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Dean's halfway through his shower when the lights go out. Out in the room, Sam swears in surprise and annoyance, and Dean's water starts to cool down. He rinses shampoo out of his hair and eyes as quick as he can and shuts it off. Fumbling in the dark for his towel, Dean steps out of stall and nearly dies slipping on the floor.
He can hear the door open, and Sam's voice: "You okay?"
"I'm good," he says, holding onto the counter and shaking the water out of his eyes. He hears Sam walk away, the snick of his own lighter, and then Sam is back with a candle in his hand. By then, Dean has managed to dry his hair and wrap the towel around his waist, and Sam's flickering light leads him in safety out into the room.
Outside, the sound of the storm is furious, rain beating on the windows and the thunder growling almost constantly. Lightning flashes and flashes, flickering in behind the curtains, and Sam glances over his shoulder to follow Dean's gaze.
"I know," he says. "Fuckin' nuts out there."
There's a knock on the door, and Dean pulls on a t-shirt while Sam answers it. The candle sends Sam's shoulders into strange silhouette, and Dean yanks on his boxers as he listens to the kid from the desk explain what happened.
"Power just went out," he's saying, like that's not fucking obvious. "Whole town, I'll bet. We're real sorry about this."
Sam shrugs, shadow shifting hugely against the wall. Dean finds the bag open on the table and pulls out two more candles, half-burned down from a banishing ritual they just pulled off, three towns over. There don't have candle sticks, so he waits. The air coming in the door is cold and wet, and he's getting a shiver down his spine.
"Thanks, I guess," Sam says, and closes the door.
"C'mere with that," Dean says, holding his hand out for the lighter. Sam jimmies it out of his pocket and hands it over. His face is shadowed from beneath, and his eyes sparkle in the flame. Dean flicks the lighter on and holds it at the base of the candles first and sticks them to the table, and then lights them.
"Shower go cold?" Sam asks. Dean nods. Sam 'hmmf's, but he had first shower anyway, so he can shut up.
Sam sets the other candle on the nightstand between the two beds. They're white, the candles, and kind of stubby. Sam makes grabby hands for the rest of them, and together they set them up along the top of the TV, the tiny desk, and the nightstand. There's one left over for the bathroom counter top, so they don't trip and fall while innocently trying to take a pee, and then Dean sits down on the bed nearer the door.
He realizes the heater under the window is no longer humming, and mutters, "Awesome." Then to Sam he says, "Hey, get in my bed."
"Wow," Sam says, stepping out of his jeans without taking his socks off. "You're a charmer. How are girls not all over you, like, all the time?"
"They are," Dean says. "Now get in."
Sam does, despite his raised eyebrow and skeptical look, and Dean pulls the sheets and fuzzy motel blanket over them. He curls his arm around Sam's waist and slots one leg between Sam's, and Sam's socks are a total mood killer.
"Take those off, you idiot," he says, pushing at them with his toes, and Sam huffs and reaches down to tug them off, kicking them to the bottom of the bed.
"Better?" Sam says.
"Hell yes," Dean says, pressing his nose into the crook of Sam's neck. "Can we fuck now?"
Sam sighs, like he's suffering, and says, "I guess so." But Dean hears laughter and indulgence in his voice, and he nips him.
"We could sit in the dark and not touch each other," he offers, and Sam shakes his head, hair flopping across his eyes.
"Nah," he says, pushing on Dean's shoulder and rolling them over. He settles himself on Dean's hips and leans in to bite at Dean's neck. Dean tilts his head back, giving Sam room, and sighs.
"This is so romantic," Sam murmurs, kissing the bite marks he's leaving.
"Oh shut up," Dean says, pushing on his head and smashing Sam's mouth into his collarbone. Sam snorts a laugh and lifts his head despite Dean's hand, pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. Then he kisses Dean square on, and Dean opens up for him easily, Sam's tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting like pizza and Coke.
Sam's hips roll lazily against Dean's, and Dean scrunches his fingers in Sam's hair and angles him for a deeper kiss. Sam moans quietly, shifting against him, and Dean hums in appreciation. Sam is half-hard against his thigh and his own dick is getting interested, thickening against Sam's belly.
Outside the thunder crashes again, and Dean thinks of his car sitting out in the parking lot, rain racing down her windshield, and he hopes the back window won't leak again and leave a gigantic puddle in the footwell. Then Sam's biting his lower lip and pulling away, and he returns his attention to his brother.
Sam looks good in candlelight, as stupid as that sounds. The light is flickering and gentle, soft on the lines of Sam's face, highlighting the curve of his ear, the stubble on his jaw. Dean lifts his head and bites Sam's jaw, teeth scraping over short hairs, and Sam murmurs something and pushes his hips down harder.
