The old manor-house smells like stale popcorn, processed sugar and sweat, the floorboards creaking under their feet and keeping Sam's senses on high alert even though the ghosts were already dust. Whoever decided to set up the local high school's haunted house in an ACTUAL haunted house deserved some serious fist-face action. At least they'd been able to step in before anybody had been seriously hurt.
Sam would have been more than happy to get the hell out of here already, grab a well-deserved beer, and an even more deserved blow job - but no, Sam's brother had to be the world's biggest five-year-old. Dean loved this kind of thing, thought it was hilarious to see all of the stuff regular people were afraid of. Mostly it just made Sam kind of sad; he really didn't need the automatic mental critique of the decorative vampire's fangs to remind him that he wasn't anywhere in the neighborhood of normal. Hell, he and normal didn't even live in the same town.
He's analyzing the textural flaws of a bowl of peeled grape 'eyeballs' when he hears Dean shout from somewhere down the hall "Ho-ly shit! Sammy, c'mere!".
Sam tallies up his count of salt rounds, trying to think of any way they could have overlooked any of the murdered servants’ possessions in the cellar as he rushes across the protesting, slatted floor, nearly taking his brother's head off when Dean glances out of a doorway into the hall.
"Shit! Dean, what the-" Sam sputters at the manic grin on his big brother's face, the sudden, jarring realization that Dean's just screwing around. Would serve him right if Sam shot him full of rock salt.
"Dude, check this out!" Dean enthuses, tugging on the wrist still holding Sam's cocked sawed-off. Sam allows himself to be led into the room Dean's so excited about, trying to take calming breaths and quell the urge to waste a few rounds on his stupid jerk brother.
It's some kind of mirror-maze, a well set up one too - Sam can see himself from every angle as Dean drags him further inside, reflections of their movement bobbing in his periphery at every turn. Somewhere toward what Sam guesses is the middle of the room, Dean stops and turns to him, mischievous light sparkling in the multitude of familiar green eyes reflected all around them.
"What?" Sam asks impatiently, barely quashing the impulse to tap his foot.
Dean rolls his eyes and tosses his head back, "Man, you have no imagination. C'mon, this doesn't give you ideas?"
There's something in the way Dean says 'ideas' that finally makes it click in Sam's head.
"No, nuh-uh, not gonna happen."
Dean shifts instantly into pout mode, heavy lips sticking out like a plea. "But, Sammy..."
"I said no," Sam says firmly, turning back the direction they came. "And no more candy for you either; the sugar's messing with your brain."
"Aw, c'mon, Sam," Dean wheedles, his voice the sex-soaked purr that's hardwired directly to Sam's dick, "You saying you don't like lookin' at me?" Of course Sam sees Dean come up behind him, but he can't seem to convince his body that moving away is really what it needs to do. "Don't wanna watch me when I give it to you? Get all the angles while I make you scream and beg for more?" is breathed hot and heavy into Sam's ear, Dean's broad hands moving in a slow tease over Sam's chest, down across his hips leaving after-burn trails that have his skin tingling under his clothes. "'Cause I do. Wanna see that hot, tight body all around me, moaning and squirming so pretty for my dick," Dean hand dips lower, cups Sam's half-hard length through his jeans and gives it a long, firm squeeze that gets him way the hell past half mast. "Check out that big, thick cock of yours in stereo."
"Stereo's for sound, dickwad," Sam tries to snap, but his voice wavers a lot more than he'd like.
"Yeah, so what's visual, huh?" Dean grins, a taunting lilt in his voice as he jacks Sam torturously slow through his pants.
"I-um," Sam stutters, losing the plot completely when Dean milks the head between his fingers, "I don't-"
"Open your eyes, Sammy," Dean commands softly. Sam didn't even realize he'd clamped his eyelids shut, but once they flutter open again he has to work to keep them that way. The first thing they catch on is his own reflection; the image of himself with red-stained cheeks, and lust-blown eyes, panting for breath and just so obviously, completely at Dean's mercy echoing back to him from every angle and it just makes him want to look away in humiliation. But then there's Dean behind him, looking just as turned on and crazy for it as Sam is, licking his plump lips wet and scraping them dry with his teeth over and over in that compulsive little thing he does whenever Sam's about to get fucked so good he won't remember his own name. "Telling me you don't want that?"
