This Is Halloween

Pairing: Sam x Gina
Rating: 18+ 
Tags: Halloween party, shitty costumes, bad pick up lines, mild intoxication, sex pollen, dubious consent because sex pollen, public sex, oral sex, facial, cum play, fingering, p in v 
Word Count: 3.4k

He’s gonna kill Dean. Thank god it’s Halloween and the blood will blend in with his brother’s costume because Sam is actually going to commit murder tonight. He’s looking down at the cellophane bag in his hands in disgust. There’s barely anything inside, which makes his stomach churn ominously. Who the hell came up with Sexy Firefighter as a costume? What was wrong with just Firefighter? At least there’s no chance he’ll be confused for a legitimate emergency worker while he’s wearing this crap. 

“Sammy?” Dean’s gruff voice echoes from the bathroom of the motel. “You ready to go?” 

“Not really,” Sam huffs, still whole heartedly against this plan. Stupid costumes won’t make them look young enough to pass for college students anymore. 

Dean emerges in a torn and bloodied t-shirt, the front so tattered you could clearly see his abs through the holes in the fabric. The jeans had bloody tears too, one running from the top of his thigh to his knee, and Dean had smeared some red paint on his skin to make it look like a wound. A trail of fake blood ran from the corner of his lips and down his neck, also staining the shirt, and when Dean smiled proudly Sam saw the ridiculous false fangs he’d stuck to his front teeth – nothing like a real vampire’s fangs of course, these were the Hollywood version. 

“What the hell kind of a vampire are you supposed to be?” Sam laughs. 

“The sexy, very not real kind,” Dean snorts, throwing his normal clothes into a heap on the bed. “Are you getting changed, Fireman Sam?” 

“You mean am I stripping?” Sam dangles the bag with the offending costume in front of Dean’s face. “The only things in here are a pair of pants and some suspenders!” 

“Hey, I got you the hat too,” Dean points at the shiny red hard hat sitting on Sam’s pillow, his smile a devilish shade of red because of the fake blood. Sam glowers unappreciatively. 

“Can’t believe we’re doing this,” he grumbles, as he gives up and starts shedding his clothing in favour of the flimsy costume. 

“Hey, crazy party at a suspected witch’s house on Halloween, in a town where people have been dropping dead of dehydration for weeks, and you don’t wanna go? Sounds like someone is being a little scaredy cat.” Dean raises a brow, inviting Sam to challenge him; he doesn’t. 

“Still don’t like it,” Sam grunts as he follows his brother out the door, leaving his gun behind. The costume didn’t have a shirt for him to hide it under.

You make your way nervously up the steps to the big house. It’s already swarming with people – and zombies and werewolves and celebrities and ghosts – and a lot of girls in lingerie with some kind of animal themed head-band. Awkwardly fingering the hem of your candy striper costume, complete with basket of suckers, you follow behind the group of friends you’ve come with and climb the portico stairs up to the wrap around porch. 

The railings are strewn with cobwebs, orange and purple lights shining through the gauzy films, casting strange shadows over the milling crowd. The whole effect gives everyone a hazy appearance, so you have to squint to tell if you know anyone – though the costumes aren’t helping there either. Most of your friends have come in couples, but you and the two other singles all stick close together and make your way toward the kitchen to find some drinks. 

The inside of the house is just as elaborate as the outside. Everything is dark, and the walls are lined with jack o’lanterns grinning evilly down at the thrumming crowd. The dance floor seems to be everywhere, rather than a particular room of the house, and you have to push your way through throngs of dancers, the bass throbbing up from the floor so loudly you swear it’s making your thighs jiggle along with the vibrations. 

“Here ya go losers!” Casey pours everyone some drinks – vodka and orange soda, in keeping with the festive colour scheme – and hands them around, shouting over the music. You take yours gratefully and gulp down a significant portion, eager for the alcohol to desensitise you to the overwhelming surroundings. 

“I’m gonna go that way,” Alex shouts, pointing out the back of the kitchen towards another room full of creepy creatures all crushed against one another. 

“Be careful,” You yell back as they turn to go, “don’t take drinks from strangers!” But your advice goes unacknowledged, if they even heard you. You look back around to find Casey but they’ve disappeared too it seems. Awesome. 

