Lying on his stomach, with his hands tucked under the pillow, Dean opens his eyes half way, noticing the glare from the streetlight coming through the narrow gap in the curtains. He doesn't know what time it is but he's pretty sure it's early in the a.m.

At this time of the night, he expects all to be quiet, and it is. Almost. He's not sure he heard it at first, so he remains still and strains to listen. There. In a matter of seconds, he realises exactly what it is he's hearing. Dean smirks. My baby brother's getting himself off. Then, that realisation kicks him in the ass, as he goes from zero to hard in ten seconds flat. Wrong, sick, and fucked up, Dean. As much as he'd like to explain it away by reminding himself that he hasn't been with anyone in over three months, he knows better. He knows that this isn't the first time Sam's made him hard. It's not even the twentieth time. His history of depravity goes back awhile. So, although he'd like nothing more than to roll onto his back right now and mirror Sam's actions, he knows he's stuck in this position; not even allowed to thrust down into the mattress for fear of Sam stopping and depriving him of his sick fantasy.

The only thing he can do is listen to his brother's quiet, gasping breaths; his low, urgent moans. Dean imagines Sam's big hand around his swollen length, fisting himself firmly, squeezing and twisting and rubbing, thrusting up into his hand.

Just as he bites his lip to stop himself from groaning out loud, he hears a word that freezes him even more completely: "Dean."

The soft, breathy, needy way Sam says his name makes him want to whimper with frustration. What does that mean? Does he want me, sexually? Is he wondering what it'd be like to have my hand on his cock? My mouth? Or does he know I'm listening?

"Oh…oh Dean…so good." Sam's words are whispered but they carry to Dean's straining ears.

Okay, there's no mistaking that. He wants me. What the fuck do I do? If I let him know I'm awake, he'll freak.

"God…mmmm…wanna fuck your mouth."

Dean bites back a groan at those dirty words. This is so wrong. This can't be happening. Please, God, kill me now. Big brothers don't get hard listening to their little brothers jacking off. They throw a pillow at them, or videotape them, or something. Doesn't matter that Sam was moaning my name. It's wrong. Snap the fuck out of it.

Berating himself, however, doesn't seem to have much of an effect, if his painfully hard cock is any judge; and it usually is. Then, belatedly registering something different, he fights to clear his head for a moment. For some reason, he initially assumed that Sam was awake. Now he's not so sure. Sam's voice rose a little louder with his last comment. Slowly, Dean dares to lift his head from the pillow and turns to face Sam.

Fortunately – or unfortunately – he can't make out anything but Sam's vague silhouette in the darkness. Further testing his theory, he swings his legs to the side of the bed and sits up, facing Sam. No startled movements. "Sam," Dean whispers, just loud enough that he'd only hear it if he was awake.

Sam next words are mumbled, before Dean clearly hears, "Yeah. Suck."

Those words, as well as the soft groan that follows, propel Dean off the bed to pace near the door. Finally, he picks up his keys as quietly as possible and, as an afterthought, the t-shirt he wore yesterday, lying on top of his duffel. Unlocking and opening the front door, he walks outside, takes deep breaths of the cool air, and gets in the back seat of the car. "Holy Mother of JESUS!" He says aloud. He shakes his head as he leans back. Almost immediately, Dean pushes his boxers down and grasps his cock. Slowly stroking his hardness, he closes his eyes and gives in to the fantasies plaguing his mind. Handling himself firmly, he creates a punishing rhythm and guiltily pictures Sam between his legs, swallowing him down. "Oh God Sammy...I want you so much," he says, sadly. Thankfully, it isn't long before Dean feels the signs of release. "Sam…ooh, Sammy, yeah!" With that, Dean picks up his t-shirt, wraps it around the head of his cock, and comes with a growl, pumping his seed into the fabric. A minute later, and his breathing has returned to semi-normal. Only then does he open his eyes again.

Dean sits in the car for another five minutes, realising that he can't sleep out here without raising a question from Sam. With a sigh, he gets out of the car, locks her up, and walks back inside.

As far as he can see, Sam still seems to be asleep. And quiet, thank the Lord. Stuffing his t-shirt into a plastic bag with all his other dirty laundry, Dean walks across the room and into the bathroom, nearly closing the door before switching on the light. He runs the water in the sink and rinses his face. Looking up into the mirror, his reflection looks miserable for someone who just came five minutes ago. He sighs, turns away from the mirror to dry his face, and turns off the light.

As Dean gets into bed, he lies on his back and pleads with anyone who's listening to let him fall asleep quickly. Just as he feels himself relax, Sam speaks.

"Y'know, you should really learn to roll the windows up in the car all the way, Dean. Anyone could walk by."