Prompt #31 - My Only Purpose Here Is For You To Feed

[boogirl13]

Title: My Only Purpose Here Is For You To Feed
Author: boogirl13 
Pairing(s): Dean/OFC/OMC/Sam?
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Sex, mild gore, language, Wincest if you squint, no spoilers
Summary: A haunted house, a weird smell, Dean alone - trouble ensues
Disclaimer: Alas, these boys are not mine.
A/N: Written for prompt #31 @ spn_halloween : "The porniest time Dean ever had in costume..."  If this is your prompt, I planned to write PWP, but some horror snuck in and the story went a different way.  I hope you like it anyway!

A/N 2: Beta'd by the lovely and kind astrothsknot , which I completely forgot to mention!  Sorry my dear!!  Many thanks to you.


The mist-shrouded house was perched high atop a hill that overlooked the ocean. It was an old Victorian mansion with a gabled roof and turrets, a widows’ walk and plenty of wrought iron. The grounds were immense and filled with old oak trees and flowering bushes that now, in October, drooped flower-free to the lawns, heavy with condensation.

It was, of course, haunted.

Dean stepped through the front door and was surprised to find people inside. Actual people, not ghosts. They were sitting or standing in the rooms off the foyer. He could hear the low murmur of polite conversation coming from farther into the house. Shit. Dean crossed the foyer slowly but comfortably, mingling, smiling, getting the lay of the land. When he and Sam had made their plans, they’d thought the house would be empty. Dean was supposed to check it out while Sam continued to research his enormous brain off back at the motel room. But there seemed to be a party going on, a fancy costume party. Black tie and masks fancy.

Fuck thought Dean. So much for inconspicuous. He glanced down knowing that his t-shirt, jeans and leather jacket would make him a dead giveaway. He might as well be wearing a sign that said “This Guy Does Not Belong Here”. But he was deeply surprised to find himself in a black tux and crisp white shirt. He pulled at the end of his sleeves self-consciously and found there were even swanky cufflinks winking in the muted light. He could feel a mask on his own face.

Sweet he grinned. He started to wonder when he’d changed into the smooth threads and where he’d gotten them and if wearing the mask would take points away from his overwhelmingly awesome masculinity, and then the thoughts just flowed out of his head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was where the bar was, could he get some top shelf hooch there and were there any hot chicks behind all these masks.

He moved through the foyer, down the hall and through a doorway on the right. It was a large billiards room, decorated in blue and gold. There were enough chairs and sofas and lounges to accommodate a small country and many of them were occupied. People were everywhere, standing, sitting, in groups or pairs; all of them dressed to the nines in tuxedos and tails, glittering evening gowns and diamonds, all were wearing masks. Some masks concealed half of the wearer’s face, others only covered their eyes. All of the masks were as elaborate as the clothing the party-goers wore.

Dean became aware of music flowing through the room. Something smooth, but he couldn’t quite catch the tune. The air was pleasantly heavy with scents, of fine cigars and expensive brandy. Soft, subtle perfume. And…what is that? Dean tilted his head, inhaling deep and slow.

“Pussy,” he whispered, smiling. “I love the smell of pussy in the evening.”

A woman in a silvery floor-length gown, her arm linked with an equally sophisticated man’s, was passing him as he spoke. She wore an opal covered mask over her eyes. It was beaded with pearls and had feathers at the upturned corners. She gave him a wicked little grin. “Don’t we all?”

Dean grinned back at her. Allllllriiiiight…This was going to be a sweet gig.

He moved farther into the room towards the bar, scanning the crowd. People everywhere, although it didn’t feel packed. He passed a couple necking on a chaise-lounge and saw two men stroking a woman who was pressed up against the wall. She didn’t look at all distressed; quite the opposite, she was smiling and murmuring to the men. Dean grinned. This might be one hell of a party.

The bar was towards the back of the room and Dean stepped up and ordered a scotch on the rocks. He was very happy to see the bartender pour him two fingers of Glen Livet.

“Nice. Thanks.” Dean grinned and took a sip.

“You’re quite welcome, sir,” the bartender replied with his own grin.

“Seems like a hell of a party,” Dean ventured, remembering that he needed information for….something and bartenders were an excellent source of knowledge.

