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Sam laced Jess's fingers with his in a tight, firm handshake, silently letting her know he wanted to get out of this crowded, loud, drunken student-filled room and be somewhere else. Somewhere quiet, safe. Preferably his dorm room, or hers, but really, anywhere would do. He just needed them to be there together, the two of them, and no one else.
Jess understood the implication almost immediately. It was as if she'd read his mind or something. She said goodbye to the others and pulled Sam with her, heading for the exit door. The movement made her hair flutter slightly at how sudden it was. Sam held his breath. Despite months spent together, he still couldn't believe that a girl as beautiful as Jessica saw something in him, and that something she actually liked. And it made her want to be with him, and kiss him, and hold his hand, and everything. The last time Sam had felt this way was with Dean—completely enveloped by the love of his older brother, who was always there for him, everywhere, even when Sam didn't know if he needed it. It had set his expectations for his future girlfriend a bit too high, even though he hadn't thought he'd ever find a girlfriend. Dean was everything to him, a brother, a father, a boyfriend. He couldn't imagine himself with anyone else but Dean, and he'd never felt the need to change that.
Until he ran away from home. Until Stanford.
Until he met Jessica.
When he closed his eyes, he still saw Dean's devastated expression, his empty gaze locked on his. He didn't want to leave him. He wanted to take him with him, despite his protests and elaborate excuses that Sam would be best off here, with his family. But Sam, in that moment, simply wanted to break free from the bonds John had imposed on him. He couldn't think about him, talk about him, let alone live with him and see his face every day. The face of his first human enemy.
Besides, John had told him to get out. He'd been the one to slam the door behind him. He didn't care about Dean's scream, didn't care about the tears in Sam's eyes. He didn't care about anything but himself, and it made Sam want to vomit.
He felt tears welling up in his eyes, slowly, as if they weren't rushing. They only clouded his vision, clinging to the corners. His mind was a blur, but not the kind he'd felt throughout his childhood—full of hatred, misunderstanding, and ignorance. No, this was something else, something so different he wasn't sure he could even call it a blur anymore. He felt like he was on drugs, and yet no one had slipped anything into his cup; Jess was watching over him. Jess was watching over her party cup and his, holding them in her hands the entire time, not wanting to take any chances. So why did Sam feel this way?
When he opened his eyes again, he saw that beautiful face, flushed red. Jessica's dark, chocolate eyes stared into his, flicking to his lips every few moments. Sam wanted to bite his lower lip, but he couldn't. And then he noticed Jessica's two fingers between his lips, calmly running their fingertips over his gums and teeth, pressing against his tongue. Sam felt like gagging, but he didn't pull away. It soothed him somehow; he felt so calm and cared for. The last time he'd let anyone touch him like that was Dean—
He had to get his older brother out of his head, and fast. Before he got into the truly strange thoughts of other intimate moments he shared with Jessica.
Her fingers in his mouth was one of those moments. A strange thing Sam felt drawn to. He didn't know why, he'd never considered it, and if Jess didn't question it, why should he? He squinted at her, noticing the delight in her eyes and the slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It motivated him to stick out his tongue and lick Jessica's ring finger, making her squeal and pull her hand away from his mouth. Sam immediately regretted it. Her fingers were so soft and warm, and now he felt only emptiness.
"You're acting like a cat. Your tongue is wet," Jess remarked, wiping her fingers on the sheets beneath them.
"Not many people's tongues are dry." Sam muttered, pouting his lower lip slightly, hoping it would make Jess fall for his cute-boy charm and put his fingers in his mouth again. It always worked on Dean.
But she just shook her head slightly and sat closer to the wall on their shared bed. Sam remembered the day Jess suggested that switching dorm rooms with Sam's previous roommate would be a good idea. After all, they were a couple, and couples needed to be close. They had to share a room together, they had to help each other get dressed, they had to be bored together when their father went on another hunting trip that was too dangerous to take them, and they had to be each other's everything.
Fuck, he'd mistaken Jess for Dean again.
It wasn't his fault, though. Not entirely. Jessica was blonde, just like Dean, and her eyes also darkened depending on the time of day or the angle of the light. Her laugh was loud, and it rang in Sam's ears for hours afterward, just like Dean's. With Jess, as with Dean, Sam felt butterflies in his stomach, slowly turning into disgusting larvae, craving his entire being, especially his heart. Because his heart was big and healthy, and greedy because it loved not one, but two people at once.
Sam felt Jess's shoulder brush against his, and it made him shiver. He hoped she didn't notice. His mouth still felt empty and cold. He wanted to grab Jessica's wrist and stuff her fingers into his own mouth. He wanted to lick each one, length and breadth, feeling the delicate bones beneath his skin under the pressure of his tongue. He wanted to bite her thumb and see how she reacted. He wanted to look at her, mimicking sucking a cock with his mouth, so she'd finally agree to buy them that stupid dildo Sam had awkwardly and shyly mentioned last week.
