I wasn't sure how to end this story so, if you think it's a little weak, or unresolved, I guess we'll have to live with it. And points to anyone who recognises the movie reference (without google-ing it).


"What did she say to you?"


"The woman in the bar. She whispered something to you."

"Oh, her." Smiling, Dean takes a moment to remember those words. "She made me a very attractive offer. Not to mention graphic." He glances away from the road, briefly. "Don't wanna shock my little brother," he adds with a smirk.

Sam chuckles. "I'm not twelve, Dean."

"True, but…well, I can't see you getting into the dirty talk, Sammy."

Sam doesn't say anything.

Dean turns his head again at the silence, and sees Sam's smile as he looks down.


Sam looks over to Dean. "Nothing," he says, slightly shaking his head. He can't remove the smile altogether, though.

"Okay, when, who, and what?"

Grinning now, Sam debates whether to tell Dean. It'd be more fun just to let his imagination loose.

When Sam doesn't answer, Dean prods. "Cut the crap, little brother. Who? Jessica?"

He pauses, and then concedes a little. "Yeah."

"Come on, spill it."

"Why do you want to know?"

"'Cause this is something else I don't know about my baby brother, and it makes me crazy when I find out there are things about you I don't know."

Sam smiles wryly. "Yeah," he says softly, 'cause he feels the same way. There have been too many of those times.

"Was it your idea or Jessica's?"

He shrugs. "Both, really."

Dean doesn't say anything, hoping Sam will take that as encouragement. And why am I hoping he'll tell me exactly what he said to her? 'Cause you want to hear him talk dirty, that's why, you sick freak.

Sam sighs. I can't believe I'm having this conversation with Dean. "The first time it happened, we were…playing around, and I think I said something like 'the things I want to do to you', and she said 'tell me'. So I did. And the more explicit I got, the more it turned her on." He shrugs again.

Dean shakes his head. "Somehow, I think we have different definitions of the word explicit. I still can't imagine you talking dirty."

Sam shrugs again, his smile back in place. "Whatever," he says, casually.

Dean knows that smile means something, but he's not likely to get the whole thing out of Sam, so he lets it drop.


The next day.

On the road, and onto another case, they are about five miles outside of Mobile and their motel, when Dean has an idea.


Dumping their bags on their respective beds, Dean makes a beeline for the bathroom. "How 'bout you and me check out the nearest bar tonight? We can't do anything on the job 'til tomorrow. Might as well unwind in the meantime."

"Okay," Sam answers.

Dean shuts the bathroom door and smirks.


Dean waves the waitress over to their booth. Giving her his best charming smile, he says, "We'll need two glasses and a new bottle of Jack. Oh, and do you have a menu?"

"Yeah, comin' up."

"So, what's your plan? Eat, drink, hustle pool, and then hook up? Or are you gonna skip the pool and go right for the women?" Sam says it very matter-of-fact, like he knows the drill.

"Nah, drink, eat, drink, and get drunk. And, in the process, I'm gonna get my little brother drunk, too."

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? Is there an occasion for this planned bender?"

"Nope, we just haven't done it in a while, and I feel the need to let go of my job title for one night. Gonna join me? I hate to drink alone, Sammy."

Sam understands. "Why not."

The waitress returns with glasses and a full bottle of Jack Daniels. Then, taking a menu from the next booth over, she places it on their table. "I'll be back in five."

After a few seconds' perusal, Dean looks up over the menu. "This menu looks half decent," he says, slightly surprised.

Meanwhile, Sam proceeds to pour their drinks, and picks up his glass.

Dean looks away from the menu for a moment and picks up his glass as well. "Here's to having my baby brother shitfaced by the end of the night." He clinks his glass against Sam's and drinks.

Sam scoffs and drinks.


Two hours, and one and a half bottles later, Dean and Sam are suitably anaesthetised. Sam laughs at Dean's latest answer to their game.

"Okay, my turn," Dean says, looking around the room. He settles on a large, balding man, with a long goatee, wearing a plaid shirt and faded denim jeans. "Baldy."

Sam puts his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his palm. "Hmmm…his name is…Joseph Wannamaker. He's a Professor of Fine Arts by day, and an exotic dancer by night."

Dean laughs. "That's just wrong. Must be his night off."

Sam throws his head back and laughs.

A minute later, the waitress returns. After collecting their empty plates, she places a piece of paper down in front of Sam. "From Jade, at the bar." With that, she turns and leaves.

