Work Text:
Night time in Wellington. The arrival of darkness had chased the heat of day away and a gentle breeze stirred the air. All was quiet, except for the occasional sound of wind rustling the leaves of the bushes outside. It was the epitome of peacefulness.
Until a sudden loud ringing broke the silence.
Dean blearily opened his eyes. It took him a second to realise where the noise was coming from but once he did he was immediately wide awake. His phone lay ringing on his nightstand, the vibrating setting making it tremble and dance on the wood.
Getting midnight phone calls could only mean one of two things: someone from the other end of the world was trying to contact him and in the process had forgotten about the existence of time zones, or something was terribly wrong.
With sleep clinging to the corners of his consciousness Dean reached out and grabbed the offending piece of technology, noting the name of the caller.
“Aidan?” Dean sat up with a start. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”
Dean’s gaze was already on the clock on his bedside table. 2.36 AM. Something must be terribly wrong for Aidan to call him at such an ungodly hour. His heart rate tripled as he waited for Aidan to answer him.
“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” came Aidan’s chipper reply and this time there was an unmistakable slur to his words. Dean frowned, rolled his eyes and fell back into bed. His lovely, warm bed where he had been thoroughly enjoying some time in Morpheus’ arms before one particular Irishman had decided to drunk dial him.
“Are you pissed?” Dean asked and even he was surprised by how calm he sounded when in fact all he could think about was to wring a certain someone’s neck.
“Nah, not really. A little, maybe. I just came home from the pub. You should have been there! Luke spent all evening salivating over some bloke like he’s twelve instead of 32 and when he finally did get his arse into gear and talked to him he...”
Dean had heard enough. He really couldn’t care less about Luke and his salivating if he tried. “Aidan, it’s the middle of the fucking night!”
“We have a day off tomorrow.”
Drunk man’s logic, but it was the truth. They could sleep in for as long as they wanted. Not that it was any consolation for Dean: he was missing precious sleep and with their insane filming schedule getting some rest was a rare commodity. A long-suffering sigh escaped Dean and he silently counted to ten before he spoke again.
“So you’re calling me for a nice midnight chat?”
A stumbling sound on the other end, a muttered curse, and then, “Yeah. I was thinking of you.”
Dean stared at the way the moon painted shadows on the walls of his bedroom, blinking as if that might give him an insight into Aidan Turner’s addled mind. “That’s nice, Aid. Truly, but I was asleep...”
“When I saw Luke with that guy I thought of you.”
That made Dean raise an eyebrow.
“You thought of me?” God, he sounded like a demented parrot. In fact, their entire conversation was starting to head in the direction of the utterly bizarre.
“Yeah.” Aidan’s voice had dropped even lower than usual, although the effect of the roughness was slightly ruined by his inebriated mangling of the words. “I was wondering what you would do if I kissed you.”
Dean sat up again as if hit by lightning. A drunken Aidan Turner he could deal with - God only knew he had done so quite a few times before. A drunken, horny Aidan Turner; well, that was an entirely different matter.
“Kissed me?” For fuck’s sake, he needed to stop repeating every word that left Aidan’s mouth. Their conversation, if one could call it that, was starting to spin out of control, but even as Dean realised that he was strangely fascinated by it at the same time.
“Hmm,” hummed Aidan as casually as if discussing the weather. “Would you let me?”
Indulge him. As far as Dean could decide that was the path to walk. Just indulge Aidan, get him to put the phone down and go the hell back to sleep. Chances were Aidan would remember very little of their little chat come morning, when his brain would be trying to pound its way out of his skull.
“Sure.” In a nice platonic, brotherly way, of course. Well, maybe the idea of having a non-platonic snog with Aidan had crossed Dean’s mind once or twice, but he wasn’t about to divulge that little fact, least of all if the protagonist of that fantasy was currently doing a great job of being utterly hammered.
Aidan’s reply was suspiciously devoid of slurred speech when it came and lot keener than Dean would have expected. “You would? Honestly?”
Dean was about to state that he had been taking the piss out of him, but he never got the chance.
“Why didn’t you tell me before? We could have done something about it.”
“Could have done...?” This time Dean caught himself in time before he repeated the entire sentence again. “How pissed are you?”
“I told you, only a little.” A soft thump, one very similar to the sound of Dean’s back hitting his mattress at the end of another long day. Aidan sighed, the sound drawn out and satisfied and Dean imagined him to burrow deeper into the duvet like an overgrown cat. And just when Dean thought the coast was clear and that they had glossed over any embarrassing topics, he came to the realisation that they weren’t quite done yet.
“So you would let me kiss you. That’s nice. Very nice.”
Aidan’s words weren’t quite loud enough to drown out the noise of a zipper being lowered and Dean’s eyebrow rose almost up to his hairline. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable.” Aidan’s voice sounded farther away and Dean knew he had turned on the speaker. He could distinctly hear the rustling of sheets and then a sudden, sharp intake of breath. Dean’s eyes widened and he swallowed convulsively.
“Don’t tell me you’re...”
“Hmm?” It sounded like a question, but Dean knew it wasn’t. Aidan’s mind was quite obviously fixed on other things.
“You can’t just have a wank while you’re talking to me!”
“Can’t I?” Another deep breath, this time ending on the barest of moans. Dean could feel heat start to creep across his cheeks at that sound and his cock twitched treacherously. What the hell were they doing? Dean wasn’t a prude, not by any stretch of the imagination, but this was fucking ridiculous. They were mates and they would have to face each other each and every day for months to come.
“Aidan...” Dean tried to sound threatening, he really did, but it came out more like something between a moan and a rather undignified squeak. A heady chuckle from the other end coloured Dean’s face an even deeper crimson. However, his embarrassment didn’t keep him from growing hard against his thigh.
