CDC Fic: Scorched
Title: Scorched
Author: Firefox
Warnings: Slash
Rating: NC17
Summary: When Don needs some help as he recovers from injury, Mal steps up to the plate, but not all Don’s injuries are physical.
More fic and information about the CDC
Please note this fic was not written by me, but by my CDC co-founder Firefox and I will forward and feedback to her.
Scorched
By: Firefox
Note: The CDC is the fantasy world belonging to my wonderful cyber-twin SammyGirl, and me. We know this place doesn’t and couldn’t exist, but we love it anyway. You are welcome to share in it with us.
Timeline Note: This takes place after the events of “Blue” and before “Easy Like Sunday Morning.”
Characters: Don (Numb3rs) / Mal (Firefly). How this unlikely (but oh, so lovely) pairing got together. What can I say? These two simply will not be quiet… and who am I to refuse them?
Warning: This contains slash. If you don’t know what that is - begone swiftly. If you do and you choose to keep reading, that’s up to you.
<><><><><><><>
“Boss…?” Jayne Cobb was squinting slightly at the picture on the cctv monitor in the security office.
Jethro Gibbs looked up. “What?”
“We got intruders…” Jayne pointed at the monitor. Jethro looked over his shoulder.
“Right out there?” Jethro said, checking which camera feed the monitor was showing.
“It’s kids,” Colonel O’Neill said, checking the same picture from his monitor station.
The Casa Del Corazon’s grounds were huge, completely surrounding the main buildings complex, stretching out beyond the gardens, outbuildings and grapevines, and extending for several miles out into the desert. The boundary in the outlying areas was marked by a trench, wide and deep, with ‘Private Property - No Trespassing’ signs every 100 yards, but there was no boundary fence.
The closer to the main complex, the more technical the security systems became, with the main buildings and gardens surrounded by a state of the art fence, and monitored by an array of cameras, sensors and alarms, but the desert boundary contained only a few cameras.
The picture on Jayne’s monitor showed three trail bikes, huge plumes of dust billowing in their wakes back into the desert.
Jethro suspected the Colonel was right - kids. Nothing else, apart from the non-human desert wildlife, would have been right out on the north western boundary, it was miles from the nearest track and even more miles from the nearest road. Tourists didn’t venture that far out - there was very little to see out there - apart from miles and miles of dry, in the main featureless, scrubby desert.
The teenagers could easily have strayed onto CDC land without being aware of it, but they were heading towards the vineyard and, more importantly, the main complex.
“Chris?” Jethro said into his mike, “Where are you? Is Vin with you?”
“South gate,” came the response, “checking the camera mountings - JD said he thought the panning plates needed servicing… and yeah, Vin’s here.”
“We got some uninvited visitors - came in over the north west boundary and currently heading for the vineyard - looks like kids on trail bikes. Take Vin and the Jeep and escort them off, please.”
“On it,” came the swift response.
“Let the main house know please Jayne - just in case.”
“Yes Boss.” Jayne picked up the house phone and hit the speedial button.
“Main desk,” Ezra answered.
“Ezzie,” Jayne said, grinning at the expression of distaste he knew would be on Ezra Standish’s face at the use of the nickname, “Security alert out on the northwestern boundary. Looks like kids on trail bikes - Chris and Vin are gonna go shoo ‘em off, but the Boss wants everyone on watch in case there’s any bother.”
“Thank you Jayne,” Ezra said, “understood. I’ll let the others know.”
<><><><><><><>
Don Eppes closed the book he had been attempting to read and squinted up at the sunshine dappling through the grapevine that shrouded this end of the terrace. He had read the last paragraph on page 47 at least three times and it still hadn’t registered, so he sighed heavily and gave up. If truth be told, he was bored. His injury from the blue call had been almost two weeks ago, but the surgery to repair his punctured lung and the stubbornness of his broken ribs in healing had left him sore and stiff.
The CDC’s two doctors, Nathan and Simon, had both said the same things. He was healing well, he needed to rest and no, he could not return to security duty full time at the moment. He had, after some considerable effort, talked Simon into allowing him to return to some work, but it was light duties only. ‘Light duties’ meant watching the security monitors, admin work and answering the telephones, all of which he was happy to do, but he missed the action and adrenalin of proper security shifts.
Colonel O’Neill had already shooed him out of the security office this morning, telling him he would have square eyes if he sat there any longer, and to get outside in the sun and enjoy his enforced down time. Mac Taylor had also sent him packing from the kitchen where he offered to help George unload and store the latest fruit and vegetable delivery, telling him that carrying heavy boxes of produce around did not constitute light duties, and to get out from under his feet.
Don would have loved to have been playing basketball. It was his favourite sport and his favourite way of unwinding, but his still unhealed ribs made that impossible. Swimming was also too painful at the moment - anything that stretched his arms caused such a pain in his chest it robbed him of his breath, so he had to content himself with sedentary pursuits, and he was getting very bored of books and crosswords.
Frustrated, he rose from the chair he had been sitting in, carefully, as standing up still made him catch his breath occasionally, and decided to head indoors to the break room, where at least they had decent coffee and a chance of someone to chat to.
Buck and Mal were both in the break room, drinking coffee. Mal was listening to one of Buck’s neverending comical stories and laughing at Buck’s dramatic face pulling and hand gestures. God, that man could tell a tale, Don thought as he heard Mal laughing. Buck could drive Mother Teresa to murder, but he was a gifted storyteller and a natural comic.
“Don!” Buck grinned, “How’re ya feelin’ buddy?”
“Fine.”
Buck raised his eyebrows. “Ribs givin’ you gyp?”
Mal shook his head in sympathy. “I got busted ribs once during a takedown… fell down a flight of stairs…. Thought the damned things would never heal.” His blue eyes clouded over for a moment as he looked at Don. “You gotta give it time. I know it feels like it’s been forever, but it was only a couple of weeks ago.”
Buck nodded in agreement. “Take your time…,” he frowned, “you were badly hurt Don - don’t push it.”
They all fell silent, remembering the blue call that could easily have cost Jack his life, were it not for the experience and training of their security staff.
“Buck’s right,” Mal said at last, “let yourself heal properly and don’t rush it.” He smiled at Don. “You’ll be fine, assuming you don’t die of boredom.”
Don smiled back. “I’ll try…but I gotta tell ya, it’s frustrating as hell not being able to do anything.”
The phone rang. Buck, who was nearest, lifted the receiver. “Staff room…. Hi Ezra.” He listened for a moment. “Ok - got it. We’ll take a look. I assume security are on it?”
