Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/938077.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Wincest_-_Freeform, Incest, Weird_brother_boners, Some_Humor, Anal_Sex,
      Sammy_in_a_soccer_uniform, Uniform_Kink, Teasing, Inappropriate
      Erections, Underage_-_Freeform
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-23 Words: 3579
****** Goal ******
by RavenGrey
Summary
     Dean really shouldn’t have a stiffy right now. Watching his baby
     brother kick ass on a soccer field, green uniform stained with darker
     splotches grass, and jesus, is that blood? shouldn’t be boner
     inducing, but hell if it ain’t.
Notes
     Alternatively titled Grass Stains and Sodomy. My naming abilities are
     obviously lacking and for that I apologize. Also, any errors are
     entirely my fault, feel free to notify me if you spot one.
             Deanreally shouldn’t have a stiffy right now. Watching his baby
brother kick ass on a soccer field, green uniform stained with darker splotches
of grass, and jesus, is that blood? shouldn’t be boner inducing, but hell if it
ain’t. Sam’s hair is wet with sweat, clinging to his cheeks and dripping into
his eyes. He’s got a busted knee, a thin stream of blood trickling down to
stain the white of his knee-high sock.
             Dean wants to kiss it away.
             And then drag his hand up the muscle curve of Sam’s calve, over
the soft, delicate skin behind his knee and then over the tanned expanse of his
thigh, which his shorts expose a great deal of. Wants to drag his tongue over
that warm stretch, taste the salt on Sam’s skin.
               The hot wash of lust Sam in his soccer uniform invokes is sick
and Dean knows it, but his dick doesn’t really care and tents the front of his
jeans just enough to matter. Dean cocks an eyebrow at it and huffs out a near
silent breath. All of the hot, most likely single moms and Dean can’t stop
thinking about his brother and his stupid sexy socks.
              Leaning casually against the stands set up by the field,
surrounded by chatting soccer moms and cheering dads, Dean adjusts himself,
shifting his half-hard dick so it’s less apparent. He’ll feel guilty about it
later, but right now he just enjoys watching Sam in his element. Okay, so he
really enjoys watching Sam, like, enjoys it more than is acceptable in today’s
society. Oopsie daisies. Dean pulls his mind away from his internal crisis to
watch Sam play.
              Sam’s mouth is set in a determined line, cleats dug in the sludgy
mud that makes up the field, as the ball nears his end of the field. Dean
watches the quick flex of Sam’s thigh muscles as he bounces on his toes, hands
held lightly by his sides.
             Dean’s darts his tongue out over his lips, cold wild biting his
skin, and watches as Sam lunges swiftly to stop the ball before it can make it
into the net. He hits the ground with a grunt and comes up with a wide,
triumphant smile. The whistle blows, there’s enthusiastic clapping from one
side of the field, and the teams huddle up in a congratulatory pile. Sam slips
away and jogs over to Dean, beaming, and asks excitedly “Did ya see me?”
             Dean reaches out and ruffles his sweaty mop and snorts back “No
kid, been standin’ here an hour and I missed the whole damn thing,” he whistles
lowly, staring over Sam’s head, an exaggerated leer on his lips “some of these
moms, man, hot damn.” Sam glares at him, ruining the effect by laughing, and
throws himself into Dean’s arms.
             “You are such an ass.” Sam says with feeling, shoving his arms
into Dean’s jacket and around his back. It’s freezing out and his soccer gear
doesn’t really do much in the way of warmth. Dean is warm, almost too warm, and
Sam sighs delightedly as he presses himself against Dean’s front, soaking up
his heat.
             “You know it baby.” Dean says smoothly, not all that upset by the
added addition of Sam’s grimy arms. His shirts have seen far worse. Dean
crushes Sam against him, arms tight around his back, and rubs circles over his
back, trying to warm him up. “I might have stopped my mom watching long enough
to watch you kick some serious ass, every now and again.” Dean adds
nonchalantly, angling his hips a certain way so Sam can’t feel his hard-on.
              Sam’s answering smile is blinding and Dean gives him a crooked
grin, eye full of pride and steps back, disentangling Sam, so he can shuck off
his coat and drop the overlarge thing around Sam’s shoulders.
