Archive of Our Own ^beta

God made many mistakes. Giving humans free will, letting his angels run rampant to the point of rebellion, inventing mayonnaise and allowing the rise of certain political parties were the ones that came to Sam’s mind most frequently. However, there was no denying that the Almighty had gotten a few things right: snow storms, coffee, Wikipedia and the experience of love.

Oh, and of course, the hips of one Dean Winchester.

There were many things about Dean that could be chalked up to perfection. Eyes like precious beryl; pouty lips around a speed demon smile; arms to put Hercules to shame and bow legs that could run a mile and kick serious ass. And speaking of ass, Dean had a great one—something out of a Michelangelo wet dream. He was the whole package physically—and his package was also physically perfect, though Sam tended to agree that his own was a the more porno worthy of the two.

But nothing compared to those goddamn hips. It was a strange thing, mystifying really, being not only so aware of a person’s hips, but also of just how damn sexy they were. What were hips, especially on a man? Somewhere between their crossing the starting line on this illegal and immoral relationship, and all the relay stations in between, Sam had become enamored with that treasured juncture of bone at Dean’s sides.

The way he wore his jeans always gave Sam the impression that Dean was always just barely hanging onto his clothing—as if his body could easily shrug out of shirt and pants at a moment’s notice. Dean’s denim didn’t so much as hug as hips as grope them—and why the hell shouldn’t they? Some things were just meant to be appreciated with physical touching. Sure, the hips were the teaser trailer to the feature length presentation and bonus footage of Dean’s incredible ass—but that was sort of what Sam appreciated about them. He loved a good tease, a good punishment. Besides, in public he could get away with looking at his brother’s hips without people getting any Flowers in the Attic vibes.

And in private...well, there’s a good damn reason Sam prefers to play catcher rather than stand at the pitcher’s mound. He can wrap his stupid long legs around those hips and pull Dean as far into him as humanly possible. Dean can get pretty far on the best of nights and days. It comes with years and years of working those hips like the star stripper at the club. He grinds into Sam, and sometimes against him, and Sam can only hold it for all that is dear and wait for impact. Some are born great, some get greatness, and some have a great thrust upon them--Dean just happens to be that latter someone.

So yeah. Dean’s got a lot going for him. Only the blind wouldn’t be able to tell. But Sam’s his secret keeper—the holder of the keys to the cache of where it’s really at when it comes to his big brother and secret lover.

It’s all in the hips.

But Sam’s going to keep that to himself, thank you very much.