Dean noses against the corner of Sam's jaw and Sam tilts away, leaving Dean access to his fluttering pulse, the sensitive spot below his Adam's apple. Sam's shoulders are hunched, holding himself up on his elbows on either side of Dean's head, and Dean slides his hands around the muscles of Sam's arms and squeezes, kneading them until Sam moans again.
"Oh yeah," he says, somewhere between lazily pleased and turned on, and Dean works his fingers in harder, over Sam's back, fingers skidding on worn cotton.
"C'mon," he grunts, and Sam ducks his head so Dean can pull his t-shirt off. Sam maneuvers the shirt off his arms awkwardly and then he yanks at Dean's until Dean lifts his back and Sam throws them both on the floor.
"Gonna get cold," Sam says, presenting his now bare chest to Dean's mouth, and Dean holds onto Sam's narrow sides and licks over one dark, flat nipple. Sam breathes, "Oh."
"What d'you want?" Dean asks, rubbing his thumbs over familiar scars on Sam's ribs, and Sam huffs a breath.
"Uh," he says, "um. Wanna ride you."
"Yeah," Dean says, cock coming to full hardness at Sam's voice, low and rough and a little embarrassed. "Yeah, okay."
"Great," Sam says, and kisses him again. Dean gets a little distracted by the hand Sam is squirming between them to palm Dean through his boxers, but Sam takes control of the kiss more or less anyway, so it's fine. Dean pushes his hips up against Sam's huge hand and spreads his knees a little farther apart, and Sam bites his lip again.
"Did you--?" Dean asks, breathless from the kiss and palming Sam's ass in both hands, trying to illustrate the rest of the question. Sam grunts and shakes his head in irritation.
"Duffle bag," he says. "Don't move."
Dean can't help it, and he kicks off his boxers while Sam is gone. When Sam jostles his way back under the blankets and resumes his place in Dean's lap, also naked now, he raises an eyebrow and smiles.
"Touche."
"Sorry," Dean says, pushing at him. "I'll put them back on."
Sam leans down and bites him on the ribs, quick and sharp, and Dean gasps. He was not expecting that. He should have been, but he wasn't. Sam's a sneaky, bitey motherfucker.
"Jesus," Dean mutters, rubbing fingers over the bite, and Sam licks it, sucks the spot to distract him, and then he's squeezing lube into Dean's hand.
He lifts his hips, and his cock brushes against Dean's, thick and hard and shiny wet at the tip. Dean wishes there was more light, and then he pushes the sheets of Sam's shoulders and they slide down his back and pool at his knees. The candlelight makes the sight of Sam almost obscene in its beauty, all soft and glowy and mysterious. Dean wonders how he didn't notice this when they had the candles lit last night, but he figures the pissed off ghost coming for them and the handful of screaming girls in the corner made it tough to notice much else. Shit he's sexy.
Dean grabs Sam's head with his clean hand and licks into his mouth as he slides slippery fingers between Sam's thighs and over his balls. Sam hisses and moans and Dean rubs his perineum, thumb against his sac.
"Come on," Sam says, against Dean's lips, hair falling in Dean's eyes. He smells clean like laundry and musky with the tang of sex, and Dean sinks one finger into him, watching the way his eyes flutter shut again, face going slack.
Sam's breathing speeds up, matching the thrust of Dean's finger inside him, and when Dean adds a second he opens his mouth a fraction, and Dean stares at the curve of his lips, wants to lick them.
So he does, and Sam kisses back desperately, pushing back onto his fingers and making little unh, unh, unh noises in his throat. Dean slides his fingers over the swell of his prostate and Sam shudders and spreads his legs wider.
"Okay," he says, "okay. Dean."
"Hmm?" Dean says, rubbing over that spot again and loving the way Sam squirms.
"Come on, dude," Sam says. "Come on, please."
"All right," Dean whispers, pulling his fingers out and slicking himself with the rest of the lube on his hand. His cock jerks at the touch, leaking, and Sam shifts and presses his hips down too, grinding his dick into the back of Dean's hand.
Dean lets go of his own cock and circles his hand around both of them, and Sam moans happily and rolls his hips, sliding his cock alongside Dean's. He lets Dean stroke them both for a couple of seconds, and then he's pulling away again and reaching down himself to grab Dean's dick and line it up with his hole.
"I gotcha," Dean murmurs as Sam sinks down, groan pushing out of him as Dean's dick slides in.
"Fuck, yeah," Sam says, almost inaudible. He's clenching around Dean, so fucking tight, and sucking in a shaky breath, and Dean rubs at his hips and waits for him to move. He can feel his pulse in his dick, throbbing inside Sam, and he has to bite his lip to keep still.
Finally Sam flashes him a little smile, white teeth winking in the light, and Dean lifts his hips and presses a little deeper, Sam's balls against his groin, heavy and soft and furred. Sam muffles his moan into the meat of his arm, and Dean bites at his throat.
"Jesus," Sam says, pushing back against Dean and fucking grinding, working his hips in a circle that makes Dean shudder, cock pulsing. He wants to grab Sam and fuck him stupid, hammer into him and make him howl, but Sam is moving slow, and he's not about to interrupt.
Then Sam, thank god, lifts up, and Dean's cock slides almost all the way out, the slow drag of his ass exquisite torture. Sam pauses for one excruciating moment, and then sinks back down, and Dean groans into the tender skin of his throat.
Sam's cock is hard and neglected between them, and as Sam starts to ride him slowly Dean lets go of one hip to take him in hand, rubbing his thumb over his head and squeezing him firmly.
"Shit," Sam says, moving a little faster, palms flat on the bed. He sits up and plants his hands on Dean's chest instead, and then Dean can watch him and jerk him off at the same time.
"Fuck, fuck," he hears himself saying, yellow light playing over Sam's bare chest, his thick cock in Dean's fist, sweat beading on his arms. "Sam, god, baby you look so good."
"Unh," Sam says, fucking himself on Dean's cock, tight ass bouncing against Dean's thighs. Dean braces his feet on the unreliable mattress and thrusts up, breaking Sam's rhythm long enough to start his own.
Sam stills then, legs spread, letting Dean fuck up into him, and Dean lets go of his dick to get both hands back on his hips for leverage. Sam picks up where Dean left off, jacking his cock fast, matching Dean, following his lead.
Dean slides one hand up his chest, feeling it rise and fall as Sam pants for breath, and Sam twines his fingers with Dean's and holds his hand against his heart. Dean grits his teeth and fucks harder, legs sore and cock full, desperate to come.
He can feel it rising, inevitable and god, so good, and Sam's panting is turning into high pitched whining, uncontrollable and unconscious.
"Fuck, Dean," Sam gasps, fingers clenching, and then he's coming, spurting sudden and wet over Dean's stomach and chest. His whole body goes tense and Dean nearly shouts, stifling it into a choked groan at the last second. Sam's shuddering above him, pushing back on Dean's dick, desperate for it. That thought does it, and the way Sam's mouth is open and his eyes are squeezed shut, looking like he's shocked at how good it feels.
Dean's heel slips and he jerks Sam down onto his lap as he starts to come, back arching and balls clenching. He hears Sam moan, "Fuck," again as he fills him up, the orgasm rolling in waves and shooting all his brain power right out his dick.
Sam smears come between them as he folds himself down onto Dean's chest. He tucks his hands, one of them sticky, under Dean's shoulder blades, and Dean wraps his arms around Sam's back, breathing hard into his hair.
"Guh," Sam says eventually, and Dean nods. He presses a kiss aimlessly and hits Sam's cheek as Sam turns his head, and then tries again and meets Sam's mouth. Sam kisses him lazily now, slow and sweet, and Dean can hear the noise of the storm again.
"Does it sound like it's calming down?" he asks.
"Huh?" Sam says, pushing himself up to brush hair out of his face.
"The storm."
"Mm." Sam pauses and listens. "Could be. You wanna--?" He gestures vaguely.
Dean nods, feeling thick-headed and slow with pleasure, and he pulls out of Sam carefully. Sam flops beside him and skims his hand over Dean's stomach, which is starting to get tacky and gross with Sam's come drying on it.
"We can let the--" Sam pauses to yawn. "Let the candles burn out, hmm?"
They're pretty low already, a handful gone out, leaving the room even darker than before.
"You afraid of the dark, Sammy?" Dean asks, prodding him in the ribs.
Sam smiles indulgently, eyes closed, and he bats Dean's fingers away.
"Terrified," he murmurs. He's fucking useless after an orgasm. Dean rolls onto his side, facing him, and pulls and pushes until Sam is tucked close against his front, and they're sharing heat and space and breath.
"Candles were a good idea," he whispers, once he's pretty sure Sam is asleep.
Sam's lips quirk, corners tugging up, goddamn it. Dean feels his face heat.
"I know," Sam slurs, and he tilts his chin up, angling blindly for a kiss. Dean indulges him, and Sam's fingers squeeze his bare side gently.
"Night Sammy," Dean says against his chin.