             The wind whips through his thin t-shirt immediately and he’s
nipping something fierce, but the sight of Sam, warm and snuggly in the coat he
knows smells heavily of him is well worth frosty nips.
             Sam holds it closed with one hand and jogs over to get his sports
duffel, reaching down to peel off his shin guards and drop them in before
hefting it over his shoulder. The strap bites into his shoulder a little and he
takes one look at Dean’ face and knows they’re walking back in to the motel.
              “Aww, come on.” He grumbles half-heartedly, not looking forward
to the mile walk back but knowing it’s inevitable. Dean rolls his eyes and
takes Sam’s duffel, slinging it over his shoulder while dropping down onto a
knee so Sam can clamber onto his back. Sam does, with a victorious whoop, and
tightens his legs around Dean’s middle so he doesn’t fall.
             “Whiny little bitch.” He mutters affectionately, hefting Sam up
higher so he can get a better grip on Sam’s thighs. Sam is warm against his
back, skin still flushed from the game he’d just played, and Dean swallows hard
to push back the pleased little sound he wants to make as Sam’s front presses
completely against his back.
              His body radiates heat and Dean just wants to hold him down and
rut against him, absorb that vital warmth and give it right back in equal
measure. He carries Sam’s weight like it’s nothing, striding past moms and
grass stained teenagers, Sam bouncing a little with each step.
             Sam leans in close to Dean’s ear from behind and whispers “You
know it baby.” as smugly as he possibly can, right against the reddening shell.
Dean goes stiff and Sam purposefully blows a hot breath against the back of
Dean’s ear. Dean shudders and retaliates by rubbing slow, teasing circles over
Sam’s thighs with his thumbs.
             One of Sam’s team-members calls out congratulations and Sam jumps
guiltily, arms going tight around Dean’s throat. His cheeks flush and Dean’s
choked gurgle is covered up by Sam’s answering holler. Sam leans back to wave
goodbye to his team, his forearm digging into Dean’s adam’s apple. Dean pinches
Sam’s thigh and Sam lets up, grinning sheepishly, and buries his face into
Dean’s shoulder to guard against the cold.
              “Sorry.” Sam laughs, voice muffled against Dean’s shirt, not even
a little sorry.
             “Sorry my saggy left nut.” Dean snorts and pinches him again;
getting in deep and making sure he feels the sting. “Eww, whys the left one so
saggy?” Sam chuckles back, nose wrinkling a little. “Genetics, Sammy my boy,
genetics.” Dean replies, tone solemn, and bounces Sam, almost making him lose
his grip. Sam sinks his teeth into the meat of Dean’s shoulder to reap his
vengeance and slips his cold hands down the collar of Dean’s shirt to press
against his burning hot skin.
              Sam feels Dean tense and grins triumphantly around his mouthful
of shirt and skin, numb fingers regaining feeling at long last. Dean flinches
and Sam leans back to survey the wet out line he’s left on Dean’s shoulder.
It’s probably going to bruises and Sam allows himself a small, possessive
smile.   
           Dean’s breathing a little harder, Sam can feel the rise and fall of
Dean’s back against his chest, and Sam smirks a little and drags the flat of
his tongue over the wet spot. “You are gonna get it punk.” Dean murmurs
threateningly, fingers digging into Sam’s thighs. They’re leaving the field,
parents and children now small blurs, and Sam wriggles against Dean’s back,
settling himself up higher, his fingers dipping lower inside Dean’s shirt.
          “You gonna be the one the give it to me, big boy?” Sam purrs back,
feeling ornery and pumped up. Dean laughs, low and rough and more than a little
dirty, and picks up the pace. “Oh yeah, sweetheart, gonna give it to you good.”
Dean drawls, hard despite the stupid banter. Maybe because of the stupid
banter. It’s hard to tell by this point.
           “Can’t wait.” Sam breathes back, fingers slipping down so he can
drag his nails over Dean’s nipple. It’s a bit of a stretch, but he manages.