Sam feels eyes on him from all directions. It’s not unusual to feel like you’re being watched when you’re hunting, a lot of the time you really are. But right now Sam can’t distinguish the feeling of being watched by the crazy witch they’re tracking from the feeling of being lusted after by hoards of drunk college girls. And a few boys, judging by how a sexy police officer was looking at him from across the snack table right now. Sam gives him a forced smile and looks back down to Dean, who’s stuffing his plate full of snacks. 

“Dean, you’re gonna rot your teeth if you eat all that,” he grimaces, stomach churning at the mere thought of ingesting the amount of sugar Dean’s currently holding in his hands. 

“It’s Halloween, Sam. The whole point of it is candy and slutty nurses,” Dean gives his brother a withering look, the one that says ‘I can’t believe we’re related.’ Sam pulls a face and rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer in lieu of a response. 

“And speaking of slutty nurses…” Dean wolf whistles, and Sam follows his gaze to the girl in the candy striper costume that just came in from the kitchen. Sam rolls his eyes at Dean again, but inside he feels his chest tighten. This girl is stunning. Her costume is, admittedly, quite slutty, but she’s not lacking the assets to show off, that’s for sure. He curses the inner monologue that is most definitely being controlled by his dick, though the voice inside his head sounds a lot like Dean’s. Sam jolts himself from his thoughts, realising Dean is speaking again. 

“… she’s even got lollipops! Man, she’s basically perfect,” Dean sighs. 

“We’re here to find a witch, not hook up,” Sam scolds. 

“We can do both,” Dean huffs, clearly aggravated with Sam’s convictions. “What pick up line do I go for? Shouldn’t use the heaven one, she’s not an angel… something about a heart attack? There’s gotta be a good joke there right?” 

“What about ‘hi’?” Sam suggests petulantly, not really interested in helping Dean get laid; especially by this girl. It’s petty, and he knows it, but he likes her too, even if he’s not going to try to flirt his way into her little striped skirt. So if he’s not going to sleep with her, Dean shouldn’t get to either. 

“You’re the worst wingman ever, you know that?” Dean gripes, but he squares his shoulders and marches up to the candy striper, and Sam feels duty bound to follow.

You can feel them watching you. 

They’d tried to come over to talk earlier but you hadn’t been nearly drunk enough to hold conversations with strangers without simultaneous hating your life, so you’d backed yourself into the kitchen and disappeared for a while, grabbing the opened vodka and orange soda as you passed the drinks table. You’ve been working on your buzz for a little while now, you’re not really sure how long you’ve been at the party. People watching had proven entertaining, and you’d mentally kept a catalogue of the absolute worst costumes. So far, it’s a tie between the guy who’d made zero effort and come dressed normally with a name tag that read ‘Muggle’ stuck to his chest, and the werepire – he didn’t have anywhere near the kind of physique that would make it okay to wear a skintight, hairy body suit, and it definitely clashed with the vampire cape. 

The next time you look back up from your drink, the shirtless fireman and his bloodied up friend are staring at you again. You make eye contact with the fireman boldly, and he immediately shifts his gaze, eyes swivelling around the party in an effort to look nonchalant. His friend notices and laughs, elbowing him jovially in his bare ribs. You’re tipsy enough now that the vodka has begun to act like a heater in your veins, and your bare legs and midriff are no longer cold. You imagine the fireman had been cold when he arrived too, and you find your thoughts wandering, wondering if he’s warm now, like you are.

Gosh, you must be more drunk than you realised. You giggle stupidly to yourself, unable to control the impulse. Yep, definitely drunk. 

“You know, normally I’d offer you somethin’ sweet to suck on, but it looks like you’ve already got that covered,” a husky voice says near your ear, and your head shoots up. It’s the cute fireman’s cute friend who spoke to you, and now he’s grinning big and bright, waiting for you to answer him. The shirtless fireman is hunched behind him, cringing visibly. You can’t blame him. 

“That was a really gross pick up line,” you smirk, and to your delight you hear the fireman snort in amusement at your refute. “And after you’ve been staring at me all night I really expected something better,” you give him a disappointed shake of your head, paired with a little shrug. The fireman lets out a bark of laughter that has his friend looking at him like he wishes he would drop dead. 

