Numb3rs fic
Oct. 24th, 2010 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rillaliciousOkay, so, this is my first shot at it. It's not a voice I'm entirely comfortable with, but it is my beloved present tense, so I'm hoping that makes up for it. I left it a bit ambiguous as to when it takes place as I haven't watched all of season 6 yet.
Fandom: Numb3rs
Pairing: Colby/David
Word Count: ~1500
Disclaimer: Own nothing you recognize. Making no money. You know the drill.
The first time you try to talk about it, David shuts down the conversation fast. You exhale a puff of air and stroke his head, which is lying on your chest. So this isn't happening, then. Not in real time. That's no surprise.
The television flickers in front of you, blue and white on the walls, on the coffee table, on David's bare skin. On yours.
"Can't even keep my eyes open," David says.
"I'll drive you home," you offer. "If you can't drive yourself."
"Are you trying to get rid of me, Granger?" he asks.
It takes you a second to figure out how he wants you to answer that. You decide on nonchalant. A shrug, maybe. The ghost of a smirk.
"Nah," you say, pretending not to notice that he switched back to calling you 'Granger' as soon as you tried to open the discussion. "Wouldn't want you to suffer through your nightmares all alone after that scary movie."
"You're calling Speed a scary movie?"
"Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves hooking up at the end? I'd call that pretty scary." You tap David on the arm. "Pop quiz, hotshot, where did my pants end up?"
It almost hurts to push him off your chest, but it hurts more to let him stay there and pretend that this is some normal buddy cop thing going on. Like all agents do this. You two sure as hell aren't Don and Liz.
You stand up. "Next time I'm picking the movie," you say.
"I wanted mindless tonight," David says, and his voice is darker and quieter. "Didn't want to think."
Of course not. Fuck and then spend two hours staring at a screen and maybe he'll forget that today he shot a guy who might not have been the right guy. You wish it was that easy for you, that the fucking was something you could forget about as soon as it was done. You've never had a problem forgetting the shooting part. Complimentary selective memory. Maybe the common denominator is the fucking itself.
Common denominator? You've got to stop letting Charlie get inside your head. David reaches out to grab your ass and it catches you off guard.
"You know you don't need those, right?" he says, swinging his legs off the couch and sitting up. He stands, close to you. Close enough that you can tell how warm he is, you can tell that his breathing is slow and heavy. "The pants?"
"Oh yeah?"
His hand is on the small of your back now, and he pulls you in. "I'd rather keep you naked."
"Oh, so now we're talking about this?"
"Who said anything about talking?"
Well, you did, of course, but you're not about to bring that up when his mouth is brushing across yours and he's doing that thing he always does, goading you into making the first move. You wonder if that makes it easier for him to forget when he walks into the office. You want to make him work for it, but you won't. He knows it, too.
~@~@~@~
This time you really need to talk about it because you both ended up in your bed, limbs wrapped haphazardly over twisted sheets, and David's sleeping now. You watch the ceiling. This is intimate, being in your bed together. It pulls all the fucking, all those intense, rushed kisses, all that touching and jerking each other off when you finally get a second to yourselves, right across the line that separates whatever this thing is from David-your-best-friend-who's-always-told-you-everything. He stretches out beside you, pulling away a little bit and settling in.
You realize he's not sleeping after all. And you're vulnerable all of the sudden, without the cover of physical contact to keep your hands occupied.
"Can we talk about this now?" you ask.
"Talk about what part of this?" he says. "The sex? Or the sleep that you're not letting me get?"
"I just want to know where I stand." Maybe you should have picked a better time for this conversation, like when you were both wearing clothes.
"Well, we can't bring this to the office."
"I know that," you say. Does he really think that's what you're getting at? "I'm not even asking you to talk about it outside this room. I just want to know what this is, before--"
"Before you jump into bed with another suspect?"
"That's not fair. We talked about that. I screwed up. I know that."
"Yeah, you did," he says, and you wonder if he's ever going to let it go. That feels like a lifetime ago.
"Well, if we'd talked about this before that happened... It's not like you've stopped dating. Or fucking other people."
"That's not fair, either." Then he's quiet for the measure of a dozen breaths, but you know he's not done. "Maybe I didn't want to hear that this was what you and Carter had going on."
"I wasn't fucking Dwayne, David."
"No, I know that," he says. "I mean, the guy thought you owed him, for saving your life. You thought so too, right? Well, I... Out on the freighter..."
And now it's like everything else in your head has gone quiet and you suddenly get it.
"You think I'm here right now because I owe you?"
"I'm saying I don't know, Colby. What are you here for?"
"Besides this being my bed?" you ask, the comment coming too quickly to your lips. This isn't the time for that. "I'm here because I've wanted you for a long time, David." Your voice is quieter now.
"How long?"
You exhale, wishing that the breath would just go on and on, because as soon as it ends, you need to have an answer.