When he was with Dean, he didn't need replacements. Dean's cock was big, long, and thick, and fit Sam's hot, eager mouth perfectly. It fit his entire body perfectly, even though it was difficult at first. But when Sam first saw the bulge forming in his flat stomach as Dean thrust and thrust, his hips seemingly working constantly and never stopping, Sam knew this was heaven. This was paradise for him. Dean so deep inside him that he almost didn't have time to pull out. It wasn't like if he came inside, Sam would get pregnant—they were both boys, after all—but it would still be a little disgusting. It would make the act real sex, not just some curious experimentation with his older brother.
You could say, though, that Dean was Sam's first. In fact, he was Sam's first for everything: brother, lover, kiss, and that strange activity they refused to call sex for the life of them. Still, Dean bragged about it at the school they were supposed to be attending at the time, only changing a few details.
"Her name was Samantha. Cute, petite, stick-thin. I could see my dick trying to come out through her stomach," Dean said, with that mischievous smirk on his lips, all proud and smug, feeling the eyes of all the losers in his class, completely captivated by him.
Sam, hearing this story every time, sometimes found himself wondering what his life would be like if he were actually a girl. Would Dean accidentally get him pregnant? What would their children be like? Dean would probably tell him to get rid of them, not wanting to cause them any more trouble than they already were. Dad would probably find out anyway, and maybe separate Sam and Dean, and they'd never see each other again? Sam was sick.
"Do you want to fuck tonight?" Jess asked, all pretty and embarrassed, as if it were their first time. Sam nodded, agreeing even though he knew he shouldn't. Not when every little word Jess uttered, every fleeting thought he had, seemed to boil down to Dean and his longing for him.
But Sam couldn't imagine refusing her.
Jessica leaned toward him and began kissing him. Sweetly, slowly, testing the waters, waiting for him to make the next move. Sam tasted the sugary taste of strawberry chapstick on Jessica's lips, chemical and addictive. He licked her lower lip, and his hands tightened around her waist as she slowly pushed him back to straddle him.
Sam sighed, closing his eyes. The sound of the wind through the trees began to fill his mind, and the sun's rays began to burn his face. Summer. It was another of those days when, left alone in the motel room, they had to find something to do. Sam wanted to buy ice cream. Dean wanted to kiss.
It happened so quickly, and Sam doesn't really remember anything else except Dean's strawberry ice cream mixed with his vanilla. That, and a lot of saliva, and the inexperience of both boys. Sam was six when he experienced his first real kiss, not just a peck on the cheek from some older women he'd never seen before, who told him they were his father's friends. Sam was six when he agreed to be his older brother's girlfriend and boyfriend.
So when Jess proposed a relationship, he couldn't imagine himself as a boyfriend. It just worked that way. Dean always teased him that he "should have been born a girl" because he was so weak and delicate. Dean always called him whatever saccharine nicknames came to mind at the time. Each one was increasingly embarrassing and awkward. Sam remembers how, once, while going to some stupid bar to "earn" money for some little treat (Dean always did this when Sam seemed sadder than usual. He'd notice and react. He'd buy him some nonsense, just wanting to see him smile again), Dean introduced Sammy as his "little sister who hasn't fully matured yet." It was supposed to be a joke on his part, a simple tease. But the men in the bar didn't take it as a joke. They took it as encouragement. As an opportunity. And that was the first time Sam cried in public.
He was crying now, too. Jess pulled away from his mouth, brushing her lips against his neck, pressing small, red kisses there, leaving bruises. It hurt a little, but not in a bad way. Sam loved it when Jess did that. Dean never left marks on him, figuring it was too risky. That if John saw it, he'd kill them both. If anyone else saw Sam walking around town with hickeys on his neck, knowing he was only with his older brother 24/7, they'd probably report it. There would be a whole drama about child rights and domestic violence and sexual assault, and they really didn't want that. The last thing Sam and Dean needed was more trouble.
Jessica's hands slid down his torso, stopping just above his leather belt. Sam arched his back, truly feeling like a girl now. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe he should be someone other than he was, maybe he was always destined to have long hair and paint his nails. He began to wonder how he would explain this to Jessica. Would she understand? Absolutely. Jessica understood him like few others. She understood him as well as Dean did.
His hands tightened around her waist, slowly sliding under her blouse. He brushed the clasp of her bra with his fingertips, unhooking it a bit clumsily. He removed her bra, sliding it out from under her blouse, watching her perky nipples automatically poke through the cotton material. Sam licked his lips, feeling completely fixated on his girlfriend now. She was so beautiful. With those soft, plump lips and wide eyes. With those blond curls falling chaotically across her face. Sam wanted to grab her shoulders and crush her beneath him. Sam wanted to press his mouth to her chest, kissing, biting, and sucking. He wanted to be inside Jessica. He wanted to be one with Jessica. Just like he was with Dean.
