CDC Fic: Easy Like Sunday Morning
Title: Easy Like Sunday Morning
Author: Firefox
Rating: FRAO, NC17
Warnings: Serious slash.
Summary: Don and Mal are... well, the title says it all really.
There is not an iota of a smidgen of a plot here. A CSI team couldn’t find one. This is utterly and completely plotless. It's totally self-indulgent, PWP smut.
Note: I have had a crap time lately and needed cheering up. Don and Mal seemed like the perfect cure, for which I make no apology at all.
Characters: Don (Numb3rs) / Mal (Firefly)
WARNING: This is serious slash. If you don’t know what that is - go away. If you do - then you keep reading at your own peril. If you want a meaningful story, go elsewhere. If you want two gorgeous guys getting it on - you are in the right place. Enjoy.
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Don is awake, but his eyes are still closed. He’s awake behind the closed lids however, relishing the realisation that this is Sunday morning and, should he choose, he need not open his eyes for a long time yet. The birds are singing in the jacaranda trees near the window, and he can feel the early morning sun on his face through the open blind.
Sunday.
He is still in the position where he most likes to sleep, laying on his left side; and a hand insinuates itself between his waist and the mattress, curling around his ribs and pulling him backwards into and onto a warm, hard chest. Another hand briefly cups his right hip, as long fingers slide smoothly along the crease between hip and thigh, before curling themselves gently but firmly around what remains of his morning erection.
“Good morning.” A voice in his ear.
He smiles, but still doesn’t open his eyes. “I’m still asleep.”
The hand tightens. “All evidence to the contrary.”
The smile widens. He loves Sunday.
“I am in the mood,” the voice says, very quietly into his right ear, “for coffee and sex, but I’m not particular about the order.” A gentle bite just under his earlobe, on the exact point on his neck that Mal knows will set him off, makes his cock jerk in Mal’s hand. “So, it seems, are you.”
Mal smells of toothpaste and citrus and Don knows he will have been awake for a while, showered and brushed his teeth, ready for their usual Sunday morning relaxation.
“You could probably talk me into it,” Don says with a smile, “but I need a shower first.”
“I should hope so. I make a habit of not having sex with people who smell like last night.”
Mal releases his grip, but only so that he can nibble the top of Don’s spine, then run his tongue down the bones, one at a time, burrowing under the covers.
“Okay, okay - I’m going!”
Don opens his eyes then, throwing off the bedclothes and standing up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. He knows Mal will be watching, hell, it’s part of the reason he does it, this theatrical cat in the sunshine stretch, but it still feels good.
The shower is hot, the toothpaste and mouthwash taste like spearmint, and he doesn’t shave because he knows Mal likes stubble. He ties the bathrobe belt securely around his waist and grins at himself in the mirror.
Sunday.
Mal is lounging against the pillows as he walks back into the bedroom, the sheet pulled up to his waist, a large mug of coffee in his hands. “Stop,” he commands as Don approaches the bed. He is smiling. Don stops.
“Have you been thinking about the same thing that I’ve been thinking about while you were in the shower?”
Don grins. “Probably.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
Mal nods. “Lose the robe. If you’re still hard, I’ll know you’re telling the truth.”
“I never lie.”
“Which is, in itself, a lie. Open the robe.”
Don suppresses a tiny shiver. Mal is damned good at this, but he knows it. The moment Mal said ‘stop’ the blood had begun draining into Don’s cock with lightening speed. It was a well practised, well used routine that worked well for both of them. Don looks at Mal, holds his gaze while he unties the belt and slides the robe from his shoulders. Mal’s gaze drops momentarily, then returns to hold Don’s. “Not good enough.”
Don quells another shiver. He’s so hard already his heart is hammering.
“A little manual stimulation, I think.”
Their gazes lock.
“Do it.”
Don holds himself, stroking gently, knowing Mal is watching, which makes it oh, so much more erotic. His eyes start to close again.
“Very nice,” Mal says quietly, “that’s it… just a little faster.”
A gasp escapes Don. Mal knows exactly what fires him up, exactly which buttons to push. And Don loves it.
“Good…” Mal’s voice is quiet, soft, encouraging. “Now…stop.”
Don stops. Instantly. With a small groan.
“Very good. Now get over here on your back on this bed.”
Don is so hard it almost hurts, and everything Mal says is guaranteed to make that worse. And Mal knows it. He carefully avoids touching Don as he settles himself on the bed. “Flat on your back - now!” Don stretches out.
“Clasp your hands behind your head.”
Don’s breathing is deepening now, his cock is aching for a touch.
“Stretch out.”
Don obeys every word Mal says. He knows that Mal knows exactly how to play it. How to play him. Mal’s eyes rake him from head to toe. “Nice. Very nice.”
Mal waggles his fingers in front of Don’s face like a magician about to perform a trick. “Now then… where would you like me to start? Where shall I touch you first?”
Don bites back a comment, his eyes sparking. “You know where.” His cock twitches involuntarily at the prospect.
Mal shakes his head. “You know the rules… no way. That is out of bounds.” He makes a great display of licking both thumbs and both index fingers, and Don inhales sharply as Mal gently scrapes first his nails, then the moist pads of his fingers, across Don’s nipples.
