Night Shift ficlet #1 - 5 AM
Sep. 7th, 2013 05:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
verucasalt123Title: Night Shift – 5 AM
Pairing: Dean/Sam (both characters underage)
Rating: PG-13 for mention of bodily fluid but no description of sexual activity
A/N: I’ve decided I’m going to post a Wincest ficlet every time I work an overnight shift. This is my first one. Told from Dean’s POV. I will take prompts from anyone for other middle of the night stories, and I will write from either boy’s POV, they’ll all probably be 500-900 word ficlets like this one. Because of when they’re written and posted, they won’t be beta’d, so I make no guarantees on quality. You get what my brain spits out in the middle of the night.
He wonders sometimes, when it’s almost five in the morning and he hasn’t been to sleep yet, what he could have done differently.
If there was anything he could have done differently.
No, wait. Because that was ridiculous, he could have done anything, no one forced any of his actions so ‘could have’ was a pretty inaccurate turn of phrase.
If there was anything he should have done differently.
That was more like it.
And there was a laundry list of answers to that question, depending on how he was feeling right then regarding the outcome.
He could have kept ignoring it when those shrewd hazel eyes transformed in a moment from staring at the ceiling like they’d been personally offended by its existence to staring at him with that dark and curious look. The full-body sweep, there and gone in a blink; the sideways glance from beneath lowered lashes, directed elsewhere in a matter of seconds. But it wasn’t the duration of those looks, it was the intensity behind them that Dean knew was trouble. He’d turned a similar look toward plenty of other people, ending up with a dozen or so of them in his bed (or their bed, or the back of the car, or any other random available spot). The same look directed at him from his little brother wasn’t going anywhere good, so he ignored it. For a long time. Honestly. Five weeks. Maybe even six. But he was only human. And seventeen.
There was always the possibility that he could have paid attention when he was throwing his own damn eyes around previously. Giving the sly up-and-down to a girl passing on the sidewalk, letting his gaze linger on a waitress’s cleavage for just a second too long here and there, completely underestimating how perceptive his dorky pain in the ass little brother was. If Sammy hadn’t seen him do it a hundred times before, maybe he never would have started trying out the same damn thing on Dean. Or at least maybe he would have waited until he was a little older. Again, though. Only human. Teenage boy. Never noticing that the kid paid any attention until that attention landed squarely on Dean.
Turning it over again, he guessed maybe sticking to his original insistence of getting in all the real-life hunting experience possible would have lessened the chances of this particular outcome. Over the course of those long weeks, though (months, even, maybe it had been closer to two entire months, holding out for that long would make Dean a freaking saint, except…not) he went from ‘gung-ho soldier’ to ‘not feeling up to this one’ to ‘I gotta be here to take Sam to that stupid soccer game, Dad’. And his lines worked; John had no reason to think Dean would miss a hunt unless he really did have to. Plus, there was a tiny element of truth to the excuses, at least to some extent. So he wasn’t lying, not a hundred percent completely lying about wanting to stay with his brother instead of road-tripping with his dad.
But all of a sudden, Sammy had given him the look again this morning (yesterday morning? Whenever was the last time it was morning before now) and finally added a couple of words. Totally innocent words that were not even the tiniest bit out of character for a boy his age who enjoyed the time he got to spend with the older brother he admired so much.
“You really gotta go on that supply run tonight, Dean? I won’t be upset or anything, it’s just…this geometry class is kicking the crap out of me, man. I could use some help with the practice questions.”
Except Sam wasn’t taking geometry. Which Dean could have called him on, if he wanted to make shit awkward and pretend like his resolve wasn’t a fraction of a centimeter from breaking (hey, maybe Sammy could help him with his metric system conversions. If he was still in school).
That’s not what he did, though. Because of the looks, and the waiting, and the anticipation, and the obvious attempt by Sam to get him alone for the night, and the being seventeen and horny and tossing out the weeks of no you can’t no no no can’t do that not okay find a way out don’t start this.
Right now Dean was feeling fairly positive about the outcome, which was that he was naked in bed with Sam, both of them covered in dried jizz, ten hours at least until their dad got back, with a shaggy head of hair resting comfortably on his chest.
It was after five now. Any leftover guilt was being pulled away by the sleep that was taking him over. And the hope that he’d be able to teach Sammy another thing or two before late afternoon.
