(A/N): Sorry about the mess, I remodeled! Just went back through all the chapters and cleaned up a little with spelling and grammar errors I made years ago and fixed some comma splices and weird word choices. Sorry if anyone got like a million updates.~

Disclaimer: I only own Sam and Dean in my dreams…and what lovely dreams they are. ;D

Season 1, Episode 17: Hell House

Dean P.o.v.

I'm on cloud nine. We're working on a case, Sam's begrudgingly agreed to behave like children with this prank war—which I'm totally winning—and we're slowly easing back into this thing we have. We haven't done the horizontal tango yet, but the music's definitely started and we're headed to the dance floor. We've done plenty of other stuff, but for some reason the time hasn't been right to dive all the way back in...literally and figuratively. Taking it a little slower isn't usually my style, but it's definitely Sammy's, and for him, I'm willing to make it a slow burn.

We're at this diner with this totally awesome cackling thingamajig. I keep pulling the string just to watch Sam's eyes narrow. He's sexy when he's got a bit of a bitch face going on. I pull it again, just seconds after Sam reprimands me for the twentieth time.

"If you pull that string one more time, I'm gonna kill you." So I do.

"C'mon man, you need more laughter in your life, you know. You're way too tense." My tone may be innocent, but gaze is anything but brotherly. Sam catches the meaning immediately and nods to the bathroom. I sit back in my chair and give him a wink.

He heads off to the bathroom and a minute or so later I follow so as not to seem too suspicious. The moment I cross the threshold I'm pinned against the door. Sam's always been more of a rough-rider than anyone would ever give him credit for. His tongue is in my mouth before I can say or do anything. We both taste like beer, and it's wonderful. Sam's slowly grinding onto my leg as he maneuvers me over towards the sinks. It's fun for a while, letting him be in control, but of course he's always just waiting for me to turn the tables.

Never one for disappointment, I grab Sam by the back of the neck and shove him roughly backwards until he's sitting on the sink counter, jeans getting damp from the water splashes of the bathroom's previous occupants. I take a moment to look him over before I get too distracted. The fluorescent lights do nothing to dim the sharp angles of his face, nor do they diminish his eyes, pupils dilated despite the brightness of the room. I slant my mouth against his once more and kick the giant trashcan over to barricade the door against potential intruders. Sammy's moaning wantonly into my mouth after a few minutes, just the way I like him to. Pulling him out of the painful constriction of his jeans, he yells so loud I'm sure half the restaurant knows what's going on in here, but neither of us care. He's reaching for me and clinging onto my shirt, likely thinking the same as me: fuck all of these clothes. I stroke him just the way he likes it, slow and hard and then faster and faster until the strokes are in harmony with his panting breath fogging on the mirror. He releases one last cry before he comes, shooting so hard he even makes some of it into the toilet behind us.

"You're a rocket maaan..." I hum under my breath and Sam laughs breathlessly as he gives me a light smack. He tucks himself back into his jeans and splashes his face with water before making his exit. By tacit agreement I wait about five minutes before following after him. I practically swagger back to the table, reveling in the pleased look on Sam's face.

"See what'd I tell you Sammy? You just needed to relieve some tension." I remark, feeling rather pleased with myself as well, causing him to fall apart like that being one of my life-long joys. I take a celebratory swig of my beer and wink at Sam as my lips lewdly caress the bottle. His grin intensifies to shit-eating proportions and I'm slightly worried. I open my mouth to ask him what's so funny when I realize that my beer didn't stay where I put it...I stare at it ineffectually for a couple of seconds before it hits me. That sonofabitch.

"You didn't."

"Oh, I so did."

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