“Jesus Mal!” His back arches into the touch.
Mal loves this - loves to watch the different expressions and emotions that cross Don’s face. He’s not sure how, exactly, this all started, but he’s glad it did. They are not a pair, not like Buck and Ez, or Jack and Ianto, but they share something unique and special - at least on Sundays.
There is no relationship, not on *that* level, but they fit together emotionally and psychologically, and neither of them have any doubts about how well they go together in bed.
Mal often thinks they are probably incredibly alike, both dragging far too much baggage behind them when they washed up here - both disillusioned with law enforcement, both victims of a system that should have supported them, both fractured and fragile and both willing to do anything to hide the fact.
They share other things too - control is critically important to both of them, so it’s inspiring to Mal that Don is willing to surrender that control in his bed. It’s not always this way, sometimes it’s Don that takes the lead, but not often - mostly it’s Mal who knows what Don needs after a week of dealing with the high pressure world of security in the CDC. Holding his nerve and his temper, keeping himself focused, the discipline and will required needed one heck of a lot of control, so it wasn’t surprising that Don needed somewhere he could let someone else take the lead. Somewhere he could surrender that control to someone else.
It’s not a client/staffer thing - it’s far more than that, even if they aren’t in a committed relationship. Neither of them really have a name for it, but both of them know how important it is to them both.
Just like both of them know that no-one, ever, has made either of them feel the way they make each other feel during sex.
Mal smiles, hands tracing the outline of Don’s muscles, down across his hips, thighs, calves. His skin is hot, still very slightly damp from the shower. Mal can feel the warmth, the muscles responding to his touch.
He shifts his weight, moving down. “Open…” he says slowly, licking his lips. There isn’t the slightest reluctance, Don slides his legs apart and Mal slides across, over and between them. It’s all heat and expectation, Mal’s lips sliding across the warm skin as he repositions himself between Don’s spread legs, rising up onto his knees as his hands slide under Don’s legs and lift him up, balancing his thighs over his own.
Don shivers, and exhales sharply. “Ssshhh…” Mal says, stroking Don’s stomach. Mal can see the reminders of Don’s work here at the CDC, the bruises that still shadow his ribs, the still-healing scar on his chest, faint purplish marks on his arms. There are other scars too - older, from before. A puckered reminder above his collarbone of a bullet, a raised line of white down his thigh of a knife wound that almost killed him.
Mal has them too - physical memories that could, if he let them, take him back to a time he would rather not remember.
Don has never asked about them - he doesn’t need to - he knows only too well what they represent. Symbols of pain, like the badge of a club no-one wants to join.
None of them matter here. Here it’s just the two of them. Here it’s all about pleasure.
Don looks at Mal through eyes half-lidded with arousal, and Mal smiles at him. “Fast… or slow?”
The smile is returned. “Slow….”
Mal indicates with a nod of his head. “Right hand under the pillow.”
Don reaches under the pillow and his hand closes around a small glass bottle. He recognises it. It’s ornate, thick glass, with a gold plated screw top and Don knows it contains Mal’s special oil. He hands the bottle to Mal, who removes the top and carefully decants a few drops onto Don’s stomach before pouring a small amount into the palm of his left hand.
The oil is a dark golden colour, thick and richly scented. It smells of bergamot and sandalwood, and is probably very expensive. Mal never pays for it - it’s his habitual tip from a regular client, a fabulously rich Middle Eastern guy with a penchant for Mal, bourbon and rare steak.
Mal rubs his hands together, filling the air with the wonderful scent of the oil, then gently massages Don’s stomach, thighs, hips and groin. There must be something else in the oil because it warms Don’s muscles, like wintergreen or menthol, spreading heat down his legs and up onto his chest, and when Mal closes his hand around Don’s cock, he gasps in surprise and pleasure. Mal’s skilled hands knead and roll Don’s balls, gently sliding backwards, seeking and finding the puckered entrance behind them, sliding one long forefinger gently inside. Don shudders hard at the welcome intrusion, a wave of pleasure searing along his nerves.
Mal rotates his hand, gently, until the palm faces upwards, feeling Don’s muscles grasping his finger, then pushes upwards, curling his finger.
“Oh…Christ!” Don shouts, gasping.
“Easy..easy,” Mal soothes, his free hand roaming across Don’s stomach, feeling the muscles twitch involuntarily. “Relax. Nice, deep breath now...”
Don inhales and Mal inserts another finger as he does so, fighting his own urge to groan as Don twists and writhes under his hands. He could watch Don like this, keep Don like this, for hours. It’s one of the sexiest things he has ever seen and he never grows tired of it.
Mal curls his fingers again, gently pushing against the nub of Don’s prostate, and Don groans, finally releasing his hands from behind his head to reach for his aching cock. He wants to grasp himself and just pump until he comes, but he has more restraint than that, and Mal knows it.
“Gently now…”
Don curls his hand around his leaking cock and opens his eyes, smiling up at Mal. His body is a mass of twitching nerve endings, his legs splayed uselessly, bonelessly, either side of Mal’s hips.
