Sam’s fingernails dig into his thigh, half-moon pinpricks of pain. “Yes,” he says hoarsely.
Where?
There’s a hissing crackle against his ear. Sam thinks it sounds like a zipper being pulled down. “In the bathroom. O-on the second floor.”
A laugh, throaty and harsh. Oh, this is gonna be good. Take off your pants, Sammy.
He barely hesitates, just stands up to shuck off his jeans and boxers, cradling the cell phone between his ear and shoulder. The porcelain of the tub’s ledge is cold under his bare ass when he sits down again, one leg in the tub and one leg out to brace himself.
His cock isn’t deterred by the cold, though, curving up against his belly. And the way he’s leaning, every breath presses the wet tip into his t-shirt; by the time his brother speaks again, he’s sweating and trying to arch his hips up for more of that rough friction.
Stop. Sam does immediately, breathing hard.
Wouldn’t want you wrinkling that pretty shirt of yours, Dean says slowly. Sam can hear a hitch in his breathing, like he’s just palmed the head of his own cock. Lean back, spread your legs. Yeah…play with yourself.
Sam moans and does as he’s told, trailing his fingers down his chest and around his thighs, cupping his balls.
Re: they should never ever use publicists
Sam’s fingernails dig into his thigh, half-moon pinpricks of pain. “Yes,” he says hoarsely.
Where?
There’s a hissing crackle against his ear. Sam thinks it sounds like a zipper being pulled down. “In the bathroom. O-on the second floor.”
A laugh, throaty and harsh. Oh, this is gonna be good. Take off your pants, Sammy.
He barely hesitates, just stands up to shuck off his jeans and boxers, cradling the cell phone between his ear and shoulder. The porcelain of the tub’s ledge is cold under his bare ass when he sits down again, one leg in the tub and one leg out to brace himself.
His cock isn’t deterred by the cold, though, curving up against his belly. And the way he’s leaning, every breath presses the wet tip into his t-shirt; by the time his brother speaks again, he’s sweating and trying to arch his hips up for more of that rough friction.
Stop. Sam does immediately, breathing hard.
Wouldn’t want you wrinkling that pretty shirt of yours, Dean says slowly. Sam can hear a hitch in his breathing, like he’s just palmed the head of his own cock. Lean back, spread your legs. Yeah…play with yourself.
Sam moans and does as he’s told, trailing his fingers down his chest and around his thighs, cupping his balls.