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Title: Or So This Kinda Story Goes
Author: [ profile] mya_rofki
Rating: R
Words: about 2,500
Characters: Sam/Jess UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension), mentions of previous Dean/Sam
Warnings: References to past Dubcon/Underage incest (Dean 17, Sam 13)
Spoilers: None
Summary: Sam and Jess talk about their first times, with varying degrees of truthfulness. Same universe as my hooker!Sam at Stanford story.
Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I'm not making any money off of this.
Author's Note: You should probably read The Knight's a Lady, and the Damsel's on His Knees before you read this one, to get the set-up on why Jess and Sam are living together but not together, together.

Jess lost her virginity at sixteen. He tells himself to remember that, as he tries to remember every vaguely Jess-related fact that comes his way.

“How old were you for your first time?” she asks, interrupting his memorization process. Sloppy drunk and leaning into the table with her hands propping up her chin.

Sam answers because he doubts either of them will remember this come morning, and because he always tries to give Jess what she asks for.

“Thirteen,” he grins. “So I win.”

“Yeah. You win. Boys always win,” she slurs flatly. He files away the fact that even trashed, Jess can sound really damn sarcastic. “Who with?”

“Just this guy I knew,” Sam slurs back.

“This guy you knew? What guy? What was his name? How did you know him? Come on, Sam, I told you mine,” she cajoles.

“Yeah, but, I mean... There’s just not much to tell.”

“Don’t you remember it?” Jess’s eyes get sharp. And even trashed, Jess's eyes can get really damn sharp.

“Oh, no- I mean, yeah I remember it.” Sam thinks he should’ve changed the subject before it came around to him.

But there’s a part of him that wants to tell it, too. There’s a part of him that’s always wanted someone to care enough to ask. Telling it’s a bad idea though. He knows that. He’s caught between wanting to let it all spill and keeping it safely hidden like he always has. Even he doesn’t know which way this will end up going. He thinks it will all depend on Jess, not him. He finds that really comforting, though he knows it makes him weak. “I wasn’t drunk or anything like that. I remember it, just... What do you wanna know?”

“Was it good? Did you like it?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Don’t sound so excited, Sam.”

“No. It was fine, just, I was nervous so that made it hard to, uh, enjoy it, you know?”

“Was this, like, full-on penetration? Oral? Handjobs?”

Jess,” he laughs, shocked, even after everything she knows about him, that she’d come right out and ask. But he likes that about her, that she asks, how she asks. She asks like she has a right to know, and maybe he thinks she does, because he always wants to answer, even when he can’t. But this time he doesn’t want to answer. Most of him doesn’t.

“I told you my first-time story,” Jess points out. “I’m just trying to level the playing field.”

Sam still hesitates before answering. He wishes he’d ever found some way to distract Jess when there was something she wanted. It doesn’t help that he’s wasted.

“It was, uh, hand-jobs. Clothes on." Well. Mostly. "On the couch,” he mumbles finally.

"One-time deal, or were you dating?"

"We were, uh, we were together for awhile, I guess."

"Did you ever go all the way with this guy?"

"Um. Yeah. We- a few weeks later we started having, you know, real sex."

"Were you into that? Was that your idea, Sammy, or his?" she asks, grinning wide and carefree.

Sam clears his throat carefully, can't believe he's actually talking about this. "His. I was a little, um, unsure of the idea I guess, but he said it would be alright. You know, wasn't that big a deal, it wouldn't like, show on my face the next morning, or anything." He laughs.

Jess squints at him. "He said it wasn't a big deal?"

“Well,” Sam says, before he has time to think it through enough, because he’s red and embarrassed the way Jess never seems to be, and figures the faster he answers her questions, the faster they can move on to a new topic. “He was the older br- One. The older one. He knew it wasn't, cause he'd already- he wasn't a virgin.”

Jess has been swaying and weaving in the air slightly, now she stills and focuses hard, and Sam thinks Oh no.

“What were you just going to say?” she demands.

“Nothing, I dunno. I’m drunk,” Sam tries for a clownish smile and gets nothing but a gaze like a nailgun shooting at him. His smile wilts quickly.

“What were you just going to say, Sam? He was the older what?”

“Nothing. Just what I said. He was just older than me.”

“Four years older?” she asks carefully. Sam remembers exactly the time he told Jess about Dean, just the broad strokes, because he’s never in his life wanted something more than he wants to keep his family seperate from his life with Jess. But he’d told her, because he also never wanted to lie to her. She knows exactly how much older Dean is.

“No,” he lies. “No. Not four years. Two years. Four would have been illegal.”

“Yeah, it would have been,” Jess agrees. “The difference between thirteen and seventeen is a really big one. At that age, four years is a big difference.”

Sam squirms. He stares out the window, into the darkness. For a minute he keeps silent. “It depends on the people though, too. A little,” Sam says finally, because he can’t not say something to defend Dean, even when he knows it’s a mistake.

“No. It doesn’t,” she says flatly.

“But it does. There aren’t hard and fast rules like that, not for people. There can’t be. Every person is different, can handle different things at different ages. Numbers are just numbers, you know? How many years you’ve been alive can’t tell other people anything about what you’ve been through, what you can-”

“Sam, no, that’s bullshit! Is that what he told you to get you to keep quiet?”

“No. That's what I think," he protests. "Anyway, I told you it was this guy from school and he was fifteen and I was thirteen. That’s what I said.”

“Okay. This guy from school," she sighs. "What was his name?”


“Were you good friends?”

“Yeah. We were good friends.”

