Stakes
There’s a stack of poker chips piled high in front of Dean, a slightly smaller one in front of Sam. They were almost tapped out before getting in this game but when it’s just the two of them left at the table it’s not about the money.
Dean stares at Sam in challenge, tongue running along his parted lips. Sam’s poker face doesn’t betray the fact that his jeans are straining ‘til they’re about to split.
“Call.”
Dean’s hand is good. Sam’s is better.
“Loser has to blow the winner, jerk.”
Dean grins. “Loser gets to blow the winner, bitch.”