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Sam’s been standing on the back porch for good fifteen minutes watching Dean work. The beers in his hand are drooling with condensation in the warm spring air and he knows he should probably open his mouth and offer his brother one but he can’t bring himself to interrupt the show just yet.
Bobby got a call two days ago from Rufus asking for help with a nest of vamps so it’s been just the two of them rambling around the big dusty house. They’d stopped by the salvage yard to check in on the old guy, father figures in the Winchester family being something of an endangered species. Also so that Dean could score a replacement part for somethingorother that was making a thunking noise in the belly of the Impala. Dean had explained it to him at length on the drive up but there’s only so much car maintenance-related trivia that Sam is prepared to digest in one lifetime. He’d already had his fill somewhere around the eighth grade, thanks very much.
Once Dean had fixed whatever was ailing his Baby he started in on one of the other hunks of metal that littered Bobby’s back lot just for the hell of it. He took to cars like Sam took to books, attacking them with enthusiasm and unraveling all the hidden secrets of their individual histories bit by bit. Sam knew they probably should have gotten back on the road already, tracked down a case, and figured out their next destination. The thing was, Dean so rarely got a chance to relax lately. Being elbow-deep in the guts of some brokedown junker with the hot sun baking engine grease into his skin wasn’t anywhere near Sam’s idea of relaxation, but he knew that for his gearhead brother it was his own personal nirvana. They’d been running full tilt for weeks now and they needed a break anyway. No harm in sticking put for a couple of days and letting Dean have his fun. Especially when it meant that Sam got to watch him in action like this.
In deference to the heat Dean had shucked off his t-shirt, putting the toned muscles of his back and shoulders on display as he hunched down beside the car. Sam admired the tattoo that stretched across the back of his brother’s shoulders. It had started with the anti-possession tat they’d both gotten on their chests. Dean had grumbled about it at first but once he realized how much the extra protection actually came in handy he regarded it with as much respect he did any other tool in their arsenal. Overtime he’d added more ink until his upper back was covered in intricate swirls of symbols and wards that Sam had helped him research, spanning centuries and continents and cultures that didn’t even exist anymore outside of Bobby’s ancient tomes. To the untrained eye it looked like a common tribal pattern, one that made Dean blend right in at the dive bars where he liked to hustle pool. Only he and Sam knew better.
At the moment though, the effect it was having on Sam had nothing to do with its supernatural significance. The design accentuated his brother’s broad shoulders and curved around the firm muscles of his biceps - as if Dean needed any help calling attention to how beautiful he was. Sam might have felt jealous once of all the many many women, and of the not insignificant number of men, who’s eyes were drawn in by the sight of Dean’s body, his smartass smirk, and his model-perfect face. It used to bother him more than he’d like to admit. Certainly more than he’d ever admit to Dean. But after everything they’d been through together in the past few years, Sam knew that no matter how much Dean encouraged the attention and flirted right on back, at the end of the day Dean would always come home to him.
"Are you gonna give me one of those beers you’re holding or are you planning on drinking both yourself?"
Sam startled a bit when Dean spoke, interrupting his thoughts from where they’d wandered to the sheen of sweat at the small of his brother’s back. He wondered how long Dean had known he was standing there leering at him like a creep. Probably the whole time. He never really turned off the hunter part of his brain no matter what he was doing or how drunk he was at the time. It was almost scary.
The smug tone of Dean’s voice triggered Sam’s stubborn little brother instincts in a near Pavlovian response. No matter whatever else they were to each other that would never change. “I’m thinking about it,” he tossed back easily.
Dean stood, wincing a little as his knee popped in the joint. He grabbed an oil rag off of the roof of the car and wiped his hands with it, mostly succeeding in just spreading the grease around rather than actually making a dent in the layer of grime he’d gotten himself covered in. He shoved the rag into his back pocket as he climbed the steps of the porch and wordlessly took the beer that Sam held out to him.
Sam watched Dean’s throat work as he swallowed down the tepid beer in big thirsty gulps. He thought about how pretty Dean’s lips looked wrapped around the mouth of the bottle and his cock gave an interested twitch.
"So how’s it coming along?" he asked, more for the sake of conversation than out of any real interest in the car. All he really wanted to know was how much longer he was going to have to wait to get Dean out of those jeans.
"It’s a pile of shit." Dean frowned, delivering the grim prognosis with a sigh of resignation. "The only way that thing is going to run again is if it got itself possessed by like a car demon or something."
"A car demon? Dean, there’s no such thing as a car demon."
"We’ve seen a lot of weird shit that I never would have thought was possible. It could happen." Dean shrugged, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. His eyes wandered up and down the length of Sam’s body, green fire gleaming wicked and wild in their depths as his gaze settled on the bulge in his brother’s pants. "I found a big ol’ Harley in Bobby’s shed the other day." He glanced up and met Sam’s eyes, licking his lips. A calculated tease that Sam had been falling for since he was fifteen. "Wanna go for a ride?"
Sam took a long swig of his beer, taking his time now just to toy with the tension that was buzzing between them. As if saying no to Dean was even an option he’d consider. When he was finished, he winged the half-empty bottle out over the yard in a wide arch. It smashed pleasantly against the ruins of an old clothes dryer.
Dean grinned in approval. Challenge accepted, he sent his own bottle flying after it. It exploded on impact about three inches above the mark left by Sam’s. Fucking showoff.
Sam rolled his eyes. He hooked a finger into the top of Dean’s jeans, gave them a short tug to get his attention back where it belonged. “Come on,” he said, pitching his voice low. A demand now, not a request. “Let’s go.”
Dean arched an eyebrow at his tone, a cocky glint in his eye. “Alright, bossy.”
Sam let go of him. “You know you love it,” he taunted. Ambling his way down the steps towards the shed, he could feel his brother’s gaze hot on his back.
The stairs creaked again not a second later, heavy boots thudding down after him.
Sam smiled to himself, knowing that Dean was going to throw his words back at him later right before he made him beg. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
~~~