Thank you, Wendy!!
"Punk. Ass. Bitch," Dean growled as Sam shouldered open the door, a coffee in each hand. Sam let the door swing shut behind him and grinned.
"Have a nice shower?" Sam sniffed the air ostentatiously. "You sure smell . . ."
Dean chucked a shoe at his head. Sam ducked and bent to set the coffees out of the strike zone, finishing, " . . . powder fresh!"
"I smell like a goddamn diaper, you backstabbing prick!" Dean bellowed. Sam had refilled every one of the bottles in the bathroom with girly, baby-powder scented shampoo and soap and lotion. And then rigged a bottle of baby powder to dump itself on Dean when he turned the tap on to wash the shit off.
Sam grinned, and Dean chucked the other shoe, following it up with a grab at Sam's head. The wrestling match was hampered by the towel tucked tightly around Dean's waist, and Sam ended up on top, Dean's fists pinned over his head.
"But I don't mind that you smell like a girl," Sam murmured, holding Dean's fists with one massive hand and sliding the other under the T-shirt Dean had thrown on over the towel. He leaned in to sniff at Dean's neck.
"Bitch," Dean said, trying to buck Sam off.
"Jerk," Sam replied, following his nose up with his tongue on Dean's neck, and stroking the muscles across Dean's ribs as they tensed beneath the T-shirt. Dean bucked again, but there was a slightly different quality to the movement this time, and Sam chuckled and sat back, pulling Dean's T-shirt up with one hand as Dean started to sit up, too.
As it reached Dean's elbows, Sam gave it a couple of quick twists, trapping Dean's wrists in the cloth and bending him back to the floor. Sam chuckled again at Dean's inarticulate rage.
"Oh, we're not even yet, buddy." Sam tightened his long legs around Dean's thighs as he thrashed about on the floor. "The coffee?" Sam dragged light teeth across Dean's ear. "The pie?" He ran delicate fingers under Dean's pecs. "That vapid little bitch in Minnesota?" he pinched a nipple with his nails and Dean cried out.
"I was just messing with you, Sammy!" Dean scowled from beneath him.
Sam grinned. "I know," he said.
"Have a nice shower?" Sam sniffed the air ostentatiously. "You sure smell . . ."
Dean chucked a shoe at his head. Sam ducked and bent to set the coffees out of the strike zone, finishing, " . . . powder fresh!"
"I smell like a goddamn diaper, you backstabbing prick!" Dean bellowed. Sam had refilled every one of the bottles in the bathroom with girly, baby-powder scented shampoo and soap and lotion. And then rigged a bottle of baby powder to dump itself on Dean when he turned the tap on to wash the shit off.
Sam grinned, and Dean chucked the other shoe, following it up with a grab at Sam's head. The wrestling match was hampered by the towel tucked tightly around Dean's waist, and Sam ended up on top, Dean's fists pinned over his head.
"But I don't mind that you smell like a girl," Sam murmured, holding Dean's fists with one massive hand and sliding the other under the T-shirt Dean had thrown on over the towel. He leaned in to sniff at Dean's neck.
"Bitch," Dean said, trying to buck Sam off.
"Jerk," Sam replied, following his nose up with his tongue on Dean's neck, and stroking the muscles across Dean's ribs as they tensed beneath the T-shirt. Dean bucked again, but there was a slightly different quality to the movement this time, and Sam chuckled and sat back, pulling Dean's T-shirt up with one hand as Dean started to sit up, too.
As it reached Dean's elbows, Sam gave it a couple of quick twists, trapping Dean's wrists in the cloth and bending him back to the floor. Sam chuckled again at Dean's inarticulate rage.
"Oh, we're not even yet, buddy." Sam tightened his long legs around Dean's thighs as he thrashed about on the floor. "The coffee?" Sam dragged light teeth across Dean's ear. "The pie?" He ran delicate fingers under Dean's pecs. "That vapid little bitch in Minnesota?" he pinched a nipple with his nails and Dean cried out.
"I was just messing with you, Sammy!" Dean scowled from beneath him.
Sam grinned. "I know," he said.