#back atcha

A belt buckle clings and then there´s cool air on Dean´s overheated skin, Sam´s calloused hands leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Shit.” Sam curses, or maybe it´s Dean himself. Fucking hard to tell when Dean´s too busy staying upright, knees buckling when Sam shoves two spit-slick fingers right up his ass, stretch and burn and delicious fullness. It´s sloppy and graceless and Dean´s fucking drunk on it, never stood a chance between the cheap liquor in his veins and the burning heat in his brother´s eyes.

Sam works him over until Dean´s dizzy with want, hips jerking helplessly with each slow thrust of Sam´s fingers, desperate to get him to go deeper, faster, harder.

“You gonna come?” Sam asks, tongue tracing the shell of Dean´s ear, fingers twisting just right, and Dean nearly bites through his own lip to keep the shout in.

“Gonna need more than that.” Dean shoots back. It´s a goddamn lie - they both know that Dean´s hanging by a thread, hands fisted so tightly in Sam´s shirt that it´s a wonder it hasn´t ripped yet. One more twist and he´ll be done for.

Surprisingly, Sam doesn´t protest. “That´s what I thought,” he says instead, and then the world tilts dangerously. Dean has about two seconds to regain his equilibrium before Sam´s on him, 200 lbs of little-brother-muscle pressing him flat against the brick wall, the rough stone biting into his cheek. “If that´s how you wanna play this…”

The rustle of fabric, the slide of a zipper, and then Sam slams home, splitting Dean wide open, balls-fucking-deep.

This time, Dean does shout.

“Shh,” Sam, the bastard, shushes him, so goddamn smug that Dean would punch him for it if he still had the brain cells left to turn around and take aim. “Gotta keep it down, Dean. Wouldn´t want people to hear you and come in to investigate.”

Sam would love that, no doubt, the way his hands tighten on Dean´s hips a dead give-away. Dean scoffs, opens his mouth to answer, but Sam doesn´t even let him get the first word out, fucks Dean´s snappy answer right off his lips, slams into him hard and fast, brutal rhythm just the way Dean loves it, the way he´s wanted to get it all goddamn night.

It´s rough and fast and artless, both of them too drunk for anything fancy, and still – it´s Sam, and fancy moves or not, Dean has yet to live a day where Sam´s presence alone is not enough to make his spine tingle with want.

A few well-placed thrusts, and Dean´s coming all over himself, Sam´s belt buckle biting into his ass as his brother shudders behind him. 

They stay wrapped around each other for a few precious heartbeats, just long enough to catch their breaths, and then Sam pulls out carefully, quick press of his lips against Dean´s sweaty neck.

“Better?” Sam asks, fingers already back between Dean´s cheeks, circling his rim and playing with the mess he´s made.

“For now.” Dean pushes off the wall and turns around. Grabs Sam´s wrist and licks his sticky fingers clean. “Once we´re back at the motel, though…”

He trails off, and Sam laughs and kisses him, softer now, but no less hungry.

They´re still only half-dressed and making out like teenagers when the door to the room opens. There´s a woman standing on the other side, eyes wide in shock, dark-red flush spreading all over her slack-jawed face.

“Sorry about that.” Sam says after a few seconds of tense silence, "My brother gets horny when he´s drunk.”

With that, he hooks a finger into Dean´s jeans and drags him past her, herding him back into the flashing lights of the bar.

xoxoxoxo

Hey Em! I´m so sorry for disappearing just like that – unfortunately, life got in the way, as it sometimes does, but now I´m back and dead-set on submitting the two gifts that are still waiting for you! I apologize for the delay, but I figured that even late wincest is better than no wincest, so here we go!