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Whole Lotta Love

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"I need you boys to get a MacGuffin to Philadelphia by Thursday." Bobby handed an old wooden cigar box to Dean. "Think you can handle that?"

"Did you just say MacGuffin?" An angry spirit had hit Sam over the ears the night before. He could still hear buzzing.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "It's an ancient Scottish amulet that wards off disease. Why?"

"He's a little slow today," Dean said. "Don't worry, we've got it."


Not even Dean could drive straight through from South Dakota to Philadelphia. But it was only Tuesday; they had time.

They stopped for the night at a junction south of Chicago. There was a bar, a motel, a gas station, a KFC, and the inevitable fifth business, sometimes a pizza parlor, sometimes a video rental store. This time, it was a tanning salon.

After checking in at the motel, where Sam hid the MacGuffin under a pile of dirty laundry, they walked across the two lane highway to the bar.

Dean disappeared into a backroom with four pool tables. Sam found a spot with enough light to read, ordered a beer, and brought his notebook up to date.

At ten, a plant nearby must have let out its swing shift, because the crowd tripled in size. Sam put away his notebook and passed the time watching the patrons in the mirror over the bar. The buzzing in his ears was gone, and the sound of people leading normal lives reassuringly washed over him.

Dean appeared a half hour later and sat next to him. "We're never coming back here. This place sucks."

Sam grinned. "And you lost how much?"

"He totally cheated," Dean said. "Rigged the table somehow. I know, because I rigged it first. Two hundred bucks."

Sam slid an opened beer bottle in front of Dean. "Here. Booby prize."

"Did you drink out of it? If you did, I'm not touching it."

"Jerk."

Dean didn't answer. He'd seen something that made his face light up. Someone.

Had to be the classic brunette sitting at the end of the bar. Dressed in a white lace blouse and form-fitting jeans, she looked like one of the girls the trickster had conjured up: too good to be true.

"It's great that sex solves every problem, isn't it?" Sam said, knowing it was a waste of sarcasm.

Dean beamed. "Hell, yeah!" He took a long drink of the beer, set the bottle down, and walked past the brunette to reach the jukebox.

After Dean dropped in quarters and selected a few songs, he looked up at her, doing the accidental-eyes-meeting thing perfectly.

The jukebox blasted Van Halen's Pretty Woman. Dean wasn't subtle. But a lot of women weren't looking for subtle. They were looking for Dean.

Sam had been about to return to their motel. Instead, he finished the beer Dean had abandoned. When Whole Lotta Love started playing, he ordered another.

Sometimes it was entertaining to watch his brother doing what he did best.

Dean had only four serious pursuits. Killing evil things, driving his car, protecting his family, and getting laid. He was, Sam thought, superb at all of them. Not that he was going to tell Dean that.

Sam was too far away to hear the conversation, but he could see Dean staring into the brunette's eyes, nodding his head, and smiling, smiling, smiling.

Dean's smile was ninety percent of the reason he almost always scored. On the rare occasions when Dean failed at a pickup, Sam was sure his brother hadn't really wanted that particular woman.

Dean wanted this one, though. He had even stooped to the "I'll have what you're having" ploy. A girly drink, something slushy in an oversized stemmed glass, was on the bar in front of him.

When he looked up at Sam, tilting his head slightly to say Get over here, Sam went.

He was a useful accessory. A man with a younger brother was more approachable than a man alone.

"This is Paige." Dean's smile was loaded with barely contained sexual energy.

Sam kept his mouth shut until he knew who they were supposed to be. Airline pilots? FBI agents?

"Paige, this is my brother, Sam. He's also my caddy. He's the real reason I moved up to fifth in the Masters last year."

Golf pros. It was a new low. And why the hell did he have to be the caddy?

"Dean told me about you." Paige shook his hand, her grip firm. She was younger than he had thought, his age. "Sounds like he owes you a lot."

"Oh, really?" Sam decided to lay it on thick. "Dean's my biggest inspiration. Last year, he donated half his prize money to Habitat for Humanity."

