Dean had a one-track mind, whether it was occupied with hunting, food or women. But he couldn't remember being so focused as he was as he trailed his own brother into the depths of the city.

They'd just cleaned up a case (the usual, a witch's ghost trying to cause destruction in return for her unjust murder several centuries ago), and now they were enjoying a brief respite in the city before they had to head off to their next job.

After salting and burning the woman's remains, they'd headed back to the motel, had a few beers and turned in for the night. Well, they'd seemed to. Sam had pretended to and, when he'd thought his brother asleep, slunk out of the room and away into the city. But Dean was ready for it. He'd noticed it had become a pattern lately. Whenever they had a free night and happened to be in a populated area, Sam would disappear without so much as a word and return to their room in the early hours of the morning.

If it was women Sam was seeing, Dean was prepared. He couldn't blame a guy for fulfilling his needs. But he had a feeling something else was going on. And he wasn't very tolerant of Sam's odd, unexplained actions anymore. He had to know where his brother was, and – if he turned out to be in a bad situation – he had to help.

So, that was how Dean found himself spying on his brother, following him through the twisting streets and into a shadier-looking part of town. It was around 1am, and a good twenty minute walk before they reached Sam's destination. An unmarked business, a solid black door to mark its place. Sam entered without knocking. Ten minutes later, Dean did the same.

"What the holy hell?" Dean gaped. It was a strip joint. A male strip joint.

Holy fuck. He had not been expecting this. Sam was…gay? He liked to watch men take their clothes off on-stage? Jesus. Never had this possibility occurred to Dean. His brother had been about to set up shop and marry Jess, once upon a time. Now he was frequenting strip clubs…what the…?

Dean wandered through the crowd, reluctant to leave until he'd tracked Sam down and broached the subject with him. If, for no other reason, than to let Sam know that he was alright with the idea; it didn't bother him that his little brother was gay, and he didn't want Sam to feel had to keep this from him anymore.

The place was jam-packed with women – ugly, attractive, slim, large, old, young. And they were all clamouring at the small t-shaped stage, raised a couple metres off the ground with a small silver pole at the back in the middle of the intersection. A man wearing leather pants and no shirt stepped forward holding a mike, his hair was tousled and he shook it out of his face with a wry grin.

"Ladies," he called, his voice low and rousing a loud reply from the women, "are you ready for our next dancer? He's tall, strong and tough. If you've never seen him here before then you're in for a delicious treat!" The women cooed and whistled, riled up already. "We call him…the Beast!"

A curtain at the back of the stage parted and the dancer stepped out. He was tall, and he certainly looked strong with bands of muscle down his arms, chest and legs – but only a perfect amount, enough to make him undeniably masculine but not the ugly bulging muscles of a wrestler. His skin was tanned a rich honey colour and made to seem even more exotic and dark under the flashing of dim and bright lights. His face was pretty but angular, lips curved into a dangerous seductive smile. His dark hair fell around his face. He wore only skin-tight jeans and a plain white shirt stretched taut over his broad chest.

Dean's mouth fell open. He was speechless. He'd been so wrong.

So this was what Sam snuck off to do?

But…then again, Dean thought, looking up at the man onstage, that's not my Sammy. That's someone else entirely.

Yes, it was Sam Winchester on stage, but it was 'the Beast' who started to dance. The beat thrummed through the room, adding to the highly sexual atmosphere. The air in the room felt hot and close, smelling of sweat and lust. The Beast moved with the music, slowly at first as he sank into the role, but then faster and more fluidly. He came to the front of the stage, grinding and grinning, women's arms strained forward, throwing money at his feet.

He licked his lips, winked and pulled his shirt up over his head in one movement.

His skin glistened under the lights and as he moved the muscles beneath his skin rippled and flexed. He moved like he'd been doing it for years (and, as far as Dean knew, he could have been). There was a confidence in the Beast that Sam Winchester lacked, and Dean watched in awe as his brother came alive on the stage of a strip club.

But the music was speeding ever faster, and his movements became even more lewd and suggestive. He popped the button of his pants to eager screams, and removed his jeans in slow sexual movements. In a moment he was standing before the crowd, clad only in skin-tight underwear, a dark red that set off the colour of his skin and the deep brown of his hair.

Dean struggled to swallow. Inexplicably, he drank in the sight of that much bared skin, so tempting and hot and those movements so sensual and dark and-

His thoughts were spiralling away from safe areas, into a darker buried desire Dean hadn't realised existed. He needed some fresh air, and a strong alcoholic drink. Maybe even a cold shower to chase the sudden thrill from his veins.

He made his way out through the crowd, sweltering in his leather jacket. At the door he paused and looked over his shoulder. Sam's eyes skipped to the entrance right then, widening and his mouth falling open in horror and surprise as their gazes met. Sam turned on the spot in a rush to hide the red of his flush and indignation, and to keep in place the calm content exterior for his performance.

Fuck, Dean thought. He fled the building through the front door. To his relief, a light rain was dousing the city. He felt the cold water hit his face and sighed. This was what he needed, some bracing chill on his hot body. Whatever change had come over him while he watched that display, he ignored. It had been in the thrill of the moment, he'd been surprised and unprepared, simply reacting to the atmosphere inside the club. How else could he explain it?

He recalled passing a quiet bar on the way to the strip club, and that was where he made his way to. Shaking the last of those disturbing thoughts from his mind as he went.