Sammy's already brown from a week at the lake. Sweating under the shade of a tree, Dean watches him cannonball off a big rock past the shallows.
Dean fishes a cold beer out of his cooler, presses it against his forehead before he opens it and takes a long swallow. It's his third, and he's already feeling a little mellow from the second, his aching muscles loosening. He watches Sam paddle around, watches the handful of other swimmers splashing and playing, too close to Sam, as he finishes his beer.
It's June in Georgia, and he's exhausted from work. Work is good, work keeps them in food and beer while John's off on a long hunt, but working on a lawn crew for daily under-the-table pay is harder than he'd expected. It's not like he could get a real job, though, not after dropping out of school last fall.
Their rented shack of a house has no A/C, but you can see the lake from the roof, and he'd found Sammy up there sweating and gazing longingly the first day he'd come home from work. They'd gone to the thrift shop and found themselves some trunks, and from that first day this has been their routine, after Dean gets off work.
Sam climbs up on his rock again, all long, gangly arms and legs, the drawstring of his too-big trunks cinched tight around his narrow hips. He waves at Dean before pinching his nose and falling forward in a flip into the water.
Dean has one more beer to relax his muscles, then he wades out into the lake, keeping his t-shirt on to avoid the inevitable sunburn, to join his little brother.
Around sunset, Sam jogs back to the cabin and comes back with a paper plate of PB&Js and a bag of off-brand Doritos. He has a coke tucked under his arm, and he taps the top furiously before he opens it, tensing for an explosion after the jog back. it doesn't come though, and they eat their sandwiches under the shade of Dean's favorite tree.
"Did Dad call today?" Dean asks.
Sam shakes his head. "Nuh-uh," he says through a mouthful of sticky sandwich. Then he shrugs, his facial expression saying he doesn't really give a shit.
"I'm off on Saturday," Dean says, then he takes a swig of his beer. "You wanna go see a movie or something?"
Sam swallows his mouthful, eyes big. "Yeah! That alien movie comes out this weekend, and..." He trails off, eyes going guilty, and picks at the crust of his sandwich. "I mean, you can pick what we watch. Anything's good with me."
Dean grins and swats Sam on his bony brown shoulder. Kid must have been looking forward to the movie; must have found a newspaper or something to look up the movie times. He must have been hoping Dean would take him to the movies.
"We can watch that. It sounds like fun," Dean says.
"Good," Sam says, his face lighting up in a smile.
"I'll even buy you popcorn. But we're sneaking in candy."
Sam smiles wider and kicks Dean in the foot. Thank you, is what that means.
They sit in the shade and let their food settle, and Dean drinks another beer as they watch the sun dip below the horizon, and the last family pack up their stuff and trek off to their car. Sam's sitting with his arms looped around his knees, the bumps of his spine pressing at the soft skin of his back.
It's quiet but for the lapping of the waves on the rocky beach, and the stars flicker on one by one. It's peaceful, and Dean lets himself drowse leaning against the bole of the tree, eyelids heavy from beer and work and swimming and food.
When Sam stands abruptly, Dean wakes. It's full dark now, and they're still alone. In the moonlight, Sam's teeth are white inside his mischievous grin.
"I'm going skinny dipping," he says, and he quickly tugs at the knot of his trunks and shoves them down around his feet. "You coming?"
Dean shakes some of the fuzziness away, licking the inside of his dry mouth. Sam's skinny, yeah. But when the blur of Dean's mind comes into focus, Sam's body comes into focus as well. He's not kid-skinny like he used to be. Somehow, Sam had grown up a little more, and Dean had missed it. Sam's only fourteen, but he's been hunting and training for years. His hips might be narrow, arms and legs coltishly long, but his shoulders are broadening and he's got a nice, sleek layer of muscle under his tanned skin.
Dean grins at him. He's not tan all over; his butt is still hilariously white as the day he was born.
"Yeah, gimme a minute," he says, and he watches Sam run into the water, splashing into the sandy shallows. Dean pulls another beer out of the cooler and cracks it open, realizing that there are only a few left - and how did he drink all those already? - and he drinks half of it before he stands and peels off his shirt and trunks.
Sam's watching him from atop his perch on his rock, and Dean wades out, the water still warm on his body, teasing at the hair on his legs and crotch. His dick feels nice and heavy, swaying around in the water, and the sand feels satisfyingly squishy between his toes.
