Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4633.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      Numb3rs
  Character:
      Charlie_Eppes, Don_Eppes
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-04-13 Words: 1472
****** You Always Had Cool Stuff ******
by justabi
Summary
     The Sticky Magazine
Notes
     Math porn is too much for my pathetic willpower to resist. Thank you,
     restless_jedi and roxymissrose!
Don always had the coolest stuff, stuff that acted like the North end of a
magnet to Charlie’s South. Consequently, Charlie spent a fair amount of his
free time sneaking into Don’s room to look at the *stuff*. He tried to restrict
himself to just looking, but inevitably he moved on to touching at a rate
exponentially related to the coolness of the object he was trying not to touch.
Which was why in less than two seconds from the time he saw the magazine
peeking out from underneath Don’s bed, Charlie was sprawled out on said bed,
flipping through the pages as fast as he could. Don would be furious if he
found Charlie with it, but he couldn't help himself.
Charlie had never seen a magazine like this before. There were naked people in
it, 49 to be exact, which was a special number because 49 is a perfect square.
Charlie had heard that 69 was supposed to be a dirty number, but there was
nothing special about it, not like 49. Not to mention that all 49 of these
people were doing things Charlie would have thought would be painful, if not
outright impossible. Could all women spread their legs 172 degrees like that,
especially when a man that big was doing *that* to her? Charlie estimated that
the man’s penis was an order of magnitude bigger than he was, which was
disheartening, but Charlie was only 13, so he still had time to make up for
some of that.
About half way through his second look through the dirty magazine Charlie
realized he was rubbing himself into the bed, Don’s bed, but he couldn’t stop,
and he couldn’t leave. Don would beat him to a bloody pulp and then kill him if
he took the magazine out of his room, and Charlie wasn’t about to stop looking
at it when he knew Don was at baseball practice for at least another hour. But
he wasn’t going to do *that* in Don’s room, and definitely not on Don’s bed.
But it wouldn’t hurt anyone if he just rubbed a little more. He could wait
until he absolutely had to leave and then he could take care of it locked
safely in his own room.
Twenty-eight minutes later he had come once from grinding against the bedspread
with the baseball print that had been on Don’s bed as long as Charlie could
remember, and once accidentally when he got a little too enthusiastic about
wiping himself off with the Kleenex from Don’s bedside table. His underpants
were probably a lost cause, but if he hid them in the bottom of the hamper Mom
wouldn’t notice them. He had a bit of a hair-trigger, and from listening in on
Don and his friends talking in the locker room after games, Charlie knew that
wasn’t good, but right now, when he had an entire half an hour left with Don’s
magazine, it seemed like the best thing ever.
His jeans were unzipped and his dick was poking out the flap in his messy
briefs, and it was *not* going back in there until they’d been washed, so
rubbing against the bed was out. Don would notice for sure if he got *stuff* on
his comforter. Charlie felt a little exposed like this, sitting on the edge of
his big brother’s bed with his thing hanging out for anybody to see. He wanted
to crawl under the covers and curl up with his head under them, too, like he
did when he did this in his own room so much so that he had to pinch himself
forcibly to remind himself that this was Don’s bed and he absolutely could not
do that. His indecision resulted in staying frozen at the edge of the bed while
he stared at the glossy pages in his hand.
It was taking longer for him to get hard this time, but his dick twitched in
his hand when he flipped to a picture of a man who looked exactly like the
pitcher on Don’s team humping a pretty girl who looked like Iris from his
Ethics seminar. The man, the one who looked like Mike, had the same blond hair,
the same tan, muscled body Charlie had seen in the locker room, the same
perfect face. He even had the little cleft in his chin like Mike. The only
reason Charlie could look away from the photograph at all was that he was a
little chaffed and he had to fumble around for Don’s lotion.
Don had much better lotion than he did. It was thick and slippery all at once
and felt so, so good as he covered his aching dick with slow, thorough strokes,
remembering the way Mike had done it the time Charlie had accidentally walked
in on him in the shower after all the other guys had gone home. There were
books he needed in his bag, but he’d forgotten it in the locker the team had
given him next to Don’s as an honorary member of the team for all his help
studying for College Algebra and the occasional Calc I, preventing half the
guys being benched due to academic probation. So Charlie had gone back, and
there Mike was, hard and running his hand up and down his *huge* dick like he
had all the time in the world.
There were things in life that Charlie had patience for, working equations,
trying to solve unsolvable math problems, even tutoring dumb jocks and the
occasional pretty girl, but this, this was *not* one of them. He could never go
as slow, as languidly as Mike had that day. Charlie was always afraid someone
would walk in and catch him, or he simply had too many other things to do for
it to be feasible to take so long at something so trivial. But not today; he
still had fifteen minutes before Don would be back, maybe longer if he hung out
with the guys afterward, and nothing else to do.
He could remember the pattern of the water trickling down Mike's back and the
shoulder of his left arm bracing him against the tile wall. Charlie had been
hard then, too, but he was hiding and too scared to do anything about it. He’d
recited the Fibonacci sequence in his head to n=53 before he was calm enough to
run back out to the car. Don had been pissed off that he’d dinked around so
long and made them late for dinner. Mom hadn’t been mad, but Dad had yelled at
Don for twenty minutes.
Going this slow was maddening. Charlie felt like Zeno’s runner, doomed never to
finish the race, only to travel half the remaining distance to the finish line
infinitely. He was close, so, so close, but he was used to doing it faster and
getting off and getting on with his day, but this was torture. Good, really,
really good torture, but still frustrating as heck. It didn’t help that he’d
already blown his wad twice in the last hour, either. But he just needed one
more minute, he was sure, and if all else failed, he could always just bring
himself off with a few hard, fast strokes like he was used to.
The magazine was in his lap now, because he needed his other hand to brace
himself on the bed. He’d have to be careful to spread his legs just enough to
let it fall to the floor before he got it sticky and himself clobbered by Don.
It was so good, though, that he forgot about the worn periodical balanced on
his thighs, his head thrown back and his eye shut tight replaying that scene in
the shower over and over again, until he felt a hand on his shoulder shaking
him. He opened his eyes, saw Don angrier than he’d ever seen him before and
came all over the damn thing.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Charlie?! God, what is with you, you
twisted little pervert?!” Don picked him up and kept shaking him like a rag
doll for several minutes while he continued to yell, but Charlie only caught
the odd, “you disgusting, warped, abnormal freak!” or “why couldn’t I have a
normal brother?” or Don’s favorite, “I don’t know why I had to get stuck with
Rain Man.”
When Don threw him to the ground and snatched his magazine back Charlie took
his chance and ran. There was no way Don was going to tell Mom and Dad about
this, but that didn't matter. He’d be paying for it with Don until that
mythical runner finally crossed the finish line. Still, it was worth it,
because there was no doubt about it: Don had the coolest stuff.
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