Sam looks at the paper and then turns it over. 'I get off in an hour, if you want to do something. Or you can give me a call: 5552041. Choice is yours. Jade.'

Dean leans over and reads the note upside down. "Dude, I'm begging you, go for it. You need to unwind in a big way. And there's no better way."

Sam reads the note again, and then looks over to the bar. He watches 'Jade' as she talks to a customer while pouring his drink.

Dean busts into his thoughts, again. "She's real cute, too," he says, in encouragement.

Sam looks back to Dean. "I dunno."

Dean's eyes widen. "What's to think about, Sam? You go up to the bar, introduce yourself, ask her out, and enjoy each other's company."

"I'm a little drunk, Dean. Scratch that; a lot drunk."

"You know as well as I do that you'd treat a woman better when you're drunk than a lot of men would if they were sober."

"Wow, you really wanna pimp me off, don't ya," he says with a goofy smile.

Dean rolls his eyes. "I'm not pimping you off, drama queen, I'm encouraging you to have a little not-so-wholesome fun." What I really want, Sammy, is for you to turn her down and admit that you don't want her, you want me. Me. Your big brother, who wants to protect you AND fuck you. I am so going to the special Hell.

Sam thinks about it for another few seconds, and then gets up. When he stands, he realises just how much he's had to drink, and he slowly makes his way to the bar.

Jade walks down the length of the bar to serve another customer. As she passes Sam, she smiles and says, "I'll be with you in a moment." Two minutes later, she returns and stands in front of Sam. "Hi."

"Hi. Jade, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks. Uh, thanks for the note."

She smiles and shrugs. "The offer's there, if you want."

"Well, normally, I'd want, but I've had way too much to drink tonight," he says with a small laugh, "so I wouldn't be a very good date. Can I keep your number, though?"

Jade smiles. "Sure."

"Okay. I'll let you get back to work."

"Before you leave…"

Sam, who was turning away, stops and turns back to her. "Yeah?"

"What's your name?"

He smiles. "It's Sam."

"Okay. Might talk to you sometime, Sam," she says, as another customer calls out to get her attention. She gives Sam a smile over her shoulder and gets back to work.

Dean watches Sam walk back over to their booth, and is immediately flooded with both disappointment and relief. He allows himself a soft sigh. I need to get laid, and soon.

Sam slides back into the booth and leans back. "Come on, out with it."

"Out with what?"

"The 'Sam-you-won't-let-yourself-have-any-fun' lecture."

Dean shrugs. "You're a big boy. It was just a suggestion. You wanna go?"


As they walk back to the motel, Sam really feels the effects of the alcohol. "Nothin' like a little fresh air to tell you exactly how drunk you are."

Dean smirks. "How drunk are you?"

"Well, I can find my ass with both hands."

Laughing, Dean asks another question. "If you weren't drunk, would you have gone out with Jade?"

Sam looks sidelong at Dean. "No."

"Why not?"

Sam shrugs. "Dunno. Guess I just wasn't interested." Don't push it, Dean, 'cause I can't tell you that I want you, not her.

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, I can't blame you. Why would you be interested in having fun with a hot woman who asked you out? Right?"

Rolling his eyes, Sam should've known Dean wouldn't let it drop so easily. "Can we change the subject?" Sam asks, wearily. He stops, then, closes his eyes, and tilts his head back, trying to clear his head. Nope, didn't think that would work.

Dean stops and looks at his drunk little brother, a smile forming on his lips. "Tell me what you said to Jessica that was so dirty."

Sam looks at Dean. "What?" He says, surprised.

"You wanted me to change the subject," Dean answers. "Plus, I still can't imagine you talking dirty."

Sam smiles despite himself, and walks past Dean.

After several seconds of silence, Dean says, "Yeah, thought so."

Sam stops again and turns to Dean. "It's kinda personal, Dean."

"Yeah, okay," comes the taunting reply from his big brother.

Sam knows Dean is baiting him but he still bites, suddenly a little annoyed. "What do you wanna hear, Dean?" He says, agitated, speaking louder than necessary. "That she loved it when I told her how to suck my cock? The amount of times we had phone sex? Or would you like me to be more specific?" Sam's voice lowers slightly. "I remember one night when we'd both had one too many to drink, I whispered in her ear, 'I want you on your hands and knees so I can fuck your tight pussy, and then fuck your even tighter ass'. The thing is, though, when I fucked her ass, I was always thinking of someone else." Sam lowers his eyes, and his voice drops further as he realises he's said too much, but he feels the need to add, "I felt guilty about that, but I couldn't stop." Now that Sam has run out of steam, he turns and walks off.

