They leaned against the side of the Impala, arms wrapped lazily around each other, drinking some well-deserved beer as the sun set over the reservoir.
Sam tipped his head down and inhaled the scent of Dean's shampoo, coconut and spice, reminding him of the summer they went on a hunt in San Clemente and Dad let them stay there for nearly a month afterward so he could let the vicious gash in his leg heal up.
Sam and Dean spent all day, every day at the beach, slathered in tanning oil that barely had any SPF factor at all, racing up and down in the sand, play-fighting until they were dusted in sand from head to toe, plunging into the water and swimming out, staggering back and collapsing on warm beach towels and letting the sun melt them into loose-limbed, sun-drunk creatures.
Back at the hotel, Dean would slap Sam's sunburned skin in front of Dad just to make him hiss through his teeth, then when Dad was deeply engrossed in research, Dean would gently rub Nivea onto Sam's reddened skin to soothe the sting.
They turned nut-brown that summer, and Dean's hair went surfer blond. Sam couldn't get enough of Dean (as if he ever could). Any chance they found to be alone for even a few seconds, they kissed like their lives depended on it. If they had the luxury of more than a few stolen moments, they slid hands slicked with tanning oil past elastic waistbands of their board shorts, and got each other off within minutes, sometimes seconds.
Sometimes they luxuriated in longer moments of privacy, like when Dad left them alone in the motel to take a slow walk and work out his hurt leg. Sam would drop to his knees before Dean, his face lit up like this was the only church he ever cared to attend, and worship his brother's sun-kissed body, saying prayers with his breath, tongue and fingers.
That summer, the scent of coconut mixed with Dean's own inexpressibly intoxicating scent and became forever mingled in Sam's mind with vivid sense memories of all the ways they coaxed sounds of pleasure and whispers of love from each other.
So when Sam leaned over and inhaled the scent of coconut in his brother's hair, he let out a soft, low sound and pulled Dean closer.
Dean pressed his mouth, a phantom whisper of that summer, to the hollow of Sam's throat.
"You think I bought that stuff by accident? Me too, Sammy. Me too."