Summary – Set in the FMFC series, nearly two years after 'Unforeseen'. It seems simple enough: Sam wants it, Dean wants it, everything should just fall into place, right? AU, SamDean slash

Warnings – Nothing too horrific this time, for once :) Humour, a little bit of angst, but the main warning is for descriptions of male/male sexual acts, which I hope no one reading my stories would be offended by :P

Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly

You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) If you haven't read the FMFC series yet, you'll probably want to read those first or this won't make much sense…

A/N – Hi, I'm back, and with the story I imagine a lot of you have been waiting for… I know I said that any further stories in this series would probably be one-shots, and to be fair, that was what I started out writing, but then the story just kept on growing until it became four chapters and an epilogue :) So, in honour of Valentine's Day on Saturday, and because I know I really put everyone (myself included) through the wringer with Unforeseen, I will be posting a chapter a day up until Friday :)

Enormous thanks go to my wonderful beta Phx, who prodded me when I needed it and helped me out when I stalled completely :)

Chapter 1

So it'd been nearly two years and Dean thought he was getting pretty good at this whole celibacy deal.

Wake up, take a piss, jerk off in the shower, go deal with whatever case they happened to be working on that day. Get back to the motel room (occasionally covered in blood or guts or pus – on one memorable occasion he was dripping lime-green jello with every step; not something he liked to discuss) take another shower, jerk off again. Go cuddle with Sam while eating take-out and watching whatever crap happened to be on TV that night. Wait for Sam to fall asleep, uncomfortable because he had to lie with his hips twisted around so Sam wouldn't get freaked out by his hard-on. After Sam fell asleep, get up and take care of it in the bathroom, then go back to bed and snuggle. Repeat the cycle the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Sometimes Sam would go off and do his own thing; research, libraries, soulfully watching the sunset and thinking deep thoughts. Then Dean might break out the porn, feeling guilty and shameful, furtively watching the door and hoping Sam wouldn't come back unexpectedly to find him in the middle of giving himself a helping hand.

He had a system in place, a cast-iron plan for when he woke up and just knew it was going to be one of those days where his dick just wouldn't quit. He'd tell Sam he was going to go pick up something for the Impala, or interview a witness that wouldn't take him seriously if he had a puppy-eyed kid passing himself off as a cop beside him. Sam would smile and nod, wave a hand at the laptop and say he'd stick around the motel room and wait for Dean's call. Then Dean would do something goofy, totally embarrass himself by pretending to trip and bash his knee on the desk, or spill something down his shirt, or walk out with toothpaste smears around the corners of his mouth. Nothing obvious, but something that would get Sam's attention, get him to come up close. Then he'd grab the kid, kiss him hard and hot and heavy until Dean's hands were shaking, he was so worked up. Sam would give him an amused half-grin when he finally pulled back, his eyes bright, and Dean would flash his own smile and say he'd better get going.

He'd drive around the block, his jeans so painfully tight and his heart pounding in illicit anticipation, and then he'd pull over, whipping it out and going at it right there on the street, in broad daylight.

So yeah, he thought the enforced celibacy was going pretty well, considering. At least he hadn't been arrested for indecent exposure yet.


Sam's eighteenth birthday had been celebrated with much making-out and a case of German beer Dean had picked up for half price at the gas station across the road. He'd given a seconds' thought to picking up a bunch of flowers, vetoed the idea with a roll of his eyes and a what am I thinking, because while this might be the most chaste relationship Dean had ever been in (possibly it was the most chaste relationship in the history of the world) but it still didn't make Sam a girl.

Dean was okay with not getting laid. Really, he was. Because Sam had been through so much fucking shit in his short life, and Dean would honest-to-god rather slit his own wrists in a bathtub somewhere than pressure Sam into doing something he wasn't ready for.

So, German beer it was. And maybe a pink cupcake with multi-coloured sprinkles on it, because it made them both laugh, but Dean could see the blush and the happiness on Sam's face when he handed the cake over and sang a purposely off-key rendition of 'happy birthday' while Sam was still dripping wet from his shower.

And if Dean had to get up halfway through their Indiana Jones marathon (Sam had told him the week before that he'd never seen any of the Indiana Jones movies, an utter travesty than Dean had immediately sworn to rectify) and jerk off in the bathroom, the cold faucet running full-blast and the sound of Indy shooting Nazis making the door vibrate on its hinges, then that was just the price he had to pay.

