Title: The Talk
Pairing: Sam/Dean UST
Rating: PG-13, to be on the safe side (UST involving underage!blushing!Sammy)
Spoilers: None; pre-series (Dean is 17)
Word Count: Around 950
A/N: Thank you so much to my beloved ennui_blue_lite for brainstorming, encouragement (fluffing? :p) and being such an awesome friend. Thanks also to my SPN-guru rivers_bend and, as always, to my beautiful, wonderful, wise beta Essie. This is my first foray into SPN fic-writing, so I'd really love feedback.
Dean gave Sam "the talk" when Sam was 13. By then, Dean knew, Sam had already figured out the basics - the porno mags Sam filched from Dean's stash (he apparently thought Dean wouldn't notice) made a pretty good pictorial guide. Still, a little man-to-man chat was in order. And damn, Sammy was definitely becoming a man, which was leading to all sorts of bad, bad thoughts on Dean's part about long, lean, well-defined arms and legs... No. So not going there.
They were on their own for the afternoon, stashed in yet another ratty roadside motel for the day in some no-name Midwestern town. Dean thought it was as good a time as any, so he went into the bedroom he and Sammy were sharing and sat down on the foot of the bed Sam was lounging on. The conversation was bound to be awkward and uncomfortable, as such things usually are, but their dad seemed pretty oblivious to Sam's onrushing puberty, and anyway he'd never given Dean "the talk" so Dean figured he wasn't going to this time either. Dean's education had been a bit more... hands on, thanks first to that motel manager's daughter in Dubuque - Katie was her name - and then later that waitress at the greasy spoon in San Antonio - Claudia. Yeah, Claudia. Dean smiled at the memory.
Sam's eyebrows raised slightly at that, and Dean quickly dragged his mind back to the task at hand, putting on his best Father-Figure Face. He was here to talk to Sammy about sex. Sex and Sammy. Sammy and sex. Two words that Dean tried never, ever to think about in the same sentence. Not that he succeeded, but he certainly made an effort and surely that counted for something. Damn it, his thoughts were wandering again and now Sammy was getting the fidgety, impatient look that Dean found... annoying, that's it. Certainly not endearing.
"Sammy," Dean began in his most serious voice.
"Don't call me that," Sammy complained in his most obnoxious teenage whine.
"Sammy," Dean repeated, and though Sam rolled his eyes, he kept his mouth shut this time. Dean smirked inwardly. Well, mostly inwardly. "It's time you learned about the birds and the bees."
Sammy just looked at Dean, his eyebrows slightly lifted again. Dean cleared his throat and decided he had better clarify.
"You know, the facts of life." Sam's expression didn't change. Dean was beginning to grow irritated. Surely Sam wasn't this naïve. "SEX, Sammy. I'm talking about sex."
"Yeah, Dean, I know."
Oh. Well then. "Okay, then, good." Dean was at a bit of a loss. He hadn't really figured out what he was going to say after he'd broached the subject. Well, winging it had always been his strong suit.
"So, uhh..." Or maybe not. "Umm, do you have any questions... about... anything?"
Sammy rolled his eyes again. God, he was annoying. Not cute. Or sexy. Definitely not.
"Dean, I learned all this last semester in school. We had a whole class called 'Changes'." Sammy looked long-suffering and Dean snickered. Thank God they'd been in California all last fall infiltrating and bringing down that spider-demon cult and not in, say, Alabama, where they'd probably just have told the kids to keep it in their pants. Like that ever worked.
"They taught us about... you know... the mechanics, and STDs, and stuff like that." Sammy shrugged and blushed. Okay, no question now, that was hot as hell. Bad thought. Moving on.
"Uh, okay then. So... always use a condom," Dean said sternly.
Sam rolled his eyes yet again - they really were going to fall out if he kept doing that - but his cheeks were still pink and he just nodded in response.
"Always, Sammy. I mean it." Dean ignored the little twist in his gut at the thought of his Sammy with someone else. No. It wasn't his Sammy. Never would be his. Not that way, anyway. Another stomach-twist that Dean ignored.
Sammy was getting fidgety again. "I got it, Dean."
"Yeah, okay. And if you ever need... supplies... you can ask me. Or, you know, if you have... questions, or need advice..." Dean trailed off.
Sam was squirming now, eager to be off; probably wanted to ride his bike to the library again - it'd already been three whole days since his last trip when he'd checked out half-a-truckload of books. Dean was not, absolutely not, checking out the way Sam's nipples looked as he shifted on the motel room bed, the way they were poking against the thin fabric of the much-washed and mostly-outgrown white t-shirt.
"...later, Dean." Dean came back to reality just in time to realize that Sammy was talking to him.
"Yeah, later, Sammy," Dean managed.
Sam was almost out the bedroom door when he paused. "Um, thanks, Dean," he said before quickly escaping from the room, all colt-like awkward gangly grace.
"You're welcome, Sam," Dean said to the empty room. He lay back on the bed, adjusted his sudden hard-on, and sighed. The next few years were going to be bumpy. Maybe he ought to go look up that fine-looking receptionist from the Sheriff's department... what was her name? Michelle, that was it. Yeah, Michelle. Dean smiled in anticipation.