Dean: ...Now you want to go hang out at a strip club? You hate strip clubs.
Sam: No I don't.
Dean: Dude, the last lapdance you had was at Christmas. It was a gift paid for by me. You spent the entire song trying to convince the girl that she should go to nursing school.
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The club is dark, hot and smoky; there is so much dry ice that it’s like sitting in fog. Dean can smell sweat mixed in with strong perfume and weak beer. Glamourous is not a word you could use when describing Hot Babe’s Bar and, not for the first time, Dean wished they’d just celebrated Christmas the old fashioned way with a gas station Christmas tree and homemade egg nog ( ... )
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Not having a boner right now, Dean keeps repeating to himself. Not having a fucking boner right now. I’m fine. It’s not a big deal. Sam doesn’t mean it. He’s just- What? It doesn’t matter. I’m not having a boner. It’s a lie, of course. There are bodily reactions you can’t control, and it’s only a matter of time before Sam realizes he’s capable of extracting all kinds of them from Dean ( ... )
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