Author's Note: This was written as a request from my housemate in our in-house fic challenge because we are lame and have no friends. (He owes me Alias femslash). Set after when Dean crashes at Luke's after his bachelor party. Posted for Bring Back the Porn over on InsaneJournal.

Luke dropped the drunken mess of limbs onto the bed.

"Why didn't she love me?" was all he got in response. He patted Dean's leg. Unrequited love for a Gilmore was not exactly unfamiliar to him, and even though he didn't believe that anyone would ever actually be good enough for Rory, he still felt bad for the guy. Hell, he knew from experience that not being good enough for the Gilmores wasn't really a huge deterrent at all.

"Idiot," he huffed as he turned away and walked towards the fridge. He was a little proud of the kid for trying to move on, but he couldn't really think of a worse way to do it. You don't get married when you're in love with someone else. You wallow, you date a little, you take up fishing, and you give up on romance altogether. It worked for him with Lorelai, and it had worked for his father after his mother had died.

He opened a beer and drank half of it before closing the fridge door. He put another on the table and sat down. Luke almost never drank - in fact, he was pretty sure that those beers had been in there since Jess left - but he was pretty sure he needed it tonight.

A few sips and heavy sighs later, he heard movement behind him, and turned to see Dean shuffling groggily to towards him. He didn't say anything when Dean pulled the other chair around and sat knee-to-knee with him.

Dean leaned in, huge and uncomfortably close, his eyes wide and pathetic. "I don't know what to do, Luke."

Clearly, Luke thought, looking him over; his somehow oversized clothes hanging from his too-broad shoulders and gangly limbs, and that stupid face that was looking at him like he was a Magic 8-Ball. He took a swig and cleared his throat. "About Rory?"

"About Lindsay." He frowned at Luke then lurched closer when his elbow slipped off his knee. He didn't correct himself. "I mean, I know, like, I've watched, you know..."

Luke did know. And was kind of wishing he didn't. For one, he had enough problems in his simple life to deal with - he didn't need the apparently growing problem Dean was giving him as well. But also, despite the fact that he didn't even really like her, Lindsay deserved better than Dean's awkward, porn-inspired fumblings. The kid couldn't even say the word. He leaned back, downed the rest of his beer and got up to get another one. He was too old for this shit.

When he say back down, Luke tried to put a hand on Dean's shoulder, but missed his mark, and his hand landed in the crook of his neck. His skin was warm, and apparently Luke held his booze about as well as a teenage boy, because his head was a little fuzzy. Dean reached up decisively to mirror the touch, long fingers gripping the flannel of Luke's shirt. He sniffed, bit his lower lip, and then he yanked Luke's face onto his own.

If anything at all, in the world, could - should - have convinced Dean that marrying Lindsay was a terrible idea, this was it. But it didn't really seem to matter as Luke shifted forward in his seat, his knee between Dean's thighs, his hand wrapping itself around the back of Dean's neck. This apparently tipped it over the edge, because Dean's free hand shot up, shoving the hat off Luke's head and threading his fingers through his hair.

He wasn't sure who pulled them up, but the fridge hit the wall when Dean pinned him to it. "Show me," he said into Luke's neck. In less than three seconds, that ridiculously large shirt was on the floor with Luke's hat, Dean's ass was pressed firmly into the kitchen bench, and Luke's mouth closed on his nipple.

When they kissed, Dean used a little too much tongue, and not quite enough teeth; breathed a little too hard and smelled a little too much like vodka against Luke's mouth, and it suddenly occurred to him that this was really happening. And that Dean really didn't know what to do. He really didn't have any goddamn idea, and he wanted Luke to teach him. Which was ridiculous, not least because Dean was getting married in about twelve hours.

He thought for a brief second about Rory and realised that not only had Dean never had sex, he'd probably never even touched someone else. Jesus. He supposed that should make him feel bad. All it did was make him determined to do exactly what Dean had suggested – show him how. (And if he had touched Rory, Luke's fist would probably be hitting Dean in the face, not wrapping around his cock awkwardly through his jeans).

Even against the bench Dean stumbled as he kicked his shoes off, and Luke had just a second more of doubt before Dean's hands bracketed his face and yanked him forward again. There was nothing unsure or indecisive about it, and Luke stopped pretending that he was just doing the kid a favour. He pulled his hand away from Dean's pants and Dean grumbled into his mouth. Luke almost laughed at that – what a brat – but instead he pressed Dean's hips back into the bench and sunk to his knees. Apparently Dean also needed to learn some patience.

He rubbed his knuckles deliberately against Dean's crotch as he unzipped his jeans, ran blunt nails slowly down the back of his thighs as he pulled them down. The floor was hard against his knees, Dean's cock hard against his tongue. Dean made a slightly ridiculous noise of surprise and Luke couldn't help laughing a little as he licked a solid stripe from his balls to the head of his cock. One of Dean's hands gripped the bench till his knuckles were white. The other held onto Luke's shoulder hard enough that he'd regret letting him do it tomorrow.

Dean's eyes were squeezed shut under the mop of hair on his forehead. Luke wanted to shove his hands into it, to pull it none too gently while he fucked Dean into the mattress.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He wasn't even sure if his bed would support the weight of two people.

