Word Count: 1,161
Summary: Random Wincest porn.
Notes/Acknowledgments: Betaed by alazysod and waterofthemoon.
The chair in their room is soft and cushy enough that Dean sinks right into it. His back aches, and the muscles twinge a little at the awkward angle, but the closer to the edge he is, the easier it is on Sam's knees. Sam's hair is greasy and damp with sweat, and Dean's fingers tangle in it when he tries to brush it back for a better view.
Dean guides Sam on his cock, deeper and deeper until Sam flattens his tongue and stretches his neck, and he can't help but pull Sam's hair. Not when his cock slides down Sam's throat, and certainly not when he feels Sam's nose press into the soft skin of his stomach.
Sam's got his fingers hooked in Dean's pockets like it's the only way he can keep from touching himself. He's shivering lightly and flexing his hands, clenching and unclenching them and rocking lightly, no doubt in an attempt to get some kind of friction in his jeans. If it were possible for Dean to get harder, that would do it, seeing Sam so greedy and hungry for his dick that he won't even touch himself. That and hearing those moaning, choking noises Sam makes when he goes down too fast because he's too eager, can't get enough of having his mouth filled with Dean's cock.
Dean's hands don't always stay in Sam's hair; they trail down sometimes to stroke Sam's neck, his Adam's apple and throat as he swallows around Dean, the bulge in his cheek where Dean can feel himself. Sam's mouth is wet with his own saliva and sticky with pre-come.
Sometimes, Dean can't help himself—he slides one or both thumbs in alongside his cock and feels Sam's tongue under his dick at three different points. Feels Sam moan, feels the short bursts of air on the backs of his hands and the sharp pain of Sam's fingers scraping along his hips.
That's when Dean gets the wind knocked out of him, when he has to drop his head completely back just to be able to get enough air into his lungs, when Sammy pulls off with shuddering breaths and presses wet, sticky kisses to sweaty skin, and they pause and catch their breath before starting all over again.
The fake wood paneling is too smooth; Sam's hands are slick with sweat, and he can't get a grip on it no matter how hard he tries. Dean thrusts hard and bites down on Sam's neck. Sam's hands get pinched between the headboard and the wall when Dean starts to suck on the bite, rolling his hips and dragging a whine out of him.
He pushes back, drops his head between his outstretched arms and white-knuckles the wood when he feels Dean nipping at his shoulder blades. Another thrust, another slam, and the noise Sam lets out this time has nothing to do with pleasure. He's trying so much to ignore it, but he's barely hard anymore. His fingers fucking hurt, and pain has never been one of his turn-ons.
Dean knees his legs further apart, and Sam knows he's trying to get deeper, but it just isn't going to work. It's a bad angle, the mattress is sliding too much, the headboard is going to break all of his fingers soon, and he's just too damn tall to get anything really good out of this position. He opens his mouth to tell Dean this, to beg to be put on all fours or to lie down or anything else that will let him get something good out of this when Dean's arm snakes from his hip up across his stomach and chest and lifts him up and back.
Sam's mouth is hanging open, words caught in his throat, letting only a strangled noise slip out. Dean is so deep, and the angle is so suddenly perfect that a shiver rolls through Sam's body, tingly-numb like all his limbs are waking up. His head lolls against Dean's shoulder, and he can't catch his breath. He thinks maybe there's something masochists know that he doesn't because they've fucked like this before, and while it's always been good, it's never been this overwhelming kind of amazing. Fuck, if it feels like this every time, Sam will gladly bruise his fingers more often.
Sam knows that one of the surefire ways to get Dean to lose his mind is to ask, to beg to suck his cock.
He doesn't have to, because really, what guy turns down a blowjob? Sam doesn't have to ask because there are only a few times when Dean doesn't want a blowjob (usually right after he's come—he gets the painful kind of sensitive after), but he does it anyway because he knows it drives Dean insane. "Please, Dean, please? Let me suck your cock, please?" Never fails to make Dean's eyes roll back before Sam's even completely on his knees.
That's okay, though, because it's a give-and-take thing then. Sam begs and pleads, and Dean grabs his hair, guides him up and down on his cock, pushing Sam and making him take him deeper down his throat. That right there has made Sam have to change his pants afterwards on more than one occasion.
Sam's always bossy and always a control freak, even though he prefers to bottom, so it's those tiny things—like Dean pushing him down deeper, or when Dean has him on all fours, hands pinned to the bed, cock straining in the air and just completely helpless to do anything but what Dean wants—that make him come so hard he can barely breathe.
Dean knows it, too, and knows when Sam needs it. He knows just when to grab Sam's hips and hold on while Sam rides him, knows when to press Sam hard against the wall and set the pace as fast or slow as he wants.
There was one time in particular. They had a place with a kitchenette, and they were on this chair, some big, uncomfortable thing that looked like someone had just cut a tree into an L and then sanded it down. Sturdy as hell, though. Dean was sitting in the chair with Sam on top of him, hands on the counter behind Dean's head for leverage as Sam fucked himself on Dean's cock.
They'd been going at it for twenty minutes, much longer than either of them usually needed. It was good and all, great, even, but Sam just couldn't get there, couldn't get exactly what he needed until Dean slid his hands from Sam's hips to his shoulders, pulled him down and close and kissed him. Took control and held Sam in place until Sam's arms slid around his neck, his whole body rolling and shivering as he gave in to Dean. Within minutes, Sam was gasping into Dean's mouth, slack-jawed and heaving as he came, wet and slick between them both.