The door bursts open.

It's Sam. His face shifts from neutral, to shock—then a kind of pissed off judgment.

There's no one on earth whose opinion Dean cares about more. His immediate instinct is to move away from the warm body pressed against him.

He resists. Meets his lover's eyes, sends an apology that way, then hooks his jeans from the floor and pulls them on beneath the covers.

Steals a kiss, furtive, quick, before he slips out of bed and across the room.

"We're in the middle of a job, Dean," Sam says. "There are more important things than getting laid right now, you know?"

"It's polite to knock, Sammy."

"It's my room too."

"Right. Should've put a sock on the door. My bad."

The door creaks open. Dean's lover appears. He's disheveled, still buttoning his shirt.

"You don't have to go," Dean says.

"I don't wanna cause any trouble."

"He's my brother. And it's none of his business."

The young man visibly relaxes.

"Go back to bed," Dean says. "I'll be there soon."

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" Sam says.

Dean tosses Sam the car keys.

"Jerk," Sam says.

"Bitch." Dean slips back into the room.

fin