“Oh, yes, sir. The parties here are always extraordinary,” the bartender agreed.

Dean turned to survey the room and caught glances from others, some lingering, some not. As he turned back towards the bartender for more of that information he couldn’t quite remember why he needed, he saw her. She was standing on his right at the end of the bar, with golden hair and a gown to match. Her mask was emerald-encrusted and matched her eyes. She had the most fascinating lips. Dean was drawn to them, riveted by their shape and fullness. He felt odd, warm, as his skin tingled and something began to uncoil low in his gut.

He wondered what those lips would feel like on his cock.

The woman smiled at him, her fingertips stroking lightly along her collarbone. She crooked one of them at Dean in a “come closer” gesture. Dean went willingly. When he stood a hair’s-breath away, she tilted her face up to him and he kissed her.

Her lips were as soft as he’d imagined and tasty spicy. They parted easily, letting his tongue slip past to twine with hers. He cupped her jaw gently and felt her hands on his sides. Her perfume mingled with the scents of the party and Dean was dizzy, overwhelmed with a sudden need to have this woman.

“Finish your drink,” she murmured, pulling away from him. “Meet me upstairs.”

Dean felt dazed as he watched her sidle away from him, crossing the room gracefully. At the doorway, she turned back and gave him a dirty little grin, then disappeared into the hallway. He grabbed his drink off the bar and downed it.

“No rush, sir,” the bartender chided.   “Plenty more where that came from.”

Dean didn’t know if he meant the drink or the girl.

He crossed the room as quickly as he could, moving around knots of people, scanning as he went. It was an old habit. He knew it was a habit, but couldn’t quite remember why it was. He caught something in the corner of his eye and stopped. In the back corner a woman writhed on top of a billiards table doing interesting things with the eight ball. And he was fairly certain there was a couple under that table actually having sex.

What the fuck? Dean blinked as the room suddenly became foggy. The cigar smoke he thought. His mind whirled. There was something he was supposed to be doing, something he should have been looking for. It was there, right there, floating around his brain, but the fog cigar smoke made it impossible for him to remember. He mentally shook himself and continued out into the main hall.

Stairs up front he thought, by the main door. The hall seemed more crowded. He passed pairs and threesomes in various stages of caress and undress; couples that he thought were dancing in the foyer were actually groping one and other. That smell was back, cigars, whiskey, perfume pussy, and underneath it something like rotten cinnamon.  The little snatch of music was back as well, intertwined with the scents, like they were all dancing together through the rooms of this old house. Dean was dizzy again and the heat in his belly uncoiled further.

As he passed what looked like a library, a hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and hauling him into the room. He found the hand attached to a breath-taking redhead. The dim lights overhead caught the copper and gold highlights in her hair. She wore a silvery dress that clung to her curves and pooled around her shoes. The neckline was plunging and the slit up the front went nearly to her crotch. Her mask, like everyone else’s matched her attire and was studded with diamonds and feathers. Flames that matched her hair leapt six inches from the top of her mask.

With an impish smile she pulled him back into an alcove between book cases. In her high-heeled shoes she stood eye to eye with Dean. She spoke not a word as she took his hand and placed it on her left breast. Dean teased the nipple with his thumb. She gave a breathless little moan and slid her hand between his legs, stroking and squeezing. He was hard in her palm. He pushed her against the wall and kissed her, soft and deep. Her leg slid up the outside of his and hooked around his hip as she unzipped his pants. Dean smoothed his hand down her thigh and under her dress to cup her ass. He groaned softly when she pulled his cock out and gave it a few strokes. Then she was guiding him into her and she was warm and slick and tight. Their hips rocked out a rhythm that Dean’s hand picked up and squeezed on her ass. The pace of their tempo quickened. She squeezed and clenched around his cock, sending ripples of electricity up through his body. Her hands traced shapes along his hips and back. He pulled back from the kiss to look at her face, his eyes tracing along her cheekbones and down to her jaw. In the dim light, the skin along her jaw line looked dark gray, almost leathery. He cut his eyes up to hers and she was staring back at him. From behind her mask, in the depths of her pupils he could see something faintly, a white void filled with bleached bones and grinning skulls. He blinked and began to pull back, but her arms tightened around him and her hips began to do some crazy circle-jerk-twitch thing that ratcheted up his pleasure. Dean felt his orgasm building even as the scene in her eyes changed to pools of blood and gore. It roared through him and he heard her laughing inside his head. He braced his hands against the wall trying to catch his breath and she pulled away from him, sliding around his body like a snake.

