holdmesamthatwasbeautiful:

”Truth or dare?”

Dean knows
he can’t lie to that dimpled face.

“Dare,” he
says, lazily, as he shifts on the motel floor, staff-lit candles flickering in the
windowsill.  

Sam’s eyes
have a whiskey-glitter to them when he says, all tongue in cheek – there’s too
much Stanford college boy in him, still
– “I dare you to kiss me.”

Dean trembles. “You mean it?”

Sam’s mouth
is suddenly hot and wet against his, the candles still flickers, and Dean thinks: This feels like truth, anyway.