Disclaimer:Supernatural and its characters and concepts belong to their rightful owners and no-one else.
Warnings:Slash, swearing slight violence and Angst
Author's Notes: I honestly meant to have this chapter out before Christmas, so I apologize for my laziness. Hope you enjoyed the last chapter, and that this one proves to be worth the weight. First post for 2008! Yay!
Chapter Six: Close Enough to Perfect
Dean sighed as he slouched behind the counter of the store on yet another hot afternoon. Before him lay the account book, with his messy scrawl jumping back at him. Business was slow, but that never bothered Dean all that much. He loved the quiet, lazy afternoons where he could just take it easy. The radio was playing tinny music, and a warm breezed was flowing in from the open front door.
Jack was out doing deliveries, so he was taking advantage of the peace and trying to squeeze in some work on the accounts while he had the chance. He was never much good at math's or accounting, but he somehow managed to struggle through and keep them comfortably above the water.
But on this particular afternoon, he couldn't seem to concentrate. Last night, Sam had knocked his socks off. The strength of the attraction they both obviously felt was stronger than he had anticipated. And instead of satisfying his curiosity, it had only made him hungrier, and greedier for more.
He hadn't seen him before he'd left for work that morning, and that had disappointed him more than he had suspected it would. The warning bells were ringing clearly in his mind- he was getting way too attached to something that was only supposed to be a casual fling, but he knew that if the chance ever came up again, he wouldn't even give it a second thought.
Even as he thought about it, he could feel the desire built. Hot damn, Sam had a body that would put those Greek gods to shame. Toned, chiseled and hard, yet surprisingly warm and soft at the same time. And miles and miles of velvety soft, golden skin. And those silken, messy locks of chestnut hair...he'd smelled so good. A strange mix of sweet apples and clean sweat.
Dean shifted on his stool and frowned, trying to concentrate on the scrawled figured before him. His concentration lasted all of thirty seconds before his mind was elsewhere again.
There was the annual bonfire night coming up. All the people his age and younger attended, and it involved booze and everything that made up an entertaining and fun night. It was usually talked about for weeks after. Some years, Dean hadn't been in the mood to attend, others he had gone and regretted it later, both in the form of having raging hangovers, and waking up in a bed he hadn't ever wanted to be in.
Still, most of his circle of friends were going, and maybe he could ask Sam to go with him. Not as a date, or anything, but as a friend, although even thinking of it opened out a road of possibilities that had his mind working a mile a minute.
Sam needed to meet more people, and Dean found himself wanting to introduce him to his friends. That in itself should have warned Dean against it, but he disregarded the sentiment almost immediately. Sam was...hard not to like, if he was honest with himself. And his friends would fall in love with him and no doubt adopt him straight into their tight circle of friends.
Dean grimaced with distaste. That would invite all sorts of questions that he had no inclination to answer. But Sam and bonfires and all that opportunity was too good to pass off. Besides, Sam needed to get out some, and he needed a distraction, something to lift him out of his dark past.
Before he could even begin to start kicking his ass into gear and get some work done, Jack sauntered in the door, his arms full with a batter cardboard box.
"You know, they invented computers for a reason, Dean," he called out as he disappeared into the back room.
"I like my way better," he replied almost petulantly and half to himself as he started to chew on the end of his pen.
"Then explain to me why every time you drag out that ratty old book you start bitching and moaning about how you have better things to do?"
"Smart ass," Dean muttered to himself, stubbornly hunching over the booked and glaring at the words as Jack joined him once more.
"Give it up Dean," his friend sighed as he leaned a hip against the counter and crossed his arms. "We both know what you're really thinking about."
"Oh yeah? Mind reader now, are you?" Dean groused as he straightened on his stool and narrowed his eyes at him.
"Don't have to be a mind reader to know what you're thinking about. You got lucky last night," Jack beamed at him, looking extremely proud of himself. Why, Dean had no idea, but he rolled his eyes anyway as he tossed his thoroughly chewed pen onto the counter top.
