Title: What's Goin' On, Man?

Author: D.R. Ward

Age: 14

Date: 9-16-13

Summery: Dean had caught Sam acting strange for a while now. At first, he thought he could just brush it off and give Sam some privacy, but wherever he went he found that Sam was leaving in the wee hours of the morning for something uncanny. But...What was it, again? God, was he determined to find out. And well, as he did...Dean Winchester realized it was the best fucking mistake he had ever tumbling upon in his entire damned life.

What's Goin' On, Man?

Drabble.

~oOo~

Third Person POV

Dean wasn't sure if he should believe his eyes at that very moment. There, of course, once was a time that the twenty-six year old Winchester was able to trust his eyes with anything and everything around him - supernatural or not - but this was certainly not the time to actually believe what he was seeing before him. Because if he did, by any chance, trust and believe what he was seeing, he would be so turned on right now he would've been shocked if he didn't pop out of his pants right at this moment and jump his little brother right then and there.

See, normal people thought tall guys were clumsy and not all in sync with their limbs, and Dean would have also thought so had not the factor of watching Sammy hunt like he did. He still did think so - after all, it must've been some trick from Gabriel, that Angel - and he would most certainly slaughter that Trickster as soon as he had gotten out of this stupid, wretched dream he was forced to stand in the middle of.

Although, Dean was just blaming it on people now. That was only because he was very much sure that he was in real life and what he was seeing before his eyes was definitely not able to be conjured by anything other than his own very eyes at this very moment. In the beginning, Dean had been terrified that his little brother was hiding another demon under his arms; after all, he had been leaving early and coming back not until mid-day all sweaty and looking like he just took a couple of rounds with a werewolf. Dean just didn't know what was going on, but he always needed to find out if Sam was in trouble.

Now, don't get him wrong, he was totally cool with the fact that Sam was alright, but...

Hot damn he was just freaking intoxicating.

Dean didn't care all too much when he realized that Sam had been going to the nearest gym every morning on this case to work out - hell, he had been prepared to turn around right then and there if it wasn't for...well...there wasn't really any way to explain it other than...

Sam was dancing.

It was professional. It was languid. It was...whatever words Sammy probably had stored in his geeky mind for the series of words that followed: beautiful, artistic, deep, emotional, whatever it was, Dean couldn't explain it. And he was a very manly man. Butch, Sam would constantly say. But this...It was something unknown to mankind. Actually that was kind of just about their life, but that's not what he had meant at all. It was just, standing outside of the mirrored-in area meant for lessons and all of that good shit watching his brother, clad in nothing except a loose pair of sweatpants he had stolen from another family for the younger's eighteenth birthday and void of any shoes or shirt, was more than he was able to handle.

Ah, somehow, he managed to handle it though. Dean didn't want to impose on what he was seeing and drag his brother back to their hotel and make sweet, sweet love to him, so he just stood outside with his hands across his chest. When anyone asked why the hell he was peeping on this attractive man, he proceeded to tell them that that man was his lover as well as dancing partner, and was more or less checking up on his progress. It was probably one of the worst things he had ever lied about - and the most disgusting, but he didn't care just yet.

Sam, of course, didn't notice him. So he was content on watching.

It was common knowledge that usually a dancer - minus the fact that Dean was talking about Sam there - usually only took to one type of dance to master, and left the others to just sheer knowledge, but Little Sammy did everything he could think of. Natural hunting left Sam to be light on his feet; quick, agile, format-stricken and perfectly proportioned, so he flowed freely with every constant step and move and twist and turn. At first when Dean had watched, it was only small little warm-ups, a couple types of fast-beating songs Dean had never heard of, and then shit went down.

Literally.

Like, to the floor.

On any other day catching Sam dancing to 'Hips Don't Lie' by Shakira would have been most laughable, but, right now, it was just simply fucking sexy as living hell. It was like Sam didn't have limbs, like he couldn't harbor them, like his hips weren't joined to his spine, like his jaw wasn't angled in any specific way and sweet mother of all things holy, that ass wasn't from this world. Even his feet - they were manly yet so perfectly fucking sculptured that Dean had to bite back a furious moan of ecstasy that threatened to pour from his lips at every catch of movement that Dean would possess in his orbs of green fire. God, it was just like an ocean, warm yet so fucking cold, washing over him.

He was being such a girly, high-strung bitch. But Dean had to admit it to himself, he didn't care.

That wasn't the only thing Sammy would dance to, though. Next on that little CD playlist on the boom-box next to the right corner Sam would bend down just right to change the song, and then freaking BAM. Dean was sure he could feel the ground vibrate underneath him. He glanced around quickly, but no one else seemed to acknowledge the sudden change only because they were either used to it or they didn't care because a hot piece of ass was dancing in front of them like sex reincarnate, so, Dean didn't care either.

He turned back and Sam was a literal pool of double-jointed pops and rolls and whatever the hell else he was doing - and couldn't help but start to feel the beginnings of cold sweat forming alongside his shoulders.

Dean had a feeling he would more or less be there for a while.

So, Sammy had just finished his literal sex-dance-act-of-sexiness and Dean continued to stare inside the glass like the moment he had walked in. The back that Dean had been watching for the past hour was now covered by a clean cut camo V-neck, the sweatpants now just hanging low enough for Dean to see that extremely sexy outline of his spine, sheer with that of sweat, and, as Sammy turned to leave, that 'v' that lead to places that Dean was sure to be in in less than fifteen minutes on the dot. Maybe less. At first, Sam kept his head low and, as he wiped the sweat off his face with the small towel provided from the gym, proceeded to walk out of the glass room like nothing had happened.

That was, of course, the very moment that Samuel Winchester glanced up to meet the eyes of a very predatory-looking-incestual-boyfriend-brother. Shocked, the younger brother stood in front of the glass door, still opened only because he was frozen in the middle of the only way in. Dean, however, leaned back and kicked back his heel in a sexy, all knowing smirk that he was sure to be wearing the rest of the day, and possibly the night.

"So, Sammy, how long has this been going on?" Dean's lip twitched slightly higher when Sam shifted, closing the door behind him sheepishly. He loved when his little brother was nervous, it made him all giddy inside knowing that he had the power to make his brother act like he did. After all, Sammy wasn't a easy man to make nervous. Agitated and annoyed and pitifully kind, yes, but not nervous. So this was just like the icing on the cake to be able to do this to him.

"Long enough." Sammy said gruffly. He himself tried to act annoyed because his older brother had not only been spying on him, but had followed him to the gym and stayed for the whole performance. But in the end, even Sam felt a small smile crack on his face like he couldn't give two shits that Dean had followed him.

Dean's grin blew up into an even bigger proportion and now it overwhelmed his whole entire face, eloping it with noting but brightness and promise of sex. Sammy, of course, was never one to deny his brother of his feelings.

"I'm assuming you have cleaned out the back of your car?"

"Now that you mention it..." Dean crept in a little closer, ignoring the strange look the receptionist was giving the two of them. "Why don't we go take a shower? I'm sure you need one."

"Oh, hell yes."

It was safe to say 'Jeff Canbolt' and 'Maxwell Kingston' were never allowed into the tiny gym in little ol' Dyer, Indiana never, ever again.