Warnings: Underage (Dean 18, Sam 14)
Summary: Written for the prompt of "You're in a car with a beautiful boy"
A/N: Written for the 2014 round of spnspringfling for locknkey. Many thanks to tebtosca for the beta and to oddishly and glovered for running such a fun exchange! Title and references to Meatloaf's song of the same name.
The road stretches far beyond the reach of the Impala’s headlights, a winding ribbon disappearing into wet and gloomy darkness. The only sounds are the purr of the engine, the rhythmic swish-swish of the wipers on the windshield and the breathing of the car’s two occupants. The same oppressive silence that fell when they left the last rest stop still surrounds them, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end anytime soon. Some things are impossible to fix with words, it seems.
Dean desperately tries to think of something innocuous to say, anything to break the silence. Nothing comes to mind; at least not anything that won’t earn him a snarky comment or resentful look from Sam. Nope, not worth it.
Finally unable to stand listening to himself breathe any longer, Dean flips on the radio. At first all he gets is some fire and brimstone sermon – goddamn Bible Belt – but after twisting the dial back and forth a few times he lands on a classic rock station just as the final strains of “Hells Bells” fades out. Dean’s mouth turns down a bit in a frown of disappointment that the old Sam would have mocked him for. Sure, Dean owns three different collections of AC/DC on cassette, but still.
As AC/DC fades out, an iconic guitar riff comes on and Dean smiles faintly. Paradise by the Dashboard Light. Meatloaf. Not that Dean considers himself a Meatloaf fan by any means - and he’ll punch out anyone who accuses him of it - but this song…yeah, this song brings back some memories. Good ones, for a change. He doesn’t have all that many of those, so he savors them where he can. He cuts his eyes over to see Sam’s reaction. His brother’s face is impassive, stony, like he’s not even hearing it. Dean sighs and stares straight ahead at the road. But he remembers…
It’s Dean’s favorite kind of day. Just him and Sam, the open road in front of them with nowhere to be and no one to answer to. Dad let Dean drive the Impala while he takes the pickup to the wild of Minnesota, and Dean revels in it, occasionally stepping on the accelerator harder than is strictly necessary just to hear the engine roar.
Sam is sprawled on the hot leather seat beside him, wearing cutoff jean shorts and one of Dean’s castoff tank tops that has definitely seen better days. At fourteen, he’s still thin and gawky but he’s growing so fast that sometimes Dean swears if he was quiet enough he could hear Sam growing. His shaggy, sweat-damp hair is falling down around his face, and Dean reminds himself to drag him to the barber’s when he can get some money out of Dad. He’s singing along to the radio, some boy band song that makes Dean cringe but he leaves it on just to watch Sam’s antics.
“I fuckin’ love this song!” Sam’s face is shining with happiness. He’s always so much more open and relaxed when Dad’s away. It makes Dean feel like a traitor to think it, but he hopes Dad’s hunt takes a while this time. The older Sam gets, the more rebellious he is, and though Dean knows deep in his gut that Sam and John love each other, they sure don’t show it much these days.
Dean pulls the car off the highway onto a dirt road - hardly more than twin ruts in the grass – and follows it in until the highway is no longer visible through the trees behind them. He stops at a random spot and puts the car in park. He cuts the engine but leaves the radio on, just sitting back and enjoying the way Sam is exuberantly bopping his head along with the music. Of course, Dean’s going to mock him for it later, because that’s what big brothers do. But secretly he’s enjoying how damn beautiful his brother looks when he’s happy.
Sam finally realizes Dean is just staring at him and he stops singing, his face curious.
“What?” he asks, a half-smile on his face.
“You,” Dean drawls. “Keep singing.” Sam blushes a little and licks his lips nervously, shaking his head. It amuses Dean, and turns him on in a fucked-up way, that this thing between them is still so new that Sam blushes when Dean looks at him with intent.
The boy band drivel fades out, replaced by “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.” Normally Dean can’t turn that song off fast enough, but Sam likes it, and anyway Dean has better things on his mind than the radio.
