Word Count: 1,023
Disclaimer: All characters, situations, etc. belong to Eric Kripke and others.
Summary: In which there is a devil alligator, a t-shirt gets destroyed and Dean is maybe a little pudgy.
Author's Notes: arabella_hope posted recently about how she and kashmir1 and hkath were really craving pudgy, dirty Dean. I am kind of incapable of resisting that kind of temptation, so. Pudgy, dirty Dean it is! Also, established relationship and schmoooop. How could there not be schmoop when there's Dean's pudgy belly to squeeze?
ETA: This story is also available as an audio recording over at motelwincest, read by teaatsix, who is awesome. ♥
The devil alligator is pretty easy to find, as it turns out. Most of the alligators along the highway are sedentary, indistinguishable from the low brush and the bone-colored dust of the roadside, but about forty minutes outside of Miami, they find an overturned tractor-trailer full of gutted cages and the bloody, desiccated bodies of sheep. The sheer amount of mud everywhere is unreal.
Dean prods one of the corpses with his boot. "The real question is, why would anyone be driving a truckload of sheep through the Everglades?"
Sam peers into the cab, but the driver's not going to be able to answer that question: the only things left of him are a bloody spot on the seat, a baseball cap and, ten feet closer to the swamp, an enormous belt buckle. Sam cracks his back, and sighs. "I think we found our devil gator, eh?"
"Yup." Dean grins. "Awesome."
Sam's got a rhinoceros-grade tranquilizer gun and a pistol loaded with blessed bullets. Dean's wielding a rifle in one hand and a machete in the other, but it's not like there's anything they need to clear: there's a flattened swath eight feet wide trailing off into the swamp. Not exactly subtle. It's slow going, though, through water up to their waists and boot-sucking mud. It's kind of hard to keep quiet, so it's a good thing that the devil gator isn't really going for quiet, either: it roars out of the swamp and goes for Dean first. Sam hits it with a tranquilizer dart but damned if it barely slows the thing, angry now and gunning for Sam--
He doesn't really think about the rest of the fight. It's quick and dirty, the kind of fight Dean likes: enough slugs of holy lead and tranq darts in the beast and it slows enough for Dean to get it with the machete, thrashing as it dies. They're covered in water and mud and Dean's bleeding from a gash in his side but Sam can tell already from the way Dean's crowing that it can't be serious.
"I love wasting creatures!" he yells, jerking the machete out of the devil gator's neck.
Sam pushes his hair off his forehead, shaking his hand off when it comes back covered in mud. His adrenaline's pumping too, but damn, he could really use a shower right now. "Do you think we need to torch the thing?"
Dean laughs. "I didn't bring anything to do it with, did you? Plus, dude, if this thing comes back from the dead? I would pay money to see a devil alligator zombie."
Sam shakes his head. "Has anyone ever told you you're insane?"
Dean smacks him on the back of the head. "You love me. C'mon, bitch, let's blow this joint."
Dean's in a stupidly good mood as they slog their way back out of the swamp, right up until the moment they get back onto solid roadside and he looks down at his side. "Motherfucker," he curses. "Fuckin' gator wrecked my shirt!"
Sam snorts. "You bought it at a thrift store, dude."
"Shut up," Dean pouts. "I liked this one."
"We can get you a new one," Sam tells him, trying not to laugh at Dean's expression. It's hard; he looks kind of like he's constipated.
"It won't be the same," Dean grumbles, slightly mollified, as he pulls the t-shirt over his head.
Sam's about to crack another joke but instead he just stares. Logically he's known that Dean's thirty-five for a while now, but he hasn't really thought about it until now. He's seen Dean every single day for the past seven years, has felt Dean's body over and under and beside his own for six, but now, seeing Dean covered in water, mud and alligator guts, he notices what he didn't before: the fine layer of fat softening out the lines of Dean's muscles, the way Dean's gut pushes over the top of his jeans. A lifetime of fast food and sitting in the car has finally started to catch up with Dean, Sam thinks. It hasn't slowed his reflexes, not so that Sam's noticed, but the pudge is definitely there, and Sam needs to have his hands on him all of a sudden. So he goes for it: steps in behind him and pulls Dean in tight against him, fitting Dean's ass against his dick, hardening already, and kisses Dean's neck, nibbles down.
"Not that I'm complaining," Dean swallows, "but do you want to maybe shower before we--"
"No," Sam says into his neck. He can see the line of mud, darker where Dean's t-shirt ended, and he tastes dirt and sweat and something tangy that might be gator blood, but right now he doesn't care. It still surprises him how his need for Dean can blindside him at times, even after all these years, how he'll be researching a case or eating breakfast or riding shotgun in the Impala and he'll look at Dean and need him, can't think about anything else until they're writhing against each other, panting into each other's mouths.
Sam moves his hands off of Dean's hips and splays them wide on Dean's stomach. He can make indentations in Dean's belly with his fingers, and he smiles against Dean's neck. "You've gotten a little pudgy, dude," he says fondly.
Dean turns sharply, but Sam won't let him free. "I don't know what you're talking about. I am perfect in every way."
Sam squeezes Dean's belly. "You are, huh?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
The world really doesn't need Dean's ego to get any more inflated than it already is, so Sam doesn't say it, but he can't imagine ever wanting anyone as much as he wants Dean right at that moment, graying temples and mud and pudge and all. He doesn't say it, but he turns Dean around and kisses his mouth.
"I love you," Sam says, quiet so that maybe Dean won't hear, but of course he does.
"You're an enormous girl." Dean arches up against him like a cat and Sam knows exactly what he meant: I love you too, bitch.
They fuck quickly into each other's hands, mud and sweat and alligator guts all over. It's awful and perfect, and it doesn't get any better than this.