Sam’s eyes water. He struggles to breathe through the thick, 8-inch assault taking place in his mouth. He loses the battle and pulls away, gagging harshly.
“Hey!” shouts a gruff voice. “You better finish this!”
Sam hangs his head above the bucket just in case he vomits. He goes through the cognitive breathing routine his employer taught him for this situation. Nothing loses money (and tempers) quicker than vomiting on the job.
Although he hates it when guys go too rough, he doesn’t have a choice. Sam can’t reject whoever is on the other side of that wall without risk. This man specifically chose Sam tonight. If he is into deep-throating, then dammit, Sam has to deal with it.
Yep, it’s just another glorious night at The Hole of Glory, an upscale nightclub that offers appointment-based glory hole services. Despite the dirty nature of the job, the bar takes pride in keeping the facilities, staff, and clients clean. This means the individual stations are thoroughly cleaned after each session, and clients and staff are to be properly groomed and tested on a regular basis.
The dress code is based around character stereotypes, such as cheerleaders, goths, hipsters, tough bikers, even nuns. You name it, this place likely has it. Sam portrays a nerd, so he wears a polo shirt and khaki slacks. Clients choose whether they want a male or female and what persona arouses them the most. Sam isn’t the most popular choice, but a handful of guys get off on the idea of a male nerd blowing them.
The title of “Star Blower” goes to Sam’s friend and one of the girly, childlike personas, “Lollipop.” Nicknames are required to protect the identities of the clients and staff, so she chose the name for her talent of “sucking dick like a lollipop.” Men come (pun totally intended) from all around to seek her services, which gives her the largest client base. Sam went with the name “co*ckulator” after a calculator because…nerd stuff. Yeah.
Sam doesn’t compete against Lollipop for the coveted title. No, he prefers to keep a low profile for obvious reasons. His socially unacceptable job doesn’t need to catch the attention of the hunter community or his brother Dean, for that matter.
Sam and Dean have, more or less, settled on the outskirts of this small city. Dean drives across the country on hunts, just like John did throughout their childhood. Sam put his foot down and said he wanted out of the hunting business for “good this time.” The announcement made Dean upset, and they fought about it, but Sam was adamant. As to be expected, this created a strain on their relationship.
In other words, Sam traded ghosts for dicks. Yeah, he wasn’t expecting to end up in this position, but the high pay and no-education requirement enticed him. Sam still wants to attend school, so once he raises enough money, he’ll quit this gig and enroll. There’s no way Sam Winchester is sucking dick for the rest of his life. This job also pays for his and Dean’s nice apartment. Having a place to call their own is a luxury they’ve never had.
Dean hesitated throughout the adjustment, but he takes periodic breaks to spend time with Sam before hitting the open road again. Sure, Sam misses him a lot, but there is an advantage to his absence: It’s easier for Sam to hide his job.
It’s almost midnight by the time Sam’s shift ends. He planned on being home an hour ago, but it took forever for that abusive client to get off. His throat stinging, he cleans up his station, brushes his teeth, and gargles some mouthwash.
“Heya, co*ckulator!” Lollipop knocks and pokes her head inside the station, her glossy lips spread in a welcoming grin.
Her experience may intimidate some people, but on the inside, she’s just as sweet as her alias. You’d never guess she works in a place like this.
Sam smiles weakly. “Hey, Lolli,” he rasps.
“Uh oh, I know that sound,” she comments, leaning against the door frame. “Rough client, huh?”
Sam nods. “Too rough.”
“Did you puke?”
“Almost, but I was able to finish him off.”
Lollipop nods in approval. “That’s good. It could’ve been worse, then. I had this client once who went so hard, I puked up my whole lunch.”
Sam makes a face. “That would suck.” He doesn’t realize the pun he made until Lollipop smirks. “Er, no pun…f*ck.” He hides his face bashfully.
“Save the virgin act for the nuns, co*ckulator!” She giggles. “Anyways, enough about work. How about we go get a drink?”
Sam can’t say no to that. Grabbing a drink at the adjacent bar is something they do nearly every night. It helps them unwind and get their minds off of sex.
D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S
Sam arrives home an hour later. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed, the alcohol sitting warm in his gut. He needed more than one drink to help him forget that crazy client.
