1/1

Date: 2011-05-08 08:34 am (UTC)
ext_21612: (samanddean :: sammy smile)

Dean finds Sam in the hammock strung between two ash trees, ropes creaking gently. Thundercat is stretched long and sleek across Sam's chest, head tucked under Sam's chin with a little cat smile. Dean can hear him purring from across the yard. He bends and scratches the cat's head, firm skritches between his ears, earning an ecstatic full-body wriggle.

Sam's smiling, awake. Dean sits carefully on the edge of the hammock, sends it rocking and tipping. Sam's hands grip the cat's ribs protectively but his eyes stay shut. He hasn't given up on his nap yet.

Dean wraps a hand around Sam's ankle. He brushes his thumb against Sam's instep. Sam shivers in the early June heat.

"Come inside," Dean says.

"It's nice out." Sam's petting the cat. Dean ignores a little spike of jealousy.

He runs an index finger down Sam's nose, pink even under the leafy shadows. "You're getting sunburned. It'll hurt so much you won't even want me to touch you." It's Sam's first summer. The first summer that this Sam will know. He doesn't remember learning about sunscreen the hard way at age eight when he came back from a field trip blistered and miserable, then proceeded to pick the dead, peeling skin off for weeks, delighting in grossing Dean out with it.

Sam's eyes crack open at that. He gazes languidly at Dean over the top of the cat's head. "I always want you to touch me," he says. His smile is slow and lazy as molasses. He shifts a long leg, brushes his toes against Dean's side. He sits up carefully in the unstable hammock. Thundercat, indignant, leaps from his lap to the ground with a dig of claws that makes Sam hiss. "You interrupted my nap," Sam says.

"Hmm," Dean says. He rests his hand on Sam's foot.

Sam stands and stretches, shirt rising up just a little. He casts a sly little look at Dean afterward. It's goddamn adorable sometimes, watching Sam re-learn how to seduce someone. "Okay, penance." He grabs Dean's hands and pulls him up. "I'm not done sleeping and it's your fault. You gotta tire me out again." He pulls Dean back toward the bunkhouse.

Dean, not being half the lazy ass that Sam is, lies awake later while Sam dream-mumbles into his shoulder, lips moving against Dean's skin with garbled urgency. There's a ballpoint pen on the bedside table and Dean nabs it. Given the choice between writing on the sheets or on Sam's back, he chooses the one that involves his hands on Sam's skin. He glides the ink over the expanse of Sam's back with the gentlest of touches.

Summer for Sam: Ice cream truck make popsicles, swimming (safety!), lightning bugs, BBQ, walking around naked, stay out drinking beer till dark, sex in hammock??, go for drive w/ windows down

Dean pauses, gnaws on the pen cap. It'll be next to impossible, requires supplies that will have been used up in the war, Dean'll probably have to convert to Scientology to get his hands on the right stuff, and all of that means that he has to, he has to pull this off for Sam. It's Sam's first summer. The first he'll remember.

With careful, firm strokes, he writes on Sam's back: FIREWORKS.
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