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Aw, c'mon man. Tell me!"
Dean eyed him, and suppressed his urge to grin goofily at the man. It wouldn't do at all to go letting people know just how much of a high Sam had given him last night, especially considering how antsy he got when people started prying into his private life. And small towns were the worst kind of places when it came down to gossiping. He had learned that the hard way, and he'd rather shoot himself in the foot than willingly let himself become to center of gossip for the next month.
Still, Jack was his best friend. And he knew Dean better than he would have liked, so really there was no use hiding anything from the man because he'd be quite happy to pester and annoy until he got the results he wanted. Dean wasn't known for patience, and he knew better than to give Jack any opportunity to get on his case about anything.
"Fine. I did. Happy?" he groused as he closed the book and shoved it back in its home underneath the counter.
"And? What was he like? Was he a top ten?"
Dean raised his eyebrow, surprised and amused at his eagerness. There was something to be said about dangling the proverbial carrot in front of the donkey. It was satisfying if nothing else.
"Do you really want all the gritty details, Jackie? Do you really want to know how it felt to touch him? To kiss him and..."
Jack, realizing his mistake raised his hands and backed up a few steps.
"Okay, okay, I get the point." he grinned. "I'm just happy for you that all."
"Why? Because I had a quick fuck by the river last night?" Dean snorted. "It's not like it meant anything."
Dean was annoyed at how hard it was to force those words out, and just how much he knew that it was untrue. It had meant something. Just what it had meant to him, he didn't care to speculate on. That would only bring down a whole world of trouble on his shoulders, and he certainly didn't need to complications.
"Right, right, I know that. But still, there are plenty of people who would have killed to be in your position," Jack told him casually as he set about straightening a few wayward guns on their racks. Dean's interest was immediately piqued, despite himself and he straightened a little from where he leant.
"What do you mean?"
Jack glanced at him briefly before tugging experimentally on the locks that ensured the guns remained where they were supposed to until bought.
"Surely you've heard all the hype by now." Jack said, then paused thoughtfully. "Although knowing you, you probably haven't."
"Haven't what?" Dean asked impatiently, following Jack as he meandered through the store checking and straightening things.
He didn't missed the slight quirking of Jack's mouth as he tried to hide his amusement. Jack had never been the most subtle of men, and he was as readable as a book. It didn't take a genius to know that Jack was laughing at him, but that didn't make Dean any less determined to find out exactly what Jack was hinting at.
"Your boy's the talk of the town at the moment, and I know for a fact that there are more than a few people interested in him, if you get my meaning," Jack raised his eyebrows at him momentarily before turning to face him.
Dean tensed, not liking what his friend was implying. It had been so long since he'd experienced the feeling of jealousy and actually feeling it full force shocked him. Along with it came a healthy dose of possessiveness that had him reeling where he stood. Figuratively speaking of course.
"You mean like...interested interested?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Of course that's what I mean."
"Right."
The defensiveness that had taken hold of him was unpleasant to say the least. Sam wasn't his to protect, nor to get possessive over. Sam was his own person with a mind of his own. He wasn't a possession to be fought over by the people of the town and the very thought of people vying for his attention like a pair of dogs fighting over a prize bone made him sick to his stomach.
Besides, after awhile, all the uproar over his presence would die down, and what would happen to Sam then? Discarded, and ignored. And it made him angry, more angry than he would care to admit.
No one could possibly understand just how that felt better than Dean did. And he wouldn't see it happen to another person, much less Sam. As a friend, Dean would do all he could to make sure than didn't happen.
"So I was thinking about taking him to the bonfire tomorrow night," Dean told him slowly. "But now I'm not sure it's a good idea."
"Like...a date?"
Dean frowned at his friend. "Not exactly. More like a friend. Get him introduced to people. But I'm not sure now. They'd probably start fighting over him from the moment he set foot on the sand."
