Dean stares bemusedly at the scene in his living room for a long moment, and then he turns toward the stairs and yells, "Sam!"
There's a clatter from his brother's workshop-slash-library, followed by a lot of clomping as Sam races around the corner and down the stairs. Even at fifty, he's still pretty spry. Dean doesn't think he could move that fast these days, not without a ghost on his tail. "I can explain!" Sam says, panting a little.
Dean doubts that. "Oh, can you? Can you explain why there's a fuzzy little beast playing tug-of-war with the curtains?"
Sam stops beside Dean, blinking at the scene laid out before him. Particularly at the little ball of fluffy tan fur balanced on the arm of the couch, one end of a navy blue curtain clamped between it's teeth as it growls and yips ferociously around it. Sam's hand inches up until he's rubbing at the back of his neck. He turns to Dean with a too-innocent grin, dimples and teeth flashing. The bits of silver at his temples are more noticeable in the late afternoon sunlight, and Dean has to remind himself that this is not the time to reach up and drag a hand through it. "Um," Sam says. "Remember when you said I could have anything I wanted for my birthday?"
"Uh huh," Dean replies dryly. His eyes go back to the living room. The curtain is not winning this fight. "I figured you'd ask for a blowjob. Not a four-footed tail-wagging marauder."
"Well, Benny's golden retriever had a litter of puppies, and he had to find homes for all of them and…well, look at him, Dean!"
Dean had been looking for several minutes now. He still isn't impressed.
"Please?" Sam says, and damn it, how is it possible that his eyes are more puppy-like and pleading than the actual puppy's?
"You owe for this for, like, ever." Dean is going to regret this eventually, he just knows it.
But then Sam's grin lights up his whole face, crows feet and all, and he wraps Dean up in a bear hug to end all bear hugs, and Dean figures he can live with that.
"Dork," he says. "I'm not walking the thing. Or training it. Or letting it into my baby ever."
Sam nods hurriedly, gives Dean another giant smile, and then soundly kisses him into forgetting he ever had a reason to be annoyed.
Behind them, the puppy sits on his haunches and happily devours the bit of navy blue fabric he's won.
Re: Supernatural - Sam/Dean or Sam and Dean gen
There's a clatter from his brother's workshop-slash-library, followed by a lot of clomping as Sam races around the corner and down the stairs. Even at fifty, he's still pretty spry. Dean doesn't think he could move that fast these days, not without a ghost on his tail. "I can explain!" Sam says, panting a little.
Dean doubts that. "Oh, can you? Can you explain why there's a fuzzy little beast playing tug-of-war with the curtains?"
Sam stops beside Dean, blinking at the scene laid out before him. Particularly at the little ball of fluffy tan fur balanced on the arm of the couch, one end of a navy blue curtain clamped between it's teeth as it growls and yips ferociously around it. Sam's hand inches up until he's rubbing at the back of his neck. He turns to Dean with a too-innocent grin, dimples and teeth flashing. The bits of silver at his temples are more noticeable in the late afternoon sunlight, and Dean has to remind himself that this is not the time to reach up and drag a hand through it. "Um," Sam says. "Remember when you said I could have anything I wanted for my birthday?"
"Uh huh," Dean replies dryly. His eyes go back to the living room. The curtain is not winning this fight. "I figured you'd ask for a blowjob. Not a four-footed tail-wagging marauder."
"Well, Benny's golden retriever had a litter of puppies, and he had to find homes for all of them and…well, look at him, Dean!"
Dean had been looking for several minutes now. He still isn't impressed.
"Please?" Sam says, and damn it, how is it possible that his eyes are more puppy-like and pleading than the actual puppy's?
"You owe for this for, like, ever." Dean is going to regret this eventually, he just knows it.
But then Sam's grin lights up his whole face, crows feet and all, and he wraps Dean up in a bear hug to end all bear hugs, and Dean figures he can live with that.
"Dork," he says. "I'm not walking the thing. Or training it. Or letting it into my baby ever."
Sam nods hurriedly, gives Dean another giant smile, and then soundly kisses him into forgetting he ever had a reason to be annoyed.
Behind them, the puppy sits on his haunches and happily devours the bit of navy blue fabric he's won.