#implied bottom!dean

“Well?”

Dean rolled his eyes, grimacing as he cupped his heavy stomach and tried to shift his weight again, sighing when he managed to work a pillow into submission under his shoulder. 

After a moment, a small laughter escaped the Alpha. “Better?” he asked, and Dean knew the smug dick was preening because, yeah, that seventh pillow really had done wonders and was supporting his lower back nicely.

But he wasn’t going to let Castiel think that.

“You wanna make yourself useful and get me somethin’ to eat?”

“Of course. What would you like?”

“Coffee.”

“That’s not food. And you can’t have any until you’re done nursing.”

Dean glared at the Alpha, and Castiel met his gaze steadily. “I hate you,” he grumbled, and let out another irritated growl when Castiel laughed and settled himself back into place along Dean’s side. He had his head on Dean’s shoulder, and one hand flattened, big and warm, along his stomach. Dean was too uncomfortable to wear shirts nowadays, he was sensitive and nothing fit right anymore.

Dean let out another grumble, purely for show, and settled down when Castiel started to pet over his stomach, a soft purr rumbling in his chest that went a long way to soothing Dean’s frayed nerves.

“Are you just gonna sit here and pet me all day?” he asked.

“I think so,” Castiel replied, somewhat smug. “You’re purring.”

“Am not!” But there was so denying the little rumble in his throat. It was definitely a purr. Fuck.

“I can get you food, if you’re actually hungry and not just trying to get me to move again so that you can complain.”

Damn it. Castiel could always see right through him. Dean huffed, shifting in place again, and yanked one of the softer blankets up over his shoulders. “No, I’m actually fuckin’ comfortable for once.”

Castiel hummed. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t thank you.”

“Nevertheless.”

Dean rolled his eyes and Castiel lifted his head. He could smell how happy Castiel was, his victor-Alpha scent meshing nicely with the sweet, cinnamon-scent he got whenever he was happy.

“You’re a smug dick,” he muttered, but accepted the kiss Castiel pressed to his forehead, then his cheek, and finally his lips. It was chaste and gentle and Dean purred louder for a brief second.

“I love you, too,” Castiel replied.

“I want another pillow.”

Sam waves it away, unable to come up with a reply, and gulps down the rest of his coffee. He stands up a little too fast. “You ready to go?”

Any amusement that might have been there vanishes from Dean’s face. His eyes flick to the young woman – Sam hasn’t even bothered to look at her name tag – and back to Sam. “What?”

Sam ignores him and decides to make a detour to the bathroom, leaving Dean to chat up the waitress some more. When he returns, he plops back down onto the cushy corner seat.

He knocks his fingers against the table to get Dean’s attention. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, “You’ve still got to deliver on that blowjob you promised me this morning.”

He shifts out of the booth, enjoying it entirely too much how Dean’s eyes widen ridiculously and his mouth falls open. The vaguely confused expression of the waitress gives way to something indescribable and Sam is shaking with the effort not to explode with laughter.

Leaving the explaining to his brother, he stands up and heads for the door, brushing his fingers against Dean’s shoulder on the way out for good measure. He catches a hiss-whisper of “I thought you said he was your brother” from the girl’s mouth but doesn’t hear Dean’s reply.

It doesn’t take two minutes for Dean to slam out of the diner’s front door.

“What in the ever-loving fuck, Sam?”

He looks genuinely pissed and the time for humor has passed. Sam sighs. “Dean, I’m tired. I wanna leave. I have no desire to see you flirt with some floozy right in front of me and then have to stay another night because you can’t control your urges.”

“So you had to–“ Dean pinches his nose. There’s a moment of silence before – to Sam’s utter astonishment – he actually huffs a laugh. “God,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching, “You’re a whiny bitch sometimes, you know that?”

Sam shrugs.

Dean waves a hand at him. “Get in the damn car.”

~+~

It develops into a bit of a prank war between the two of them. Sam has to admit that this one is on him since he’s the one who started it.

Since it has the positive side effect of making it impossible for Dean to pick up women if Sam’s around, making suggestive comments and scaring them off, Sam continues to do precisely that. He is truly surprised when, instead of blowing up in his face at some point, Dean starts to go along with it after a while, after he realized that Sam isn’t going to stop any time soon.

