If Sam's own hand had felt tepid, uninteresting, against his dick, Dean's was the opposite. It was like ice was flowing through his veins. He called out, hollering like a maniac, and bucked his hips wildly into Dean's hand. He grinned especially at the way Dean's thumb passed over the head, remembering a long-ago and deeply embarrassing conversation where Dean had told him about that trick. Since then, he'd used it every time.
His eyes were still closed as he lay back, though when Dean's hand caught in his hair he pulled his head toward it, like a dog being pet. All of the sudden, an image of Dean came to him. In this image, Dean was naked. He wondered if it would come true.