"Dean." Sam's whisper seemed a little loud, but Dean ignored It anyway. Sam tugged on Dean's shirt hard, putting the other hand on Dean's chest. He couldn't quite make himself push, though, not with Dean sucking hard at the flesh he'd bitten. "Dean, we have to go."

Dean answered by sucking strongly. Sam was surprised he wasn't bleeding. Sam reached up to tug at Dean's hair. "Dean, they're going to kick us out. Gotta go fuck outside."

"God, Sammy." Dean pulled back and grinned. "I knew you were dirty. So fucking prissy all the time, but you're dirty."

Sam rolled his eyes and slid off the barstool, tightening his grip on Dean to hold himself steady. "I didn't mean we should fuck outside. I just meant the bartender says we can't fuck in here."

Dean slid off his own stool and held on to Sam. "Well, we should fuck outside. Wanna fuck you." He reached down to palm Sam's dick through his jeans. "You want me to."

"Yeah." Sam gasped, rolling his hips into Dean's hand. "Yeah, fuck me, Dean. Get a cab, go back – "

"No, fuck you here, can't wait." Dean pushed Sam away from the bar, helping him down the dark hall past the bathrooms. "Gonna shove you up against the wall, fuck your brains out. Make you wet and messy, make you wear my come all the way back."

Sam shook his head as Dean pushed the exit door open and dragged him outside. The cool air cleared his head slightly, but not enough. The back alley was dirty, narrow, garbage on the ground everywhere despite the dumpster against the far wall. "No, Dean, it's filthy."

Dean, true to his word, shoved Sam up against the wall, plastered himself to Sam's back. He reached around and fumbled with Sam's fly, finally shoving his hand in the front of Sam's boxers to grab Sam's dick. "Make you filthy. Make you come all over the wall."

He was drunk. Dean was drunk. He was drunk enough that he couldn't remember why it was a bad idea to let Dean fuck him in the alley, because he was so hard and Dean's hand felt so good tugging on his dick. "Okay. God, okay, c'mon, Dean. Fuck me."

"Fuck you hard," Dean growled. He let go of Sam's dick so he could shove Sam's jeans and boxers down his thighs, then lifted his hand to Sam's face. "Suck my fingers. Get 'em wet, Sam, need to get you open."

"You have lube," Sam said, confused. Dean always had lube. He carried the little packets because he was always ready to fuck.

Dean paused. "Oh," he said. "Right."

Sam rested his forehead on the brick in front of him as Dean fumbled behind him. He pushed lightly back into the slight roll of Dean's hips, breath hitching at the feel of Dean's jeans rubbing against his bare skin. "Dean," he whispered, "Dean, hurry, c'mon, hurry."

"Shut up, Sam, I'm trying." Dean's voice was impatient, then he made a soft sound of triumph. There was more jostling behind him, then Dean's fingers were pushing wetly into Sam's ass, two shoving past the initial resistance roughly. Sam gasped and arched against the sudden burn. Dean was in a hurry, spreading the lube inside Sam as he stretched and tugged and pushed against the muscles that would have to relax to let him in. The burn faded quickly into pleasure and need and not enough. Sam pushed back and whined, and Dean laughed softly. "Need it, Sam? Want my hand in your ass?"

"No," Sam growled. "Stupid fucker, not gonna do that. Not drunk enough. Gimme your dick, c'mon."

Dean shoved another finger in and curled them, using his knuckles against Sam's prostate. Sam's knees almost buckled. "If you were any more drunk you'd be unconscious."

"Dean, if you don't fuck me right now I am going to jack off and leave you here and you can sleep alone for a week. A month." Sam shoved back into Dean's hand, hips jerking helplessly. "Never fucking me in an alley again, what the fuck."