Dean's thighs are shaking against his, and he moans, snaking a hand down to touch himself. "Do it, Sam, want you to, oh -"
Sam pulls his hand away. "Don't touch yourself," he says, and Dean obediently presses his hand flat against the wall, bracing himself against Sam's weight. He uses the other to pull Sam in closer to him, fingers clenching in the material at the side of Sam's thigh. Sam pulls Dean's jeans and boxers down around his thighs and slicks himself up with the tube he knows Dean keeps in his right jeans pocket. He sticks to into Dean with no preamble, and Dean jumps underneath his fingertips, his moan trailing off into a low whine when Sam curls his fingers just right.
He fucks him with his fingers, two and then three, spearing relentlessly in and out. He rubs hard against the knot of nerves until Dean's a mindless mess, fucking back onto his hand, the curve of his ass rolling against Sam's hand.
"Do it, Sammy, fuck me," he says, and Sam pulls his fingers out, circles the head of his cock around the rim of Dean's hole.
"Ready?" he whispers against Dean's neck, and Dean snorts.
"Always," he says, and it's cut off by a moan as Sam slams in all the way, driving Dean against the wall with the force of his thrust. He doesn't give Dean time to adjust, just gets his fingers around Dean's cock and pulls him off as he's fucking him. Dean writhes on his cock, back bowing, fingers curling, legs shaking with the effort it takes to push back into Sam's thrusts.
It's over almost as quickly as it began, Dean spilling warmly all over Sam's fingers and the wall in front of him. He twists back to lick into Sam's mouth, murmuring, "Yours," into Sam's mouth, and Sam follows, coming inside him.
It's suddenly quiet in the back alley, and Dean pulls his boxers and jeans up with a wince. Sam suddenly feels guilty, afraid that he's hurt him, that he wasn't careful enough, but Dean wipes away all his worries with a easy, satisfied grin, like a cat that got the cream. And Sam realizes exactly what Dean was trying to do, that he fell for it, hook line and sinker.
"You bastard," he says without heat, sleepy and satisfied.
Dean grins at him, looking utterly debauched, the bruise on his neck turning red, his hair messed up and his jeans rumpled. Then he looks uncomfortable. "Ugh, Sam, couldn't have you used a condom?" he says, beginning to walk back towards the car. Sam snorts and shakes his head, following him.
If Dean's walking just a bit more bowlegged, well. It's not Sam's fault.
Sam pulls his hand away. "Don't touch yourself," he says, and Dean obediently presses his hand flat against the wall, bracing himself against Sam's weight. He uses the other to pull Sam in closer to him, fingers clenching in the material at the side of Sam's thigh. Sam pulls Dean's jeans and boxers down around his thighs and slicks himself up with the tube he knows Dean keeps in his right jeans pocket. He sticks to into Dean with no preamble, and Dean jumps underneath his fingertips, his moan trailing off into a low whine when Sam curls his fingers just right.
He fucks him with his fingers, two and then three, spearing relentlessly in and out. He rubs hard against the knot of nerves until Dean's a mindless mess, fucking back onto his hand, the curve of his ass rolling against Sam's hand.
"Do it, Sammy, fuck me," he says, and Sam pulls his fingers out, circles the head of his cock around the rim of Dean's hole.
"Ready?" he whispers against Dean's neck, and Dean snorts.
"Always," he says, and it's cut off by a moan as Sam slams in all the way, driving Dean against the wall with the force of his thrust. He doesn't give Dean time to adjust, just gets his fingers around Dean's cock and pulls him off as he's fucking him. Dean writhes on his cock, back bowing, fingers curling, legs shaking with the effort it takes to push back into Sam's thrusts.
It's over almost as quickly as it began, Dean spilling warmly all over Sam's fingers and the wall in front of him. He twists back to lick into Sam's mouth, murmuring, "Yours," into Sam's mouth, and Sam follows, coming inside him.
It's suddenly quiet in the back alley, and Dean pulls his boxers and jeans up with a wince. Sam suddenly feels guilty, afraid that he's hurt him, that he wasn't careful enough, but Dean wipes away all his worries with a easy, satisfied grin, like a cat that got the cream. And Sam realizes exactly what Dean was trying to do, that he fell for it, hook line and sinker.
"You bastard," he says without heat, sleepy and satisfied.
Dean grins at him, looking utterly debauched, the bruise on his neck turning red, his hair messed up and his jeans rumpled. Then he looks uncomfortable. "Ugh, Sam, couldn't have you used a condom?" he says, beginning to walk back towards the car. Sam snorts and shakes his head, following him.
If Dean's walking just a bit more bowlegged, well. It's not Sam's fault.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment