"Oh- fucking shit-"

Dean stammers, clinging to the towel around his waist as you try not to ogle.

It's not like it's exactly your fault that you're in this perdicament. He was the one using your shower, and you were just... in your own room. That's not illegal. You didn't tell him he could use it.

You're both just standing there, staring wide-eyed. You try (and fail) to keep your eyes on his face. But it's just so easy to let your gaze wander down... to follow the drops of water down his stomach--

You get ahold of yourself eventually, mumbling a half assed apology before leaving the room and slamming the doorshut behind you, face burning hot.

Why can't your brother befriend guys who aren't the epitome your type?