Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/116784.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Numb3rs
  Relationship:
      Don/Charlie
  Character:
      Don_Eppes, Charlie_Eppes
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Coercion, discussions_of_past-underage_sexual
      relationships
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-09-14 Words: 783
****** Board Up Your Windows ******
by missmollyetc
Summary
     Don and Charlie, Don and Charlie, it's always been Don for Charlie.
Notes
     This is for Jamjar, who wanted "Numb3rs, Don/Charlie, library!kink"
     only I'm not entirely certain that this is what she meant.
     ETA: It is! \o/ \o/
The Management library is never empty, but the top floor is mostly archival
storage, floor-to-ceiling rows of shelving on embedded tracks, opening with the
twirl of a lever. Charlie likes the quiet, but—probably more to the
point—Charlie likes the lone study carrel tucked into the furthest corner of
the floor, buttressed by a supporting pillar.
The carrel is old, and the wood creaks beneath Don's hands where he's braced
himself, one hand on either side of his spread thighs. Charlie rests his
forehead against Don's bared knee, and licks his lips. His hands are trembling,
fingers twisting around themselves, close enough to Don's heat and still, still
not allowed to bury themselves inside of it.
"Don, do you…" he licks his lips again, "do you remember the first time you
kissed me? It was in a library, too."
Charlie lifts his head, and presses his mouth to Don's kneecap, tugs at his leg
hairs between his teeth, and lets them go. The carrel creaks again, shaking
beneath Don's weight. Charlie hears a muffled whine, and glances up. Don is
chewing the knot of his gag, ruining the fine weave of his tie.
Every time Don says this will be the last, and every time Charlie agrees, sweat
at his temples and blooming in his armpits, slick at the small of his back.
Charlie is tired of words, and Don…eventually, Don always gives Charlie what he
wants.
Charlie reaches up and traces the reddening bulge of Don's lips, following the
swash of dark grey material to the side of Don's face and down to his neck. Don
ducks his head and breathes hard through his nose; hot puffs of air hit
Charlie's forearm. He shivers, and drops his hand to Don's waist. Don's so
very, very hard; leaking at the tip and dripping down to his balls, wetting the
boxers tangled at his ankles. Charlie pushes a hand down against his own cock,
rubbing up and down the zipper, and moans, shuddering.
Don's hips jerk, rocking the carrel, and Charlie flexes his arm around Don's
back, dragging his chair across the floor until he can lay his head on Don's
thigh, and drag his tongue up Don's flushed cock. He kisses the head, sucks
until precome spurts on his tongue, and wraps his other arm around Don's waist,
pulling off to nuzzle into the base of Don's cock. Don shivers, and the carrel
creaks ominously.
"You kissed me," Charlie says, breathing just to inhale Don's scent. "You
fucked me in one, too. I think it was the same week."
Don's hand slides into Charlie's hair, fingers tight in his curls and nails
digging in his scalp. Charlie tilts his head up, already panting
"I learned so much," Charlie says.
His hips jerk up, rocking the chair on its legs, when Don pulls his head back
down to suck his cock. In the Anthropology section, when Charlie was sixteen,
Don taught him how to deepthroat, carefully, patiently, letting him try and
try, and, in the microfiche cupboard, he taught Charlie how to love a cock up
his ass. Don was sorry for it afterwards—he said he was, he always, always said
he was afterwards—but he never stopped letting Charlie practice until the day
Don ran away to be an FBI agent, and Charlie gambled on game theory to bring
him back. Charlie opens wide, and the taste is everything he remembers,
everything he's always—only—known. Don was first and in many ways Don was last,
because Charlie started early, started early in everything, and what he can do,
he does really, truly, so very well. Charlie is a genius, and he has only been
permitted the best of teachers.
He relaxes his throat, sinking his nose into Don's pubic hair, and swallows
until Don is shaking above him, until the carrel is shrieking its displeasure,
and Charlie's cock is throbbing with neglect. He makes double fists in the
curve of Don's back and digs his knuckles to either side of Don's spine. He
thrusts into the air, and knocks his knee into the underside of the carrel.
Don's hips snap, hard, up into Charlie's face, forcing him backwards into his
chair and choking off his air as Don's hand grips the back of his head to keep
him in place. Charlie swallows until Don lets go, and keeps swallowing until
Don pushes him off, letting the back of the chair catch Charlie's fall.
Charlie's arms thump to his sides and hang down as dead weight. He licks his
lips and sucks air through his mouth, watching Don bite down on his gag,
waiting for Don to reach for him.
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