Paige smiled at Dean, her eyes shiny with admiration, then looked down, involuntarily checking out his crotch. Dean was sitting on a bar stool with his legs spread, making it easy for her.

Sam suddenly liked her a lot. Close up, she had great skin almost free of makeup, and she was tall and curvy, like Jess. She definitely wasn't a bimbo or party girl.

The bartender was making his rounds past their stretch of bar, so Sam claimed a stool. "Jim Beam straight up, please."

"And, uh, two more Creamsicles." Dean shot him a sideways glance, daring him to say anything.

When Paige reached for her drink, her blouse rode up, revealing a tattoo over her spine, just above the place her low-rise jeans hit. The stylized design looked like a woman about to shoot a basket.

Paige was tall enough for basketball, but Sam could remember seeing the same design in a completely different context. The logo of a women's rights organization, maybe?

When she was halfway through her second Creamsicle, Paige stood and pulled a cell phone from her purse. Dean immediately stood as well, invading her space, warming her up to the idea of him invading all of her spaces.

Sam watched, holding in laughter, because Paige's heels made her an inch taller than his brother's six feet. Dean made a pissy face when he realized he had to look up at her.

"This will just take a second." Paige rested a hand on Dean's chest. "I promised to call my sister at eleven if I wasn't back by then."

"You have a sister? Around here?" Dean smiled lecherously.

Oh, Christ. Not again.

Dean had tried to set him up with a girl-of-the moment's sibling dozens of times. But Sam didn't like being distracted in the middle of a job. Dean was the master of compartmentalization, not him.

Sam also didn't like pick-ups. One-nighters only reminded him of what he didn't have anymore.

"Yes, we're staying in the motel across the highway," Paige said. "Why?"

"You think your sister might be up for socializing?" Dean asked.

Paige smiled flirtatiously, then went outside to make the call.

"So, Sam. You heard what Paige said?"

"Dean, I'm not–" Sam gave up; Dean's euphoria was bullet-proof.

Paige returned. "I asked Rose if she wanted to join us, but she just got out of the shower. We could go over there, though."

"Sounds awesome." Dean winked at Sam.

Sam wanted to bow out, but didn't. Since Dean was in no state to watch his own back, Sam would have to watch it for him. There was something off; the pick-up was too easy, even for Dean.

They crossed the highway and walked to the far end of the motel. Paige knocked once, then opened the door. Dean, right behind her, hesitated on the threshold.

Nothing short of the threat of matrimony slowed down Dean in horn-dog mode, so Sam pushed forward, looking over the top of his brother's head to see what the issue was.

Answer: environmental hazard. Girl stuff was piled on every horizontal surface, including the king-size bed, the dresser, the desk, the armchair, and most of the floor.

They stepped cautiously just inside the door. When Dean crunched a pair of earrings underfoot, he gave Sam the Dude, I'm ready to bail look. But then the door to the bathroom opened, and a woman came out.

Dean's double-take was almost slapstick. All he needed was steam coming out of his ears, and a cartoon cupid shooting him with an arrow.

Make it two arrows. Sam had been zapped, too.

Rose was a gorgeous, petite redhead wearing only a towel wrapped snugly around her torso. She looked shocked for a moment at their presence, then recovered quickly. Sam admired her cool, but it made him twice as suspicious.

"I didn't know you'd be here so soon." Rose smiled.

Sam noticed freckles on her thighs and forgot how to talk. "Sorry," he finally said, his voice hoarse. "Come get us when you're ready. We're in room 128."

He shoved Dean out the door, then steered him back to their room. It was easy, because Dean was temporarily stunned.

When they were inside, Dean exploded. "Did you see that chick?"

"You mean Rose? Paige isn't bad, either." Sam made sure the MacGuffin was still safely tucked away.

"Paige?" Dean said.

"Yeah. Remember her? The woman you were hitting on five minutes ago?"

"Oh. Right. Wanna swap?"

"You're kidding. Oh, fuck. You're not kidding."

"What's the problem? You can have Paige."

