I Can't Be Left To My Imagination
Sam/Dean, Sam/OFC, 17-year-old Sam, 2000 words, NC-17.
That summer before senior year where Sam was a lifeguard.
Sam shot up around seventeen, started growing and just didn't stop, felt like someone had put fertilizer on him while he slept.
Dean made fun of him, of course, and in a way it was comforting the sameness of that, because everything else was changing, even if no one else knew it, even if no one saw the college brochures he hid under his mattress like porn. Sam felt like the world was shifting around him, and his brother was the only thing that stayed the same, a solid presence around the corners of his eyes.
He got worse at things, that was what Dean really focused on. He didn't become a better fighter, tripped over himself when he played soccer, hit his head getting out of the car because he wasn't used to where it was.
All he got better at, he discovered, was swimming.
In the water, he felt graceful, felt normal, felt like himself again, like the guy he was before he grew into this unfamiliar body.
Dean was the one who insisted he get a job, a real job, a regular one like real people had. Dean always worked over the summer, claimed it was because it would be suspicious if no one did, but Sam thought he liked honest work. Dean would be a good normal person, if he could be.
Last summer, they lived in Oklahoma, and Sam worked at a diner, flipping burgers in blistering heat, and he swore he'd never do anything that terrible again.
This summer, they were in North Carolina. Dean found a mechanic who was hiring--Sam thought that in a desert, a thousand miles away from civilization, Dean would be able to find a car to work on, and he'd get black oil all over his shirt and Sam wouldn't even have a shower to jerk off under.
Anyway, Sam didn't have any skills like Dean did with cars except for school, and no one was looking for tutors in the middle of July.
The third day of summer, the first day he and Dean were alone in the house, Sam found the pool, and an hour later, he had a job.
"Lifeguard, Sammy?" asked Dean that night, drinking milk out of bottle because he knew it pissed Sam off. "Really?"
"What's wrong with it?" asked Sam, smacking Dean's leg as he walked by. "Feet off the table, jerk."
"You're such a fucking princess. How're you gonna deal with all the kids pissing in the water all summer?"
"I don't think I have to clean it, Dean, just get the kids out of the water."
"Whatever. You gotta wear a speedo and that white gunk on your nose?"
"Sunscreen. It keeps you from getting burned. Or, you know, freckled."
Sam smiled to himself, tossing a grilled cheese sandwich at his brother. "Eat up."
"Such a good little wife," said Dean, giving him the finger.
"You don't stop doing that, I'm gonna stop cooking for you," said Sam breezily.
"Anything but that. Man, where else am I gonna get greasy sandwiches in small-town America?"
Sam gave him the finger, pointedly ignoring the moans of pleasure that started as soon as his brother dug in.
It shouldn't have been possible for Sam to still want Dean when he was so disgusting.
Sam fell for his brother long before his big growth spurt, probably long before puberty, if he was honest. They were each other's world in a way Sam didn't think people were supposed to be; it was inevitable that they got fucked up over each other.
He just wished they'd gotten fucked up in the same way.
The girl who worked the same shift at Sam was named Chastity. He knew that before she introduced herself, because she'd given Dean a blow job in the back seat of the Impala after prom (Dean's third) and Dean had come home and told him, Sammy, Sammy, this girl's parents named her wrong, man. She was attractive in the same way all Dean's girls were--big breasts, long hair, their lower lip permanently trapped under their front teeth.
"Mornin'," she said. "You must be Sam!"
"Yeah," he stuttered out, wondering if she knew he was Dean's brother. Wondering if Dean had ever called her again after prom. "Nice to meet you."
"I'm Chastity," she said. "This is your first time working at the pool?"
"First day," Sam confirmed. "But I'm a strong swimmer."
She giggled. "Oh, it's all just sitting around looking pretty and flirting. You're going to be a natural."
Sam wasn't used to not looking like the dork he was; he tried to see himself like Chastity would see him--tall, decently muscular, hair curling in the poolside humidity, skin already tanned dark.
He thought someone who didn't know him would find him hot.
Pity the only person he wanted had known him forever.
"What if there's an emergency?" asked Sam.
"You mean someone drowning?" she asked, giggling again. "Jump in and get them. But no one ever drowns here, sugar."
"Great," muttered Sam. "I'm assured."
The fourteen-year-old girls liked Sam best. This was probably the first summer they were wearing bikinis, and they passed by him in tittering swarms, hiding their blushes under tans and towels. Every few days, one would approach him with a question, like When are you closing? or Do you know where they sell ice cream? He always told them, and they always left like they'd won a victory.
"How're the babes treating you?" asked Dean. "Some girl might not realize you're a total geek."
"It's fine," Sam mumbled. "They're--man, shut up."
"You get an HJ behind the towel hut, Sammy?" Dean asked, leaning forward, eyes lighting up. "How was she?"
"Jesus, Sammy, you're seventeen. You don't use it much longer it's gonna fall off."
