Ficlet: Intermittent Silence: Don/Charlie
Title: Intermittent Silence
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don/Charlie
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Incest
Spoilers: "Obsession"
Word Count: 531
Challenge: "Obsession" for eppescest Summer Porn Challenge
Feedback: Kills me but I love it because I'm a masochist.
Disclaimer: Not mine, only borrowing, just fun, no infringement intended.
A/N: Sweet Bessie, this fic just about killed me. First of all, I couldn't write it. Then I actually started writing it, but I couldn't write any more. Then I finally finished it, but I found out it was 477 words and the challenge has a word-length minimum of 500.
I'm very ambivalent about this fic. It has some wonderful, beautiful lines in it, but - overall - it's excruciatingly mediocre.
They’ve been sitting in silence.
“So… Skyler Wyatt.”
Don doesn’t look at Charlie as he nods his head. “Yeah.”
“I wonder if she’s got a good lawyer like OJ.”
“Well, she’s not going to get off; she confessed.”
“Still, you’ve got to wonder what kind of twist they’re going to put on this. Celebrity lawyers - ”
“You know, Charlie, once I’m done doing my job, it’s out of my hands, so I prefer to not think about it.” Silence descends, and Don casts a glance at Charlie to see him idly circling a finger around the rim of his glass. “What? What is it?”
“Did you want to sleep with her?”
Don squeezes his eyes shut. “Jesus, Charlie; what kind of question is that?”
“A rather straightforward question, if one were - ”
“Yeah, you got that right.” Don sighs, and when Charlie remains silent, there’s nothing but the question hanging in the air. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I did. But that was before I found out she was a killer. Besides, that whole Anne Heche haircut…?”
Charlie huffs a laugh. “When did you become a style guru?”
“Hey, I happen to have style, thank you very much. This suit?” He moves a hand in the air down the length of his body. “This is Hugo Boss.”
“Whatever that means.”
Don laughs, and Charlie follows, and it’s okay for a moment, but then the silence returns.
“I, uh, I got a note from a secret admirer.”
“That’s what Dad said. You think it’s from Amita?”
“It’s not from Amita. I compared it to her handwriting.”
Don stiffens for a second. “Did you now?”
“Yup.”
Don dares to look at his brother, and there’s Charlie looking back at him with those eyes and that expression their father used to use when he’d ask Don whose baseball broke the window.
“Okay, alright, fine.” Don puts up his hands in surrender. “I wrote the note.”
“I know you did.” Charlie comfortably relaxes back into the chair. “Just wanted to hear you say it.” Then there’s that damn silence again. “You like my hair, huh?”
A small smile spreads across Don’s lips. “Of course I do. Especially on my thighs when you’re sucking my cock.”
“Is that so?” Charlie sets his glass on the table, slinks over to Don, and sinks down onto his knees between Don’s legs. His hands reach for Don’s belt.
This time, the silence is good. In the quiet, Charlie pulls at the leather and opens the belt. His fingers unzip Don’s pants. His hands take out Don’s cock. Then there’s the sweet bliss of Charlie’s mouth on him - his lips and tongue and teeth.
The silence is perforated by moans - not ripped apart but marked with tiny tears indicating how to make Don come undone.
This is love.
This is humility.
This is perfection.
This is home, the sweet pleasure of one giving so that the other can receive, and the exchange a gift, a gift so much more appreciated than a bread maker at a wedding or a cheese grater at Hanukkah, a gift so much more rewarding than financial donations, a gift that’s mutual and constantly reciprocating.
This is obsession.
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don/Charlie
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Incest
Spoilers: "Obsession"
Word Count: 531
Challenge: "Obsession" for eppescest Summer Porn Challenge
Feedback: Kills me but I love it because I'm a masochist.
Disclaimer: Not mine, only borrowing, just fun, no infringement intended.
A/N: Sweet Bessie, this fic just about killed me. First of all, I couldn't write it. Then I actually started writing it, but I couldn't write any more. Then I finally finished it, but I found out it was 477 words and the challenge has a word-length minimum of 500.
I'm very ambivalent about this fic. It has some wonderful, beautiful lines in it, but - overall - it's excruciatingly mediocre.
They’ve been sitting in silence.
“So… Skyler Wyatt.”
Don doesn’t look at Charlie as he nods his head. “Yeah.”
“I wonder if she’s got a good lawyer like OJ.”
“Well, she’s not going to get off; she confessed.”
“Still, you’ve got to wonder what kind of twist they’re going to put on this. Celebrity lawyers - ”
“You know, Charlie, once I’m done doing my job, it’s out of my hands, so I prefer to not think about it.” Silence descends, and Don casts a glance at Charlie to see him idly circling a finger around the rim of his glass. “What? What is it?”
“Did you want to sleep with her?”
Don squeezes his eyes shut. “Jesus, Charlie; what kind of question is that?”
“A rather straightforward question, if one were - ”
“Yeah, you got that right.” Don sighs, and when Charlie remains silent, there’s nothing but the question hanging in the air. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I did. But that was before I found out she was a killer. Besides, that whole Anne Heche haircut…?”
Charlie huffs a laugh. “When did you become a style guru?”
“Hey, I happen to have style, thank you very much. This suit?” He moves a hand in the air down the length of his body. “This is Hugo Boss.”
“Whatever that means.”
Don laughs, and Charlie follows, and it’s okay for a moment, but then the silence returns.
“I, uh, I got a note from a secret admirer.”
“That’s what Dad said. You think it’s from Amita?”
“It’s not from Amita. I compared it to her handwriting.”
Don stiffens for a second. “Did you now?”
“Yup.”
Don dares to look at his brother, and there’s Charlie looking back at him with those eyes and that expression their father used to use when he’d ask Don whose baseball broke the window.
“Okay, alright, fine.” Don puts up his hands in surrender. “I wrote the note.”
“I know you did.” Charlie comfortably relaxes back into the chair. “Just wanted to hear you say it.” Then there’s that damn silence again. “You like my hair, huh?”
A small smile spreads across Don’s lips. “Of course I do. Especially on my thighs when you’re sucking my cock.”
“Is that so?” Charlie sets his glass on the table, slinks over to Don, and sinks down onto his knees between Don’s legs. His hands reach for Don’s belt.
This time, the silence is good. In the quiet, Charlie pulls at the leather and opens the belt. His fingers unzip Don’s pants. His hands take out Don’s cock. Then there’s the sweet bliss of Charlie’s mouth on him - his lips and tongue and teeth.
The silence is perforated by moans - not ripped apart but marked with tiny tears indicating how to make Don come undone.
This is love.
This is humility.
This is perfection.
This is home, the sweet pleasure of one giving so that the other can receive, and the exchange a gift, a gift so much more appreciated than a bread maker at a wedding or a cheese grater at Hanukkah, a gift so much more rewarding than financial donations, a gift that’s mutual and constantly reciprocating.
This is obsession.