"Do you remember when we brought in Ben Ellis? In front of his cousin's house?" You can feel him nod against the pillow. "From the second I realized you wouldn't shoot him."
David snorts. "All right."
"That's it? Just 'all right'?"
"What else am I supposed to say? I wanted an answer, you gave it to me."
"All right." You roll toward the wall.
"Are you pouting, Granger?"
"Can you not call me that when we're naked? It makes me feel cheap."
"You are cheap."
You don't want to smile, but at least you're not facing him when you do. He untangles his legs from the sheet and slides up behind you, warm and comfortable pressed up against your body; he fits there.
"Don't go to sleep angry, Colby." He's snickering as he presses his lips to the back of your neck, the spark of it twining down your spine.
"'kay." And you realize you're tired now. You reach down and take his hand from your stomach, pressing it to your lips. "Night, David."
Three long, deep breaths, and you can feel sleep canvasing your brain, everything going quiet.
"We weren't at work."
"What?" You yawn, trying to put the words in an order that makes sense.
"You didn't ask me how long I wanted you, but I'm answering anyway. We weren't at work, when I knew it. It was at that pizza place with the greasy breadsticks. The one where the delivery girl--"
"Put her number in my pocket?"
"Yeah."
"You were jealous of the delivery girl?" you ask. This is interesting.
"I didn't say I was jealous."
"She was just a kid."
"She was at least twenty-one."
"You were jealous of the delivery girl," you say.
"She had her hand in your pocket," he says.
"You wanted your hand in my pocket."
"I wanted more than that."
"You got more than that." You press back against him.
"Good night, Colby."
"She totally copped a feel, you know. I'd hate to think about what she could've grabbed if she went for the front pocket."
"Are you trying to make me jealous?"
"Are you admitting you were jealous?"
"I'm just saying it was a pretty ballsy move, sticking her hand in your pocket."
"Front pocket would have been ballsier."
"Seriously? That's the joke you're going out with tonight?"
"Who said I was done?"
David's grin spreads across the back of your neck, and then his tongue is wet and hot on your skin and you shiver all over. His hand slips out of yours, slides down your stomach.
"I did," he says, and his hand moves lower still. "Problem with that?"
"Nope." You suck in a breath through your teeth as he finds what he was looking for, your hips rocking up to push into his grasp.
"Good." He's rubbing against your back, hard again, just like you, and so perfect you can't believe this is the first time you've brought him to bed.
"More," you say, and you don't care what he gives you more of, because you'll take anything right now.
"Are you begging me, Granger?" The words vibrate against your skin.
"I told you not to--"
"Shut up," he says.
So you do.
~@~@~@~
Fandom: Numb3rs
Pairing: Colby/David
Word Count: ~1500
Disclaimer: Own nothing you recognize. Making no money. You know the drill.
The first time you try to talk about it, David shuts down the conversation fast. You exhale a puff of air and stroke his head, which is lying on your chest. So this isn't happening, then. Not in real time. That's no surprise.
The television flickers in front of you, blue and white on the walls, on the coffee table, on David's bare skin. On yours.
"Can't even keep my eyes open," David says.
"I'll drive you home," you offer. "If you can't drive yourself."
"Are you trying to get rid of me, Granger?" he asks.
It takes you a second to figure out how he wants you to answer that. You decide on nonchalant. A shrug, maybe. The ghost of a smirk.
"Nah," you say, pretending not to notice that he switched back to calling you 'Granger' as soon as you tried to open the discussion. "Wouldn't want you to suffer through your nightmares all alone after that scary movie."
"You're calling Speed a scary movie?"
"Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves hooking up at the end? I'd call that pretty scary." You tap David on the arm. "Pop quiz, hotshot, where did my pants end up?"
It almost hurts to push him off your chest, but it hurts more to let him stay there and pretend that this is some normal buddy cop thing going on. Like all agents do this. You two sure as hell aren't Don and Liz.
You stand up. "Next time I'm picking the movie," you say.
"I wanted mindless tonight," David says, and his voice is darker and quieter. "Didn't want to think."
Of course not. Fuck and then spend two hours staring at a screen and maybe he'll forget that today he shot a guy who might not have been the right guy. You wish it was that easy for you, that the fucking was something you could forget about as soon as it was done. You've never had a problem forgetting the shooting part. Complimentary selective memory. Maybe the common denominator is the fucking itself.
Common denominator? You've got to stop letting Charlie get inside your head. David reaches out to grab your ass and it catches you off guard.
"You know you don't need those, right?" he says, swinging his legs off the couch and sitting up. He stands, close to you. Close enough that you can tell how warm he is, you can tell that his breathing is slow and heavy. "The pants?"
"Oh yeah?"
His hand is on the small of your back now, and he pulls you in. "I'd rather keep you naked."
"Oh, so now we're talking about this?"
"Who said anything about talking?"
