Title: Good to Talk...
By: Consternatio
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest
Spoilers: Asylum and Scarecrow
A/N: This is a sequel to A Little Fetish. I'm not sure if this is AU or not. It's implied that Scarecrow happens right after Asylum, but I wrote this before I watched Scarecrow.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, sadly. No, not even the car.
Summary: Sam wants to apologise. Dean's not one for talking. Something has to give.


Sam's been waiting for the regret to kick in for the last three days. Ever since that surreal scene when he discovered a previously unrealised kink for sex involving guns, and his brother. So far, he's had some mild and random guilt, the fear that everyone will be able to tell what they've done, and a vague sense of disconnection.

He can't escape the way the word incest rattles around his brain. It was so damned wrong, and despite being so damned hot, and Sam is more sure than ever that he's bought himself a one way ticket to hell. Somehow, the lack of regret just makes the sense of guilt that much sharper.

Nothing, however, dims the memory of going down on his brother, of the feel of Dean's gun against his cock, of demanding kisses and cold metal and heat and passion.

It would be much easier if he could stop feeling the gun sliding over his skin, the feel of Dean's cock in his mouth, his brother's firm grip as he stroked Sam's cock. The sensations catch him off guard, phantom touches making him shiver at random and unexpected moments. Sam's been half hard for pretty much the entire three days.

Dean, of course, doesn't appear, on the surface, to be suffering from any sense of opprobrium at all, although there have been odd moments when Sam's caught an odd expression on Dean's face, or heard a catch in his voice. Sam's pretty sure that Dean was as blindsided by this out of nowhere shift in their relationship as Sam was. But Dean, being Dean, isn't talking.

Sam knows that's somewhat unfair. They've barely had time to eat or sleep since they arrived in this town, to find more weird shit going on, let alone discuss what the hell took hold of them on that dark country road.

Right now, for example, he's on one side of town, digging around in the library archives, and breathing more dust than can surely be healthy, while Dean is somewhere on the other side, asking questions, and no doubt pissing people off. Dean has an undeniable talent for getting under people's skin. Sometimes it gets the information, more often, it gets them thrown off of people's property. Sam wouldn't have let Dean go on his own, but they've been in this middle-of-nowhere town for three days, without finding a single damned clue as to what the hell is haunting the place.

Three days of reading endless newspaper clippings, three nights of wandering the woods, hoping for a clue. Three days of trying to concentrate on research instead of the way Dean kisses, three nights of trailing behind his brother, caught between the desire to slam Dean against a tree and finish what his brother started, and the knowledge that just thinking that is wrong.

Sam knows that they're going to have to discuss this shift in their relationship, sooner or later, however much Dean hates it. Normally, he'd have already cornered Dean and forced him to talk, but for once, Sam doesn't quite know what to say. His head knows it can't happen again, but his body has other ideas. His body wants to know what it would be like to have Dean's mouth on his cock, what it would feel like to let Dean fuck him, or, dear god, to fuck Dean. Every time he figures out how to start the conversation, Dean throws him a look, or sucks on a pen and Sam loses his train of thought completely.

He's very glad he's tucked away in a far corner of the library as he shifts on the uncomfortable chair, hand slipping between his legs, ostensibly to rearrange his cock. Before he realises it though, his hand is stroking, hips rocking up slightly.

Sam jerks his hand away, just as his cell phone goes off. The fact that it's in his jeans pocket, and set to vibrate doesn't help either his physical, or mental state. He fumbles for the phone, cursing under his breath, knowing that it's Dean calling, and doesn't his brother's sense of timing just suck.


"Is that anyway to talk to your big brother?"

"Sorry. How'd you get on?" Sam hopes Dean doesn't hear the breathlessness in his voice. It's slight, but Dean's very, very good at picking up on things like that. Sam wonders if it's some kind of older brother shit, being able to spot any weakness to exploit.