"I don- I can't- I-" Oh why the hell is he even trying? "Shit I hate you," Sam snarls as he starts ripping at the buttons on his over-shirt.
"Not even a little bit, baby boy," Dean laughs and shucks his leather jacket to the floor.
It never gets old; even though Sam's seen his brother get naked practically every day of his life, he can just never seem to get enough of Dean's body - he's really starting to see the advantages to this mirror thing.
Dean's muscles ripple as he peels his worn-out grey tee over his head, abs bunching and flexing in front of Sam in counterpoint to the powerful crawl of the tendons in his back that Sam can see in the mirror just over his brother's shoulder. Dean catches him looking and grins wickedly, the smug bastard.
Sam makes sure to take plenty of time getting his own shirt off, tensing the muscles in his abdomen as he strips. When the soft cotton of it hits the floor, Dean's staring open mouthed, arms hanging limply at his sides.
"Nobody like a tease, Sammy," he rasps out breathlessly, starting up that lick-scrape thing all over again, the bulge of his dick straining obviously against his fly.
"Seems to be working for you," Sam smirks back, trying his best not to watch his own reflection as he leans his shoulders back into one of the mirrors and thrusts his hips out to slowly work his fly open.
He can't help but see it though, can't avoid noticing the long line of his body reflecting back at him from every turn and maybe, objectively - you know, if it wasn't his body - he could say that he might look a little hot as he rolls his hips in a slow grind against the empty air, pulling jeans and boxers down by fractions of a centimeter each time. Looking at Dean is better though, because payback if fucking sweet.
His brother sways and stumbles, trying to get his boots off without looking away from Sam like he's the sole point of light in the universe. He looks a tiny bit hazy, the adrenaline from lust and the hunt riding him hard, mixed with the shot of whiskey they shared from the flask in Dean's jacket – along with Dean’s traditional 'liq-or treat' joke. Then those damn tight jeans skate down Dean's strong thighs and Sam kind of forgets what he was doing for a minute.
"Dude, you went commando on a hunt?" Sam's voice sounds incredulous, but not exactly in the way he meant it to.
Dean bites his lip and grins at the same time. "Outta clean shorts," he shrugs, his hand finding its way to his dick to slowly stroke, without ever looking away from Sam. His cock looks so hard; dark red and full, the veins standing out in sharp relief under the soft sheen of slick Dean's spreading from the gleaming tip.
Sam feels the growl build up in his throat, "Get fucking over here, now."
Dean's laugh is slow and deep and burns a scarring path all the way down Sam's spine. "All you had to do was ask."
Dean falls to his knees in front of Sam, tearing the denim down Sam's legs to get his cock free. Sam's brother likes to top, prefers it - which is more than okay as far as Sam's concerned because Dean in control is like a week's worth of living, breathing, top-shelf porn, slamming into Sam like that's all he's good for - but for all the big man bravado, Dean's always been a total mouth-slut for Sam's cock.
He's got those blow job lips wrapped around the swollen head the second it pops out, a little smear of precome glistening on his cheek where it skidded against him. Dean couldn't go easy with it if he tried and Sam doesn't want him to; years of conditioning's got him addicted to the too-much slam of pleasure from the relentless, take-no-prisoners pressure Dean always uses right from the get go. His brother's angling his head a little this time, and Sam knows exactly what that's about - can't help watching it either, Dean's reflection bobbing down on his cock.
He doesn't get a chance to get a real good look at the soft pout of Dean's lips around the shaft though, before his brother pulls off and captures Sam's hand. A long groan slips out when two of his fingers get the same ecstatic treatment his cock was for those few blissful seconds, Dean sucking them wet, tongue flickering at the webbing between them and all along the length until he finally surrenders them, dripping with spit. Sam doesn't need the guiding push Dean gives to get those fingers back at his own hole, slick pads dancing over the clenched pucker, just teasing himself - and putting on a real good show.
