Dean rolls his fist around the head of his cock thinking about Sam.
It’s his routine most lonely nights on the road, one that he’s stopped finding shame or disgust in and has simply embraced as one of the few things that keeps him from ending up in a psych ward.
He thrusts hard against his palm, panting and tipping his head back thinking about Sammy sitting on his cock, eyes wide and sputtering out some excuse as to why he’s practically drooling in Dean’s lap. His cock twitches in his grasp picturing Sam looking guilty as he moans and rocks in his big brother’s lap, his balls tighten when he can practically hear Sam begging to fuck him harder, to stretch out his tight little pussy until he can’t take it anymore.
Dean’s eyes roll back into his head and his hips thrust against his will as he shoots a rope of come into the air, landing on his trembling fingers. A second follows it, and he gasps in a small, broken way that he’d feel embarrassed about if there were any witnesses to his actions. His thighs shake and he pants to catch his breath.
Thankfully, there’s no one around to recount his crime.