Sam was twelve. He watched with wide, mesmerized eyes as his brother stripped off his shirt and cast it aside to find another.
Dean felt him staring. Turned.
Sam's jaw dropped.
Dean's lips broke into an easy grin. "What, these?" he asked, trailing his fingers down his well-toned, perfectly defined abs. "You like them, Sammy? Don't worry. You'll have some one of these days."
Don't want to have them. Just want yours.
"What?"
Sam blinked. Oh. He'd said it out loud. "No-nothing," he stuttered.
Dean shrugged, pulling on a clean shirt and ruffling Sam's hair as he passed him. "Come on. Let's get some breakfast."
Sam nodded in agreement as Dean left the room, then blew out a short breath. That had been a close call. He'd been changing lately, almost into the beginning of his teenage years, and those changes were both physical, and... well... hormonal. So Sam had started to develop some feelings. But his problems was that he didn't feel anything toward girls. Not toward boys, either, for that matter. Because the word boys insinuated that he was having thoughts about more than one person. But the only person that Sam's new-found libido seemed to be throwing itself at was his big brother. He'd been having thoughts about Dean for a few weeks now. Thoughts he knew he shouldn't be having. So he tried his hardest to push them down – deep, deep down – inside himself. But sometimes, he would slip, falter, and the thoughts would surface. He just prayed that they wouldn't somehow manage to expel themselves from his mouth. Especially not within even remotely close proximity of Dean.
"Sammy, hurry up, I'm starving!"
The command broke him from his thoughts, and he shivered. He loved it when Dean called him Sammy. He shook his head to clear it and exited the bedroom of the small apartment that their father was renting out for the month, attempting to leave all inappropriate thoughts about his brother behind the closed door.