Fic: The Inappropriate Nudity Story, Where Don Surprises Himself
Title: The Inappropriate Nudity Story, Where Don Surprises Himself.
Author: Corona
Fandom: Numbers
Pairing: Don/Colby
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: A suspicious package lands Don and Colby in cold water.
AN: Fifth story in the 'Inappropriate Behaviour' series. I'm sorry this part took me so long, I had a terrible block for most of November
Don dumps the mail on Colby's desk.
"I'm just saying he took my comment out of context."
"Dude, you put your brother down as a government resource," Colby tells him, which in any book is probably a bad idea, because Charlie can do mad really well when he sets his mind to it.
"I didn't mean it like that," Don explains. "I just meant that he wasn't just important to me, he was important to the country too."
"That's a government resource," Colby clarifies, because yeah, it kind of is. He picks out his own mail from the bunch, leans back in his chair until it creaks.
"Whatever you were trying to say, I think you phrased it wrong."
Don settles on the desk, drags a package out of the mess of federal mail.
"It's just question of-" Don tears the package open.
There's white powder everywhere, a shower of it that bursts and disperses in a wave.
"Oh fuck!" Colby says quietly.
***
Five minutes later they're in the basement and there's plastic everywhere.
Men in hazmat suits are herding them through the plastic like space aliens and quite frankly that's more disturbing than the possible lethal dose of whatever the fuck they've both just inhaled. God knows, Ricin, Anthrax, powdered Ebola you can do some seriously nasty shit with chemicals nowadays.
And yeah, all the thinking isn't helping at all.
They took the package away in a ridiculously complicated box.
Colby kind of hopes it's not too complicated for someone to get in and find out what the hell it is.
Ten feet on there's a man in a hazmat suit shaking a paper bag at them both.
"Please put all personal and official items in the bag."
"Oh for the love of-"
Don unclips his phone, drops it inside, followed by his watch, keys, handcuffs, notebook, wallet and gun.
Colby sighs and digs his own possessions out from various parts of his person, including the gun he keeps shoved down the back of his pants.
"You better not lose any of this stuff," Don says roughly.
"They're more likely to incinerate the lot," Colby grumbles.
Don snatches the top of the bag, jabs a finger in the suited man's rubbery chest section.
"If this stuff gets incinerated someone's in serious trouble."
"Please don't poke me while you're still considered hazardous material sir," the man says flatly.
"Oh don't think I won't find out who you are!" Don snaps. He looks tempted to see if he can seriously injure the man through his suit.
Colby isn't going to even attempt to stop him.
The guy seems to sense that he's treading a fine line and starts taping up his paper bag.
A second hazmat suited man, looking like as much of an alien as the first, and only distinguishable by the virtue of having a beard inside his faceplate, rustles a slightly larger bag. This one made of plastic.
"Clothes please."
Which they really should have been expecting, but Don sends him the venomous glare of death anyway.
"As quickly as you can please so medical personal can check you out."
Colby starts dragging the laces reluctantly out of his boots, and really if he'd known today would involve nudity and mortal peril he'd have made a note on the calendar.
"Because death by toxic chemicals in the mail isn't good enough for you," Don says fiercely and drags his shirt over his head.
Colby dumps his boots in the bag, which rustles forlornly.
"I'm never going to see those again am I?"
"I shall follow procedure sir." The hazmat guy says carefully. Which would be a 'no' then.
"The United States government owes me a new pair of boots...assuming I don't die." Colby's pointy finger isn't as good as Don's but the bearded hazmat guy seems to take the hint.
He rustles his bag again.
Colby, reluctantly, strips off his shirt.
A new hazmat guy wanders up, and Colby is just going to stop trying to tell the difference between them soon.
"We've had a shower set up through there, the water pressure is fairly high. It's just to make absolutely certain that any stray particles are not transferred on your person."
He gestures, like he's suddenly become a flight attendant. Like Colby and Don don't know the layout of the building better than he does.
"If you experience any of the following symptoms-" The newest hazmat guy who, judging by his voice, is about fifteen lifts a clipboard. "Nausea, coughing, difficulty breathing, tightness in the chest, bleeding from eyes, ears, nose or mouth, dizziness, blurred vision-"
Don steals his clipboard.
"I think we get the hint."
"Can I have my clipboard back please sir."
Everyone's so polite, which just doesn't bode well for them. Aren't people only supposed to be polite when you're going to die a horrible gruesome death?
Don looks tempted to snap the clipboard in half.
"Please sir?"
Don relents and gives it back to him, pointy end first.
"-Unf, double vision, blindness or numbness in the hands and feet please call for medical attention immediately. We have emergency medical personal on standby."
Colby dumps his jeans in the plastic bag and scowls at Captain Clipboard.
