audrarose

Hah! I'm done! I finished it before the season premiere tonight! Done!

Notes: Sequel to Absolution
Summary: Charlie and Don deal with the aftermath of a shooting. Basically porn. Lots and lots of porn.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Hey, I forgot last time! Pssst... it's incest.




The house is dark when they get there because Dad’s been touring Napa with his book club for the last week, and the idea of Charlie remembering to leave a light burning when he leaves the house is ludicrous. Don really wants the darkness now anyway, and he’s glad when Charlie moves through the darkened living room without turning on a lamp. Don follows, the ambient light from beyond the windows enough to guide his way, though he thinks he could go through this room that hasn’t changed since his childhood blindfolded.

He pulls out a chair at the table in the kitchen and watches Charlie move to the sink. In one motion Charlie pulls off his shirt so Don can see all that pale skin again, and stands holding the dark, stiffening cloth in his hands.

“Do you think I should burn it?” Charlie asks, sounding at least half-serious.

“You could. I’d think twice about using the sink disposal, though. You’ll burn out the motor.”

Don can’t see Charlie roll his eyes but he knows he does it, right before Charlie starts methodically stuffing the shirt into the trash can. Don lets the silence grow as Charlie turns to wash his hands and scrub at the dark, dried marks on his chest. He watches Charlie splash water on his face, threading his fingers up through his hair.

His hair’s gotten too long, Don thinks; it’s starting to flop into his eyes, and for a second he briefly wishes his father was home. Dad never lets Charlie go so long between haircuts, teasing him gently about the Beatles and Rapunzel like either reference makes sense. He never lets Charlie live on Pepsi and Ritz crackers until his shoulder blades can cast shadows, and he makes Charlie sleep before his body gives him no choice, face creasing papers that contain the mysteries of the universe or the formula for bubble gum or whatever this week’s project is.

Dad’s much better at taking care of Charlie than Don is.

Alan would never let Don almost get Charlie killed. And maybe if he were here Don wouldn’t want… what he wants when he looks at the bow of Charlie’s back, the shape of his body beneath his jeans. Everything. Don wants everything, in every way he can imagine; wants to be everywhere in Charlie and the force of wanting it leaves him hollow.

“You can’t do this. Not anymore,” Don says, and his voice sounds rusted. “It’s too dangerous. You need to be out of it now.”

Charlie turns and in the dim light Don can see that he’s interpreted Don’s fractured sentences correctly. He slicks his too-long hair back and Don wonders how long Charlie’s been his template for attraction.

“You needed me there,” Charlie says, sounding far too rational for the shaky and sick feeling Don still gets when he closes his eyes and watches Charlie fall behind the car again. “You might have been able to get the guy to talk, but I’m the only one who could understand the answers.”

“You could have read the report.” At the office. Or locked in your room.

“You wouldn’t have asked the right questions.” No arrogance, not this time, just certainty. Don can’t even hate him for it.

“We solved hundreds of cases before. Without you.”

“Granted.”

Charlie sounds like he’s conceding a point in a debate with a colleague but his fingers are gentle, threading through Don’s hair like he needs to be calmed or comforted when that’s the last thing Don wants. Don turns his head and lets Charlie’s fingers drift across his face, leans up and lets them brush his mouth. Charlie sighs and steps closer, and it’s the most natural thing he’s ever done to turn his face into Charlie’s body and press his lips to Charlie’s stomach, into the exact place where he’d rested his forehead earlier in the alley. He’d wanted to do this then, taste Charlie’s skin as well as touch it; smooth beneath his lips, salt beneath his tongue, damp with water from the sink.

The sound Charlie makes is raw. His hands are in Don’s hair, insistent now, cradling him close. Don can feel Charlie curl his body around the touch of Don’s lips; leaning over him, keeping him there.

“We can’t go back, you know. Even if we wanted to,” Charlie whispers in the darkness. Don rests his head against Charlie and thinks that if he’d never let Charlie help him he’d still be greeting Charlie in passing, mildly irritated, barely curious. Instead, now Don’s kissed him, nearly killed him.

