Dean’s always known how to want, but he’s never quite gotten the hang of how to need, and it’s the in between that’s killing them, caught someplace Sam’s not sure they’re ever going to get out of. He remembers the first time they kissed, running high on adrenaline, all dilated pupils and unsteady hands, and Sam thinks, sometimes, that they ought to have been more careful, ought to have found a better place to put down roots and latch on.
And while I'm at it:
Dean comes out to get him twenty minutes later, still dripping wet from his shower, wearing Sam’s brown hoodie and, from what Sam can tell, pretty much nothing else. He jerks open the back door of the Impala.
“Stop being so uptight and come play with my boobs, bitch,” Dean says, and tackles him.
Both of these are wonderful and I'm so happy setissma is writing Supernatural.
Please leave her oodles of feedback.