Maybe it was Dean endlessly making fun of him, never just letting it go. Maybe it was inevitable, nearly-naked girls parading around all the time, their laughter drilling into him.
Her name was Lauren, she was down from Washington State, visiting her grandmother. She was a year older than him, dark brown skin she said got her looked at here more than she expected.
"It's the new millennium, right?" she asked, shaking her head. "It's not like everything's better, but it was never like this at home."
"I think you're beautiful," he'd managed, flushing as soon as he'd said it, because he never meant to.
She grinned at him, lip caught on her front teeth, but he didn't mind it when she did it.
"You're not so bad yourself."
They did it in the employee store room while Chastity was on her lunch break. Dean had told him all about how to eat a girl out, the way his tongue moved as he demonstrated fodder for Sam's jerk-off fantasies still, and Sam remembered it all as he did it, her thighs shaking, her nails in his hair. She said please, please, put a condom on him and let him fuck her, muffling his groans in her neck.
There wasn't any cuddling, no kissing after and falling asleep tangled together. He went back to work, and she went back to the pool.
He'd always thought he'd be less like Dean when it finally happened.
He didn't tell Dean, didn't know how. Dean had always just told Sam his conquests, easy as anything, and Sam didn't understand how to bring it up, wasn't sure he wanted to.
The choice was taken out of his hands at the grocery store, he and Dean wheeling the cart down lazily, Dean throwing ice cream and junk food in while Sam found nutrition. Lauren was by the corn, smiled as she saw him.
"Lauren, hey!" he managed, terrified between her and Dean.
"I don't think we've met," said Dean, with a smarmy grin, reaching his hand out to her. "I'm Dean, Sammy here's my little brother."
"He looks like the big brother," said Lauren, smiling at Sam. "Nice to see you again," she added. "Gotta go help grandmama."
Dean stared at Sam, didn't stop staring the whole time they were shopping, even though Sam wasn't talking.
"Didn't know you had it in you, Sammy," was what he finally said, when Sam was putting the ice cream into the freezer.
"Technically, she had it in her," Sam said.
"Yeah?" asked Dean, his voice strange. "You fuck her, Sammy? You guys go all the way?"
Sam turned around, and Dean was just sitting at the table, legs sprawled open. He looked obscene, and Sam swallowed. The air felt thicker than it had a minute ago.
"Yeah," he said, his voice coming out deeper. "Didn't get get her suit all the way off. Just shoved it to the side and drove her crazy with my mouth, til she was begging for it."
It had never been like this when Dean told him what he did, and Sam knew if he was reading this wrong, he wouldn't be able to blow it off.
"Yeah?" asked Dean.
"Yeah. Fucked her right up against the wall of the store room, her legs wrapped around my waist. Want me to draw you a picture, Dean?"
"Jesus, Sammy," Dean said, his voice raw, and Sam was suddenly so fucking sure.
"Maybe I should show you," he said, and Dean's eyes went dark.
"Sam--" he started, like he might be scared, or unsure, and Sam kissed him before he could say anything else.
Lauren might have been the first girl Sam had ever fucked, but he'd kissed a handful more, and Dean was different. Not just that he was a guy, not just that he was so experienced, but--Sam was in love with him, stupid in love with him, and it mattered.
"God, Dean," he breathed, and Dean grabbed his face, pulled him back down, pulled Sam onto his lap and onto his hard-on. "Dean."
"You fucking talk too much, Sammy," said Dean, pushing off Sam's shirt. "God, couldn't even think about going to see you at that fucking pool, when the fuck did you get so--"
"Thought I talked too much," Sam grinned and ground down on Dean's erection.
Dean swore, pushed up against him, and it was all too much. Sam grabbed him by his shirt and pulled back, crashing onto the floor with Dean on top of him, his hands desperately working against Dean's fly, his own, jeans not even all the way off, just enough that their dicks were together, hot and hard.
"Tired of waiting, Dean, just fucking--come on," he gasped, rutting shamelessly against his brother as Dean thrust back.
"Don't even want a blow job, dude? You're so fucking--Jesus--so easy."
"Next time," Sam panted. "Next time, I'll--" and he came all over Dean, unable to hold back.
"Fuckin' teenagers," Dean muttered, but he didn't last much longer, and they just lay there for long minutes, a sweaty, disgusting pile on the floor. "Too fuckin' hot," he finally said. "Next time, we're getting our fucking clothes off."
Sam smiled against Dean's neck, didn't care how sweaty and gross it was. "Whatever you want," he said.
The next day, Dean showed up at the tail end of Sam's shift, his shirt stained from motor oil, his shades reflecting the lifeguard chair as he glanced up.
"It's a little late to swim, man," said Sam. "We're about to close."
"Wanted to check out the store house, actually," said Dean, grinning. "Heard some good things."
Sam swallowed. "Yeah, I, uh--yeah. Let me just--give me a minute."
"Whatever, I can wait." He glanced down over the top of his sunglasses. "By the way--dig the speedos."
Sam flushed, "Dude, shut up."
Dean smirked. "Make me."