Dean certainly seems to appreciate it, swallowing Sam's cock back into wet, molten heaven, moaning as he peeks around his little brother's hip to watch. Sam gives himself one finger smooth as silk, taking it all the way to the knuckle as his brother's hands grip him more urgently. They fucked around this morning, so while he's not exactly open, it's not gonna take him long to get there either; and considering how inconceivably hot it is to look around and see Dean on his knees, swallowing Sam's dick as if it's his one and only source of sustenance, yeah, Sam's really looking forward to the fucking.
Dean's tongue traces the vein along the bottom of Sam's cock harshly, pulling up all the way to stab into the slit for the pulse of precome that obligingly spurts out - sometimes Sam swears Dean's got more control over his body than Sam himself does. He gives himself another finger, moaning at the slight stretchy-burn that goes with it, one hand reaching back to brace on the cool glass of the mirror behind him.
He's not going to say it, definitely not going to say it, but this mirror thing was a fucking fantastic idea. It gives him a perfect view of the way Dean's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows around the head, the way his throat flexes and actually bulges ever so slightly as he takes Sam all the way down, the dark shadow of his hole as he leans into it like he can take even more if he just tries harder, the way his thick, scarred fingers feather over the perfect, heavy jut of that cock Sam wants inside him so badly. He never gets to see any of this, not clearly, not crystal and sharp and unobstructed like this and he works his fingers as far apart as they'll go, fighting against his own muscle because if they don't get the fuck on with it, he's going to blow straight down his brother's clenching throat from just watching.
"Okay, okay. God, fuck, I'm ready," Sam pants and Dean pulls off with a filthy pop, a string of spit still connecting his fucked-red lips with Sam's cock. His brother doesn't even manage a good answer, just lets loose a growl that has Sam's dick jumping to attention as he pulls Sam bodily to the gritty floor.
It takes almost no time at all to get themselves positioned, both of them working on the same frequency, like they always seem to do when it comes to hunting of fucking and this time even moreso since it's both. Sam's on his hands and knees, Dean behind him, spitting loud and dirty, directly onto Sam's clutching opening.
"Yeah, that's it, want it bad, don't you, baby boy? Can't wait to get my big dick shoved in you." Dean rubs the head of his cock through the spit running down Sam's cleft, making his pucker tense-flex with each almost-there touch. He raises the shaft up and let's it smack down, perfect center on Sam hole and he can't stop his hips from humping back, wanting more, not sure if the smug look he can see on his big brother's face in his reflection is infuriating or just making him hotter.
"Dean, you fucker, fucking do it, c'mon!" Sam snarls, catching his brother's eyes in the mirror directly in front of them and watches Dean's face flush with dark heat.
"Yeah, fuck yeah," Dean mutters, fumbling in his sudden urgency to line up and shove in. He doesn't stop at the breach, keeps right on with a slow, steady shove until his balls are nestled against Sam's ass, every inch of him burning and throbbing inside of Sam exquisitely.
Dean lays over him then, chest pressed firmly to Sam's back, and huffs in Sam's ear with their eyes still locked in the mirror. "How many of these things you think we can fit in the car?"
Sam having trouble getting words out through the wildfire burn in his lungs, spreading steadily through his blood, but he manages to choke out, "Pervert," with a grin.
"You love it," Dean stares right at him gleefully as he leaves a sharp, red bitemark on Sam's shoulder.
"Yeah, I do," Sam moans, readjusting his sweaty palms on the floorboards, "and if you don't move your ass right fuckin' now, I'm gonna goddamn kill you." He adds a thrust of his hips to emphasize the point, dragging a high needy sound out of Dean's throat.
The rhythm starts slow, just rocking in and out an inch or two , bodies still molded together while Dean licks the sweat off of Sam's neck, eyes darting around to watch them move together. Sam's knees are grating into the floor and he's going to bruised all to hell tomorrow even without the couple of sets the ghosts left for him. It's totally worth it.
