Two For One

By Bone

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing:  Threesome -- Dean/Two Barflies from "Provenance"

Rating: NC-17

Notes:   Het!  Just a little something for  maygra's birthday. Happy Birthday, Darlin'!  Mild spoilers for "Provenance." Thanks go to brynwulf and estrella30 for beta-reading and revving up the het engines.

Disclaimers:   Who do these boys belong to anyway? Kripke? WB? Who else? Written for pleasure, not profit. For adult readers only, please.


Dean never could resist a two-for-one offer.

He learned that little trick from his dad. From the time Sam was old enough to point at whatever Dean was holding and make plaintive noises that obviously meant, "Me, too," his dad went for whatever was on sale and always bought two. No way to treat two kids the same, Dean knew that, but when it came to candy bars, t-shirts, and pancake breakfasts, two-for-one acted as a reasonable equalizer.

So when it became crystal clear after a couple of beers, a phone number and a surprisingly strong grip high up on his thigh that Brandy ("with a Y") and her friend Tania ("with an I") were perfectly willing to come as a package deal, it seemed only fair to offer the blonde to Sam. Sam liked blondes. Dean liked brunettes. It didn't take higher math to figure out which one to toss Sam's way.

But Sam blew him off. Blew off the blonde, too, without hardly looking at her. Sometimes Dean missed the days when Sam pointed at stuff and whined. At least then

Dean knew what to do: Give Sam what he wanted. Give it up or get another one, or find something close enough to get by.

But he had no idea what to do with a Sam who didn't want anything.

Fine. Forget Sam. Getting laid was one of life's few pure pleasures, and if Sam didn't understand that, or remember that, or care about that, then there wasn't much Dean could do for him.

He left Sam with his nose buried in the newspaper, four beers warming at his elbows (because if two-for-one is good, four-for-two is better), and escorted Brandy and Tania out the door, because he'd learned one more trick from his dad:

Waste not, want not.


Dean felt naked riding in the passenger seat of Brandy's car.

It was one thing to cave now and then and let Sam take the wheel -- peace had to be kept somehow and it gave Dean time to nap. But this, riding with a stranger in a crappy 4-cylinder Saturn, just felt…wrong. Could be because she was a woman; he was man enough to admit that. But it probably had more to do with her tendency to hit the brakes too hard too late, and the gas pedal too hard too early. Even then he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, since catch-me-fuck-me heels weren't really meant for the kind of abuse she was putting them to.

Tania rode in the back, but leaned forward and propped her chin on the top of his seat. She laughed at everything he said, which might get annoying long-term, but suited him fine just then. Keeping up his side of the conversation kept him from reaching for the radio, but if they had very far to go, he and the Saturn both might pop a gasket. People really listened to that Carrie Underwood chick? Voluntarily?

They made a stop at Tony's Suprette in Hudson and stocked up on beer. Rheingold had a promotion going, so that took care of which brand to buy, and Lewis Wiseman's VISA paid the tab, so, good for Lewis, whoever he was. Dean exchanged knowing glances with the guy behind the counter, who nodded to him in a "rock on" kind of way. Dean lifted his chin in acknowledgement and made sure when they left that the guy couldn't see him riding shotgun with a girl at the wheel. A man had to maintain some standards.

When Brandy finally pulled out onto SR 209 and put the pedal to the metal, Dean tightened his seatbelt, grabbed the Jesus bar and hoped there'd be enough of him left for Sam to identify.

He also really wished he'd fucked at least one of them at the bar and saved himself the worry over dying with blue balls.


Brandy wasn't much of a housekeeper, but she sucked like a Hoover, and of the two skills, Dean knew which one he'd always choose.

Girl had a great mouth on her, painting his dick cherry red with her lipstick, sharp white teeth just dangerous enough to provide that critical boost from 'that's good' to 'that's great,' and her tongue… Hell, a tongue like that could make a man think about staying in one place for a couple of days, maybe even a week.

The couch smelled like cat pee and cheap perfume, but it made a nice change from the back seat of the Impala and bathroom stalls, and it was soft and plenty big enough for a Dean sandwich. Tania stretched behind him, her hard nipples poking him, the silky hair between her legs brushing low on his back, and Brandy crouched between his thighs, rubbing his balls and deep-throating him like a girl who had a goodly amount of experience bringing men home from bars.

