Sam had never paid much attention to the intricacies of hardwood furniture before. The whorl of the tree's knots or the luster of the varnish had always seemed like something that belonged in a catalogue, not in the forefront of his mind. However as he currently felt the ridges and valleys in the dark maple wood support his sweat slicked back, and with Dean thrusting into him so hard bright spots were erupting in front of his eyes he couldn't help but be thankful for the grand table and it's creator. His fingers slipped and skidded as he tried to find purchase, guttural animalistic noises escaping from his throat, his eyes squeezed shut with pleasure. Dean was breathing heavily, his breath fanning him from his stomach to his throat and ears as he moved up and over Sam's shuddering body.

The tantric pressure between them built up in stacked layers, bricks sliding on top of each other until they were swaying on the edge of a pinnacle, a tower, nerves raw with sensation, Sam's hips grinding faster and deeper, his pumps becoming more and more frenzied and wild. They both let heady moans out freely, littering the air with curses and confessions and tiny prayers that the hedonistic pleasure of just utterly savage fucking wouldn't make their brains implode. The table slammed repeatedly against the wall, pants and exclamations punctuated by it's rhythmic thud as Sam grabbed Dean's shoulders holding on for dear life and Dean did all he could to make his plunges come out of Sam's mouth, wrapping a shaky, fevered hand tightly around Sam and squeezing and twisting and, god, milking him for all his worth. Coarse moans and utterances spilled in a virulent fountain from the mass of entangled, straining, pulsing limbs shifting on the table.

The walls shook and the table legs screamed as they moved across the floor, the legs closest to the wall hitting it with such a cataclysmic force it was a wonder the wall didn't just pack it in and shatter into a mess of ply-board brick and plaster. Thunderous booms sounded from above Sam's head, though by now the two of them were so far gone a truck could have crashed into the side of the house and they would have just kept right on ramming into each other. Both of them were at the end of their ropes now, teetering on the edge of the abyss of euphoric gratification when finally the antique joints of the table could take no more, the legs closest to the wall splintered and collapsed, pitching the gasping, swearing Sam backwards and forcefully shoving Dean into him at an angle unachievable from any other position, hitting something so deep and carnal and goddamn salacious that both of them instinctively rocked into each other, erupting against and into one another, pulsing and throbbing and surging, tidal waves of dopamine swarming and flooding their brains until any coherent thought was no longer a viable possibility. Sliding gingerly off the table, still embedded in each other's skin and hair and entire being, Sam tipped his head forward to meet Dean's forehead, his quaking lips brushing against the flushed ones before him.

"That was..."

"Yeah."

"We need a new table."