At the mention of ‘security’, Don’s head snapped up. “What?” he asked as Buck replaced the receiver, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing to worry about - some kids on trail bikes came over the north west boundary ditch.” He rose and headed for the door. “Chris and Vin are gonna take care of it, but Jethro just wants to make sure they don’t make it as far as the house.”
“I’ll get out there,” Don said without a second thought.
“Err, no you won’t.” Buck held his hand up, barring Don’s exit. “No way are you chasing around after kids on bikes. Nate would have my hide and Simon would be helpin’ him. You stay here.”
“I’ll go and tell Mac,” Mal said, “you go and see if you can see them, Buck.”
Buck nodded, but as he left the room by the door to the terrace, he turned around to face Don. “Stay!” he said, but he was smiling.
Mal left the staff room by the other door, heading into the lobby area outside the kitchen, and pushed open the swing doors. No one went any further without express permission from Mac. “Mac!” he shouted through the noise and steam.
“Mal?” Mac Taylor appeared, carrying a wicked looking knife in one hand, and with a large silver skinned fish dangling from the other, “what’s up?”
“Possible intruders, don’t worry,” he added, seeing Mac’s expression harden instantly, “it’s only kids on trail bikes, but security don’t want them getting too close.”
“Coming in from the vineyard?” Mac asked.
Mal nodded. “Chris and Vin are out there, so it shouldn’t be a problem, but always best to make sure.”
“Yeah, “Mac agreed, “I’ll go check it out…”
<><><><><><><>
The trail bikes were clearly visible from the huge plumes of dust behind them, and Chris gunned the Jeep across the scrubby desert on an intercept course. The three bikes were roughly in a line, but with a considerable distance between them. Chris cut off the one nearest to them, making the rider skid to halt in a shower of sand and dust. Vin leapt out, before the Jeep had even come to a stop, leaving Chris to head for the centre bike, which was already pulling to a stop.
The third bike, still some distance away, was either unaware of the Jeep or had chosen to ignore it, and continued on course, jumping the small raised bank at the far end of the vineyards and heading straight between the rows of vines.
Vin cursed. “You, “ he shouted to the young bike rider in front of him, “wait there an’ don’t move….” He keyed his microphone. “Security - we got two - but one’s in the vineyard, heading for the house.”
The vines at Casa del Corazon were planted in long, straight rows, with a break in the vine wires every hundred yards or so. Mac and Buck were already heading out of the garden area, and could plainly see the cloud of dust coming over the ridge. Riding a trail bike, fast, between the rows of vines was dangerous - one unseen pothole or rock could easily have sent the bike into the taught vine wires. By now, the rider must have been aware that he was somewhere he had no right to be, but continued to speed along the narrow gap between the vines, heading full pelt for the gardens and the house.
“Stupid kid!” Buck said, watching the bike come closer, “one false move and he’s gonna be in slices…”
Mac was trying to work out where the bike would emerge when it finally reached the end of the vineyard, assuming the rider was going too fast to ‘change lanes’ between the vine rows in the breaks. “We need to be further up there!” he shouted, pointing to the left of where they were standing. They both began to run, heading further up the edge of the vineyard, both watching the bike approaching. “Buck - wait here, try and cover those rows!” Mac shouted as he ran past Buck, “I’ll head him off if he comes down here.” Between the two of them, they could cover six rows of vines, more than enough to head off the bike.
Buck worked out that he was directly in the path of the bike as it came hurtling towards them. “Here Mac! It’s gonna be this one!” He shouted. The two men stood ready to intercept the bike, Buck holding up his hand in an obvious ‘stop here’ gesture.
Incredibly, unbelievably, when it was only a matter of yards from them, the rider jammed his foot down and skewed the bike hard to the right, then cut across through a break in the vine wires into another vine row and hurtled past them, through the open gate and into the gardens, leaving Buck and Mac in a cloud of dust.
“Shit!” Buck shouted as they broke into a run behind the bike.
The rider was almost through the gardens when he noticed the low wall around the pool terrace. It was too high to jump on a trail bike with no ramp, so he simply skidded to halt, and pushed the bike away from him as he stood up on the footrests, leaping expertly out of the way as the bike fell over. Almost without breaking his stride, he headed for the open door at the back of the house leading to the kitchens.
Mal and George emerged from the kitchen door at the commotion, but the biker side-stepped them easily, running through the doorway and into the kitchen.
Don had heard the noise and rushed from the break room through the lobby and swing doors into the kitchen, just in time to see the biker entering from the terrace, with Mal and George in hot pursuit. “Stop him!” George shouted.
The biker began to run along the centre aisle of the kitchen as Don headed him off. That was it. He was trapped. George was behind him, Don in front of him, there was nowhere else to go. Mac and Buck appeared in the doorway as the kid ran at Don like a linebacker. Don twisted sideways, grabbing the kid’s arm as he did so, but the force of the impact threw the kid to the floor and Don across the aisle. Instinctively, Don stretched out his arms to break his fall, and both hands landed squarely on the griddle plate on top of the cooker.
“SONOFABITCH!” Don cried, his hands burning from the hot griddle.
George grabbed the kid and started pulling him to his feet by one arm, as Mac reached them all and grabbed the kid’s other arm. Buck ran to the sink and turned on the taps. “Don, over here! Now! Get your hands under the water!”
Don, his hands so painful he could scarcely believe it, staggered across the kitchen to the sink, where Buck took his wrists and held his hands under the cool water. After the initial sharp knife of pain the water did help, and Don tried to take a large breath inward, ignoring his protesting ribs.
The biker was dressed in racing leathers, with a full face helmet, which George was in the process of unfastening, trying to get a look at the intruder, as Mac and Mal held the squirming figure firmly between them.
“You stupid little bastard,” Mac hissed at him as George removed the helmet, revealing a kid of no more than seventeen or eighteen tops, with a mass of curly red hair and a face contorted in rage.
“Lemme go! I’ll sue you! Let go of me!”
“Oh, shut up,” Mal said, his face inches from the kid’s. “You stupid moron! You could have killed yourself or, more importantly, one of us. Now shut the fuck up while we decide what we’re going to do with you….”
Chris and Vin appeared at the back door at that moment, with the other two bikers in tow, just as Jethro entered the kitchen through the swing doors.
“Buck?” The CDC’s security boss took control without pausing for breath, “get Don up to Simon’s office. Chris and Vin, take these kids to the back gatehouse, secure them and then get the bikes. And everyone who isn’t supposed to be here, get the hell out of Mac’s kitchen - NOW!”