“Do you want to? Go back?” Don asks. He wants to freeze and wait for Charlie’s answer but he wants to rub his cheek over the rough denim of Charlie’s jeans even more. He does that instead, turning to trace the line of Charlie’s zipper with his mouth.

Charlie sucks in a startled breath and pushes against him once, sharp and aborted.

“God, Don… I want – I want - ” Then Charlie is in his arms, straddling his lap and he can see the answer in Charlie’s half-closed eyes, feel it in the hard weight of Charlie’s body over his. He’s heavier than he looks, and Don shifts forward so they can press together, seamlessly from groin to chest. A warm rush in his veins at the contact and it isn’t everything he wants, but it’s close. When Don can focus again Charlie has closed his eyes and his mouth has gone soft.

“Don…” Low and wondering. “This feels…”

“Yeah.” He needs to brush against Charlie’s soft mouth, pull him even closer as they just get used to the feel of each other. Charlie dips his head, turning his face to nuzzle into Don’s neck with a string of gentle, biting kisses that begin to burn through the fuzziness Don’s felt since the alley. Charlie’s hair is a soft tease against Don’s mouth, tickling his lips in a way that makes him restless and he runs his tongue along the edge of Charlie’s ear; does it again just to feel him shudder.

He needs to kiss Charlie -- now, so he twists his fingers into Charlie’s hair to bring their mouths together, sweet and deep and exactly like Don wants it. Good, so good, and he can’t stop touching. Like the alley, but without the fear, and Don wants to pay attention this time. Charlie’s shoulders are strong beneath his palms, the muscles of his back alive beneath his hands and Charlie moans his approval. When Don reaches the waist of Charlie’s jeans he simply keeps going, molding his hands over the hard curves and dragging Charlie up his body with slow, teasing friction.

Charlie takes his mouth away to gasp, to breathe, and Don tries to follow but now Charlie’s leaning into Don’s shoulder, planting his feet and grinding down heavily, perfectly. Don feels like the slow pressure could dissolve him, melt him through the chair. Obviously somewhere along the line, back when Don wasn’t paying attention, Charlie grew into his body, but Don can still remember the kid he used to be -- awkward and slight, all energy and angles.

A sting of doubt in his throat, small but insistent. He has to ask, and tries to make the words comprehensible instead of the wordless sounds he wants to make at the deliberate motion of Charlie’s body. He turns his face; can’t resist biting at Charlie’s jaw.

“You’ve… done this before, right? Charlie?”

No answer but Charlie is suddenly cupping Don’s face, sealing their mouths together and for a long minute there’s nothing but the knowing, intimate touch of Charlie’s tongue, expertly exploring his mouth and shorting out his brain.

“Wow.” Don swallows. “You’ve been busy.”

At least Charlie’s quirky smile looks a little shaky, too, and he touches his lips to Don’s cheekbone like he can’t resist. “Groupies.”

“Math groupies?”

Don can feel Charlie’s smile against his ear, right before Charlie begins to mouth the edge. “You’d be surprised.”

A whisper of warm breath against the sensitive surfaces of his ear and Don wants Charlie’s mouth again, but says, “You know, you really need to be careful…”

And then Charlie is looking down at him, propped on one elbow over Don’s shoulder, leaning on his palm and looking exasperated and sexy and beautiful and Don has to catch his breath.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to give me a ‘safe sex’ lecture now.” The rest of Charlie’s sentence is muffled as he leans down to pull Don’s collar aside, fingers loosening buttons so Charlie can get to more skin to kiss. “Don’t worry. Dad covered it when I was fourteen.”

Wait.

“Fourteen? I think I was sixteen before he even brought it up –”

Charlie’s laugh while they’re pressed this close together sends vibrations singing through Don’s body.

“You forget – I’m gifted. Always ahead of the curve. And Don?”

“Hmmm?” Murmured against Charlie’s lips.

