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rillaliciousFandom: Numb3rs
Title: Slow Ride
Pairing: Don/Colby, mentions David/Colby
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1650
Summary: Colby keeps coming back.
A/N: I left the timing open-ended. Could fit in any time after Trust Metric. Thanks![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellensmithee for the read-through. Um, probably the most graphic porn I've written for a fic in a long time.
It was easy enough to get things started. A couple of beers on a night when everyone else had plans. Somehow the conversation twisted and wove its way to love and loss. Colby's father. Don's mother. A few beers more and Colby's telling Don things that no one else has heard, except maybe David. And he's not shutting up.
"What's the matter? You can't hold your liquor, Colb?" Don raises his bottle with a smirk.
"Nah." Colby smiles. It's disarming. "Tired of secrets, maybe. Just for tonight." He stretches out and Don's reaction time is just slow enough that he can't help following the line of Colby's body sprawled out on the chair.
"All right," Don says, and he looks away.
Colby reaches for the beer on the table beside him and Don looks back just as his fingers close around the neck of it. As he raises the bottle to his lips, Colby's thumb slides up and down the dark glass and Don swears he sees a look of smug satisfaction just before Colby swallows.
Five more minutes of that and Don has Colby pinned against the wall, his chest flush against the smooth white plaster. Don wants his hands on that body, now, and he pushes Colby's shirt up over his head, drags palms and fingertips over muscle and bare skin. He's pressed up so close that Colby's pulse seems to beat through him. Don grunts, grabs a fistful of hair. Colby is pliant, eager to please, and Don has to fight to keep himself in check, not to ask too much too soon. He brushes his mouth over warm skin, letting go only to unbutton his shirt and throw it behind him.
"Don." Colby's voice is gravelly and full of need.
Don reaches around, tugging open Colby's belt. "I gotcha."
Colby shifts his hips impatiently. Don shoves Colby's pants down. More skin, and it's harder to breathe. The air is heavy, as if every molecule is swelling with everything Don wants to get out of the other man. He thinks about the subway, suddenly, about not taking the shot when he had it, a hundred years ago, and he grips Colby's arms fiercely. Colby's cheek is pressed against the wall and Don can see the crease in his temple, the hint of amusement. A dare.
Don wants to make him beg.
"Don," he says again.
"You want something, Colby?"
"Oh, come on."
Don rubs against him, rough denim grinding against Colby's bare ass. "You've gotta be more specific than that."
"You know what I want."
"Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it."
The only sound in the room is Colby pulling in a deep breath. "Fuck. Don. Fine. I want you to touch me." Another breath. "Please."
"Yeah." Don grins, drops his own jeans before grabbing Colby at the hips, pulling him back.
Colby reaches behind him, but Don has him by the wrists first and after a moment's struggle, Colby's hands are pinned up above his head, against the wall.
"What are you trying to do, Colby? You think you're in charge here?"
Colby groans and Don can feel the resonance of it against his own chest, pressed tight against Colby's back.
"You just bought yourself more time before I let you get your rocks off."
"Don."
"Shut up." Don reaches around, takes Colby in his hand. "I hope you're thinkin' about all the things you want me to do to you," he says. "Because if you don't keep that mouth shut, thinking about 'em is all you're gonna do."
Colby exhales. He loves this, and Don knows it. David didn't make him wait. David probably gave him instant gratification. But Don isn't David, and Colby keeps coming back because of it. Don tightens his fist around Colby's prick, his own erection cradled against Colby's ass.
Don reaches over, one-handed, fumbling through the buffet drawer until his fingers close over cold metal and he comes back up, reaching for Colby's hands. Cuffing his hands behind his back only takes a second, and Don spins him around by the shoulders, shoves him down to his knees. He smacks Colby's cheek with his dick. Colby licks his lips. The slow, long slide into Colby's mouth is all heat and wet perfection. Don grabs his hair, not because he needs to--Colby knows just what to do, just what Don wants, and how to get it done without his hands--but because he can. Colby starts making a sound, a low, rumbling noise from deep in his chest.
"Don't you dare come yet, Colby," Don says, and the next words are lost before they even reach his mouth because fuck, he can feel that sound Colby's making vibrate around the tip of his prick, deep in Colby's throat. "Oh, hell."