Buck, supporting Don with an arm around his waist, grinned. “Still bored?”
<><><><><><><>
Simon turned off the high powered examination light and swung the magnifier out of the way. “You were lucky,” he said with a grin, “it could have been a lot worse.”
“I don’t feel very lucky,” Don said through clenched teeth.
“The burns are painful, but mercifully only minor,” Simon said, opening a cabinet and withdrawing packs of alginate dressings. “I’ll dress them with these, which will form a clear layer over the burned skin, and give you an anti inflammatory shot and some stronger painkillers.”
Don sighed. “I’m already taking painkillers.”
“I know, I know. Stop taking those, and take these instead,” he said, putting a packet down on the table, “these are stronger, but make sure you eat something with them… they pack a bit of a punch.”
Don pulled a face.
Simon expertly dressed Don’s hands and carefully covered them with wrapping and gauze gloves. “You might find things a bit awkward for a couple of days until the initial pain wears off a little, and I want to see you tomorrow to change the dressings. Any sign of blood or any fluid weeping from them that isn’t clear, any high fever or joint pain, and I want to see you straight away, got it?”
Don nodded. “Yes Doc.” He was tired, sore and his hands hurt like hell.
“Don’t be afraid to use your hands if you can, it won’t hurt the healing process,” Simon said, slipping the painkillers into Don’s shirt pocket and rolling up the shirtsleeve for the anti inflammatory shot, “although you might find it difficult for a while.”
Great, Don thought as Simon administered the shot. I can’t breathe or stretch, and now I can’t use my hands either. Should make for an interesting couple of days.
Simon held the door open as Don rose to leave. “Come back tomorrow. In the meantime, try and get some rest - watch a movie or sleep - please?” He was smiling.
“Okay Doc, you win.”
The first problem Don encountered was trying to extricate the keycard for his room from his jeans pocket. His fingers hurt but worse than that, they felt like sausages, he simply couldn’t get them to do what he wanted. After several abortive attempts to withdraw the card, he found himself standing outside the door to his room, unable even to let himself in.
Danny appeared at the end of the hallway. “Don? How are you? I heard about our unwelcome visitors… how are you feeling?”
“Honestly Danny? Pretty useless.” Don said. “I can’t even get my keycard out of my pocket.”
Danny grinned. “Let me help you - which pocket is it in?”
Danny pulled the card from the back pocket of Don’s jeans and swiped it through the doorlock. The door clicked and Danny opened it, ushering Don inside. “You gonna be okay?” He asked. “You need anything?”
Don shook his head. “No thanks- Simon says I need to rest, and right now I think that’s about all I can manage…”
Danny put the key card down on the table inside the door. “You just holler if you need anything, y’hear me?”
Don grinned. “Thanks Danny, I will. What happened to the kids? Do you know?”
Danny winked. “Oh, it was all just teenagers letting off steam - apparently the dare was to see who could make it to the house for a twenty dollar pot. The guys had a little fun scaring the shit out of them for a while, lots of Jayne roaring and stamping about, lots of Chris doing his quiet-but-deadly-scary routine, but in the end they took ‘em out to the main drag and let them go - I don’t think they’ll be back any time soon…”
“Stupid kids.”
“Yep - but hey, we’ve all been stupid….”Danny said with a knowing shake of his head and a wave as he headed back out into the corridor, the door closing quietly behind him.
Don sighed and leaned against the closed door, looking down at his hands. They *looked* the same as always, apart from the white gauze gloves, but felt as if they were ten sizes larger than normal, and hurt like the devil, throbbing in time with his pulse. He tried an experimental flex of his fingers, but his muscles refused to obey his commands and protested with a pain that made him catch his breath.
His ribs ached and his head hurt. He wanted a shower, but the effort required in working out how to undo his shirt buttons or untie his shoelaces seemed insurmountable.
He was almost at the point of just throwing himself, fully clothed, on his bed, when there was a loud knock at the door. “Delivery!”
Don frowned. “What?”
“Delivery for Eppes!”
Peering through the spyhole in the centre of the door, Don could see Mal standing in the corridor, carrying a foil covered tray.
“Stop admiring me through the spyhole and open the damned door before this goes cold,” Mal said with a wink.
Don laughed, shaking his head, but when he tried to bend his fingers to turn the doorknob, they would not co-operate. “Easier said than done,” he shouted to Mal through the closed door, “can’t twist the damned handle…” Then he noticed the key card on the table. “Hang on….” He swept the card onto the floor with the side of his hand, then slid it under the door with his foot.
“Ah! The old key under the mat trick,” Mal responded, “or near enough.” He bent down and retrieved the key with one hand, swiped it through the lock and the door opened. “Voila!” He grinned.
Don couldn’t resist a grin in return. “What’s all this?”
Mal side stepped around Don and placed the tray on the table. “Sit,” he said, pulling out one of the two chairs. Don sat, still smiling, as Mal began removing the foil. “Double pepperoni and cheese pizza and two root beers, special delivery for those injured in the line of duty…”
Don’s eyes widened. “Double pepperoni? That’s my favourite!”
Mal’s eyebrows raised. “I *know* that, that’s why I got Mac to make it specially….”
“You know my favourite pizza?” The surprise was plain.
Mal pulled out the remaining chair and sat down, facing Don. “Yep.”
“How?”
“You gonna talk - or eat?”
The smell of cheese and pepperoni had made Don realise just how long it had been since he had eaten, and his stomach rumbled at the prospect. He reached forwards to grab a slice of the delicious looking pizza, but again, his burned hands and swollen fingers refused to do his bidding. “Goddamit!”
Mal lifted a wedge of pizza. “No problem,” he said, extending his arm across the table, “all part of the service. Open wide now….”
Any discomfiture Don might have felt at the prospect of Mal feeding him disappeared after the first mouthful. “Mac is a genius,” he mumbled.
“Ain’t that the truth! And I always thought those stories about New Yorkers and pizza were exaggerated…”
They shared a few slices of the delicious pizza and Mal opened the root beers, threading a straw into the neck of the one he placed on the table in front of Don, so that he could drink it without holding it in his hands.
“You remembered to bring a straw?”
“Of course. Don’t sound so surprised, please.” But Mal was smiling.
Don sucked in a long draught of the root beer, but his eyes were on Mal’s face. “Thanks,” he said, once the cold liquid had lubricated his throat, “really…. I appreciate it.”