Instead, he shifted to get a better angle (damn, that kid was tall), and ignored the twinge in his knee. He was pretty sure he hadn't blown someone on his knees since that time under the bleachers with Jackson at their senior varsity athletics meet. Dean's hips jerked and Luke's hand went to his hip automatically – more a reminder than a restraint – as he closed his mouth over the head of his cock. Dean made that same sound of surprise, and Luke hoped despite himself that he would keep doing it.

He wrapped his free hand around the base of Dean's cock, stroked up as his mouth slid down. Dean's breaths were short and harsh, occasionally more groans that breaths, and Luke's own erection pressed against his jeans uncomfortably. It occurred to him that if it weren't for the alcohol, Dean probably would have come by now and that made him feel incredibly old. Dean would have come before Luke was even hard.

He slowed his hand, pulled back to lick across the head, around until Dean's fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling hard at the collar. He stilled his hand completely, tightening his grip around the base, moving only his mouth. Dean hardened against his tongue, and might have complained, but it turned into a moan when Luke took the hand off his hip and reached down to stroke over his balls.

He wasn't really used to being so gentle, but he figured that if Dean actually planned on learning something from this (which at this point was highly doubtful), that was probably a decent lesson. Luke had never been great at imparting wisdom, but he vaguely remembered what it was like to be a horny teenage boy in love, or whatever, and it certainly didn't hurt to try.

Especially not given the way Dean's hips jerked forward every time Luke took him further, and the way he moaned, open-mouthed, when he rolled his balls in his palm. It was hotter than it should have been: the dumb, drunk giant with too little chest hair and not nearly enough stamina to last much longer. And it seemed that Luke needed a lesson in patience, too, because instead of making him wait, he flicked his tongue around the head of Dean's cock one more time, then closed his mouth around him with purpose.

He felt Dean's impossibly hard thighs tense, trembling; looked up to see his head fall back, watched his Adam's apple dip as he moaned low. Dean stuttered some incoherent consonants which Luke took as warning, and was instantly happy that he had, because then Dean was coming hard in his mouth.

The silence after that lasted about ten seconds, until Dean opened his eyes and seemed to realise what they'd just done. His face flushed even redder when Luke cleared his throat.

"Uh," Dean said, voice shaky and awkward. He pulled his pants back up from his knees; didn't bother fastening them. Luke was about to wave him back to bed, but then Dean reached out a hand that Luke wished he didn't need to get up. When he was standing again, Dean sniffed. "Thanks."

Luke tried to think of something that wasn't, you're welcome, and came up blank. Thankfully, Dean chose that moment to stumble forward and kiss him. Hard. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it knocked Luke off balance enough to shove him into the table behind him. Dean didn't waste any time, barely waiting for the table to right itself before Luke's jeans were unzipped, pulled awkwardly aside, and Dean's hands were all over him.

The angle at which Dean was leaning must have been uncomfortable, but it didn't seem to bother him, one hand on the table to steady him. He spat in his other hand, wrapping it inexpertly around Luke's cock, and that should have disgusted him more than it did. Luke hadn't actually realised how hard he was, but Dean jerked him rough and fast and he leaned back on his palms. He heard the clink of an empty beer bottle hitting the floor.

Dean pushed between Luke's thighs, moving his hand from the table to his hip. He pulled ineffectually at the hem of his shirt for a second, before managing to shove his hand under. It was cold against his skin and Luke jumped, groaned as it pushed him harder into Dean's fist. Long fingers slid up his belly, through the trail of hair from his crotch to his chest. His hand grazed over a nipple and Luke swore.

Taking the hint, Dean pushed against Luke's chest for support and jerked him the way he probably jerked himself off in the shower every morning. The thought was enough to make his balls tighten and his cock twitch in Dean's hand, and he managed a warning only seconds before he came. Dean watched with something close to fascination, which would probably disturb him tomorrow, but for now he was too tired to bother being anything but satisfied.

Dean stepped back, leaving Luke's skin cold where his hands had been. Luke fixed himself as much as he could be bothered to and took a clean rag from under the sink, running it under cold water. He handed it to Dean, who thanked him.

Luke unbuttoned his shirt, felt his undershirt stick to his stomach uncomfortably, and mumbled something like, "I'm taking a shower, you can sleep in Jess's bed. If you want."

By the time he got out of the shower, the kid was lying sprawled across the bed Luke had dropped him onto an hour ago. The baseball cap that had been shoved onto the kitchen floor was placed deliberately at the end of Luke's bed, and the empty beer bottles were nowhere to be seen. Dean's shirt was folded on top of his neatly aligned shoes at the end of the bed that his feet were hanging off.

He chuckled despite himself, taking a spare blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over him. It covered most of him well enough.

Maybe his impending marriage wouldn't be quite as bad as he (and everyone else, if he were the type to listen to town gossip) expected. Dean and Lindsay: two WASPy small-town kids getting married way before they should.

They were probably going to be having very vanilla sex for a very long time, he thought as he dropped onto his own bed.

"Dean?" he called from across the room. He thought that maybe Dean was asleep, but he grunted something that sounded like a question. "Maybe don't say 'thank you' to Lindsay."

Dean's response was either a laugh or a snore.