Dean scowled, tugging on his hem. “You are such an ass.”
Sam grinned, clapping his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Next time you should just admit I’m the better poker player.”
“It was just a string of bad luck,” Dean protested for at least the fifth time. “Or maybe you rigged the deck. Besides, it’s cheating to gamble on a game of strip poker.”
“Hey, I’m allowed to lose the boxers whenever I want. So keep talking,” Sam warned with an evil grin that said he was enjoying this way too much, “And we’ll go back to the store to pick up a nice pink shirt to go with that skirt. Maybe one with a unicorn and sparkles.”
“Oh, you wish.” Sam tested the door. It was supposed to be locked – class had been out for over an hour – but like most schools he’d seen, the policy wasn’t enforced because of afterschool activities. “We’re on a job, sexy legs.”
The football team was out running laps on the track and the janitor was out of sight and hopefully not nearby. They walked through the empty echoing gym. It felt hollow, like even if the whole school filled the rows of tiered bleachers it would never really be full. Soles of their shoes scuffing the floor, they crossed the court and entered the locker room.
“Anybody here?” Dean called, the sound echoing almost metallically.
Sam rolled his eyes with a snort. “Real subtle.” He pulled out the EMF detector. “I’m getting nothing. What do we know about the ghosts?”
“Two, both male. They like to appear when there are only two guys in the locker room.” They’d gone over all this before, but it didn’t tell them anything useful.
“It’s strange,” Sam mused, wandering between the rows of lockers. “They’ve never killed anybody, and none of the articles or websites said what actually happens, if anybody got hurt.”
“Didn’t you say you found some,” his mouth twisted unpleasantly around the word, “blogs about it?”
Sam nodded. The advent of the internet had been a boon for their work – he supposed most people had an easier time saying things that might make them sound crazy if they never had to look anyone in the eye.
They stopped in front of a locker with a big Nine Inch Nails sticker on the front. “It’d help if we knew who the ghosts were,” Dean muttered, fumbling with the lock like there was a chance he could figure out the combination.
They’d even broken in a couple places, but no records showed any deaths at Jefferson High. Not the one in Alexandria anyhow. It had been quick work to find out which lockers belonged to the last kids who vanished, and, well, it was as good a start as anything else they could think of.
Sam smirked. “Come on, we can’t wait all day.” He pulled a screw cutter from his pocket and with a firm grip made short work of the lock and the one next to it.
“Prepare for gym socks,” Dean warned as they opened the doors. He was joking; the most he’d really hoped for was EMF, but the lockers hadn’t even been cleaned out.
He reached out with one hand to rifle through the pile of still-dirty clothes and graded tests, but Sam was knocking the locker shut and pushing him against it.
Sam’s hand curved around Dean’s ass, pressing the soft fabric of the skirt into the cleft of it.
“Thought you said we were on the job,” Dean pointed out, pulling Sam closer.
Sam cleared his throat. “We are.” He tried to pull his hand away, but instead he slid Dean’s skirt up a couple inches.
He leaned in and kissed Dean, tongue pressing in and slipping against his brother’s. Dean hooked a leg around his waist, making the skirt hitch even higher as his thighs spread. It wasn’t hiding anything, was barely covering him now.
Sam’s hands splayed wide across his chest, holding Dean to the locker. “Uh, Dean, you didn’t get someone to cast a whammy on me or anything, did you?”
“No.” The word rumbled out low, against Sam’s collarbone, where Dean was biting through the layers of two shirts. Shirts Sam almost sort of wanted to get out of now, but his body wasn’t going to let him do that either, apparently.
Instead, his fingers fumbled with the fly of his jeans, like he was an eager high school kid who had never had sex before. The jeans finally shoved down around his ankles, he tried to do the same on Dean. With the skirt he was wearing, all that really did was turn Dean on even more.
“You’re not wearing underwear,” Sam pointed out. “You know, this isn’t Scotland and you’re not wearing a kilt.”
“Shut up.” Dean kissed him again, biting his lip and clacking their teeth together. “Motherfuck-” Sam’s hand had just wrapped around his cock.
Sam’s other hand felt along, down, until it slipped between his ass cheeks. He leaned closer as his finger pressed in.
Dean hissed and bit his lip again, hard this time. “Dry?”
Sam winced and pulled his hand back. They both spat in it, and he worked a finger into Dean again. He used what was left of the spit to slick up his cock, then guided it into Dean, slowly. Dean’s cheeks burned hot, but there was nothing they could do but go along with it. He wasn’t stretched enough, wasn’t ready.
Sam moved almost unsteady, hips rocking up against Dean. Dean had one hand curled around his shoulder, the other on his hip like he could slow Sam down. He didn’t; Sam’s hips thrust fast for a couple minutes, his hand tugging Dean’s cock distractedly.
He came quick, quicker than usual, and leaned his sweaty forehead against Dean’s shoulder as he pulled out. Still pressed against him, Sam kept his hand tugging at Dean until he bit his own lip as his cock twitched and spurted between them.
“Not that I didn’t enjoy it and all, but what the fuck just happened?” Dean growled.
Sam shrugged, pulling his jeans back up. He shook his hair out of his face. “I dunno, man, I mean, that was... I Only Have Eyes for You, like that, only without the gun. Thankfully. And we both have souls.”
“Also, I am totally hotter than Sarah Michelle Gellar.” Dean tried wipe away the come, but only succeeded in spreading it across his shirt.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Not David Boreanaz?”
Dean smirked. “Hell, I wouldn’t want to be arrogant. Besides, Angel was way too emo, you’re clearly him. It’s the whole kicked puppy thing.” He led the way out of the locker room, and Sam couldn’t help but notice he was walking stiff.
The library didn’t close until nine, so they headed back there. “You work backwards and I’ll work forwards from what, ninety-eight, see if the paper says anything about gay-bashing,” Sam suggested.
A couple hours later, Dean kicked Sam’s chair. “Hey, I think I got something.”
Sam stood to lean over the back of Dean’s chair. “Two local boys beat to death – gaybashers suspected.” Dean scrolled through the article too quick; Sam was just able to catch a couple words and phrases – high school, football team, blocks from the school, boyhood friends. “Sounds like them. Does it say where they’re buried?”
“No, but I bet the obits will.” Dean clicked a link and scrolled down. “Kinkead Cemetery. Does that sound a little like kink head
to anybody but me?”
“Ah, no, Dean, that’s just you.” Sam pushed him out of the way instead of going back to his own computer, googling driving directions.
It took five minutes to reach the cemetery, but finding the two boys took longer.
Sam sighed as they stared down into the second grave. They hadn’t even been buried in the same section of the graveyard. “They just wanted other people to relive their last good memory.”
“Yeah,” Dean snorted. “Or maybe they figured this would get back at all the homophobes that killed them in the first place.”
“Either way, I feel…bad about having to do this.”
“They were hurting people.” Dean paused, “Well, traumatizing, maybe.”
“I know. I just hope they’re really at rest now.”