Jack shrugged and leaned back against one of the shelves. "If you ask me, it's better to let them get used to him rather than shelter him from all the attention. Like a band aid. The quicker it is, the less painful if you get my drift."
"I suppose you're right," Dean conceded as he returned the counter. "But you think it's a good idea then?"
"You don't need me to approve Dean," Jack replied as he followed him.
"I know that. I wasn't asking."
"Besides, Sam's a grown man. It his decision to decide if he wants to go or not."
"I know that too," Dean growled, though he wasn't really impatient or annoyed. Jack knew him well enough not to take offence by his tone. Good thing too, or Dean would have run him off years ago.
"So when are you going to ask him on this date of yours then?" Jack asked, grinning broadly.
"I dunno. Right about the time you ask Lindsey to marry you..."
"Hey, there's no need to get nasty now." Jack laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.
"Who's getting nasty? Although the sooner you get it through your thick skull that it isn't a date, the better your health will be."
"Okay, okay, no more questions." Jack waved a hand. "Although..."
"Jack..." Dean said warningly.
"Just hear me out, okay?" Jack was serious now, all traces of jesting disappeared from his open face. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, Dean. I don't want to see you get hurt."
Dean studied his friend for a long moment thoughtfully.
"I won't, Jack. You don't need to worry about me."
"Doesn't matter. I'm going to anyway." Jack grinned again and reached across to clap him on the shoulder. "I'm taking off for the night. You alright to lock the place up for the night?"
"Go ahead. I'm sure I can manage for a few hours."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Uh...hi."
Dean's head shot up and he found himself staring at Sam. He was standing in the doorway, dressed in worn jeans with rips in the knees and a plain black shirt. Dean knew from the second he saw him that all he wanted was to throw him down and tear those clothes right off of him, but he managed to smile instead and beckon for him to come closer.
"Close the door behind you."
Sam nodded and closed the store door behind him, and Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as his long, lanky form moved towards him. He had never noticed just how smoothly Sam seemed to move, like he was completely at ease with himself, like he knew just how and where his huge body would fit and where it wouldn't. Seeing him amongst shelves and shelves of guns, his life long obsession turned him on more than it should have.
It was nearing closing time for Dean, and he knew that Sam had finished work not long ago. He was probably needing a lift back to the house, Dean told himself, and not looking for sex, no matter how mind blowingly awesome it had been.
He straightened from where he was leaning against the counter and shuffled his papers into order once more.
"Busy day?" he asked without thinking.
"Yea pretty busy," Sam replied quietly as he studied some of the rifles on a stand near him. "We had a lot of deliveries come in."
That was another thing about Sam; he always talked quietly, always measured his words before he said them out loud. Probably came from years of having to watch himself and keep out of sticky situations, he thought. Someone in his position, with no one to fall back on and look after him if he got hurt needed to watch their own back, and keep themselves out of trouble. Dean would have bet that Sam had learned that particular lesson hard and quick.
"Lots of heavy lifting then," Dean surmised, and then immediately kicked himself. The thought of Sam doing any kind of sweaty manual labor had him all hot under the collar, imagining those rock solid muscles moving smoothly under all that satiny skin. He swallowed sharply, glad that he was busy locking the cash register up for the night as he desperately cast about for something to take his mind off of the thought of sex with Sam.
"Is that good for you knee?"
Not as bad as it could have been, he supposed.
"It gets a little sore after awhile, but Lindsey's good and lets me sit down every now and then to rest it," Sam replied, finally looking up at him and smiling.
It was like a punch in the gut, that small smile with both his dimples making and appearance, and the soft looking in his warm eyes was Dean's undoing. He straightened and before he could think about what he was doing in any great depth, he was moving towards Sam, who was watching him with dark eyes.
"Know anything about guns?" Dean asked roughly, picking up a rifle and running his hands over it as he stopped in front of Sam. How was it that he always forgot just how tall Sam was every time they were apart?