Mal shrugged. “No big deal - it’s just pizza.”
Don looked uncomfortable. “I guess I’m just not used to it,” he said at last, “Being the oldest, I’m used to being the one doing the looking after, most looking after myself…”
Mal realised that he knew almost nothing about Don, or his family, and this seemed like an open invitation to find out. “You got a big family?”
Don let out a harsh laugh. “Hardly - just me and Charlie…”
“Little brother?”
“Oh yeah. But not your usual little brother….”
Mal put his head on one side. “Meaning?”
Don let out a long sigh. “My little brother could beat our Dad at chess when he was four, knew more than the senior maths teachers at 7 and went to Princeton when he was 9…. He’s a prodigy. A mathematical genius. Big brown spaniel eyes, black bubble curls, cute as a button, smart as a supercomputer… he was in all the national papers before he was 10, the toast of academic society before he could shave. Cute, smart and oh, *such* a gift…”
Mal caught the edge in Don’s voice. “That can’t have been easy….”
“You have no idea… Oh, I love Charlie, and I’m proud of him and I do realise it’s not his fault he’s so incredibly gifted, but, as a kid, it was hard. When everyone, including your parents, makes you feel half the time like you’re invisible, and the other half like you are responsible for making sure the wind doesn’t blow on this delicate creature…”
“You must have resented him.”
Don nodded. “As a kid it was impossible not to. Especially when he went to Princeton and our Mom went with him… leaving me and Pop in LA…”
Mal nodded. “You blamed him for taking your Mom away…”
“You bet I did! But, if I’m honest, he took Mom away from the minute everyone realised he was ‘special’ - we could never be a proper family after that… Lemme tell ya, it’s hard being the ‘normal’ one. No matter how you react, it’s wrong. If you ignore it, you’re jealous or unfeeling, if you play up to it, you’re just plain jealous. I got more black eyes and bruises defending Charlie than I ever did defending myself…” Don was quiet for a moment. “However I acted around him, I could never get it right, it was either Pop giving me the ‘you’re the oldest and you should know better’ routine or Mom with the ‘Donny, how could you? You know that Charlie is special’ speech. I guess I gave up trying to get it right. When your baby brother is at Princeton, and you can’t scrape a C in math… well, it doesn’t do much for your self confidence, let’s put it that way. But…”
“But what?”
Don looked up, his eyes sparking. “The stupid part about it is that I have never been jealous of what Charlie can do, I was only ever jealous of the fact that Mom and Dad seemed to care more about what happened to him than what happened to me…”
“And now?”
Don shrugged. “Now, it doesn’t matter. Dad’s retired and lives for his golf and Charlie’s a professor at Cal Si….”
“And your Mom?”
“Mom died when I was a teenager.”
Mal put his hand on Don’s shoulder. “That’s rough. For any kid.”
“Was a long time ago… but I sometimes felt that Charlie took away what time I *could* have had with her… how stupid is that? Like it was his fault!”
“What about other people? Friends? Lovers?”
Don’s expression darkened even more. “One or two, over the years, but only one that really counted.”
Mal didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to, Don’s expression said it all. “I was an FBI agent, he was ATF and married. We met by accident and I had never felt like that in my entire life. It was as if I had found the other half of myself - the missing piece. We never had it easy - you know how the Feds are about inter-agency relationships, and if you happen to be unfortunate enough to be the same sex then the proverbial really hits the fan if you get caught….”
“You got caught?”
“No. He died. Killed himself when he found out he had a terminal brain tumour.”
Mal winced. “Brave thing to do.”
“Yep, but it would have been nice if he could have told me himself, rather than just…. oh hell, it doesn’t matter now anyway…”
“True.” Mal looked Don straight in the eyes. “We’ve all got history here Don - there’s no one here who doesn’t have some spectres lurking in his past, or something he’s run away from. Here, that doesn’t matter. Here, no one judges you except on who you are *now*. I guess we’ve all got some missing pieces, but here we try and fill in for each other…”
“I know. And I *am* grateful… It just takes some getting used to, is all.”
Mal grinned. “You’ll get the hang of it - and for now, well - it’s just pizza and a root beer.”
“Thanks, anyway.”
Mal gave him an up and down look. Hair even more spiky than normal, tired eyes, deep furrows between them, slumped shoulders and hands that even to a stranger, looked as if they hurt. “You look, as our Vin would say, ‘like you been rode hard and put away wet’.”
Don grinned. “That just about sums it up.”
“Still hungry?”
Don shook his head. “No - just tired.”
Mal stood up. “In which case I recommend a shower and sleep…”
“Sounds like a plan…” Don gazed down at his hands. “Might be easier said than done, though.”
“Nonsense! Where’s your spirit of adventure?” Mal beckoned Don to stand up. “Stand there against the table, and I’ll sort out the more tricky parts of the manoeuvre like shoelaces and buttons.”
Don did as he was told, leaning against the edge of the table, and Mal dropped onto one knee. “Left foot first,” he instructed, deftly unfastening the laces of Don’s boots, holding Don’s left ankle as he pulled the boot off gently.
Mal carefully placed Don’s left foot back on the ground. “Other one,” he said, without looking up. There was something comforting - no, more than that - something in the attentive way Mal acted, that made such a mundane thing almost seductive. Don gave an involuntary shiver as Mal released the other boot. It was nonsense, he decided. The pain and the drugs were giving him notions. So why was his heart beginning to thump?
Mal still did not look up. “Socks,” he said simply, returning his grasp to Don’s left ankle. Mal’s hands were warm, Don almost jumped at the contact of fingers on his skin as Mal removed the sock.
Don could feel his pulse quickening and he closed his eyes, trying to quell the rising arousal he began to feel. Was Mal doing this on purpose? Of *course* not, he told himself sternly, that was nonsense. Mal was simply trying to help him! Mal efficiently tucked the removed socks into the boots, then, still on one knee, looked up. Don’s eyes were closed, but Mal almost smiled. He supposed he should feel a bit guilty, doing this to Don in his weakened state, but he didn’t. Don was tired, stressed and in pain, and Mal was very skilled at relieving all three. Mal was more than aware of where his strengths lay when it came to seduction, and right now he was showing Don just where those strengths were.
Very slowly, he stood up, allowing one hand to trace a deliberate and slow path up Don’s leg, applying just enough pressure through the denim to produce a shiver. Ankle, knee, thigh, the hand stopped, then gently covered the now obvious bulge in Don’s jeans.
“Nice. Very nice,” Mal whispered.