"So why the full monty, Sammy?" Dean asks once he swims out to the rock and folds his arms up on the edge of it, resting his chin atop them.
Sam shrugs. "I dunno. Thought it would be fun." He looks a little embarrassed, then he plunges into the water, splashing Dean.
Once his head comes up, wet and otter-sleek, Dean asks, "Is it?"
Sam gives him a sheepish smile, then says, "Yeah. It feels good. It's like... " He glides through the water to the rock and leans against it beside Dean. "It's stupid, but it feels like... natural. Like the water's hugging me." After a pause, he says, "It's dumb."
Dean shakes his head. Just floating here in the dark, he feels better than he had the whole time he'd swam earlier. The water cradles him, touches him everywhere, and it is a delicious feeling. And he's also not close to immune to enjoying things that are a little bit against society's rules, a little bit perverse. Like skinny-dipping in a public lake, not a hundred yards from where people are having dinner, watching tv, getting ready for bed.
"It's not dumb," Dean says, and he watches Sam's shoulders relax. "It does feel nice."
"Yeah," Sam says, smiling. The he paddles out into the water, rolling over for a backstroke, then flipping again for a breaststroke.
Dean watches him for a moment, then closes his eyes and hangs on to the rock, letting the water push him to and fro. He's more than a little drunk, and this, combined with the way the water lifts and pulls on him makes him feel disoriented, but in a good way. It's like when the room spins gently around you after you've taken a couple of pain pills.
After a few minutes, though, he gets queasy. He looks around to see Sam floating about twenty yards away, his junk a big bump between his hips, and that sounds like a good idea, so he pushes away from the rock and spreads his arms and legs, looking up at the sky.
It's not easy to float - he's too drunk, and too dense, and he's not sure how Sam, with virtually no fat at all, is managing to do it - so he paddles back to the rock, gets a handhold, and lets that help him. Now he's steady, he's flat on his back and rocking with the gentle waves of the lake and peering up at the stars. They're beautiful, even if they blur out occasionally.
Then Sam's looking down at him. Lake water drips out of his hair onto Dean's face, and Dean's legs slip down into the water as he wipes at his eyes.
"Throw me," Sam says, grinning. Like they did last summer when they were close enough to the beach to make it down a few times, when Dean would grab onto Sam's feet and lift him out of the water so that Sam could dive off of them.
"You're a little too big, don't you think, Sammy?" He might be, but Dean's also worried about his balance, of losing it and accidentally getting a foot in his face.
"Nah. You're really strong, anyway." This is said with such unthinking conviction that Dean can hardy say no, can he?
So they swim in toward the beach until the water is above Dean's waist, and he squats down.
"Okay, hop up, Sammy," he says, spreading his legs wide and digging his feet in, and hoping he has the bodily coordination for this.
Sam turns his back to him and does a little hop underwater, backwards toward Dean, and one of his feet hits the mark. The other one doesn't, and Dean reaches for it while Sam's scrambling around. When he gets a grip on it, Sam's bare bottom rubs against his belly. It flusters Dean, and it shouldn't. He maybe shouldn't have had so much to drink; he maybe should try to get laid more often.
He shakes it off and steadies himself. "Ready?"
Dean squats lower, then uses his thighs and arms to punch up, lifting Sam high. Sam dives forward, hitting the water with a big splash.
He pops up out of the water, shaking his hair out of his face like a big puppy. "Do it again," he says, smiling.
"Okay, come on," Dean says, playfully grumpy. They get into position, and when Dean has a grip on Sam's feet, Sam's back presses against him, and Dean's alarmingly aware of how warm and smooth and wet he feels.
"Now!" Sam calls, and Dean's never been more glad to let him go.
He begs off next time when Sam asks again. "You're really too big," he says, rubbing his sore arms.
"Wimp," Sam says, splashing him.
"Asshole!" Dean yells, shaking the water out of his eyes. He uses his hand as a blade to thrust a large sheet of water at Sam.
"Dummy, we're already wet," Sam laughs, and he flings more water at Dean. Dean rushes him, manhandling him and tickling him, pulling him into shallower water so he has more of an advantage. Sam's laughter and breathless pleas ring out over the water.
"Stop it, Dean!" he begs, and then he giggles as Dean digs his fingers into Sam's stomach. His hard little stomach.
Dean rubs the muscles there, feeling their subtle definition.
