Note/Warning: Pre-series; I imagine Sam's around sixteen here.
The sky's getting dark overhead, rain clouds rushing in at full force and wind starting to rise, but they're still splashing around the river, laughing and dunking each other and stirring up brown circles of mud with their toes when they go down and scrape the floor.
They've been here since the sun was shining and it's starting to get a little cold, wind and the grey fading of the sun, and their skins prickle up with goose bumps every time they break the water, but Sam hasn't said anything about going back up to the house, yet, and Dean's not gonna force the issue. This is the happiest he's seen his brother in weeks.
Sam takes a run at him, and Dean's back hits the rocks with the slowed force of fighting in water. It doesn't hurt but he curses anyway, and Sam grins, wipes a hand over his face to push back his wet bangs.
"Dad's gonna start wonderin' where we are," Dean says, but his fingers reach up and grip at Sam's shoulder anyway, pull him in a little tighter. They're too old for this shit, but summer does this to them, sometimes, when they're standing still long enough to enjoy it.
Sam shrugs, drifting into him, easy with the current, and they bump together, hipbones and shoulders, and Sam loops one bony elbow around Dean's neck and shoves up against him. His eyes shut and he pants against Dean's cheek, breath hot, the water slipping from his face cool in the wind.
"Dad can wait," he mumbles, and Dean sucks in a breath, feels his heart hammering against his ribs, though it'd calmed from their roughhousing. This, here, is all for Sam.
Distantly, thunder rolls and lightning cracks the horizon, throws shadows over Sam's too-thin shoulders, the long stretch of the rest of him, under the waterline. "Oughta get going," Dean tries again, and Sam hmms, rolls against him, pressing Dean back against algae-covered rocks and mouthing at the cut of his jaw.
"Storm's too far away," he mutters, just as the rain starts, and Dean snorts, rolls his eyes and mumbles whathefuckever, turns his head so Sam can get at his mouth. He tastes like the water, like the barest sour trace of his morning coffee. Dad keeps saying it'll stunt his growth, then laughs sometimes, the only time he ever laughs, anymore.
Sam says, "Hey," and Dean pushes his fingers into his brother's hair, pulls him in tighter. Sam's cock is pressed against Dean's hip and he keeps hitching in, trying to hold back and pretend it's just the current, pretend he's not that desperate, but Dean sees right through it.
"So fuckin' easy," he says, and Sam laughs, a little ragged. He ruts a little harder, groans, and the water splashes around them. The wind rustles the trees overhead, whispering.
Dean lets his hand drop, finds the drawstring to Sam's shorts and tugs, pushes his hand over Sam's sharp hipbone and lower, gripping him.
"Fuck," Sam says, and he's trying to do the same, fumbling to return the favor.
Dean feels half-drunk, feels like he can't catch his breath. They could drown like this, Sam climbing all over him and fucking into his hand and pulling him down, making Dean forget where they are even in the rain, and he maybe ought to worry about that but all he can do is shove his free arm back, curl around one of the rocks and hold, let Sam run the show.
Sam comes saying Dean's name, over and over, and Dean thinks about how noise travels better over water, thinks for one crazy moment that Dad'll hear, way back at the house, and they'll be caught, this'll be done, even if they're both goddamn adults, almost anyway, but he still cares. Still—
"Come on, come on," Sam urges, and the thoughts spin to a halt, the thunder growls and Dean feels it deep in his chest, feels Sam's hand on him and Sam's mouth open and wet on his throat, sucking up rain water, river water, pulling blood up hot against the surface of the skin.
Dean comes and thinks he's sinking but Sam's holding him up, laughing in his ear. "Hey," he's saying, "Hey, Dean, you good?"
Dean grunts, drops his head back against the rocks, feels the rain on his face. "Fuck, fuck you," he mumbles, and under the cut of lightning, Sam's smile is blinding.
Sam/Dean, swimming in the rain or skinny dipping
The sky's getting dark overhead, rain clouds rushing in at full force and wind starting to rise, but they're still splashing around the river, laughing and dunking each other and stirring up brown circles of mud with their toes when they go down and scrape the floor.
They've been here since the sun was shining and it's starting to get a little cold, wind and the grey fading of the sun, and their skins prickle up with goose bumps every time they break the water, but Sam hasn't said anything about going back up to the house, yet, and Dean's not gonna force the issue. This is the happiest he's seen his brother in weeks.
Sam takes a run at him, and Dean's back hits the rocks with the slowed force of fighting in water. It doesn't hurt but he curses anyway, and Sam grins, wipes a hand over his face to push back his wet bangs.
"Dad's gonna start wonderin' where we are," Dean says, but his fingers reach up and grip at Sam's shoulder anyway, pull him in a little tighter. They're too old for this shit, but summer does this to them, sometimes, when they're standing still long enough to enjoy it.
Sam shrugs, drifting into him, easy with the current, and they bump together, hipbones and shoulders, and Sam loops one bony elbow around Dean's neck and shoves up against him. His eyes shut and he pants against Dean's cheek, breath hot, the water slipping from his face cool in the wind.
"Dad can wait," he mumbles, and Dean sucks in a breath, feels his heart hammering against his ribs, though it'd calmed from their roughhousing. This, here, is all for Sam.
Distantly, thunder rolls and lightning cracks the horizon, throws shadows over Sam's too-thin shoulders, the long stretch of the rest of him, under the waterline. "Oughta get going," Dean tries again, and Sam hmms, rolls against him, pressing Dean back against algae-covered rocks and mouthing at the cut of his jaw.
"Storm's too far away," he mutters, just as the rain starts, and Dean snorts, rolls his eyes and mumbles whathefuckever, turns his head so Sam can get at his mouth. He tastes like the water, like the barest sour trace of his morning coffee. Dad keeps saying it'll stunt his growth, then laughs sometimes, the only time he ever laughs, anymore.
Sam says, "Hey," and Dean pushes his fingers into his brother's hair, pulls him in tighter. Sam's cock is pressed against Dean's hip and he keeps hitching in, trying to hold back and pretend it's just the current, pretend he's not that desperate, but Dean sees right through it.
"So fuckin' easy," he says, and Sam laughs, a little ragged. He ruts a little harder, groans, and the water splashes around them. The wind rustles the trees overhead, whispering.
Dean lets his hand drop, finds the drawstring to Sam's shorts and tugs, pushes his hand over Sam's sharp hipbone and lower, gripping him.
"Fuck," Sam says, and he's trying to do the same, fumbling to return the favor.
Dean feels half-drunk, feels like he can't catch his breath. They could drown like this, Sam climbing all over him and fucking into his hand and pulling him down, making Dean forget where they are even in the rain, and he maybe ought to worry about that but all he can do is shove his free arm back, curl around one of the rocks and hold, let Sam run the show.
Sam comes saying Dean's name, over and over, and Dean thinks about how noise travels better over water, thinks for one crazy moment that Dad'll hear, way back at the house, and they'll be caught, this'll be done, even if they're both goddamn adults, almost anyway, but he still cares. Still—
"Come on, come on," Sam urges, and the thoughts spin to a halt, the thunder growls and Dean feels it deep in his chest, feels Sam's hand on him and Sam's mouth open and wet on his throat, sucking up rain water, river water, pulling blood up hot against the surface of the skin.
Dean comes and thinks he's sinking but Sam's holding him up, laughing in his ear. "Hey," he's saying, "Hey, Dean, you good?"
Dean grunts, drops his head back against the rocks, feels the rain on his face. "Fuck, fuck you," he mumbles, and under the cut of lightning, Sam's smile is blinding.