He has started grabbing Sam’s ass in public – at the most inopportune of times – to make him jump with surprise, drop his coffee, or bang his knee against the underside of the table. He’s always straight-faced while doing it, too.

It was sort of funny the first couple of times but it escalated when it made them look unprofessional during cases. Presenting a cool and collected image, or projecting imposing authority of the FBI becomes considerably more difficult when Sam’s supposed “partner” is practically feeling him up during witness statements.

Sam might be the one who started it but Dean’s the one having endless fun with it. Sooner of later, this was bound to come back to bite Sam in the ass.

“Hey, look at this,” Dean says while they’re at the police department, reaching out and twirling a piece of Sam’s hair around his finger to get his attention.

Sam slaps his hand away. “Alright, stop, I get it.”

Dean looks up from the box of files he’s looking through, eyes wide and inquiring, appearing honestly innocent, and he holds up his palms in defense. “Okay,” he says as if he isn’t quite sure what he did wrong and Sam doesn’t know what to say. He’s fairly positive Dean is screwing with him again but it’s not a hundred percent.

He tucks his hair behind his ear, ignores it. “Sorry. Show me what you got.”

~+~

“Why am I always the one getting fucked?”

Sam sprays his coffee over the entire surface of the desk in front of him. He coughs, “What?”

Dean scrunches up his nose, wiping some stray coffee droplets off his forearm. “Nice, Sam, real classy.” He frowns. “I mean, why is it that people never bat an eye when you joke about me taking it up the ass?”

Sam pushes his coffee mug out of his reach before he spills any more of it. “I–What are you asking me here?”

“I don’t know. Never mind.”

Sam looks at him, takes in the crease between his eyebrows. “I told you before, maybe they think you’re overcompensating.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What does that even mean?”

It’s beyond ridiculous that they’re having this conversation. “It’s just something you project. It’s pretty obvious, even to strangers, that most of your tough-guy image is an act. They think you need to feel … more manly in a way.”

Dean’s mouth curls. “And that automatically means that I’m the–the bottom in our fictitious relationship?”

“‘Course not.”

“You just said–Sam, please try to make sense.”

Sam laughs, can’t help himself. “It’s just something people tend to assume if you’re … the way you are, I guess. Is it important?”

Dean makes a sound of disgusted negation but Sam doesn’t think that’s the end of it. True to form, Dean processes in silence, then, after about five minutes, unfolds his legs from underneath him and gets up from where he’s been perched on the bed.

“But I mean–“

Sam interrupts him with a sigh. “Do you really wanna know why someone would think that?”

Dean blinks. “Of course I fucking wanna know. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“You’re a control freak,” Sam says slowly, “but you can’t admit it. You act like you’re larger than life, always the protector, the guy who knows everything, but you’re secretly looking for someone who takes care of you. You don’t like to open up to people and make yourself vulnerable so you’d only trust someone that much if you were in a long-standing relationship with them.”

He smirks, adds. “Besides, you’re smaller and prettier than me.”

Dean inhales sharply, his mouth falling open. He looks like he’s two seconds from chewing Sam out but then he snaps his mouth shut with a click, staring at Sam.

“You know it doesn’t matter, right?” Sam presses, “Even if you do like it, it’s not shameful and it certainly doesn’t make you any less … manly or whatever. It’s all just preference.”

Several expressions cross Dean’s face, too quick to grasp, and he silently chews his bottom lip. Then he scoffs, “You know I never actually had sex with a guy, right?”

It’s only when he says it that Sam notices he’s been wondering about that. The answer makes him feel strangely relieved. Then he realizes that throughout their entire exchange Dean never once denied anything.

~+~

Dean touches him more in general. It wouldn’t really be noticeable if Sam wasn’t keeping an eye out for it. He is almost certain that Dean isn’t even aware of it for the most part. He still makes the occasional lewd comment on purpose but the difference is striking.

So maybe it’s simply another positive side effect.

It’s just … Sam is confused by it. He doesn’t know what to do with it. Because he’s not so sure that what they’re doing is healthy. It’s harmless enough but sometimes Dean looks at him. And he catches himself looking at Dean and wondering … Wondering.

The whole thing is messing with his head, that’s probably all there is to it. But that doesn’t stop him from thinking, his brain circling over the possibilities. It’s not like it’s the first time they’ve pretended to be a couple for a case or been mistaken for one by a stranger.