“C’mere,” Dean says, stretching his arm out on the back of the bench seat invitingly. Sam doesn’t wait to be asked a second time, sliding across the seat to press his thin, gawky body flush against Dean’s side, tipping his head up towards Dean in silent demand. Dean doesn’t even pretend to resist and drops his mouth down slowly onto Sam’s, rubbing their lips teasingly together until Sam’s part beneath his. Sam’s still so new to this that the kiss is too wet, too clumsy, but it turns Dean on like no other kiss can because this is Sam.
He leans into the kiss, pressing Sam back into the seat and dipping his tongue carefully into his mouth, one corner of his mind still holding on to a bit of the old fear that Sam will push him away. Sam doesn’t, instead wrapping his arms tightly around his neck and pushing closer, as if he wants to crawl right into Dean. Dean wraps his arms around him and lifts, dragging Sam across his lap until he’s straddling him, mouths still joined, tongues working.
They don’t do much more than kiss at first. It’s only been a few weeks that they’ve been doing this, and it still feels so new and that twisty combination of right and sofuckingwrong that Dean is content to just wallow in it for a good while.
In the background, simulated moans are coming from the radio as the teenage protagonists of the Meatloaf song work their way steadily towards third base. Sam is also moaning a little, his sounding so much sweeter to Dean’s ears. He starts grinding his hips down a little, rubbing their jean-covered crotches together. Someday they’re going to do this when they’re both naked, Dean swears. This and, God help him, far more, but for now he’s content to ease Sam into things slowly. They have all the time in the world, after all.
Suddenly the half-shouted words of the song playing penetrate Dean’s lust-filled brain: “Praying for the end of time/so I can end my time with you.”
He stills and Sam pulls away a bit, looking at him quizzically. “What, Dean?” His lips are shining and swollen, his face is flushed with heat and excitement, and Dean’s heart thumps painfully.
“You sure you’re not gonna regret this someday, Sammy? Wish we hadn’t…” he trails off, not sure exactly what to call it. It’s not like Dean to second guess himself much, and even less like him to want to talk about his feelings but this is Sam. Sam makes him do all sorts of crazy things he’d never ordinarily do. Like make out with his little brother in broad daylight in the front seat of a car.
“Dean, I already told you,” Sam says, his face an odd mix of impatience, amusement, and horniness that shouldn’t turn Dean on but does. “I’m not going to regret this. I’m gonna love you forever,” he sings, echoing the corny words of the song that just ended. Dean pushes away his fears; he can deal with it later. For now he has Sam.
“Oh, my God, you’re such a sap,” Dean mocks, and cups the back of Sam’s neck to bring his lips forward again. Sam moves willingly, resuming his writhing on Dean’s lap and driving Dean nearly crazy with want. Dean runs his hands up and down Sam’s sides restlessly, as if he can’t touch enough of him at once. He finally settles them firmly on Sam’s hips.
“Like this,” he mumbles under the searching pressure of Sam’s lips. He guides Sam’s moving hips into some semblance of a rhythm that makes both of them moan. He’s not going to last long and he feels too damn good to care. He feels Sam tense, shaking and shuddering with his release above him and lets himself tip over the edge along with him, coming in his jeans. He’ll no doubt regret that later but for now it’s the best feeling in the world.
Sam’s slowly coming down from his orgasm above him, curling up on Dean’s chest in a way that’s reminiscent of when he was a little boy, and for a second Dean feels a hot twist of shame in his belly. But when Sam tilts his face up and looks at Dean with those sleepy, satisfied eyes, he shoves the feeling away and just lets himself be happy for this one moment.
The last bars of the song begin to fade out on the radio as Dean focuses again on the road before him. Against his will, his eyes slide over to Sam. The Sam of today is so much different from the Sam of that day. He’s bigger, harder, more closed off and so much more of a pain in the ass than he’d even hinted at being back then.
There’s so much lying between them now. Years of promises made and broken, countless betrayals on both sides. A thousand hurts that they both try to bury and only partially succeed. Some days Dean wonders if they can ever move past it and get back on the same page with each other. Some days he’s sure they won’t.
But as that stupid Meatloaf song fades out completely a tiny smile is quirking that mobile mouth of Sam’s and the mood between them seems almost imperceptibly lighter. So for today Dean hopes.