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Track Shorts

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There was one school they attended where Sam joined the track team for a total of two weeks.

Two weeks of round, bouncy, fifteen-year-old Sammy ass was almost more than Dean could handle without ripping those tight little track shorts off his body.

But he couldn’t. Dad was spending so much time in the motel for this case, just poring over his journal, staying up all night and never giving them a moment alone. Dean didn’t get a chance to sleep with his little brother even once in those two weeks. It got so bad that Dean once started trying to feel up Sammy when John was snoring softly against the pages of his journal, one too many late nights in a row.

How was he supposed to resist with Sam sprawled on his belly on the bed, reading one of his school books, those tight shorts clinging to his ass?

“D-Dean!” Sam had made a startled little squeak when Dean’s hand closed over his ass, squeezing eagerly. “Dad’s right there, he’ll hear you—”

Dean crawled onto the bed, pressing himself up against Sam and still holding his ass. “Shhh, not if you stay real quiet for me, baby.”

For a few, blissful minutes he had Sammy pressed up against him, grinding the erection straining in his shorts against Dean’s own bulge, whimpering softly into Dean’s mouth as they kissed. Sammy’s ass was so round in his hands, so damn squeezable. He could feel Sam grabbing right back, rocking his hips forward fast and desperate, opening his mouth for Dean’s tongue and gasping—

And then Sam kicked his foot out and knocked the textbook off the bed, and John woke up with a weary groan. Sam and Dean sprang off the bed with hunter reflexes, both redfaced and with racing hearts, but John was too tired to give them more than a, “Sorry, boys, musta drifted off.”

And so the two weeks wound down. The job finished, and Dean didn’t get a chance to sleep with Sam until they had settled into in a new town.

The door had barely clicked shut behind John’s back before the creaky motel bed was assaulted by the thumping weight of two horny teenage boys who wouldn’t stop grabbing at each other.

“S’a shame, though,” Dean muffled through Sam’s hungry mouth. “M’gonna miss those shorts.”

“I never gave them back,” Sam panted, pulling back to look down at his brother.

Dean stared up at him for a moment. Then they both flung themselves off the bed as quickly as they had flopped onto it, digging through Sam’s duffel bag for the shorts.