Thirsty
Sam told himself that the sweltering heat was causing him to sweat; the lack of air causing his breath to come in fast, shallow bursts and making him feel dizzy. His mouth was dry, but thirsty as he was, he seemed to have lost the ability to raise the beer bottle to his mouth. Instead it hung loosely in his hand, resting on his thigh.
"Just the heat." he muttered to himself as he watched Dean drinking his own beer. He watched the way Dean held the bottle around the middle, gentle yet firm, parting his full lips slightly as he touched the rim of the cold glass to them. His lower lip extending slightly and gripping the underside with enough suction just to hold it in place as his throat muscles worked to drain the amber liquid from it. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, slow and deep. Sam's eyes flicked between the bottle and Dean's throat, beads of perspiration slowly trickling down both.
A low, satisfied moan poured from Dean as the bottle slipped from the suction of his lips with what was, quite frankly, an obscene pop. Sam wondered distantly how his brother was able to grip the bottle so firmly with what appeared to be so little effort; but the thought drifted as he watched the colour come back into Dean's lower lip. It was redder now, glistening with beer, then saliva as his tongue snaked out halfway before being quickly drawn back into his mouth.
Sam was vaguely aware of something cool and damp on his leg, and looking down he caught the movement of his hand stroking the bottle, condensation dribbling down it and soaking into the denim of his jeans. He silently cursed himself for the blatantly Freudian gesture, denial setting in immediately after, because he most definitely was not jealous of that bottle.
There was absolutely no way he wanted to feel Dean's plump, hot lips on his; and he didn't want to go over there and suckle and tug Dean's bottom lip into his own mouth. He didn't want to feel the muscles of that beautiful neck working as he dragged lips, tongue and teeth down it; or be the reason a moan slipped from his brother's throat. He'd never wondered what it would be like to have Dean's lips gripping him, instead of that fucking bottle.
Those were thoughts that most certainly didn't cross Sam Winchester's mind several times a day. No sir, nothing of the sort…never ever.
He was drawn out of his stupor by Dean's deep (and definitely not sexy) voice calling his name. "Hey, Earth to Sammy! You gonna sit there are all day or drink that before it gets warm? " He jumped slightly, feeling his face flood with more heat and pulled his shirt down to cover his now swollen crotch.
Finally he brought the bottle to his lips, and desperately hoped he was appearing calm and collected on the outside as once again he muttered "It's just the heat."