“Shit! Sorry Mal…” Embarrassment coloured Don’s cheekbones.
“For what?”
“I didn’t mean… sorry… I…”
“Don’t be sorry,” he stood closer, right against Don’s chest. “I’m not sorry in the least.” The voice was low now, little more than a whisper against Don’s neck. “If you’re sorry I must not be doing it right…”
The hand squeezed gently, and Don inhaled sharply. “Oh, you’re doing it right. Believe me.”
Mal smiled, moving his hand up to the collar of Don’s shirt. “Buttons next, I think.” The skilled fingers made short work of the first three buttons and Mal’s hand slid inside the open shirt, cool fingers against warm skin, the rapid pulse of Don’s heartbeat thudding into his palm.
“I…don’t…I didn’t…”
“Ssshhh.” Mal kissed him then, soft and gentle, just a brush of lips. Don’s eyes closed, a deep line furrowing his brow.
“Why?” he breathed at last. “Is this is client staffer thing?”
Mal kissed him again. “No, this is Mal Don thing. A friend thing. And why not?”
“I just… I guess I never thought…”
“What?” Mal’s mouth was working on Don’s neck, but he could feel the smile, even if he couldn’t see it. “Hey, I maybe a staffer here, but I’ve got eyes, and let me tell you Mr Security,” a gentle bite under Don’s earlobe produced another shiver, “you’re hot…”
Don blushed again, much to Mal’s delight.
“I should warn you,” Don said softly as Mal finished undoing the buttons and carefully slid the shirt off, “it’s been a while… a long while.”
Mal shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters here except you and me - okay?”
“Okay.” But he didn’t sound as sure as the word suggested.
“Shower first?” Mal asked, unfastening the buckle of Don’s belt. Don couldn’t speak, he just nodded.
“Got any gloves?” Mal asked, looking around the room, “don’t want to undo all Simon’s hard work and get your hands wet.”
Don indicated the shelf were he kept his box of latex gloves with another nod of his head, and Mal grabbed a couple. Holding them one at a time, they managed to cover Don’s bandaged hands. He gave Don an unmistakable look from under his eyelashes. “C’mon then - s’bout time I got you all wet, I think…”
The bathroom in Don’s staff quarter was small, but the shower was easily big enough to accommodate two. Mal leaned inside the cubicle and set the water running, then turned to Don with a smile. “Let’s finish what we started out there,” he grinned, gently undoing the zipper on Don’s jeans and lowering them along with his boxers. Don stepped out of them as Mal peeled off his clothes. “In you go.” Don stepped under the hot water.
“You stand, I wash,” Mal said, squeezing the citrus scented shower gel into his palm. He smoothed the gel over Don’s shoulders and chest, carefully avoiding the still healing scar from the surgery Don had undergone after the blue call, and gently washing the ribs he knew had been broken. “Still hurt?” he said, his palm resting softly over the scar.
“Not much… some.”
Mal nodded in understanding. His soapy hand moved downwards. “I’ll be very gentle with you then.” He was grinning again.
Don shivered as Mal continued to massage the suds into his muscles, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. He felt weird, unable to reciprocate, unable to touch Mal. It was frustrating. Mal pushed him gently up against the warm tiles, and dropped to his knees, washing Don’s legs. He planted a kiss on the end of Don’s very obvious erection. “Lovely,” he breathed. Don let out a moan.
Mal stood up. “Enough?” he said through the running water. “Don’t want to waste that.” His eyes dropped downwards. Without waiting for a reply he shut off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping it carefully around Don’s waist. Grabbing another for himself, they stepped out of the shower cubicle.
Don’s head was spinning. His heart thudded against his ribs and his hands shook. Mal seemed so confident, so relaxed, and he was terrified. The few steps from the bathroom to the bed seemed like miles. He stood at the side of the bed, looking down at the green comforter and wondering what the hell to do next.
Mal walked up behind him and slid strong arms around his waist, nuzzling the nape of his neck. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said softly into Don’s still damp hair.
“Maybe not for you,” Don replied, arching into Mal’s arms despite himself, “I feel pretty damned weird.”
Mal unwound the towel from Don’s waist and let it drop to the floor. “No you don’t,” he said, his hand grasping Don’s fully risen shaft, “you feel great.”
Don moaned at the touch. “Easy Mal - I told you, it’s been a while - if you’re expecting this to last longer than a minute, you’d better ease up some.”
Mal turned Don around to face him. “I’m not expecting anything. This isn’t some kind of test - this is just you, and me, and a little harmless, healthy sex - okay? You’re hurting and frustrated, and it’s the best way I know of letting off a little steam…” His smile was infectious, his blue eyes dancing. “Now get on that bed and get comfortable.”
Don did as he was bidden, settling himself against the pillows, his arms outstretched to keep his hands out of the way.
“They painful?” Mal asked, stretching out beside him.
“Not as bad as earlier… but no picnic.” Don said simply. In truth, they were very painful, every movement hurt and they still felt as if they were on fire.
Mal leaned over him, careful of his damaged ribs. “Then we need to think of something to take your mind off them…” He began to stroke Don’s arms, gently, his fingers ghosting over the skin. “Relax.”
The fingers wandered further - tracing the outline of Don’s collarbones, drawing circles on his chest and stomach, gently increasing their pressure. Don’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with his increased breathing rate. A soft gasp escaped him when Mal finally closed his fist around his throbbing cock. “Now you’re getting’ it,” Mal said gently, lowering his head and kissing Don’s stomach.
Don was lost in Mal’s skilled fingers. His chest still hurt, his hands still hurt, but they were such small things when compared to Mal’s fingers. His cock was throbbing so hard he could feel it in his head, and Mal was just keeping him on the edge of something more - a squeeze, a pump, then nothing. It had been so long - so very, very long, since he had felt like this. He’d forgotten what a good substitute for the adrenalin of work this could be. Mal’s lips sealed themselves onto his left nipple and he let out another gasp.
Mal looked down at Don, enjoying the look of concentration mixed with sensation on his face. If it had been as long as he suspected since Don had been with anyone, then this first encounter would have to be short and sweet. Very, very sweet. There would be time for something a little more adventurous later.
Without removing his hands from Don’s body, Mal shifted his weight to his knees. “Open your legs for me Don.” Don obeyed with a slight groan, and Mal repositioned himself between the spread thighs, raising himself up onto his knees. “Now open your eyes.”
Don opened his eyes to see Mal smiling down at him. “You look a bit flushed there, Mr Security.”
