Old Ghosts.

by Gillian

Part One

Dean wiped his hands on a soiled old rag and stuck it in the back pocket of his equally soiled old coveralls. He'd fallen in love with this '65 Chevelle SS the moment he'd seen it, but now he was cursing the day its owner had towed the damn thing into his shop.

"Gary, get started on the transmission for me, will you? I'm gonna have to call Latimer and get him to okay the extra costs."

"You know he'll say yes," Gary grinned, white teeth gleaming. "He loves this little slut."

"The bitch is breakin' my heart," Dean snorted, heading back to his tiny office and throwing himself into his chair. He grinned, sitting for a moment as the chair squeaked and rocked. This feeling never got old. Sitting in his chair, in his office, about to call a customer and sweet talk him into spending another $400 bucks in his shop.

Even after all this time, he could still take a moment to savor it.

Mr Latimer cursed and complained, but, as Gary predicted, he okayed the extra expenditure, although not without obtaining Dean's word that his baby would be ready to purr its way home by Friday. Hoping that he wasn't going to be made a liar by the powder-blue bitch leaking oil all over the floor of his shop, Dean made a few notes in his slanted hand and sat back with a sigh. His mind was full of plans, schedules, overtime for Gary and a myriad of other details involved in running a classic auto repair shop.

And then he looked up.

The glass between his office and the shop floor was slightly grimy and covered with old marks from various calendars and business cards taped to it over the years. But it was clear enough to see the young man walk into the shop and pause, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the artificial light after the harsh sunshine outside. And it was clear enough to make out broad shoulders and a mop of brown hair.

Dean frowned, a tug of recognition vying with the sudden pull of attraction. Both were surprising, first, because Dean knew he'd never met this young man before. He would have remembered him if he had.

And second because Dean didn't go for guys. Had never really gone for guys. Had hated every minute of time he'd spent with guys, back when he didn't have a choice, or when he'd made the wrong ones.

But there was no mistaking this sensation, and he went with it for a moment, puzzling as the young man bent over the car and exchanged a few words with Gary. There was something so familiar about the way he tilted his head...

And then he was looking over at the office window and all rational thought disappeared in an instant.

Numbly Dean sat as the man made his way to the open door and paused at the threshold. He smiled shyly and Dean felt a clench in his gut.

Oh god, he has a dimple.

"Mr Petrakos?" the young man was saying doubtfully.

"Can I help you?" Dean managed, glad his voice came out even.

"I called yesterday, I thought I was speaking to a much older man."

"That would be my partner," Dean returned. "He's also Mr Petrakos. Call me Dean." He was quite proud of how that came out as well, so easily, so naturally.

God, he's tall. Look at those shoulders.

"Oh, okay, Thanks." Again that shy smile. "I'm Sam. Sam Fielding. Your partner said you might have some part-time work coming up?"

A memory surfaced and Dean nodded, shuffling through his paperwork. "Right," he said, glancing down at Nick's untidy scrawl. Sam Fielding, and a cell phone number. "You're a student?"

"Yeah, at Stanford," Sam confirmed, leaning a little against the door jamb. Odd, how some tall men seemed to stoop, as if unsure about the amount of space they were taking up. But Sam stood tall, even when he slouched. There was a quiet sort of confidence about him that Dean liked, and that was apart from the rush of hormones crowding for attention in all the major parts of his body.

"Do you have much experience with classic cars?"

Sam straightened and smiled eagerly. "I've worked with my Dad stripping down old cars, as a hobby. And I worked weekends and summers at Nash Auto Repair, in Richmond."

"Phil Nash, sure," Dean nodded, impressed. "No wonder Nick told you to come in. He's good friends with Phil."

"It was Mr Nash who suggested I call, if I needed some extra cash. I'm on a scholarship."

Scholarship. Dean absorbed this. He hadn't even graduated from high school, although he had obtained his A.S.E and at Renie's insistence it hung in a frame on the wall behind him. He had no idea what getting a scholarship entailed, but it sounded daunting.

"Well," he said slowly, turning it over in his mind. "As it turns out I do have a lot of work on this week. Maybe a trial?"

Sam grinned, and if Dean thought he'd seen that dimple in all its glory before he'd been dead wrong. Sam Fielding grinned with his whole face and he lit up the dingy little office as if illuminated from within. Dazed, Dean held out his hand, realizing a fraction too late that it was still streaked with grease.