It was worth it. More than worth it, because Dean got to come home every night and watch Sam fall asleep, wake up every morning to drowsy slanted fox-eyes and run his hand through Sam's thick soft hair that got stuck in the gummy sleep-stuff which accumulated at the corners of Dean's mouth during the night. Sometimes Sam would find something funny on TV, an old Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin film, and he'd laugh so hard it would literally make Dean's heart break for longing, because he was on the other side of the room and there was a whole bed between the two of them which just wouldn't do.

Sam spent a lot of that night watching him, like he was waiting for something, and Dean knew what it was even if he deliberately stayed away from the topic. Sam was legal now. Sam was expecting Dean to get on that.

Dean wasn't going to do anything without having a good long talk about Sam's state of mind and his thoughts and his fears and what he'd feel comfortable with. Which basically meant Dean wasn't going to do anything, ever.

The look he got when he sweetly kissed Sam goodnight and rolled over to go to sleep was a mix of bemusement, shock and a pinch of frustration. It almost made up for the oh-god-I'm-going-to-die horniness.


Dean's twenty-seventh birthday was going to be special, Sam vowed as he marched into the pharmacy, head held high. It was going to be special, and magical, and wonderful, and all those other things that really meant Dean was getting laid tonight whether he wanted to or not.

What Sam couldn't figure out was why the older man was waiting. He was eighteen now, had been for a good few months. And yeah, Sam still had the occasional nightmare where creeping insidious hands groped him, touched him, made him cry out in fear. But those were relegated to dreams. He could walk into a crowded bar without thinking of who might be waiting, who might be looking. His instinctive reaction to someone bumping him from behind wasn't a jerk and a fist.

Gareth didn't haunt him anymore. He'd been exorcised, consigned to hell along with the yellow-eyed demon. Sam was free. Sam was happy. Sam was…a virgin.

Not for much longer.

He strode across the store, sidestepping customers and employees in green uniforms until he spotted it. The sign hung over the far aisle that said 'Family Planning' in comforting green letters. He walked straight up to it.

Turned around fast and pretended to be deeply involved in a shelf of multivitamins as an old lady dragging a wheelie bag behind her wandered out of the 'Holistic Remedies' section.

Two false starts and three customers all apparently desperate for holistic remedies later, and Sam was starting to think the blush would never fade from his cheeks. He had a plastic container of Vitamin C in one hand, a box of Cod Liver Oil supplements in the other, and he could see the brightly-coloured Trojans and Durex Ultra boxes from where he was standing, but every time he took a step towards it, someone would turn that damned corner and force him into a swift about-face.

He just needed a plan. A plan that wouldn't tell everyone in the store that hey, he was buying contraceptives because he was going to lose his virginity to his gay lover tonight.

So, plan. The first part of the plan should probably involve deciding exactly what type of condoms he wanted, because then he could just walk up and grab them. Moving into the next aisle, he said a brief prayer of thanks for his height, peeking over the top shelf to examine the condoms in the next aisle.

There were a lot of them. Ribbed, sensations, pre-lubricated, flavoured, endurance, warming, ultra-safe, extra-sensitive, featherlight, pleasuremax. Sam bit his lip. Did he want a condom that tasted good? One that warmed up? One that let Dean do him all night long?

Lubrication was probably an issue he should address too. He'd tried using his fingers a few times in the shower, blushing furiously and feeling like an idiot. One finger hadn't been too hard to get in, but two had taken a lot of working and the last of Dean's conditioner.

"Excuse me?"

He jumped at the sudden voice, his face burning scarlet. A young woman with a basket on her arm stood beside him, her eyebrows raised. "Uh, can I…" She waved to the shelf he'd been standing in front of.

"Oh, sure." Sam jumped back, and she leaned forward to pick up a box, shooting him a strange look over her shoulder.

Probably because, Sam realised with a sudden urge to beat his head against the wall, he was standing in the feminine hygiene aisle.

Figuring he had nothing else to lose, he gritted his teeth and marched around to the shelf of condoms. He'd faced off against monsters, demons, spirits, generally the worst evil imaginable. He was going to face the cashier even if embarrassment made his cheeks erupt in flames.

