[When Sam pulled back, Dean's hand fell away from his head. It instantly had a new use, though. It came up to clamp down hard over Dean's mouth, stifling cries that surely would have upset Sam once he came down off his lust haze. The other hand still fisted in the sheets, held on tight and, yeah... those sheets were never going to lay flat again. Whatever. He'd buy Sam new ones.]

[His climax hit like a fucking truck and he writhed helplessly on the waves, rocking up into Sam's hand and pushing himself back down onto Sam's fingers. Sure, there were probably hookers who had more restraint, but he was so far beyond caring right now. Pride would have to just deal.]

[He continued to squirm long after he and nothing left to give, his hand still clamped down firmly on his own mouth. Not that it did anything to muffle the soft, rhythmic whimpers his cries tapered off into. He opened his eyes slowly, unable to remember when he closed them, and sought out Sam's face.]