Without hesitation Sam grabbed it and pumped enthusiastically. "When do you want me to start?"

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Dean couldn't help appreciating the fact that the young man didn't mind getting his hands dirty. He smiled back and Sam's grin faltered for a moment and he frowned.

"Have we met?" he blurted out, then flushed a little. "I just get the feeling that I know you?"

"I don't think so," Dean returned, dismissing his own fleeting sense of familiarity.

"Maybe we just passed on the street," Sam said thoughtfully and Dean had a sudden flash of horror that passed as swiftly as it began. He did a quick calculation in his head, estimating Sam's age. The kid would have been like, eleven the last time Dean had walked the streets. And Richmond, California was a long way from The Castro.

Dean shook his head and pushed past his new employee. "You know anything about the Chevrolet Chevelle?"

"My favorite muscle car," Sam smiled, following him out. "She's a beauty."

Dean slanted him a wry glance. "You won't be saying that in an hour."


"You got a good eye, kid," Dean admitted a couple of hours later.

"Please don't call me kid," Sam said in a pained voice, accepting the soda Dean passed him and twisting off the cap. "I'm nineteen."

Gary snickered and thumbed the collar of the garish shirt poking up from his filthy coverall. "This shirt is nineteen."

Dean joined in his laughter and Sam shook his head with a good natured chuckle.

"You got the hands of a mechanic," Gary allowed, looking down at his own hands, dark skin nicked and scraped from a lifetime of motor work.

Dean found his glance falling on Sam's hands and he swallowed and looked away at the now familiar clench in his gut. If he wasn't already feeling the fierce sting of attraction for Sam, one look at those hands would have tipped him over the edge. Large, broad, powerful knuckles now bruised and grease streaked, Fingers long and sensitive, one had a small gouge from a slipped spanner. Dean licked his lips at the thought of lifting that powerful hand, cradling it, running his tongue over that tiny wound...

When Dean glanced up Sam's eyes were fixed on Dean's lips and then darted up to meet his eyes. With a jolt Dean saw a mirror of desire in Sam's dark green gaze.

Oh god.

"Quittin' time," Gary said, getting up with a grunt and a hand to the small of his back. "I'm getting too old for this."

"You always say that," Dean rushed to fill the vacuum of space Gary's departure created between him and Sam.

"It's always true." Gary sketched a wave and walked out into the afternoon's long shadows and a moment later they heard the low throb of his truck pulling away.

Dean took another mouthful of soda, feeling the awkward silence stretch. Nick was always telling him to go out and meet people, make friends. Find someone.

But Nick was the kind of man who could do that, who could smile and shake a stranger's hand and make a friend. Dean had never learnt the knack.

"What time do you want me back tomorrow?"

Sam was standing up, tossing his empty soda bottle into the trash bin.

Sam was leaving.

And awkward silence aside, Dean didn't want him to go.

"Your t-shirt is ruined."

Sam dropped his chin and studied the stains ruefully. "I guess it's a work shirt now."

"I'll find you a pair of coveralls for tomorrow," Dean promised.

"You do want me back tomorrow?"

I want you.

"Yes," Dean said.

Sam ducked his head again and smiled. "Thanks," he said softly. He held his hand out and Dean took it, felt it enclose his own, felt the warmth and strength of it. He dared a glance at Sam's face and saw that flame of desire in his eyes. He also saw the youthful planes of Sam's face, and the flush under his fine young skin.

Suddenly Dean felt old, jaded in a way he hadn't felt in years. With a tug his hand was free and he was stepping back, nodding. "Same time tomorrow?"

Sam frowned a little, then nodded, taking his own step back and away. And then he was gone and Dean made his way back into his office and collapsed back into his chair.

"Oh god."


The TV was blaring away in the kitchen when Dean let himself in the back door and he automatically turned it down.

"I'm watching that," Nick complained and Dean shook his head and tapped the table as he crossed to the fridge. "Turn your hearing aid up," he said loudly and Nick snorted and fiddled with the dial.

"Keep forgetting. How'd you go with the Chevelle? Was it the trans?"


"Told you," Nick said smugly, accepting a beer and twisting the cap off. "Did that kid show up?"

