Sam sat in the living room while Bobby repaired one of his pistols in the office.
He had no homework to distract him from the summer heat, and Dean and Dad left him three hours ago to tail something down in Yankton. Sam hadn’t gotten any of the details, the two were booking out the door with their packs before he could even reach the bottom of the staircase. Dean hadn’t even said goodbye.
Sam dug his nails into his pajama pants—hand-me-downs that were starting to unspool from frequent washing—and wondered if Dean really meant to leave him without a word. He tried not to take impromptu hunts personally, even though he was more than old enough to tag along now, but he couldn’t help but take no goodbye as something big.
And he needed to retaliate with something just as big. In time.
Sam waited until it felt right to react—a fortnight since they’d left, more than enough time to shake his nerves about what a desperate move it’d be. He thought Dean might hate him if he didn’t execute his plan perfectly.
The night before he paced for an hour, trying to decide if the time was right, before Bobby asked him from the top step if Sam would just run away already and quit with the creaking. He hadn’t even heard the floorboards squealing underneath him as he paced. It wasn’t the night, he decided, and he lied on the couch until he finally fell asleep.
It was hot, almost the end of July, and he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Tonight, it had to be tonight.
Sam was quiet when he stole Bobby’s laptop from his office, careful to avoid the creakiest floorboards and ruin his plan before it even properly started. He crept back to the cot quickly, his nerves flaring as he opened up the laptop and entered Bobby’s password. It booted up easily, and Sam navigated his way to the series of folders within folders that led to Skype. He and Dean rarely used it, but with Sam’s lack of a phone and no privacy to use Bobby’s landline, he had no choice but to try it.
When Sam was logged in, Dean’s contact staring through him, he got up from the cot and started undressing. He didn’t know why this seemed like the best idea, but with all of his conflicting hormones and his need to make sure Dean didn’t hate him, it felt right. Dean hadn’t seen him like this in months, and certainly not in this context; if Sam was lucky, he might come running back.
He wasn’t sure how much of himself would be visible through the shoddy webcam, but he pushed the laptop back and positioned himself until he thought that most of his body would be in frame. Sam’s mouth was dry as he hovered over the call button beside Dean’s contact.
Part of him wanted to shut the laptop and put it back in Bobby’s office, forget about this stupid idea, but that seemed impossible now. But he was naked, he was hard, and he wanted to talk to Dean. Click.
It rang, Dean’s icon hovering in the middle of the blue screen, and he felt a pang in his stomach. Two weeks his brother had been gone and Sam couldn’t remember the last time they’d been separated for more than a few days. He wished Dean was lying on the couch, pretending to sleep until Bobby had gone to bed before he invited Sam to come and lie on his chest, falling asleep to the gentle rhythm of Dean’s heartbeat. It was cold in the living room, even without Sam stripped down to his skin.
The white waves coming off of the icon—a picture of Dean sticking his tongue out and pulling his shirt up—taunted Sam, almost promising that Dean wasn’t going to pick up. Sam put that out of his head, or at least he tried, and he continued to tweak his position while he waited for a response. The jingle played repeatedly, and Sam wondered what would come first: the call quitting, or Sam canceling it out of fear. What if Dean didn’t want him like this?
He started to picture a girl lying on top of Dean, gladly taking it from him all while she repeated his name over and over. Sam made himself furious at the hypothetical girl he made up, all while his cock hardened at the thought of Dean sweaty and balls-deep inside of anyone. Though, he’d be lying if he didn’t wish Dean was inside of him and only him.
Sam’s skin reflected the blue of the call screen, turning him into something out of Avatar. He wondered if that’d turn Dean off, but he didn’t think anything would turn his brother off. Not after he held Sam in his lap the night before he left, stripped down to his boxers before Dean slotted his dick between his thighs. He held Sam tight, his hands groping all over his body as he told him how good he was between hushed breaths. Dean made him feel so special and then he left.
He was ripped out of his reminiscing by the sound of the call connecting. Sam was shocked upright, and he briefly pulled the threadbare sheets up to cover himself. He dropped them at the sight of Dean on the other end.
Sam hated how tired he looked. He had dark, puffy circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept since the night they left, and he looked barely awake as he stared at his phone.
“Hey,” Sam said quietly, hoping the mic attached to his cheap earbuds was picking up the sound of his voice.