“Shut up now.” Charlie opens his mouth to make sure of it, presses down so Don can feel just how hard he is, even through layers of denim and wool.

Brat. And forgetting just who the big brother is here.

Don plunges his hands into Charlie’s hair, tilting Charlie’s head until he finds the angle he wants, and taking control of the kiss so thoroughly that Charlie’s helpless sound is almost lost. Minutes of kissing he could drown in, until with a gentle bite to Charlie’s lower lip Don shifts Charlie back, leaning him against the edge of the table and letting him ease what must be a strain on the muscles of his legs. To make sure, he runs his hands up Charlie’s thighs, feels him roll up into the touch with a soft moan that makes Don smile. Skates his fingers over the center of Charlie’s body and feels the strain there, the heat. He rubs once with his knuckles, giving some relief before running possessive hands over Charlie’s chest.

Charlie’s twisting now; the hard, deliberate touch making him squirm with his hands locked hard on Don’s shoulders -- especially when Don scratches over the tiny, hard points of Charlie’s nipples.

“Don. Don, you’re making me – fuck!” Don almost laughs at the word he’s never heard his brother say before, pulled out of him when Don put his mouth and his teeth where his hands had been. He doesn’t laugh, though -- would rather kiss and taste instead, licking over Charlie’s collarbones and finding out what makes Charlie shudder while he gluts his hands on Charlie’s skin.

Charlie’s grip is almost bruising now, tugging at Don’s hair, and Charlie’s hips thrust up once into empty air.

“I can’t – believe… you’re teasing me.” Laughter and frustration in Charlie’s voice at the helplessness of his position; back jammed against the table, legs sprawled over Don’s lap, hard and aching and hanging onto Don so he won’t fall. Immediately contrite even though he really likes having Charlie like this, Don pushes Charlie back, makes him stand. Don’s on his feet so quickly they both stumble back against the table when Don pulls Charlie close, kisses him deeply.

“Come on. Let’s go upstairs.” The words sound rough and strange, far too serious, but Charlie just turns and drags Don with him.

It’s a long way to Charlie’s room, and Don wonders if he’s trapped in that dream where the hallways just lengthen ahead of him and he never gets where he’s going. Progress is nearly impossible with Charlie touching him kissing him undressing him and he starts thinking seriously about the floor as an option, or the stairs. The hallway alcove where he finally gets Charlie’s jeans open is almost impossible to leave, but Charlie is suddenly strong, dragging them both through the door and onto the bed. They fall together in that way that shouldn't work, but he ends up tangled with Charlie just the same.

And God – just heaven to roll Charlie beneath him, cover his body and press him down into the mattress. He uses one hand to cup Charlie’s head, hold him at just the right angle to kiss, and uses the other to touch. Sharp line of Charlie’s jaw beneath his palm, the edge of Charlie’s mouth beneath the pad of his thumb. Then one blinding moment when Charlie turns from Don’s kiss to suck, briefly; a hard tug that goes right to Don’s cock. He pulls his hand free, puts his mouth back on Charlie’s but the kiss is wilder now, messy and wet.

He trails his hand down Charlie’s neck, over the bones of his shoulders and the bare skin of his side, loving how Charlie presses into the touch. Hooking his fingers into the loose, open waist of Charlie’s jeans, he simply tugs; knuckles brushing Charlie’s hip, at the hollow beneath the bone that makes Charlie whimper and thrust.

Getting the rest of Charlie’s clothes off requires moving off of him and Don can’t decide it that’s worth the trade. Charlie decides for him, lifting up to work his jeans down his hips and Don sits up to help. The jeans come off easily, sliding down Charlie’s legs and he lets Charlie deal with getting rid of them, just letting himself look. Charlie – naked – propped up on his elbows and watching Don look at him, and it’s possible that Don’s never been this hard. He needs to touch, and the muscles of Charlie’s thighs are solid beneath his hands; the skin warm as he strokes the crease where thigh and torso meet.

