Dean tugged on the collar of his shirt. "Quickly, Sam, I have a meeting with the Dean in fifteen minutes."
"No," Sam turned away and went back to reorganizing his books on his shelves. "I have papers to grade, TAs to bitch out, and a lunch with Professor Fishkin who's visiting from Stanford."
Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's waist and pressed a kiss to Sam's neck. "How about we deliberate on it, I'm sure you'll come round."
"No, I say," Sam shrugged him off. "I'm crying tyranny of the majority."
Dean raised a brow, but didn't back off. "There's only us."
"I'm sure somebody would like to weigh in on the subject of us having sex before your meeting with the Dean."
"Excuse me, but this is causing the most satisfaction for the most people, therefore it is EXCELLENT."
Sam sighed. "What would cause me satisfaction is to organize this bookcase."
But Dean, like a true bourgeoisie oppressor browbeats Sam into giving up the labor of his loving. He might also have tossed around a few things like "suck your cock" and "fuck me over the desk." That was hard for Sam to resist.
What do you think? A grade? *headdesk* God help me, I can't wait 'til this is over.