Sam shifted a little. "I know a little. My grandpa..." he paused for a long minute and Dean looked up and watched him swallow. "My grandpa had guns. He used to go hunting. Taught me a few bits and pieces."
"You know how to shoot?" Dean asked, running his fingers over the cool metal of the gun once more, stroking over the barrel and down the grip.
Sam shook his head wordlessly. "I don't...Guns make me uncomfortable."
"They shouldn't." Dean told him as he opened the chamber and swiftly closed it again, cocking the hammer and easing it back down. "It's just a machine. All you have to do is control it. And respect it's power. There's no need to fear it."
"It's not really the gun I'm scared of. It's the people who use them," Sam murmured.
Dean sensed, not for the first time, that there was more to the story of why, but he didn't pry. It wasn't his policy to pry, no matter how much he may want to. And he figured that if what he already knew about Sam's past was anything to go by, then the background to this particular conversation wouldn't be pleasant.
"That's true enough. But the gun itself is just a tool."
Dean replied as he set the rifle aside and looked up at the man before him.
"I'll teach you how to use them. So you're not afraid any more."
Sam smiled slightly, but there was a sad quality to his eyes that made Dean wish he hadn't opened his mouth.
"I'd like that."
But Dean knew he wouldn't. He'd probably hate everything about it, the loud, sharp sound of gunfire, the smell, the sight of the bullet hitting the target. There wasn't anything pretty about it, nothing pretty about the destruction a gun could bring. But there was a tranquility in going about the motions, adjusting aim and accounting for wind direction. Cleaning, loading and reloading. It was the routine that Dean liked, the process and the feeling off accomplishment he got when all the targets were hit, when a gun performed as it should.
If anything, Sam probably needed to be rid of that fear. It was the uncertainty, the inability to control that got to people when it came to guns. But Dean could show him, could help him conquer that fear. Sam seemed like the kind of person who would appreciate being relieved of the burden of fear.
If there was anything Dean could do for him, it would be that.
He focused on Sam again, on the curve of his perfect lips, on the clean cut lines of his face, and the soulful, gray eyes that gazed back at him. His hair was in his face again, Dean noticed, and his hands automatically started to itch, wanting to bury themselves in the glorious softness.
With a mind of their own, his hands slid up and around the back of his neck, his fingers burying in the hair there and tugging him down.
There was nothing desperate or rough about the kiss. Just a slow, hard meeting of lips and tongues that sent a hot curl of heat throughout his body. Sam's scent was all around him, enticing and warm, and Dean's head was a whirl of confusion but it didn't matter.
Nothing seemed to matter when he was kissing Sam. All that mattered was that sharp, sweet taste of him, the heat of his body and that wonderful, edible mouth on his.
Dean pulled Sam in, pulled him closer and kept one hand buried in that glossy hair as the other traveled down his back so he could wrap his arm around his waist.
Sam had melted against him, giving in, giving up without a fight, and Dean thought that maybe it was that that had him so greedy for more. It was that sweetness that had caught him. You couldn't find a sweetness like that just anywhere, especially in one who's lot in life had left quite a bit to be desired. That was part of the mystery about the strange boy who had blundered into his life.
The only thing he knew was that he hadn't had enough yet. A small voice in him wondered if he would ever have enough, but that was just a little too disturbing for him.
He pulled back slightly, ending the kiss but not pulling away completely.
"So it's bonfire night tomorrow," Dean whispered against his lips. "Wanna come with?"
"Okay," Sam breathed.
Dean had a feeling that if he'd asked Sam to run naked through main street he would have. The fact that he had such control over Sam, such power was both humbling and scary. In the wrong hands, that sort of trust could be so easily abused. But Dean wasn't about to go and do something so stupid. He couldn't imagine being the type of person who would. He himself, had been betrayed and wounded too many times to ignore the injuries that could be inflicted through misplaced trust.