Dean busied himself with his own beer, tossing the cap onto the bench. "Yeah."

Nick frowned at him. "And?"

"And I think he'll work out. Gary doesn't want the overtime like he used to."

"Time was he'd be begging me for it," Nick recalled. "Guess he doesn't need the extra cash since Shona came and took Ronnie back." The old man sighed. "Gary sure does miss that boy."

"He'll be back," Dean said cynically. "Shona'll get tired of playing mom again in a few months. If Ronnie has any sense he just won't go with her next time."

"She's his mom," Nick shrugged.

"And Gary's his grandfather. And he gives a damn about the kid." Dean drained his beer. "I'm gonna grab a shower. What do you want for dinner?"

"I made some lamb stew." Nick played with his beer bottle and Dean paused on his way out of the room, lifting a hand and laying it on the old man's shoulder. Nick's late wife, Renie, used to make lamb stew and send it over to Dean at the shop when he'd first met them. She'd fill a Tupperware container with stew and she had this little wedge shaped one that held a slice of pie for dessert. Renie would wrap them in cloth and put them in a bag and send it with Nick in the morning, ordering him to tell Dean to heat it up in the microwave for his supper.

Dean remembered the first time he'd unpacked that bag and laid out the stew and the slice of pie. Renie had even put cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin.

He squeezed Nick's shoulder and the old man nodded and slanted him a small smile. "Not as good as hers," he said gruffly.

"Nothing ever could be," Dean agreed.


In the shower Dean jerked off, feeling guilty about it for the first time in years. Thinking about the past, remembering those early days when he'd still been so bruised and raw. It felt like a kind of betrayal now to be fantasizing about a man as he touched himself and stroked his body to completion. To be thinking of a man's broad hands, strong wide shoulders, Sam's soft pink lips...

Dean came with a low groan, leaning against the tiled wall as the simmering tension released through him in waves of pleasure. The warm water poured down on him, pattering onto the proof of that pleasure and washing it down the drain. Emerging from the shower Dean felt stronger, steadier.

So he'd been attracted to a guy, so what? It was probably a good sign. Maybe it meant he was forgetting the early years of his sexuality, when it had all been about grown men, and his own pleasure had played no part in the act of sex.

Maybe this was the way he was meant to be, would have been, if his young eyes hadn't been so brutally opened to an adult world of carnality.

Maybe, in a different world, Dean Petrakos would have been just as attracted to a guy as to a girl?

Except he wouldn't have been Dean Petrakos in that world, would he? If Nick and Irene Petrakos hadn't taken him in, given him a purpose, even inviting him to share their name.

Dean Winchester he would have been, in that other world, where he didn't dream about flames and a tall man carrying him to safety.

And a small hand tucked safely in his...


The stew was good and Dean tore a wedge of pita bread in half and chased the gravy around the bottom of his plate.

"I guess it's leftovers tomorrow," Nick said, helping himself to one last string bean before putting the lid back on the pan. "I still make too much."

Enough for three, he meant, and Dean felt another sting of sadness as he pushed his plate aside. Sometimes he couldn't believe Renie had been gone for a year already, and at other times it felt like a lifetime since the last time he'd seen her. She'd stroked his cheek, told him not to worry, tilted her soft pink cheek for a kiss. Then whispered in his ear, told him to look after Nick.

"I will," he'd whispered back, not knowing then that it would be the last thing he'd ever say to her. She'd slipped away in the night, all alone in her hospital room.

In a lifetime of pain and loss Dean had learnt the hardest way that he was still capable of mind numbing grief. And Nick had been broken. Sometimes Dean thought that without him there Nick would have just given up, just laid down and waited to join his wife. In the end they'd held each other together, and Dean had kept his promise to Renie, to take care of Nick.

It was a promise he'd keep forever.

"What time's your appointment tomorrow?"

"Two-thirty. I can catch the bus."

Dean shook his head. "I'll be here at two."

"I thought you were busy?"

"Gary'll be fine. And this new kid, Sam." Dean shrugged. "He's okay."

"I could drive myself if the damn DMV hadn't taken my license away," Nick said disgustedly.