He snatched up a tube of lubricant and an eighteen-pack of pleasuremax condoms; maximum pleasure sounded good, eighteen was probably an optimistic view, but he'd learnt a long time ago that it was better to be prepared for every eventuality.

The cashier gave him a funny look as she scanned his condoms, lube, Vitamin C and Cod Liver Oil supplements. Sam ducked his head and ran.


Buying the supplies was one thing, broaching the subject with Dean was something else. Because Dean seemed quite happy to watch old episodes of The X-Files, laughing at the special effects and spitting half-chewed KFC all over the bed sheets. Dean didn't appreciate talk that was anything other than superficial or related to hunting. He'd tolerated Sam's many awkward confessions with uncomfortable pats on the back, hugs, pulled faces that meant he didn't know exactly how to respond but if it made Sam feel better then he was glad Sam was sharing it with him. Once Sam had heard him whispering what could only be described as sweet nothings while he rubbed Sam's bare back in a dark motel room, but Sam was supposed to be asleep, so he kept his eyes closed and made snuffling noises against Dean's chest, suppressing a smile.

Dean offered him a beer with a grunt. Sam picked an opened bottle up, gulping half of it down in one. The pharmacy bag was buried in his duffle on the other side of the room, and Sam thought maybe he should just pull it out and give it to Dean. Maybe strip off his pants and assume the position while Dean was looking through it. Subtle as a bulldozer, so even Dean should get the implications.

It wasn't particularly romantic though, and as much of a girl as it made him, Sam kind of wanted his first time to be special.

"Sam? You okay, you look kind of…constipated." Dean said, his eyebrows pulled together. Sam suppressed a sigh. Dean doing romantic was probably a stretch too far.

"I'm fine."

"You sure? You're noteating anything. Look, I bought the spicy chicken thing you like."

"It's KFC, dude. It's all spicy chicken." And okay, that was probably sharper than he'd intended, because Dean was looking wounded and holding his hands in the air.

"Hey, what crawled up your ass today? You've been jittery as hell ever since you got back from the library. You find something out about this ghost-girl you're not tellin' me?"

Sam leaned back against the table, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that. Sorry Dean. I'm just…"

Dean scooted forward on the bed until his feet were on the floor. He leaned towards Sam with a concerned expression. "What? What is it? Did something…happen, while you were out?" His face darkened. "Did someone try it on with you?"

Sam's head snapped up. "No! No, it's not that."

"Then what? Dude, you're kinda scarin' me here?"

He clenched his jaw tight, his hands fisting through his hair roughly. He opened his mouth to speak, but how the hell do you just come out with… "Why won't you have sex with me?" He blinked, wide-eyed.

Dean looked just as shell-shocked. "Uh…what?"

Now he'd started, he had to finish, so Sam pressed on, waving his hands vaguely in the air between them. "It's just…I'm eighteen now, man. And I kinda thought that… And you haven't even…"

"Hey, hey, Sam, calm down." Dean jumped up, catching his wrists gently in either hand. He met Sam's eyes, teeth worrying at his lower lip. "Uh, what…what brought all this on?"

"Nothing! I just…I wanna…have sex." Sam ducked his head. Dean continued to look at him, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "With you." He clarified, in case Dean was wondering.

"Um, okay…" Dean looked about as uncomfortable as Sam felt. "What, right now? 'Cause, we kinda need some…equipment, for…that."

"I've got stuff." Sam lunged ungracefully for his bag, sprawling over the end of the motel bed as he dug through it. His fingers closed around brown paper and he tugged it free, tossing it over to Dean.

The older man looked at him with an expression Sam likened to a rabbit about to be run down by a car. Slowly, he opened the bag, sticking his hand inside and pulling out a box. He stared at it for a second and then stared at Sam, eyebrow raised. "Uh, Sam, I hate to break it to you, but Vitamin C tablets aren't gonna be much use during sex."

Sam blushed. "Uh, no, there's…there's other stuff."

Dean set the bag on the table and started pulling out the contents. "Lubricant, Cod Liver Oil… Eighteen condoms?" He shot Sam a look. "How much sex are you expectinghere? 'Cause I don't think I can get it up eighteen times in one night."

"Yeah, uh, that was just…to be prepared. In case."

