He finds the insides of Sam's elbows, the soft skin there, kisses left and right. Finds the arch of Sam's foot and rubs into it with his thumb, Sam's toes curling instinctively. The hair below Sam's navel must be touched. Dean lays his head against Sam's belly and feels it rumble, his body working, going about its mundane daily functions, and Dean can hardly wrap his mind around the scope of that, how wonderful it is, how all of human history pales in comparison. He touches the wrinkle on Sam's forehead where he worries too much, and it's beautiful and sad and joyful because Sam will collect more, because Sam is growing older.
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He finds the insides of Sam's elbows, the soft skin there, kisses left and right. Finds the arch of Sam's foot and rubs into it with his thumb, Sam's toes curling instinctively. The hair below Sam's navel must be touched. Dean lays his head against Sam's belly and feels it rumble, his body working, going about its mundane daily functions, and Dean can hardly wrap his mind around the scope of that, how wonderful it is, how all of human history pales in comparison. He touches the wrinkle on Sam's forehead where he worries too much, and it's beautiful and sad and joyful because Sam will collect more, because Sam is growing older.
That, in particular. :D