Mal begins to circle the small lump under his fingers, pressing upwards.
“Oh God… that’s it… there.. that’s it…” Don’s shoulders curl upwards, his stomach muscles contracting as his whole body shudders with pleasure.
Mal holds it, holds him there for a few seconds, then releases the pressure. Don collapses back onto the pillows, shaking. He lets Don take a couple of breaths, then repeats the pressure, a little harder this time.
“GOD! Oh…Jesus Mal…” Don shudders harder, his head and shoulders curling off the bed, and can’t resist the temptation any longer. He begins to thrust his hips upwards, pumping his already leaking cock.
Mal releases the pressure again, grabs Don’s wrist and forces him to release his grip. “No! Please…”, Don begs him, “I need…”
“I know exactly what you need…” Mal smiles, pushes upwards, forcing Don’s hips up, then bends his head and takes the whole length of Don into his mouth, sucking hard.
Don’s hands twist in the sheets as his body trembles and shudders. Mal sets up a rhythm, sucking and pushing up as Don’s hips rise, releasing as they fall. Don’s close, really close.
“Please Mal, please… Oh fuck…. There….THERE! Oh Jesus…”
A few more, faster thrusts and Mal feels the change as Don’s whole body begins to clench and stiffen. No stopping it now. He holds Don down with his free hand, gives a final hard press against his prostate and swallows Don into his throat.
Don convulses, his body going rigid as he erupts, his orgasm jetting out of him with such force he can’t breathe.
Mal takes it all, but doesn’t stop massaging the quivering lump under his fingers. No pressure now, just gentle little strokes, keeping Don shivering with pleasure, even after Mal releases his cock from his mouth.
Mal is smiling. “Good?”
Don, post orgasm ripples still running through his muscles, his insides still clenching around Mal’s fingers, grins. “Wow…” He’s breathless, sweaty, boneless. “Mal… you are amazing…”
“Well yeah, but don’t tell everyone…”
Don groans as Mal gently withdraws his fingers, soothing Don’s stomach with circular movements of his free hand.
Manoeuvring his legs from either side of Mal’s, Don rolls over onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms, moving his knees up under his chest. “Don’t keep me waiting here…”
Mal smiles, grabbing the oil bottle from the sheets and moving between Don’s spread thighs, he pours a little into the small of Don’s back, using one hand to lubricate his own aching cock, the other to massage the sweet spot Don has at the very base of his spine.
Post orgasm, Don muscles are lithe and relaxed, and they are both well versed in this routine. Mal positions himself carefully, stifling the shivers he feels at the prospect of pushing into the warm, willing body beneath him.
“Do it...” Don grins over his shoulder.
Mal thrusts forwards, throwing his head back in pleasure at the tight heat that grasps him. He moans softly. This is Don. With Don, Mal can make any damned noise he wants.
“Harder.” Don gasps, beginning to push backwards in counterpoint to Mal’s forward thrusts.
Don knows that Mal is an expert at control - at keeping himself in check. Hell, he does it with clients all the time. This is different. This is Sunday, and here Mal can do whatever he wants. “Let it go, Mal.”
Mal leans forwards, bending over the long line of Don’s back, and grasps Don’s hips.
“Just go for it,” Don urges between gasps, “let it go.”
Mal groans, closes his eyes and pulls Don’s hips backwards, thrusting into him hard. Don relaxes, letting Mal set the pace, find the rhythm.
Mal can feel Don’s heat all around his cock, the internal muscles clenching hard around him. It’s good, it’s really good, and although half of him wants it to last, the other half wants to lose control and come like a freight train. Because this is Sunday, and because this is Don, he opts for the latter, letting the speed build recklessly, thrusting mindlessly.
Don feels the control going, feels Mal’s body begin to stiffen. He pushes back against Mal, as hard as he can, tightening all his internal muscles as firmly as possible.
Mal lets out an explosion of sound, his arms tightening involuntarily as orgasm overtakes him. “Oh…. Fuck..”
They collapse onto the mattress in a heap of tangled, sweat slicked limbs, both laughing.
“Not too bad yourself there, Mr Security…”Mal says breathlessly, easing out of Don with a wince, and rolling over onto his back, “Jesus! That was just what I needed….”
Don rolls over alongside him, laughing. “Wham, bam thank you ma’am? Cheers!”
Don is joking, and Mal knows it.
Mal turns onto his side, facing Don, and grins widely. “Not at all! You know that expression ‘Sunday best’? That’s you buddy - most definitely.”
“I don’t know about ‘Sunday best’”, Don yawns, “right now I could go for a little ‘Sunday rest’.”
Mal circles Don’s shoulders with a long arm, and pulls him onto his chest. It’s easy, comfortable affection. Don can feel Mal’s gradually decreasing heartbeat under his cheek. It’s comforting. His eyes close, but he doesn’t drift off to sleep, just relaxes, allowing his muscles to ease their tension, his blood pressure to decrease. It’s a good few minutes later he hears a soft snore. He smiles as he feels sleep begin to overtake him.
He loves Sunday.