“Hunter,” she whispered in his ear as she melted back into the library.

Hunter. Yes, that’s….I’m…. But he couldn’t remember.

The music and the scents wound through his head, drawing him out of the alcove and back into the hall. Everywhere he looked he saw sex; a couple on the stairs, a threesome on the floor in the doorway to a parlor. In the formal dining room an orgy raged on. Dean watched, feeling drawn to the writhing. One of the participants looked up from a mouthful of thigh and his its eyes were silvery behind a deep red mask. The skin on his its nose was gone, leaving twin triangular shaped holes black as a pit. A patch of skin on his its cheek was dull gray and scaly. Another head turned and the same silvery, mask-covered eyes regarded Dean with a curiosity. Dean could see gray flesh on arms, legs, backs, everywhere he looked. And the curious stares were becoming more interested.

Someone jostled past Dean, someone blue-eyed and flesh-colored.

“You should see the kitchen,” the man said to his equally flesh-colored companion. “You’ll never believe what’s going on in there!” The aromas of the party washed passed in their wake. Dean grinned, forgetting the silver and the scales, and followed the men into the kitchen.

One step through the door and Dean froze. The kitchen was an abattoir. Blood was splashed on the counters, running in crimson rivulets to pool on the floor. The cabinets looked like a Jackson Pollack painting. A modern island stood in the middle of the kitchen. Blood and gore dripped from its top where a nude woman rode a semi-clothed man. They were both covered in blood, but neither seemed to notice or care.

Dean took another step, scanning for weapons because, yes, he needed a weapon to…to… An arm slid around his waist. He turned and looked into lavender eyes under a black velvet mask. A brunette was smiling at him.

“Hello, lover,” she purred. “Were you looking for me?” She smelled like cinnamon and cloves and sex.

“Wait,” he said. “I have to help. There’s all that…”

“All that what?” she asked. “Sex? Lust? Penetration?” She giggled. Dean looked over his shoulder and the kitchen was pristine except for the couple having sex on the island. No blood. No pools. No spatters. He let the brunette draw him into the butler’s pantry and shut the slatted door behind them.

His senses were immediately enveloped by her. He needed her, had to have her. She shoved him against the wall and groped him through his pants. Her kiss was hard and hungry. Dean pushed back only enough to get his jacket off. He tilted his head, opening his mouth wider to deepen this kiss. She tasted like whiskey and something salty. She pulled back, sucking on his tongue then pushed him roughly away. Her eyes glittered in the dim light and Dean was painfully aware of his swollen cock. With a sinful grin she turned away from him, yanked her dress up over her hips and placed her hands on the counter.

“Come on, baby,” she purred. “Give it to me good. Nice and hard.”

Dean stepped forward, unzipping his fly and pulling himself out. He yanked her thong aside and thrust inside her cunt. She was tight and wet. A hot current sparked through him. She moaned and ground her hips back against him. Grabbing her hips, Dean drove in and out of her, watching his cock become slick with her juices. She reached back clutching his hip, her fingertips digging into his ass. He felt her other hand slide between his legs and cup his balls, squeezing and stroking. He groaned and closed his eyes. Weird kaleidoscopes whirled on the insides of his eyelids. When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him over her shoulder, another dirty grin on her lips. Gray and cracked lips. Dean’s rhythm faltered; the brunette slid her fingers over the skin behind his balls. This time she grinned at him with plump red lips.

“Harder,” she panted. “Fuck me harder.”

Dean slammed into her, not caring if it hurt or if her hips banged against the counter hard enough to bruise. She made a low keening noise that rose to a squeal and Dean felt his own orgasm roar through him, lighting up his nerve endings and whiting out his vision.

The brunette pushed him back and out and stood to straighten her dress. Dean leaned against the wall, exhausted. He felt her tuck his cock back into his pants and zip them up. When she didn’t move, he opened his eyes. Behind her mask, her lavender eyes held no skeletal wastelands, but seemed unnaturally bright. She was still smiling. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and licked them clean of their mingled juices.

