Dean groaned, squinting his eyes against the bright stripes of sunlight across his face. He rolls over, reaching blindly and sighing contentedly when his fingertips brush the smooth skin of Sam's shoulder. He peels open one eye, scooting forward to press his stomach into Sam's hip. Dean lays his head on Sam's bare back and breathes in deeply through his nose. He drags one fingernail lightly from mole to mole, tracing out constellations in the stars of Sam's skin. Sam doesn't stir, face down in the pillows, his hair fanned out in a chocolate halo.
Sighing quietly, Dean rolls away from Sam and slips out of the bed. He looks around when Sarge isn't in his usual spot in the doorway and finds him laying on the floor next to Sam's side of the bed. Sarge stares up at Dean's confused expression, his head raised so that Sam's palm lays on the top of his head. The corner of Dean's mouth twitches up in a smile at the sight.
Damn dog is growing on me, he thinks as he pads down the hallway towards the kitchen. He pulls the carafe from under the percolator and fills it with water. Dumping it into the top of the coffee machine, he stifles a yawn. When he bends to get the coffee grounds from the cupboard, he forgets the open cabinet above him and hits the corner of it with the top of his head. He swears loudly before remembering that Sam is still sleeping down the hall. Sam shuffles into the kitchen a few minutes later, Sarge on his heels.
"Shit, did that wake you up? Sorry." Sam just shrugs as he grabs a mug from the cabinet and pours himself a cup. He settles next to Dean at the breakfast bar and presses his shoulder against Dean's. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Great," Sam mumbled around his mug. He set it down on the counter before yawning, stretching his arms over his head. "I'm gonna go for a run, come with?"
Dean groans again, making Sam laugh, before tossing back the last of his mug and standing up with a stretch. They both change into shorts, looking at the thermometer and decide it is way too warm for t-shirts, even at seven am. Sarge follows them happily out the front door, keeping pace next to Sam as they jog towards the entrance to their neighborhood.
They get back to the house just after eight. Dean kicks his sneakers off, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. Sam rolls his eyes, picking up Dean's shoes and putting them neatly in the bottom of the hall closet next to his. Sarge immediately goes to his water dish in the laundry room, and Sam can hear him lapping noisily from the kitchen as he takes the cup Dean passes him.
Dean sets his empty water glass in the sink and leans against the counter, eyeing Sam's shirtless form appreciatively as Sam gulps down the water. As Sam lowers his glass, he quirks his eyebrow at Dean's suggestive stare.
"What?" he asks, placing his glass in the sink next to Dean's.
"I can't appreciate my boyfriend's fine, sweaty body?"
"Mmm, you most definitely can," Sam replies as Dean turns and presses him against the counter with his hips. Dean mouths at his neck, tongue darting out to taste the sweat along his collarbone. Sam moans quietly, and Dean takes it as a sign of encouragement, kissing his way up the side of Sam's neck.
"Dean, I've got a - a meeting at nine," Sam pants out, his speech hitching as Dean nibbles at his earlobe. "I've got to shower."
"Okay," Dean replies simply, not releasing his hold on Sam, turning them both around and walking Sam backwards out of the kitchen. Sam laughs as they bump against the wall in the hallway, Dean taking the opportunity to delve his tongue into Sam's open mouth. Sam's hands come up to hold the back of Dean's head, tilting it for better access. Dean moans and presses his growing erection into Sam's hip. He grunts as Sam slams him against the opposite wall, a tangle of arms and legs. Dean winds his hands through Sam's hair as Sam's long fingers press into the soft skin just below the waistband of Dean's shorts. He pulls away a moment later, Dean's lips chasing his.
"I have to get in the shower or I'm going to be late," Sam tells Dean sternly, trailing a finger down Dean's sternum as he walks away. Dean presses his head back against the wall, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. He can hear Sam turn on the water, raising his voice so Dean can hear him: "Are you coming or not?"
That afternoon, Dean hesitates in the front seat of his car. He groans, looking out through the windshield at the brick building in front of him. After a moment, he rubs his hand over his face and climbs out of the car, shaking his head.
Man, I'm going to regret this, he thinks to himself as he pulls open the glass door. The cheery face that greets him reminds him exactly why he's here, however, and Dean can't help the smile that plays across his lips.
"Hi, I'm Dean Winchester, I'm looking for Dr. Hamilton?" he tells the receptionist, a young, blonde teenager, probably volunteering on a school release program.
"Right this way, she's in her office," the girl tells him as she leads him down a long hallway. Dean follows her into a large, bright office. The back wall is completely windowed, looking out into a large, fenced-in area of bright green grass and scattered toys. Dr. Hamilton stands from her desk and comes around it to shake Dean's hand before gesturing for him to sit.
"Mr. Winchester, I'm glad you came in today. I can honestly say that I didn't expect to see you here."
"Well, ma'am, I didn't expect to be here either," Dean replies with a smile, before setting into the chair and getting down to business.
When Dean gets home two hours later, he parks next to Sam's truck, unsurprised to see him home so early. He pushes open the front door and toes off his boots, setting his keys in the dish on the small table.
"Sammy?" he calls out as he shuffles through the stack of mail next to the dish, purposely taking his time. "You home?"
"In here," Sam voice comes from the living room. Dean smirks as he takes slow, deliberate steps, nearly laughing out loud when he sees Sam. The grown man is lying on the floor, with the dog partly between his legs, the dog's chest on his own. Sam has one arm flung dramatically over his face.
"What's going on, babe?" he asks, feigning concern. Dean walks around the couch and sits on the floor in front of it, crossing his legs at the ankle. He taps Sam's hip with the side of his foot and Sam peeks at him from under his elbow.
"The shelter just called," he begins, pausing and waiting for Dean's reaction, continuing when Dean doesn't bat an eyelash. "Sarge was adopted today."
"Oh really?" Dean puts on a big frown for Sam.
"I guess he'll be leaving tomorrow probably. I don't know, they didn't say. Just that someone adopted him. This sucks. I mean, I knew when I agreed to foster him that eventually this day would come, I just thought that it would be longer. It's only been two months, but now I'm attached. What are you smirking about? You hate the dog that much?"
"Well, I was just thinking that if he's leaving, I'm going to have to return this," Dean replies, pulling something from his pocket and handing it to Sam. Sam flips it over in his hand and peers at it before sitting up suddenly, Sarge rolling gracelessly from his chest and into his lap.
"Wait, is this for real?" Sam asks incredulously, glancing back and forth between the dog tag in his hand and Dean's face. "Are you serious?"
"I'm sure I'll regret it, but yes." Sam presses up from the floor, Sarge getting up with an indignant huff and laying down on the other side of Dean. Sam slides onto Dean's lap, his knees on either side of Dean's hips.
"Thank you so much, babe." Sam's lips meet Dean's softly. "You're the best," he adds, pressing a flurry of kisses to Dean's mouth. "I love you."
"I love you too, Sammy." Dean replies between kisses, smiling under Sam's lips. Sam presses three light kisses across Dean's freckles and beams down at him before rolling off and grabbing up the dog in his arms.
"Hear that, Sarge, you get to stay. I told you Dean's a big softie." Dean laughs, reaching over to scratch behind Sarge's ear as the dog licks from Sam's chin to his eyebrow.