Chapter 3

"A hunt? What hunt, Dean? You never told me there was a job."

Dean's a crappy liar. Actor? Sure. But lie to his family? To Sam? He sucks. "Nothing big," he says, sweat beading on his brow. "Recon, more than anything. Could be ghosts, could be rats. I'll let you know if it's something I need help with, I swear."

Sam moves to stand, closes a text book, pushes it away.

"Nah, Sammy. You keep at the books, kid. That's why we're here, so you can focus on school. Let me take care of this."

He feels foolish taking his bag of weapons to the car, and he hopes Sam doesn't notice that he's wearing his newest jeans, his tidiest shirt, his cleanest boots.

---

Dean's had dinner cooked for him before. Not often, the girls he goes out with don't usually bother, they know that's not why he's there.

He's not actually hungry. He ate with Sam, because anything else would have made Sam suspicious. Still, it's reassuring when Ethan heads back to the kitchen after he lets Dean in the door, serves up some fancy food. Reassuring because it makes Dean feel a little less like he's not here for the food. Which he's not, but whatever.

He's been thinking about sex a lot in the last few weeks. A lot more than usual, which means pretty much all the time. There's a lot more to think about, for a start. Sex with men isn't something he's ever spent a whole lot of time considering. A little, yes, okay, he's curious, always has been, but never like this. He's never met anyone before that he wanted to insert into his thoughts of sex between two men.

It's the dynamics that feature in his head that he finds most interesting—and disturbing. His eyes keep straying toward the bedroom. The door is cracked open and through the narrow space he can see Ethan's bed. There's dark wood and black and white bedding, and the cover is slightly rumpled. A scene keeps playing over in his head where his face is pressed down against those covers and his ass is in the air and there's a warm body pressed against his back and he probably shouldn't have flicked through that gay porn mag at the convenience store when he was in there today.

"Not hungry?" Ethan asks, glancing down at Dean's plate.

Dean follows his gaze. "Not really." Nerves twist his stomach into knots, but also, he really isn't. "Had to make sure the kid ate something before I went out, told him I had to go out for work." He looks up from the meal of steak and potatoes and a green salad which is the only thing on his plate he hasn't touched. "It's good. Don't get me wrong. Just kinda full."

"It's okay," Ethan says, and smiles like it really is. He pushes his plate away, gets up from the table and heads to the kitchen. Opens the fridge, pulls out two beers. He offers one to Dean. "Are you driving tonight?"

Dean follows him, takes the offered beer with a snort of suppressed laughter through his nose. "You didn't hear my girl in your driveway?"

"Maybe I'm looking for an excuse not to get you drunk," Ethan says, and he grows serious. "I want you clear headed, Dean. You want something, I need you to tell me. Ask for it. I don't want you to feel pressured in any way. I know this is new to you—"

"It's not to you?" Dean cracks the beer, takes a long draw on the neck of it.

"No." Ethan shakes his head. "I'm gay. I like men. Does that make you uncomfortable?"

Dean shakes his head. "Someone should know what they're doing."

Ethan laughs, and puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, guides him toward the couch. When they're both settled, sitting close enough that their knees just brush when they turn, he speaks. "I wanted you to come here so we could talk. Get to know each other a little better. Is that okay?"

Dean wants more kissing. "Sure," he says. "What do you want to know?"

"What do you do?"

Back in the old days, Dean would probably make something up, whatever suited the job they were on. But for the first time in his life, he has a legit job. "I work at the garage in town."

"You're a mechanic?"

Dean shakes his head. "Mostly I sweep floors, make coffee, take phone calls. All the shit work. But it's an in, you know? I gotta prove I actually do know what I'm doing first."

Ethan tips his head to the side, studies Dean closely, then glances down at the beer in his hand. "How old are you, Dean?"

Dean smirks, pulls his beer into his chest. "I just turned twenty. Don't you dare try to take this from me, man. I will fight you for it."

Ethan smiles like he might have been thinking it. "I get the feeling you had to grow up, fast. How long have you been taking care of your brother?" He looks a little uncomfortable, stares down at the bottle in his hands. "What happened to your parents?"

Something lodges in Dean's throat. "Mom died when he was just a baby. Dad had to work, so he was gone a lot. I've always looked out for him." Dean twists his hands around the neck of the bottle, closes his eyes so tears don't fall. "I'm all he's got, now, and goddamn if I'm not gonna keep looking out for him."

Dean opens his eyes when Ethan takes the bottle out of his hands. He let's him take it, put it on the coffee table with his own.

"That's a lot of responsibility for someone so young."

Dean shakes his head. "Like you said. I grew up fast. And I don't resent him. He's my brother."