He'd had about sixty-too-many Rheingolds, which had led to just as many trips to the bathroom, which had led to sloppy kissing while pissing, something new that he'd probably cringe about sometime when he wasn't shit-faced, but at the time, he'd just laughed into her mouth (Tania probably, his unoccupied hand wrapped in blonde hair) and did his best to keep his aim true. She'd palmed him before he could zip up again, and licked behind his front teeth. Not a lot of boundaries, these girls, and he'd decided blearily that he liked that in a woman.

Women. Plural. Yes, yes, life was occasionally good.

They'd worked together on stripping him, Tania starting at the top, Brandy at the bottom, while he'd made half-hearted stabs at getting them just as naked, but there were two of them and one of him, and so they won. Barely. They weren't much for talking, either, which -- again, a nice change. And no way was he the first guy they'd double-teamed. They had it all down, they knew what they wanted, and who was he to stand in their way when he could be lying down?

Dean tilted his head back, smiled at Tania and brought her hands to his chest, guiding her to his nipples. Oh, yeah, hands that weren't his own felt so good. He shivered at the contrast between the hot mouth on his dick and the cold fingers playing on his chest. He closed his eyes, lifted his hips a little, and reached down,  putting his hand on the back of Brandy's head, holding her to him, encouraging her to go down that last mind-blowing inch. Brandy just opened wide and let him in. Good girl. Good, good, God, they felt good, he felt good, it was all just so good.

Man, Sammy'd missed out this time. Dean mapped out the play-by-play in his head, saved it up for some long lonely stretch of road. Sam always acted like he didn't want to hear about it, but seriously. Who wouldn't want to hear about a hot threesome?



Dean waited until daybreak to call Sam.

His head felt like a bag of rocks, his stomach protested the smell of the couch in ways it hadn't when he'd had a woman rocking on his cock, and…shit, speaking of which, his dick hurt, and not in a fucked-it-raw way, either. He bent over to look at it more closely. Fuck. Those were teethmarks. He made a note to leave that out of the play-by-play.

"Where are you?" Sam asked when he picked up. He sounded like he hadn't slept, eaten his bran muffin or had his coffee yet. Terrific.

"Good morning to you, too, sunshine," Dean said.

"Dean. Where are you?" Sam said again.

"Um. Good question. Hang on," Dean said. He made his way to a table by the door, stubbing his toe on something sticking out from under the couch on the way. He swore quietly and hopped to the table on one foot. Bingo. Brandy dropped her mail right as she came in the door; probably the only way to keep track of it in the mess.

"What?" Sam asked.

"What what," Dean said.

"You yelled," Sam said.

"I did not," Dean said. "I stubbed my toe on something. A shoe, maybe."

"So? Where are you?" Sam asked.

"Um, let me see. 1330 Oak Street, Apartment B," Dean said. "You do all right last night without me?"

"Yeah, I'm not hungover and pussy-whacked," Sam said. "I think I win."

Jesus. Sam really had to get his priorities in order.

"So can you come get me?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, give me ten minutes," Sam said.

"Okay," Dean said. "Hey, Sam?"

Dean heard Sam take a breath. "Yeah?"

"Bring coffee," Dean said. "And something to eat. A biscuit or something. Maybe a McGriddle."

"How're you fixed for spit?" Sam asked, and Dean laughed under his breath.

"Spit I got," Dean said. "Meet you out front."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Ten minutes. I'm not coming up to get you."

Dean closed his phone and blew out a breath, rubbing his protesting stomach. No way was he braving the kitchen, not given what the living room looked like. He could make it ten minutes.

He found his clothes tangled up with the girls', his boxers throttled on Brandy's red bra. It wasn’t the first morning after he'd pulled on smoky clothes from the night before; it wouldn't be the last.

Then he pulled a fluffy blanket thing, what did they call it, an afghan or something, off the back of the couch and draped it over the girls. The morning light wasn't as kind to them as barlight and a bunch of beers had been. Brandy had lipstick smeared across her cheek, and Tania's hair, well, just say it wasn't like Jessica's and leave it at that.