Dean shrugged noncommittally, since he'd been breathing a sigh of relief when Nick's last license renewal had been turned down. The man had driven for 55 of his 70 years, but that last year he'd had a few close calls. His eyesight was worse but he forgot to wear his glasses. He wore two hearing aids but kept forgetting he'd turned the damn things down. After one hair raising trip with Nick at the wheel Dean had been about ready to steal the old man's license himself.

He was glad it hadn't come to that - Nick had his pride and Dean owed him too much to want to dent it.

"I'll be here at two," he repeated.


Dean drove Nick to the hospital and waited for him before driving him home. It was nearly five by the time he dropped him off, but Dean decided he'd go back to the shop anyway. Gary would be about ready to lock up, but it was still worth checking up on things. And Sam might still be there too, of course.

If he'd showed up.

Dean was pretty sure he'd showed up.

Sure enough Sam was still there, washing his hands at the big cracked sink and Dean paused in the doorway and stared. Gary had scrounged up some overalls and Sam had unbuttoned them and pushed them down to his hips to wash up. Underneath he was wearing a white t-shirt that clung to his broad chest and tapering waist. Bending over the sink he splashed water up onto his face and Dean swallowed hard as droplets clung to his eyelashes and the soft strands of hair at his brow.

"Hey, boss," Gary greeted. "How'd Nick go at the hospital?"

Dean jerked his attention away from Sam and tried to unscramble his brain. What the hell was wrong with him?

"He got the all clear on his heart," Dean reported. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam straighten and rub at his face with the towel. "Doctor said the chest pains are just indigestion."

"Well, that's a relief." Gary clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll give him a call when I get home, check up on him. See you Monday, Dean, Sam."

"See you, Gary," Sam called. The younger man had stepped out of his coveralls and hung them on a hook, before pulling down a blue denim shirt and shrugging into it. He turned and smiled at Dean. "Sorry I didn't get to see you before you left."

"How'd everything go?"

Sam reported on the afternoon's work while Dean grabbed a couple of soda's from the fridge. "You have time?" he asked, offering a bottle.

Sam accepted the bottle and leaned against the wall as they chatted about the day. Dean was just beginning to enjoy the ease of the conversation when Sam looked up at him from beneath his lashes and murmured.

"I can work tomorrow, if you want me."

And it wasn't what he said but the way he said it and Dean couldn't help himself.

"I want you," he returned huskily. Sam's face was lighting up, and it was worth all the confusion and nerves about this to see that wide smile, the glow in his eyes. Dean figured he should be the one moving, stepping forward, starting this thing, but he could only stand there, holding his now warm soda as Sam laid his own bottle down and took a step closer.

"I sure hoped you did," he whispered and Dean braced himself as Sam moved into his personal space, six foot four of muscles and broad shoulders leaning over him.

For a minute Dean was twelve again and a flutter of panic ran over his skin at the scent, the presence, the sheer maleness of the man planting a hand flat on the wall by his head. But then he was tilting his head back and gazing into Sam's gorgeous eyes, narrow and slightly slanted, lit up from within with arousal and a slight trace of nervousness.

"Are you sure?" Sam murmured and Dean couldn't wait another moment, he lunged forward and slammed his lips to Sam's, feeling that powerful body brace as they connected, those wide hands reaching up and catching his shoulders.

And Sam didn't push him away, he turned his head and met the kiss head on, parting his lips and accepting the thrust of Dean's tongue, moaning deep in his chest at the contact. The vibration stuttered through their kiss and Dean groaned back, glorying in the taste of Sam on his tongue, the delicious warmth of his strong young body. The scent of him, male and sweaty, filling Dean's nostrils, making him hard.

Sam finally pulled away, tilting his head back as Dean took a deep panting breath, and then another, feeling lightheaded and dizzy with arousal.

"God," Sam muttered, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Dean realized he was still gripping his soda bottle with one hand and he tossed it back onto a crowded bench, finally sliding his hands around Sam and pulling him closer. Their difference in height didn't seem so pronounced now, in fact they seemed to fit together just fine, broad planes of their chests pressing, one of Sam's legs thrust between Dean's so the older man almost straddled a broad thigh. And there, both of them hard, lower bodies thrusting gently even as they drew breath and gazed into each others eyes.

"I've wanted that forever," Sam breathed and Dean chuckled despite himself, enjoying the way Sam's chest felt pressed to his own, the way it rose and fell as Sam laughed a little.