Who smiles back at him.
"All your clothes please."
He can hear Don grumbling beside him, something about public nudity not being in his contract.
Colby gives the obnoxious little bastard his boxer shorts, and then glares at him.
He looks satisfied, there's a word for people who enjoy depriving people of their clothes.
Once they've been stripped the hazmat guy does his flight attendant routine again and Don and Colby leave rather than risk breaking his smug little faceplate.
"Where do they find these people?"
"Maybe they just pluck them off the street. "
"We should take his name and description, report him later for being an asshole."
"The guy in the giant condom took my notebook, when he took all my clothes," Don points out.
Colby knows this, but he isn't looking. He's a fucking tower of self-control.
The showers are hastily erected, connected to the mains, and set up against the tiles. Much like school showers only with more sinister plastic and the threat of death.
So much like school showers then.
They step inside.
"This isn't going to be fun is it?" Don says carefully.
"Just do it."
Don turns the lever.
"Jesus fucking christ!" It's not a shower it's a car wash.
Don braces himself on the wall.
"Not cool!" Colby snaps wetly. "Not cool at all!"
He sways out of the way of the thundering spray, because when they said 'high pressure' they apparently meant 'will take your fucking skin off.'
Colby has never actually been physically buffeted in a shower before. It's much like surfing in a box, and that isn't a comparison that is in any way good.
He's not entirely sure how they're suppose to wash in this, because if you're anywhere near the middle of the spray it's enough of a challenge to just stay upright.
He turns around and nearly smacks straight into Don, who, judging by the swearing, is having just as much fun as he is.
Though that isn't exactly what Colby notices first.
A torrent of water is pouring down the middle of his shoulderblades, cascading down the long naked line of his spine until it reaches his ass, which it flows over in complicated patterns.
Which is...something he's fairly certain he shouldn't be watching quite as...intently as he is.
But the water has changed direction again and it's fierce enough to tip him forward. Colby puts his hands out on instinct and one smacks into Don's back, he flinches and half swivels in the spray.
Colby opens his mouth to say something, though he's not entirely sure what.
And he's choking, he's choking unattractively, because drowning upright is never attractive. He's coughing but he can't fucking breathe and the spray is everywhere.
"Colby!"
It occurs to him vaguely that Don probably thinks he's dying of some horrible toxic disease.
He's got his hands on Colby's waist, fingers slippery on the skin and if Colby wasn't still drowning he'd probably be more interested in that.
"Colby!" He inhales, coughs, waves a hand.
"Are you ok."
Colby's nodding as best as he can and his throat feels like it's half shut.
"Yeah," he manages, and it's a ragged scrape of a word. "Yeah, I inhaled water."
Don exhales sharply.
"Fuck," he says roughly. "You scared the shit out of me."
Colby shakes his head, clears his throat, he's got a hand on the wall and Don hasn't let go of him yet.
"You ok?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm ok."
Don's fingers are warm round his waist, dug hard into his skin, twitching in something like indecision. Don takes a step, and another. Colby blinks, swallows, weaves through the torrent of water.
"Don?"
"Shut up."
Colby hits the wall with a wet thud, bare flesh skidding on cold tiles.
Don ducks under the spray, slides all the way through it until his face is trailing water, mouth open and wet and close, jesus so fucking close.
And if either of them were ever going to move away it would be now, right now.
If they get any closer-
Oh god.
Don's mouth is warm, slippery, shoved up against his own between one breath and the next. But Don doesn't stop, hands flat on the wall, pressed in and pushing hard. It's a ragged demand for more and Colby is far, far too used to doing what Don tells him because he just opens under him.
He can hear the water thundering down the back of Don's neck, down his spine and Colby wants to touch, wants to touch so fucking badly that he makes a noise, deep in his throat. A noise that makes Don catch the wet hair at the back of his neck. It makes him pull just a little until Colby's forced to tilt his head, and Don goes deeper.
His fingers flex in Colby's hair, hold him still under every wet push of Don's mouth. It makes Colby groan, makes him give in and catch Don's waist, pull him in until everything is wet and slippery. He's touching things he really shouldn't be touching and he can't breathe and he doesn't care.
The water slows, reduces and then stops.
They're left dripping, pressed together against the wet tiles staring at each other like they don't have a clue what they're doing.
Colby remembers, belatedly, that they might be dying, that the hazmat men will be back soon wanting blood samples and such-like. Which is a pretty quick way to bring them back to the real world.
Colby clears his throat, and Don slithers out from between his fingers looking shell shocked and bruised and Colby pushes back, turns to the side so he doesn't have to look at him.
The hazmat guys tromp back in, looking like aliens, and Colby lets his head knock against the wall.
It doesn't count if you think you're going to die.
