Sam never ditches class. Other seniors in high school sneak out to smoke behind the gym or walk across the street to McDonald’s, but not Sam. He doesn’t smoke, he hates fast food and he actually likes his classes.
Yet, here he is - hiding under the bleachers, ditching his 7th period English class.
It’s not like he’s missing anything. Sam already read Julius Caesar at his last school and would be able to pass Mr. Jacobson’s quiz tomorrow blindfolded. Instead of being bored out of his mind in the class, he’s spending some quality time with his SAT prep book. It’s nice outside, sitting on the grass under the shade of the aluminum steps, even if he’s still in his sweaty gym clothes. An hour to himself is worth it.
Footsteps on the metal above his head alert Sam that he is not alone. He can tell from the baby-doll voice that it’s one of the cheerleaders, Ashley. That voice haunts his dreams. Ashley tracks him down in the hallway almost every day, asking about Dean. His brother makes a big impression on the girls when he roars up in the Impala to pick up Sam after school, and Ashley seems to be particularly obsessed.
“Oh my god, your brother is soooo beautiful. Is he dating anyone right now? How old is he? What days does he work at the garage?”
It became so bad last week that every time Sam saw her red and white pleated skirt sashaying down the hall, he would turn tail and run the other direction.
Now, he is trapped under the bleachers with no escape. He doesn’t want Ashley to find him and start another round of “tell me about your brother”, and he can’t get caught sneaking into the library after ditching class. That’s when he hears another voice float down between the bleacher seats.
“Well, sweetheart, how could I resist your invitation? Beside, I’m picking up my brother in about an hour. Plenty of time for us to get to know each other.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Sam freezes at the sound of Dean’s voice and then rolls his eyes as the conversation quickly turned into little gasps and moans. It’s impressive how fast Dean can move and how many girls keep right up with him.
Another voice interrupts his thoughts.
“Sam Winchester, you’re the last person I expected to see smoking under the bleachers.”
Sam jerks his head back so fast that it whacks the metal pole behind him with a loud thunk. Eric, one of the football players that he helped with a science project last week, walks up and his shadow blocks out the sun. Even though he is captain of the football and baseball teams, he is also a smart guy in Sam’s AP classes.
“I’m not smoking,” Sam says defensively, as he stands up, showing Eric the cover of his SAT study guide which gets a snort from the guy.
“Dude, you ditched class to study? Who does that?” Eric gives him a bright smile, bumping their shoulders together. “Hey, maybe you could help me study for the SATs? I could use your help.”
“Yeah, maybe we could help each other.” Sam smiles back, because he would love a chance to tutor Eric again. He doesn’t get to hear the guy’s response as his arm is jerked back, pulling him off balance and out into the sunshine, where Sam comes face to face with his big brother.
“You were smoking out here?” Dean is in Sam’s face and all thoughts of Eric are replaced by angry green eyes and Sam can’t breathe for a moment, trying to remember what he did wrong in the first place.
“I wasn’t smoking!” Sam yanks his arm back and reaches down to retrieve his backpack from the ground, shoving the SAT book safely inside before Dean can see it.
Eric picks that moment to step in, keeping a wary eye on Dean. “Hey, buddy, I don’t know what your problem is–”
“My problem is that my little brother is suddenly ditching classes to smoke and hook up with jocks under the bleachers.”
“OH MY GOD, DEAN, STOP.” Sam throws his hands up in the air and shoves his way between his brother and Eric, running for the front doors of the school, or the nearest hole to hide in.
Sam is halfway there when Dean catches up and spins him around by the elbow, steering him over to the Impala.
“C’mon - we’re gonna talk about this right now.”
Despite the command to talk, the ride back to the motel is silent, and Sam stares out the car window, getting angrier with every block that goes by. Hell, if he wanted the silent treatment, he could just wait for their dad to get home.
“Dean, I wasn’t smoking.”
His brother glances over and his eyes still show simmering anger. “Okay, but you were ditching class.”
“Really? That’s what you’re upset about? Because you never cared before whether I went to class or not.” Sam knows that he sounds defensive and childish but his exasperation keeps pushing the wrong words right out of his mouth. “You and Dad would be happy if I quit school tomorrow.”