Don didn’t respond. His mouth was dry and his pulse seemed to fill his head. Mal’s blue eyes twinkled.
“Okay now - just let me do all the work.” Grasping Don’s hips, Mal pulled him forwards, up the slope of his thighs, then bent his head and took Don’s whole length into his mouth.
“Jesus!” Don shouted, arching off the bed at the sensation of being sucked into that hot softness.
Mal’s fingers, Mal’s magical, incredible fingers, kneaded the muscles in Don’s thighs, stroked his shins, trickled across his stomach. Mal knew it wouldn’t take long, Don’s thigh muscles were already quivering, so he grabbed hold of Don’s hips and pulled him up further, literally swallowing Don into his throat.
“Holy Christ!” It was somewhere between a shout and a sob. Mal pulled Don’s hips up, once, twice, before Don got the idea and began to thrust. Mal was quite right, Don was so close to the edge that it was less than a minute before he stiffened, shuddering out his climax. Mal held him tight, swallowing it all, his grasp only softening when he felt Don’s muscles begin to relax. Gently, he released his grip, easing Don backwards out of his throat.
Don was boneless, still shaking, a look of stunned surprise in his dark brown eyes.
“Okay?” Mal asked, unable to hide a grin.
Don nodded, taking in rapid gasps of air. “Wow… that… was… amazing.”
Mal feigned a bow. “Why thank you.”
“Where in the hell did you ever learn how to do that?”
“Just a little something I picked up along the way.”
Don was laughing now, still short of breath, but the pain had gone from his face, and the smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Hell man, I’m sorry… it’s been so long… that can’t have been much fun for you.”
Mal waved the apology aside and stretched out alongside Don. “This was about you,” he winked, “this time. Next time, it will be about both of us.”
“Next time?”
“If you want.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“How’re the hands?”
“I have hands? Who knew?” Don joked. “You were right, I needed something to take my mind off them… and that was definitely something.”
“And now I recommend some rest,” Mal said, pulling the comforter over them both, turning Don on his side and spooning up behind him. “And, if you are very, very good, I might do it to you again when you wake up.”
Don laughed, enjoying the sensation of Mal’s arms around him, the feeling of another warm body beside him in his bed. He was exhausted but relaxed and sated, and could already feel sleep beckoning him. Mal kissed the back of his neck and gave him a gentle hug.
“Thanks Mal. Really. I’d forgotten…”
“Forgotten what?” Mal whispered into Don’s hair, in front of him on the pillow.
“What it feels like…to have someone take care of me.”
“Sleep now.”
Don’s dreams, fuelled by the drugs, pain and exhaustion, were feverish, disturbed and erotic. He mumbled and thrashed around in his sleep, and Mal held him gently, soothing the nightmares with gentle murmurings and preventing him damaging his hands any further. It was almost dawn when Mal was woken again, Don was talking in his sleep, obviously disturbed and upset. Mal could guess who and what the nightmare was about and the emotion was obvious.
“No! Dead!….. shot? Who? …No! NO! I want him…”
Don was obviously deeply upset by the pictures that were playing out in his imagination. He was sweating, distressed and moaning. Mal turned onto his side again, pulling Don backwards onto his chest. He began to settle as soon as Mal’s arms around him registered in his subconscious, but the dream had left him disturbed and aroused. Don, still asleep, reached for his dream fuelled erection and Mal had to grab his wrist. “Ssshhh… It’s okay Don - I’ll take care of it…ssshhh now.”
Don was not really aware that Mal was there, not consciously. Somewhere, on some level, he sensed him, sensed the strength and safety, but was only dimly aware of Mal gently pushing his right leg forwards until his knee bent and prevented him rolling over fully onto his stomach. Then the fingers were back - cool, gentle fingers, kneading the base of his spine, stroking between his cheeks, setting his heart pumping faster. Don was in that twilight world between sleep and wakefulness, stirring and moaning, only half sensing Mal’s fingers gently entering him, Mal’s words in his ear, Mal’s lips on his neck. Another hand reached underneath his waist, gently encircling his erection, and Don gasped.
”I got you… you’re okay..” Mal was whispering, one hand gently probing inside Don, the other smoothly grasping and pumping him.
Mal bit down gently on the junction of Don’s neck and shoulder, and Don’s eyes flew open. “S’okay Don, you’re okay, I’m here,” Mal soothed him, fingers gently stretching and circling inside. Don moaned out loud as the reality of the situation finally replaced the dream.
“God Mal…” His body was already primed and responding, his heart pumping. “That’s so good.”
“You wanna go for it?” Mal’s finger located the soft nub of Don’s prostate and circled gently. Mal felt the shiver run the whole length of Don’s body.
“Yes. Yes… please.. now!”
Mal eased forwards and over, positioning himself carefully and skilfully before thrusting his hips forward, a little at a time, as he entered Don’s warm, grasping heat. Don panted and moaned, trying to shift his weight backwards. “Now… yes, that’s it! More, please Mal, more.”
“Easy, easy. No rush.” Mal pushed again, a little further this time, feeling Don’s internal muscles clench around him. A breathy sigh escaped him. “Jesus, you’re so hot…”
Don began to move against Mal’s thrusts, gentle at first, then stronger as their rhythm began to build. Mal’s arms tightened around him, and he began to pump Don’s cock in time with his forward thrusts. Unable to use his hands to grab Mal, Don settled for moving his body in counterpoint, forwards into Mal’s hand, back onto Mal’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of being worked inside and out almost overloading his nervous system, Don almost screamed in pleasure, it felt so good. The pain in his hands and chest vanished, the only thing he could sense or feel was Mal - Mal inside him, Mal’s hand working his shaft, Mal’s chest against his back, Mal’s breath on his neck.
Limbs growing slippery with sweat, chest heaving, Mal felt the tension beginning to build in Don’s muscles. He circled his hips, unerringly hitting that perfect spot inside Don, feeling his own orgasm starting to build. “You with me here buddy?” He whispered against Don’s sweat drenched skin, “ready to come for me?”
“Yes…. Yes…” Don moaned, beginning to thrust faster, “please Mal… oh Jesus, please.”
Mal kept pace with Don’s ever more frantic movements, their bodies twisting and sliding together, hips thrusting in unison. Eventually Don couldn’t hold on any longer and with one final, violent forward thrust, orgasm overtook his muscles and his body went rigid. Mal gave a few short, heavy thrusts before his completion took the breath from his lungs and froze his muscles.
