Fic: ...You Just Might Get It: Don/Charlie/Coop
Title: ...You Just Might Get It
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don/Charlie/Coop
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, slash, threesome
Spoilers: "Man Hunt"
Word Count: 2573
Challenge: "Man Hunt" for eppescest Summer Porn Challenge
Feedback: Is loverly
Disclaimer: Not mine, only borrowing, just fun, no infringement intended
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
Not Don’s.
Not Coop’s.
Charlie’s idea.
It comes as a shock to Don because, in the dozens of ways he imagined it happening, Charlie was never the one to take the initiative and make the suggestion.
For the record, Don only told Coop about his relationship with Charlie because he thought they were going to die. It was years ago back in Fugitive Recovery, and it was a capture gone wrong, and he only said anything because Coop started confessing his trespasses. It was fair. Coop’s eyes were big and wide when Don told him that he’d been sleeping with Charlie, his own brother, and Coop nodded his head and said, “Oh.” They survived, backup breaking in at the last moment, and Don and Coop carried on with their lives, carried on their separate ways, carried on with each other’s secrets.
For the record, Don’s never thought it would actually happen. It’s only a fantasy, something you think about when you’re jerking off. It’s one of those sick, fucked up thoughts you sometimes get when you’re all alone, and you’ve got your hand around your cock, and maybe you’re a little drunk, and you kind of hate yourself for thinking about something so crazy, but it’s okay because it’s just a thought, and you’re the only one who knows you’re beating your dick to the idea. You’re working your hand hard up and down your cock, and you’re getting off on the idea, and if there really was a God who could read your thoughts, you’d be embarrassed as hell, but when you’ve seen the shit you have, it’s hard to believe in God, so you let yourself fantasize about it and tell yourself it’s okay because no one will ever know. You come hard, and it’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had, and you want it bad, but you know it will never happen. You make peace with that.
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
Somehow, that absolves Don of the fact that he’s been getting off on the fantasy for years. He didn’t pursue it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t let anyone know. Charlie suggests it with his eyes on his shoes, and Don keeps his jaw clenched shut because that’s the only way to keep from smiling like a fool, and he nods his head slowly like he’s debating it, pretends to give it a few moments of thought as though he has his reservations, and then lifts his eyes to meet Charlie’s and uses all those years of keeping a straight face with criminals to his advantage and quietly says, “Okay, buddy. We can do that. I mean, if that’s really what you want to do, we can do that.”
Don calls Coop and asks him what he thinks of Don’s brother now that he’s met him, and Coop says Charlie is really smart, really gets it. Then Coop says that he thought Charlie was so cute, so tempting, when he was making his suggestions, was acting so coy, seemed like he wants some of what Coop has to offer, and Coop says that he remembers what Don told him all those years ago, and he asks, “Are you guys still…?” He doesn’t finish the question, lets it trail off, because Coop knows well that cell signals and cell conversations can be intercepted. He knows this well because he’s done it a hundred times before.
And Don says yes. He says that they’re still you know, and he can sense Coop nodding his head on the other end of the line, and Don takes a deep breath and says that Charlie wants Coop to come over and join them. When Coop asks Don to clarify, Don says, “Charlie wants you to join us,” and there’s an edge to his voice, an emphasis on the right words that lets Coop know what he’s trying to say. Coop asks if he’s sure, and Don doesn’t want to seem so obvious, so he pauses for a few seconds and says yes. Coop takes the hesitation to heart and asks again if he’s sure. Don tells him to shut up and come over.
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
So Don’s the one who’s tipsy when Coop arrives at Don’s apartment, and Charlie’s had barely enough to get buzzed. Don imagines that Charlie’s just trying to relax and keep up the nerve but still wants to remain in full control of his faculties. But Don, he’s got a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, both excitement and fear and practically everything else, and he needs to wipe everything clean. He needs to exorcise those impeding thoughts and emotions and get into the zone where he remembers that this is his ultimate fantasy. While never his raison d’être, this is what he’s wanted for years, and now he has his opportunity.
Coop graciously accepts the drink (Chivas on the rocks) from Charlie, quickly drinks it, and Don wonders if Coop is trying to keep up his own nerve. This is a big deal. Don and Coop were never together, though they often fucked other women in front of each other while in the same hotel room back in Fugitive Recovery, eyes glancing at each other while they thought the other wouldn’t notice, eyes watching the other man’s cock pounding into a pink mouth or pussy or, on rare occasions, tight ass. They never did anything sexual to each other, and now they were on the precipice, Charlie the intermediary that brought them together.
