Title: Chocolate Sauce Or A Thing You Learn About A Guy

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN

Acknowledgement:
For my darling FreekyDisaster18 who is back on and SimplyObsessed! :)

The sight shouldn't be mouth-watering. It really shouldn't have stopped Dean's thought process and reduced him to somewhere in the same league as a gaping goldfish.

But really, what the fuck was his little brother doing?

The youngest Winchester sat at the table at Missouri's with a bowl of ice cream and a bottle of Askey's chocolate sauce. The ice cream was stunningly white vanilla and Sam – like he was a kid – dribbled the sauce all over the ice cream, much more than Sam would admit to wanting. Shame he's related to Dean isn't it?

Unfortunately for Dean, the bottle was temperamental and spurted the sauce in a wider range than the bowl itself. It went onto Sam's wrist, and Sam looked at the sauce for a moment, before licking it off. A glimpse of fine white teeth and pink tongue.

They were boys, stuff like this was rarely embarrassing, but Dean was having trouble watching Sam. He felt his jaw tick, not realising his teeth were clenched together, and he was sending Sam looks that Sam should never really see. Ever.

Dean imagined Sam's pulse point on his wrist, and what it would be like to lick along the veins and make his Sammy squirm. From experience, he knew when Sam was panicking or getting an adrenaline rush because his body heat skyrocketed, and on the chance that Dean was close to his brother during hunts, Dean could feel the blood pumping along Sam's arms and into the hand which held the shotgun.

Dean drummed his hands along to the tune of Milk and Alcohol by Dr Feelgood that had decided to play over, and fucking over again in his brain.

Sam looked at Dean who was nodding along to the song in his head, and he regretted looking at Sam but it was kinda one of his habits now, you know?

There was the tiniest smudge of chocolate sauce at the corner of Sam's lips, the right side. Dean inwardly cursed his hunter eyesight, wishing he could turn it off at times like this.

'You know, if you'd been good, Missouri would have given you some ice cream too' and there was that glint in his brother's eyes that made Dean want to lunge over the table and do bad things to him. That, or smack him across the cheek to make a nice red mark. Probably a bit of both be he's not picky. Dean blinked as several images slammed across his mind. Instead of completely losing it, he just glared at Sam.

'God you're such a kid' that, that, was the best he could come up with?

Sam raised an eyebrow in a challenging way that just made him look like Dad.

'Really Dean? You call me the kid, when you throw a tantrum if a diner doesn't do your favourite pie' Dean had to scoff at that because that was plain Juvenile.

'Shut up Sam I don't throw tantrums, you do bitch' he sighed, no feeling behind the words and Sam just grinned; bastard.

'Whatever jerk. Just be a good boy otherwise Missouri will hit you' Dean had been leaning back in his chair when Sam had said that, and Dean's mind kinda wondered off. The trouble was he carried on leaning, and his chair almost clattered to the ground pulling him with it. That's what would have happened if Missouri hadn't have stopped his chair dead from behind and shunting him forward.

'Seriously, how old are you kiddo? You ought to know that that happens' and Missouri took a swipe at his head somewhat affectionately. Dean ducked it, smirking, so she got him on the cheek instead.

'You never hit him! I get all the abuse around here. What did I do?' Dean exclaimed and Missouri pushed her hands through Sam's hair, looking adoringly at him. Dean generally didn't let this bother him, after all it was someone who cared about them, but a flash of possession swarmed in his gut.

Wow, if that wasn't a weird fairytale snapshot. Like Grandma and the huntsman he didn't know what was… What was he, the wolf?

'Dean Winchester I'm warning you, you seem to forget I can read your mind like book when I want to' and her eyes flashed dangerously, but she had a tiny smirk on her face to counter it.

He suspected that he looked like a deer caught in headlights, so he tried to regain some machismo. Hopefully she wasn't listening earlier. That wasn't a thought trail he wanted Missouri, or Bobby or anyone to know about. Period.

'Besides, Sam has manners and who can resist that dimple smile' she gushed, cupping Sam's cheek. Sam was lapping this up, and all Dean could do was sit there and try not to make noise. That smudge of chocolate was still there and oh if Dean didn't want to strip Sam down and put the rest of that chocolate sauce to good use. Preferably a couple of hundred miles away from Missouri.

'Anyway you boys, I need to go and visit a friendly witch and see her about an exploding crystal ball so you gonna be okay on your own?' and Dean and Sam both knew she was just used to saying it. The next bit, well, that was more for Dean's benefit. 'Dean you try and play hockey with the African tribal objects imma smack you with my spoon'

'I was eight!' he defended himself, and she eyed him as if it fully contemplate whether he had grown up enough. She left the kitchen. Dean could hear her walking down the hall.

'That means nothin' when dealin' with Winchesters' she called and there was a pause and the door open and shut.

Dean was still scowling, pouting and then remembered Sam's point about him throwing tantrums. He rolled his eyes and they landed on Sam who once again was fiddling with the bottle of sauce, this time with no prevail. Sam shook it and squeezed it but the thing wasn't going to give. Sam turned his head to asked something, when – astonishingly like déjà vu – the bottle collapsed, and rained chocolate everywhere but the bowl of ice cream. Dean would have laughed at Sam in any other given moment, but instead he pushed his chair back and was languidly swaying his knees from side to side. See, because of the size of the bottle, a 560ml one, it sprayed in many directions. Like when kids do those can games where one can has been shaken up and you have to guess not which one it is? When you get hit with a shaken up can oh boy you better move quickly.

Unfortunately for Sam, the bottle just didn't seem to like him and his hand was covered, and there were specks on his upper arm and shirt. Sam was statue like for a few seconds, then he got up and went on the hunt for a paper towels, all the while muttering under his breath.

Dean sighed, and watched Sam with a smile. But after a bit he got up and walked around the table to where Sam was wiping the goo off his arm, a Sammy frown on his face.

Dean took Sam's hand at the wrist – the one he was wiping down – and his little brother froze. Unlike moments ago, Sam's body was on alert, and he was emitting loud and clear warning signals. Dean, ignored them, slipping the index and middle finger of Sam's hand into his mouth.

He was hit with the gooey, slightly artificial taste of the chocolate sauce and he licked the digits clean. It was only when he could taste the salty essence of Sam's skin did he realise that the chocolate was gone. He was already halfway there, carrying on a bit wouldn't hurt? Sam's breathing had picked up, but Dean didn't dare look at him.

He traced his tongue along the crease of the two fingers closed together, and Sam made a sound. It wasn't his, squeak of disgust that he does, it was a breathless moan that had escaped involuntarily it seemed. Dean built up courage and raised his eyes to Sam. Sam's mouth hung open, and his bottom lip was glistening where he had wetted them at some point. His pupils were dilated and the other hand had took a firm hold on the counted behind him. Dean lowered his eyes, and slid his mouth to Sam's knuckles. He then released them and the wet pop sound made him wince.

'You always were a messy kid'