"We only met yesterday," Dean felt compelled to point out, one hand tracing a path on Sam's back, stroking muscle and bone through denim and cotton.

"I guess it just feels like forever," Sam said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. He turned into the gesture but Sam was already drawing back. "You have the most perfect lips."

"A mouth made for fucking."

Dean frowned, pushing the old memory out of his head.


Dean slid his hands to Sam's shoulders and pushed a little and the younger man stepped back, hands dropping reluctantly from Dean's waist.

"What's wrong?" Sam said as Dean straightened, pulling down his jacket where it had ridden up in the back.

"Nothing," Dean said lightly. "We're just in danger of this turning into a bad porno movie."

Sam looked around the auto shop and grinned, frown chased away. "I see what you mean. I'd invite you back to my place but I'm living in a dorm. And I don't think my room mate would appreciate me ravishing you six feet away from him."

Dean's discomfort at the intrusion of old memories faded under Sam's easy smiles.

"Ravish me, huh?" Dean said speculatively, hands flexing as they remembered the taste of Sam's muscled back beneath them.

Sam looked down and then up at him again through his lashes and Dean knew he was being seduced but was starting not to care. There was that dimple again and the allure of those eyes. And there was Sam's scent in his nostrils and Dean knew it was imprinted on him now, that he could close his eyes and recognize it anywhere.

"Hold on," he said, pushing away from the wall and past Sam. He could feel those eyes burning into his back as he crossed the shop floor and swung the wide doors closed, pushing home a couple of bolts and the lock. When Dean turned Sam was right where he'd left him, hopeful anticipation painted across his face. "Follow me."

And Sam followed Dean through the office to a smaller room at the back, graced with a few shelves and a low narrow cot against the back wall.

There was a light switch but even as Dean groped for it, Sam was pushing the door closed and pressing Dean against it and Dean dropped his hand and went with it. This time he closed his mind, letting sheer sensation sweep over him as Sam's mouth found his, opened against his, engulfed his. Sam's hands were everywhere, pushing Dean's jacket off his shoulders, pulling his t-shirt up and burrowing underneath it and Dean arched his back and cried out at the feel of those broad hands against his naked skin.

"God," Sam muttered as their crotches ground together. This time when they separated it was to begin feverishly pulling at their clothes, shirts dragged over their heads, belts unbuckled, jeans unzipped. In the dim light their eyes remained locked, even as bare skin was revealed, even as Dean toed off his shoes and cursed as he kicked them away. And then they were reaching for each other again and tumbling onto the narrow cot.

Sam's hands were cupping his face and Dean clutched broad shoulders as the younger man pressed him into the bed. This was all going so fast that Dean's brain could barely keep up, and he was glad of it when his hands swept down Sam's back and found his butt, sliding over the muscled globes and gripping them. Dean didn't want to think, he didn't want to dwell on how big Sam felt, pressing down on him, pushing against him, hands holding him in place.

"Sam, stop!" Dean gasped, twisting his mouth free, pushing the firm, hard planes of Sam's chest.

"Dean?" Sam panted, leaning over on his side, pulling his weight away from Dean's body. The cot was too narrow to allow him to move any further away but it was enough and Dean breathed a little easier, hands still pressed to Sam, but not pushing him away. "I'm sorry," Sam groaned. "I'm going too fast. I'm sorry."

"No, it's me," Dean admitted, stroking Sam's smooth skin, his cheeks flushing a little with shame. He hoped the room was too dim for Sam to see it, or if he did then that he would mistake it for arousal.

Because Dean was aroused, and he did want this, very much.

But this was also his first time with a man in a long time, and really the first time he had ever wanted a man. And despite the good feelings that Sam's body provoked in him, there were also all these crappy old memories that rose up and threatened to swamp all this pleasure with the pain of the past.

"I want you," Dean admitted, and Sam's guilty expression faded into an uncertain smile.

"I want you too," the younger man admitted shyly. He glanced down their bodies and a flush mantled his smooth cheeks. "Obviously."

Dean chuckled and rolled a little to the side, pressing their bodies together once more.

"Dean," Sam tentatively. "I guess I'm making a mess of this. I just, uh, never, um."

Realization struck Dean and he gasped. "You've never done this before?"

"Of course I have," Sam returned swiftly. "Just not with a guy."

