Sam wasn’t like his brother in the sense that he wanted to wait for the girl of his dreams to lay under him on the mattress. Sam was more closed-off and puppylike, a law student, or a prude as Dean would say. But Sam didn’t seem like it bothered him much, or if it did, he didn’t show it well.

Sam counted his cash in his hand, his jeans hung loosely on his hips by a leather belt, his dark eyes seemed darker as they flicked up to your waiting gaze. “You pay me well.” He said quietly, setting the cash on the bedside table, turning the oil lamp to a dim setting. Sam’s shirt was off, his chiseled form just barely visible in the evening glow. This version of Sam wasn’t really him; a demon, incubus to be specific, was using his body for their gain.