Dean grins, he definitely liked getting his way. He swings a leg over Sam, practically kneeling behind him and sets to work, his hands massaging roughly into Sam's shoulders, trying to work out what felt like a decade of tension, hell it probably was a decade of tension. He is beginning to realize though that the t-shirt did need to go, if only because it was cumbersome. He leans back to a position where he's sitting on Sam's legs, tugging the t-shirt towards Sam's head. "Arms up, princess, promise I won't stare."