“But you were nervous anyway?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, yeah. Everybody’s nervous their first time, right? You just said you were.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was nervous." She fiddles with her empty shot glass, shoots him a quick glance. "Maybe I was terrified, actually." Her voice is soft. "Maybe I wanted to change my mind, but I was too embarrassed to let myself. So, I made myself go through with it even though I didn’t really want to, and it wasn’t that bad, but, I mean, it wasn't great either.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, eyes on her hands, remembering himself, clutching at the couch upholstery to keep himself from running, and imagining her doing the same. “That’s how it was with Perry, the first time. Maybe- I mean, don’t you think that’s how it is for everyone?”

“You know what the funny thing is? I never talked to him about it, of course, but I think he was just as nervous as I was, you know? I think he just wanted to get it over with and then pretend it was awesome, too. You know?”

Sam shrugs. “That’s not- Mine wasn’t like that. Cause he- uh, Perry-” Jesus, Dean would kill him if he ever found out Sam was calling him Perry, “Had a lot more experience than me. He wasn’t nervous. At all.”

“You don’t think he was just better at hiding it? Cause he was older?”

“No. I- He wasn’t afraid of anything really. Especially not sex.”

“Okay. But I bet for his first time he was nervous.”

“I don’t think so. Not him.”

“If he wasn’t then there was something wrong with him,” Jess declares. She unsteadily tilts the tequila, pours them each another shot. Some slops on the table. Sam notes the puddle, and remembers there are pretzels crushed into the rug in front of the TV from earlier, and a half a lime drying out on the kitchen counter. He’s keeping track of all the things he means to clean up after Jess passes out.

He almost argues, but maybe there was something wrong with Dean, or at least something different in him, not wrong exactly but... Dean and sex was always something Sam thought he would understand better when he was older, Dean’s age. And then he had sex, and Sam kept waiting to understand, and he’s still kind of waiting. He thinks as best he can understand, Dean just enjoys sex, is never afraid of sex, can’t even conceive of sex where you both get off as being bad in any way. So maybe there’s something wrong with Dean, or maybe he’s just different about it than Sam. Either way, if Jess wants to call it weird, she can. Sam’s not sure he really disagrees.

“I don’t think he was afraid, even his first time, but he wouldn’t have told me if he was,” Sam sighs. “Macho bullshit.”

Jess nods. She nudges Sam his shot and picks up her own. He doesn’t really want it, but he throws it back anyway, watching through slitted lids as she does the same. His mouth and throat burn distantly, in a way that means he’s already way too numb to be drinking more. Jess swallows and hisses.

“Ugh,” she sticks her tongue far out and grimaces. Her nose is still wrinkled a little when she asks, “Did you sleep with him again?”

“Yeah,” Sam shrugs. “It got better after that first time.” It’s kind of true, and also a total lie. Some things got better. Some things just got worse. “Then we moved, and I never saw him again.”

“I still have to see mine every time I go home,” Jess groans.

Sam smiles. “That must be, uh, kind of awkward.”

“You know, it really really is. I think he still thinks we might get married, someday.”

"Do you think-" Sam begins, and then cuts himself off.

She seems to know what he's asking anyway. She laughs. "Nope. Never gonna happen. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was in love, like head over heels, what will our babies look like? in love with him sophomore year. But now, I see him, and, I dunno. I can remember feeling it, but I can't for the life of me remember why I felt it."

Sam tries to pretend he is most definitely not flooded with relief.

"How about you and Perry? Were you pretty serious?"

"I was," Sam says. "I thought I was in love, but he- I don't know what he- what he felt about me." he shakes his head. Pinches his lips together so he won't embarrass himself.

"Sometimes that happens," Jess says quietly. She reaches across the table and covers one of his hands with her slim, tan one.

They go to bed pretty soon after that, Jess grabbing his arm with both hands and hanging off of him, burying her face in his shoulderblade and bumping him down the hall towards her bedroom with her forehead. He forces a detour in the bathroom, tries to diguise his shock when she drops her pants and sits to piss while he’s right there, brushing his teeth. He guesses that must mean she’s not interested in him, that they’ll always be just friends now. Whatever might have happened between them before Jess learned about what he did for money is now off the table. Maybe it’s for the best. He wants her, but he’s too afraid to ever show it. He loves her, but he’d never want to put the burden on her of telling her so. She might think it was just the gratitude talking. She might think that where it counted, he was still just selling himself. He doesn’t ever want to make her have that conversation with him.

When they’re both finished in the bathroom, she manhandles him into her room, onto her bed with her. He lays still on his back, arms at his sides, already planning to sneak out and clean up as soon as she’s snoring. She drapes an arm across his chest, and tucks her nose into his neck below his ear.

“Stay, okay?” she mumbles. “Only if you want to, though.”

Her warmth and softness snug tighter against his side. He feels like she should recoil. He’s bony and sharp. He’s not comfortable to touch, not soft anywhere. He never has been. He’s always wondered about it: what exactly Dean saw in his scrawny, clumsy, over-long body to want. Dean never said. He didn’t talk to Sam the way he did to his female pick-ups, didn’t sweet talk him to get him into bed, or ever so much as use his name and the word ‘sexy’ in the same sentence. But he kept coming back for more, so there must have been something. Sam’s sparkling personality, he guesses.

He wonders why Jess is so willing to put up with him too. Most likely Jess’s just taken pity on him because she’s generous and brave and amazing, and saw someone in need, and had to help. He hates the thought, but that doesn’t make it untrue.

But he does want to stay, as long as she’ll let him, so he lets out a breath and relaxes back into the mattress. He can feel her breath on his neck, and he still can’t quite believe he gets to have this, that she’ll give him this much of herself so easily, and that he'll give what he can back, when sometimes it feels like all he’s ever worked for, is to keep as much of himself as possible safe from the people he loves.

The End

And if you'd like more detail on Sam's first time, I just posted that story here. Definitely read the warnings in the header, though.

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