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Summary
He pressed a kiss to Sam’s open, giggling lips as Sam tried to turn away, flip Dean off of him; he had one leg already out to dismount when he stopped, posting with a quirked-up eyebrow.
“Dude, are you hard?”
“No I’m—Dean, get off me—” Sam squirmed, ditching the last third of a beer to more effectively—frantically—fight out from under the weight. He knew he was fucked when he saw the flare of glee behind Dean’s eyes, and Dean’s kicked-out knee straightened to prevent his hips from turning.