Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything related to Supernatural. And also, I am in no way affiliated with the purported Skin Channel.

A/N: I've seen lots of discussion on why Sam had such a serious look on his face whilst watching porn during Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things, so here's my take on it. I honestly can't believe I just wrote a fic about porn, but, well, here I am. The thing Kripke makes me do…

AWKWARD

By Spectral Scribe

Insufferable, stubborn, idiot jackass.

It was starting to become a mantra in Sam's head as he sat on the edge of the bed, biting the nails of his left hand and using his right to furiously punch the buttons on the remote.

Stupid, pig-headed, macho jerk.

He was sure to wear down that poor little remote by time he was through with it; as the fury coursing through him festered and grew, the rapidity with which he changed the channel increased as well. And if he didn't stop slamming down on the Channel Up button with his thumb, it would probably get crushed in so far that the crappy motel TV would continually scroll through the channels, like some kind of haunted television set.

Sam snorted. Now he was finding supernatural things where there weren't any, too.

A small part of him wanted to go with Dean, dissolve into the hunt. But a larger part of him couldn't allow them to find something here. It was too much of a coincidence, and frankly, he was scared half shitless by the way Dean just turned himself off and went into hunter-mode these days. He was afraid that one day, Dean wouldn't be able to turn off hunter-mode… and he couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.

But Dean, the stubborn, pig-headed, insufferable jackass he was, refused to ask for help.

Sam nearly ripped the nail from his finger as he chewed at it, the channels flashing by in a psychotic, seizure-inducing myriad of blinking colors.

He had to get his mind off all of this, or he would worry himself into an early grave. And he would have no remaining nails on his left hand. Unfortunately, the constant, rhythmic flipping of channels did less to soothe him and more to agitate him with the quick movement… until an image crossed the TV that Sam could swear hadn't been there. Pausing his thumb's workout, he flipped back a few stations to the correct channel. And he found that he hadn't been imagining things.

Whatever it was… it was porn.

Sam snorted. He should have figured. Motel rooms and porn went together like demons and carnage. Or like Dean and mullet rock. Only, it was slightly awkward when the inhabitants of the room were, in fact, brothers… not lovers.

Shaking his head slightly, because he really, really needed to stop thinking about Dean, he turned his attention back to the image on the screen. He never really got to… well… yeah, road-tripping with his brother and all. There just wasn't much opportune time for it. And plus, he always felt somewhat… embarrassed and guilty whenever he put to use that particular genre of entertainment… but, after all, every now and then one needed to… succumb to that particular bodily… desire. Right. Anyway.

Dean never seemed to have much trouble in this area.

Okay, time to stop thinking about Dean. And since he really couldn't stomach thinking about Dean in this context, he figured it would be a great distraction. So long as the door remained closed, the windows shuttered, and Dean out of the room.

Settling in on the side of the bed, Sam released a great breath, tried to calm down, and watched the two girls—hmm, lesbian action, Dean would probably like that, stop thinking about Dean—as they caressed one another seductively, already half-naked. They both had gorgeous, dark hair and tanned skin… and very nice breasts.

One leaned into the other's ear, whispering salaciously, "Te gusta eso?"

Now they were a writhing mass of skin, and the other breathed, "Sí! Sí! Sí!"

It was pretty damn hot, he had to admit. He felt his hand drifting downward, towards his pants. He hadn't been too fond of Spanish when he took it in school, but he just decided that it was actually quite a sexy language. For a moment, he recalled that transfer student that Dean had tried to seduce when they were teenagers; Dean had always had a way with girls, and making them fawn over him obsequiously, and being a stubborn jackass who refused to listen to reason…

And no, now was really not the time to think about Dean. That was one sure way to kill a mood. Focus on the pretty Latin girls…

The pretty Latin girls rolling around on one another, moaning and panting, fondling each other, and oh yes, this was good.

Then one girl straddled the other, and Sam's hand ghosted over his pants in the… groinal region, and he watched as her legs spread wide and she leaned over and—

—and just how the hell had they gotten into that position?

He lifted his hand away from his pants, focusing his full, scrutinizing attention on the television. Huh. Now, that just didn't make sense. Really, that position was impossible. The mechanics of it, if you weren't a contortionist or hadn't broken all the bones in your body, were simply not feasible.

The enjoyment quickly faded into curiosity. He puzzled over the girls, tilting his head slightly as a frown crossed his face and his eyebrows furrowed, creating a line between them. He studied the orgasming girls as if they were a complex mathematical equation.

Seriously, though. That was just ridiculous. He'd tried several interesting… maneuvers with Jess once, who was fairly flexible, and he knew how far people could stretch. That just wasn't possible.

Maybe if the first girl had bent over the second, and then rolled her hips… and then the second sort of did the splits…

No, there really was no logical explanation.

How the hell had they gotten into that position?

And of course, the mechanics of porn as opposed to the actual pleasure of it had snagged his attention so deeply that he'd completely forgotten about Dean, which kind of worried Sam, had he taken the time to think about it. But he didn't really have the time, because he could hear the doorknob turn from the outside, and a muted shit! ran through his head as the very object of his previous concern strode confidently into the room.

As hastily as he could, he turned off the TV.

Well, so much for the Skin Channel.