"You can't give her to me, Dean! Paige and Rose are human beings, not some–"

Dean held up a hand, palm facing Sam, which translated to Shut your cakehole. "Rose and I will use their room, you and Paige use this one. Deal?"

"No. I like Rose." Sam's face turned hot. "I want her." He wasn't saying it to fuck with Dean. He really wanted her.

"Wow." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, Wild Man. I'll shut up, then."

There was a knock on the door. Sam opened it and let the sisters in. Rose looked almost as good dressed in jeans and a tight green hoodie as she had half naked.

"Nice layout," Rose said, looking at the two queen beds.

"Is it okay if we watch Leno?" Paige asked.

Dean found the remote on top of the dresser and handed it to Paige with a smile. Sam was relieved. It looked like there would be no more talk of swapping.

The sisters took off their shoes and got on the beds, sitting with their backs to the headboards. Somehow they each picked the right bed; Paige was on Dean's bed, Rose on Sam's.

Almost shoulder to shoulder, they looked like sisters in spite of the differences in their height and coloring. They had the same oval face, blue eyes, and lips that appeared to be smiling even when they weren't.

Were they succubi? Vampires? Con artists? Had to be the latter, because Sam didn't sense anything evil about them.

While Sam worried about his next move, Dean removed his boots and stretched out next to Paige.

It forced Sam to get on the bed with Rose. If he didn't, he'd draw more attention to himself. Besides, he wanted to.

He focused on the television, where Leno was finishing his monologue. At the commercial break, he looked over at Dean, who already had his arm around Paige. If Sam didn't know better, he'd say they were snuggling.

Dean switched off the bedside lamp, so only the television lit the room.

Without looking at him, Rose put a hand on his thigh. Sam was rock hard ten seconds later.

If Rose and her sister were con artists, so what?

Rose leaned against Sam and sighed, a soft sound she probably didn't mean him to hear. She smelled fantastic. He inhaled, catching a whiff of something else in the room. It was unpleasant, like burning hair.

A smacking noise came from the other bed; Sam looked over involuntarily. Dean stopped kissing Paige long enough to grin at him.

When Sam turned away, Rose interpreted his sudden movement as the start of a kiss. She tried for his mouth, missed, and got his neck.

He curled up to eliminate the fourteen inch difference in their height and kissed her back.

He had thought Dean and Paige on the other bed would distract him, but they weren't a problem. While he could hear Dean's deep murmuring, and zippers unzipping, he didn't give a damn. Dean could start singing Enter Sandman and he would go right on kissing Rose. Rose apparently didn't care, either. She stripped off her hoodie, leaving her in jeans and a bra.

Then the TV imploded.

God damned old-fashioned cathode ray tube. Glass was everywhere. The burning odor was sharp, unbearable. Dean cursed and started to get up.

"Put your shoes on, Dean, unless you want to bleed all over the carpet," Sam said.

Rose made a sexy disappointed sound, snatching back Sam's attention. "Come to our room," she said. "Please."

Sam thought it over for a few seconds, turned on a lamp, and jammed his feet into his still-tied shoes. Rose put her hoodie back on. The four of them were in the girls' room two minutes later.

Rose and Paige swept all the junk off the king-size bed and jumped on it. He and Dean followed, laughing.

"Why do you have just one bed?" Sam said into Rose's hair.

"It's cheaper," Paige said from two feet away. "Why don't you and Dean share?"

"Because Sam hogs the blankets," Dean said. He kissed her, slid a hand under her blouse, and cupped a breast. Paige made a catlike noise and pulled her blouse and bra up to her neck.

Sam was embarrassed when Rose caught him looking, then realized she was looking, too. They smiled at each other, as if to say This is crazy.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Dean with a girl. They'd gone on double dates when he was in high school, and made out with their respective girlfriends in the Impala.

But this was different.

Dean and Paige were stripping their clothes off, a luxury car-sex didn't permit. With both of them naked, Paige's tanned skin next to Dean's pale gold, the two of them just… fit. She was on top of Dean, holding his wrists down, aggressively licking his chest, her tongue seeking out his scars.

