Dean didn’t lack impulse control. Raised as a hunter, he had to be cunning and make sure every move counted. It was that, or he was dead.
So it wasn’t that Dean lacked self-control -His brother was just too damn attractive.
Sam, who had completely filled out, gotten less gangly and far more muscular.
Sam, who would walk around shirtless after working out, body dripping with sweat, smelling so purely like man.
Sam, who wore his jeans low on his hips, faded denim clinging to his ass. Sam, who waltzed around in his towel after his shower, long locks plastered to his neck and forehead, dripping drops of water down his tanned torso.
Sam, who clung to Dean when he was drunk, giggling about how much he loved his big brother and how badly he needed to get laid.
Could Dean really be blamed when he had to abandon all self control and run to the bathroom at first chance, stroking himself to completion with his little brother’s name on his lips?