“So tasty,” she purred then leaned in to inhale the smell of the skin on his neck. “We should go again. I’m not nearly full and you are so flavorful.” Her breath had a coppery tang and he remembered the blood covered kitchen. She got no response this time when she slid her hand between his thighs. Laughter rang out from behind the door and her head snapped around towards it.

“Later, lover,” she said. “You rest and I’ll be back.”

When she opened the door, Dean saw blood again. He staggered out after her, keeping his hand on the wall to steady himself. The brunette had joined the couple on the island, peeling off the top half of her gown and lowering a breast to the man’s mouth.

Dean slid from the kitchen trying to avoid the puddles of blood. In the main hallway, sex was still the major form of entertainment. Although now Dean could see people lying alone. He moved towards the front door, stopping to check a woman lying propped against the wall. She was naked; her skin tinged blue and had no pulse.

“Damn,” Dean whispered. Again, the thought that he wasn’t here for the party began to form in his mind. There was a reason he came to this house. A good one. Someone told him to…. He had to….But it slipped away.

He looked up and away from the dead woman and saw a man crossing the foyer towards him. He was tall and broad shouldered. His tux was immaculately cut although his brown hair was a little too shaggy for him to pull of the sophisticated look. He wore a half-mask in a harlequin pattern. It curled up into flames at the corners of the eyes. Behind the mask, his hazel eyes were locked onto Dean’s.

I know him. I think. Do I know him?

The man barreled into Dean, capturing Dean’s face in his hands and kissing him. It was a long, deep kiss and Dean found he didn’t mind it at all. His own hands came up and fisted the lapels of the man’s jacket, drawing him closer so their bodies touched. One of the man’s hands slid around to cup the back of Dean’s head. Dean tilted back into the hand, intensifying the kiss. He started to unbutton the man’s jacket, only vaguely aware of a commotion somewhere behind him. He walked the tall man backward, hoping to hit a wall when the screaming started.

The man pulled away from the kiss, looking around. Dean saw mottled gray-green skin along his jaw and smelled smoke. He blinked stupidly as the man turned back to him.

“No time, darlin’,” he drawled. “See you on the other side.” And he was gone.

The smoke was thicker now and Dean could see people rushing past him, hear them running and crying from deeper inside the house. He coughed and placed his arm over his mouth and nose. Door, door, where’s the fucking door? Someone slammed into him and he went sprawling to the floor. He reached out to push himself upright and someone else stepped on his hand, then his leg.

“Fuck! I’m down here!” he yelled.

Oily smoke filled the foyer and now Dean could see flames in the library. Glass was breaking; screams and sobs filled the air. He tried to push himself up again, but found he was just. so. tired. His eyes dropped closed and he felt himself falling into a black void when suddenly there was a hand under his arm hauling him up. He couldn’t see through the smoke as the person attached to the hand dragged him forward. Then he was outside. And the air was fresh. It smelled like the ocean, not smoke or cigars or, unfortunately, pussy.

Sam had an arm around him and was guiding him to the Impala. Dean could hear people staggering and running away from the house. He could hear the crackle of the fire. He glanced down at himself and found he was back in his street clothes; no more tux and cuff links. The mask was no longer on his face. But in his hand he held a black and white harlequin half-mask.

Dean squinted up at Sam as Sam held him back from the flames. Dean’s mind was clear as a bell.

“So, succubus party, huh?” Dean asked.

“Yep.”

“Excellent job on the research, Sammy.”

“You were supposed to reconnoiter, not join in.”

The brothers continued to watch the house burn. Dean was fascinated by the red and yellow flames as they ate through the old wood and plaster, consuming the fancy wallpaper and furniture. He could hear something calling under the fire’s roar and crackle, see bodies rushing past windows. One slammed into a window to the left of the front door. It seemed to hang there for a second, and then slowly slid down out of sight. It left a trail of gore in its wake.

“Your doing?” Dean asked.

“Yep. Jackass.”

Music and burnt cinnamon came to Dean on the wind. He strained to keep himself in place even as they filled his head and tingled through his body, driving straight to his cock. He took a step forward and Sam tightened his hold around Dean.

“You’ll be alright in awhile, Dean.” Sam said.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“You might not want to hold me so close right now.”

“Wha..? Oh, dude! Hands!”