Not denying it is easier, even useful sometimes.

But now it’s almost like a compulsion. Whenever Sam catches his brother setting his eyes on a pretty woman, he immediately wants to spoil it. Has to spoil it. And interestingly enough, Dean never seems angry about it, is barely even irritated anymore.

Sometimes Sam even wonders if Dean does it on purpose, checking out girls when Sam is right next to him. But it’s a ridiculous thought. It’s just the way Dean is wired and he probably doesn’t even think about it.

Sam isn’t stupid. He might be a little reluctant when it comes to admitting things to himself but he can’t ignore it completely.

He is jealous. Blood-boiling, rage-inducing hideous jealousy – and it’s not Dean he’s jealous of.

“So,” he asks when Dean joins him at the bar, twirling his empty whiskey tumbler between his fingers, “Find anyone nice?”

Dean signals the bartender for a beer. “Nah,” he says, spinning on the bar stool to face Sam, “Besides you’d just ruin it for me anyway. Tell ‘em about how I like to be tied to the headboard or somethin’.”

“Do you?”

Dean blinks. “Do I what?”

“Like to be tied to the headboard.” Sam’s not sober enough to have this conversation with his brother. Or not drunk enough.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dean doesn’t say anything else and Sam doesn’t hold out hope for a reply. He gets the bartender to pour him a refill. Next to him, Dean sips his beer in silence.

Then Dean quietly says, “I don’t know. Never tried it.”

Sam doesn’t want to ask but he can’t stop himself and there’s an element of the ridiculous to it. “You want to?’

Dean snorts. “What is this? The kinky version of Twenty Questions?”

Sam shakes his head. “Never mind.” He throws back his whiskey, the liquid burning its way down to his stomach.

Dean rolls his beer bottle between his palms. He’s looking absently around the room but it’s obvious that he isn’t seeing anything, just thinking. “I don’t know,” he says finally, “I suppose.”

He focuses back on Sam, a grin around the corner of his mouth that’s typical and just this side of fake. “I’ll try anything once.”

Sam makes himself smile in return but the only thing he can think about is how if Dean ever was to try anything, it wouldn’t be with him, and that thought in itself is so disgustingly wrong that he can barely finish it. He curls his hand into a fist against the coarse fabric of his jeans as something ugly and possessive stirs inside of him.

Dean is still looking at him and it’s unnerving. Sam closes his trembling fingers around his empty glass. The bartender spots him, lifts an eyebrow in question, and Sam nods. Definitely not drunk enough.

Dean regards Sam’s third whiskey a little suspiciously. “Something up with you?”

Sam just shakes his head and empties the glass in one gulp.

~+~

Dean is in the middle of hustling pool with a couple from New Orleans, who keep snatching stolen glances at him, when Sam joins them.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean grins, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, a pink flush to his cheek after too many liquor shots, “This’s Jim an’ Maggie. Guys, this is my–“

“Boyfriend,” Sam cuts in automatically and Dean doesn’t even react to the word. Just smoothes out his shoulders and lines up the next shot, leaving Sam stuck with making conversation.

There’s a moment his jealousy spikes again, worsened by too much alcohol and the late hour, when Dean bends over the pool table and Maggie’s eyes visibly wander, but Jim is staring intently at Sam and Sam slowly catches on to what this is about.

As if on cue, Dean straightens up again, leaning backwards against the edge of the table, chalking his cue stick. “They’re lookin’ for another couple,” he says almost casually, looking up at Sam from underneath his lashes and Sam can’t tell if it’s intentional.

Before he can say anything Dean continues, “But I already told ‘em you don’t share.” He turns to the couple, shrugs his shoulders. “He can get possessive.”

Sam struggles to control his facial features while he’s trying not to stare at his brother in shock. Then Maggie comes up next to him and nudges her hip into his.

“I totally understand,” she says with a lilt, looking at Dean, then up at Sam, lashes fluttering, much like Dean did a moment ago. “Would’a been too good to be true.”

“Come on, honey,” Jim says, kissing her cheek, “It’s getting late, let’s head back.” He brushes Sam’s shoulder with his fingertips, not an unwelcome touch. “If you guys change your mind, we’re here for two more nights. We’re staying at the Chestnut Inn.”