Everybody knows that, everybody.
But at least they're still breathing.
Author: Corona
Fandom: Numbers
Pairing: Don/Colby
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: A suspicious package lands Don and Colby in cold water.
AN: Fifth story in the 'Inappropriate Behaviour' series. I'm sorry this part took me so long, I had a terrible block for most of November
Don dumps the mail on Colby's desk.
"I'm just saying he took my comment out of context."
"Dude, you put your brother down as a government resource," Colby tells him, which in any book is probably a bad idea, because Charlie can do mad really well when he sets his mind to it.
"I didn't mean it like that," Don explains. "I just meant that he wasn't just important to me, he was important to the country too."
"That's a government resource," Colby clarifies, because yeah, it kind of is. He picks out his own mail from the bunch, leans back in his chair until it creaks.
"Whatever you were trying to say, I think you phrased it wrong."
Don settles on the desk, drags a package out of the mess of federal mail.
"It's just question of-" Don tears the package open.
There's white powder everywhere, a shower of it that bursts and disperses in a wave.
"Oh fuck!" Colby says quietly.
***
Five minutes later they're in the basement and there's plastic everywhere.
Men in hazmat suits are herding them through the plastic like space aliens and quite frankly that's more disturbing than the possible lethal dose of whatever the fuck they've both just inhaled. God knows, Ricin, Anthrax, powdered Ebola you can do some seriously nasty shit with chemicals nowadays.
And yeah, all the thinking isn't helping at all.
They took the package away in a ridiculously complicated box.
Colby kind of hopes it's not too complicated for someone to get in and find out what the hell it is.
Ten feet on there's a man in a hazmat suit shaking a paper bag at them both.
"Please put all personal and official items in the bag."
"Oh for the love of-"
Don unclips his phone, drops it inside, followed by his watch, keys, handcuffs, notebook, wallet and gun.
Colby sighs and digs his own possessions out from various parts of his person, including the gun he keeps shoved down the back of his pants.
"You better not lose any of this stuff," Don says roughly.
"They're more likely to incinerate the lot," Colby grumbles.
Don snatches the top of the bag, jabs a finger in the suited man's rubbery chest section.
"If this stuff gets incinerated someone's in serious trouble."
"Please don't poke me while you're still considered hazardous material sir," the man says flatly.
"Oh don't think I won't find out who you are!" Don snaps. He looks tempted to see if he can seriously injure the man through his suit.
Colby isn't going to even attempt to stop him.
The guy seems to sense that he's treading a fine line and starts taping up his paper bag.
A second hazmat suited man, looking like as much of an alien as the first, and only distinguishable by the virtue of having a beard inside his faceplate, rustles a slightly larger bag. This one made of plastic.
"Clothes please."
Which they really should have been expecting, but Don sends him the venomous glare of death anyway.
"As quickly as you can please so medical personal can check you out."
Colby starts dragging the laces reluctantly out of his boots, and really if he'd known today would involve nudity and mortal peril he'd have made a note on the calendar.
"Because death by toxic chemicals in the mail isn't good enough for you," Don says fiercely and drags his shirt over his head.
Colby dumps his boots in the bag, which rustles forlornly.
"I'm never going to see those again am I?"
"I shall follow procedure sir." The hazmat guy says carefully. Which would be a 'no' then.
"The United States government owes me a new pair of boots...assuming I don't die." Colby's pointy finger isn't as good as Don's but the bearded hazmat guy seems to take the hint.
He rustles his bag again.
Colby, reluctantly, strips off his shirt.
A new hazmat guy wanders up, and Colby is just going to stop trying to tell the difference between them soon.
"We've had a shower set up through there, the water pressure is fairly high. It's just to make absolutely certain that any stray particles are not transferred on your person."
He gestures, like he's suddenly become a flight attendant. Like Colby and Don don't know the layout of the building better than he does.
"If you experience any of the following symptoms-" The newest hazmat guy who, judging by his voice, is about fifteen lifts a clipboard. "Nausea, coughing, difficulty breathing, tightness in the chest, bleeding from eyes, ears, nose or mouth, dizziness, blurred vision-"
Don steals his clipboard.
"I think we get the hint."
"Can I have my clipboard back please sir."
Everyone's so polite, which just doesn't bode well for them. Aren't people only supposed to be polite when you're going to die a horrible gruesome death?
Don looks tempted to snap the clipboard in half.
"Please sir?"
Don relents and gives it back to him, pointy end first.
"-Unf, double vision, blindness or numbness in the hands and feet please call for medical attention immediately. We have emergency medical personal on standby."
Colby dumps his jeans in the plastic bag and scowls at Captain Clipboard.
Who smiles back at him.
"All your clothes please."