"You should be proud of yourself."

Dean looks up. Something warms inside him, starts in his belly, a tiny twist of heat that builds and spreads throughout his body. A tear falls, just a remnant of those he held back before he opened his eyes, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He smiles, only a little embarrassed.

Ethan follows with a gentle swipe of his thumb beneath Dean's eye. He doesn't take his hand away after, cupping Dean's cheek. Staring down into Dean's eyes.

And fuck, Dean just stares back up at him, waiting for the inevitable kiss that doesn't come.

Then he huffs out a laugh. "I want you to kiss me," he says, a note of impatience in his voice. "Can I just give you blanket permission for kisses? Kisses are totally cool and I will always kiss back because—"

Ethan kisses him. Soft, slow, so sweet it's almost painful. His hand on Dean's cheek flexes, gripping tighter, pulling closer, and he moans, right before he pulls away. "Dean," he says, and his eyes are still closed, his breath is coming fast. "Jesus, Dean."

"What?" Dean leans forward, brushes his lips over Ethan's mouth. "God, what."

Ethan opens his eyes. His pupils are big and black, almost eclipsing the iris. There's just a thin line of blue around the edge, and it's pretty, a kind of shocking contrast. "You're too good to be true."

Dean blinks. "Hey, man. I'm here." He turns into Ethan's hand, drags his lips over the fleshy part beneath his thumb. "I don't understand what you mean."

"You're young," Ethan says. "And beautiful. And you're here with me. But I'm going to mess this up." He pulls back, eyes skimming over Dean's body. He's breathing hard, little gasps every few breaths. "I'm going to say the wrong thing."

Dean huffs out a breath. "You think you're gonna scare me away."

Ethan's eyes flick up. "Yes."

Dean shakes his head. "Nah, man." He lets his own eyes travel downward. "I'm not gay, and I don't know what this means, because I've never looked at a guy like this before, never kissed a guy before, never thought about a guy the way I think about you, but I'm not scared." He looks up, into Ethan's eyes, and he presses his palm to Ethan's chest. "Just say what you're thinking. Because I trust you. I trust that you're not gonna freak out if I tell you no."

"I swear I won't. I told myself I wouldn't ask, I'd wait for you. But god, Dean. I want to touch you." He drags his finger around the collar of Dean's shirt, slides it down to the first fastened button. "I want to take off your clothes, feel you against me." His eyes, roaming again, flick up to Dean's face. "But I will back off. You tell me no, and I won't."

Dean can't get enough air. His breath rasps in his throat as he tries to inflate his lungs. "I won't say no. Might say I'm not ready, but I'm not saying that now. Been thinking about having your hands on me. Can't stop thinking about it. About touching you, too." His eyes flick toward the bedroom, back to Ethan. He drops his eyes, can't bear the intensity of Ethan's gaze. He drops his voice to a whisper. "Do you want to fuck me?"

Ethan stiffens. "What are you asking me?"

Dean forces himself to lift his eyes. "If you think about it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah." The air is too thick, too warm.

"Are you ready for that?"

Dean shakes his head. "No. But I think about it."

Ethan drags his thumb across Dean's lower lip, follows it with a kiss, and it's just as soft and chaste as before. "Yeah," he whispers. "I think about it, Dean."

Dean's heart threatens to beat out of his chest, and his dick is so hard that it hurts. "Holy shit."

Ethan laughs, drops his head to Dean's forehead. "Not freaking out on me, are you?"

"Little bit," Dean says. "Not leaving." His hands go to the buttons of Ethan's shirt, tremble as he tries to open them. "A little fear never hurt anyone."

Ethan's hands come up and stop Dean. "How does it make you feel, when you think about us doing that? Afraid?"

"Yeah," Dean says. "Nervous. It's new." He twists his hand in Ethan's grip, wraps his fingers around Ethan's wrist. "But also..." He drags Ethan's hand down his body, his grip loose so he can feel any resistance. There is none. "I'm thinking about it now, and..." He moves Ethan's hand, so the backs of Ethan's knuckles graze over the length of Dean's cock, hard, straining against the fly of his jeans.

Ethan sucks in a rapid breath, and his eyes flick down. "Can I—?" he asks, as he thumbs the button of Dean's jeans.

Dean lifts his hips, shifts them forward. "Yeah."

Ethan flicks his eyes up, gives Dean a small smile, and then looks back down again, watches himself open Dean's jeans.

The pressure release when his fly comes down makes Dean sigh out loud. He watches Ethan's face, his lips twitching as he smiles, eyes still locked to Dean's crotch. There's a wet patch on his underwear, right where the head of his cock strains against the fabric.

