Fic - Sam Salute

[kellifer]

Title Sam Salute
Rating: PG
Fandom: SPN
Pairings Sam/Dean
Word Count: 600
Notes: FFA fill for deirdre_c
Summary: Sam has a hobby and Dean has a... few things to say about it

“What the ever-loving fuck?”

It’s probably not the most eloquent Dean has ever been in his life but it’s the most coherent he can manage on waking to find Sam’s ass at his eye level, rising like the sun. It’s a sideview, more Sam’s hip but still, you know, unexpected.

Dean resists the urge to poke Sam in the side even though his ribs are all exposed and close because Dean's better than that... for the most part. Sam’s wearing nothing but sweeat pants and he’s balancing on palms and feet, ass in the air so, you know, “What the ever-loving fuck?”

“It’s called Downward Dog,” Sam says, voice muffled because his face is... downward and his hair is in the way, like always. He manages to have that exasperated tone that says clearly that he thinks Dean is a dumbass for being unaware of exactly what he’s doing but this is the first time where Dean isn’t actually the stupid-looking one.

Dean leans over the side of the bed and Sam’s on some kind of long rubber mat. Dean doesn’t really blame Sam for that since the carpet was kind of gritty when they walked in but where the hell did something like that even come from? As Dean gapes, trying to drag his mind from the fog of sleep, Sam kind of curves down in a long movement that has all his muscles bunching and releasing before he practically scrapes his chin along the ground and then he’s arched back, chin jutted up.

“And that’s Upward Dog I suppose?” Dean hazards and grimaces because he’s not at his sparkling best first thing in the morning... or well, to be honest, afternoon since by the bedside clock it’s past two.

“Cobra,” Sam corrects.

“Are we playing some kind of weird animal charades?” Dean asks as Sam again does a weird-ass sinuous wave of his body and is back to the dog thing.

Sam rises to his feet, looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye. “I’m doing Yoga,” Sam says.

“Isn’t that a chick exercise?” Dean asks and again, not at his best when he first wakes up because any sense of self-preservation he usually has would have kicked in and told him not to say that out loud. Sam, without breaking concentration, snaps a fist out and catches Dean in the cheek. “Ow, fuck!” Dean yelps, flopping backwards on the bed. Sam pulled it, didn’t give Dean full power but it still surprised the hell out of him and stung a bit.

Sam breathes out, a long, low exhalation and then folds in half, face practically pressed into his thighs and hands wrapped around his ankles.

“Um,” Dean manages intelligently because holy fuck.

“I find it challenging because I’m so tall,” Sam explains, sounding patient and bored. “It’s good for the muscles, really helps when I’m sore.” Sam reaches up, fingers almost brushing the motel room roof and his pants sliding low. Dean’s mouth goes dry.

“Plus, it’s really good for flexibility,” Sam adds with a dirty smirk out of the side of his mouth.

Dean can’t really argue with the results.

“Maybe we should try that Downward Dog thing later,” he says, voice dropped low and flirty and Sam snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Maybe,” Sam finally huffs and then he’s laughing, dropping to the floor and his pansy rubber mat and Dean slides off the bed to join him, amazed at how much traction you can get with one of those mats.