After unlocking the door, Sam fiddles with the doorknob. The damn thing is hard to turn sometimes, and he’s tired and not in the mood to mess with it. It takes a moment, but he manages to get the door open. The house is just as he left it earlier, apart from the smell of pizza and the shape of a figure coming towards him. Wait a minute…
A jolt of alarm rushes through Sam. There’s a stranger in the apartment! Having nothing on hand to defend himself with (being a former hunter, he really needs to take better precautions), he swiftly turns on the nearest lamp, bathing the room in light. He stares straight ahead and finds a pajama-clad Dean clutching a knife and staring back. They both jump, causing Dean to drop the knife.
“sh*t, Dean, I thought you were a f*cking murderer!”
“That’s what I thought too!”
Sam takes a moment to calm his breathing. “You didn’t tell me you’d be home tonight.”
Dean sighs and bends down to pick up the knife. “I meant to call, but I got caught up in somethin’ pretty nasty.”
Sam shakes his head. “That’s no excuse, Dean. I haven’t heard from you in three days!”
Dean’s eyes narrow. “And where’ve you been, huh?”
The older Winchester steps forward so that he stands inches from Sam. The proximity stirs up something in Sam’s gut, and he knows it’s not just the alcohol.
Dean kills the mood by sniffing loudly. “You’ve been out drinkin’.”
Sam shoves Dean out of his face. “So? That’s what you do!”
Silence as Dean’s gaze flickers to the ground. “I didn’t set a good example for you, Sammy. You shouldn’t end up like me.”
“What, an aggressive, horny deadbeat with no education? No problem there.”
Sam regrets the words as soon as they fly out of his mouth. Not only were they harsh, but they also describe himself to an extent. In some ways, he became like his dear, big brother. Dean’s jaw falls slack as he eyes Sam levelly.
“f*ckin’ bitch,” he mutters and turns away.
With the way he trembles, Sam knows Dean fights the urge to, well, fight him. Punch him. Kick him. Mess him up real good. f*ck his mouth until he can’t speak tomorrow. Hold up. Where did that last one come from? Dean would never…Sam would never…huh?
“Dean, I…”
“Missed you too, Sammy,” Dean mumbles in quiet anger before heading into his bedroom and slamming the door.
D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S
Sam wakes up around ten with a raw, scratchy throat. It’s mornings like these he’s thankful he doesn’t have work until five. The delightfully refreshing smell of a real, home-cooked breakfast wafts through his room, bringing a content smile to his lips. It’s still wonderful not having crappy breakfast sandwiches every morning. Dean won’t say it, but Sam knows he agrees.
“Morning, Sammy,” Dean says from his place on the couch. “I left you some breakfast in the microwave.”
“Thanks,” he rasps and winces. He feels like he swallowed f*cking sandpaper.
Apparently, it also sounds like he swallowed sandpaper because Dean shoots him a glance and asks, “Frog in your throat?”
The question prompts Sam to clear his throat self-consciously, although it does nothing to help. “Yeah…I wake up with a dry throat sometimes.”
“’Cause you’re a mouth-breather,” Dean jokes. “Gotta keep that mouth closed, Sammy.”
Sam’s body tenses as the words send a rush of heat to his face. He’d lose his job if he kept his mouth closed. Oh, if only Dean knew…
After heating up his breakfast, he plops down on the couch next to his adorable jackass of a brother.
“Look, I’m, uh…sorry about what I said last night. I, uh…” he trails off.
“Didn’t mean it?” Dean shrugs. “Don’t sweat it, kiddo. I’ve heard worse.”
Sam blinks. He wasn’t expecting Dean to get over it so fast. “Really?”
Dean shrugs again and takes a sip of his orange juice. “Not the end of the world.”
“Well, uh, okay, if you say so.” He bites into his pancake.
They fall into an awkward silence until Sam asks, “Got any plans for the day?”
Dean shrugs. “Not really. You?”
“Just work.”
“Oh, yeah, how’s the nerd palace been treatin’ ya?”
He’s referring to the library. It’s the most believable job Sam can lie about. He really did consider working at the library, but the pay isn’t nearly as good as The Hole of Glory. Good thing Dean hasn’t questioned how they get by on a librarian’s measly salary. Sam’s just relieved his work outfit is appropriate for most occupational settings. He couldn’t imagine having to dress as a goth or a priest. Think about it: “I work at a, uh, cosplay convention. We have to dress up. That’s why I have this black wig and make-up.”
Yeah, that’d go over real well.