Sam gives a smile, doesn’t mention that he and Dean won’t stay in this town for much longer. Maybe for the night but he’s itching to leave.

They say their goodbyes and Dean puts away the pool cues. “Alright, I’m beat. Let’s go back to the motel and sleep. You can do your thing and find us a job in the morning.”

Sam shakes his head but not in negation, just to clear it. He feels like he’s getting whiplash from this.

Dean’s palm comes down on his biceps, strokes up to his shoulder. “Earth to Sam? You okay?”

Sam croaks, “Yeah,” can’t help the shiver at Dean’s touch.

Dean tilts his head. “Sorry ‘bout this,” he says, “I just figured–I didn’t know what to say to make ‘em let it go.”

Sam looks at him, doesn’t mention that he could have just said that they’re brothers, could have just told them the truth, because somehow he can’t make himself say it. Dean’s eyes are hazy from the alcohol, his face open and vulnerable, fingers playing with Sam’s collar, and he’s too beautiful for Sam to even try to find the words.

It would be so easy to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist, pull him in and closer, feel the heat from his body, but the moment is over too quickly and Dean walks away from him, out the door.

Sam unroots himself from the spot. “Wait!” he calls over the music, then pushes through the door into the night, “Dean!”

He catches up with him at the car in the parking lot and Dean turns, leaning against the driver side door. “Yeah?”

Sam stops right in front of him. If he meant to say anything, it’s gone now.

It may have started out as a joke but there’s nothing funny about the way Dean is looking at him, head tilted back against the roof of the car, and biting his lip. It’s nothing but serious when Sam puts his hands on his brother, a little hesitantly at first but he quickly loses the nervousness when Dean’s eyes slip shut.

Dean gives a small gasp as Sam’s arms go entirely around him, encircling his waist, pulling him in, and it’s a beautiful little sound. Sam dips his head, about to lick it right out of Dean’s mouth, but Dean halts him with a gentle hand to his sternum.

“Sam?”

Sam hums in acknowledgement. He’s looking down at his brother and somehow he’s transported back to when he was twenty-two and noticeably taller than Dean for the very first time. He remembers it feeling so wrong and beyond strange. It still doesn’t seem quite right sometimes.

Right now it’s the perfect position to tilt his head a little and nuzzle his brother’s temple, into his hairline and feel the short strands tickle his skin. Dean smells like he always does, motel soap and lingering gun powder, and it’s home and perfect and Sam wants.

“What–“ Dean starts, licks his lips, “I mean why–I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do. I think you do.”

“But I don’t want–“ he breaks off again, pain visible in the way he’s scrunching up his face and setting his jaw.

Sam backs off a little, leaving his palms a body heat pressure against Dean’s flanks. “Don’t want what? To feel like this?”

Dean nods, then shakes his head. Blows out a frustrated a breath. “It wasn’t–I had no idea this would end like this.” He gives a laugh but there’s no humor in it.

“What do you want me to do?” Sam asks and when there’s no reply, he steps back farther, removing his hands from Dean’s body and it might just be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

But then Dean reaches for him, for his hands, clasps them hard and says, “No.”

Sam keeps himself still, flattens his breathing. He’s trying to give Dean the space he needs without putting too much actual distance between them. He knows what he wants, he’s sure. Hell, maybe he’s been sure all along, maybe this is what subconsciously started the whole thing. But he can’t decide for his brother. Dean needs to arrive at the same place Sam’s at on his own.

Dean tugs him closer again and Sam goes willingly, folding himself back around Dean’s torso as Dean guides his hands to come to a rest on the small of his back. Dean exhales noisily and puts his own hands on Sam’s biceps.

Just that small touch – through clothing nonetheless – makes Sam briefly close his eyes.

“I can’t–“ Dean shakes his head again, then tilts his chin up, demands, “Kiss me.”

It’s quite the change in demeanor but this is Dean and Sam isn’t surprised by anything anymore. His brother is an ‘all or nothing’ kind of guy and Sam goes with it, doesn’t have to be told twice. He cups one hand behind the back of Dean’s neck and leans down, catches Dean’s lower lip between his teeth and sucks on it before he cocks his head and full-on kisses his brother.

