Sam can never decide how much he actually enjoys jerking off, even the beginning part before everything goes wrong, like now. It’s more that it’s less uncomfortable to pay attention to the thing, at least at first, than to ignore it entirely and wind up stressed and distracted and pained for god knows how long before it finally, finally subsides. He wishes he could classify the sensation as a relief, but the thing just picks up even more intensity to race alongside his pulse; his breath hitches; adrenaline and fear stab into him, followed without warning by that badwrong he’s never been able to pinpoint, tides rushing toward something he doesn’t understand, wants but doesn’t, real terror bowling him over as he tries to jack through it but it’s so much, grip tightening, bottom dropping out, and he yanks his hand away but the loss hurts way down inside, sweat-sticky and gapingly empty and whimpering.
- Part 1 of Shame 'Verse
“Hey,” Dean says scratchily, and Sam looks up a bit to meet his eyes. “It’s not… I liked it. Okay? I liked it. That’s just—beside the point.”
“Well, for me, the whole point is to be in it equally. I don’t want you to… to do those things if it’s not going to be balanced.”
Dean can’t change the fact that he wouldn’t have touched Sam that way at all if it were for himself and not for Sammy, but if it gives Sam peace of mind to think otherwise—well. “This doesn’t make me your boyfriend,” he grumbles, but Sam just says—
“So, you saying you want to do it again?”
- Part 2 of Shame 'Verse
It’s quiet in the dark, except for the sounds of their breathing, and then Dean says, “I could help you again.”
“You have this… this guilt complex like you’re not allowed to touch me if you admit to yourself that you like it, but you do like it, so you punish yourself for it.”
Sam pulls himself free of the pillow and stares. “That has to stop, if we’re gonna do this.”
“I know,” Dean repeats.
- Part 3 of Shame 'Verse