For several minutes the only sound to be heard in the room was two bodies trying to recover their breath. Mal moved first, easing out of Don’s relaxed body and turning over onto his back, still breathing deeply. Eventually, the tremors in Don’s muscled subsided, and he managed to roll over into Mal’s arms.
“Okay?” Mal asked.
The smile he received in response was answer enough. “Oh yeah.”
No other words seemed necessary and this time, when sleep overtook him, there were no dreams or pain to disturb Don’s rest.
It was the smell that woke him, eventually. Blinking, bleary-eyed, he breathed in. Coffee. And something else. Pizza? He struggled to sit up, realising as he did so that his hands were a good deal less painful than they had been. “Mal?”
Mal, clad only in boxer shorts covered with the words “Danger Zone” on them in violent pink letters, was standing before the microwave in Don’s kitchenette area, two mugs of steaming liquid in his hands. “Morning! How’re you feeling?”
“Like someone drove over me in a Mack truck! Wasted….” Don smiled again, that smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and transformed his natural soulful expression into something entirely different. “Pretty damned good, actually.”
Mal walked up to the bed and set a steaming cup of coffee down on the nightstand. “Likewise.”
Don blushed and Mal couldn’t resist laughing.
“You forget buddy, I’ve seen you in the shower,” he winked, “and, if memory serves, we got pretty wild there for a while last night, so I think the blushes are unnecessary … Can you hold this?” He held out the mug of coffee. To his surprise, Don found that he could, after a fashion, hold it. At least enough to drink without looking as if his arms belonged to someone else. “Hey! That’s good!” Mal was grinning.
“Mal?” Don nodded in the direction of the microwave, “I think something’s burning…”
“Shit! The pizza!” Mal ran back across the room and pushed the button. The microwave door swung open, allowing a large cloud of smoky steam to escape into the room. “Shit!” Mal said again, retrieving the plate and carrying it, still smoking faintly, to the bed. “It was supposed to be breakfast in bed,” he said ruefully, looking down at the blackened, curled at the edges, remains of the previous nights’ pizza, “but it’s a bit scorched.”
Don leaned forward and kissed Mal, hard on the mouth. “I know how it feels.”
~The End~ (of this one… I have a feeling there will be more…)
Author: Firefox
Warnings: Slash
Rating: NC17
Summary: When Don needs some help as he recovers from injury, Mal steps up to the plate, but not all Don’s injuries are physical.
More fic and information about the CDC
Please note this fic was not written by me, but by my CDC co-founder Firefox and I will forward and feedback to her.
Scorched
By: Firefox
Note: The CDC is the fantasy world belonging to my wonderful cyber-twin SammyGirl, and me. We know this place doesn’t and couldn’t exist, but we love it anyway. You are welcome to share in it with us.
Timeline Note: This takes place after the events of “Blue” and before “Easy Like Sunday Morning.”
Characters: Don (Numb3rs) / Mal (Firefly). How this unlikely (but oh, so lovely) pairing got together. What can I say? These two simply will not be quiet… and who am I to refuse them?
Warning: This contains slash. If you don’t know what that is - begone swiftly. If you do and you choose to keep reading, that’s up to you.
<><><><><><><>
“Boss…?” Jayne Cobb was squinting slightly at the picture on the cctv monitor in the security office.
Jethro Gibbs looked up. “What?”
“We got intruders…” Jayne pointed at the monitor. Jethro looked over his shoulder.
“Right out there?” Jethro said, checking which camera feed the monitor was showing.
“It’s kids,” Colonel O’Neill said, checking the same picture from his monitor station.
The Casa Del Corazon’s grounds were huge, completely surrounding the main buildings complex, stretching out beyond the gardens, outbuildings and grapevines, and extending for several miles out into the desert. The boundary in the outlying areas was marked by a trench, wide and deep, with ‘Private Property - No Trespassing’ signs every 100 yards, but there was no boundary fence.
The closer to the main complex, the more technical the security systems became, with the main buildings and gardens surrounded by a state of the art fence, and monitored by an array of cameras, sensors and alarms, but the desert boundary contained only a few cameras.
The picture on Jayne’s monitor showed three trail bikes, huge plumes of dust billowing in their wakes back into the desert.
Jethro suspected the Colonel was right - kids. Nothing else, apart from the non-human desert wildlife, would have been right out on the north western boundary, it was miles from the nearest track and even more miles from the nearest road. Tourists didn’t venture that far out - there was very little to see out there - apart from miles and miles of dry, in the main featureless, scrubby desert.
The teenagers could easily have strayed onto CDC land without being aware of it, but they were heading towards the vineyard and, more importantly, the main complex.
“Chris?” Jethro said into his mike, “Where are you? Is Vin with you?”
“South gate,” came the response, “checking the camera mountings - JD said he thought the panning plates needed servicing… and yeah, Vin’s here.”
“We got some uninvited visitors - came in over the north west boundary and currently heading for the vineyard - looks like kids on trail bikes. Take Vin and the Jeep and escort them off, please.”
“On it,” came the swift response.
“Let the main house know please Jayne - just in case.”
“Yes Boss.” Jayne picked up the house phone and hit the speedial button.
“Main desk,” Ezra answered.
“Ezzie,” Jayne said, grinning at the expression of distaste he knew would be on Ezra Standish’s face at the use of the nickname, “Security alert out on the northwestern boundary. Looks like kids on trail bikes - Chris and Vin are gonna go shoo ‘em off, but the Boss wants everyone on watch in case there’s any bother.”
“Thank you Jayne,” Ezra said, “understood. I’ll let the others know.”
<><><><><><><>
Don Eppes closed the book he had been attempting to read and squinted up at the sunshine dappling through the grapevine that shrouded this end of the terrace. He had read the last paragraph on page 47 at least three times and it still hadn’t registered, so he sighed heavily and gave up. If truth be told, he was bored. His injury from the blue call had been almost two weeks ago, but the surgery to repair his punctured lung and the stubbornness of his broken ribs in healing had left him sore and stiff.
The CDC’s two doctors, Nathan and Simon, had both said the same things. He was healing well, he needed to rest and no, he could not return to security duty full time at the moment. He had, after some considerable effort, talked Simon into allowing him to return to some work, but it was light duties only. ‘Light duties’ meant watching the security monitors, admin work and answering the telephones, all of which he was happy to do, but he missed the action and adrenalin of proper security shifts.
Colonel O’Neill had already shooed him out of the security office this morning, telling him he would have square eyes if he sat there any longer, and to get outside in the sun and enjoy his enforced down time. Mac Taylor had also sent him packing from the kitchen where he offered to help George unload and store the latest fruit and vegetable delivery, telling him that carrying heavy boxes of produce around did not constitute light duties, and to get out from under his feet.
