I can make anything go wrong, JUST BY TOUCHING IT. Truefax. But, ok, so here is a little something I have written for you. I hope it pleases. *fret*
“You know, um. That’s kind of dangerous,” Sam says mildly. He watches Dean hit his head on the side of the television for what seems like the thousandth time, and wonders if his brother has a concussion yet. “Maybe we should call someone in.”
Dean straightens up, pulling wires out of his hair and down from around his neck. “We are not calling someone in,” he bites out.
Sam lapses back into amused silence, munching on some white cheddar popcorn. There’s an alarming noise from behind the television set, and the whole entertainment system wobbles on its stand. The only thing that keeps it from toppling over is a well-placed, determined knee.
“Did you read the directions?” Sam asks.
Dean makes a sound like tearing paper and jerks back. “No, I did not read the directions, because the directions are stupid. Now shut the hell up and let me do this. Swear to god, if you’d just quit it, I’da had it done an hour ago.”
He dives back into the mess of coils before Sam has a chance to think up a snappy retort. Which is kind of sad, since Sam’s pretty sure he could have said something about Dean and sex and how he never asks for directions. It probably would’ve lead to a fist-fight anyway, but Sam’s bored and that might be entertaining.
“Hey. Aristotle. Turn the fucking TV on,” Dean calls, muffled. His ass wiggles from side to side excitedly. “I think I got it.”
Sam gropes over the bed for the remote, preoccupied, and presses the power button at the top. Immediately, the entire room is filled with loud moans and the screech of bedsprings.
Dean woops and sits back on his heels to watch, wide-eyed and pleased. “Sammy, I wasn’t expecting porn. You dog.” He tilts his head to the side, whistles. “Damn, lookit that ass.”
Bright red, Sam tries to protest, “I didn’t – Dean. I didn’t rent this!”
Dean laughs and rolls to his feet, fluid and graceful in a way that’s – wow, really distracting. He’s crawling onto the bed next to Sam all too soon, face shadowed by the flickering of the television, wicked eyes flicking towards the screen. His hand falls onto Sam’s thigh, thumb pressing against the fly of Sam’s jeans like an accident.
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