Sam turns his head from the TV to Dean, and is instantly mesmerised by his erotic movements. Well, erotic to a man who is in lust (as well as in love) with his brother. He watches as Dean inserts the cleaning brush into the barrel and strokes it in and out with practiced efficiency, twisting every few strokes to ensure every inch is clean. He then pulls it out and picks up the cleaning cloth and oil. Squeezing the liquid over the cloth, he proceeds to — almost lovingly - polish every surface of the cold metal. It's strangely intimate.
"I thought the metaphor was 'polishing the rocket', but 'polishing the gun barrel' works too," he says, grinning at Dean.
Dean chuckles as he looks up at him. "Am I turning you on, Sammy?" He asks, wickedly.
Sam's smile hasn't faltered. "All the time."
Dean stops polishing, and looks up at him with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He places the gun and cloth on the bed beside him as he slowly stands up in front of Sam. Just one step further will put Sam's face directly in line with his crotch, but he doesn't move.
Sam's eyes, however, do move; from his face, down his body, pausing on the growing bulge in Dean's pants, before travelling up again. "I see at least one of us is affected," Sam says, arching his eyebrows.
Dean gives him a sexy smile. "I was just thinking of what it'd look like to watch you polishing the gun barrel."
Sam laughs. "Oh really?"
"Mmmmm..."