[Fic] "Flavor" (Supernatural; PG-13)
Title: Flavor
Author: black_regalia
Series: Supernatural
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Sam, Sam/Jess, Sam/Madison
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 718
Spoilers: 2x17 [Heart]
Summary: A few days ago Nan declared it Kissing Day, and, of course, fandom as a whole complied! She asked for people to post kissing ficlets in her journal, and so I wrote this up right quick(while at work, tee hee). I'm re-posting it here, because otherwise it'll be lost to space and time, and one day I'll want to read it again, and be all like "Goddamnit." This isn't really a summary >> Okay. How about this: Sam kisses people.



People say kisses taste sweet.

Generally, they just taste like spit -- not that that was a bad thing.

Sam was young, much younger than most, when he had his first kiss. It was perfectly innocent, a peck on the lips, fairly common between young children trying to imitate adults. He and Dean were kids, not yet in adolescence and having only a basic, school-learned understanding of what adults did together. It was sweet, not in taste, because it was quick and dry and didn't taste like anything, but rather, in sentiment.

It didn't really count as a kiss, not in the romantic sense, certainly not in the sexual sense, but Sam still counted it anyhow.

Jess kissed different over time.

When he first met her, she kissed messy and wild. It was hot, and ultimately empty. Sam found nothing in it. She kissed how guys had trained her to over the years, soft and supplicating, a pretty body for them to play with. It was when she was drunk and not thinking that she kissed like she meant it, and slept against Sam's chest with more drool than could be considered 'cute'. She was the first person who attempted to understand him, who tried to figure him out. It took him awhile to understand that the same was true vice versa. He used to think that only demon hunting could screw a person up, but it turned out that rich parents and boyfriends that only wanted one thing could do the job just as well.

A year and a half later, tongues winding and twisting words into each others mouths, they kissed like they could undo all the knots in each other. They almost succeeded.

Madison kissed like the animal she'd been turned into, and at that time, Sam had needed that ferocity -- needed someone who could take that ferocity from him. Death, anger, fear, betrayal...The events of the previous six months had built up on him in layers, and it felt like her claws could cut through all that dried up callused skin, cut down to where he was pink and new.

Instead, she cut down to where he bled.

If he had to say, Sam would have pegged kissing as his favorite part of sex. Or even not-sex. It was the moment he always felt closest to someone, in a lifetime of feeling like he was disconnected -- first from his family, then from the rest of the world, and then from his own body and mind.

When Dean kissed him, for the first real time, when they were much older(one of them already 'over the hill'), it burned a little because there wasn't anyone in the world who could claim to know Sam better than Dean. Dean, who was already under all those layers, like water that seeped in over time. It reminded Sam of that first, innocent kiss, because it was nothing like that, save for the two people involved in it.

Dean tasted like spit, just like every other person.

That's not what kissing was about, though.

It was about the nausea of anticipation, the thrum of blood in the ears and the slow, careful movements. It was about the first moment when the lips touch and the stomach drops out, when teeth run so carefully over skin and tongues press together and explore a space so very intimate. Something strangely familiar and alien all at the same time.

Sam spent a lot of time in his own head, but that kiss was the first time he felt like someone else could get in there with him. He was connected, through spit, through blood, through the hands on his neck and shoulder.

Dean's tongue felt the same as any other tongue, skin the same as any other skin against his own. That didn't change how slow it was, how careful. It didn't change how long, how languid. It didn't change the history between them that stretched all the way back to the day that Sam was born, and couldn't change what it meant now. Didn't change the fact that it changed everything, swept everything old up into something new, brought everything together again in a way it hadn't been since almost thirty years prior, since that first sweet kiss.

Sweet in sentiment.

If not in flavor.