Charlie finishes his drink, sets it down on Don’s coffee table with a clink, and says, “Let’s fuck.”
Don’s never thought that Charlie could be so blunt.
Charlie’s eyes are on Coop. “Don and me, you and me, Don and you, whatever. Let’s fuck.”
Coop sets down his own drink, emptied. “I like the way you think, Professor.” Coop peels off his shirt, and Charlie unbuttons his own, and then they’re topless, and then they’re standing up to unbuckle and unbutton and unzip their pants, and Don finds himself doing the same, his brain telling him that his legs are unsteady though they seem to be holding him up just fine. Then they’re moving to his bedroom, and Coop’s mouth is on Charlie’s, and their cocks are pressed together as they stand against one another and kiss, and Coop is slowly thrusting his cock against Charlie’s. Coop snakes a hand into Charlie’s curls and pulls his hair hard, pulls his head back and exposes the length of his neck, and Charlie shouts out in pain, and Don is stepping towards them and shouting, “Jesus Christ, Coop, be careful!” but, just as he’s getting the words out, Coop’s tongue is entering Charlie’s mouth, and Charlie’s kissing him back passionately, and it’s all okay because Charlie’s always gotten off on a little bit of pain mixed with his pleasure. If Charlie didn’t get off on pain, Don and Charlie probably would have stopped at rubbing their cocks together; Don probably would have never pushed his cock into Charlie’s tight ass and made the mathematician cry out and beg for him to go slow, please go slower, it hurts so much, go slow, please, I love your cock and want you to fuck me, but please go slow ‘cause it hurts so much.
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
He was the one who wanted it. He was the one who asked for it. It was his party. So Don can stand idly by and watch Coop sit down on the bed, watch Charlie put his mouth on Coop’s cock when Charlie drops to his knees, watch Coop start to fuck Charlie’s mouth and, when he sees the full length of Coop’s dick slide between Charlie’s lips, fuck his throat. Coop’s fucking Charlie’s throat, his little brother trying to not gag, and Don feels his own cock throbbing, filling, aching, needing. Charlie pulls his mouth off Coop’s cock, and he’s panting.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
Coop puts a hand on Charlie’s cheek. “Yeah, baby, I’mma fuck you.” Coop’s eyes glance to Don’s for approval, but all Don can do is stare, and Coop returns his gaze to Charlie. “Get up on the bed, honey.” Charlie does and lays on his stomach. “Get up for me; get that ass up in the air,” and Charlie rises up on all fours, his boyish ass a tempting prospect, and Coop runs a finger along the crack. “You wanna get fucked?” His hand plays with Charlie’s balls. “Want my cock deep inside your ass?” A finger pushes into Charlie’s hole, and Don’s little brother moans. “Yeah, you’re horny, aren’t you?”
“So fucking horny.” Charlie pushes back onto Coop’s finger, and Coop adds a second, and Charlie lets out this sound, this moan that’s high and tight and like a whimper.
“You’re doing good, baby. How does that feel?” Thick arousal makes Coop’s voice sound even more Southern, more gravelly, the bourbon bite increased.
“It’s okay. Tight, little rough, but okay.”
“You want some lube?”
“Yes.”
“Got any?”
Charlie’s arm lifts, and the index finger on his hand points at the top drawer of Don’s nightstand. Coop quickly opens it, hand rifling around, and then he’s pulling out all of Don’s shit, his dirty magazines (men’s and women’s), his lube, his long train of condoms strung together with little perforated lines. Coop flips open a magazine to the picture of a woman’s pussy being fisted, glistening lips wrapped around a large hand. He opens another magazine to a spread of thick cock inside another man’s asshole.
“Look at that shit,” he whispers, his fingers pushing deeper inside Charlie. He thrusts his fingers in and out of Charlie, and his other hand reaches around to grip Charlie’s hard cock, softly stroking, teasing. “Look at those pretty little holes. I’m gonna work you like that.”