He can hear Don grumbling beside him, something about public nudity not being in his contract.
Colby gives the obnoxious little bastard his boxer shorts, and then glares at him.
He looks satisfied, there's a word for people who enjoy depriving people of their clothes.
Once they've been stripped the hazmat guy does his flight attendant routine again and Don and Colby leave rather than risk breaking his smug little faceplate.
"Where do they find these people?"
"Maybe they just pluck them off the street. "
"We should take his name and description, report him later for being an asshole."
"The guy in the giant condom took my notebook, when he took all my clothes," Don points out.
Colby knows this, but he isn't looking. He's a fucking tower of self-control.
The showers are hastily erected, connected to the mains, and set up against the tiles. Much like school showers only with more sinister plastic and the threat of death.
So much like school showers then.
They step inside.
"This isn't going to be fun is it?" Don says carefully.
"Just do it."
Don turns the lever.
"Jesus fucking christ!" It's not a shower it's a car wash.
Don braces himself on the wall.
"Not cool!" Colby snaps wetly. "Not cool at all!"
He sways out of the way of the thundering spray, because when they said 'high pressure' they apparently meant 'will take your fucking skin off.'
Colby has never actually been physically buffeted in a shower before. It's much like surfing in a box, and that isn't a comparison that is in any way good.
He's not entirely sure how they're suppose to wash in this, because if you're anywhere near the middle of the spray it's enough of a challenge to just stay upright.
He turns around and nearly smacks straight into Don, who, judging by the swearing, is having just as much fun as he is.
Though that isn't exactly what Colby notices first.
A torrent of water is pouring down the middle of his shoulderblades, cascading down the long naked line of his spine until it reaches his ass, which it flows over in complicated patterns.
Which is...something he's fairly certain he shouldn't be watching quite as...intently as he is.
But the water has changed direction again and it's fierce enough to tip him forward. Colby puts his hands out on instinct and one smacks into Don's back, he flinches and half swivels in the spray.
Colby opens his mouth to say something, though he's not entirely sure what.
And he's choking, he's choking unattractively, because drowning upright is never attractive. He's coughing but he can't fucking breathe and the spray is everywhere.
"Colby!"
It occurs to him vaguely that Don probably thinks he's dying of some horrible toxic disease.
He's got his hands on Colby's waist, fingers slippery on the skin and if Colby wasn't still drowning he'd probably be more interested in that.
"Colby!" He inhales, coughs, waves a hand.
"Are you ok."
Colby's nodding as best as he can and his throat feels like it's half shut.
"Yeah," he manages, and it's a ragged scrape of a word. "Yeah, I inhaled water."
Don exhales sharply.
"Fuck," he says roughly. "You scared the shit out of me."
Colby shakes his head, clears his throat, he's got a hand on the wall and Don hasn't let go of him yet.
"You ok?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm ok."
Don's fingers are warm round his waist, dug hard into his skin, twitching in something like indecision. Don takes a step, and another. Colby blinks, swallows, weaves through the torrent of water.
"Don?"
"Shut up."
Colby hits the wall with a wet thud, bare flesh skidding on cold tiles.
Don ducks under the spray, slides all the way through it until his face is trailing water, mouth open and wet and close, jesus so fucking close.
And if either of them were ever going to move away it would be now, right now.
If they get any closer-
Oh god.
Don's mouth is warm, slippery, shoved up against his own between one breath and the next. But Don doesn't stop, hands flat on the wall, pressed in and pushing hard. It's a ragged demand for more and Colby is far, far too used to doing what Don tells him because he just opens under him.
He can hear the water thundering down the back of Don's neck, down his spine and Colby wants to touch, wants to touch so fucking badly that he makes a noise, deep in his throat. A noise that makes Don catch the wet hair at the back of his neck. It makes him pull just a little until Colby's forced to tilt his head, and Don goes deeper.
His fingers flex in Colby's hair, hold him still under every wet push of Don's mouth. It makes Colby groan, makes him give in and catch Don's waist, pull him in until everything is wet and slippery. He's touching things he really shouldn't be touching and he can't breathe and he doesn't care.
The water slows, reduces and then stops.
They're left dripping, pressed together against the wet tiles staring at each other like they don't have a clue what they're doing.
Colby remembers, belatedly, that they might be dying, that the hazmat men will be back soon wanting blood samples and such-like. Which is a pretty quick way to bring them back to the real world.
Colby clears his throat, and Don slithers out from between his fingers looking shell shocked and bruised and Colby pushes back, turns to the side so he doesn't have to look at him.
The hazmat guys tromp back in, looking like aliens, and Colby lets his head knock against the wall.
It doesn't count if you think you're going to die.
Everybody knows that, everybody.
But at least they're still breathing.