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original wish:

So tired, but sleep won't come.
Fingers pinch, stiffen a nipple. Move lower, scrawling down his flat belly. Circling, squeezing, calluses rough against the head of his cock.
It’s not enough; never can be or will be in the lonely narrow bed. Not until he closes his eyes. Then no one can see them or make them stop.
He whispers the name in the dark. Dean.
Dean’s grasping hands, swollen mouth, avid eyes. Always waiting for Sam.
He strokes himself hard and rough. Breath catches in his throat, god, come roping over his chest.
Always, always, Sam comes for him.