It took a moment for recognition to flash in Dean’s eyes, fatigue more than plain on his face, but when it finally did, Sam felt a rush.
“Woah, that’s a way to say hello, Sammy.” Dean moved quickly, like Dad was just over his shoulder and would be looking at his phone screen. “You’re…you do know you’re buck naked, right?”
Sam gave him a small smile, spreading his legs to give Dean a better look at him. “Yeah.”
Dean’s eyes flicked from Sam’s face to the outline of his cock through the sheet—at least that’s what it looked like to him—and he licked his bottom lip. Sam had him.
“Do you like it?” Sam’s eyebrows knit together, and while he wanted to play coy it was hard to not let his worry overpower him.
Dean seemed unable to put any words together, not until Sam pushed the covers down, exposing how hard he was. All because of Dean. He nervously touched his thigh as he waited for any sign that he was doing a good job, that Dean was happy with his attempt at seduction. Dean’s video jostled as he moved his phone into his non-dominant hand, and Sam heard him start to unzip his pants.
“Bobby’s not around?”
“He’s asleep, I think. I’ll be quiet, Dean, promise.” Sam reached down to grab himself, stroking once and feeling a little embarrassed at Dean watching him do it. His cheeks burned red.
Dean shook his head, moving again like he was adjusting in bed.
“Bummer I won’t get to hear you moan,” he exhaled, and Sam heard a slick noise on Dean’s end. Not like he’d never seen Dean jerk off, but he hadn’t seen him do it without a comforter covering up all the action. He was mad his brother didn’t tilt the phone down even just a little so he could see his shoulder moving with each thrust of his palm.
Sam rocked his fist down onto his cock again, staring into the webcam like he was staring into Dean’s eyes. It probably looked creepy, and he wondered if he should stop and just turn his attention to himself, but Dean didn’t seem to hate Sam’s staring.
“You’re like a normal teen now,” Dean laughed, “I thought you’d freak out about jerking off forever.”
Sam rolled his fist around his cock and held a whimper in the back of his throat, repeating something Dean had shown him. He didn’t have his brother’s libido, he rarely felt any desire to jerk off until Dean left him with no alternatives. Not like he could have sex with a girl, even if he didn’t get her pregnant she’d still be put off hearing Sam saying the wrong name while he came.
“I don’t freak out.”
“You’re so weird about sex, Sammy. It’s one of the most natural things in the world and yet you’re still a virgin. There’s gotta be cute girls in your class, d’you think you’re too good for them?” Dean started on a tangent that Sam had no idea how to respond to.
He jerked himself harder and tried to think all while his feet twisted in the sheets.
“I don’t think everybody wants to lose their virginity at nine like you did,” Sam bit back, and Dean’s eyes widened.
“Oh, are you jealous? You wish you could’ve nailed your first girl at nine.” Dean grunted and readjusted himself, the phone jostling as he moved.
“No, I don’t,” Sam attempted calm even as his orgasm started to build.
Dean looked at him through the phone, and Sam felt his face turning red; like it suddenly dawned on him what he was doing.
“You’re not gay, are you?”
Bold coming from someone who was jerking off with his little brother, but Sam felt a little queasy at the fact that he couldn’t explicitly say “no” to that question; there was a sneer curling Dean’s words that scared Sam.
“N-no,” he said shakily.
He readjusted himself to give Dean a better view, tilting his hips and wincing when he heard the cot’s springs creak. Sam could only hope Bobby was asleep.
“Good, you don’t need more problems.”
Sam scowled for a moment before a rush of pleasure surged through him and made him hold back a whimper.
“Are you close?” Dean didn’t hide how closely he was skirting orgasm, and Sam felt jealous he could be as loud as he wanted. He wished he could have told him outright how long he’d been planning to do this, how much he wanted these encounters to happen in real life and not strictly through screens, but he let that thought slide off his back.
Sam nodded once, a hard rock of his chin as his mouth fell open to draw more breath into his lungs. His palm felt slicker than when he started but the shimmer of precome smeared across his cock didn’t pick up on camera, at least from what he could see in the preview window.
“Point it up for me, Sammy. Up at your face,” Dean’s voice was getting low, hard to understand, but Sam complied. He moved his cock up until it was pointing at the underside of his chin, and he kept jerking himself off while Dean swallowed a moan.