Dean kiss him firmly once more before he pulled away, and loved the way Sam's lips chased his for a moment, hungering for more. He couldn't stop the smile that broke out, loving the way Sam seemed to be as addicted to him as Dean was to Sam.
"I've got to pick up dinner. Why don't you wait in the truck while I lock up?"
Sam nodded slowly, as if in a daze and Dean watched as he turned around and walked out the door.
So. He had a sort of not date for tomorrow night.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -
The next morning dawning bright and clear, bringing with it the promise of beautiful weather. Dean yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen at six thirty. He had learned early on that mornings in Bobby Singer's house started early, and that there was really no point in being moody about it. It was probably a good thing, because Dean had a tendency to be really lazy when he wasn't in a routine of sorts.
He had also learned that Sam was big on sleep. He could probably sleep most of the day away if given the chance, but he had caved easily when Bobby had started waking him early. In fact, he hadn't had any problems with getting up so early, which came as a surprise to Dean, but he didn't spend long questioning Sam's strange compliance to odd requests.
The smell of fresh coffee had him perking up considerably. And Bobby, the gem that he was, had made bacon and eggs for breakfast. Sam was buttering some toast, and offered him a warm, shy smile unhindered by shadows or sadness. Dean found himself smiling back without question as he took a seat at the table.
Bobby and Sam joined him moments later and they all dug into the food with gusto.
"Two of the hands are down with the flu," Bobby spoke up after a few silent minutes of eating. "If you can get a few hours off this afternoon, I could really use the help, Dean. I need someone to ride fence in the west pastures."
"Not a problem," Dean replied after swallowing his last mouthful. He took a sip of strong coffee and sat back a bit. "I'll leave work at twelve. I'm sure Jack can handle things for one afternoon by himself."
Bobby snorted. Dean hid his smirk behind the rim of his coffee cup. He and Jack had been notorious trouble makers back in their teens. Jack had, on numerous occasions, gotten on the wrong side of Bobby, resulting in rather humorous exchanges that Dean had witnessed, most of which involving his best friend cowering before his guardian. Bobby's bark was considerably worse than his bite, and Dean knew from experience that while Bobby didn't hold grudges for long, he was still wary of his friend and his mischievous streak, despite the easy friendship between the two.
"I uh...if you need more help, Lindsey gave me the afternoon off. She's hired another hand to help out, so she figured I could use the time to look around town, but I'd be happy to help."
Dean was surprised by the offer, but he really shouldn't have been. After all, Sam was the kind of person who gave so easily and without thought. Working on a ranch was hard physical labor, and while Dean didn't doubt Sam's strength, he did doubt Sam's bad knee. He kept his mouth shut though, because Sam was his own person, and if he wanted to help out, then Dean wasn't going to hold him back.
Bobby considered Sam for a long moment, then nodded.
"That'd be most helpful of you. You can ride out with Dean. He can show you the ropes and you can see some of the sights around."
Dean had mixed feelings about this, but once again he kept his mouth shut. Maybe he could take Sam out and show him how to shoot. Knowing Bobby's tendency to be obsessive about the maintenance of the fences, there was probably nothing to be fixed or seen to. Leaving him plenty of time to talk to Sam- plenty of time for awkward silences filled with Dean trying to think of things to say. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he reasoned. Maybe he was being overly pessimistic, as usual, and Sam would have no problem at all. The only question remaining was an important one.
"Can you ride a horse?" Dean asked rather suddenly, if the surprised look on his companions faces meant anything.
"Uh...I've ridden before. It's been awhile though..." Sam replied after a brief pause. "I won't slow you down, if that's what you're worried about."
Dean did his best to hide his guilty expression. After all, he was a solitary kind of person, not used to doing things in company. He worked better alone anyway, but it seemed like he had no choice this time. Keeping his expression neutral, he picked up another piece of toast.
"Then we won't have a problem."
A/N: Thanks for reading, and I apologize again for the delay. Hopefully another update will be posted in a few days. So until then, don't be afraid to let me know what you think, kay?