Summary: Did you know that you could get paid for sex you're already having anyway if you put it on the internet? Because Dean does.
Notes/Acknowledgments: Betad by unavoidedcrisis. Written for shinysylver and morganoconner's prompt of "It's showtime" at salt_burn_porn.
Warnings: Exhibitionism, blowjob, facial, internet porn, Dean.
Sam has this ex. He has more than one, actually, but this ex started out as his girlfriend and then realized a few months into dating that he was actually Sam's boyfriend. Their relationship was pretty good when he went by his birth name, but then afterwards, once Tyler realized that Sam wasn't going to break up with him it got a million times better.
They talked more and got along better and the sex was fucking amazing. There is something to be said for sex with someone who is finally getting the safety to figure out exactly what they really like.
They broke up eventually, because it wasn't really love and, also, Tyler got pretty fucking sick of telling Sam all of his secrets and getting absolutely nothing in return. As he frequently told Sam.
But the important part, as far as Dean is concerned, is that this guy—this fucking magnificent human being that Dean needs to send a fucking gift basket to—is the reason why there is video on the internet of Sam bent over his desk in his dorm room, completely wrecked and begging for cock like he won't survive without it.
Seriously. The biggest gift basket Dean can find.
Sam's short-lived amateur porn career means a lot of awesome things for Dean—really, a lot—but among the most important of them is that when money is low and they're between cards now they have a significantly more fun way to make extra cash. Dean might not know much about the internet, but he knows his porn, and he's seen enough ads for live webcam stuff to know how much bank they could make.
It doesn't take much at all to convince Sam. Just Dean's hand playing with the inseam of Sam's jeans while he's talking to the guy on the stool next to him. Sam's always been a little show-off, but there's something about Dean, about them being brothers, that seems to make Sam's brain just trip up and white-out. Dean can't say he's surprised; Sam and his big brain always did like toeing the line and seeing how far he could go before things blew up in his face.
It's a little bit of trial and error, at first. The first video they upload is pretty shitty quality; shot with the computer's built-in webcam, it stutters and stops, and the angle is hide most of the goods. The parts that don't sound like robots going at it underwater aren't bad, and it gets them a few hundred hits.
Dean adapts though, because that's what he does. He learns about different types of webcams and figures out he can hook their video recorder to the laptop and actually get decent quality. Sam says that Dean is starting to get kind of weird with his investment in this, but Sam is a fucking idiot.
Dean is a philanthropist; he just wants to make sure everyone on the internet gets the prime spank-bank material that is him and Sam. Winchester genes do good work, and as long as cloning isn't legal, this is the only way he can share his wealth with the people.
He analyzes everything like he would a hunt; tries to find the patterns in their most popular videos and the most watched ones he's seen online. They have twice as many hits on the one where Sam's giggling like a moron through half of it than they do on the one where Sam tried to choreograph the sex. Which makes sense, because they've always been better at winging it than they have been with plans.
So Dean comes up with a plan to wing it. Which is not as oxymoronic as it sounds. He plans a livestream—he's pretty sure that's what it's called, but that might only be the name when there are watersports involved—and doesn't tell Sam about it until about five minutes before.
"Hey, you wanna suck my dick for the internet?" Dean asks as Sam gets out of the shower. That shower wasn't even planned, but it proves that the universe hates them less when they stop trying to plan things.
"Really, D—dude?" Sam asks, stumbling over his words. Dean grins because Sam was the one who didn't want their names out there with their faces. Also, because Sam is wet and has nothing but a towel on that does nothing to hide the way Sam's getting hard just seeing the camera.
"Yeah, whatever," Dean scoffs. Like Sam really thinks he's that smooth. "Quit your bitching and suck it up, Princess."
"Why am I the one blowing you?" Sam asks, even as he's getting down on his knees, nudging between Dean's legs. "Maybe I want you to blow me."
"You can want it all you want, Tiger," Dean says, readjusting the camera for a better view of the top of Sam's head. "But our loyal viewers like it better when you're stuffed full of cock." It's true, but Sam's crappy choreography skills when it comes to porn probably plays into that more than just not wanting to see Dean ride Sam like a cowboy.
"You're having too much fun with those nicknames," Sam says. He unbuttons Dean's jeans and slides the zipper down one-handed while his other hand disappears between his legs.