"If porn looked like that, I would watch it," Rose huffed into Sam's ear.

Heat went down his spine. He thrust against her hip, and apparently hit her on button. She yanked frantically at his clothes.

Dean laughed at them. Then he moaned.

Sam and Rose stopped what they were doing and watched again. Paige had knelt between Dean's legs and was blowing him. Rose clutched Sam's shoulders, but she didn't look away. Neither did Sam.

Paige slid a hand under Dean's ass and did something that made Dean try to hump her face. Then Dean grabbed her hair, held it in one fist, exposing her lips tight around his dick.

Sam was breathless even before understanding why. Dean knew they were watching and was getting off on it.

Rose tackled his clothes again. They were naked in forty-five seconds.

Dean yelled, "Fuck!"

Paige pulled away, licking her lips.

"Be with you in a minute," Dean said sleepily.

When Paige kissed him, Dean snored softly. She made a frustrated sound, between a whine and a growl.

"What a jerk," Sam said, outraged on her behalf.

"You could just–" Rose picked up his hand and put it on Paige's shoulder.

Paige rolled on her side, facing him expectantly.

"Uh," Sam said. "I don't think–"

"It's okay," Rose said.

Paige kissed him, Rose wrapped her hand around his dick, and it became impossible to think of any convincing objections. Besides, they were sisters. There wasn't a single guy on the planet that hadn't had this fantasy.

When Paige pushed him onto his back and Rose put a condom on him, it was definitely okay—at least until Paige straddled his thighs and Rose tried to push her off.

Sam grabbed at them both, his coordination shot to hell. Finally he managed to coax Rose up, until she was kneeling on either side of his shoulders. That left his torso as the DMZ. He had never appreciated being tall more.

He kissed Rose's thighs, trying to make it last. Girls never sat on his face as often as he wanted them to. Then Paige sank down on his dick, and he forgot the plan.

Rose kept swaying out of range, so he held onto her just below her breasts, keeping her in place. When she realized he could support all of her weight with his arms, she started trembling.

It wasn't going to take long, which was good, because Paige was pushing down hard on him, bracing herself with one hand behind her, on his thigh. It was maddeningly intense, perhaps because he couldn't see her. Her other hand brushed rhythmically against his abdomen; she was rubbing her clit.

Rose's cries suddenly increased in volume about five hundred percent. She shuddered and went heavy in his hands. Sam clutched her, trying to wait for Paige.

He held out until Dean said in a choked voice, "Holy hell, Sam."

Sam growled, coming inside Paige, another well-intentioned plan abandoned. He reluctantly let go of Rose, who keeled over next to them. At last he could see Paige.

Dean, still naked, was on his knees beside her, his hand covering her mound. Sam didn't know when the fingers brushing against him had become Dean's. He'd been busy.

"Go for it," Dean whispered to Paige. "He'll stay hard for at least five, ten minutes."

How the fuck did Dean know that? Had Dean talked to his ex-girlfriends?

Talked? Come on. Dean had probably fucked them all after Sam dated them. Or before. Maybe during.

Paige rolled Sam's condom off, wiped him with a sheet, and put a new one on him while he clenched his jaw, baring his teeth. Then she climbed on him again, rising and falling, determined. Dean knelt behind her, half-sitting on Sam's legs, and reached around her.

When Paige started slowing down, teetering like her sister, Sam held her up, his hands under her arms, moving his hips so she could rest. It wasn't easy with Dean's weight on him. Sweat ran down his chest, and over his strained stomach muscles.

Whenever Sam had sex in this position, girl on top, he naturally looked at her. It was too good of a visual to miss, something to recall over and over. This time, there was the addition of Dean's fingers working Paige's pussy, plus Dean talking.

Fuck you're hot. Come for me. Come on baby. He's fucking you so hard.

That Dean was into talking dirty was the least surprising thing ever. It was also going to kill Sam. Or make him come again. Sometimes he could go straight into another orgasm without going soft in between. Dean probably knew that, too.

Everything was building to an unstoppable peak. Rose was alert enough again to kiss and bite his neck. Paige came with a scream, falling forward onto his chest.