"When'd you get a six-pack?" he asks. It's not quite there, but it's well on its way.
"Shut up," Sam says, but Dean can tell he's pleased. And he's relaxed some, so Dean surprises him into a shout when he digs his fingers in again in a ruthless tickle.
"Stop stop stop!" Sam yells, but then he gasps when Dean playfully twiddles his nipples.
"Sensitive, Sammy?" Dean asks against Sam's ear.
"Y-yeah," Sammy whispers back, and he arches when Dean pinches his nipples. Dean pinches them again, then rubs them in little circles, and the way Sam moans sends a flush of surprised arousal through Dean.
It's like the first time he looked at a skin mag. He knew girls were pretty, and he appreciated the shapes of their bodies, but he'd never seen the hidden bits. He'd stared at the magazine, his head full of white noise and his hands shaking, his cock hard in his pants.
"Dean, Dean," Sam pleads, more than once, but Dean can barely hear him at first. He tries to snap out of it. It should feel wrong, playing with your little brother's nipples, naked, in a public place. And it does. But then, it doesn't; Dean gets off on this kind of thing, usually. But this is Sammy. It's Sammy that's moaning and twisting under his hands, and Dean feels sick, but then Sam moans again and his nipples are hard and wet, and Dean feels hot with arousal, and he can't make up his goddamn mind.
He starts to slide his hands away, but Sam catches them. Sam's hands are shaking, and they freeze there for a moment, before Sam whispers, "Don't stop."
Sam's Dean's kid brother, but he's not really a kid anymore. He's fourteen years old and starting to grow into his man's body, and he's seen and done things most adults will never have to deal with. He's smart beyond his years, smarter than Dean, he sometimes thinks... and when Dean looks over his shoulder to see his fingers on Sam's body, he sees that the tip of Sam's hard cock has thrust up through the surface of the lake, and that it's bobbing near his belly button.
Trying to keep his breathing even, because Sam's is a mess, Dean rolls the hard little points of Sam's nipples between his thumbs and fingers, and he watches Sam's cock jerk, sending ripples through the water.
"That, do that," Sam says in a ragged whisper.
Drunk on beer, drunk on Sam, absolutely fascinated, Dean keeps it up, watching himself touch Sam, pull on his dark pink nipples, twist and rub them, watching Sam's cock bob and twitch.
"Oh god!" Sam cries, and he comes just like that, nothing touching him but the water. His jizz shoots up against his belly, a splash of it hot on Dean's hand, and in glistening streams into the water. Dean's cock, full and fat this whole time, fills out hard as a rock and it's all he can do not to rub it up against Sam, who's so close and so warm and panting with his orgasm.
Dean finally slips his hands away from Sam's chest and lets them rest on his sides for a moment, feeling the deep heaves as Sam sucks air into his lungs. He pulls them away, takes a few steps back, washes the cum off his hand.
He should know what to do now. Knowing what to do is his job... but this particular scenario had never entered his mind. What do you do after you get your kid brother off?
"Dean?" Sam asks in a small voice, still facing away. He sounds lost, afraid he's about to be in trouble.
Dean can't let him feel like that. This wasn't his fault.
"Yeah, Sammy?" he asks. It's his everything's-normal voice.
Sam's shoulders are stiff, and Dean watches him take a few deep breaths. After half a minute of awkward silence, Sam says, "We still going to the movies?"
"Of course we are," Dean says, still aiming for his everyday calm. He's too drunk to do this right, too drunk period. But he tries. "Gotta see them aliens, right?"
"Right," Sam says, and he finally turns around. There's a guilty, sheepish smile on his face, and his nipples are still dark pink and hard from all that stimulation.
"Good." Dean tries a reassuring smile, finds that it fits. "Let's get home. I'm tired as shit."
Dean goes first. He doesn't want to look at Sam naked right now. Wonders if he'll be able to handle it again. But it's unthinkable that Dean should let this come between them in any way, that Dean's own weakness should change the way they are together, so he pushes it down. He can't forget it, but he can push it down, bury it, keep it in a dark space inside himself where he can take it out and hurt himself with it in private moments.
He hears the rustle of fabric as Sam changes behind him, then the crinkling of trash as Sam packs it up.
They take the five-minute walk home, to the little shack with all its lights on. By the time they get home, Sam's acting like it never happened, too.
I'm a little nervous about posting weecest. Comments are very appreciated, whether it be praise or constructive criticism or questions :)