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
So maybe it’s okay when Coop rips a condom off the strip, tears it open, tosses the wrapper onto the floor, rolls the latex down the hard length of his cock. Maybe it’s okay that he uses his thumb to flick open the cap on the lube, tips the bottle over, and lets the lubricant pour onto his cock. Maybe it’s okay that he stops squeezing the bottle, positions it over Charlie’s ass, uses his other hand to spread open Charlie’s cheeks, and pours a little onto his asshole. Maybe it’s okay that he runs his finger through the lube and then pushes it inside Charlie’s ass and makes Don’s little brother let out a sweet, tiny moan. And maybe it’s okay when Coop adds a second finger again and then a third and makes the ring of muscles loosen up, crooks his fingers until he’s hitting Charlie’s prostate and Charlie is shaking and keening.
But when Coop shifts, pulls out his fingers, presses his cock to Charlie’s asshole, and pushes inside, a painful and desperate cry escaping Charlie’s lips, Don decides that he’s done standing around while they have all the fun.
He steps to them, his hard cock somewhere against the point where the front of Coop’s hips and the back of Charlie’s ass meet, and he pushes a dry finger and then another into Coop’s asshole.
Coop hisses, and Don drives his fingers deeper. “You want to fuck my brother like that?”
“Shit, you bitch. That hurts.” Yet Coop still pushes back on Don’s fingers.
“Feel it, Coop. Let it hurt.” Don pushes his fingers in harder. “You always liked pain, didn’t you?”
“C’mere, Don,” Charlie suddenly begs. “Put your cock in my mouth. Please. Want to suck you off.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Coop says, and he gives Don a nudge. Don doesn’t take his fingers out of Coop, but he does move enough that the tip of his cock bumps against Charlie’s lips, and then Charlie swallows him down, his tongue moving frantically against Don’s cock. Don feels his cock enter Charlie’s throat, and his eyes squeeze shut, his whole body tensing at the tight sensation.
“Fuck,” Don moans, and he pulls his cock out of Charlie’s mouth, pulls his fingers out of Coop’s ass, puts his hands on Coop and pushes him out of Charlie, off the bed and to a pounding thud on the floor, and he quickly moves to stand behind his brother, gets up on the bed on his knees, and presses his cock into Charlie’s asshole. He slams inside and releases a shout, an “ah” or “oh” or some other sound that sounds painful and pleasurable and perfect. His cock pushes deep inside his brother’s ass, and they’re one, they’re fucking one; he’s so deep inside Charlie that they might as well be the same person.
“Fucking… Don… fucking, yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Graceless words tumble from Charlie’s lips. “Oh, fuck yes, fuck me like that,” and Don knows that Charlie loves it, and Coop’s doing what Don did before, rubbing his cock against Don’s hips and Charlie’s hips, the place where Don pounds into Charlie’s ass.
“Suck him, Charlie. Fucking suck that cock,” Don whispers, his cock somehow filling even more. “Suck him off, baby. Do it. C’mon and do it.”
Charlie twists his head back, and his lips meet Coop’s dick, and Coop’s sliding into his mouth, fucking his throat, and Don’s coming hard into Charlie’s ass, and Charlie’s coming hard onto the duvet, and Coop’s coming hard inside Charlie’s mouth, Charlie’s tongue pushing it back and his throat swallowing it down. They’re all coming together, and then Don’s pulling out of Charlie’s ass, Coop’s pulling out of Charlie’s mouth, and Charlie’s rolling over onto his back.
“Wow,” Charlie whispers, rubbing his hands over his face and pushing his curls back. Sweat beads on his forehead and slips down. “Wow. That was…” He sighs. “That was so good.”
Don falls to Charlie’s right, and Coop climbs onto the bed at Charlie’s left, and before anyone realizes it, they’re all asleep, chests heaving against backs as they breathe.
The thing you need to keep in mind is that it was Charlie’s idea.
So everything’s okay when Don follows Coop out to his own FBI-issued black SUV and helps him put his bags in the back.
“They should give us BMWs.”
“Yeah, I could go for a nice X5,” Coop answers.
They make small talk, and Don suggests that Coop join him at the LA offices. Coop brushes him off like he’s brushed off the dozens of one-night stands. Then they’re giving friendly hugs, and Don’s telling Coop to keep his head to the ground, and Coop’s driving away.
A few nights later, Don’s back his apartment and watching Charlie suck noodles into his mouth from a box of takeout. Charlie puts a hand on Don’s thigh, right above his knee, and kneads the skin and muscle, tissue and sinew, and softly smiles.
It’s one of those sick, fucked up thoughts you get when you’re getting off, and it’s not supposed to work out, but, sometimes, it does.
Charlie smiles again and lifts chopsticks wrapped in noodles to Don’s mouth, and nothing’s changed. If anything, it’s better.
