"You think it's the same one?" Dean muttered, looking through the front window of the Impala, squinting as a group of long-legged busty women headed inside a building called 'A Tall Drink of Water'. "What the fuck kinda name is that for a strip bar anyway?"
"Fits everything that happened before. Would make sense since Chuck decided he wanted to let out all the things we've hunted before. And as for the name, in case you didn't notice, all of its… ahem, employees, are very… leggy," Sam said with an exaggerated look at the ladies. Dean had to agree with that.
"So what, we play FBI again? Disgruntled husbands who found out their wives cheated? Boss and unpaid intern bitching about work? Or just go gank the damn thing all over again, guns blazing?" Dean didn't have to look to know Sam was rolling his eyes at him.
"No, we might have to try a different approach this time," he said, nudging his brother's head to focus on the small sign in the window.
"Oh hell no."
"No way Sammy. No. There is no way in Hell I'm letting you do this," Dean said, doing his best to not yell at his brother. It wasn't Sam's fault, he knew that. No, it wasn't his brother's fault that they had walked into the bar posing as applicants for bartenders. It wasn't his fault that the owner had taken one look at Sam - a very long look in Dean's opinion - and decided that he'd be perfect for Ladies Night. It wasn't his fault that now Dean was dressed in his tightest jeans and a black sleeveless shirt that showed off his biceps - the owner had given him a second look that time - while Sam stood in front of him in a white button down shirt and snug black pants.
"Dean, if we're gonna catch this Siren, again , then we gotta play our parts. Just remember-"
"I know, no shared drinks and no drunken kisses. You take all the joy out of strip bars Sammy." Sam just snorted at his comment and was about to make a comment back when the owner came up to him, pressing a hand down on his shoulder.
"Alright big guy, let's get you backstage. The ladies will be coming in soon. And you, you handsome sonofabitch, you keep all your tips. So make sure to bat those pretty eyes of yours if you wanna make some real money." He said this last part to Dean, who grumbled as Sam, laughing quietly, went to the back of the bar, slipping behind a curtain and disappearing from view.
Oh, he hoped they caught this damn thing tonight. He didn't know how much of this he could take.
Dean kept his eyes scanned, never knowing who could be the Siren - there had been men and women killers this time, so anyone could be next. Of course, that didn't stop him from giving all the ladies at the bar his trademark smirk. He was making some good tips tonight. If it wasn't for the fact that he'll be dead any day from something or other, he could be a bartender for good he thought.
He didn't really notice right away that Sam had taken the stage, focused on a petite blonde at the bar celebrating her engagement with some friends. But her attention was soon dragged away, making Dean look up.
He was sure his jaw dropped.
Sam was up there, in his white shirt and black pants, barefoot. His hips were swaying side to side to the music as his fingers began to pluck at the buttons of the shirt. Dean could see women calling to his brother, throwing money down on the stage, but he couldn't focus his attention on anything but the man who continued dancing. Luckily, he wasn't the only one - all of the ladies who had been at the bar were now focused on Sam.
As Sam undid the last of the buttons, he let the shirt slip down his shoulders, the ladies hollering at his bare chest, oohing at the dark hair that covered the broad expanse of skin. He tossed the shirt to a lady, who squealed before another tried to take it away. He had to turn his back from them so he didn't get caught rolling his eyes. Which didn't seem to be a problem, because now he was showing the ladies the smooth panes and hard muscles of his back, the sweet taper to his waist.
He continued the smooth movements of his hips as he turned back around, his hands now teasing at the button of the pants.
The ladies went wild, all of them gathering closer to the stage. Dean himself leaned farther across the bar so he could get a better look. Not that he wanted to ogle his brother, but hey, man was good looking - Dean could appreciate that.
Sam actually catches Dean's eye, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he snaps open the button of the pants.
Dean tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before he lets out a soft breath. They probably wouldn't have looked away, except a server grabbed Dean's attention for some drinks, breaking their eye contact. Sam rolled his shoulders - a graceful movement to the music as well as a way to shake off the feeling that had briefly crowded his mind while he had looked at Dean.
He focuses his attention back on the ladies, his eyes drifting to one who is sitting in a corner by herself, eyes shifting back and forth, as if looking for someone. Her shoulders were hunched, her purse gripped tightly in her hands.
Sam lets his fingers tug slowly at the zipper on the pants, hips still moving, his whole body one long graceful wave to the music, as he kept an eye on her. He had to let Dean know, but he couldn't stop right now. Even though he kinda wanted to. Instead, he pulled down the zipper all the way and began to slide the pants down his legs.
Dean was really glad he was behind the bar right now. One, he could easily grab a bottle of beer and chug it down his suddenly dry throat, and two, no one could see how much tighter his pants had gotten.
Holy shit, he had just popped a boner for his little brother.
To be fair, Dean had always known Sam was good-looking, but here he stood on the stage, still moving those damn hips as he stepped out of the black pants, in nothing but a pair of very tiny black boxer-briefs. They definitely did not leave much to the imagination.
Sam leaned up against the pole on stage, moving his hips to the music as he let the ladies ogle him, and it made Dean wonder something.
Just how did his little brother get so good at this?