INTERIOR: Motel. SAM and DEAN are on a queen-sized bed, drinking whiskey from the bottle. The contents of the bottle are nearly entirely gone.
Sam: See, your ass is really MY ass.
Dean: God, you're funny when you're drunk.
Sam: I mean, I know your ass better than you know it.
Dean: ...explain. That. Please.
Sam: Because I...I know it like the back of my hand.
Dean: I think I know my own ass better than you do.
Sam: Ok, Mr...Ass-Knower. What's it taste like?
Sam: See? 'Cause, dude, in case you forgot, (in a whisper) I lick your ass all the time.
Dean: Yeah you do.
Sam: Fucking love it. Anyway. I've got my tongue in your ass, like, three times a week. Miminum. Nimi...mum. At least.
Sam: What else... ok, so you know what your own ass feels like with your fingers.
Dean: Heh. Yeah I do.
Sam: But as many times as people (starts laughing)... as many times as PEOPLE have told you to go fuck yourself... dude... s'not possible.
Sam: I have to fuck you. I mean, I don't HAVE to. I get to. Yay for me. But the fact remains...
Dean: Funny drunk.
Sam: Shh. The FACT remains that I fuck you. YOU don't fuck you. So your ass is really...MY ass. To fuck.
Dean: And lick.
Sam: Mmmm. Yeah. That.
Dean: Too drunk to fuck me, Sammy?
Sam: But not until you admit it.
Dean: (tugging at his belt buckle) Ok, Sam. Fine. My ass is your ass, because you know my ass better than I do. You're like-
Sam: -a Dean Winchester Ass Scholar!
Dean: (drawing Sam to him for a long, slow kiss) That's my boy. My little ass scholar. (Dean unbuckles Sam's jeans.) Now get these off and show me how smart you are, baby boy.