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don/Charlie/Coop
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, slash, threesome
Spoilers: "Man Hunt"
Word Count: 2573
Challenge: "Man Hunt" for eppescest Summer Porn Challenge
Feedback: Is loverly
Disclaimer: Not mine, only borrowing, just fun, no infringement intended
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
Not Don’s.
Not Coop’s.
Charlie’s idea.
It comes as a shock to Don because, in the dozens of ways he imagined it happening, Charlie was never the one to take the initiative and make the suggestion.
For the record, Don only told Coop about his relationship with Charlie because he thought they were going to die. It was years ago back in Fugitive Recovery, and it was a capture gone wrong, and he only said anything because Coop started confessing his trespasses. It was fair. Coop’s eyes were big and wide when Don told him that he’d been sleeping with Charlie, his own brother, and Coop nodded his head and said, “Oh.” They survived, backup breaking in at the last moment, and Don and Coop carried on with their lives, carried on their separate ways, carried on with each other’s secrets.
For the record, Don’s never thought it would actually happen. It’s only a fantasy, something you think about when you’re jerking off. It’s one of those sick, fucked up thoughts you sometimes get when you’re all alone, and you’ve got your hand around your cock, and maybe you’re a little drunk, and you kind of hate yourself for thinking about something so crazy, but it’s okay because it’s just a thought, and you’re the only one who knows you’re beating your dick to the idea. You’re working your hand hard up and down your cock, and you’re getting off on the idea, and if there really was a God who could read your thoughts, you’d be embarrassed as hell, but when you’ve seen the shit you have, it’s hard to believe in God, so you let yourself fantasize about it and tell yourself it’s okay because no one will ever know. You come hard, and it’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had, and you want it bad, but you know it will never happen. You make peace with that.
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
Somehow, that absolves Don of the fact that he’s been getting off on the fantasy for years. He didn’t pursue it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t let anyone know. Charlie suggests it with his eyes on his shoes, and Don keeps his jaw clenched shut because that’s the only way to keep from smiling like a fool, and he nods his head slowly like he’s debating it, pretends to give it a few moments of thought as though he has his reservations, and then lifts his eyes to meet Charlie’s and uses all those years of keeping a straight face with criminals to his advantage and quietly says, “Okay, buddy. We can do that. I mean, if that’s really what you want to do, we can do that.”
Don calls Coop and asks him what he thinks of Don’s brother now that he’s met him, and Coop says Charlie is really smart, really gets it. Then Coop says that he thought Charlie was so cute, so tempting, when he was making his suggestions, was acting so coy, seemed like he wants some of what Coop has to offer, and Coop says that he remembers what Don told him all those years ago, and he asks, “Are you guys still…?” He doesn’t finish the question, lets it trail off, because Coop knows well that cell signals and cell conversations can be intercepted. He knows this well because he’s done it a hundred times before.
And Don says yes. He says that they’re still you know, and he can sense Coop nodding his head on the other end of the line, and Don takes a deep breath and says that Charlie wants Coop to come over and join them. When Coop asks Don to clarify, Don says, “Charlie wants you to join us,” and there’s an edge to his voice, an emphasis on the right words that lets Coop know what he’s trying to say. Coop asks if he’s sure, and Don doesn’t want to seem so obvious, so he pauses for a few seconds and says yes. Coop takes the hesitation to heart and asks again if he’s sure. Don tells him to shut up and come over.
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
So Don’s the one who’s tipsy when Coop arrives at Don’s apartment, and Charlie’s had barely enough to get buzzed. Don imagines that Charlie’s just trying to relax and keep up the nerve but still wants to remain in full control of his faculties. But Don, he’s got a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, both excitement and fear and practically everything else, and he needs to wipe everything clean. He needs to exorcise those impeding thoughts and emotions and get into the zone where he remembers that this is his ultimate fantasy. While never his raison d’être, this is what he’s wanted for years, and now he has his opportunity.
Coop graciously accepts the drink (Chivas on the rocks) from Charlie, quickly drinks it, and Don wonders if Coop is trying to keep up his own nerve. This is a big deal. Don and Coop were never together, though they often fucked other women in front of each other while in the same hotel room back in Fugitive Recovery, eyes glancing at each other while they thought the other wouldn’t notice, eyes watching the other man’s cock pounding into a pink mouth or pussy or, on rare occasions, tight ass. They never did anything sexual to each other, and now they were on the precipice, Charlie the intermediary that brought them together.