The implications of this roared through Dean and he blinked, wrapping his head around it. The thought that Sam had never been this close to another man was at the same time incredibly arousing and absolutely terrifying. Because although Dean was feeling like a virgin right now, he was about as far from that as a man could be. And Sam - beautiful, open, wonderful young Sam. He deserved better than someone like Dean, who'd seen and done things that would make the boyish countenance beside him twist with disgust.

"Sam," Dean began doubtfully. "Maybe we should slow this down."

"I knew it," Sam said miserably. "I've screwed this all up, haven't I."

Sam was drawing away, hands sliding back, muscles bunching as he prepared to get up off the cot, and suddenly Dean found he couldn't bear it.

"No," he said, reaching out, pulling Sam back against him and pressing their bodies together possessively. "No you haven't screwed anything up. I just think we need to take this a little more slowly. This first time."

"First time," Sam repeated, face hopeful. He slid his hands back over Dean's chest. "Will you show me what to do?" he asked softly and Dean's gut clenched. How could Sam be so trusting, allow himself to be so vulnerable? Didn't he realize how he could get hurt, trusting someone else with so much?

A fierce surge of protectiveness surged through him and he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sam's eager lips, parting them gently and stroking tenderly with the tip of his tongue.

For Sam he could get past old ghosts that threatened to ruin this moment. Hadn't the past cost him enough already? Hadn't he paid enough in blood and tears and shame? Damned if he would let any of that into this place, here between him and Sam.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he whispered into Sam's ear, feeling Sam tremble with wanting against him at the soft promise. Dean kissed the curve of Sam's ear and then down his strong jaw line, hands stroking, his own flesh singing as Sam lifted his hands and smoothed down Dean's back.

And now Dean didn't fight the memories of the past, he used them, drawing on years of experience in pleasing a man, and for the first time finding pleasure himself. There was no sting of shame as he worked his way down Sam's body, appreciatively nuzzling his firm paps, tongue finding a pink nipple and toying with it. Instead he gloried in the soft panting cries of Sam's breath as his chest heaved and he clenched his hands convulsively on Dean's shoulders.

Dean looked up through his lashes and pleasure soared through him at the fever glittering in Sam's eyes, white teeth biting his lower lip.

"Dean," Sam sighed. A hand lifted and fingers carded through Dean's hair and he rubbed against the long fingers like a cat.

"Feel good?" Dean asked.

"I want to make you feel good too," Sam said sincerely and Dean smiled.

"Watch and learn then, Sam."

Knowing Sam's eyes were on him made Dean even more excited as he slid down the long lean body beneath him, finding the dimpled curve of Sam's navel and kissing it passionately. Against his breastbone Sam's cock pulsed and jerked, pre-come slicking against him. Mouth open, Dean sat back, drawing in the mown grass scent of Sam's arousal, licking his lips as he contemplated what he was going to do.

Once this had been the ultimate act of submission. Once it had been no more than a tool he used to survive.

For the first time it was an act of giving, and Dean licked his lips again and slid off the end of the cot as Sam straightened and gazed down at him.

"Please," he begged and Dean smiled up at his longing, before bestowing a kiss on the weeping head of Sam's cock. The taste was familiar and yet all new, because this was Sam arching up under his touch, Sam's hands stroking his head, Sam's cock in his mouth, hot and hard and heavy under his fluttering tongue.

Sam was muttering and sobbing, Dean's hands stroked Sam's thickness as he sucked that sensitive head in and out of his mouth. Then he bobbed, taking as much as he could down his throat and sucking hard. Once, twice more he went down and then Sam was tugging at his hair and Dean pulled his mouth away, hands still working as Sam erupted, sticky white come shooting out, painting Dean's lips, his cheek, dribbling down his chin. Experienced fingers still stroked, easing down more gently as the now ultra sensitive cock twitched under his hand.

"Dean," Sam sighed, and Dean felt himself gripped, pulled up, sinking back as Sam collapsed back on the cot. "Oh, god, that was incredible," Sam mumbled, eyes heavy, mouth slack. Dean found his lips and they kissed, tongues stroking languidly. Dean was still hard against Sam's belly but he didn't care that he hadn't come, that Sam was more than likely going to fall asleep under these lazy kisses.