But they'd been good to him, took him where he was, gave him what he needed, and he appreciated it. Appreciated them. He tucked the blanket closer under Brandy's chin, and she roused a little, blinking sleepily up at him.

"Shhh, go back to sleep," he whispered, and brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the lipstick stain so she wouldn't see it in the bathroom mirror later. "I gotta go."

Brandy sniffed and stretched"You got my number?"

"Yeah, I got it." Dean smiled at her. "Thanks." He hoped she knew he wasn't talking about the phone number.

She winked at him. Okay, good, message received.

"Okay, I'm…um…"

"Bye," she said, then pulled up the blanket and closed her eyes.

Dean pissed one last time and washed his face in the bathroom sink. He used one of Brandy's lipsticks to write "Hot and Hotter" on the mirror -- ha, let them decide who was which -- then let himself out of the apartment, locking the door behind him, and sat on the stoop, waiting for Sam.


"So then, Brandy, the dark-haired one, she pops my dick in her mouth like it's a popsicle, and she starts licking, right? And the blonde, Tania, she's rubbing me all over, grinding her pussy all up on my ass, and then she's sticking her finger in Brandy's mouth, right in there with my dick, and Brandy's all moaning and shit, totally getting off on it."


Dean knew that tone. That was Sam's 'I'm too pure to hear this' tone. Well, fuck that.

"Wait, I'm just getting to the good part. I know, what could be better than a blowjob, but dude…"

"Why do you do this?"

Okay, that was Sam's 'I'm the reasonable one, and you make no sense' tone.


"Make up shit like this."

"Make <b>up</b>…Sam. You know I don't have that good an imagination," Dean said. "Do you want to hear it or not?"

Sam slid down lower in the seat. Dean looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

They'd tied things up in New Paltz and were headed down toward Erie on the trail of whatever had given six high school boys simultaneous seizures. Giving Sam the lowdown on his recent adventure seemed like a great way to get Sam's mind off watching one more girl disappear in the rearview.

"Come on, what else have you got to do?" Dean asked.

After a minute, Sam muttered, "…fine…"

Yeah, all right, that was Sam's all-too-rare 'Oh yeah, I'm a red-blooded man' tone. Dean liked that one.

"Okay, where was I?" Dean asked, turning his attention back to the road. "Oh, right, she's blowing me and Tania's getting her lesbo on with the finger and then Brandy spits me out, slaps a rubber on me and slides her sweet self down and just goes to town, bouncing up and down, boobs flying, and her pussy, man, her pussy's tighter than--"



"You missed the exit," Sam said.

"Fuck the exit, Sam."

Sam huffed beside him.

Dean counted to ten, then again. "So she yowls like a cat when she comes and I'm still giving it to her 'cause I like that sound, maybe I can get her to do it again, and then Tania--"

"Can we cut to the chase?" Sam asked, pushing himself upright again. "You screwed them both. The end. Can we turn around now?"

God, he really hated that particular Sam tone. Why couldn't he just listen for once? Dean looked for a place to turn around and once they were headed back the other way, he said, "I didn't."

"Didn't what?" Sam asked.

"I didn't screw them both. Just Brandy," he said.

"Huh," Sam said, and Dean couldn't really read that tone.

Dean paused for a minute, then said, "But I ate Tania out. You didn't let me get to that part."

Sam made a strangled noise in the seat beside him.

"Come to think of it, I'm not sure Tania was much for dick," Dean said.

Sam was shaking his head, bent over, choking on a laugh that got stuck somewhere deep in his chest. "You're…that's just…"

"I know, I know, Sammy. It's good to be me," Dean said, slapping him on the back.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Sam said once he had his voice back.

Dean glanced over at him, took in the set of his mouth and the slump in his shoulders.

"We don't all meet Sarahs," Dean said.

Sam looked at him, then dropped his chin and nodded.

Dean thought about saying something else, finishing the story, or…something, but after another look at Sam's face -- no need to hear that tone --he just pulled a Brandy and hit the gas hard, giving them both a little distance.


The end.