#high!sam

Dean Winchester never had a problem with stealing. A jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread had been the one and only time he had got caught as a kid. As if that had been his first time (or last). As he got older, it had been a case of ‘Hell, I deserve this’; lifting porn from a shut down rural gas station, a priority for anyone who had just spent forty years in Hell. The Viagra had been a fun ‘lift’, although Sam’s ass would disagree. Most recently it had been a baggie full of pot carefully removed from the pocket of whom Dean had referred to as ‘Ganja Girl’ while they discussed junk-less green-eyed monsters. Sam smelt it the moment they were in the car and had shut their doors. In sync, naturally.

and it’s so fucking hot, because he’s clenching around dean’s cock like he’s been teased for hours  - which he hasn’t - contraction after contraction rocking him into the bed.

“holy shit,” dean whispers, kissing his ear, trying to calm himself down, not wanting to shoot off inside sam just yet. “is that - is that because of the joint?”

sam moans slowly, fingers clutching the sheets, his sticky cock trapped between the sheets at his belly. “yeah,” he whimpers. “yeah, dean, makes me really sensitive -- so close to -- a-again --”

“alright, okay -- just...god, you feel so good right now. warm and tight and relaxed and good.”

“fuck me,” sam whispers. “please. just --”