Sam casually props his feet up on the coffee table while chewing his food. “It’s going okay.”
“It must be if you have people to go out drinking with.”
Sam cringes as the pancake claws its way down his throat. Why does he have to bring that up again? Not that it blows Sam’s cover (again, pun totally intended), but he’d rather not talk about it. He racks his brain for a response.
“Well, my coworkers are into drinking because they get stressed-out easily, so I go with them.”
Dean snorts. “How stressful can a f*cking library be?”
“It’s not the job, they’re just…like that.”
“All of them?”
Sam sighs. Dean is always so tense right after he comes home. “Most of them.”
Well, that’s not entirely false. Sam’s seen many employees come and go (pun, glorious pun!) during his short time at the bar – the ones who, like him, were enticed into the dirty world of oral sex with the promise of sweet moolah. It didn’t take long for those ex-employees to discover they can’t take several dicks in the mouth on a daily basis. Sam, on the other hand, was determined to get that paycheck. He toughed out the abuse and improved his performance. He’s like a blowj*b king, except for the fact he can’t deep-throat. At least not yet. Maybe he’ll never learn.
To Sam’s relief, Dean returns his gaze to the TV screen without another word.
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By the time 5 o’clock rolls around, Sam is dressed and ready to resume his role as the calculating co*ckulator. He completes the look with a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses and ruffly hair. He looks so f*ckable. Feeling confident, he grabs his car keys and leaves his room.
Dean sprawls out on the couch with a bag of potato chips like a lazy ass. He turns away from the TV, giving Sam a once-over.
“Since when did you start wearin’ glasses?” he asks casually.
Sam’s skin prickles. Why does it matter? Why the hell does it matter? He calmly turns toward his belligerent brother. “Before it started becoming your damn business,” he answers.
Dean blinks, obviously caught off guard by the response. “Damn, you need to relax.”
And you need to stop asking questions, Sam thinks bitterly. “I’ve found they help me with reading at work, okay?”
Dean pops another chip into his mouth. “Whatever.”
Sam huffs. “I’ll be back around 10:30. Don’t wait up.”
“10:30? Is the library even-”
Sam slams the door on him before he finishes.
D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S
Sam shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he watches a pair of glossy, red lips wrap around the tip of a purple dild*. Four fingers with long, fake nails tightly encircle both the base of the toy and underneath the tip with a tight grip. Sam briefly wonders how many of his coworkers get aroused during their meetings. Now, he prefers men, but the action speaks louder than the one performing it.
Sam’s manager, Madam Feel Good, releases the dild* with an obscene plop and licks her lips suggestively.
“And that, my little seedlings, is how you perform our Move of the Month: ‘The Twister.’” She smirks. “Any questions?”
Her large, mascara-coated eyes scan the room in search of curious hands. Sam always feels the weight of her heated stare, and he’s sure the others feel it, too. Madam forbids any type of sexual contact between herself and her employees, but Sam knows that boundary gets pushed sometimes – like in meetings, when she finishes demonstrating the blowj*b technique of the month.
Really, nobody is more qualified to teach them than this woman. After all, she is a retired p*rn actress who starred in several adult films during her 15-year career. An accidental pregnancy forced her to leave the industry (despite those pesky pregnancy p*rn offers). Her kid probably thinks she’s a school teacher or something. Ha.
To most people, Madam is considered a whor*; however, in the sex industry, she’s a goddess for her “sexpertise.” Sam definitely respects her as a valuable source of information when it comes (ha) to sex positions.
Madam purses her lips when she’s met with hormone-fueled silence. “All right, then, I trust you all understand this technique well enough to perform it on your clients. I’ll be keeping tabs on your performance charts.” She sanitizes the dild* and puts it away before picking up a penis-shaped sucker.
Everyone gets the cue. They thrust their penis suckers into their mouths, pull them out with an exaggerated plop, and shout in unison, “Blow it hard!”
Madam grins in glee, her lollipop high in the air. “Let’s keep those performance charts lookin’ sexy, my little seedlings! It’s blow time!”
That means the dreadful meeting is over. Sam silently leaves the room. Some people like to hang around and socialize, but he doesn’t. There’s something awkward about it. Maybe it’s just him, but he leaves as soon as he can.
Once inside his station, Sam grabs a book off the small shelf where he keeps his personals and gets settled in his chair. There’s still ten minutes before his first client of the night shows up. On average, he sees about seven-eight clients a night. When he has some down time like this, he’s either reading, or socializing with the bartenders.
