Title: Next Time, Don't Get the Large
Author: Kitana
Warnings: None. Sam/Dean. It makes Sam's hands twitch, the need to smooth his hands over Dean's flat belly. Written for the spnkink_meme prompt, belly!kink.

***

Sam isn't sure when he really started to pay attention to it, but now that he's attuned to it, he can't help but notice every time Dean's stomach comes into view. Dean's belly distracts him at the most inopportune of times, such as when they are in the Impala and Dean idly scratches himself while driving; or during a hunt, when the bottom of Dean's shirt gets snagged on a steel chain link fence and rips halfway up the seam. Most distracting for Sam are the times where Dean is fresh out of the motel shower, nothing but a towel slung around his waist as he roots around in his duffel bag for relatively clean clothes.

It makes Sam's hands twitch, the need to smooth his hands over Dean's flat belly. Dean doesn't receive idle touch well, much to Sam's chagrin; it's only when they're in the midst of fucking each other into a wall that Dean gets anywhere in the same zip code as touchy-feely.

Nevertheless, he gets his chance when he and Dean pull into a shoddy motel outside of Ypsilanti, MI and Dean is nearly doubled over with sick from a bad bowl of chili fries with extra cheese, ketchup, and unsurprisingly, salmonella. Dean moans miserably as he flops on his back on the nearest bed, holding his slightly bloated stomach.

"Never again, God, I swear. I'll never eat another chili fry as long as I live," Dean mutters pathetically.

Sam can't help but give Dean a look that is both pitying and genuinely amused. "Told you all that grease would come back and bite you in the ass some day."

"Ugh. Shut up, Sam," Dean responds, but there isn't any heat behind his words. Dean is, for the most part, too sick feeling to put much energy into anything, let alone into trying to get Sam off of his back.

Sam just ignores him as he shakes salt over the windows and the doors of the motel. Such precautions are even more important when one of them is six seconds from spilling their guts all over the carpeted floor. When he's done, and pretty well sure nothing untoward is getting in, Sam comes to sit beside Dean, who groans when the bed dips with Sam's weight.

"Want me to get you something?" Sam asks, and Dean simply shakes his head.

"I just gotta wait it out, as much as that sucks."

"If you say so."

Sam shrugs and leans over to grab the TV remote. Dean makes another miserable noise when Sam lies beside him on the bed, which jostles Dean's terribly annoyed stomach.

"You done moving?" Dean says irritably, and Sam sighs and flicks on the TV in favour of responding to Dean.

An hour later, Dean's finally stopped his litany of curses and gone quiet about the whole thing. Dean isn't sleeping, but his eyes are closed and his hands are resting against his stomach, buried beneath the thin undershirt he wears. Sam watches Dean idly stroke his stomach with his fingertips, trying to soothe himself. Everything in Dean's belly is probably going to have to come up soon, Sam knows, and the sooner it does, the less sick and agitated Dean will be.

Sam watches Dean's fingers for a few moments longer, before he scoots closer to Dean and places his hand on top of Dean's. Dean goes perfectly still, but Sam doesn't move his hand. Dean turns his head towards Sam and cracks an eye open. He flinches a little, startled by Sam's close proximity.

"Sammy?" Dean says, his voice a bit raspy from not having drank anything in a while.

Sam pushes Dean's hands away from his stomach and presses his palm to the firm skin there. "Relax," Sam replies, smoothing his hand over Dean's stomach in a circular motion.

Dean is prepared to say something along the lines of 'Sam, I'm not five, hell, I'm older than you' but he stops short. Sam's hand is warm and the pressure on his stomach is light, but steady, and Dean can feel his stomach settling down, just a little bit. Dean's stomach has been churning and cramping non-stop since they left Kalamazoo, but now, with Sam slowly kneading, the pain is finally starting to abate.

"Still hurts?" Sam says after a while.

"Not so much," Dean replies. When Sam starts pulling his hand away, thinking that his chance has come and gone, Dean reaches and steadies Sam's hand. "Keep doing that."

So Sam does. Dean closes his eyes again, letting Sam's touch lull him into a not-quite-asleep limbo state. Of course it would take sickness for Dean to let Sam touch him in a way that isn't titillating, but Sam will take what he can get for now. Dean doesn't stir as Sam slides down the bed and rests his face against Dean's stomach, draping his arm over Dean's hips.

Sam can hear the burble of Dean's stomach as it works to purge the chili cheese fries of evil from Dean's system. It shouldn't be as calming sound as it is to Sam, but is, and Sam is perfectly okay with drifting off this way. So he does.

Until Dean practically throws Sam off of the bed to scramble to the bathroom and empty his stomach into the sink (because it came first, stupidly enough).

So much for that, Sam thinks with a smile.