At the very least, he should take his hand out of Sam’s hair.
Sam’s still got his head tipped back, throat exposed, eyes closed to mere slits, pretending to watch the movie. He’s obviously loving the scalp message, and Dean’s damned if he’ll stop giving Sam something that makes him so happy.
Not to mention how good Sam looks. He’s still got some baby fat softening his features, and Dean can definitely recognize the little boy he used to care for. But Sam’s growth spurt over this past year has given his face more definition, sharpening his chin and broadening his brow. Sam’s not just good-looking. Of course he is. He’s a Winchester, isn’t he? But now Dean sees something exceptional, something remarkable in Sam’s face that hasn’t yet reached its full potential.
Dean stops messaging Sam’s scalp, lost in his thoughts and his new-found fascination with Sam’s face. Sam turns and looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, quizzical. He must see something funny in Dean’s expression because he blushes and grins shyly, dimples and teeth on full display.
“Dean, are you drunk?”
“No. Are you?” Dean holds the bottle just out of reach, and when Sam starts to climb onto the couch to get it he falls awkwardly across Dean’s lap.
Dean’s fully hard now. Sam’s eyebrows fly up and his lips part when he feels Dean’s erection pressing against his belly, and for a moment they stay like that, staring into each other’s eyes. Then, before he can think too much about what he’s doing, Dean sets the bottle down on the table beside the couch and takes Sam’s face in his hands. When Sam doesn’t pull away, just drops his eyes to Dean’s mouth and leans closer, it’s all the permission Dean needs.
Sam’s lips are soft and salty from the Funyuns. Dean kisses him carefully, tenderly, conveying all the love he feels for this boy in each gentle kiss. When he finally comes up for air, Sam’s looking up at him with a combination of relief and desire in his eyes, pupils blown so that only a tiny sliver of greenish-blue remains.
Nevertheless, Dean has to ask. “This okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam breathes. “Always wanted this. Never knew you felt the same way.”
Dean shrugs. “Never knew I did, till today.”
Sam’s gaze is full of trust, full of little-boy hero-worship translated into something deeper, richer. Dean doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed it before.
“Happy birthday, Dean.”
This time when they kiss, Sam tangles his fingers around the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him closer.