Sam gets so lost inside the magical land of Narnia that he almost doesn’t hear the buzzer go off, which signals the arrival of his first client.
It’s blow time.
He puts the book away, quickly gargles some mouthwash (gotta be minty fresh), and kneels in front of the hole in the wall. Within moments, a flaccid, uncircumcised member appears in his face.
Sam observes the organ because he likes to know what he’s dealing with. He memorized the penises of his regular clients, but he hasn’t seen this one before. The shaft is perfectly aligned with the testicl*s, which sport a moderate amount of dark pubes. The plump head is a gorgeous rosy pink. It’s quite pretty, actually. Sam’s had his share of unattractive penises, which the team jokingly calls, “uggie dicks.”
After gathering enough information, Sam leans in and gives the member an experimental lick. He feels the man shudder and smirks to himself. This one is going to be fun. Sam teases the slit with the tip of his tongue before flattening the head with broad strokes. The man groans softly in response.
“Mmm, yeah.”
It’s not uncommon for clients to get vocal or talk dirty while Sam services them. He’s not permitted to verbally respond, of course, because it could compromise his identity. Sam takes the head into his mouth and sucks gently. He feels the organ harden and stretch the foreskin back.
“Damn, wish I could watch that pretty mouth swallow it up.”
Sam’s jaw falls slack, causing the member to slip free. He knows that voice. He knows that voice all too well.
Ohhh, God no.
He must’ve sat there for an eternity because the guy asks, “You okay?” in the voice Sam knows by heart, but that he suddenly wishes he didn’t.
Sam doesn’t respond. His heart lodges in his throat, and he scrambles away, his back hitting the opposite wall. There’s no way he just…with his mouth…not Dean…oh, dear God!
A brilliant green eye appears in the hole, confirming it all. Sam sees the eye widen before promptly shutting his own, unable to bear it. He hears the sound of a zipper, followed by the door slamming shut.
Sam wants to run. He wants to run far away and pretend this didn’t just happen. Pretend that his goddamn mouth wasn’t just on his goddamn brother’s dick!
But Sam doesn’t run. Instead, he crawls to the bucket and vomits.
D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S
Sam’s performance lacked throughout the rest of his shift. It’s like the mishap with Dean seared itself into his brain. One of the guys even cursed at him for the “f*ckin’ bad service” and angrily left the room. It hardly fazed him. None of those guys were like Dean. The taste, texture and heat was all wrong.
Christ, what the hell is wrong with him?
Now he’s in the bar with his coworkers with the intention of getting totally wasted.
“Rough day?” Spermie asks.
He's the youngest member (pun, pun pun pun!) of the team at only 19 years old. Like everybody else, he is here for the fantastic pay. He puts the money toward college, though, which is smart. Sam fully supports the kid’s decision to do something else with his life.
“You have no f*cking idea,” Sam mutters. He chugs the beer as if it can drown Dean from his mind.
“You should slow down,” Lollipop advises.
Sam belches and turns to her. “And you should mind your own damn business,” he snaps.
Lollipop blinks. “Sam, what the hell happened? I’ve never seen you wound up this tight.”
Oh, you know, I just had my brother’s dick in my mouth. Nothing major. He huffs. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Um, yeah it does.” She takes a sip of her margarita. “We care about you.”
Sam fights the urge to argue. This place is pretty casual when it comes to sexual matters, but incest is a whole other ballgame. Granted, the act was purely unintentional, however, even the most liberal person wouldn’t accept it. If Dean chose Sam, it means he has a kink for male nerds, right? Dean, of all people, is into nerds with penises. Who the hell knew?
God, he needs to stop thinking about this. Sam finishes the beer off before starting on another one. Lollipop stirs her drink while staring at Sam expectantly. Spermie keeps his eyes fixed on his soda, avoiding the awkwardness.
“So, what, you’re gonna act like a big baby and not answer me?”
Sam heaves a sigh, feeling the weight of Lollipop's stare. This whole getting drunk thing isn’t going as planned. “I’ll be fine, Jayla. Just relax, and enjoy your drink.” His gut insists he won’t be fine, but he ignores it.
Lollipop shrugs and sips on her drink. It’s obvious Sam’s words did little to calm her, but at least she doesn’t keep pressing the issue.
