(A/N: This is a sequel to a fic called "Here we stand or here we fall, history won't care at all" which is unsuitable for this site as it contains graphic M/M sex and some underage and also incest. This sequel contains no explicit material.
For the other fic, go to my livejournal via the link on my profile and it is in the very first post.)
The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly. Sam could feel the sweat gathering on his brow even as he stood in the shade, watching Dean push the lawn mower back and forth across the unkempt lawn.
Should do this more often, Sam though absently. He smiled to himself, not even sure whether he was thinking that for the sake of the lawn or for the way the muscles on Dean's back slid smoothly under his sweat glistening skin.
Dean glanced up, caught Sam's gaze and smiled wickedly, as if he could hear Sam's thoughts. He let the lawn mower idle for a moment and stretched, his worn, loose jeans sliding lower on his hips.
Sam swallowed but couldn't look away from the trail of dark hair that disappeared underneath the faded material.
Dean smirked and then mimed drinking from a cup.
Sam stared stupidly at him for a moment then turned and ran up the uneven steps that lead into the small kitchen. It was a relief to be inside, out of the glare of the afternoon sun, and the smouldering looks from Dean.
Sam filled the glass slowly, listening as the mower grew alternately louder and softer as Dean pushed it along.
When he appeared outside the door Dean looked up and let the mower idle again before walking over and taking the glass from Sam. He tipped it up, eyes locked on Sam's and several tendrils of water escaped his mouth and trickled down his chin, dripping onto his bare chest.
Sam swallowed hard again, eyes glued to the trails of water, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and lick each and every drop from that smooth tanned flesh. Imagined what that skin would taste like the salty sweet tang of sweat and Dean.
Sam was about to lean forward and do just that when Dean smirked and shoved the glass back into Sam's hand. He sauntered back to the mower, seemingly unaware – or all too aware – of the way Sam tracked his every movement. The small slip-slide of jeans on his hips, alternatively revealing and then tantalisingly covering small amounts of skin.
Sam tore his eyes away, Dean was enjoying every moment of this and his eyes were sparkling with amusement as he turned the mower back on high and walked on.
Sam climbed back up the steps into the relative safety of the kitchen. After a few minutes he heard the mower splutter and die and footsteps on the stairs.
He resolutely faced the window over the sink, not showing any sign he knew Dean had entered the room, letting water run to fill the sink for washing up.
He congratulated himself when he didn't even flinch when Dean's hands settled on his hips, and warm lips pressed against his shoulder.
"We should do this more often." Dean murmured, echoing Sam's earlier thought. "We can't keep letting it get into such a mess." Sam could feel Dean's lips curve into a smile.
He couldn't stop his own mouth lifting and he turned so he faced Dean, one hand sliding around Dean's neck, slick with sweat, dampening the ends of his short hair.
"We should." Sam agreed and leaned forward.