Just Three (The Three-Body Problem Duotone Remix) [Numb3rs; Amita/Charlie/Don; NC-17]
Title: Just Three (The Three-Body Problem Duotone Remix)
Author: poisontaster
Summary: In the physical literature about the n-body problem (n ≥ 3), sometimes reference is made to the impossibility of solving the n-body problem.Rating: NC-17 ( Read more... )
Author: poisontaster
Summary: In the physical literature about the n-body problem (n ≥ 3), sometimes reference is made to the impossibility of solving the n-body problem.Rating: NC-17 ( Read more... )
"...she's not exactly an in-law." He paused. Considered. "Yet."
Don feels Amita's manicured fingernail scratch a line between his shoulder blades, down the hollow of his spine.
Charlie's groan, the way his fingers drive into Don's shoulders, the way his head thrashes on the pillow...it's completely uncontrolled. Don's never seen Charlie completely uncontrolled. He did this. He did.
Don cradles the side of Charlie's face in his palm. Charlie's eyes open, glazed, feverish, a look in them that Don's never seen-or let himself see-before. "It's true," Charlie admits, arching up, thighs clutching Don's hips. "I...God... All of it. All of it is true." He reaches up and drags Don down to his mouth.
Don picked up his cell phone again. Text messages weren't capable of mockery, but if they were, Don felt this one definitely would be.
A week later, Don still doesn't know why he didn't leave. Why he sat there, spooning up increasingly smaller scoops of apple-cheddar tart while Amita and Charlie had increasingly loud sex just fifteen feet away. They'd left the door open but Don hadn't looked, staring fixedly at his dessert until the plate's pattern of flowers was printed on the back of his eyelids when he closed his eyes.
Don knew that he and Charlie hadn't worked out all the old bullshit from childhood. Probably most of it would never get worked out; it would just become scars that ached in stormy weather. And this didn't feel like revenge. Charlie was straightforward in his anger and Amita... Amita had more sense than that. Don didn't know what it felt like. It was a lot like when they played chess; Charlie had an endgame in mind and all Don could do was fumble blindly along until it revealed itself. And then surrender.
"I said 'Did you hear me, Don?'" Amita put her hands over his, stilling the circle of the dishtowel in his fingers around the rim of the plate.
Don deposited the plate carefully in the wire drainer and slung the towel across the counter. He gave Amita a kiss on the cheek, Charlie a carefully measured clap on the shoulder, and then left the apartment, trading air-conditioned cool for the standing bathwater heat of a Los Angeles evening. Then he threw up.
Don let Amita's hand go and trailed his fingers up her arm. Her skin was warm, smooth and soft; the frail scent of her perfume gained a little in strength, spicier than most women Don was used to. Don let his knuckles brush the full surge of her breast, hearing the sharp intake of her breath, enjoying the way she shifted restlessly in her chair. After what the two of them had put him through in the past couple weeks, he felt entitled. When Don's fingers reached Amita's neck, he twitched aside the long coil of curls and bent to ravage her neck.
"I like puzzles. Especially jigsaw puzzles. Always have." Her fingernails tap against the ceramic of the mug in sharp, brittle music. "Life with Charlie...it's like an endless box of puzzles."
"I'm the constant," Don says slowly, a piece of his personal puzzle falling into place.
"I was... I was doing just fine on my own!" Don's not a hundred percent sure that's true, but it's at least ninety percent true and that's close enough for government work.
She gets up in a rush, her thighs jolting the table. Don imagines the bruises that will form, imagines the heat and swell of the contusions against his lips and feels blood tumble into his cock. Amita lurches away, her heels thundering sharply on the wood and Don watches her go.
At the door, Amita pauses, gaze flickering uneasily over him. Don looks back, not sure what he expects. "Dinner's at eight," she says finally, and though her eyes are wet, the corners of her mouth flick up into a smile. "Don't shower beforehand. We like you dirty."
and finally...
...sometimes reference is made to the impossibility of solving the n-body problem.
/applauds/
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