Spermie finally looks back up at them and clears his throat. “Who’s up for some karaoke?”
D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S
Sam wasn’t up for karaoke. It’s fun on some nights, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it tonight. He left the bar shortly after the suggestion, a cold dread baring down on his shoulders. Dean probably won’t be there when he gets home. No doubt he packed up and hit the open road. Dean has a bad habit of running from his emotions. Sam is totally fine with that this time. He doesn’t think he can confront this thing, either.
On the off-chance Dean is still here, he’ll be gone first thing in the morning. No goodbye or anything. He’ll just leave, and there’s no telling when he’ll be back...if he'll be back. Despite how awkward things are right now, part of him doesn’t want Dean to leave already – not when that accidental blowj*b threatened to stir something up from deep inside him. Something living in the deepest, darkest part of Sam’s being. Something so horrifying that Sam wanted it buried forever: The part of him that’s secretly attracted to his own brother.
It’s a foul demon that visited Sam one winter when he was just eleven years old. They were in Illinois, John was out on a hunt, it was cold, and the power was out. Sam fondly remembers watching Dean nurture the wood fireplace to life in their run-down, temporary home.
Sam was still cold under two layers of blankets. He huddled around the fire, and Dean sat next to him. They sat apart until Dean turned toward Sam and held out his arms. Sam immediately knew what the gesture meant, but he was stunned. It had been a couple years since they cuddled because Dean thought they were “too old for that.”
“Just this once,” Dean insisted.
Sam didn’t realize how much he missed cuddling with his older brother. He missed the feeling of Dean’s strong, comforting arms around him. He missed hearing the gentle intake and release of Dean’s breath. He missed the soothing heat of Dean’s body, the steady beating of his heart.
At that moment, the demon entered him. It struck Sam’s heart with a longing he’d never felt before. From then on, he felt it every time he was around Dean. It didn’t take long for Sam to figure out what the feeling was, and he denied it with every fiber of his being. He never gave in to the demon's wicked ways and worked hard to kill it.
He thought it was dead…until now.
“Goddammit!” Sam shouts, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel in frustration.
He sits there for a little while, steaming like a vegetable, before forcing himself out of the car. His stomach twists into a knot when he spots the Impala parked a few stalls down. No lights are on in the apartment, so hopefully Dean’s asleep.
Sam enters the apartment quietly. Since he’s not buzzed, he doesn’t mess with the doorknob the way he did last night. A sudden tinging noise makes Sam stop dead in his tracks. He turns on the floor lamp and nearly jumps out of his shoes when he sees Dean seated on the couch, twirling his key ring on his finger. He glances at Sam, not a flicker of emotion gracing his features.
“Keep your shoes on, Sammy. We’re goin’ for a drive.”
D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S/D/S
Sam stares out the Impala window at the passing scenery. There were many times when the scenery from different states lulled him to sleep in the backseat of this very car. Sleep won’t arrive so easily tonight.
That's when Sam realizes they are sitting in total silence. He can’t remember the last time Dean drove without music on. This fact does little to calm his nerves. The air hangs thick with unspoken tension as they drive along some road Sam can’t identify. Dean’s probably finding a spot where Sam's body won’t be found. He gulps. This could play out in a number of ways, several which are unpleasant.
After about ten more minutes of grueling silence, the Impala rolls to a stop near a ledge. The city lights, along with those of the adjacent town in the distance, are visible beneath them. Tire tracks in the soft dirt show that Dean isn’t the only one who knows about this spot. Even Sam didn’t know it existed, and he’s stuck in this place.
Dean gets out of the car. He shoves his hands in his pockets and sits on the hood. Sam follows his lead and slides out of the car. Oh, how he just wants to curl up in his bed and never come out again.
“Guess you’re not a librarian.”
Sam ducks his head, the breeze ruffling his shaggy hair. There’s no use lying anymore, no matter how much it hurts. “Nope.”
Dean keeps his gaze on the glittering lights below. “Why there, Sammy?”
Sam sighs. “The library doesn’t pay well, and we need money. They promised me a big paycheck.”
Dean shakes his head. “It’s just…you’re worth more than that, ya know? You’re too good for that place.”
Sam can’t help but feel a bit flattered. “But we need the money.”
“Forget it, Sam.” Dean glances at him. “You’re more important to me than money.”