A triumphant joy was filling him. Because he'd done it. He'd conquered the past, better, he'd used it. To please Sam, to find pleasure in something once twisted and wrong.

Sam drew back and licked his lips. "You know what?" he whispered, and Dean shook his head, beyond words. "I'm a fast learner."

Dean's eyes widened as Sam's soft voice tickled his ear, then he shivered as talented lips found the curve of his ear and drew it in, sucking gently.

Sam rolled onto his side, but he didn't press Dean back into the cot again, and Dean dimly registered that Sam was a quick learner. His hands sure seemed to find all the right places, and his lips faithfully followed the path Dean's had mapped on his own body, nuzzling Dean's breast, tongue finding his nipples and rasping a lick over each. Then his mouth was on Dean's belly, hands cupping Dean's waist, blunt thumbs stroking pressing, sliding over the burning heat of his taut skin.

"Sam," Dean managed as Sam slid off the cot, and he pushed himself up groggily, eyes eating up the sight Sam made, long, muscled body crouched naked between his widespread thighs. "God, Sam." Dean thought he should protest, this was Sam's first time, shouldn't this be going slower? But Sam didn't hesitate and his mouth engulfed Dean's cock, and his tongue swept around the head and there wasn't even a trace of his teeth.

And Dean gave in.

Afterwards Sam crawled back up the cot and burrowed in next to him and Dean tasted himself in a lover's kiss for the first time. The intimacy unraveled him and he was like a boy again as he clutched Sam's shoulders and opened himself to the languid caress.

Sam tucked Dean's head into his shoulder and they lay back on the narrow old cot in the small, dingy room, chests still rising and falling, sweat cooling on their bodies. But Dean had never felt so good, so comfortable in his life, and he curved closer to Sam's body, nuzzling the smooth skin of his throat, tasting a drop of sweat there.

"Sam?" he whispered.


"You are a first learner," Dean admitted.

Sam chuckled and Dean joined in, hand possessively sliding down and feeling the shiver in Sam's belly as he laughed.

"Let's just say I had a good teacher," Sam said huskily. Then he shivered a little and Dean felt reality catch up. Reluctantly he pulled back.

"You're cold. We should get dressed."

"Couldn't we just get under the covers?"

Dean paused, inordinately glad that Sam didn't want these moments to end any more than he did. "You don't have to be anywhere?"

"Uh uh."

They climbed out of the cot and Dean pulled the covers back, revealing musty old cotton sheets. He glanced at Sam, flushing a little as he realized the younger man was checking him out, eyes running appreciatively over Dean's body. Dean returned the favor, tracing wide shoulders, broad chest, narrow hips and long muscled legs.

"Dude, do you work out?" Dean said huskily, and Sam blushed and climbed back onto the cot. Dean snickered and followed him, snuggling in and sighing as they drew the covers up. "You were staring at me," he pointed out.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, hands circling Dean and pulling him close. "And I was going to ask you the same thing."

"There's a gym down the block, the guy who owns it, Pete, bought a 1953 Ford F-100 from Nick about ten years ago. I keep his truck running and he lets me work out for free."

"Good deal." Sam sighed as Dean tangled their legs together, eyes heavy. "I work out with my Dad. He used to be in the marines, and he likes to stay fit. Here, I have a picture." He groped for his jeans and picked them up off the floor, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open. He fumbled a picture out and Dean took it, squinting in the dim light at the creased old snapshot.

A short, rather chubby redheaded women was standing sandwiched between a teenaged Sam and a tall, broad shouldered black man. In front of her was a small oriental girl, looking about nine or ten. Dean flicked Sam a glance and then looked back at the snapshot, figuring it was maybe three or four years old.

"You were adopted," he realized.

"Yeah, I have a bigger one of these at the dorm," Sam said, accepting the picture back and tucking it into his wallet with long fingers. "My room mate calls us the Rainbow Family."

"What happened to your real family?" Dean asked curiously. It seemed he had more in common with Sam than he'd thought.

"They're my real family," Sam corrected, although he was smiling as he tossed his wallet and jeans back down onto the floor. "But my birth parents gave me up for adoption, I think."

"You think?"

"Yeah. I asked Mom about it and she said she wasn't sure. I thought later that they'd given me up, or maybe even abandoned me, and she was trying to spare my feelings."