Dean leans back finally, balancing on his knees and grabbing Sam's hips to pull him back onto every now-merciless thrust. The head of his cock is torturing Sam's prostate, slamming into it on every push until he's twisting with the overwhelming pleasure of it, the almost-pain sparking all the way out to his fingertips. Somewhere along the line the air gooped up like fucking pancake batter and Sam can barely draw any of it in before the force of Dean hips, the crashing jolts of bliss, punch it right back out of him again.
Dean's sweating under the crisp overhead lights, the glisten highlighting the firm roll of his muscles as he works his body in and out of Sam's; his tight abs, that flawless, god-send of an ass, the bunch-release of the muscles of his blond-dusted thighs and calves, the helpless curl of his toes. There's that perfect V of red working its way down his chest and Sam knows his brother's going to come soon, going to pump and fill him and thank fucking God because he's only got about four seconds left before he loses it himself, the spiraling coil of heat in his belly pulling tight and white-hot.
His brother's hands leave Sam's hips, skate up his body to grab his shoulder and force them up, back, until he's kneeling just like Dean, hips canted to keep the angle of the thrusts right.
"That's it, baby, gonna blow for me? Come hard on my cock? C'mon, do it for me, Sammy." Dean churns out, hands sliding through the sheen of sweat on Sam's torso, down to wrap around his angry red cock. Dean's hips never stop rolling, the thrusts shallow again now because of the position, but still scraping Sam's prostate over and over until it feels raw and swollen. It only takes a handful of pulls with Dean's powerful fist before Sam's choking out his brother's name, his dick spending itself in long ropey streams of come that splatter all over the dirty floor.
Dean's free arm locks around Sam, the other still milking every last drop of fluid out of him, as Dean picks up the pace, practically lifting them both up off of the ground with his bucking. Sam's almost too sensitive to be touched, but Dean doesn't seem to notice or care because about that time he’s fucking in one more stroke and stilling, pulling Sam impossibly tighter against him like Dean's going to melt into him.
He remembers the mirrors a half-second too late, his eyes fluttering open past the ecstasy haze. The one off to his right has a perfect shot of Dean's face, contorted like he dying, back arched on a roll as though the come is pushing out of him like a tube of tooth paste. He feels Dean's dick twitch inside, the soft spread of heat all around it and his brother finally rasps out a breath, turning his face into the sweat-slick valley of Sam's spine.
They ease down to the floor together, Dean still pressed tight inside, never willing to pull out until the last possible second. Sam can feel the grime from whoknowshowmany people's shoes rubbing off on them from the floor, sticking to their wet skin, and he doesn't even give a shit. Dean heaves heavy breaths into the back of Sam's neck, his stomach slipping against Sam's back on every desperate inhale.
"I'm a fucking genius," Dean mumbles into Sam's skin. He just nods in reply, knowing his brother can feel it.
He runs his hands across Dean hip, down his thigh and back, over and over, the skin slowly getting clammy as the air cools their overheated bodies.
"We should probably get going," Sam says reluctantly, slowly peeling his body away from Dean's. His brother groans, tries half-heartedly to keep Sam in place, but ultimately gives in and lets his softened cock pull free.
Sam can already feel the come sliding warm and ticklish down his thighs when he manages to stand with only minor knee popping and searches out his pants. With a slight grimace, he pulls them on, already starting to feel the grossness and ache of fucking on a dirty wood floor set in; he's definitely calling first shower when they get back to the room.
Dean slowly follows his lead and there's a brief debate over what to do about Sam's pretty obvious come stains on the floor before it's mutually decided that saving lives entitles them to leave a small mess, especially when the only thing they have to clean it up with would be one of their shirts.
His brother's staring thoughtfully at the mirrors when Sam swoops in behind him for a kiss, letting his chin rest on Dean's shoulder sleepily after. Dean cups one hand automatically around the back of Sam's skull, scritching at his sweat-damp hair.
"So, seriously," he says ponderously after a moment, "how many of these things do you think we could fit in the car?"