"No, yes, okay, but like... I can't feel my lips. It's... weird." Even talking was weird. Well, duh, one needed one's lips to talk and Sam's lips felt suuuuper weird. And numb. This was probably because he was drunk? But then again, Dean was drunk too, and his lips looked... not numb. His lips looked totally awesome.
"Are your lips numb? Mine are really numb."
He'd said the word 'numb' too many times. It sounded funny.
Sam smiled happily. "Numb," he said again, just 'cause. Dean snorted.
"M'lips are fine."
"Hmmm, yes. They are fine."
Wow, so that sounded pervy. Sam frowned. "Sorry."
"The hell r'you aploginizat--wait. Why you sayin' sorry for?"
"Er..." he couldn't really remember. Oops. "I don't know."
He scooted forward in the bed so that his knees slid against Dean's, the two mattresses separated only by a small rickety table and also, Sam knew his legs were longer than the average giraffe's. Moose's. Crowley had called him a moose that one time. Then again moose had shorter legs than giraffes, right? What was the plural of moose? Moosi? Mooses? Meese?
"Sam?"
Dean's lips were closer to his now. Sam's mouth tingled a little. "Ha!" he said, delighted. "Feel less numb! I win!"
"Yeah, you tell 'em cowboy."
When Dean spoke his mouth moved. It looked sooo pretty. Sam's lips were definitely not numb anymore, but they were also kind of... hungry?
He tipped forward and landed a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder and another on his brother's thigh. "Dean!"
"Dude, s'not my fault your balance is shit."
"Well, duh." Man, Dean was lucky he had his looks. He was so dumb sometimes. Numb dumb rum. Although technically they'd drunk vodka, and beer, and a couple of shots of tequila. No rum. "I did that on purpose, Dean."
"Why?"
When Dean shifted his knee brushed the inside of Sam's thigh and a sparkly electric zing shot through Sam. Why had he done that? His hand was still on Dean's leg.
"Lips," he mumbled, brain sticky and slow and confused. And then he leaned in and touched them with his finger. "Feel that?"
Dean's eyes had gone wide and kind of glassy. "Huh?"
"Feel me, Dean?" Sam was whispering and he wasn't really sure why.
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"My lips feel numb, Dean."
"Yeah. I heard you the first time, Sammy."
"No, yes, okay, but like... I can't feel my lips. It's... weird." Even talking was weird. Well, duh, one needed one's lips to talk and Sam's lips felt suuuuper weird. And numb. This was probably because he was drunk? But then again, Dean was drunk too, and his lips looked... not numb. His lips looked totally awesome.
"Are your lips numb? Mine are really numb."
He'd said the word 'numb' too many times. It sounded funny.
Sam smiled happily. "Numb," he said again, just 'cause. Dean snorted.
"M'lips are fine."
"Hmmm, yes. They are fine."
Wow, so that sounded pervy. Sam frowned. "Sorry."
"The hell r'you aploginizat--wait. Why you sayin' sorry for?"
"Er..." he couldn't really remember. Oops. "I don't know."
He scooted forward in the bed so that his knees slid against Dean's, the two mattresses separated only by a small rickety table and also, Sam knew his legs were longer than the average giraffe's. Moose's. Crowley had called him a moose that one time. Then again moose had shorter legs than giraffes, right? What was the plural of moose? Moosi? Mooses? Meese?
"Sam?"
Dean's lips were closer to his now. Sam's mouth tingled a little. "Ha!" he said, delighted. "Feel less numb! I win!"
"Yeah, you tell 'em cowboy."
When Dean spoke his mouth moved. It looked sooo pretty. Sam's lips were definitely not numb anymore, but they were also kind of... hungry?
He tipped forward and landed a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder and another on his brother's thigh. "Dean!"
"Dude, s'not my fault your balance is shit."
"Well, duh." Man, Dean was lucky he had his looks. He was so dumb sometimes. Numb dumb rum. Although technically they'd drunk vodka, and beer, and a couple of shots of tequila. No rum. "I did that on purpose, Dean."
"Why?"
When Dean shifted his knee brushed the inside of Sam's thigh and a sparkly electric zing shot through Sam. Why had he done that? His hand was still on Dean's leg.
"Lips," he mumbled, brain sticky and slow and confused. And then he leaned in and touched them with his finger. "Feel that?"
Dean's eyes had gone wide and kind of glassy. "Huh?"
"Feel me, Dean?" Sam was whispering and he wasn't really sure why.