"Oh." Dean recalled the cheerful, smiling redhead in the picture. "Don't you want to know?"

"Not really. Mom says that maybe one day I might want to find out more about them, but right now..." Sam shrugged and Dean nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed, a little bitterly. "I get that. Either they're dead, in which case what's the point? Or they gave you up, in which case why would you want to find them now?"

Sam gazed across at him, titling his head curiously and Dean shrugged. "I was in foster care myself," he revealed.

Sam looked surprised. "I thought your partner was related to you?"

"Nick? Nah, him and his wife just kind of took me in, when I was fifteen." Dean looked around the dingy room. "This was my home for about three months until Renie wore me down and got me to move into their spare room."

Sam looked around the tiny, cramped room in amazement. "You lived here?" he asked incredulously and Dean felt a sting of shame.

"And I was glad to have it," he snapped. "Not all of us got adopted by the Rainbow Family, you know."

"Hey," Sam said, drawing him close as Dean pulled back. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised. I thought Nick Petrakos must be your uncle or something."

Dean let himself be cuddled, a little ashamed of his knee-jerk reaction. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I know I was lucky they adopted me," Sam said huskily, nuzzling Dean's hair over his ear. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into the gesture. "I'm sorry you weren't as lucky."

"I'm sorry."

It shouldn't mean so much when Sam said it, shouldn't cut so deeply.

I'm sorry no one wanted you. I'm sorry that you wound up with a creep who wanted you the wrong way. I'm sorry the bodies of strangers on the streets ended up more appealing than another night under that sick fuck.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered again, and his lips found Dean's cheeks and tasted the salt there.

And Dean let himself be tasted, and curled in even closer.


"I think I missed the last bus," Sam said, buttoning his jacket against the cool night breeze.

"You bus it here?" Dean asked in surprise.

"It's why I needed some part-time work. Even with a scholarship paying most of my way I don't want to ask Mom and Dad for cash to buy a car. I thought if I pick up some part-time work I can afford an old junker."

"I can keep an eye out for something, if you'd like," Dean offered. "Hop in, I'll drive you back to the dorm."

Sam climbed in to the old pick-up. "I don't know," he said doubtfully. "I guess I expected the owner of a classic auto repair to drive something a little more... classic."

"Hey, this truck will be a classic someday," Dean defended as Sam's lips twitched. "Actually, I have a Chevy Impala at home I picked up for a song. I'm reconditioning her in my spare time."

"So you work with cars all day and then fix cars as a hobby?" Sam snickered.

"We can't all be scholarship boys."

Sam surveyed him across the truck's interior and Dean shot him a glance. "What?"

"You know, you can be a bit touchy at times."

Dean shrugged, accepting the truth of this. So far he liked everything about Sam, but he wasn't sure about this college business. Palo Alto was a college town and Dean had run into a few big-headed jocks who thought 'townies' were fair game for their pranks. A few had learnt the hard way that Dean had picked up some dirty tricks of his own growing up. But their superior attitudes never failed to grate with him.

"I guess I could get used to this old truck," Sam allowed, sliding across the cracked seat and pressing against Dean.

"Yeah, bucket seats leave a lot to be desired," Dean agreed, enjoying the press down his side.

"You think I could help you out with your Chevy sometime?"

Dean glanced away from the road and into teasing eyes. "Which dorm?"

Sam huffed in frustration, but gave him directions and a few minutes later they pulled up. Dean took in the long low building, the smooth lawn, the neat paths. This felt like a whole other world, and he was glad Sam was pressed up against him as another bout of self doubt assailed him. What could somebody from this world see in someone like him?

Long fingers took his chin and turned his head, and then Sam was kissing him, pretty pink lips parting, tongue tip flirting deliciously. "Well?' he demanded softly. "Can I help you with your car? What about after work tomorrow? I can start at nine?"

"Okay," Dean agreed and Sam smiled and kissed him again.

"Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow."

He climbed out of the truck and his long legs ate up the path as he strode up to the double doors. He sketched another wave and Dean watched him walk inside, engine still idling, lips throbbing.

So maybe there wasn't much future in this, Dean mused as he drove home. It probably wasn't going anywhere.

But right now he had tomorrow to look forward to, and tomorrow night and next week.

Dean had learned a long time ago to take what he could get.

End of Part One