Dean grits his teeth, Sam’s warm fingers setting off little sparks of pleasure
and narrows his eyes. He slows down, sets up an easy pace despite his freezing
legs, and shifts from wide, firm circles to smaller, more controlled brushes of
his thumbs over the outside of Sammy’s thighs.
            Sam pouts, a small downward twist to his lips, and rocks back a
little bit before titling forward, resting his chin against Dean’s shoulder.
           “Deaaaan.” Sam whines right into Dean’s ear, tone husky, the cradle
of his hips pressed snug against Dean’s back.
           “Saaammm.” Dean mocks back, dutifully ignoring the shiver of arousal
and picking up the pace just a little. His arms are burning and his breaths are
coming quicker, but he bears Sam’s weight easily. Their motel is just a few
blocks in the distance, the neon sign not-so-proudly proclaiming it to be the
Passerby Motel, although enough of the letters have burned out that it just
reads “Assby Motl.”
             Dean breaks into a light jog, Sam’s arms adjusting around his
throat, and crosses the distance in about two minutes, coming to a stop in
front of the peeling, bright green door. He raises his hand about shoulder
level, palm up, and waits for the flowery monstrosity to drop into his hand. It
takes Sam a second, but he eventually digs it out of Dean’s never-ending
pockets.
            Jostling Sam’s weight to one side, he jams the key home, the bright
purple and pinks of the crudely painted flowers on the block of wood attached
looking out of place in Dean’s hand, and twists the door open. “Huzzah, home at
long last.” Sam drawls sarcastically, dropping off Dean’s back and slinking
tiredly into the room.
         “Ya know kid, that almost sounded like heavy sarcasm.” Dean slaps him
on the ass and drops Sam’s duffel, grinning at Sam’s yelp and leaning down to
stretch out his back. His legs are numb and he massages his calves to get
feeling back in them, jamming a towel under the edge of the door to keep the
heat in while he’s down there.
           Sam flops face first into their bed and groans, muscles protesting,
and flips over onto his back. “Mmm, oh God, yeah.” He moans delightedly,
settling into the crap motel bed and kicking off his cleats. Dean shakes his
head and shucks out of his jeans and shoes, because seriously, fuck pants, and
kicks up the heater a few degrees. “You,” Dean jabs a finger at Sam “are a
goddamn tease.”
            Sam’s sprawls out over the bed, all grass stained skin and the
scent of sweat, looking downright fuckable. Dean swallows hard and saunters
forward, the stiffy he’d been sporting earlier coming back with a vengeance.
“Sure am.” Sam agrees easily, eyes flicking to the growing tent in Dean’s
boxers and back up to his face. His heart rate kicks up when Dean climbs onto
the bed and Sam shifts, getting comfy, and lets his knees fall open a little.
         The slinky fabric of his shorts stretches taut over his thighs, the
hard outline of his cock plainly visible. Sam bites his lip and Dean wets his,
gripping Sam’s knees and easing them open so he can slide smoothly between
them. Dean settles in, sitting criss cross applesauce, and pulls Sam forward by
the hips so his ass ends up in Dean’s lap, his legs wrapping snug around Dean’s
back.
            Sam lifts his hips up, slotting them soundly against Dean, and
rolls his hips down, Dean’s dick rubbing against the crease of his ass. “Mmm,
been thinking ‘bout this all day.” Sam murmurs softly, arms stretched above his
head. Dean snorts, a hot throb of arousal spiking through him, and slides his
hands around to grip Sam’s ass-cheeks. “Really now?” Dean drawls, digging his
fingers in and massaging.
               “Really.” Sam grins back, and knocks Dean forward using his
heels, Dean’s face close enough that he can make out each and every freckle.
Grinning slyly, Sam darts forward to drag his tongue over the line of Dean’s
mouth, slicking his lips with spit and sliding inside just enough to tease.
            Dean flicks his tongue out and slides it heatedly against Sam’s for
a seriously hot second before leaning down and kissing Sam deep and hard. Dean
hesitates though, pulling back and staring down at Sam’s flushed face. He licks
his lips, almost nervously, and looks seriously down at Sam. “You sure kiddo?”