Don pulls Colby's hair, eases him off a little, slow-fucks his mouth and watches Colby's face. Colby's eyes are on him, glazed and intent. He trusts everything Don is about to do to him.
"Here," Don says, hoarsely, and he reaches over and takes the key from the top of the buffet, drops it behind Colby, into his waiting hand. "You can touch yourself, but don't come."
Colby's lips curl up around Don's cock as he unlocks the cuffs. Then the gentle push of teeth around Don's prick as he tries to talk. Don reacts first, jerking Colby's head in closer, shoving his cock in deeper.
"Didn't say you could talk," says Don.
Colby growls. He's stroking himself now, working his prick over in time with the way Don's fucking his mouth, and Don wonders who he's really trying to get off like that because, goddammit, the sight of Colby jerking himself and sucking Don at the same time goes straight to Don's balls. He watches the rise and fall of Colby's shoulders, the flush in his cheeks, the heaving of his chest as his breathing grows harder, and still Don knows that he's the only one who's close right now.
Colby's tongue is a thing of fucking magic. He can stroke and lick and tease and explore all at once, and now that his hands are free he only needs one on his own prick and the other one is cradling Don's balls and--Jesus, there's that tongue again. Don might be the one in the power position, but right now it's Colby calling the shots.
Don's done. He jerks Colby's head away, pushes him back, and grips his cock. Colby's still slow-stroking his own erection, lips parted and swollen, and Don's losing it now.
He doesn't know how. Colby. Does it. But he can't wait that long. He just... can't. And then Don's coming all over Colby's chest and Colby is smirking, like he could wait forever, just handle his prick forever.
"Clean it up," Don orders, and this is the first time that he sees Colby's fingers are trembling. And those come-covered fingers shake beautifully, slipping between Colby's lips, shiny now with saliva as he sucks them clean. If Don were a younger man, just watching this would get him hard again. Colby finishes wiping his chest clean, finishes sucking Don's come from his fingers, slick streaks glistening from his lips to that delicious spot just below the hollow of his throat.
Don gives him that slow, squinting smile. "You're a mess, Granger. Get up, bend over the table."
Colby spreads out across the table, arms outstretched, his stance wide and just fucking shameless. Colby's not the only one who loves this. Don reaches around, shoves two fingers into Colby's mouth, gets them wet, so wet, and then--fuck. He's pressing them into Colby's ass and hearing those sounds Colby's making and grabbing Colby's cock, heavy and rock hard in his palm.
"Don." That he's talking now, when he knows not to, means he's getting close. But Don can make him wait longer.
Don twists his fingers, presses just right there, and Colby fucking whimpers.
"Not yet."
"Don."
"I said not yet."
"Fuck."
"Oh, yeah," Don murmurs. He leans down, hot breath on the back of Colby's neck. "You want this so bad, Colby, that you're gonna beg me for it."
"Yeah." His voice is slow and warm, the whole room melting as it slides over every surface, whiskey spilling over ice. "Don. God. That's--right there. Fuck. You gotta let me come now, Don." Colby turns his head down, bangs his forehead against the table, panting, twisting, trying everything he can to make these last seconds stretch.
Then Don hits that spot again and he knows it's just exactly right, because the next thing he hears is, "Please."
That's it. Don exhales.
"Okay, now."
And Colby had to be anticipating this moment because he's taut and shaking and coming on the command, coming all over, and Don's laugh is husky and low against his back.
"Jesus," Don says, and he stands up, slides his fingers out, looking down at Colby limp and breathing hard against the table.
It's a full three minutes before Colby pushes himself upright, and Don is dressed and collecting warm bottles of half-finished beer, wasted relics of a conversation that happened before the ground shifted again. Because every time this happens, it shifts a little more. Don likes to think it's shifting Colby in the right direction. Sometimes he's not so sure.
Colby's getting dressed, reluctantly.
Don pauses in the kitchen doorway. "He's... gonna come around, Colb."
Colby snorts, raises his eyebrows, doesn't look up. "Yeah. Sure, he is." He pulls the t-shirt over his head.
Don shrugs. "Well, until then..." And he leaves the room. He doesn't need to finish the thought; Colby knows where it's going. And Don knows that David will come around. But until then, Colby keeps coming back.