Whenever Dean entered him, he'd always say that this was how they were getting closer. But when Sam mentioned it outside of bed, he'd tend to brush him off and scold him for being sick and not thinking like that. He shouldn't talk about it. No one should know, and by talking about it, someone could overhear. He could give him a strange, askance look and move on, or he could report it. And the boys didn't want that.
He tossed Jessica's bra aside, not caring where I landed. All that mattered now was her. And Dean in his mind. After a few moments, his shirt was tossed somewhere in the corner, along with Jessica's pajama shorts. Sam swallowed hard, watching Jessica's gaze linger on every single scar on his body. Sam hated his naked body, and everyone around him knew it. Everyone close to him knew that Sam, despite his pretty face, hated the way he looked. Nothing helped. It didn't help when Dean grabbed him by the waist from behind and pressed himself against him in front of the bathroom mirror, repeating compliment after compliment. It didn't help when Jessica kissed each of his scars, telling him she loved him just the way he was. Sam was simply acutely aware of how ugly he was underneath all those clothes, skinny yet muscular, with bruises that would never fade, scars, all that crap Sam had thought back then would make him stronger. But it only made him hate himself even more.
He reached up and grabbed her chin, his fingers gripping her cheeks tightly. He tugged lightly at her head, trying to avert her gaze. He didn't want her to look. He didn't want her to stare, to open her mouth and talk about it. He simply wanted to make love to her. He wanted her close to him, as close as possible.
As close as Dean was to him.
Jessica pouted out her lower lip, looking like a fish now. Blub blub blub She was so sweet. Sam wanted to cry again. And he must have done so, because his vision became blurry and unfocused again. He pulled his hand away from her face, wiping the tears streaming from his eyes with his wrist. Jess sat on him again, a little further away this time, and Sam already felt the fear building inside him that she would get up and leave him. And never come back, because he had done something wrong, and she hadn't even given him a chance to explain.
But Jessica didn't leave. Instead of another emptiness, Sam heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper being unzipped. In one movement, Jess had slid his jeans down to his knees, leaving him open and vulnerable, and what happened to him would depend only on her. Her hand wrapped around his swollen, slightly red cock, and she began to pump it slowly. Sam groaned. He tightened his grip on the sheets beneath him, trying his hardest not to act like a virgin.
"Did he touch you like that?" Jess asked, her hand constantly moving on his penis. Sam had to concentrate for a moment to understand what she was asking. No, it couldn't be. Did she know? And she was reacting this way? Sam couldn't believe it. He didn't know how to feel about it. He wanted to push her away and run away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The way she worked him, it felt so fucking good. She was so good at it. He loved her so much.
He nodded, unable to say anything. He could only gasp, choke on the excess saliva in his mouth, and moan. He closed his eyes again. No memory flashed in his mind. All he could think about now was the way Jess touched him. He wondered. Had Dean really ever touched him like that? Sam remembered helping him bathe, putting bandages on him, holding his hips tightly as they fucked. But he'd never touched him with such gentleness. I guess. Sam didn't remember. He didn't know why. It was as if his mind were blocking the memory of Dean's gentle touch against him. It was as if it was so bad, somehow worse than anything they had ever done, that his mind refused to remember it.
He opened his eyes again, staring at Jessica. He didn't want to think about Dean anymore, not now that he was this close. He wanted to see her. No one else. He wanted Jessica to be as embedded in his brain as Dean was. He wanted Jessica to be as important to him as Dean was. Because she was. She was everything to him. When he came, his face turned beet red. He panted like a horny dog. Jess caught his cum on her fingers and pushed it into his mouth, along with hers, just like before—now allowing, no, demanding, that he lick them clean. And Sam did. He did it so willingly, motivated by Jessica's happiness and pride in him. Jess pushed her fingers a little deeper, making Sam gag, and a little water spilled from his mouth, soaking his neck. He felt pathetically good. And he started thinking again.
Would Dean get along with Jessica? Would Dean like Jessica? In his mind, they were as alike as two peas in a pod. Would they hate each other because of how much they loved him, or would they merge into one in their love for him? Sam imagined Dean gripping his hips as Jess pushed her fingers into his mouth.
He smiled at the thought, biting Jessica's fingertips a little, imagining them as Dean's. Imagining Dean there, sitting in front of their bed, watching. Maybe judging, maybe not. Maybe jealous. Maybe wondering what the best moment would be to join in. Sam imagined them taking him together. With all that passion and desire.
Sam might never go to heaven, but he didn't need it. His heaven was Jess and Dean, and their endless love for him.