"Dammit, Sam," he sighed at him, wrapping his other arm around him and tilting Sam's head up to look at him. "You're a brat, you know." Sam was thirty this year and Dean was pretty damn sure Sam hadn't really grown up past eighteen. He was a stubborn kid most of them time.
Nudging his nose against Sam's, he kissed him just softly, sighing a little against his mouth. "Don't make me put you to sleep another way," he warned him, his tone attempting to sound playful.