Then Ethan shifts, slides off the couch and onto his knees between Dean's thighs.

"Oh, fuck," Dean gasps.

Ethan looks up at him, hands still pressing Dean's jeans open. "You okay?"

"Yes. Hell yes. Jesus, please."

Ethan's mouth turns up at the corner, and, bright blue eyes still on Dean's face, he drops his head. His lips come down at the lower end of the zip, near the base of Dean's cock. They brush, feather light over fabric, drag up the length, stop at the underside of the head, and there, he forms a kiss. His eyes close, and he inhales. "You smell so good, Dean."

Dean can barely breathe. Every muscle in his body is taut, and he fights to keep from thrusting his hips into Ethan's face. "I am hanging on by a thread," he rasps. "This is going to be over really fucking soon." He grips the seat of the couch, knuckles turning white. "God. Sorry."

Ethan shakes his head, lips brushing side to side over one of the most sensitive parts of Dean's dick. "Don't be," he says. "But hold on for me. Just a little longer. Can you do that?"

Dean drops his head back. Stares at the ceiling. "Yeah."

"Look at me, Dean."

Dean looks. Ethan breathes over the head of his dick, still caught inside damp cloth, and Dean shudders, whines. Ethan hooks his fingers into the waistband of Dean's underwear, and too fucking slowly, tugs it down. And he never breaks Dean's gaze, not even when he sucks Dean into his mouth, moans around his cock like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

Dean hasn't had a lot of blowjobs. He's twenty, barely, didn't get his first kiss until he was sixteen, and rarely stayed in one place long enough to get this far with a girl. But he's had a few, and at the time he thought they were awesome. Even the sloppiest, most unsophisticated blowjob was a good one.

All of them fade into insignificance with the slow slide of Ethan's lips over Dean's length. With the gentle stroke of Ethan's tongue, and the sharp, blue gaze of Ethan's eyes. He seems intent on going slow, soft, there's none of the frantic hurry to get Dean off that he's used to. Slowly, Dean regains control, and his fingers unclench from the fabric of the couch.

He's still breathing hard, though, still keeping his ass on the couch by force of will alone. Ethan's hands are on his thighs, fingers gripping tight, and Dean covers them with his own. "Feels so good," he whispers.

Ethan closes his eyes, smiles around Dean's dick, then slides his hand out from under Dean's to grip the base of his cock. He opens his eyes as he slides off, licks at the head as more precome bubbles out. "You taste amazing, Dean." He licks again, sweeping the moisture from the tip of Dean's cock, smearing the next flood all over his lips, and then licking them clean. "I could do this all night."

Dean shudders as Ethan takes him in all the way again. "Won't last that long." He moans, and his hips jerk, as Ethan starts a steady rhythm of slides, up and down the length with his lips in a firm 'o'. "Wish I could." He puts one hand on the side of Ethan's head, no interest in guiding him, because what Ethan is doing is perfect, but he wants to feel Ethan's hair between his fingers, wants to stroke his cheek with his thumb, wants to... Touch. There's an inherent affection in the contact, one Dean notices because of the difference. It's been a long time since he's felt this kind of affection for someone who wasn't his flesh and blood. "Oh god," he whispers, because this isn't about curiosity anymore, it's not about the thrill of a kind of sex he's never had. "Oh god."

There's a question in Ethan's eyes, concern.

Dean gives his head a small shake, drags his thumb over the corner of Ethan's mouth. "I'm good. So good. Everything's so fucking good, please don't stop." His hips jerk as his guts twist up and sparks shoot up his spine. "Oh god, I'm gonna come." He arches his back, tries to push Ethan off him.

But Ethan grins around his mouthful of cock, holds tight to Dean, and he does something with his tongue that makes Dean gasp. He never takes his eyes off Dean's face, and he manages to nuzzle into Dean's hand even as he works Dean's cock with his mouth.

"Oh, oh, fuck," Dean spits, as the pressure builds to breaking, and then overflows as he arches up, involuntarily pushing Ethan's head down into his lap. And the fire in the blue eyes staring up at him, determination, desire, makes him cry out, a new wave of pleasure crashing down on him, over him, and he's certain he's never come so hard in his life.

Ethan's throat contracts in rhythmic swallows. Dean shakes with aftershocks, his balls tightening, and then it's too much. He pushes Ethan off, watches as Ethan wipes a tiny dribble of come from his lips. "Oh god," Dean says. "Oh, my god. Come up here."

Ethan slides up Dean's body, still with that hungry look in his eyes. He brushes his closed lips over Dean's mouth, just enough hesitance there for Dean to notice.

