A/N: These are a series of One Shots written and posted separately by the individuals of The Objectifying Dean Team as ffnet doesn't allow joint posts. Check out entries from lostatc, Bird2K, DeansBabyBird and Katricrush.
Pipe Dreams, by Katricrush
A construction site in mid-August was a month spent in Hell, where the temperatures often soared well beyond 100º outside in the open air, and where the building's inside temperatures reached well past 120º…Hell. It was Hell and that was the only way to describe it.
By lunchtime, Dean's t-shirt was drenched from his sweat, and dirty from the pipe-threading job he'd been performing all morning. Although slightly cooled by his break, he knew it was a temporary reprieve and that the afternoon's temperatures would be even higher.
Reaching the 17th floor, Dean picked up his toolbelt and buckled it low on his hips. Adjusting the tools within the pouch for ease of extraction, he moved the hanging tools held on the belt itself, so that the whole thing balanced on his hips comfortably. The sweat was already dripping from his temples, down his strong jawline, and landing on his shoulders and shirt front. Sighing, he reached for the bottom of his t-shirt where it clung to his sweat-slicked skin.
Forming itself to every muscular plane and valley of his Adonis-like physique, the t-shirt fought its removal at every point on his stomach, his chest and his back. Peeling it off was the best way to describe the battle Dean fought to free himself, and it had become an everyday struggle for him these days.
Pulling the shirt over his toned, flat stomach, it proved difficult to loosen it from his strong lower back muscles. Finally, having freed himself to this point, he had to retighten his grip for the even more difficult transition of pulling it up and over his well-defined chest, as the shirt this time, refused to budge from the inverted, muscular V of his back. One last yank, and it was up and over his head, only to catch on the muscles of his biceps and triceps, which, having been put through their paces, left their own stamp of uncooperation on the process. They'd contracted and bunched up enough that the seams of both shirt sleeves had split, ruining the shirt in the process.
Sighing again, Dean could only throw the offending shirt on the floor as he had done every other day, and he wondered how many more t-shirts he'd be losing to this job before his work here was done. Resetting his toolbelt, he walked to the pile of 10' threaded pipe. Bending down, every muscle from his shoulders through his back and to his thighs, contracted and pulled at the same exact moment as he took in a deep breath, released it and flexed. He lifted the large, heavy length of pipe and placing it on top of his shoulder, it balanced there, as he began the hot, hard work of the afternoon.