Sam’s been keeping a secret.
Round and cool on his tongue, a rolled metallic that tastes biting for the first few weeks. He keeps his mouth shut, and for a thousand miles, nobody gives a shit about the silence. Summer vacation ends, the Winchesters settle into a new rental, and Sam clinks the bead against the inside of his teeth when he smiles.
Rebellion comes in small forms. Sam’s tried running away, he’s tried fighting back. He’s gone throat-hoarse with the things he’s had to say about the way they’re being raised. Nothing works—but this? The one-needle procedure in the living room of the last town’s best friend for the month is Sam’s favorite form of rebellion yet.
It’s past the point of hurting by the time it ever gets noticed. Sam likes feeling it against his teeth, the roof of his mouth; just having it is a comfort that he sometimes forgets.
Dean cracks a joke leaning against the Impala, beer between his fingers and breath coming out mist-warm in the winter chill. It’s a few weeks until his big brother’s twenty-first birthday, but he can handle a drink better than he handles a gun, and he handles a gun really goddamn well.
Sam throws his head back to laugh, mouth split glee-open, and Dean curses loud.
“Holy shit,” he says, “lemme see your tongue.”
A beer and a half is enough for Sam to comply, cheeks rosy and warm. He leans in close and sticks out his tongue, cheeks dimpling at the stunned look on his brother’s face.
“Sammy, when’d you do this?”
Sam wipes off his spit-sloppy lower lip and clicks his teeth shut. The bead clinks against the back of them. “Mmm, like, six months ago?” he answers, swaying a bit on his feet. “Looks good, right?”
Dean’s silent for a moment, brows furrowed. Sam settles against the hood, ass half-hanging off, and watches his brother step closer. “Lemme see it again?”
Sam opens his mouth again, sticks out his tongue again. He flicks the bead against his upper lip and huffs out a beer-sour giggle at Dean’s jaw-dropped expression.
Then Dean’s fingers press down against his tongue—forefinger and middle, trapping the bead between them. Sam stops laughing, starts looking up at his big brother through his bangs. His throat feels warm.
“Shit,” Dean hisses out, and Sam drops his mouth open a little wider, “that’s so fuckin’ sexy.”
Sam’s lips close around thick big brother fingers, tongue lathes across the salty pads of them. Dean stares at him like he’s never seen anything better. He fucks his fingers into Sam’s mouth like it’s meant to be there, and Sam’s not going to protest.
When Dean’s fingers slip away, Sam’s eyes are low-lidded, lips shiny and wet. Dean closes in, trapping him against the hood of the car.
“Heard it’s great for blowjobs,” Sam whispers. Dean looks fucking wrecked. Sam presses his fingertips against his brother’s jaw, lets Dean chase him until he’s leaning back on his palm and their lips are too-close. “Wanna test that?”
Dean’s next curse comes with a kiss, and Sam clinks the bead against his brother’s teeth.
