T'hell with the planet, then if it doesn't... fuck. [Whatever train of thought he was on derailed miles from its destination when Sam's teeth scraped his skin and Dean's toes curled on the shower floor because, that? That was fucking fantastic. His hand faltered for a second in its rhythm before he got back into it, determinedly hanging onto what little coherent thought he had left.]

[Dean's hips thrust into open air as Sam's hands tease him, staying just out of reach of where he needs them. His hand on Sam speeds to match his own body's pace and when Sam kisses him, his tongue joins in the action. By the time the kiss ends, he's panting desperately.]

Hope your couch is... good and sturdy. Gonna test its limits...