Charlie finishes his drink, sets it down on Don’s coffee table with a clink, and says, “Let’s fuck.”
Don’s never thought that Charlie could be so blunt.
Charlie’s eyes are on Coop. “Don and me, you and me, Don and you, whatever. Let’s fuck.”
Coop sets down his own drink, emptied. “I like the way you think, Professor.” Coop peels off his shirt, and Charlie unbuttons his own, and then they’re topless, and then they’re standing up to unbuckle and unbutton and unzip their pants, and Don finds himself doing the same, his brain telling him that his legs are unsteady though they seem to be holding him up just fine. Then they’re moving to his bedroom, and Coop’s mouth is on Charlie’s, and their cocks are pressed together as they stand against one another and kiss, and Coop is slowly thrusting his cock against Charlie’s. Coop snakes a hand into Charlie’s curls and pulls his hair hard, pulls his head back and exposes the length of his neck, and Charlie shouts out in pain, and Don is stepping towards them and shouting, “Jesus Christ, Coop, be careful!” but, just as he’s getting the words out, Coop’s tongue is entering Charlie’s mouth, and Charlie’s kissing him back passionately, and it’s all okay because Charlie’s always gotten off on a little bit of pain mixed with his pleasure. If Charlie didn’t get off on pain, Don and Charlie probably would have stopped at rubbing their cocks together; Don probably would have never pushed his cock into Charlie’s tight ass and made the mathematician cry out and beg for him to go slow, please go slower, it hurts so much, go slow, please, I love your cock and want you to fuck me, but please go slow ‘cause it hurts so much.
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
He was the one who wanted it. He was the one who asked for it. It was his party. So Don can stand idly by and watch Coop sit down on the bed, watch Charlie put his mouth on Coop’s cock when Charlie drops to his knees, watch Coop start to fuck Charlie’s mouth and, when he sees the full length of Coop’s dick slide between Charlie’s lips, fuck his throat. Coop’s fucking Charlie’s throat, his little brother trying to not gag, and Don feels his own cock throbbing, filling, aching, needing. Charlie pulls his mouth off Coop’s cock, and he’s panting.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
Coop puts a hand on Charlie’s cheek. “Yeah, baby, I’mma fuck you.” Coop’s eyes glance to Don’s for approval, but all Don can do is stare, and Coop returns his gaze to Charlie. “Get up on the bed, honey.” Charlie does and lays on his stomach. “Get up for me; get that ass up in the air,” and Charlie rises up on all fours, his boyish ass a tempting prospect, and Coop runs a finger along the crack. “You wanna get fucked?” His hand plays with Charlie’s balls. “Want my cock deep inside your ass?” A finger pushes into Charlie’s hole, and Don’s little brother moans. “Yeah, you’re horny, aren’t you?”
“So fucking horny.” Charlie pushes back onto Coop’s finger, and Coop adds a second, and Charlie lets out this sound, this moan that’s high and tight and like a whimper.
“You’re doing good, baby. How does that feel?” Thick arousal makes Coop’s voice sound even more Southern, more gravelly, the bourbon bite increased.
“It’s okay. Tight, little rough, but okay.”
“You want some lube?”
“Yes.”
“Got any?”
Charlie’s arm lifts, and the index finger on his hand points at the top drawer of Don’s nightstand. Coop quickly opens it, hand rifling around, and then he’s pulling out all of Don’s shit, his dirty magazines (men’s and women’s), his lube, his long train of condoms strung together with little perforated lines. Coop flips open a magazine to the picture of a woman’s pussy being fisted, glistening lips wrapped around a large hand. He opens another magazine to a spread of thick cock inside another man’s asshole.
“Look at that shit,” he whispers, his fingers pushing deeper inside Charlie. He thrusts his fingers in and out of Charlie, and his other hand reaches around to grip Charlie’s hard cock, softly stroking, teasing. “Look at those pretty little holes. I’m gonna work you like that.”
The thing you have to keep in mind is that it’s Charlie’s idea.
