"Christ, Sam. What the hell did you do?" Dean strode out of the bathroom, towel tucked in at his waist.
Sam was sprawled on the linoleum floor of the motel's kitchenette, the large bottle of gun oil spilled all over his shorts. "Chair broke."
Sam peeled his shorts off gingerly. "God. It's all over me. Gross."
Dean's eyes widened. "You got a thing for cleaning guns, Sammy? Or just me wearing nothing but a towel?" Sam realized Dean was staring shamelessly at his massive erection, and blushed, turning his head away.
Dean forced his gaze elsewhere than on his smoking-hot little brother's gorgeous, gleaming cock, and went to walk past Sam, but his bare foot slipped on a streak of gun oil, and down he went, towel flying.
Down he went. Right on top of his naked brother.
His cock pressing against Sam's oil-slick erection.
An involuntary groan punched out of Sam, and it had nothing to do with pain. He stared at Dean. Waiting to see what Dean would do.
Dean went from flaccid to battering ram in what felt like (but was actually quite a bit longer than) 0.3 seconds, is what Dean did.
"Oops." Dean rocked his hips forward, sliding his cock against Sam's, that fuckable mouth that Sam had eyed with illicit intent for so many years parting, his tongue darting out to swipe across his lower lip. "Clumsy me."