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Summary
"Dean! What the fuck dude? I can't hold you much longer. Quit thrusting your junk in my face and keep going." Sam yelled.
"You love it." Dean meant it has a joke. Swear to God, he meant it as a joke.
But then Sam's breathing got faster, and Dean's left foot slipped off of where it was balanced on Sam's thigh, and Dean looked down into Sam's flushed face.
Sam bit his lower lip and Dean's legs folded beneath him, losing him the little ground he had gained. "Fuckshit."
