Chapter Text
Practice was long and hot. Coach had been pushing them for the past hour. Every player was on the brink of exhaustion. But adrenaline was fighting back, forcing them to keep running, keep tackling, keep winning.
Dean’s heart was pounding as he sped across the field. Behind him a crowd of his teammates, all ready to force him to the ground. Just the way he liked practice. Somewhere beside him the girls were rehearsing their cheers for the big game, loud and high, most likely full of twists and turns as to show off their panties to the passing players. They barely registered in his mind. He was only focused on the end zone.
30 yards. 20 yards. 15 yards.
A solid weight crashed on top of him, pushing him into the ground. The weight was spread flush, covering the entirety of his back, legs, and ass. The football, knocked out of his hands, bounced harmlessly to the side.
Dean shoved his head into the turf. He was so close. He could have made it.
The mysterious weight pushed off of him. He twisted around to try to look the offender in the eyes. Although he had to squint in the sun, he could easily see Victor’s smug grin.
“Next time, Winchester, just pass it to someone.”
He held out his hand, which Dean graciously took. “Where’s the fun in that, Hendrickson?”
Victor just shook his head and went back to the rest of the Fremont team. Dean’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the curve of his back, down below his ass, as he walked away. He quickly shook it off, and hustled over to the group.
“Alright,” Victor called, using his commanding captain voice. “Every, make sure you all bring your uniforms home with you tomorrow after classes, cause the bus for the playoffs leaves the next morning at 7:30 am.” There was a collective groan from the team. “What if I tell you that the Doughnut Hole has agreed to donate 4 dozen doughnuts?"
Cheers and hoots exploded from the group, which Victor could only roll his eyes at.
“Come on guys,” Dean piped up. “Let’s remember what’s really important. Killing the Rangers this year!”
The team exploded with cries for victory and revenge on the rival team. Even Victor cracked a smile at the antics. Dean glanced over to the cheerleaders, who were also just finishing up. He excused himself and headed over to head cheerleader Lisa Braeden, his girlfriend.
He tapped her on the shoulder, prompting a surprise squeak and eventual peck on the lips. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Can you help me get my pom poms to the car?”
Dean nodded, picking them up and letting Lisa lead the way, like the gentleman he was. They crossed the emptying field, the turf crunching under their feet.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” she sighed.
He gave her a warm smile. “It’s only a few hours before you go.”
“Yeah, right.” She muttered. “Right.”
Dean turned to face her. “Aren’t you excited? It’s the playoffs.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Lisa opened his car door and dropped inside the passenger seat without another word. Dean didn’t get it. The playoffs were always a ton of fun: a bunch of different teams all tackling each other to win the championship. Why wouldn’t that be amazing?
He go into the driver’s seat and was instantly pulled on to Lisa’s mouth. Her tongue plunged inside his mouth, swirling along every crevice it could find. Her eyes were closed; obscene moans were escaping.
Dean just kept his eyes open and took it. He didn’t really feel anything when Lisa kissed him, but that’s she wanted so he would happily let her.
She brought her hand up to the back of his head, pulling at the short hairs by his neck. He tried to mimic the movement, although he was sure it was obviously more stilted and awkward. He slowly moved his tongue against her dominating one, trying to make it more enjoyable for her.
His eyes fell on the steering wheel, the car mirror, really anywhere but on Lisa’s face. Dean could feel his eyes wandering from the boredom, focusing on the day’s practice. Images flooded his mind: of his teammate’s broad shoulders and the uniforms stretching over them. Their strained crotches covered in thin tights leaving nothing to the imagination. Teenage boys running, their asses bouncing slightly from the movement. He let out a tiny moan.
Pulled back from Lisa with a forced smile. It never felt right with her; maybe everyone’s first girlfriend was like that.
She just pouted at his actions. “Oh come on, baby.”
“I have to get home for dinner.” He wiped away the tremendous amount of Lisa spit on his face with the back of his hand.
He looked up to see Lisa’s puppy dogs eyes. “Please,” she whined.
He breathed out and gave her a hint of a smile. “Well,” Lisa stared right into his eyes. “Alright.”
She grinned and dived back in, tongue first. His mind wandered again as his mouth was under attack. The players’ skin glistening with sweat, the muscles rippling underneath. The flying of sweat droplets when one would take their helmet off and shake their wet hair.
