Once again, Dean was clinging to the foot board to keep from grabbing at Sam. Not his place to demand tonight. He could beg, though, and he did. In between whimpers, he pleaded for release. Mostly because he knew Sam liked to hear it and because it gave him an outlet for his desperation, not because he expected it to work. Sam would let him come when he was good and ready.

He cried out when Sam stroked him and gasped, moaning deep in his chest when Sam's mouth was finally, finally on him. God, it was good. He whimpered and squirmed, knowing he wasn't going to last.