starsinursa:

This was a terrible idea, Dean thinks.

“This was a terrible idea,” Dean says, because he wants that
thought on record.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not, it’s a great idea. You’re
not 18 years old anymore, Dean –“

Dean cuts him off before he can start on that whole spiel again. “Okay, one? Rude, Sammy. I know how old I am, Mr. I’m-still-in-my-20’s. And B –“ He waves a vaguely flailing hand around the room. “- it’s packed in here! What’re we supposed to do, run laps
around all the people hogging the machines?”

He’s not even exaggerating (much), the place is ridiculously busy. It was hard enough
finding a parking spot – they’d had to park all the way at the back, Sam
sniping at him the whole time to “stop bitching
about walking, Dean, we’re here to exercise” – much less how they’ll find any empty machines. 

There’s a row of people already running on the treadmills in
front of the windows. There’s a biking class (Sam insists it’s called
‘spinning’, but that’s friggin’ ridiculous) going on in one of the adjacent
rooms. There’s people stretching and doing sit-ups on the floor mats in the
corner. There’s even – son of a bitch, this place is fancy, nothing like the hole-in-the-wall gym in the basement of
their high school, because there’s even a massive rock-climbing wall,
stretching all the way up to the lofted ceiling.

Dean’s steps falter, bringing him to a stop in front of the wall.
Not surprisingly, it’s the emptiest place in the gym, because apparently most people aren’t too gung-ho about shimmying around 50 feet off the ground. There’s only
one guy climbing at the moment, but damn – he is climbing. The guy is hoisting himself up the wall like he’s taking a stroll in the park, fingers deft as he reaches up for the next hand-hold, balancing on the toes of his shoes. Dean only catches a quick glimpse of his profile, framed with a head of dark, messy hair, but his face looks serious, set with concentration. 

He really can’t be blamed for taking another moment just to admire, because the guy is practically mesmerizing. His climbing is quick and graceful, but calculated – there’s not one unnecessary movement or wasted energy. Even from this distance, Dean can tell that the guy is all toned
strength and lean lines.

…he’s got a pretty great ass, too, framed by the straps of the climbing harness, and good god, those thighs, muscles flexing as he balances one foot and stretches out with his other leg –

A hand settling on his shoulder makes him jump.

“- about a month,” Sam is saying, apparently oblivious,
“It’s always more packed in January because everyone’s here for their New
Year’s resolutions.”

“…that’s why I’m here,” Dean mutters, but he lets Sam steer
him away from the rock wall, sparing only a quick glance back in time to
see the climber reach the top and triumphantly slap the red button.

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Of course, Sam would drag Dean to the gym… Lol