Dean sucked in a loud breath, turning to face Sam slowly. "Okay, then. So…you really wanna do this? Now? Because…if you're not ready-"

"I'm ready, Dean. Seriously. I want this." Sam said, his mouth set in a determined line.

"Um, you sure you don't want…like, candles and stuff? A nicer motel room?"

"No, really. This is great." There was a cobweb hanging down from the ceiling, and a patch of something suspicious on the carpet in front of the TV; not really great, but Sam figured the surroundings wouldn't matter so much once they got going.

"'Cause, I mean, we don't have to do it now. We can wait. I mean it, Sam." Dean said, his expression still cataloguing his shell-shocked confusion.

Sam took a deep breath and pushed himself up, stepping into Dean's space. "I want this, Dean." His hands shook a little as the settled on Dean's chest, flirting with the buttons running down the front of his shirt.

Dean swallowed visibly, his hands coming up to cover Sam's, stilling them. "Okay. Okay, then. Uh, shall I…shall I turn off the lights?"

Sam grinned, a twitch of lips that he hoped hid his nerves. They were actually going to do this. Finally. Now. "Uh, maybe turn off the TV?"

"Oh! Yeah." Dean practically did a duh forehead slap, scrambling in the bed covers for the remote. The room was plunged into silence, quiet enough to hear the patter of water running in the next room. Sam stood awkwardly by the table, watching Dean watch him, the both of them clearly completely mystified as to what should happen next.

"Uh, maybe, we…we get undressed?" Sam suggested, feeling stupid.

"Yeah, good idea." Dean nodded furiously, bending to unbutton his jeans. Sam watched for a second as the older man kicked off his pants, hopping on one foot to peel off a sock. His own fingers picked at the waistband of his jeans, sliding closer to the button.

This would be the first time they'd seen each other naked, in an intentional way at least. It was unavoidable, living like they did, not to see the other in various states of undress. Dean had an unfortunate tendency to wander into the bathroom half-asleep just as Sam was stepping out of the shower, and Sam was pretty sure he'd walked in on Dean jerking off to porn on the laptop a few times. And there was no point in trying to preserve dignity while bleeding from various cuts and wounds after a hunt. Dean had a very attractive scar on the left cheek of his butt which Sam had had the pleasure of sewing up while Dean was knocked out on morphine. Unfortunately, the morphine had done nothing to slow the digestion of the chilli Dean had eaten for dinner, which meant during the stitching Sam occasionally had to pause and turn his head for a gulp of clean air. Sam wasn't sure which of them had been more embarrassed the next day.

Dean cleared his throat loudly, and Sam looked up to find the older man stripped to his boxers and looking very uncomfortable about it. To hide it Dean attempted one of his snarky grins. "Hey, you didn't say this was a strip show."

"Sorry." Sam blushed, yanking his tee shirt over his head. The drag made his hair staticky, the ends sticking to his forehead.

"Should…should I get in the bed?" Dean asked. "Um, I'll…clear the chicken off first."

"Yeah." Sam mumbled, his suddenly-numb fingers fiddling with the zipper of his jeans.

Dean climbed into bed still wearing his boxers. The covers were pulled up around his neck and Sam watched the older man wriggle, making an ah-hah! of triumph as his bare foot poked out at the side, boxers looped around one ankle. He kicked them off and held the corner of the covers open in invitation.

Sam dropped his jeans, stumbling a little as they caught around his ankle in his haste. "Did you, uh, pick up the…stuff?"

Dean waved a hand at the bedside cabinet, where the lube and a single condom lay innocuously.

Sam swallowed, just looking for a second before sucking in a breath and climbing into the bed beside Dean. They'd been sharing a bed for years now, but this felt different, strange in a way Sam hadn't expected. Dean was lying beside him, an uncertain smile on his face, and Sam turned to face him. There was a good ten inches of space between them.

It wasn't exactly how Sam had imagined this going. He'd kind of hoped there would be spontaneous displays of passion, tender looks and gentle hands helping him out of his clothes. But maybe that was just how it went in movies.

"Um, so…" Dean bit his lip, his fingers twitching compulsively on the covers like he wanted to touch but was afraid to reach over the invisible divide.

"So." Sam nodded; at what, he wasn't quite sure, but it felt like he needed to say something, do something.