Dean is left standing in the same spot, dazed by Sam's outburst. He doesn't know what to process first. Then, as he watches Sam increase the distance between them, his feet unfreeze, and he jogs to catch up. "Sam." When Sam doesn't stop, or even slow down, Dean grabs his arm, and pulls his brother's body around to face him. "Sam," he says again.

Sam can hear the concern in Dean's voice, and gives in, sighing. "Dean, let it go, alright?" He says, wearily. "You baited me, and I let loose. It's just the alcohol talking."

Dean searches for something to say. "Sorry if I made you bring up stuff that you didn't want to."

No eye contact and a shrug of Sam's shoulders tell Dean that his little brother doesn't hate him for forcing the issue. Then, further confirmation. "It's okay. It doesn't hurt so much anymore."

By unspoken agreement, they both turn and walk most of the way back to the motel in silence.

When the motel is in sight, Dean dips his toe in the water to test the temperature. "Did you really say and do all those things with Jessica?"

Sam looks down. "Yeah. Any chance you'll let me live any of it down?"

Dean pretends to think about it. "Possibly. Until I need ammunition again, and then it's open season, Daffy."

Sam smiles, unable to stop himself. "I did run off at the mouth a little. I think this is partly the reason I don't usually drink this much. Just try to forget most of what I said."

"I dunno, Sammy, that's a pretty tall order. I'll tell you one thing, I won't tease you about talking dirty again. Sounds like you can hold your own."

"High praise," Sam says, wryly.

"Sam," Dean says, walking around in front of Sam to make him stop. "Seriously, who were you thinking of when you were…well, with Jessica?"

Sam's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "Uh, no one."

Dean gives him a 'this is me, Sammy' look.

Sam looks away from Dean's face, and suddenly finds the road's line markings very interesting under his feet. "I can't say," he goes so far to admit. "You wouldn't understand."

Oh God, if that only meant what I hoped it did. Dean ventures further toward the deep end. "Is it a man?" He asks softly.

Sam looks up at Dean. "Why would you assume it was a man?"

"Well, you kinda hinted at it."

Sam looks at Dean, and then immediately turns away, thinking he sees disappointment in his expression. When Dean says his name again, he looks back at him, and only sees concern. He takes a moment to answer. "Yeah," he says, finally, very softly.

Dean nods slightly. "Someone at Stanford?" He asks, still hoping against hope. Hoping what? That he says no, and he means me…which means totally abusing my job as protector and big brother? Or hoping he says yes, which forces me to try and let go of – or at least bury – these feelings?

"No." Knowing that the conversation is getting a little too close for comfort, Sam walks ahead of Dean and makes it to the motel first, distancing himself physically and emotionally; or trying to.

Dean misreads Sam's actions. "I'm not judging you, Sammy," he says when he has reached the door. "God, I'm the last person…" The rest of the sentence dies a quick death. Shit. Please leave that comment alone, Sam.

Sam looks up with a frown. "You're the last person, what?" Then, his eyes widen. "Dean? Do you mean…have you ever…been with a man?"

"No," Dean says adamantly. Damnit, he's trying to read my face. "Can we go inside?"

Sam steps aside and lets Dean open the door. He anticipates Dean's next move – he always heads for the shower if he's trying to get away from a conversation – and positions himself in front of the bathroom door, leaning on the doorframe. "Have you ever wanted to?"

With his escape route blocked, Dean takes his jacket off and sits on the end of his bed. "Wanted to what?" He asks, trying to buy some time.

"Have you ever wanted to be with a man? I was honest with you, Dean; do me the same courtesy."

"What difference does it make?" He says, irritably.

"I'll take that as a yes. Anyone I know?"

Dean sighs. "Sam," he says, showing his waning patience in that one word.

"Just get it out; you'll feel better."

"No, I won't. Plus, you didn't tell me who you were thinking of. Quid pro quo, little brother."

"You don't wanna know."

"Well, neither do you. Wait. Why don't I wanna know?"

Sam's eyes drop to the grey carpet. He knows he can't answer that question and keep the secret, so he pushes off the doorframe and disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door gently. Hopefully, that will end the conversation.