"Nothing worth mentioning. What have you been up to?" Somehow Dean manages to make that simple sentence suggestive. At least, Sam thinks it's Dean. Hopes it's Dean. He's really not ready yet to deal with the possibility that it might be because he *wants* to hear that suggestive tone in his brother's voice.

He shouldn't be wanting his brother this way, shouldn't be sitting in what passes for the library of some backwater town, more than half hard, and he definitely shouldn't be thinking about all the things they could be doing back at their motel room. He should be disgusted, not aroused by the fact that he's fantasising about his brother.

"Uh." Sam's lost for words, a rush of inappropriate lust catching him by surprise.

"You sound a bit breathless there Sammy, what have you been doing?" Dean sounds amused, and it annoys Sam enough that he finds his voice again.

"Nothing. I'm in the library, remember? Drowning in ancient newsprint and dust." Righteous indignation. Yeah, that'll work.

"So, it's naughty thoughts then Sammy?" Oh, fuck. Sam knows he's doomed. Dean's voice is still amused, but now Sam can hear something else, simmering just below the amusement; something that sounds suspiciously like lust, and maybe, just a little uncertainty. It's the hint of vulnerability, the realisation that Dean's maybe struggling to understand what's happening that prevents Sam from putting the phone down and leaving, before this gets any worse.

"No!" Sam feels like banging his head on the table in disgust, because even to his ears, that didn't sound remotely convincing.

"It's not nice to lie to your brother Sammy." Sam can't even be bothered to correct Dean on that damned stupid nickname. It shouldn't be possible for anyone to sound so fucking provocative over the phone.

"Fuck off Dean." Which is as good as an admission that Dean's right, but Sam really doesn't have anything else to say. They've never been any good at lying to each other, and Sam knows that Dean's not going to let this drop, no matter what Sam says.

The familiarity of their interaction only serves to make their conversation more surreal. Sam doesn't understand how it can feel so comfortable, and yet so exciting, so good, and so perverse.

The laugh that rumbles down the phone line makes Sam squirm just a little. He has a sudden premonition about where this conversation is going to go, and it makes his cock twitch, and he can't catch the little gasp before it escapes his lips. He is absolutely not sitting in the library, having phone sex with his brother.

Sam hears the curse that Dean mutters under his breath, and any thought of hanging up disappears. It reminds him of Dean's voice in the dark, of the way his brother's body tensed and the feel and taste of him coming in Sam's mouth. This is going to become a dangerous addiction, and Sam's already hooked.

"Is that what you were thinking about Sam? Fucking?" Sam shivers. He can't stop his legs spreading, or prevent his hand dropping to his lap again.

"Dean, what the hell are you talking about?" Sam holds his breath, unable to say what he wants more, Dean to laugh and tell him to get a grip; just another prank between brothers, or to keep talking in that sinful voice, keep filling Sam's ears with words like 'fuck', and 'breathless'.

"I'm wondering what you're doing right now Sammy. I'm wondering if you're touching yourself. I'm want to know what you're thinking about. Are you thinking about fucking Sam? Are you thinking about us fucking, little brother?"

How the hell is Sam supposed to think about anything else? It's like the night after they'd left the asylum. It's like the world stops and nothing but the two of them exists, the way it used to be.

"Christ Dean."

"Tell me. What were you thinking about Sammy?"

"I..I can't, Dean... come on, man..."

"Sure you can. What are you doing Sam? Are you touching yourself? Tell me."

"Fuck, yes, ok, yes." Sam can hear the breathless lust in his own voice now, knows he's going to do whatever Dean asks.

Dean's breathing hitches, and Sam can just imagine him, sitting in his car, hand down his jeans, stroking his cock. The shockingly erotic image made Sam's hips jerk, made his hand tighten on his cock, made him bite his lip, vaguely aware that he was still in a public place.

"What were you thinking earlier Sammy? I want to know what gets you hot, what makes you come." Sam closes his eyes, swallowing. So wrong, to be doing this, here, with Dean, but fuck, his brother sounds like sex personified right now, voice low and rough with arousal.