“Can you keep it like that until you come?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
His chest rose and fell as he got closer, he could feel his balls tightening with each pump of his fist. His brows knit together and his eyes squeezed shut as he felt it all start to crash over him—he was making Dean so happy, he could hear it in his strained voice. Sam gasped and spread his legs wide, his toes curling into the sheets. The cot had to have been shrieking under him, he couldn’t hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears and Dean panting, repeating “good boy” under his breath.
A warm thread of come sprayed up onto his chin just as he opened his eyes to look at Dean again, and Sam felt mortified. It was what his big brother wanted, but he felt odd. He felt stormy as another rope of come hit him in the chest.
Dean was moaning loudly on the other end of the call. His head was thrown back but he was still watching Sam as his phone started to shake. Sam liked how he sounded as he was coming—the halted groans and grunts, the heavy breathing that turned Sam on all over again, the way his face flushed like he’d just been told off. Sam wished he and Dean were in the same room and their hands were on each other.
He opened his mouth to say it: that next time he wanted them to be together physically. Sam felt his heart pump hard in his chest just at the thought of asking Dean to take his virginity, but he was interrupted before he could even speak.
“I needed that, Sammy. Thanks.”
The half-smile Dean flashed him made warmth flush through his body like he’d swallowed the sun.
“You’re coming home soon, right?”
“Yeah, a few more days then we’re coming back to Bobby’s to pick you up. I wish Dad had let you come, though—we needed an extra set of eyes last night going over those police reports.” Dean’s shoulder jostled before his newly-freed hand came to rest behind his head. Sam grimaced, hoping that at least he’d wiped his palm clean.
“Be safe, Dean.” Sam’s whisper was almost too soft for his own ears to pick up, but Dean’s face turned gentle a few seconds after he said it.
“I’ll try. I love you.”
“Love you too. G’night,” Sam was starting to yawn.
The infection spread through Skype and after a delay Dean was yawning, too. “Night, Sammy.”
The call disconnected, and Sam basked in the afterglow for a while. It wasn’t like “I love you” was anything special between them, the only person Sam had ever said it to was Dean, but it felt special hearing it after something so intimate. His heart was still fluttering and his cheeks were hot. The platonic meaning was lost on Sam in that moment.
He redressed hastily, wiping his come off of his face with the bottom of his t-shirt and just as quickly tiptoeing from the den to the office to return the laptop. Sam placed it back on the desk and plugged it in, sure he remembered to close out Skype and close the Russian nesting folders the application lived inside but unsure he wanted to trust himself on that. He stood at one of the stacks of books, his hands worrying a worn hardcover of Japanese folklore while he considered opening it again and easing his conscience.
Sam was startled when he heard a throat clearing. His gaze shot up to the doorway where he found Bobby, much more awake than Sam would have hoped, and he gripped the book tight like it was his only salvation.
“What’re you still doing up?” He drawled, and that gave Sam a little peace of mind.
“Couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d find something to read before bed.”
He held up the book he was clutching, his knuckles unnecessarily white. Bobby raised an eyebrow before letting his expression go lax.
“You were using my laptop.”
Sam’s heart was drumming hard in his chest. He couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t, Bobby would see right through him, but for obvious reasons he couldn’t tell him what actually transpired in the den. Sam’s fingertips dug into the cloth cover of the book as he tried to string together the least conspicuous-sounding white lie he could come up with.
“I was on a video call with Dean. It makes me feel better if I can actually see him when he’s been gone so long.”
Sam felt like he was tearing up as Bobby processed his words like he was raking them with a fine-toothed comb. Luckily—or maybe unluckily—for Sam, nothing he’d said just then was a lie at all, just an omission of truth.
“Well, try to keep ‘em short, then. Internet bill’s been killing me the past few months.” Bobby seemed too beat to get fired up over Sam racking up his bill, and Dad would probably owe him a twenty by next month on top of whatever else he owed. Sam heard their late night poker games, he was no stranger to the fact that his father could swindle any card player save for Bobby.
He left Sam with a quick “night” that couldn’t top Dean’s low almost-purr, and he tucked himself back into bed with the Japanese folklore book in hand, squinting through the dark to read about rokurokubi until he passed out with the book draped across his chest. All in all, it was a very good night.