Dean is left looking at the closed door, trying to steer his brain in a logical direction. Wishful thinking, Dean, he says to himself. Heaving a weary sigh, he reaches for the remote and turns on the TV, flicking past re-runs, ads, and a war documentary. Dean finally settles on a familiar movie and drops the remote beside him.

Sam sits on the side of the bath, arms resting on his thighs, and stares at the tiny green and white tiles. He is torn between wanting to tell Dean how he feels, and taking his secret to the grave. His feelings weigh heavier and heavier with time, and part of him just wants the secret out. Maybe…no, no maybe, stupid. If I tell him, he'll be disgusted, and he'll never look at me the same way. Then he'll leave, and I might never see him again. He sighs. To the grave it is, then. Covering his tracks, Sam reaches over and flushes the toilet, and then turns the tap in the sink (it's a small bathroom, and he's a big man) to run the water for a few seconds. Taking deep breaths and schooling his features to an acceptable 'everything's fine' expression – according to the bathroom mirror, at least – he gets to his feet and opens the door.

When he hears the door open, Dean looks up from the TV. He doesn't say anything; just watches Sam walk over to his bed and sit on the mattress.

Sam smiles as he recognises the movie. "They just found Ray," he says, arranging his pillows against the wall and getting comfortable.


They both watch in silence, until Gordie pulls the gun on Ace. Then, as one, Sam and Dean glance at each other with a smile, and look back to the TV. A minute later, they quote together, "Suck my fat one you cheap dime store hood."

Another minute later, Dean – always taking the character of Chris - quotes, "Suck my fat one? Whoever told you you had a fat one, Lachance?"

Sam answers. "Biggest one in four counties."

They both chuckle and, suddenly, the mood is lighter in the motel room.


When the movie's credits roll, Dean looks over to Sam, lying on his bed, with his head propped up on two pillows. "How you feelin'?"

Sam turns his head. "Like I'm gonna have a helluva hangover in the morning. You?"

Dean smiles. "Like I'll be joining you. Which reminds me," he adds, getting off the bed and rummaging around in his duffel. "Have you got the med kit?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Might as well get the painkillers out now, in anticipation," he says, walking over to Sam's bag.

Sam watches Dean squat down and pull his clothes out. "Hey, stop pulling everything out. Unless you want the job of repacking."

"Don't be such a girl, Samantha," Dean taunts. Suddenly, he has a hundred and ninety pounds on top of him as Sam tackles him. "What the…"

Sam only intended to push Dean away from his bag but, in the process, their legs become entangled, which gives Dean a slight advantage in their current position.

Never one to let an opportunity slip by, Dean pushes Sam fully on his back, grabs his flailing arms and pins them by his side. At the same time, he throws his leg over Sam and straddles his thighs, beaming triumphantly down at his trapped little brother.

Sam struggles to free himself, but he's got no leverage; he'll only get free when Dean lets go. "Dean, let me go," He says, with an equal measure of annoyance and desperation.

"Not yet. Now that I have your undivided attention, I want an answer to my question, before."

"What? What question?" Oh please, God, no, don't go there, Dean.

"Who was the man you would think of when you were with Jessica?"

"Damnit, Dean. I'm not telling you, so just let me up."

"Not gonna happen. Tell me, and I'll let you go."

"Not gonna happen," Sam parrots back, defiant.

Dean slowly leans closer to Sam's face and speaks seriously. "Tell me. I'm not judging you, Sammy; not at all."

The effect of having Dean straddling him, and the delicious weight pushing down on him, not to mention his face and breath so close, causes a familiar – and horrifying – reaction in his groin, and he turns his head to the side, unable to do anything else.

Dean starts to sit up, and then stops, taken by surprise as he feels Sam's hardness against his abdomen, through layers of denim and cotton. He stares as Sam turns his head to the side, and notices that Sam's expression is more than just embarrassment. That single act sends his head reeling. "Sam…was it…was it me?"

Sam closes his eyes, consumed with shame. "Dean," he says pitifully, "please get off me."

"No," Dean says softly. "Answer the question."

With his hands trapped as they are, Sam is unable to wipe away a tear that traitorously escapes and trails down to disappear into the carpet. He turns his head further to try and hide it from Dean but Dean's pretty observant, and it isn't missed.


Sam scoffs, partly at himself, and partly at Dean. "How can you want to still call me that, now you know?"

"Well," Dean starts, trying to help Sam with a little humour, "you haven't verbally confirmed it yet, so you'll have to spell it out for me, college boy."

"You know; you're just trying to crucify me."