Dean makes a little noise as if he didn’t suspect Sam to actually follow his request but he doesn’t pull away. He sinks against Sam, into him, and something blooms in Sam’s chest, knots his stomach with desire. He fingers are digging into bone behind Dean’s ear and he kisses harder, opens his mouth at the same time as Dean does.

The sky is pitch-black and there’s no one around but Sam is still floored that Dean is allowing this here and at all but Dean doesn’t seem preoccupied with their surroundings in any way. He’s brushing his hands up to Sam’s shoulders, thumb resting on his collarbone, and there’s no hesitation in his movements whatsoever now.

Another thing that surprises Sam is that Dean doesn’t make any attempts to try to gain the upper hand, doesn’t strive for control over the kiss and he seems perfectly comfortable, caged between the car and Sam’s body without any leverage.

He always – after his initial shocked annoyance –  went with Sam’s jokes about dick-sucking and being on he receiving end of things and maybe, maybe Sam wants to push this a little bit.

He gets his thumb under Dean’s jaw, tilts it up a little further, and shoves his knees in between Dean’s legs against the car door so Dean has to rise up on his toes a little bit. His fingers dig into Sam’s skin as he’s struggling to maintain his balance.

But he doesn’t say anything. Just makes another one of those breathy sounds that comes out muffled around Sam’s tongue. His mouth is pliant against Sam’s, following every one of Sam’s movements and it’s so different to everyone he’s kissed in his life because even here they’re totally in sync and it’s almost too familiar for his own comfort.

For a moment there it weirdly reminds him of Jessica. Or – and the thought almost makes him laugh – it’s always been the other way around.

It doesn’t matter now, not now when Dean’s so soft and entirely pliable, Sam’s to form and mold. It makes warmth pool in his stomach that’s not just emotion. He shifts against Dean, hikes his knee a little higher between his brother’s legs, and makes sure that Dean can feel the line of Sam’s cock against his own hip, half-hard and growing, filling more with every lick of their tongues, and Sam’s far past being ashamed.

Dean’s gasp is louder this time, his hips twitch, and he brings some space between their mouths. HIs lips are dark pink, looking thoroughly kissed and bitten, spit-slick, and it’s all Sam can do not to dive back in and rid Dean of all his clothes right here in the parking lot.

Dean’s eyes are wide, awake despite the blown pupils, irises dark green in the low light, a flush in his cheeks that somehow makes him look adorable and utterly fuckable at the same time. His taste lingers in Sam’s mouth, liquor and spice, and Sam’s so screwed. Irreversibly and unapologetically screwed.

He is waiting for the it to be too much, for Dean to bolt, the inevitable shove backwards and the ‘I can’t’. But impossibly, Dean stays put. Just stares at him for a few crucial seconds, his mouth half-open, and Sam can’t help himself. He strokes his thumb from Dean’s neck to his bottom lip, pressing against it gently, feeling it give. He crooks his finger then, clicking the nail against the line of Dean’s teeth and Dean’s eyes shudder closed.

It’s encouragement, an invitation if Sam’s ever seen one, and he doesn’t waste any time sliding the digit into Dean’s mouth, letting him close his lips around it. Sam feels the ridges of Dean’s tongue against the calloused pad of his thumb and it sparks right down to his groin. He bends forward, attaches his own mouth to the corner of Dean’s, then down his jaw and the line of his neck, all the while pressing his thumb against Dean’s clever tongue.

He withdraws then, replacing his thumb with his index and middle finger, and gives a quiet groan against the hollow of Dean’s throat when Dean sucks them into his mouth right away, his hand even coming up to wrap strong fingers against Sam’s wrist and holding him in place.

Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen or felt anything as erotic as his brother suckling and licking at his fingers as if they’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, and he’s aching to get out of his jeans and stroke himself. He nicks Dean’s skin with his teeth before pulling back

He hesitates a moment before he asks, “Backseat?” not entirely sure where they stand, but Dean only nods, nothing left of his uncertainty from earlier.

The car is roomy but containing two fully grown men struggling to get out of their clothes is a challenge whichever way you look at it and Sam bumps his elbow on the car door two times. He just so manages not to hit his head against the roof through sheer luck. Dean fares a little better, shuffling along the bench seat on his back, kicking out of his jeans. He only narrowly misses Sam’s head with his foot and judging by the way he muffles his laughter it was entirely premeditated.