Title: Slow Ride
Pairing: Don/Colby, mentions David/Colby
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1650
Summary: Colby keeps coming back.
A/N: I left the timing open-ended. Could fit in any time after Trust Metric. Thanks
ellensmithee for the read-through. Um, probably the most graphic porn I've written for a fic in a long time. It was easy enough to get things started. A couple of beers on a night when everyone else had plans. Somehow the conversation twisted and wove its way to love and loss. Colby's father. Don's mother. A few beers more and Colby's telling Don things that no one else has heard, except maybe David. And he's not shutting up.
"What's the matter? You can't hold your liquor, Colb?" Don raises his bottle with a smirk.
"Nah." Colby smiles. It's disarming. "Tired of secrets, maybe. Just for tonight." He stretches out and Don's reaction time is just slow enough that he can't help following the line of Colby's body sprawled out on the chair.
"All right," Don says, and he looks away.
Colby reaches for the beer on the table beside him and Don looks back just as his fingers close around the neck of it. As he raises the bottle to his lips, Colby's thumb slides up and down the dark glass and Don swears he sees a look of smug satisfaction just before Colby swallows.
Five more minutes of that and Don has Colby pinned against the wall, his chest flush against the smooth white plaster. Don wants his hands on that body, now, and he pushes Colby's shirt up over his head, drags palms and fingertips over muscle and bare skin. He's pressed up so close that Colby's pulse seems to beat through him. Don grunts, grabs a fistful of hair. Colby is pliant, eager to please, and Don has to fight to keep himself in check, not to ask too much too soon. He brushes his mouth over warm skin, letting go only to unbutton his shirt and throw it behind him.
"Don." Colby's voice is gravelly and full of need.
Don reaches around, tugging open Colby's belt. "I gotcha."
Colby shifts his hips impatiently. Don shoves Colby's pants down. More skin, and it's harder to breathe. The air is heavy, as if every molecule is swelling with everything Don wants to get out of the other man. He thinks about the subway, suddenly, about not taking the shot when he had it, a hundred years ago, and he grips Colby's arms fiercely. Colby's cheek is pressed against the wall and Don can see the crease in his temple, the hint of amusement. A dare.
Don wants to make him beg.
"Don," he says again.
"You want something, Colby?"
"Oh, come on."
Don rubs against him, rough denim grinding against Colby's bare ass. "You've gotta be more specific than that."
"You know what I want."
"Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it."
The only sound in the room is Colby pulling in a deep breath. "Fuck. Don. Fine. I want you to touch me." Another breath. "Please."
"Yeah." Don grins, drops his own jeans before grabbing Colby at the hips, pulling him back.
Colby reaches behind him, but Don has him by the wrists first and after a moment's struggle, Colby's hands are pinned up above his head, against the wall.
"What are you trying to do, Colby? You think you're in charge here?"
Colby groans and Don can feel the resonance of it against his own chest, pressed tight against Colby's back.
"You just bought yourself more time before I let you get your rocks off."
"Don."
"Shut up." Don reaches around, takes Colby in his hand. "I hope you're thinkin' about all the things you want me to do to you," he says. "Because if you don't keep that mouth shut, thinking about 'em is all you're gonna do."
Colby exhales. He loves this, and Don knows it. David didn't make him wait. David probably gave him instant gratification. But Don isn't David, and Colby keeps coming back because of it. Don tightens his fist around Colby's prick, his own erection cradled against Colby's ass.
Don reaches over, one-handed, fumbling through the buffet drawer until his fingers close over cold metal and he comes back up, reaching for Colby's hands. Cuffing his hands behind his back only takes a second, and Don spins him around by the shoulders, shoves him down to his knees. He smacks Colby's cheek with his dick. Colby licks his lips. The slow, long slide into Colby's mouth is all heat and wet perfection. Don grabs his hair, not because he needs to--Colby knows just what to do, just what Don wants, and how to get it done without his hands--but because he can. Colby starts making a sound, a low, rumbling noise from deep in his chest.
"Don't you dare come yet, Colby," Don says, and the next words are lost before they even reach his mouth because fuck, he can feel that sound Colby's making vibrate around the tip of his prick, deep in Colby's throat. "Oh, hell."