"No. I need you to say the words, Sam. This isn't something I want to assume I know. Tell me and we'll be okay," Dean says, gently.

Sam turns his head to look directly into Dean's concerned eyes. "How can we be okay? You find out that I want you in a very non-brotherly way, and you think we're gonna be okay?"

"Okay, now it's confirmed." Dean sits up and releases Sam's arms.

Suddenly, although his arms and torso are free from restraint, Sam doesn't have the strength to move. The damage is done.

"How long have you wanted me?"

"Oh God, kill me now," Sam mutters.

"I need to know, Sam."

Sam sighs heavily and closes his eyes, defeated. "Since I was seventeen." Opening his eyes again, Sam can't help but search Dean's face for a clue to how he's taking it. "Look, Dean, if you can't be around me anymore, just say so, and I'll understand. But I don't wanna leave. We can just pretend this never happened, and I'll never try anything. I promise."

Dean watches Sam's face, and sees the desperation to make everything alright. "Sorry, Sam, but that doesn't work for me." When Sam's expression changes to one of fear, Dean hurries on. "You're not going anywhere. It's you and me against the world, Sammy. That's the only way we work. And I can't pretend this never happened. Not when it's what I've dreamed of hearing for the last nine years."

Sam's eyes widen dramatically. "What?" He says, unable to keep a tinge of hope from creeping into that word.

Bracing his weight on his arms, either side of Sam, Dean leans down again, close to Sam's ear. "I want you, too, Sammy," he whispers. He pulls back a little to see Sam's reaction.

Sam's first reaction is wariness. "If you're fucking with me, I swear to God, Dean…" He stops when Dean shakes his head, totally serious.

Dean lifts himself off Sam and sits back against the bed as Sam sits up. "I'm sick of ignoring and burying my feelings," he says wearily. "I never would've been able to do it indefinitely, anyway; I would've snapped at some point. At the same time, I couldn't tell you 'cause I thought I was the only sick puppy in this family", he adds with a weak smile, "and I couldn't have you hate me."

"Wow, that sounds familiar," Sam answers, wryly, still trying to process this information. Looking at Dean, he finds his admission difficult to process. "Really?" He asks, still waiting for the punch line.

Dean smiles. "Really." Then, looking down as Sam flexes and stretches his hands a couple of times, Dean frowns. "You're shaking," he says, unnecessarily.

Sam shrugs, self-consciously. "I've never wanted anything more in my life, and I think I just got it, so…"

"You got it," Dean confirms. "You got me."

Those words bring a temporary silence, and they are both caught between not being able to look at each other and not being able to look away.

"So, what now?" Sam finally asks, his heart beating hard with the anticipation.

Dean replies with a shrug. He does know, but he's also aware of how big that first step is.

Sam realises that he will have to make the first move. Dean has come a long way by just admitting his feelings; if he made the first move, however, the protective big brother in him would see it as wrong, and he'd see all of this as his doing. Sam moves to kneel in front of Dean's crossed legs, and rests his hands on Dean's denim-clad thighs.

Dean looks up at Sam and finds his feelings mirrored in Sam's expression. Suddenly, he can't get enough air, and he takes deep breaths. "God, Sam, my heart's about to jump outta my chest," he says, a little raggedly.

Sam smiles. "Join the club," he says, leaning in and licking his lips, just before pressing them against Dean's. The kiss is slow, experimental, and tentative, and neither want to pull away first. When Sam takes the initiative and breaks the kiss, he starts to pull back, until Dean stops him with a hand against the back of his head.

"Uh-uh," Dean says, softly, and leans in to take Sam's lips again. This time, Dean takes the lead and immediately deepens the kiss, wrapping his other arm around Sam's back and pulling him closer.

Sam is taken by surprise as he is pulled into Dean's embrace and, as a result, loses his balance, falling against him. In turn, the bed that Dean is leaning against gives way and suddenly moves back about a foot and a half, sending them both sprawling on the floor, Sam landing on top of Dean.

"You big oaf," Dean says with a laugh.

"We're both big oafs; the bed never stood a chance." Sam braces his hands on the floor, either side of Dean, and levers himself up. Kneeling over Dean's legs, he holds his hand out and Dean takes it.

"Maybe," Dean says, sitting up, "if we get on the bed, we wouldn't have this problem."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Are you propositioning me, big brother?" He asks with a smile.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know what the hell I'm doing," he answers, suddenly feeling all his uncertainty flooding back. Standing up to sit on the bed, Dean starts to rub his hands up and down his thighs, trying to expel some of his nervous tension.