Well, you did, of course, but you're not about to bring that up when his mouth is brushing across yours and he's doing that thing he always does, goading you into making the first move. You wonder if that makes it easier for him to forget when he walks into the office. You want to make him work for it, but you won't. He knows it, too.
~@~@~@~
This time you really need to talk about it because you both ended up in your bed, limbs wrapped haphazardly over twisted sheets, and David's sleeping now. You watch the ceiling. This is intimate, being in your bed together. It pulls all the fucking, all those intense, rushed kisses, all that touching and jerking each other off when you finally get a second to yourselves, right across the line that separates whatever this thing is from David-your-best-friend-who's-always-told-you-everything. He stretches out beside you, pulling away a little bit and settling in.
You realize he's not sleeping after all. And you're vulnerable all of the sudden, without the cover of physical contact to keep your hands occupied.
"Can we talk about this now?" you ask.
"Talk about what part of this?" he says. "The sex? Or the sleep that you're not letting me get?"
"I just want to know where I stand." Maybe you should have picked a better time for this conversation, like when you were both wearing clothes.
"Well, we can't bring this to the office."
"I know that," you say. Does he really think that's what you're getting at? "I'm not even asking you to talk about it outside this room. I just want to know what this is, before--"
"Before you jump into bed with another suspect?"
"That's not fair. We talked about that. I screwed up. I know that."
"Yeah, you did," he says, and you wonder if he's ever going to let it go. That feels like a lifetime ago.
"Well, if we'd talked about this before that happened... It's not like you've stopped dating. Or fucking other people."
"That's not fair, either." Then he's quiet for the measure of a dozen breaths, but you know he's not done. "Maybe I didn't want to hear that this was what you and Carter had going on."
"I wasn't fucking Dwayne, David."
"No, I know that," he says. "I mean, the guy thought you owed him, for saving your life. You thought so too, right? Well, I... Out on the freighter..."
And now it's like everything else in your head has gone quiet and you suddenly get it.
"You think I'm here right now because I owe you?"
"I'm saying I don't know, Colby. What are you here for?"
"Besides this being my bed?" you ask, the comment coming too quickly to your lips. This isn't the time for that. "I'm here because I've wanted you for a long time, David." Your voice is quieter now.
"How long?"
You exhale, wishing that the breath would just go on and on, because as soon as it ends, you need to have an answer.
"Do you remember when we brought in Ben Ellis? In front of his cousin's house?" You can feel him nod against the pillow. "From the second I realized you wouldn't shoot him."
David snorts. "All right."
"That's it? Just 'all right'?"
"What else am I supposed to say? I wanted an answer, you gave it to me."
"All right." You roll toward the wall.
"Are you pouting, Granger?"
"Can you not call me that when we're naked? It makes me feel cheap."
"You are cheap."
You don't want to smile, but at least you're not facing him when you do. He untangles his legs from the sheet and slides up behind you, warm and comfortable pressed up against your body; he fits there.
"Don't go to sleep angry, Colby." He's snickering as he presses his lips to the back of your neck, the spark of it twining down your spine.
"'kay." And you realize you're tired now. You reach down and take his hand from your stomach, pressing it to your lips. "Night, David."
Three long, deep breaths, and you can feel sleep canvasing your brain, everything going quiet.
"We weren't at work."
"What?" You yawn, trying to put the words in an order that makes sense.
"You didn't ask me how long I wanted you, but I'm answering anyway. We weren't at work, when I knew it. It was at that pizza place with the greasy breadsticks. The one where the delivery girl--"
"Put her number in my pocket?"
"Yeah."
"You were jealous of the delivery girl?" you ask. This is interesting.
"I didn't say I was jealous."
"She was just a kid."
"She was at least twenty-one."
"You were jealous of the delivery girl," you say.
"She had her hand in your pocket," he says.
"You wanted your hand in my pocket."
"I wanted more than that."
"You got more than that." You press back against him.
"Good night, Colby."
"She totally copped a feel, you know. I'd hate to think about what she could've grabbed if she went for the front pocket."
"Are you trying to make me jealous?"
"Are you admitting you were jealous?"
"I'm just saying it was a pretty ballsy move, sticking her hand in your pocket."
"Front pocket would have been ballsier."
"Seriously? That's the joke you're going out with tonight?"
"Who said I was done?"
David's grin spreads across the back of your neck, and then his tongue is wet and hot on your skin and you shiver all over. His hand slips out of yours, slides down your stomach.
"I did," he says, and his hand moves lower still. "Problem with that?"
"Nope." You suck in a breath through your teeth as he finds what he was looking for, your hips rocking up to push into his grasp.
"Good." He's rubbing against your back, hard again, just like you, and so perfect you can't believe this is the first time you've brought him to bed.
"More," you say, and you don't care what he gives you more of, because you'll take anything right now.
"Are you begging me, Granger?" The words vibrate against your skin.
"I told you not to--"
"Shut up," he says.
So you do.
~@~@~@~
