author's note: my first spn fanfic.
Coffee and donuts clatter onto the floor. "Oh my god."
"I know," Dean says, sounding awed as he continues to stare down his shirt.
"Those weren't there yesterday." Sam can feel a headache coming on, throbbing dully behind his temples.
Dean doesn't look much different, not really. Still the same height, same hair, same face. But now Dean's got curves, and it's only out of a sense of misplaced propriety that Sam tries to keep his eyes above Dean's collarbone.
"No shit, Sherlock." Dean palms his chest, cupping the soft swells of flesh. Sam glances away, making a small, pained groan, but he can see in the corner of his eye when Dean peers up at him through ridiculously long, delicate lashes, his lips – still just as red and pretty – curving into sly little smile.
"Wanna touch, Sammy?"