Sam sees Dean's conflict and moves to sit next to him, turning side on to look at him. "It's okay, Dean; neither of us know what the hell we're doing."

Dean smiles, wryly. "I don't know whether that makes me feel better or not."

Sam places his hand on top of Dean's, resting on his thigh, and Dean turns his head to look at him. "We don't have to go full throttle right away; we can take this real slow."

"Do you want to go slow?"

"Yes and no," Sam answers, honestly, with a small smile. "Although," he adds, "I think slow is best."

Dean nods. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, and looks down at his hands.

Sam stays quiet, recognising that Dean is silently arguing with himself, trying to fight the twenty-five years of conditioning and duty put on his shoulders, to go after what he wants. And if that isn't enough, the word 'brother' is, no doubt, currently screaming through Dean's brain.

Knowing that Dean is a physical person, and knowing that he will over-think the situation, and possibly talk himself out of this if Sam withdraws the physical contact, he moves his hand to rub across Dean's back, just below his shoulders.

Dean closes his eyes. "God, Sam. I…this…"

Sam interrupts him. "I want this more than anything, Dean, but I don't want to try and talk you into it. That's the last thing I want. So, the ball's in your court. If you want this…want me…then you'll have to make the next move." With that, Sam drops his hand and stands up.

Before Sam can walk away, Dean's hand wraps around his wrist and holds him there. "Don't go," he says quietly, looking up at Sam. "Sit." When Sam sits next to him again, Dean takes a breath and partly turns to face Sam. "Normally I'd say let's just wait 'til morning, 'til we're sober, but I think this discussion has sobered us already. I do want this, Sammy. I want you, and everyone else can take an express train to Hell for all I care. This is about you and me, no one else. Having said that," he adds, pausing for a moment, "this is some pretty dangerous territory. I don't want this to be the stupidest thing we've ever done."

"What are you scared of, Dean? Our relationship if this doesn't work out, or someone else finding out what we're doing?"

"Both, I guess, but I think we could handle any fallout if it doesn't work. So, I suppose, other people." Dean looks away, and then down at his hands.

"Who's gonna know if we don't tell them? We just need to learn to keep it private, and a couple of ground rules will fix that. Not even Bobby or Cas will know."

Dean takes a few moments to decide the inevitable, and Sam gives him that time. Then, looking up and turning to face Sam, he leans forward, grasps Sam's wrist to pull him closer, and gives his answer in the form of an unhurried kiss. Pulling back a minute later, he looks into Sam's smiling eyes and quirks an eyebrow. "So, just how slow is slow?"

The smile reaches Sam's mouth, then, and he shrugs. "I think we'll need to make up the rules as we go along." Sam looks down at the bed, and back to Dean, before moving to whisper in his ear. "Can I sleep next to you, tonight?" He asks, brushing his cheek lightly along Dean's stubble as he slowly sits back.

"I think I'd be offended if you didn't." Even as he's saying this, he gives Sam an appraising look.


Dean smiles. "I've wanted you for nine years, and four of those years we were apart. So, for five years, I've watched you, and thought how sexy you were; you were sexy without trying to be; without knowing you were doing it. And just now, when you whispered in my ear, you deliberately turned it on…and instantly turned me on." At Sam's pleased smile, he adds, "I think you might need to remind me a couple of times tonight that we're supposed to be going slow."

Sam grins and pushes Dean on his back, moving in between Dean's legs to get closer. "I think we'll need to remind each other," he says, pinning Dean's arms to the mattress and pressing his weight down on top of him. "Oh, and by the way, those times that I was being sexy without knowing it…well, sometimes, I was being deliberate; and only for your benefit. Sometimes, you'd look at me a certain way and I'd swear, just for a moment, that you felt the same way, but then your expression would change and I'd go back to feeling like it was my imagination. So, I'd wear a little less around the motel room, or I'd sit a little closer than necessary. All to see if I was still imagining things."

"I guess I hid it better than I thought. Oh, and if my arms were free right now, I'd be punching you for torturing me."

"Hey, you weren't the only one being tortured, you know."

"Yeah," Dean replies, seriously. "We wasted a lot of time, Sammy."

Sam nods. "No more." With that, he releases Dean's arms and, as Dean reaches up to push Sam's hair back from his face, Sam braces his weight on his arms, resting either side of Dean's chest.

"Get in here," Dean says, tilting his head to the other side of the bed.