpers. The visual feeds
pleasure right into his spine, and Sam can feel it right down to his toes,
curling and pulling up flat on the bed, wishing he could feel Dean above him –
inside him too. Dean-in-the-mirror speeds his thrusts, both Sams caught in the
rhythm, each of them arching and writhing desperately.
Like true reflections, they come at the same time, Dean’s name escaping from
their lips like a shared prayer.
It’s pure bliss, and Sam melts into the bed, twitchy with the after-shocks of
pleasure rumbling in a low thrum along his limbs. Fist and stomach covered in
come, Sam tries to get a hold of his breathing, panting harshly into the quiet
night.
“Sammy.”
Sam’s head whips around to his Dean, who is wide awake and watching Sam with
dark green eyes, lashes lowered intently. He’s frozen, can’t bring himself to
move, not even when Dean rolls over him with dizzying grace, mumbling Sammy
again before finallyfinallyfinally pressing warm lips to his.
It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like them-in-the-mirror (not yet,he thinks), but
Sam feels like he could come all over again, nerves singing from the sweetest
touch he’s waited so long for.
Sam lets his eyes flutter open for a brief moment, peeking up above to see the
Other Dean collapsed and sleeping as Sam holds him close. Their eyes meet,
Other Sam pressing the lightest kiss to Dean’s temple before smiling down at
Sam, hand lifting in a small wave.
His Dean picks that moment to lick into Sam’s mouth, tongue curling along his,
and Sam’s eyes fall shut as he traces Dean with soft, shy flicks.
When Dean pulls back, lips hovering a breath away from Sam’s, Sam spares one
more glance at the tiled glass above.
He sees everything he’s ever wanted.
End Notes
     AN: Thank you for reading!
     Also at my_LJ
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