Pairing: Dean/Sam (both characters underage)
Rating: PG-13 for mention of bodily fluid but no description of sexual activity
A/N: I’ve decided I’m going to post a Wincest ficlet every time I work an overnight shift. This is my first one. Told from Dean’s POV. I will take prompts from anyone for other middle of the night stories, and I will write from either boy’s POV, they’ll all probably be 500-900 word ficlets like this one. Because of when they’re written and posted, they won’t be beta’d, so I make no guarantees on quality. You get what my brain spits out in the middle of the night.
He wonders sometimes, when it’s almost five in the morning and he hasn’t been to sleep yet, what he could have done differently.
If there was anything he could have done differently.
No, wait. Because that was ridiculous, he could have done anything, no one forced any of his actions so ‘could have’ was a pretty inaccurate turn of phrase.
If there was anything he should have done differently.
That was more like it.
And there was a laundry list of answers to that question, depending on how he was feeling right then regarding the outcome.
He could have kept ignoring it when those shrewd hazel eyes transformed in a moment from staring at the ceiling like they’d been personally offended by its existence to staring at him with that dark and curious look. The full-body sweep, there and gone in a blink; the sideways glance from beneath lowered lashes, directed elsewhere in a matter of seconds. But it wasn’t the duration of those looks, it was the intensity behind them that Dean knew was trouble. He’d turned a similar look toward plenty of other people, ending up with a dozen or so of them in his bed (or their bed, or the back of the car, or any other random available spot). The same look directed at him from his little brother wasn’t going anywhere good, so he ignored it. For a long time. Honestly. Five weeks. Maybe even six. But he was only human. And seventeen.
There was always the possibility that he could have paid attention when he was throwing his own damn eyes around previously. Giving the sly up-and-down to a girl passing on the sidewalk, letting his gaze linger on a waitress’s cleavage for just a second too long here and there, completely underestimating how perceptive his dorky pain in the ass little brother was. If Sammy hadn’t seen him do it a hundred times before, maybe he never would have started trying out the same damn thing on Dean. Or at least maybe he would have waited until he was a little older. Again, though. Only human. Teenage boy. Never noticing that the kid paid any attention until that attention landed squarely on Dean.
Turning it over again, he guessed maybe sticking to his original insistence of getting in all the real-life hunting experience possible would have lessened the chances of this particular outcome. Over the course of those long weeks, though (months, even, maybe it had been closer to two entire months, holding out for that long would make Dean a freaking saint, except…not) he went from ‘gung-ho soldier’ to ‘not feeling up to this one’ to ‘I gotta be here to take Sam to that stupid soccer game, Dad’. And his lines worked; John had no reason to think Dean would miss a hunt unless he really did have to. Plus, there was a tiny element of truth to the excuses, at least to some extent. So he wasn’t lying, not a hundred percent completely lying about wanting to stay with his brother instead of road-tripping with his dad.
But all of a sudden, Sammy had given him the look again this morning (yesterday morning? Whenever was the last time it was morning before now) and finally added a couple of words. Totally innocent words that were not even the tiniest bit out of character for a boy his age who enjoyed the time he got to spend with the older brother he admired so much.
“You really gotta go on that supply run tonight, Dean? I won’t be upset or anything, it’s just…this geometry class is kicking the crap out of me, man. I could use some help with the practice questions.”
Except Sam wasn’t taking geometry. Which Dean could have called him on, if he wanted to make shit awkward and pretend like his resolve wasn’t a fraction of a centimeter from breaking (hey, maybe Sammy could help him with his metric system conversions. If he was still in school).
That’s not what he did, though. Because of the looks, and the waiting, and the anticipation, and the obvious attempt by Sam to get him alone for the night, and the being seventeen and horny and tossing out the weeks of no you can’t no no no can’t do that not okay find a way out don’t start this.
Right now Dean was feeling fairly positive about the outcome, which was that he was naked in bed with Sam, both of them covered in dried jizz, ten hours at least until their dad got back, with a shaggy head of hair resting comfortably on his chest.
It was after five now. Any leftover guilt was being pulled away by the sleep that was taking him over. And the hope that he’d be able to teach Sammy another thing or two before late afternoon.
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