“Touch yourself,” came the quiet command, Aidan’s voice as rough as gravel.
“Are you fucking mad?”
“Who is to know? It’s just you and me.”
“You and me having phone sex!” But Dean didn’t seem to be entirely in control of his own actions anymore as his right hand wandered down his chest to rub a thumb over a nipple. All against his will he sighed into the phone. He only became aware of what he was actually doing when he heard Aidan’s merry voice at the other end.
“You are touching yourself.”
“I...,” Dean began but he didn’t really know what to say. Aidan’s voice combined with the utter sinfulness of the situation, the forbiddenness of it all, was enough to make Dean rock hard and aching. “Aidan, what are we doing?”
“Having a laugh. Come on, don’t leave me hangin’!”
It occurred to Dean that Aidan didn’t seem abashed in the slightest by the whole thing and he wondered if he had ever done this before. Probably, with some girl or guy whilst on location. Dean had always preferred the feeling of skin on skin and even if he had had someone waiting for him at home the telephone costs had been massive and nothing would be transferred through the ether apart from a ‘hello’ and the occasional ‘I love you’. But this? This was new ground to tread and that made him feel ridiculously insecure.
“Damn it all to hell,” Dean muttered. He wasn’t a flustered virgin caught with a hand down his pants by his mother. For God’s sake, he was getting nearer to forty every day. He could do this. He could have nice, normal phone sex with his best on-set mate as if it was the most common thing in the world.
And so he switched on his own speaker, let his iPhone drop somewhere in the vicinity of his pillow and moved his hand south until he finally grasped his cock. He pumped once, slowly, letting go of a shuddering moan as liquid fire started to spread through his loins.
“That’s it,” Aidan cooed, the rhythm of his own breath changing abruptly as Dean expressed his satisfaction. For a long moment all that could be heard was their mutual heaving for oxygen, the occasional groan punctuating their pleasure.
The thrill of it all was heady, Aidan’s soft grunts hypnotic to Dean’s over-stimulated senses. It was far too easy for him to imagine what Aidan must look like: spread luxuriously across his bed, dark eyes pinched shut, darker head rolling on the pillow as his hand moved up and down to create sweet torture between his legs.
“I want you to fuck yourself.” Aidan’s vowels wrapped beautifully around the utter filth he was spouting, making it sound like poetry, and Dean whimpered helplessly. “I want to hear you beg and scream as you thrust those beautiful fingers deep into that lovely arse of yours. I want to hear it when you come so hard you can’t even remember your own name.”
“Damn you, Aidan,” Dean panted, the fingers of his free hand already halfway to his mouth. He had stopped thinking about what they were doing the moment he had wrapped his hand around his prick and so this next step wasn’t much of a hurdle to take.
His tongue darted out to wet his fingertips, licking once, before taking them deep. Meanwhile Aidan seemed to pick up on the noises Dean was making and he whispered, “Pretend it’s me. These are my fingers, my hand. God, Dean. I fuckin’ want you.”
Dean didn’t need any more than that. With all of his grey cells having dropped below the waist he trailed down his hand, palming over his cock, past his balls, until his fingers found his opening. He wanted to take it slowly, draw out this ridiculously raunchy game they were playing – even though the thing had long since stopped being a game and had turned into something else entirely - but he was too far gone. With an utterly sinful moan he thrust two fingers inside.
Dean’s hips bucked off the bed and he wailed, wailed, at the burning pleasure, hips fucking up harder into his fist, then back down onto his fingers, all the while conjuring up images of Aidan above him, inside him.
“Fuck, Dean,” Aidan’s sudden bark cut through the fantasy that Dean was painting in his mind, the usually deep voice rising in pitch. “The way you sound.”
“You... you, too,” Dean panted in reply as he took a moment to appreciate Aidan’s mangled grunts.
With the way he was gasping one would think that Aidan was running a marathon was he spoke again. “Does it feel good? Tell me, Deano.”
“Yes. Oh God, yes,” Dean moaned, unable to keep his fingers from pushing deeper, curling against his prostate. He could hear a twin moan at the other end of the line, the sound of skin on skin getting louder. “I... oh fuck, I wish you were here.”
A choked chuckle echoed through the speaker, running right down to Dean’s prick to uncoil a knot of pure and utter lust. “So do I. Jesus Christ, the things I would do to you...”
Aidan trailed off, panting, and Dean knew he was close. He upped his own efforts, the pace of his fist quickening at the same time as he stretched himself open with a third finger. He was so close to coming he could almost taste it. A particularly filthy moan from Aidan made Dean falter in his tempo. He crooked his fingers again, rubbing harder, and breathed, “Aidan. I can’t...”
“Together, “ Aidan ordered and Dean was only too willing to comply. His hips pushed up hard, his pace reckless and brutal, fingers ramming as far as they could go. Stars went supernova behind Dean’s tightly closed eyelids as pleasure finally erupted and he came all over his stomach and the bed sheets. Only then did he realise that he had indeed screamed his pleasure into the night. Somewhere over the beating of his own heart and his gulping for air he could hear Aidan growl, long and loud, as he too climaxed.
Dean’s hands dropped heavily to the bed, wrists sore from the sheer intensity with which he had pleasured himself. He was afloat with satiation, weightless, and he wondered if he was as inebriated by lust spent as Aidan was by drink.
“Aid?” Dean tried after a moment. An incoherent sound of affirmation greeted him and Dean smiled. Whatever they had just done had changed things between them, irrevocably and probably long overdue. “Dinner tomorrow?
That suggestion was received with an exhausted laugh. “Only if we can solve the kissing issue afterwards.”