Dean asks, rubbing slow circles over the skin of Sam’s thighs. Sam’s derisive
snort is answer enough, coupled with the impatient roll of his hips.
           “This isn’t first time we’ve screwed Dean, are you seriously going
to put yourself through a guilt trip every time we bone?” Sam asks bluntly,
lips curling up at the corners. Sam rocks his hips down onto Dean’s dick and
watches the minute shudder that shakes through Dean’s frame with half-lidded
eyes.
           “I’m robbin’ the cradle kid; I’m allowed to feel a little guilt.”
Sam gives him a disbelieving look and if he were standing, would have both
hands on his hips “I’m fifteen Dean. Fifteen and I fight monsters, for fuck’s
sake, I can take a dick or two if I want.” Dean grins, startled into laughter
by Sam’s crass exclamation.
            “But only after you finish your homework.” Dean says in a motherly
tone, shaking his head down at Sam, smirk lopsided. “Don’t know about two, hows
about we try for one?” Sam’s a little red in the face, but he gives an
imperious nod and says “I suppose the one will do.” and then tweaks Dean’s
nipple out of spite.
             Sam’s hooks a finger under the elastic of his sock and goes to
pull it down, skin flushed and eyes dark. Dean’s hand stops him before he can
slide it off completely and mutters in a rough voice “Keep ‘em on.” Sam sucks
in a hard breath, pre-come smearing against the cotton of his boxers, and
slowly pulls it back up, hyper aware of Dean’s eyes on his skin.
            “You are a dirty, dirty man.” Sam laughs into the empty air between
them, shimmying his hips a little to get comfortable in Dean’s lap. He presses
his heals pointedly into the small of Dean’s back, urging him down. Dean
obliges, grinning shamelessly as he covers Sam’s mouth. They share a slow, wet
kiss and then Dean’s pulling back a hungry look in his eye as he drags his gaze
down Sam’s body.
            “Ain’t no denying that, sweetheart.” Dean purrs, dick tenting his
boxers and arousal pooling low and hot in his belly.
             Sam stretches, joints popping, and rolls his hips down onto Dean,
the hard outline of Dean’s cock pressing against the clothed crease of his ass.
He moans, dick straining the material of his grass-stained shorts, and drags
his fingers up his aching length, eyes never leaving Dean’s.
              Dean bites his bottom lip hard, grinding against Sam’s ass and
growling out a moan that Sam feels in his chest. Leaning past Sam, he jerks
open the bedside table and fumbles for the lube, having to dig down pretty deep
before his fingers close around the tube of KY. Hastily, Sam sits up; pulling
his legs from around Dean’s waist and pushing his shorts and boxers down around
his knees.
              Sam flips over as Dean settles back onto the bed, on his knees
with his ass in the air and his face in the pillow. Dean whistles lowly and
mutters appreciatively in the thick silence “Eager little thing.” Sam laughs,
embarrassed, and buries his face completely in the pillow with a sheepish
laugh. Dean grins and pops the cap, slicking three of his fingers and watching
on intently as Sam shivers in response, chill bumps rising on his skin.
              “Get on with it, chuckle-fuck.” Sam groans into the crook of his
arm. Dean’s response is to slide a cold, slick finger down the crease of Sam’s
ass. Sam goes stiff, breathy moan leaving him before he can stop it, and grinds
back, a sharp grunt leaving him when Dean circles his entrance with tight, slow
circles.
                “Really know how to woo a gal, Sammy.” Dean tuts mockingly at
the impatient thrust of his hips and slips his finger in up to the first
knuckle, Sam’s muscles clenching down around his finger. Sam breathes out a
harsh “yesss.” and open opens his knees wider, Dean’s finger sliding in deeper.
There’s a little burn to go with the stretch, but Sam can take it. Dean takes a
second to admire how easily Sam’s body accepts him before pushing in up to the
last knuckle.
                He twists it a little, giving Sammy time to get used to it,
before pulling out and easing in a second. Sam’s eyes close, fingers closing
around the bars of the headboard, and he rocks back onto Dean’s fingers,
moaning lowly as Dean stretches him. Sam’s back arches when Dean scissors his
fingers, little sparks of pleasure zinging up his spine as Dean shifts tactics,
adding a third finger almost immediately.