“I’ll give you a lollipop for your efforts though,” you smile sweetly as you hand him his consolation prize, and he pouts but takes the candy all the same. 

“Dean, you really shouldn’t take candy from strangers,” the fireman chastises his friend, Dean, and you laugh, probably more loudly than you’d meant to. 

“He doesn’t have to worry sugar,” you smile as you dig another lollipop out of your basket and offer it to the fireman, “if I was gonna drug anyone at this party it would be you.” The fireman gives you the cutest confused smile you have ever seen on another human being. 

And then you realise what you’d just said. 

“Oh shit, I don’t mean like, um, it’s not drugged I promise.” You stumble to explain yourself, still lamely holding out the sucker even though he’s made no moves to take it. “I just mean, um, I meant–” shit, you thought the alcohol had warmed you up earlier, it has nothing on the heat of embarrassment that’s clinging to your skin now “–just, ignore me and take the candy?” you plead, needing the sexy shirtless fireman to leave you alone so you can die of humiliation in peace. 

He reaches forward and plucks the sucker from your hand delicately, twirling it around in his own long fingers. Your eyes are transfixed by the swirling movement. Carefully, he unwraps the candy, crumpling the paper casing in his hand and popping the sucker neatly between his lips, staring at you evenly throughout the whole performance. 

“I’m Sam,” he offers his hand and you take it in your own without thinking and bring it to your lips, kissing the backs of his fingers lightly and giving your own name. Dean bursts out laughing, and it’s only then that you realise what you’ve just done. Dropping Sam’s hand, you try to back away, wanting to flee, but you hit the porch railings. You’re trapped. Sam is smiling at you gently, but you can see the hilarity behind his eyes. 

“I’m gonna leave you and your knight and shining armour to it,” Dean smirks, clapping Sam on the back and moseying away aimlessly, body still visibly shaking with laughter. 

Sam pulls the sucker out of his mouth and points it towards the vodka you have left in the bottle – you’d run out of soda with your last drink. 

“Can I get in on that?” he asks mildly, pretending like nothing earth shatteringly embarrassing had just occurred. You breathe a sigh of relief and pick up the bottle, taking a long swig before handing it over. He copies you, knocking back a significant amount of alcohol before pulling the bottle off his lips with a satisfied sigh, though his face screws up in displeasure, the alcohol no doubt burning its way down his throat.

He has no idea what possessed him, and maybe that should have made him think twice, but he really likes this girl – even more now that he’s actually met her; heard her voice, her laugh. She’s laughing at him now, and it’s such a beautiful sound. He makes a face at her, as if to ask ‘what?’, and Gina laughs even louder, pointing at the vodka bottle. It’s empty now, and he grins sheepishly. 

“Guess you really needed that drink, huh?” she grins. 

“You have no idea,” Sam laughs too, feeling the alcohol start to loosen his muscles, tongue included. “I uh, didn’t mean to finish that. Get you somethin’ else?” he jerks his thumb toward the house, and Gina nods easily, letting him guide her back through the crowds to the kitchen. 

A girl dressed as a slutty witch was by the bowl, pouring in two bottles of booze, one held tightly in each hand. Sam hangs back but she beckons them in with a nod of her head. 

“Don’t be shy, dive in!”

Before he knows it Sam’s being handed a full glass of incredibly alcoholic fruit punch. He doesn’t normally drink this stuff, hadn’t even in college, but he doesn’t want to look rude so he takes a sip, trying to smile in thanks instead of wince in pain. 

Sam can barely hear himself think inside, so he grabs Gina’s hand and drags her outside, through the back door this time. Emerging into the rush of cool night air should have been refreshing, but it only makes him realise how hot he feels. Even shirtless, he’s starting to overheat. He can feel a bead of sweat making a slow trail down the dip of his back, and shudders, trying to shake it down his body faster. 

“Wow it’s hot in there!” Gina pants, her chest heaving with the effort of drawing in enough breath, and Sam’s eyes are immediately drawn to her cleavage. He flicks his eyes away in embarrassment when he realises he’s staring, and takes another gulp of the horrible punch as a distraction. 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, looking back at Gina, and noticing her staring at him too. “Nicer out here,” he says lamely, then cringes internally. 