Strong hands bit down into Sam's hips. Dean was still talking.

You're amazing. Don't hold back on me. So fucking sweet baby.

Sam came so hard he almost tossed Paige off. Dean held him in place.


Sam woke during the night, girl hair in his face. It tickled his nose, but was somehow completely non-irritating.

Dean shook his shoulder—again, probably.

Sam sat up and blinked. In the near-dark, the girls' room glittered like a dragon's treasure cave.

They left, carrying their shoes. Dean stopped at the Impala and got out a hand broom and dust pan. "Go crash, man," Dean said.

Sam undressed, then dozed on his bed while Dean swept glass off the carpet.

After Dean turned the lights off, he touched Sam's head, fingers sliding through his hair, gently pulling. It lasted only seconds, but it pushed Sam all the way down into sleep.


The next morning, Sam woke to find Dean tearing the room apart.

"Sammy! Did you move it?"

Sam smiled. He'd slept great. The only after effect of the night before was a slightly sore tongue.

"What the hell are you grinning about?" Dean said. "Get your lazy ass up and help me find it."

"It's long gone," Sam said, not budging from his bed. "You're looking for the MacGuffin, right?"

"Sam," Dean said. Tell me everything you know before I kick your ass was unspoken.

"I'm pretty sure that, while we were with the girls, whoever they were working with broke in here," Sam lied. "Ironic, isn't it, us getting taken by garden variety thieves."

It had been four in the morning when the girl calling herself Rose had come to their room, leaned over him, and kissed his cheek. He feigned sleep until she said, "Please. Our grandmother needs it."

"Floor of the closet," Sam had said.

He wished he knew how they'd made the TV blow up. Could be useful some day.

Dean was pissed. "And you suspected them when, exactly?"

"Come on, Dean. Did you think last night was free?"

Dean thought it over, until he started laughing so hard he fell on his bed. "It was totally worth it, man."

"Hell yes it was," Sam said.

Dean smirked at him. "Garden variety, huh? You're a good liar, Sam, but I know they were witches."

Sam dangled a distraction. "Oh, please. Witches? That's what the ignorant call priestesses of pre-Christian religions."

"Hey, give me some credit. I know they weren't Satanists or anything like that. But I can recognize a drawing down the moon tattoo when I see one."

Crap. "I thought it was a woman holding a basketball at first."

Dean laughed. "It was obvious, dude. I mean, come on. They put one hell of a wild monkey sex charm in our drinks."

"They didn't. It's against their principles–"

"Yeah, actually, I know that, too. But I thought I'd let you have the love potion excuse, because you were a total freak." Dean grinned lewdly. "You were a whole lotta love, Sammy boy. Especially the part where–"

A miracle happened. Dean stopped talking, and blushed.

"Want to elaborate on that?" Sam grinned, triumphant. Holy fuck, he had embarrassed Dean.

"Not really," Dean said, not looking at him.

He reached for Dean, gripping him above the knee, a no-fail way to get Dean to kick and swear and laugh because it tickled so much. Instead, Dean froze. Sam instinctively pulled back his hand, assuming he'd pressed an old cut or bruise.

Dean got off his bed, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. The lock clicked.

"Jerk," Sam said to the empty room. Dean could have just said he had to take a leak instead of going all tense on him.

Imagining what it would have been like if Dean really had been under the influence of a love potion, Sam laughed, then put it out of his mind as too depraved to even consider. Besides, Sam didn't have all day to take care of his morning hard-on, even though, as usual, Dean was taking forever in the bathroom.

He rolled onto his back, shut his eyes, slid a hand below the blankets, and remembered the night before. He would undoubtedly be thinking of it for months, a brief moment of pleasure surrounded by a duty that sometimes felt everlasting.

Trying to recall Rose's scent, Paige's determination, he thought instead of freckled gold skin. Strong fingers brushing his belly. His legs held down, pinned. And—until he was quietly gasping and coming in his hand—of the most familiar voice in the world promising new things.

So fucking sweet baby.