Sam forces himself to look at his brother. Although Dean’s face looks relaxed, his eyes hold a certain intensity. Sam drops his gaze and shoulders in shame.
“How many guys you suck off?”
“About seven a night. Ten on a good night.”
Dean huffs. “Christ, Sammy.” He shakes his head.
“Some of them are regulars…” He attempts to make it sound better, but it doesn’t. It really doesn’t.
Dean snorts. “You can say it however you want, but I wanna kill each and every one of ‘em for using you like that.”
“They’re not using me, it’s part of…” He trails off when Dean shoots him a particularly nasty look.
“I want you to quit.”
“What?”
Dean turns to face him. “You’re done working there.”
“But, Dean, I-”
“No. Just do it, Sam.”
Sam opens his mouth to protest further but hesitates. His mouth hangs open with unspoken words, and he doesn’t miss the way Dean’s gaze rests on it. His eyes linger until Sam closes his mouth. Dean’s gaze flickers back up to meet Sam’s. Maybe it’s the bad lighting, but Dean’s pupils look bigger than usual.
In the blink of a lustful eye, Dean moves in front of Sam. He stands so that their bodies are inches apart. Sam’s heart flutters.
“Crazy how all those guys get to have you, and I can’t.”
Sam blinks, his body frozen in shock. “You…you want me?”
Dean snorts back a laugh. “Why’d you think I chose a male nerd to blow me, huh?” Sam’s eyes widen. “To think, if I kept my mouth shut, you would’ve finished the job.”
“We never woulda known,” Sam breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought sends a strange pang to his gut. He can’t imagine not having this conversation now.
Dean reaches down and pulls himself out of his jeans. He’s already hard and leaking, the precome shining in the moonlight. “Whaddaya say, Sammy? You wanna get down here and show me what you got?”
Sam stares at the organ like he got offered a million dollars. He can’t believe this is happening. He quickly recovers from the shock and gets down to business. He pushes his brother against the side of the Impala, where he drops to his knees, the soft dirt cushioning the impact. Dean lets out a surprised moan. He threads his fingers in Sam’s locks.
“The other guys can’t have it like this,” he says partly to himself.
Sam smirks up at him. “Damn right they can’t.” He wraps a hand around the base. He leans in and teasingly blows cool air against the slick slit. Dean tenses up.
“f*ckin’ tease,” he mumbles.
Sam lets out a breathy chuckle. He pokes just the tip of his tongue out and runs it along the slit, gathering up the clear fluid. Dean curses under his breath, his head dropping forward. Sam looks up at him. Their eyes meet.
“God, you look so good on your knees for me.” Sam winks, takes the head into his mouth and sucks gently. “Mmm, yeah.”
With Dean’s moans guiding him along, Sam feels adventurous. He keeps the head in his mouth and wraps his right thumb and index finger around the base of the shaft. He wraps his left thumb and index finger under the head. He squeezes his fingers while applying pressure to the head.
“f*ck!” Dean shouts. He glances back down at Sam, his jaw slack in pleasured amazement.
Sam can’t help but smirk. If he were at work right now, his performance chart would be through the roof. Madam’s demonstration flashes through his mind, and he slowly twists his fingers while suckling the head.
Dean’s grip tightens in Sam’s hair. His hips twitch with the urge to thrust, but the position prevents him from doing so. Sam massages the head with his tongue and quickens the pace with his fingers.
Dean moans and arches his back against the Impala. “Sam…Sammy, f*ck, I’m gettin’ close…”
Sam looks up at him like “do it,” while maintaining his rhythm. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back. With a loud moan, he unloads into his brother’s mouth. Sam swallows each shot of sticky fluid like he can't live without it. As he works Dean through his org*sm, his own climax springs up on him. He shoots off inside his boxers, completely untouched, his hips jerking forward repeatedly. Sam slides off Dean’s softening member, sits back, and lets out a deep, satisfied moan of his own. The duo basks in their afterglows until Dean comments,
“Damn, you really do know your stuff.”
Sam grins. “Work taught me a good thing or two.”
After Dean tucks his member back into his pants, he reaches down and grabs Sam by the front of his nice shirt. Sam gets pulled to his feet and blushes when their bodies press together. Dean leans in, his plush lips grazing Sam’s.
“You’ll have to show me what else you can do,” he murmurs.
Sam smirks before pressing their lips together and letting Dean taste himself. He can hardly wait until next time.