Charlie’s hard for him, too – wet and dark and surging up beneath his hand as he runs his palm from base to tip, thick and silky smooth. Charlie drops his head back, his expression hungry and present like Don has never seen it, and Don feels something like elation. He did this, made Charlie lose all that usual intensity; made all that sharp focus shatter beneath what Don is doing to him.

Touching him. Stroking him, and when he lets his thumb brush across the moist tip Charlie is suddenly scrabbling at the hem of Don’s shirt where it hangs open and untucked from their trip up the stairs.

“Come on,” Charlie says, abruptly urgent. “Off. Off.” Charlie might think he’s helping but he’s just tangling Don up in the layered shirts, and Don has to laugh. Don kneels up to strip them both off over his head. His laughter is abruptly cut off, his body jerking hard when Charlie follows his movements, sitting up to bite at Don’s chest.

“Jesus, Charlie!” The shirts are tangling around Don’s wrists and he struggles to get loose, but he can’t think what sequence of motions would manage it. He can’t think at all because suddenly he’s the one lying on the bed, the mattress firm against his back and Charlie heavy on his chest, all mouth and hands and soft, tickling hair. Down and down and Charlie’s working his belt and buttons free; has him unzipped and open by the time Don finally gets his hands loose. Just in time to cup Charlie’s head and try to stop himself from arching up, because God, Charlie’s mouth – hot and wet and taking him in and he could come just like this if Charlie would ever let him live it down.

Control is something he can vaguely remember but he reaches for it, realizes that he’s talking, begging Charlie for something but God knows what it is. Tries again.

“Charlie – please, up here… be with me.” Charlie lifts his head, dark eyes and wet mouth and Don can’t help it, he moans, then moans again when Charlie unfolds himself and climbs over him. The first shock of skin on skin practically takes him over the edge and all he can do is pull Charlie’s mouth down, pull Charlie’s body down and into the rhythm that’s like falling.

He's frantic now, feeling Charlie’s urgency as well as his own, and he closes his eyes just to feel them rocking together.

“What do you want, Charlie? Tell me what you want…”

“God, Don… anything. You.”

“Charlie…”

“Always you. Just, please –”

So easy to turn Charlie; lay side by side with Charlie’s smooth back against his chest, Charlie’s legs tangled with his longer ones, and just reach down. Charlie shudders when Don closes his hand around him, shifts against Don in a way that makes him crazy, but this is perfect – Charlie here, his to touch and taste and rock against. It doesn’t take much, just a few firm strokes that Charlie thrusts into; fucking Don’s hand until he freezes, jerks, trembles through it while Don holds him tight, tight.

Don doesn’t give him time to come down. Won’t, can’t wait, just shoves Charlie to his back and lays on top of him, rubbing through the slickness on Charlie’s stomach, against the softening flesh of Charlie’s cock. He wants to bite at Charlie’s neck but Charlie won’t let him. Charlie's holding his face in shaky hands so that Charlie can watch, can see what Don looks like when he comes apart. Charlie’s eyes are wild, searching, and it’s almost too intense, too much to take. Charlie must feel it, too, because at the last second he pulls their faces together and lets Don come with Charlie’s tongue in his mouth.

There are endless seconds where Don thinks he’s never going to move again. Or think again. But the drifting patterns Charlie is tracing over his back become increasingly insistent, and Don finally rolls to his side. Charlie curls in against him, like maybe he’d stay close even if Don didn’t close his arms around him and hold him tight enough to feel him breathe. At some point, a shower, a sleeping position that won’t leave them sore in the morning, but for now this is perfect.

“Don’t ask me not to help you,” Charlie says against his throat.

Don shifts slightly, rubbing his face sleepily against Charlie’s. “No more, Charlie. This time… it was just too close. It’s not worth the risk.”

Charlie exhales, and Don can feel his shoulders tense in frustration. “You need me.”

“Yes.”

Simple and frighteningly true, and Charlie just shakes his head, pulling himself even closer to Don. Charlie won’t let this go, Don knows that, but maybe for now they can let it lie. It’s enough.

End