They didn't make it to the bedroom this time.
His body was pressed up against the panoramic window of his loft, white shirt gaping wide open, red silk tie hanging loosely around his neck. Large hands caressed their way up and down his torso, his stuttering gasps condensing against the glass.
"Have you thought about it?" Wesson whispers hotly in his ear and he can't even produce a single word what with the bastard's fingers thrusting in and out of his mouth making him drool all over himself like a stupid cumslut presented with dick. If his pants hadn't been undone and weren't hanging open with his partially swollen dick swinging back and forth against the uncomfortably cool glass, distracting him, he'd definitely kick his ass.
"Shit, you want to do this now?" he rasps once those fingers leave his mouth, voice betraying his need, "Now, while you're trying to fuck me up against my window?" he breaths, trying desperately not to come, hating the fact that it wasn't even in his hands if he did or not. He could feel Wesson's rigid cock wedging itself between his butt cheeks. He nearly bucked beneath him at the thought of being taking dry by that massive cock. He held back a pitiful whimper and closed his eyes tightly shut. "You son of a bitch…"
"It shouldn't be a problem for you, should it?" Wesson murmurs back, chuckle clear in his voice, "As director of sales and marketing, multitasking is like second nature to you."
He moans, slamming both his hands against the glass when his legs are shoved apart wider.
"I'm gonna fuck you just like that, with you sticking it out, right here, right where anyone accidentally looking up from the boulevard down there can see you taking it up the ass like the little cockwhore you really are, Mr Smith."
He's panting now, leaking all over his precious stone floor, trembling like a bitch in heat.
The suspenders are snapped loose and his pants now fall around his feet.
"Huh, Smith? It's what you want, isn't it?"
He moans hungrily and gasps when those fingers wriggle their way inside of him, stretching him, loosening him. "It's what I call you for, isn't it?"
Wesson chuckles and adds another finger. "Is it?"
"You're here, aren't you?" he groans back, the sweat dripping down his throat and onto his chest and abs. His body was singing to the rhythm of Sam's fingers and coming dangerously close to the crescendo.
Wesson latches his lips against the side of his throat, pulls his fingers out and grabs Smith's hips in a solid grip. "How long do you think I'll keep coming?" he breathes, lining himself up, "What makes you think I won't tire of this?"
Something grows cold inside of Smith and he stills.
They'd never properly established whatever 'this' between them was. After that ghost and the instant connection they both felt, they'd had a fallout for a couple of days until they met again in the elevator. Now Dean had never admitted to himself to be attracted by the male physique before, but Sam Wesson redefined the concept of perfection. If it hadn't been for the guy's annoying need to over share, Dean wouldn't have had Wesson's gianormous cock down his throat in the backseat of his Toyota twenty minutes later. It became a regular 'thing' after that. How could he forget the 69 they did on Sam's bathroom floor before they fucked each other senseless in his shower? Or him bent over his desk during lunch a week after that, begging for it behind the locked door of his office. Or Wesson trying to fuck him through his mattress, keeping Dean's legs open wide with one arm build like a fucking tree.
And it'd been fine by him, God knew he'd been in the closet long enough, hell, he hadn't had sex in almost a year before he met Sam Wesson, who offered it to him on a silver plate.
But then, Sam started to ask him when he'd join him to go hunt the things that went bump in the night. Dean never answered, preferring the use his lips for other things than talking.
Sam would ask him again and again and Dean would never give him a clear answer. The truth was that he was just scared. He didn't want to leave the comfort zone he'd established himself in. He had a good job, a nice place to live and stellar sex on a regular basis. What more could a man his age ask for? He silently hoped that Sam would stop asking and just fuck him until they both couldn't move, let alone think. That he'd choose to stay here… with him.
But he wasn't so naïve to think it'd be that easy.
Dean closes his eyes and smirks melancholically to himself. "Then let me know in time, so I can find myself a replacement."
Sam shoves inside of him with one swift stroke, his one free hand wrapping around Dean's throat, keeping the man pressed up against his body.
"Is that what you really want, Dean?" He pants against his ear, snapping his hips against him, smirking at the pained whimper he gets, watching their writhing reflections in the glass. "Huh? 'Cus I'm telling you this right now. I walk out that door and I'm gone, you'll never see me again."
Their eyes meet in the glass and Dean sees the sincerity in Sam's eyes, but also an unpronounced plea. Dean doesn't want to lose him, he's come to look forward to the time they spend together, whether it is sleeping or fucking each other's brains out; he loves it and he was thinking that maybe he has begun to like Sam Wesson… a lot more than is strictly necessary.
"So I'll ask again, Dean. Do you really want me to go?"
The bastard chooses that precise moment to start moving again and Dean forgets what he was going to say except for, "Guh-uh…!"
Sam is chuckling, but doesn't even bother slowing down and only thrusts harder, pushing Dean's entire body flatly against the window. "What was that?"
Dean honest to God whimpers and mewls then, the coldness of the glass hauling him back to the fact that he's exposed to the world out there and the pressure of Sam's body behind him reminding him that he's laid bare before Sam too, both physically and emotionally.
"Are- are you really going to make me say it?!" He breathes with his eyes pressed closed, left cheek squashed against the smooth surface of the glass.
"Oh yeah, Dean," Sam breathes back hotly against his ear. "I want to know. Should I stay or should I go?"
Dean most definitely doesn't want for him to go now, not now that he's doing that amazing dip rolling thing with his hips that makes his knees buckle and his legs tremble.
Another mind-reeling roll of hips and he's moaning helplessly, the edges of his vision blurring from the excess stimuli. "F-fuck…!" he gasps out. He can feel every ripple of Sam's dick going over every nerve ending inside and he wants to come, he needs to come right the fuck now. "S-Sam…"
"Tell me, Dean. And I'll let you come," Sam promises, grinning possessively now, muscles tensing as he speeds up the pumping of his hips.
Dean howls, neck arched. "Don't…" he whimpers, "just don't. Don't go."
Sam then wraps his arms around him, holding him close and stilling the sharp movements of his hips. A soft kiss lands on the side of his throat and Dean lets his head fall back to rest on Sam's shoulders with his eyes closed.
"You think I don't know how you feel?" Sam whispers, nuzzling his jaw and breathing in their mingled scent. "You know this life is not for you. You know that the only time anything makes sense is when we're doing this," he rolls his hips against Dean, making him gasp and moan. "Come with me, Dean. I need you with me, man. You said it yourself, it felt good doing it. Come with me, I can't wait much longer. The job is slowly driving me insane."
Dean smiles. Sam says he needs him… And he can understand the part of slowly going insane, now that they knew what was out there, he's been feeling the same. Sam had been right before and the hunt after the supernatural sounded more and more appealing, the motels and greasy diner food were but details. And he'd have Sam, for as long as he'd want.
"As long as I get to drive."
Sam smiles against his skin and kisses his temple. "Only the car."
Dean smirkes back, rolling his hips against his. "Anything else is always negotiable."
And for the first time he felt like he belongs. Right here, with Sam Wesson's dick in his ass, making him cum like he's never cum before.
The last thing he thinks about as he lays his head on Sam's chest three minutes later is that he'll get the stains off the glass later.
He just hopes they don't crust too much.