"Hey," Dean says, knocking his boot into the side of Sam's knee. "Hands off the goods, Kiddo, if you blow your load the whole wide web is gonna how long it takes you to get it up again."
"Don't call me 'Kiddo' while we're having sex!"
"You're the one who wanted to be anonymous," Dean reminds him. "I can't call you anything else."
"The FBI is going to watch this now."
"Then stop fucking talking and give them a good—fuck!" The end of the sentence, and anything else Dean was going to say, went flying out the window as Sam swallowed Dean down, deep into his throat in one of Dean's favorite and one of Sam's most impressive moves.
Dean slides a hand into Sam's hair, combing it back with his fingers so that he and the camera can get a better view of Dean's dick sliding in and out of Sam's perfect mouth. His hand cups the back of Sam's head, guiding it down as he rolls his hips up, pushing himself deeper, trying to see just how far Sam can take him before he has to pull off, before the need for air outweighs the need for Dean's cock.
The answer is pretty fucking far.
Sam's stepping up his a-game and pulling out all his tricks. He pulls off Dean's dick and takes in three huge breaths of air—which doesn't sound like it should be hot, but somehow manages to tumble right over into scorching—and leaves these wet, open-mouthed kisses all up Dean's cock. He sucks hard once just underneath the head of Dean's dick, right where he fucking knows it drives Dean insane, and Dean nearly jumps out of his chair, letting out a string of garbled noise that he's sure doesn't even come close to approaching words.
Sam dips his tongue right into the slit at the tip of Dean's dick and Dean has to scramble back, has to push at Sam because fuck.
"Stop," Dean says. "Stop, I'm—fuck—if I come right now I can't fuck you."
"Don't care," Sam says, his hand sliding up and down Dean's cock lazily. "I'll let you come on me."
Dean snorts. "'Let me?'" Sam loves it when Dean comes on him even more than he does when Dean starts feeling him up in public. Oh. "Oh, I get it," Dean says. He can feel the smirk on his face, and is almost tempted to turn the camera around so their viewers can see it too, but Sam's got that nice red tint that he gets when he's right in the middle of getting fucked stupid. "You want the whole world to see what you look like when I jizz all over your face, don't you?"
Sam's voice is scratchy and strained when he speaks. "The whole world isn't watching."
"It could be," Dean says.
"There is no possible way that the entire world could be watching our channel."
"Don't make me blue-ball myself just to spite you, dude."
"I hate you," Sam declares with no heat in his voice.
"If you don't shut up I'm gonna jizz in your eye and then you're really gonna hate me," Dean says.
"You're an embarrassing human being," Sam says. He doesn't stop stroking Dean, though, so clearly he must not be that much of an embarrassment.
"And yet, your dick still wants to give me a high five."
"If you smack my dick you're going to lose your hand and all of your precious viewers."
"Why are you even still talking?" Dean asks. "If you aren't gonna let me fuck you you should—fuck, shit hangnail hangnail!"
Sam says something, Dean's sure. Only, Sam knows his dick even better than Dean does by now, so Dean can't hear anything over the roaring of blood rushing through his ears as he finally, mercifully, gets to come. When he can finally get his eyes to open without trying to twitch themselves back shut again he's greeted with the sight of his come on Sam's face.
Sam's forehead is pressed into the leg of Dean's jeans, neck twisted to the side in a way that's probably gonna hurt pretty bad in about twenty minutes, and his shoulder is hitching from him jerking his cock. Dean pushes a somewhat clumsy hand through Sam's hair—not for the camera this time, just for him—and Sam curls in on himself; that gigantic skull of his digging deep enough into Dean's thigh to hurt as he keens and comes.
Sam's gulping in air again and Dean doesn't have to be able to see Sam's hand to know his fingers are still twitching in place.
"I want cheese fries," Dean says, after a moment.
"'f course y'do," Sam slurs, drooling against his leg.
"Come on Buddy, up and at 'em."
"Don't call me 'Buddy.'"
"Come on." Dean says again. "Time to refuel for round two."
"I don't wanna move," Sam says.
"If you come eat something I'll let you pick out what toy I'm gonna fuck you with when we come back."
"Fine," Sam says, sitting up. "But I want a salad. And a steak."