Sam doesn't want to admit to his thoughts, as if speaking them out loud will give them life, will give the sinfulness it's rightful name. He wants to keep his eyes closed, wants to listen to his brother's voice, saying these lewd, wicked things.

"Were you thinking about my mouth on you Sam? Does the thought of me sucking your cock turn you on?" Sam holds back the groan that wants to break free, but he can't stop the whimper that follows. Suddenly rubbing his cock through his jeans isn't enough, and Sam pops the top button, and slides his hand inside, curling his fingers, as best he could around his cock, trying to pretend he isn't remembering the way Dean's hand felt three nights ago.

"Can you feel it Sam? Can you imagine what it'd feel like?" Sam's hand is hampered by his jeans, but he daren't open anymore buttons, and despite the awkwardness, he's getting enough friction to make him pant, the sound alarmingly loud in the quiet of the library. Sam's barely surprised that the risk of being caught merely adds to the thrill. Compared to the seriousness of what he and Dean are doing, being caught wanking in a public library is nothing.

"Shit, yes. Oh god."

"You think about us fucking Sammy? Have you fantasised about me fucking you? Or did you want to fuck me?" Dean's voice is strained, breathing heavily, and the sound of his brother's obvious arousal is as titillating as his words.

Sam bites his lip. His wrist aches, his fingers are cramping, his cock is starting to feel raw, and he doesn't care. All he cares about is coming, and hearing Dean come.

"Yes, oh fuck, yes Dean. Want to fuck, oh god, I'm going to hell, but yes, I want to fuck, want you to fuck me."

Dean sucks in a sudden breath and releases a shuddering groan that makes Sam shiver with pleasure.

"Yes. Oh yes. Fuck." Dean's voice is a growl, and all Sam can think about is the two of them, limbs tangled on some anonymous hotel bed, kissing, and touching, and, oh god, fucking.

Sam is so close to orgasm. He can feel his muscles tensing, can feel the pleasure building. He can hear Dean's breathing growing increasingly laboured, and the knowledge that he's hearing his brother falling apart, at the thought of the two of them like that is enough to drive Sam into orgasm, his hand still stroking.

Somewhere in the middle of his own climax, he hears Dean swearing and groaning, obviously coming too.

For a few minutes, their conversation consists of pants and gasps, and occasional whimpers. Sam's slumped in the chair, hand aching, cock raw, and his pants unpleasantly sticky.

Eventually, reason reasserts itself, and Sam drags his hand free, wiping his fingers on his shorts and doing up his jeans. He doesn't know what to say to Dean, rocked by what they've done, by the pleasure that's left him shaking.

"So." Dean's voice is hoarse, and as shaky as Sam feels.

"Yeah, so."

Long moments of calming breathing and loaded silence. Sam wonders, with a sick feeling, if this is where it all falls apart.

Sam holds his breath as Dean clears his throat.

"Right. So, once this hunt's over, you reckon there's a motel bed somewhere with out name on it?" Sam tells himself he has to say no. He can't possibly say anything else. What they've done so far is madness, but it's been impulsive, opportunistic. What Dean's suggesting is planned. It's a step too far.

"Sam?" And that nervous tone is back in Dean's voice. Stronger now and Sam knows there's no point pretending. He wants this, wants it as much as Dean obviously does. It helps, knowing that neither of them is entirely certain about what' happening.

"Somewhere with no ghosts, no ghouls, no pagan gods and definitely no werewolves." He tells Dean.

Dean's laugh is warm, amused, and relieved. Sam grins, knowing that Dean is doing the same.

"Done. Meet me in the bar, we need to compare notes."


"The sooner we get done here, little brother, the sooner we can be heading for that hotel room..."

Sam has to admit that his brother has a point. He tells Dean he'll met him in half an hour, then gathers his research, holds his jacket in front of him to hide the damp spot in his jeans and leaves.

He doesn't know what's going to happen, doesn't know how they're going to deal with this shift in their relationship, but he's sure they'll be ok, somehow. They have to be.


Next story in series - Bad Habits.