Don pulls Colby's hair, eases him off a little, slow-fucks his mouth and watches Colby's face. Colby's eyes are on him, glazed and intent. He trusts everything Don is about to do to him.
"Here," Don says, hoarsely, and he reaches over and takes the key from the top of the buffet, drops it behind Colby, into his waiting hand. "You can touch yourself, but don't come."
Colby's lips curl up around Don's cock as he unlocks the cuffs. Then the gentle push of teeth around Don's prick as he tries to talk. Don reacts first, jerking Colby's head in closer, shoving his cock in deeper.
"Didn't say you could talk," says Don.
Colby growls. He's stroking himself now, working his prick over in time with the way Don's fucking his mouth, and Don wonders who he's really trying to get off like that because, goddammit, the sight of Colby jerking himself and sucking Don at the same time goes straight to Don's balls. He watches the rise and fall of Colby's shoulders, the flush in his cheeks, the heaving of his chest as his breathing grows harder, and still Don knows that he's the only one who's close right now.
Colby's tongue is a thing of fucking magic. He can stroke and lick and tease and explore all at once, and now that his hands are free he only needs one on his own prick and the other one is cradling Don's balls and--Jesus, there's that tongue again. Don might be the one in the power position, but right now it's Colby calling the shots.
Don's done. He jerks Colby's head away, pushes him back, and grips his cock. Colby's still slow-stroking his own erection, lips parted and swollen, and Don's losing it now.
He doesn't know how. Colby. Does it. But he can't wait that long. He just... can't. And then Don's coming all over Colby's chest and Colby is smirking, like he could wait forever, just handle his prick forever.
"Clean it up," Don orders, and this is the first time that he sees Colby's fingers are trembling. And those come-covered fingers shake beautifully, slipping between Colby's lips, shiny now with saliva as he sucks them clean. If Don were a younger man, just watching this would get him hard again. Colby finishes wiping his chest clean, finishes sucking Don's come from his fingers, slick streaks glistening from his lips to that delicious spot just below the hollow of his throat.
Don gives him that slow, squinting smile. "You're a mess, Granger. Get up, bend over the table."
Colby spreads out across the table, arms outstretched, his stance wide and just fucking shameless. Colby's not the only one who loves this. Don reaches around, shoves two fingers into Colby's mouth, gets them wet, so wet, and then--fuck. He's pressing them into Colby's ass and hearing those sounds Colby's making and grabbing Colby's cock, heavy and rock hard in his palm.
"Don." That he's talking now, when he knows not to, means he's getting close. But Don can make him wait longer.
Don twists his fingers, presses just right there, and Colby fucking whimpers.
"Not yet."
"Don."
"I said not yet."
"Fuck."
"Oh, yeah," Don murmurs. He leans down, hot breath on the back of Colby's neck. "You want this so bad, Colby, that you're gonna beg me for it."
"Yeah." His voice is slow and warm, the whole room melting as it slides over every surface, whiskey spilling over ice. "Don. God. That's--right there. Fuck. You gotta let me come now, Don." Colby turns his head down, bangs his forehead against the table, panting, twisting, trying everything he can to make these last seconds stretch.
Then Don hits that spot again and he knows it's just exactly right, because the next thing he hears is, "Please."
That's it. Don exhales.
"Okay, now."
And Colby had to be anticipating this moment because he's taut and shaking and coming on the command, coming all over, and Don's laugh is husky and low against his back.
"Jesus," Don says, and he stands up, slides his fingers out, looking down at Colby limp and breathing hard against the table.
It's a full three minutes before Colby pushes himself upright, and Don is dressed and collecting warm bottles of half-finished beer, wasted relics of a conversation that happened before the ground shifted again. Because every time this happens, it shifts a little more. Don likes to think it's shifting Colby in the right direction. Sometimes he's not so sure.
Colby's getting dressed, reluctantly.
Don pauses in the kitchen doorway. "He's... gonna come around, Colb."
Colby snorts, raises his eyebrows, doesn't look up. "Yeah. Sure, he is." He pulls the t-shirt over his head.
Don shrugs. "Well, until then..." And he leaves the room. He doesn't need to finish the thought; Colby knows where it's going. And Don knows that David will come around. But until then, Colby keeps coming back.
