@fallintoline
Sam can’t focus.
And it’s all Dean’s fault.
There’s no impending hunt baring down on their shoulders, but there’s something hard about Sam’s demeanor alright. Cause of Dean. Sure he’s staring at his brother and he’s got to feel eyes on the back of his neck burning holes into tanned skin but Dean simply goes on, as if he notices nothing.
And the more nothing Sam gets, the worse he acts out. The day started with a naked walk from the bathroom to his duffle bag, post Stanford work out body on display. Next came the shirt less, completely volunteered car wash of the Impala (Gotta have something to do Dean, I’m bored as hell) and yet the older Winchester hasn’t caved.
It’s all sorts of wrong yeah, but how could he endure previous years of watching Dean seduce girls and then on the rare (supposedly accidental) occasions of Sam witnessing just exactly what Dean can do and not want it for himself?
He’s seen the way Dean looks at him when he thinks he’s not watching so it’s time to pull out the last trick he’s got. The panties are embarrassing, frilly black and white but still he crams his legs through them, mumbling under his breath and tries not to break when he tucks himself in. He pulls up his sweats, forgoes a shirt (his favorite torture) and takes a deep breath before exiting the bathroom to the motel room, shaking his damp hair.
The sweats hang a little too low, just a tad, where an inch of skin and a peek of lace could be seen if Sam bent just right. And oh, he had all intentions of doing that. Goddamn it, he was going to get Dean if it were the last thing he’d ever do.
