I Get Off On You Getting Off.
He felt dirty and disgusting—downright vulgar, but what did it even matter? He was already fucked up in the head and had the blood of a demon swimming in his veins—why would did this make a difference.
Slowly, he stroked his length, already hard and ready for anything. His dick was hot to the touch, as he circled his fingers up and around expertly, having lots of experience with the action.
The subject of his jerking session was unaware of his presence. That was a good thing. He didn't want him to know that he was watching him rub one out, while he did the same, like some loner pervert who struck when the night was old.
Sam couldn't bring himself to care right now. He'd been doing this for so long. He knew the first sign Dean was getting close, and he knew the first sign before Dean was about to release all over himself.
And what a sight that was.
Biting his bottom lip to stop a moan, Sam traced his hand under his shirt, imagining Dean's strong, calloused—experienced hands working his body over, palms of ecstasy setting his skin ablaze with every movement.
He closed his eyes, imagined himself taking Dean's leaking cock into his mouth. He fantasized about the size, the girth, the feel of the head sliding along his tongue—the salty-skin texture exploding, making his mouth water and ache for more.
Every inch that he could fit in and then some.
Sam's thumb rubbed his pre-cum over his cock, using it as lubricant to jerk faster, his fantasy speeding up, shifting to Dean returning the favor—his pouty lips taking Sam in to the base, swallowing, while talented fingers tickled his balls, massaging in all the right places to have him weak at the knees.
He saw Dean getting closer to his climax. He would have to finish this up soon. The only reason Dean was whacking it was because Sam lied about going to the store to grab something. His brother had a huge sexual appetite, so it wasn't surprising that every time Sam left the house, Dean got down and dirty with himself.
All naked and perfect on the bed. His strong legs spread slightly, to give him more access to his balls, which he played with as he stroked himself. His lips so inviting, just begging to be kissed. His eyes closed, like he was lost in a dream world.
He was beautiful.
Sometimes Sam found himself wishing he was a girl and not related to Dean. Then he could jump on the man and ride him until the sun came up. It would be a dream come true for him. He didn't want to be a girl. He just wanted to have sex with his brother.
Wasn't he just revolting?
Sam witnessed Dean's abs tighten and his hips buck as he came all over himself, the head of his dick pulsing with every splash of cum—Dean's face flushed and his hair wet with sweat, immediately sending Sam over the edge with a hoarse cry of Dean's name.
He stood there for a few moments panting, trying to bring himself down from his Dean high. If he stayed out here for too long, Dean would ring him and ask where the hell he was.
Sam was at least happy that Dean couldn't sleep without knowing Sam was there and safe.
He tucked himself back into his jeans, zipped them up and grabbed the fake-shopping bag that he used whenever he tried this.
Ready to go back in, Sam walked up to the door and let himself in. Dean was on his ass about taking too long to go to the store, and what's in the bag the second the closed. Sam told him to mind his own business, and that Dean wasn't his father.
"Yeah, well just don't be such a perfectionist when you shop! That way, you might get home on time!"
"What am I, six? I can come back whenever I want. You aren't the boss of me," Sam retorted, pushing past him to get to the kitchen.
Sam felt warm again. Dean was only wearing his boxers. He could even make out his brothers package.
"I'm the older brother and-"
The rest of Dean's words went on deaf ears. For the life of him, he couldn't look away from Dean's impressive crotch. Every time he made a hand gesture to emphasize something or took a step closer, it shifted—mocking Sam.
He was going to hell. That much was certain.