Over the wires and waves, Sam's voice was still clear—deep, intense, and knowing. "When you get here, Dean, I'm barely going to let you close the door before I shove you up against it, pin your hands like you like me to, rub up against you until you're panting and begging me to suck your cock. And then I will, but I'm not going to let you finish, Dean. I'm going to get you close, close enough that you're trying to grab my hair and make me stay still so you can come in my mouth, but that's not what's going to happen. Instead you're going to walk over to the bed, and undress and lie down, and you better not come then, because I'm going to ride you until you do. I'm going to do all this when you get home, Dean, so where the hell are you?"
Dean tightened one hand on the steering wheel, gripped the other so tightly around the phone that he thought he might snap the flimsy plastic. He watched the speedometer's needle touch and then pass ninety. "I'm almost there, Sam," he breathed. "I'm almost there."