So maybe it’s okay when Coop rips a condom off the strip, tears it open, tosses the wrapper onto the floor, rolls the latex down the hard length of his cock. Maybe it’s okay that he uses his thumb to flick open the cap on the lube, tips the bottle over, and lets the lubricant pour onto his cock. Maybe it’s okay that he stops squeezing the bottle, positions it over Charlie’s ass, uses his other hand to spread open Charlie’s cheeks, and pours a little onto his asshole. Maybe it’s okay that he runs his finger through the lube and then pushes it inside Charlie’s ass and makes Don’s little brother let out a sweet, tiny moan. And maybe it’s okay when Coop adds a second finger again and then a third and makes the ring of muscles loosen up, crooks his fingers until he’s hitting Charlie’s prostate and Charlie is shaking and keening.
But when Coop shifts, pulls out his fingers, presses his cock to Charlie’s asshole, and pushes inside, a painful and desperate cry escaping Charlie’s lips, Don decides that he’s done standing around while they have all the fun.
He steps to them, his hard cock somewhere against the point where the front of Coop’s hips and the back of Charlie’s ass meet, and he pushes a dry finger and then another into Coop’s asshole.
Coop hisses, and Don drives his fingers deeper. “You want to fuck my brother like that?”
“Shit, you bitch. That hurts.” Yet Coop still pushes back on Don’s fingers.
“Feel it, Coop. Let it hurt.” Don pushes his fingers in harder. “You always liked pain, didn’t you?”
“C’mere, Don,” Charlie suddenly begs. “Put your cock in my mouth. Please. Want to suck you off.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Coop says, and he gives Don a nudge. Don doesn’t take his fingers out of Coop, but he does move enough that the tip of his cock bumps against Charlie’s lips, and then Charlie swallows him down, his tongue moving frantically against Don’s cock. Don feels his cock enter Charlie’s throat, and his eyes squeeze shut, his whole body tensing at the tight sensation.
“Fuck,” Don moans, and he pulls his cock out of Charlie’s mouth, pulls his fingers out of Coop’s ass, puts his hands on Coop and pushes him out of Charlie, off the bed and to a pounding thud on the floor, and he quickly moves to stand behind his brother, gets up on the bed on his knees, and presses his cock into Charlie’s asshole. He slams inside and releases a shout, an “ah” or “oh” or some other sound that sounds painful and pleasurable and perfect. His cock pushes deep inside his brother’s ass, and they’re one, they’re fucking one; he’s so deep inside Charlie that they might as well be the same person.
“Fucking… Don… fucking, yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Graceless words tumble from Charlie’s lips. “Oh, fuck yes, fuck me like that,” and Don knows that Charlie loves it, and Coop’s doing what Don did before, rubbing his cock against Don’s hips and Charlie’s hips, the place where Don pounds into Charlie’s ass.
“Suck him, Charlie. Fucking suck that cock,” Don whispers, his cock somehow filling even more. “Suck him off, baby. Do it. C’mon and do it.”
Charlie twists his head back, and his lips meet Coop’s dick, and Coop’s sliding into his mouth, fucking his throat, and Don’s coming hard into Charlie’s ass, and Charlie’s coming hard onto the duvet, and Coop’s coming hard inside Charlie’s mouth, Charlie’s tongue pushing it back and his throat swallowing it down. They’re all coming together, and then Don’s pulling out of Charlie’s ass, Coop’s pulling out of Charlie’s mouth, and Charlie’s rolling over onto his back.
“Wow,” Charlie whispers, rubbing his hands over his face and pushing his curls back. Sweat beads on his forehead and slips down. “Wow. That was…” He sighs. “That was so good.”
Don falls to Charlie’s right, and Coop climbs onto the bed at Charlie’s left, and before anyone realizes it, they’re all asleep, chests heaving against backs as they breathe.
The thing you need to keep in mind is that it was Charlie’s idea.
So everything’s okay when Don follows Coop out to his own FBI-issued black SUV and helps him put his bags in the back.
“They should give us BMWs.”
“Yeah, I could go for a nice X5,” Coop answers.
They make small talk, and Don suggests that Coop join him at the LA offices. Coop brushes him off like he’s brushed off the dozens of one-night stands. Then they’re giving friendly hugs, and Don’s telling Coop to keep his head to the ground, and Coop’s driving away.
A few nights later, Don’s back his apartment and watching Charlie suck noodles into his mouth from a box of takeout. Charlie puts a hand on Don’s thigh, right above his knee, and kneads the skin and muscle, tissue and sinew, and softly smiles.
It’s one of those sick, fucked up thoughts you get when you’re getting off, and it’s not supposed to work out, but, sometimes, it does.
Charlie smiles again and lifts chopsticks wrapped in noodles to Don’s mouth, and nothing’s changed. If anything, it’s better.