"You know what I like?"
Sam shifted his cell from one ear to the other. Drumming his fingertips on the wheel didn't make the light turn green any faster. "What?"
"That wet slippery noise when you beat off and think I'm sleeping."
The light went green, the tiny click of it carried on the quiet midnight air.
"I said, that wet-"
"I heard you!" Sam stared at the light. It waved gently in the breeze, suspended too high up on wires nowhere as thick as they should be. "I- What?"
"Gotta say, gets me pretty hot." Across the line, Sam heard the sound of boots kicked to the floor and a mattress creaking in protest. "I figured you'd be sneaky about it, y'know, sparing my feelings and all. I just thought you did the deed in the shower. Jerking off like that when I'm two and a half feet away, Sammy, that's ballsy."
Sam swallowed a couple times. His throat made an odd clicking noise of its own when he tried to talk.
"It's not like I really mind or anything." The sound of sheets shifting--Dean getting comfortable--then a quiet sigh. "Hell, I get antsy myself if I don't scratch that itch at least once a day."
"Once a day?" Sam burst out. "Dude, daily's a bit excessive, don't you think?"
While Sam watched, the light flicked back over to red. The universe was probably trying to tell him something.
"You tell me. 'Cause today's Thursday and I haven't slept straight through the night since Sunday."
Sam rolled his eyes, absently shifting to park and easing his foot off the brake. "You can't blame all that on me."
"You owe me."
"How d'you figure that?"
"Where are you?"
Rubbing his forehead, Sam said, "The stoplight off Acton Street. All of five minutes away."
"Far enough," Dean grunted. "C'mon, tell me all about it."
"All about what? I don't even know what we're talking about anymore!"
"What you trot outta the spank bank, man!" Amazingly, Dean managed to sound exasperated. "I wanna know what makes you go off so quick all the damn time."
Face heating, Sam glanced guiltily in the rearview mirror. Of course no one was behind him, it was the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. It didn't help.
"Are you serious?" Sam asked.
"As serious as my hand on my dick. C'mon, Sam. Talk dirty to me."
Sam opened his mouth. Closed it. Scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I don't-"
"You're noisy too, y'know," Dean said. "Aside from all the panting and moaning, I mean. Just 'cause some guys call it slappin' the salami doesn't mean you gotta go and take it literally." A weighty pause. "Unless you want it that hard. Me, I like it varied. Keep me guessing."
"God, okay. Fine." Sam glanced in the rearview mirror again and mumbled, "Your mouth."
Another long pause, filled with Dean's steady breathing, then, "That's it? I get it, it's a good mouth and all, but that's all you got? My mouth."
"Lips, specifically?" Sam ventured.
"You suck at this."
"What am I supposed to say? I don't actually think about things while I'm at it, they just... pop up!" Heaving a sigh, Sam slumped lower in the seat. He'd lost track of how many times the light had turned. "Don't blame me for fixating on your blowjob lips."
Dean's answer to that was another dangerous pause. "Fixated, huh."
"Like 'em fucked all red and wet, huh."
"Something like that."
"Guess that explains why you're always aiming for the money shot, doesn't it?"
Sam muttered, "Not always," his gaze fixed on a tear high on the inside thigh of his jeans. "It's kinda common courtesy not to give someone an unanticipated shot in the mouth."
"Believe me, Sammy, I'm anticipating."
"I like that you let me get away with it, okay?" Sam snapped, and added, mollified all of a sudden, "And it looks good on you."
"Go back to the getting away with it."
Sam held off on answering, straining to hear any telltale noises over the line. When he caught Dean's swift intake of breath, he blurted, "I think about what else you might let me get away with."
Dean's breathing sounded heavier, maybe. "Like?"
"Small stuff. Like... like if you'd just lay down and let me jerk off on you."
Sam closed his eyes, tipped his head back. "I meant if that was all I did."
Oh. Sam wet his lips. "Like if I got you off after, would you eat it."
Slightly lower, softer, "Yes."
"If- I like it when you suck me off, you're good at it," and this was so much easier with his eyes closed and Dean's thick, quiet breaths in his ear, "but if you'd let me, if I just held your head still so I could-"
Sam stopped, swallowed. He waited for Dean to pick up where he left off, finish it, but all Dean gave him was a tiny pleased, Go on, noise.
"So I could fuck your mouth like I really, really want to."
"How's that, Sammy?"
Palm pressed hard to the denim stretched tight over his cock, Sam said, "Hard. Hard enough to make your voice go rough like after you've been drinking."
Dean said, "Yes," again, a little scratchy around the edges. It took Sam a long minute to realise that wasn't just agreement, it was permission.
To the quiet dark inside the car, Sam said, "You'd let me do anything I wanted, wouldn't you."
In the silence after, Sam bit his lip, waiting. He listened to the quick hiss of Dean's breath, imagined the slap of skin-on-skin.
"One way to find out," Dean finally said. "C'mon home, Sammy."
Sam slapped the phone shut so Dean wouldn't hear the screech of tires on pavement.