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Wet sounds filled the room. It made Sam's face all red, making embarrassment and arousal to move throughout his body. It was hot, sure, but it was so humiliating. Sam got so wet just from his own touch, and even then sometimes touch wasn't needed at all to make Sammy wet. To make him whimper and moan and choke out his pleading noises to an empty room. The way the sounds bounced off the walls only served to push him down, further into his blind arousal. It felt so good, and his cock was so warm, pulsating and weeping with pleasure.
He was gliding his hand up and down his length, absorbed in the mind-blowing feeling of it. His hips kept bucking, kept pushing up into the air like he'd find any relief there. Sam bit his lip, less to muffle his vocalizations and more for the delicious reward he'd be granted; the feeling of teeth biting down into the soft skin of his lip, the blood seeping into his open, waiting mouth. His tongue dashed out to lap it up and he moaned contentedly at the copper taste.
Maybe it was more out of habit than anything, seeing as Sam was damn used to keeping quiet. As much as he fantasized about his brother finding him in such a compromising position, he doesn't know if he'd survive the mortification resulting from it. He liked to imagine Dean would be into it, would touch him.. but Sam wasn't that reckless. He didn't want to deal with any fallout, any negative reaction, despite what got his cock hard.
Hard, wet, downright begging desperately for any pleasure it could find. Sam's hips kept shifting, kept rustling the sheets on the bed. His thrusts into his hand would move the bed back and forth slightly, only adding to the noisiness of the room. He allowed all of this because he knew Dean wasn't home. However, the thought of Dean hearing only served to work Sam up more. All he wanted was his older brother's attention, his praise. Wanted to be able to smell Dean, to inhale Dean properly like he'd never been able to do. Sam's wants when it came to his brother were extraordinarily prey-like. He wanted to be consumed, dominated by his big brother. Wanted to be marked, thoroughly, so he and everyone else would know he belonged to Dean.
He kept stroking himself, keeping a fairly consistent pace. He wiggled his hips to try to get more friction somehow, and whined high in his throat when he couldn't find any. Almost without conscious thought, he whined "Dean," pleading with his older brother to grant him access to what he really wanted. The idea of begging to Dean made the wet noises increase, made his brain feel fuzzier than it already was. He wanted Dean so much more than he could ever put into words; he needed him.
The need, the ache, overcame him and he was moaning and whimpering, too far gone to hear the slight sound of the Bunker's front door open. He tightened his grip on himself and slowly jerked himself off, wanting to savour the feeling of pleasure more than he wanted to cum. He choked out little breathes, ragged and desperate. The slick on his cock, his thighs, made him simultaneously want to hide away and present himself— he imagined Dean seeing him in this state. He huffed out his breath like he was rushing to get them out.
At the same time, unbeknownst to Sam, Dean was making his way through the Bunker after having returned from his beer run. He walked in without incident, but as he was stocking the fridge, he heard a loud keen. He immediately placed the cause of the sound to be Sam, and at first he was concerned. That was, until he approached Sam's room and heard so much more than that.
The sound of skin against skin, Sam's little pants and choked moans. That told Dean all he needed to know. And well, Dean knew what he should do— turn around and leave, like nothing happened, because it would be the appropriate choice to make when you hear your little brother masterbating. But Dean wasn't normal. As soon as he realized his brother wasn't in trouble, his dick started to fill. Guiltily, shamefully, he rested his hand over his bulge as he listened intently.
The sounds Sam was making were heavenly. Dean could tell he was holding himself back, and the urge to storm in there and demand he not cover his noises was hard to resist. If I had it my way, Dean thought, head clouded with lust, I'd go in there and make him feel too good to be able to control himself. But he couldn't risk it— his relationship with Sam. He valued it so much that even his downstairs brain couldn't convince him to jeopardize it. He would be content listening, like this.
It wasn't the first time, admittedly. They'd lived together all their lives, so of course they'd seen or at least heard the other in intimate moments. Dean savored it. He had to use every ounce of self-control in his body to not interrupt his baby brother. He didn't want the sounds to stop, he reasoned with himself. It was an honor to hear him like this, Dean was in no position to want or ask for more. He was grateful for every opportunity he got to listen in. Sure, it wasn't like Sam was giving it to him on purpose, but Dean felt almost blessed regardless.
And those sounds? Definitely blessed. Sam keened again, and the pitch of it nearly made Dean's eyes roll back in his head. Dean wanted nothing more than to open the door and see. But Dean's resolve was stronger than that, something he was both thankful for and despised. On one hand, he could've been fucking into Sam ages ago if he had acted at any time in the past. On the other, much more realistic hand, doing so would at the very least strain their relationship.
Or ruin it. Sam would lose all respect for him if he knew what a sick fuck Dean was. That's what he'd always believed, the sole reason Dean didn't devour Sam decades ago. If Sam didn't want it, didn't reciprocate, Dean didn't actually want to force anything like that upon Sam. Even if the thought of doing so made Dean's brains turn into aroused mush. It was just a sex thing, Dean rationalized. Because if that was true, maybe there was one less thing wrong with him. Maybe he could be worthy of redemption, of being saved.
Sam had kept up his now tortuously slow pace for the most part, only giving in to the more desperate urges for brief moments before regaining control of himself. It felt so good and Sam was unraveling more and more. His hips bucked up to meet every stroke, the wetness humiliating him to the point of tears. Every time he felt his arousal peaking, he forced himself to let go of his cock. Every single time, he whined and cried at the denial of release. In a perfect world, he was waiting for Dean to let him cum.
"De, Dean, please," he cried softly. In his imagination, Dean was making him do this. Forcing him to keep jerking himself off and then stop when he got too close. It made Sam's head inexplicably fuzzier, made the coil in his gut build. He felt it and he sobbed loudly, trying to convey to imaginary-Dean that he really wanted to cum. He was biting his lip so he wouldn't verbally beg. Fuck, he was so far gone and he just needed relief.
Outside of the room, Dean could've fainted with how fast every ounce of blood in his body rushed to his cock. He wanted so badly to interrupt— but he was stuck in place, with his ear placed right up against Sam's door. He needed to hear Sam cum, now. He needed to hear it, but doesn't think he could handle seeing it. Dean would lose every braincell if he got to see such thing. He'd have no chance at ever being normal if he went that far. So, he listened in anticipation as he stroked his fully exposed cock to Sam's noises
Sam was slurring "Dean, Dean, Dean," and whatever was keeping Dean in check must have been something of great power. He couldn't explain it. But fuck, when Sam sounds like that? Nothing else mattered except soaking every decimal in. Sam moaned high in his throat and his breath stuttered. In the room, Sam was cumming, hard. It squirt all over his hands, stomach and thighs. The warmth of it made Sam's head sink impossibly further, making him let out a little whine. He ached for more, but he couldn't muster the strength. He again found himself wishing Dean was there to take care of him.
He laid there for a moment to catch his breath, already thinking about what he'd talk to Dean about later. Meanwhile, Dean had managed to make his getaway from the crime scene (Sam's door) and into his own room. As soon as the door shut behind him, his cock was back in his hands and he was pumping wildly. It took less than a minute for Dean to cum, because of what he just heard. Because it was his brother. He quickly cleaned his release up before the guilt set in.
It didn't matter, because at the end of the day he still had a relationship with Sam. Sam was still his, even if neither of them acknowledged it. They already knew. It was enough for Dean— it had to be.