He could put up with a few more minutes of this.
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The dinner his mom made smelled amazing: steak, mashed potatoes, and vegetables. His mom was a fantastic cook and he always enjoyed her meals. Surrounding the Winchester’s cramped dining room was the murmur of family life.
“That’s some beef.”
“And carrots.”
“Yummy.”
“Thanks mom.”
Finally the family of four was all situated: parents John and Mary at the head of the table with Dean and his younger brother Sam on either side. The Winchesters lowered their heads and grasped hands for grace, an act Dean had simply become adjust to performing.
As normal John lead it off. “Dear lord, please bless this food we are about to eat, and we thank you for the abundance that you have provided. Please help us to follow your path, the one you intended us all to follow. And lord,” his father paused for a moment, “please help us to obey the rules in life you set for us.”
Dean opened his eyes to see his father’s eyes locked right on him. “For all that is natural, and,” John paused again,” healthy ... and sacred.” His father looked up at the ceiling, as if God was perched on their chandelier. “In your name we pray. Amen.”
Dean and the rest of his family repeated the amen and dug into the meal. He pushed his father’s weird behavior out of his mind. Playoffs were in less than 48 hours. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.
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Mary couldn’t help but notice how refreshed Dean looked the next morning. Blissfully unaware of what would soon be upon him. He rushed down the stairs, grabbing a hot slice of toast off the plate Mary held out for him. He kissed her on the cheek, saying his regular morning goodbyes.
“See you later, Sweetie,” she replied, doing her best to muster the confidence that was expected of her.
Dean grabbed Sam, who was in the middle of a bite of cereal and gave an indignant huff to the forceful contact. “Come on, we’re going to be late,” he stated. Sam rolled his eyes and grumbled, but nonetheless followed Dean.
“Don’t forget your library books by the door,” Mary called after the boys. Dean gave her a salute, picked up the pile of books, and exited the house.
With the audible click of the front door John threw down the paper he had been attempting to read and turned to his wife. “So, are we ready?”
“They’ll be here at 3:00.” She signed, steadying herself by leaning on the kitchen counter. “Jesus, I hope we’re doing the right thing.”
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Victor could see Dean run down the hallway just as the warning bell rang through the building. Practically late, as always. He came up to two other players on the team, Harry and Ed, interrupting their conversation on the latest TV shows.
He wrapped his arms around their shoulders, oblivious to the duo’s uncomfortable faces. “Shaker Hill, here we come.” The turned out of Dean’s grasps and made their way in the opposite direction. “And remember,” he called after them, “7:30’s doughnuts.”
Victor shook his head at the boy’s actions and turned back to his conversation with Lisa.
“Did you talk to his parents?” she asked.
Victor was about to respond when he noticed Dean only a few feet away. “He’s here,” he whispered.”
Dean came up behind Lisa and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Hey, how’s everyone doing?”
He bent down to kiss Lisa on the cheek. She in turn moved to capture his mouth with her open one. He let her tongue engulf him, wide eyed and slacked jawed. As she pulled away Lisa rubbed his letterman jacket. “Meet you outside,” she said quietly. Victor could hear to tinge of disappointment, but he was sure it was lost on Dean.
As Lisa walked away Dean wiped away the spit from his mouth and opened his locker. Being next to his, Victor could easily see the inside, decorated with magazine cut outs of the very male sStar Trek cast and Nathan Fillion. It was so different from victor’s own, which was decked out with hot models and football quotes.
“Don’t you hate it when they do that?”
Dean’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Did he mean kissing?
“I think it’s fun,” he offered with a smirk, grabbing his books from his locker.
Dean gave a small shrug. “Maybe she’s not doing it right.”
Victor didn’t quite doubt it - Lisa’s kisses were a little too much. But that clearly wasn’t the only problem.
Dean grabbed his books for class and shut his locker with a loud thud. “See ya,” he huffed out as he headed to homeroom.
“Bye,” Victor shot back. As soon as he saw Dean turn the corner, he opened Dean’s locker, the combination previously memorized from the numerous times Dean had begged him to grab something out of it. Victor glared at the spread of Chris Pine from some fashion magazine, see-through shirt and pants riding low on his hips. He ripped the thing from the door and stuffed it in his notebook. It would be useful this afternoon.