Sam snorts a laugh of his own and grabs Dean’s gloriously naked thighs with both hands, spreading them around his shoulders as he sinks down to the leather, bending over his brother so he can lick across the head of his dick, and Dean’s amusement turns to low moans real damn fast. If Sam had any room in his mouth for grinning he would, but as it is he just takes Dean’s cock deeper into his mouth, careful to keep his teeth away, and feels it harden further against his tongue.

Dean’s fingers tangle in his hair and Sam isn’t sure but he thinks he can feel them tremble slightly.

“Sam, fuck,” Dean blurts and Sam hums around him, making him buck his hips up. He pulls back a little to avoid gagging, then spreads his forearm across Dean’s abdomen to hold him down.

He slides his mouth farther down, takes as much as he confidently can, and swallows. Dean near-shouts, jerking against Sam’s hold.

Sam is peripherally worried about the possibility of arrest for public indecency so he reaches up, hooks two of his fingers into Dean’s mouth again, his palm cupped around Dean’s chin, thumb pressing right over his pulse point. He can feel the quick thump thump thump of Dean’s heart.

Dean makes a choked noise, halfway between affront and amusement, but takes the hint and begins sucking at Sam’s fingers.

Sam can feel the vibrations of Dean’s moans. He’s trying to gain any kind of friction against his cock but the leather seat isn’t exactly the most comfortable place, so he takes his arm off Dean’s stomach and reaches down between his own legs.

Dean starts to shift his hips again and Sam pulls his mouth away, ignoring Dean’s whine of protest.

He growls, “Stay down,” and Dean gives a hiccup-y moan but obeys, only little twitches of his hips and his quivering abs giving away how much he’s struggling to stay still. He bites Sam’s fingers to tell him what he thinks of it, slight sting of pain, and Sam shoves his fingers farther into Dean’s mouth in retaliation until he almost-gags.

It’s not really violent but Sam wouldn’t be surprised if the fingers that aren’t in Dean’s mouth, the ones pressed against his jaw, biting nails and solid grip, will have left bruises by morning. He feels the pin-sting of Dean’s fingers pulling at his hair but he doesn’t have a hand to dislodge them, and anyway, he doesn’t much care to.

He works his own cock in the same rhythm as he sucks Dean’s and he’s enveloped in Dean’s smell, sweat and musk, and maybe it makes him a little crazy because he pulls his fingers out of Dean’s mouth then and presses them between the cheeks of Dean’s ass, leaving a wet trail down his perineum before pushing gently against the tight muscle below.

Dean’s other hand comes down on his shoulder, his heels digging into Sam’s back. “Sam, I’m–“

He breaks off, shudders when Sam increases the pressure and breaches him with just the tip of his index finger, taking him deep into his mouth at the same time, and the muscle around his finger clamps tight as Dean comes with a muffled groan.

Sam cleans Dean’s cock with his tongue while Dean shakes through his orgasm and speeds up the hand he’s got on his own dick. He twists his thumb over the tip, smearing precum, and he briefly, ridiculously, thinks about how Dean is going to kill him if he gets semen on the upholstery.

Dean’s hand is slack in Sam’s hair, weakly cupping his head where Sam’s got it rested against the inside of Dean’s thigh.

He mutters, “Holy shit, Sammy,” and maybe it’s the exhausted awe in his voice or the nickname but in any way, that’s when Sam comes, too, into his own hand.

He turns on to his side to catch his breath, head lolling on Dean’s stomach and he’s almost tempted to clean his hand off on either the leather or on Dean’s clothes, just to piss his brother off, but then he has a better idea.

He lifts his hand, smearing his sticky fingers against Dean’s bottom lip in an act of bravery, looking up to gauge Dean’s reaction. Dean raises his eyebrows and for a moment Sam thinks he’s gone too far but then Dean’s tongue flicks out, little kitten-licks against the tips of Sam’s fingers until he opens his mouth wider and sucks them clean of Sam’s own release.

Sam groans weakly. If he hadn’t just come harder than he had in a while, he might be able to get hard again just from this.

Dean doesn’t stop until Sam’s fingers are glistening with saliva, then pulls off and grins down at Sam, entirely too smug, and it makes Sam laugh.