"How do you…"

"Maybe if I…" They both started, then stopped, blushing wildly at one another.

Dean took a deep breath, glancing down Sam's covered body with an expression Sam had seen on men in war films before they ran to their heroic deaths; one that said I'm about to crap my pants, but this has to be done.

Sam raised his eyebrows. He'd expected a certain amount of manly posing from Dean during sex, possibly some impressive muscle-flexing and animalistic grunts of pleasure, while in the heat of the moment his eyes would lock with Sam's and they would see the other's love shining through. Possibly he'd picked up some bad harlequin romance novels to prepare for this moment. But nowhere in any of those books did Sam read anything along the lines of 'his eyes scanned her body and his hand faltered, his face showing his abject terror'.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"Yeah." Dean replied quickly, a paste-on smile stretching his lips wider than they should be. "Fine. You?"

Maybe if they just jumped straight into it. Sam lunged forward, pressing his lips to Dean's. Or he tried to press his lips to Dean's, except Dean reared back at the last moment, Sam's pursed mouth colliding with the point of his chin.

"Ow!" Sam clapped a hand to his mouth.

"Oh god, are you okay? Sam? Lemme see." Dean gently pulled the hand away, tilting Sam's head back. "I think your lip's bleeding. Shit. I'm so sorry, man. Fuck, here, you better," he rolled over, grabbing a half-empty paper KFC cup that rattled with ice, "hold that to it." He pressed the side of the cup to Sam's face.

Sam pushed himself upright, sitting back against the headboard with the KFC cup dripping condensation onto his bare chest. A grunt from Dean; Sam turned to see the older man pull a half-eaten chicken wing out from somewhere under the covers, holding it between two fingers with an expression of disgust. This was so not how he imagined sex going, and he couldn't hold back the laugh that exploded from deep in his belly, because this? Was ridiculous.

Dean stared at him for a moment before flopping back down on the pillow, his own, real smile breaking across his face. "So. Was it everything you'd hoped it would be?"

"Oh yeah." Sam met his eyes, deadpan. "I never knew it could be that way. I can't believe we haven't been doing this all along."

Tucking his hands behind his head, Dean grinned widely. "Well, I am hard to resist."

"So, uh, are we gonna…try again?" Sam said, wincing as the words pulled at his sore lip.

Dean's grin faded, his face turning pink. "Dude, uh, I'm…not really in the mood." His eyes darted down his body to the decidedly not tented bed sheets covering his crotch.

"You're not in the mood?" Sam looked at him, incredulous. "How are you not in the mood? You jerk off like, ten times a day!"

The blush deepened, Dean's eyes going wide as he pushed himself up on his elbows. "You know about that?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm with you practically all day, every day, Dean. No one needs to pee as many times as you go to the bathroom. Seriously. I thought there was something wrong with you before I figured it out."

The punch Dean aimed at the fleshy part of his upper arm wasn't a surprise. "Jesus. I thought…"

"What?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "You thought I wouldn't realise that you've been going without sex for nearly two years? I may be a virgin, Dean, but I'm not stupid. And I'm not a delicate flower either, despite what you might think. You don't need to protect me from yourself, or whatever it is you're doing."

"I just…I didn't want to pressure you, or anything."

Sam smiled, poking Dean in the chest. "I know. But it's okay, really. I'm okay. Not pressured into anything. I want this just as much as you do."

The other man's eyes fluttered closed, a pout pushing out his lower lip. "Trust me, Sam, no one in the world wants this as much as I do."

"So. Let's do it."

Dean lay still for a long moment, before letting out a sigh and pushing himself upright, his face level with Sam's. "No."

"No?" Sam's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "You want to wait another two years?"

"No, but," Dean's eyes fell to Sam's lap and his hand slid over to play along Sam's knuckles softly, "I think we shouldn't do it here. Seriously, Sam. I don't wantto just…do you. It's your first time. It should be something you'll remember."

Sam snorted, waving the hand that wasn't holding the paper cup to his mouth. "You don't think I'll remember this?"

Dean pulled a face. "Something you'll remember for the right reasons. Not something you'll forever associate with the smell of KFC." He pointed at the chicken wing lying beside the lube and condom with a quirk of his lips.

The point was proven a second later when Dean pulled a squashed french fry out from under the pillow. Sam grimaced. "Yeah, okay."