"Fuck that," Dean says, clamps his hand over the back of Ethan's head, and pulls him into a kiss. Dean opens up for him, slides his tongue in, searching for his own taste. He finds it, a kind of salty bitterness on the back of Ethan's tongue, and it makes him groan simply for the proof of the fact that Ethan let him come in his mouth, wanted him to come in his mouth. "God, you're so hot," Dean mutters, while reaching for Ethan's fly, not even hesitating, not even a question in his mind as to whether he's ready to touch another guy's dick. He's ready, and he wants it.

He stops, only to peel off his shirt, to drop it off the edge of the couch, and then back to take Ethan's dick in his hand, and it's awkward, at first, opposite to the way he'd hold his own, stroke his own, but then he stops thinking about it, focused only on the way Ethan's kisses stop and start, on the way Ethan moans and pants and gasps against Dean's lips, on the way he arches back, eyes wide, full lips held open in a soft, breathless 'o' as he starts to come.

Hot stripes streak up Dean's chest, paint lines of wet heat that dribble down to puddle on his belly. Dean drags his fingers through the mess as Ethan gasps, breathless, against his cheek.

---

Dean scribbles his number down on a scrap of paper, watches as Ethan magnets it to the fridge. "I'm gonna tell my brother," he says, drops his head, huffs out a laugh. "As soon as I get home. So you can call."

"Will he be okay?" Ethan asks, concern drawing a crease between his brows.

Dean shakes his head. "Oh, he'll be weirded out, no question, but he won't freak."

Ethan smiles, and walks with Dean to the door. He kisses Dean, long, slow, lingering in the doorway. "I'll call you," he says. "Good luck with the talk."

---

The house is dark, shut up, when Dean gets home. Sam's books are in a tidy pile on the kitchen table, his school bag propped against the chair leg. Dean turns on the lights, can't stop grinning as he pushes open Sam's bedroom door. "You awake, Sammy?"

There's a grunt from the darkness, and the bundle of limbs under the blankets shifts as Sam rolls over. "Am now."

"Good." Dean crosses the room, sits down heavy on the edge of Sam's bed. "I need to talk to you."

Sam rubs his eyes and pushes himself up to a sitting position. "Ghosts, then? Do we gotta go now? 'Cause I have school, you have work in the morning." He presses a button on his watch, and the screen lights. "Jesus, Dean. In, like, five hours. Can't it wait?"

"Oh," Dean says. "No, no, we don't have to go. Um, Sam? I have to tell you something."

Sam's just a little more alert. He reaches over, switches on the light. "What. What happened, Dean?" His eyes travel over Dean's body, and Sam's observant, he probably sees Dean's creased shirt and thinks he's been in a fight.

"I lied about where I was going tonight, Sammy. There was no ghost, no job."

Sam just looks at him, waiting.

"I met someone. Tonight was, kind of...a date."

Sam groans and collapses back into the pillow. "I can't believe you woke me up to tell me you got lucky with some girl. Dean, you suck." He pulls the covers up over his head.

"Not a girl, Sammy." Dean's voice is shaky when he speaks.

The blanket flicks back, and Sam looks up. "Demon?"

Dean snorts and shakes his head. "Seriously, Sam? That's the first place your head goes? No. No demon. Jesus." He takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. "I was with a guy."

Sam's eyes go wide and his jaw drops. "Say that again?"

Dean's heart pounds. "I had a date with a dude, Sam."

Sam sits up, slow. "Whoa, Dean. Whoa."

"I know, right?"

"Why the hell didn't you just tell me?"

"I don't know." Dean shakes his head. "It was something I needed to figure out on my own first, you know?"

Sam narrows his eyes. "Is this something you've always wanted? Like, you couldn't date guys before because Dad wouldn't have approved? Is that what this is?"

Dean shakes his head emphatically. "No, Sam. No. I'm not a closet case, okay? It's just this guy. He's... He's just... I like him." Dean drops his eyes as his face heats. "I really like him. And it feels like it could be something serious, and I've never really had that option before, you know?"

Sam smiles, beams, even. "I know, Dean. I'm happy for you." He pulls his knees up, wraps his arms around them, gets comfortable. "So, tell me about him. What's his name? What does he do?"

"His name's Ethan," Dean says. "And I have no clue what he does because we were kind of busy, okay?" He blinks. "I should let you sleep."

Sam stares. "Oh my god, Dean. You had gay sex."

"I did not." Dean shoves away from the bed. "Hang on. Do blowjobs count?"

Sam laughs in glee. "Oh my god. You blew him?"

Dean's jaw drops. "No. He—" His face burns and he's thankful for the gloom. "I should probably take a shower."