              Sam hisses a little, trying to relax around Dean’s digits, and
presses back slowly, hole loosening gradually as Dean pumps his fingers into
Sam. “God Sammy, you take it so well.” Dean mutters roughly, Sam’s heat
clenched down around his fingers. Sam’s cock throbs in response and he murmurs
“More.” voice only cracking a little.
              Dean slips his fingers free carefully and jerks his boxers down
with his other hand, wrapping his slick hand around his leaking cock the second
his boxers are down far enough. He groans loudly, unable to resist giving
himself a hard stroke before squeezing a dollop of lube into his hand and
lubing himself up.
                 “Sure thing, baby.” Dean rumbles, rising up on his knees and
positioning his head at Sam’s entrance. Sam shudders, cock throbbing hard as
Dean’s voice curls hot at the base of his dick. Sam’s entire body jolts when
Dean’s tip presses against his rim and the breath is punched from his lungs
when Dean presses in. Their moans layer each other’s and Sam grinds back onto
Dean’s cock, biting his cheek as he takes Dean inch by inch.
                It burns, ‘course it does, but Sam takes it all greedily, not
stilling until Dean’s hips are snug against his ass. Sam can feel his own
pulse, is sure that Dean can feel it too, and groans, ragged and low, as Dean
rocks slowly into him. Dean grips Sam’s hips with both hands, one of which
leaves a sticky hand print against Sam’s skin, and eases out so just his head
is enveloped in Sam’s burning heat.
                The second thrust is easier, Dean’s fingers digging into the
skin of Sam’s hips and gripping for leverage. Sam’s muscles bear down on him
and Dean grits his teeth, sweat collecting on his skin as he fucks into Sam,
slow and easy. Sam unclenches his hand from the headboard so he can wrap his
shaking fingers around his cock and jack himself quick and rough.
                Dean huffs out a wry little breath and picks up the pace,
pounding into Sam hard enough that his balls slap against Sam’s ass. Dean can
feel his orgasm building, slow at first and then suddenly it’s there, just
behind his eyelids, and Sam’s moaning almost steadily and driving his hips back
onto Dean’s cock.
              Dean comes buried deep inside of Sam, the spasmodic clenching of
Sam’s muscles coaxing every last drop of come from him while Sam’s steady
stream of “Oh God Dean, right fucking there.” echo obscenely in his ears. A
delicious shudder wracks him and he thrusts into Sam a few more times, hips
stuttering, before stilling. Sam comes seconds after, Dean’s hips jack-
hammering into him while his come stripes his hand and the sheet under him.
         Sam’s chest is heaving, eyes squeezed shut as his hand slides loose
and sloppy over his dick. Dean’s come coats his insides, nearly hot enough to
burn, and Dean flops down onto his back, making Sam grunt as he takes Dean’s
full weight against his back. Dean presses an open-mouth kiss to the back of
Sam’s neck, his damp hair tickling Dean’s nose, and then pulls out with quiet
groan.
           He rolls of Sam’s back and spoon up behind him, not even a little
bothered by the come and sweat drying on his skin as he catches his breath,
grinning dopely up at the ceiling.      
             And in the panting silence that follows, Dean does the
unforgivable. Voice rough and warm, he leans in close to Sam’s ear, breath
brushing hot over the shell, and drawls “Goaaaal.” in a sleepy, sated tone.
             Sam sucks in a deep breath, to tell Dean off for the unforgivable
thing he just did, and chokes on his own spit out of pure shock. Wheezing, Sam
chokes out vehemently “You are so not getting any ever again.” and jerks his
shorts up, come beginning to leak down his thighs, and stomps all the way to
the bathroom, furious laughter bubbling up in his throat.
           Sam can feel the pure, unaltered smugness that Dean’s radiating and
resolves not to give Dean any for at least a month. And if after Sam showers he
sneaks out silently, Dean conked out on their bed, and walks to the supermarket
that’s a few blocks over to buy pink hair dye, well that’s his business. 
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