Dean tilts his head to one side. “And what about that asshole you were meeting up with? How old is that guy? He can’t still be in high school. I bet he failed a grade.”
“God, that’s just rich, Dean. I hate to tell you this, but Eric is my age - you were the only old man there, hitting on high school kids.”
He’s sorry as soon as the words leave his mouth. It’s not fair either. Sure, Dean hits on a lot of girls but Sam knows that Ashley pursued him, probably tracked him down at the garage. Of course, his brother could never resist a curvy little blonde.
Sam doesn’t wait until the Impala comes to a full stop in front of their motel, before he jumps out and stalks over to their door. The door is open only a crack before Dean pushes in from behind. Sam barely has time to throw his backpack down when Dean jerks him over by the wrist to sit next to him on the bed.
“Sam, what is going on with you? Tell me, because I want to know. You bitch and moan about everything. You’re pissed when Dad’s here and you’re pissed when he’s not. And I can’t seem to make you happy, no matter what I do.”
Dean’s distress and hurt in that moment is raw, and Sam knows that it’s no longer about ditching class or even flirting with other people. It’s about the distance that’s been growing between them. So many words flutter up in Sam’s throat in that moment, threatening to pour out of his mouth. He wants to say the right thing to make everything better with the person he loves most.
“Fuck you, Dean,” he spits out, like a teenager Pez dispenser with bitter candy.
Dean’s face transforms in that moment from vulnerable to a steel cage that snaps into place. He growls and grabs Sam’s arm again, wrenching it behind his back and using the leverage to toss Sam across his legs.
“If you’re gonna act like a child, then I’m gonna treat you like one.”
Sam is in such shock that he doesn’t even fight it as Dean swats at his ass. The thin nylon gym shorts offer no protection and he cries out as two more open-handed blows land on his ass. He tries to squirm and pull away, but there is no where to go - he may finally be taller than Dean, but his brother is a solid wall of muscle, holding him down easily.
Another few strikes hit, with one across the back of his naked thighs. He wants to protest, to push Dean off, and yell that he isn’t a child to be manhandled and thrashed. Instead, Sam feels a rush of blood to his cock, where it rubs against Dean’s leg and a moan escapes his lips. Dean stills immediately.
“Sammy, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Dean sounds contrite, a complete reversal from his anger only a few seconds before. His hand that was laying into Sam’s ass, now rubs along his back, soft and comforting.
“Do it, again” Sam’s voice is strangled. He can feel the flush of embarrassment on his face and tries to turn it away, burying it in the comforter underneath them. “Don’t stop, please.”
He grips the comforter, bunching it up between his fingers and then releases it, only to grab it again as his arousal spikes. Dean doesn’t even have a hand on him, but the memory of that zing of pleasure and pain is enough to get him fully hard.
Sure, Sam’s a teenager and can get hard in a stiff breeze. But this? He had no idea this would happen.
Dean’s hand pauses and then moves down the nobs of Sam’s spine until his fingertips rest at the elastic waistband of his gym shorts. Dean’s other hand grips Sam’s chin, turning his face back around.
His brother’s voice is thin and uncertain in a way that Sam never hears. He knows his face is red with embarrassment, but the only way he can respond in the moment is to rock his hard cock into Dean’s leg.
Dean pulls down the soft nylon of the shorts so that the waistband now rests around Sam’s thighs. He runs his fingers along the curve of Sam’s skin where it must be red and marked already. Another swat, this time on bare skin, and the sound and the heat of the stroke has Sam moaning and humping against his brother’s leg.
“Fuck,” Dean says quietly, his thumb tracing the inside of his thigh. “Could you come just from this?”
Before Sam has a chance to say something, Dean smacks him sharply once more on each cheek and that’s all it takes. Sam’s moan is drawn out as he comes all over the floor below them.
There’s a moment of silence and Sam doesn’t look up. All the worst case scenarios of what his brother might say to him are playing out in his head - anger, embarrassment, jokes - but what he doesn’t expect is Dean’s amused chuckle.
“Shit, Sam, maybe you should ditch school more often.”