“Yeah,” she agrees dreamily, drinking again at the same time as Sam. 

It really is overwhelmingly hot.

You stare up at Sam, transfixed. You’ve never seen a more beautiful man in your entire life. Everything about him is gorgeous: his hands, his eyes, lips… his chest. Your eyes trace a line down his collarbone and across his pectorals, which are firm and tanned. His nipples are poking out from behind his fireman’s suspenders, standing stiff in the chilly breeze – except you don’t feel cold. If anything you feel too hot, like your skin is burning and your clothes are suffocating you. 

Unconsciously, you tug at your top, uncomfortable with how close it feels to your skin. The top button pops open, displaying even more of your cleavage to Sam, and even though you notice you don’t move to do anything about it. You feel Sam’s eyes staring at the newly exposed skin, and you let him look. You want him to look. 

Downing the rest of your punch, you throw the cup over the porch railing into the yard, then turn and lean against it so you’re facing Sam. When you rest your elbows back against the posts, another button on your top pops open. 

Sam drops the rest of his punch and you feel the sticky fruit juice splash over your ankles but you don’t care, because you’re tasting the mix of fruit and vodka on his lips. You feel like you’re drowning in it. Sam is warmth personified, and he’s engulfing you in the flames of his body. Normally, you would stop to recognise the irony of that, considering he’s dressed as a fireman, but your mental faculties are basically non-existent at this point. 

Your job is pretty easy, considering Sam was already half-naked to begin with, and the cheap costume pants were only an elastic waistband. You push the suspenders off his shoulders, briefly forcing his hands away from their task of undoing your shirt, but as soon as they drop to his sides his hands are back on your chest. The sound of ripping fabric alerts you to the fact that your bra has been torn down the front and is now hanging in pieces from your shoulders. It hits the ground, along with your shirt, when you drop to your knees, pulling Sam’s pants and boxers down as you go. 

His cock hits your cheek when it’s freed from his underwear, precum smearing on your cheek. You quickly manoeuvre your mouth to the tip and suck him in, enjoying the loud groans now rumbling down his body. Sam’s fingers twist in your hair, tugging painfully, but the sensation comes through to you as pleasure, spurring you on faster. 

Suddenly your back hits the porch railings and Sam is pinning you there, using your mouth to fuck into like it’s your pussy, and if this is any indication of how it will feel when he’s actually fucking you, you think you might die. Damn, he knows how to move his hips.

You gurgle around him happily, trying hard not to gag every time the tip of his dick hits the back of your throat. He doesn’t push inside, even though there’s several inches of his dick you aren’t actually reaching every time he thrusts in. Not wanting the base of his cock to feel neglected, you bring your hands up to jerk off the length you can’t fit in your mouth, your movements eased by the spit that’s dripping out of your mouth. A moment later, his whole body freezes and you feel his cum splash over your face, its heat burning pleasantly into your skin.

Sam runs the tips of his cock through the cum he just shot all over this poor girl’s face. It looks so pretty dripping down her cheek. His heart skips a beat or two when she sticks her tongue out to taste what’s landed on her lips. The hunger inside Sam yowls, still not satiated, and he yanks Gina to her feet savagely, spinning her around to bend her face first over the railing. 

He reaches his fingers around to her face, letting her suck on them hungrily for a moment before pulling them from her mouth and dragging them through the cum still dripping down her skin. She moans wantonly when he shoves the two digits inside her, not bothering to remove her skirt or panties. Sam loves the feeling of her pussy clenching around his hand, can’t wait to feel her squeeze around his cock. 

His fingers retreat, grabbing his cock and rubbing the slick over his tip. Gina whines loudly, shoving her hips back in search of the touch she’d lost.

“Sam, don’t stop,” she groans, head hanging limply between her shoulders. “I haven’t finished yet.” 

Sam smirks to himself and pushes her panties to the side again, lining his cock up and thrusting in with one hard shove until his hips are pressed into her ass. 

“Trust me, I’m not finished with you either.”

Neither of them notice the gunshots in the background, or Dean emerging from the house carrying the corpse of a slutty witch and burning her in the backyard, but when the flames around her body die down to a smoulder, the passion between Sam and Gina begins to die too, tapering off into a flicker, before their final climaxes extinguish it for good… six hours since they’d begun.