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After the Game

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Sam was playing one of his final games of the season, on his way to regionals. Best player on the team—ran faster than any of the other boys, and knew how to maneuver the ball in and out of his legs so that you could barely make the thing out. Of course, this was what Dean tried to tell their father, right before he ditched to Minnesota to "take care of business" with an old friend and left Dean in charge. Sam said they were better off.

Dean watched from the sidelines along with proud moms and dads, cheered louder than any of them. Especially when Sam caught a pass and scored on the other team.

"Yeah, Sammy!" He shouted, not caring how obnoxious the adults probably thought he was. After Sam high-fived his teammates he flashed Dean a wide grin.

 

"Wanna go for ice cream?" Dean only asked because that was what all the other parents were likely to be doing after the big win.

"No, that's okay, Dean."

The field was only minutes from the house they were renting. Sam just wanted to get in and shower and get changed. He was sweaty and huffy.

When they got in, Dean was giving Sam a play by play of the game as though he wasn't the one that had just lived it. It was only the second game Dean had gone to see of his, so he was rather excited about it, Sam could tell.

"Dude, but when you did that backflip thing—that was wicked."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam was smiling, but his shoulders were all in knots. He tried to roll them around but it only made it worse. "God." He winced when he felt the tightness done up right at the base of his neck spreading over his shoulders.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean was putting some bags and things down behind him in their bedroom. Yeah, it was a small house. But the truth was Sam didn't really mind sharing a bedroom with Dean. He was actually so used to sharing things with his big brother that he wouldn't know what to do if he had one all to himself. It would feel... empty.

"It's just my stupid muscles," Sam said, trying to wiggle them around again. The searing hot pain returned. "They always do this after a game."

"Let me see." He heard Dean walk over and then felt firm, strong hands at his neck.

"Ah!" Sam winced a little when Dean's fingers dug in.

"Yeah, I can feel it. You're all tense." Dean's fingers kneaded into his neck and shoulders so hard Sam was careening forward and gasping, his muscles waking up.

"Shit," Sam breathed out, feeling the throb in his shoulders being worked.

Dean was applying just the right amount of pressure, massaging his muscles in an expert push-pull motion, and it was making Sam's legs start to give out. His shoulders swayed back and forth with Dean's strong hands, his fiery muscles loosening, becoming more slack, and my god it felt so so good.

"Fuck. That feels good." Sam shut his eyes and bit his lip because he was actually moaning.

"Yeah?" Dean kept it up, pressing in over and over again with deft fingers.

It was starting to feel, like, too good. Sure enough, Sam slid one of his hands in front of himself and felt a bulge at the front of his shorts. He silently cursed his stupid teenage body and teenage hormones and his stupid big brother and his stupid magic hands.

"That good?" Dean asked when he noticed Sam stiffen.

"Mhm..." Sam mumbled.

"Here, sit down." Dean pressed down on his shoulders until he was half on the bed, sitting on the edge of it with one leg hanging off. Dean was oblivious, thank God, fingers still digging away at his shoulders with earnest. "Jesus, Sammy, how do you let yourself get like this?"

Sam just huffed out a laugh, still palming his crotch praying Dean wouldn't notice his obvious erection. Stupid stupid.

But it felt...so...good... He never wanted Dean to stop. Dean was sitting on the bed now, too, his weight pressing down behind him.

"You good?" Dean peaked around the front of him and Sam's heavy eyes blinked open.

Dean saw. He totally saw. Because his eyes skittered down to where Sam was so obviously cupping himself, and then he simply went right back to his work, rubbing his shoulders continuously. Sam felt Dean's hands slacken a little, though, and expand over the blades of his shoulders, digging his thumbs into his back slower, almost more hesitantly. Sam thought he should maybe say something. Laugh, maybe. Get up and shrug it off and take his shower like he had intended. But he was at the mercy of his brother's hands, rooted in place on the bed while his dick shamelessly filled more and more.

Dean's hands actually slid down his arms then, and briefly back up, caressing the bare skin. His hands were hot, soothing. Sam shut his eyes and gasped a little as one of Dean's hands came around the front of his stomach. Dean slid it right over Sam's own tensed-up hand that was digging into his dick over the fabric of his soccer shorts.

"Looks like you need some relief somewhere else, too." Dean said simply, his hand still moving, still massaging.

"Dean, shut up," Sam groaned and tried to nudge his hand away but Dean only laughed a little.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean shifted in closer up behind him and rubbed over the bulge in his shorts, guiding Sam's hand which was still cupping it modestly.

Sam let out an involuntary whine, the feel of Dean's hand stroking and giving him the friction he needed making his breathing pick up in his chest.

"It's okay," he heard Dean hum in his ear when Sam leaned into him a little and let Dean take over.

"Oh—fuck."

Dean was firmly stroking the line of his dick through his shorts now, the fabric bunching and heating up. Sam bit his lip, little whines and gasps still managing to escape his mouth. Dean snaked his hand under the elastic band of his shorts and boxer-briefs, getting them out of the way. When Sam felt those hot, calloused hands grip his cock tight and start stroking, he pushed back into Dean, squirming. Dean spread his own knees so Sam fit perfectly in the V of his legs. Dean tugged with the same relentless rhythm he was using to knead the knots out of his neck, and Sam found it hard to catch his breath. His fingers dug into Dean's knees as he watched the pink tip of his cock poking wet and shiny through his brother's fist.

Dean's other hand came around and stroked up and down Sam's stomach, pushing his shirt up and exposing his golden skin and his flat, quivering tummy.

"Dean—Dean—"

"I gotcha, it's okay... 'm gonna take care of you," Dean cooed in his ear, hand squeezing and jerking right at the head. Sam's rosy dick was dripping, pushing out clear drops of pre-come that drooped onto his stomach. Some of it was caught by Dean, and he used it to slick the way as he continued to stroke.

Dean was probably going to have bruises on his knees where Sam was clutching on, his fingers almost going white. It was painfully good, but almost too slow. Sam bucked up into Dean's fist, his cock slipping and twitching. Sam gasped as Dean jerked faster, whining on every quick exhale. Fuck, he was gonna...

"It's okay, Sammy, let it out..."

"Dean!" Sam panted, writhing uncontrollably.

Dean pressed on his stomach to hold him still, and Sam arched his back against him and began to come, his head pushing in the crook of Dean's shoulder, tips of his fingers curling into denim. He felt his cock contracting in Dean's palm as Dean worked him through it, come spilling out and pooling in the dip of his stomach and all over both of Dean's hands. Sam's head rolled around on Dean's shoulder as his whole body convulsed, and Dean just continued to work him good and hard until he was wrung out and dazed.

Dean slowly released Sam's spent cock and trailed his fingers over the wet splotches on his exposed stomach, rubbing in slow circles. Sam tried to catch his breath, all of his muscles loose and drained. He felt Dean's lips at his neck, pressing small, gentle kisses to his pulse point.

Sam licked his lips and tried to speak through the fog in his mind. "Dean... Sorry."

Dean's palm was getting him all wet, but Sam loved it. It was warm and soothing. "For what?"

"I didn't... mean to..." He still couldn't even form coherent thoughts or phrases.

"Sam, shut up."

Sam finally caught his breath a few minutes later, realized there was something hard at his lower back, right where their bodies pressed against each other. He was about to say something, but Dean tapped his belly and interrupted his thoughts.

"Shower," was all Dean said to him, putting his big brother voice back on.

Sam obliged, practically stumbling into the bathroom. One thing was for certain; his muscles had never been so goddamn well-worked in his whole entire life.