Don would have loved to have been playing basketball. It was his favourite sport and his favourite way of unwinding, but his still unhealed ribs made that impossible. Swimming was also too painful at the moment - anything that stretched his arms caused such a pain in his chest it robbed him of his breath, so he had to content himself with sedentary pursuits, and he was getting very bored of books and crosswords.
Frustrated, he rose from the chair he had been sitting in, carefully, as standing up still made him catch his breath occasionally, and decided to head indoors to the break room, where at least they had decent coffee and a chance of someone to chat to.
Buck and Mal were both in the break room, drinking coffee. Mal was listening to one of Buck’s neverending comical stories and laughing at Buck’s dramatic face pulling and hand gestures. God, that man could tell a tale, Don thought as he heard Mal laughing. Buck could drive Mother Teresa to murder, but he was a gifted storyteller and a natural comic.
“Don!” Buck grinned, “How’re ya feelin’ buddy?”
“Fine.”
Buck raised his eyebrows. “Ribs givin’ you gyp?”
Mal shook his head in sympathy. “I got busted ribs once during a takedown… fell down a flight of stairs…. Thought the damned things would never heal.” His blue eyes clouded over for a moment as he looked at Don. “You gotta give it time. I know it feels like it’s been forever, but it was only a couple of weeks ago.”
Buck nodded in agreement. “Take your time…,” he frowned, “you were badly hurt Don - don’t push it.”
They all fell silent, remembering the blue call that could easily have cost Jack his life, were it not for the experience and training of their security staff.
“Buck’s right,” Mal said at last, “let yourself heal properly and don’t rush it.” He smiled at Don. “You’ll be fine, assuming you don’t die of boredom.”
Don smiled back. “I’ll try…but I gotta tell ya, it’s frustrating as hell not being able to do anything.”
The phone rang. Buck, who was nearest, lifted the receiver. “Staff room…. Hi Ezra.” He listened for a moment. “Ok - got it. We’ll take a look. I assume security are on it?”
At the mention of ‘security’, Don’s head snapped up. “What?” he asked as Buck replaced the receiver, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing to worry about - some kids on trail bikes came over the north west boundary ditch.” He rose and headed for the door. “Chris and Vin are gonna take care of it, but Jethro just wants to make sure they don’t make it as far as the house.”
“I’ll get out there,” Don said without a second thought.
“Err, no you won’t.” Buck held his hand up, barring Don’s exit. “No way are you chasing around after kids on bikes. Nate would have my hide and Simon would be helpin’ him. You stay here.”
“I’ll go and tell Mac,” Mal said, “you go and see if you can see them, Buck.”
Buck nodded, but as he left the room by the door to the terrace, he turned around to face Don. “Stay!” he said, but he was smiling.
Mal left the staff room by the other door, heading into the lobby area outside the kitchen, and pushed open the swing doors. No one went any further without express permission from Mac. “Mac!” he shouted through the noise and steam.
“Mal?” Mac Taylor appeared, carrying a wicked looking knife in one hand, and with a large silver skinned fish dangling from the other, “what’s up?”
“Possible intruders, don’t worry,” he added, seeing Mac’s expression harden instantly, “it’s only kids on trail bikes, but security don’t want them getting too close.”
“Coming in from the vineyard?” Mac asked.
Mal nodded. “Chris and Vin are out there, so it shouldn’t be a problem, but always best to make sure.”
“Yeah, “Mac agreed, “I’ll go check it out…”
<><><><><><><>
The trail bikes were clearly visible from the huge plumes of dust behind them, and Chris gunned the Jeep across the scrubby desert on an intercept course. The three bikes were roughly in a line, but with a considerable distance between them. Chris cut off the one nearest to them, making the rider skid to halt in a shower of sand and dust. Vin leapt out, before the Jeep had even come to a stop, leaving Chris to head for the centre bike, which was already pulling to a stop.
The third bike, still some distance away, was either unaware of the Jeep or had chosen to ignore it, and continued on course, jumping the small raised bank at the far end of the vineyards and heading straight between the rows of vines.
Vin cursed. “You, “ he shouted to the young bike rider in front of him, “wait there an’ don’t move….” He keyed his microphone. “Security - we got two - but one’s in the vineyard, heading for the house.”
The vines at Casa del Corazon were planted in long, straight rows, with a break in the vine wires every hundred yards or so. Mac and Buck were already heading out of the garden area, and could plainly see the cloud of dust coming over the ridge. Riding a trail bike, fast, between the rows of vines was dangerous - one unseen pothole or rock could easily have sent the bike into the taught vine wires. By now, the rider must have been aware that he was somewhere he had no right to be, but continued to speed along the narrow gap between the vines, heading full pelt for the gardens and the house.
“Stupid kid!” Buck said, watching the bike come closer, “one false move and he’s gonna be in slices…”
Mac was trying to work out where the bike would emerge when it finally reached the end of the vineyard, assuming the rider was going too fast to ‘change lanes’ between the vine rows in the breaks. “We need to be further up there!” he shouted, pointing to the left of where they were standing. They both began to run, heading further up the edge of the vineyard, both watching the bike approaching. “Buck - wait here, try and cover those rows!” Mac shouted as he ran past Buck, “I’ll head him off if he comes down here.” Between the two of them, they could cover six rows of vines, more than enough to head off the bike.
Buck worked out that he was directly in the path of the bike as it came hurtling towards them. “Here Mac! It’s gonna be this one!” He shouted. The two men stood ready to intercept the bike, Buck holding up his hand in an obvious ‘stop here’ gesture.
Incredibly, unbelievably, when it was only a matter of yards from them, the rider jammed his foot down and skewed the bike hard to the right, then cut across through a break in the vine wires into another vine row and hurtled past them, through the open gate and into the gardens, leaving Buck and Mac in a cloud of dust.
“Shit!” Buck shouted as they broke into a run behind the bike.
The rider was almost through the gardens when he noticed the low wall around the pool terrace. It was too high to jump on a trail bike with no ramp, so he simply skidded to halt, and pushed the bike away from him as he stood up on the footrests, leaping expertly out of the way as the bike fell over. Almost without breaking his stride, he headed for the open door at the back of the house leading to the kitchens.
Mal and George emerged from the kitchen door at the commotion, but the biker side-stepped them easily, running through the doorway and into the kitchen.
Don had heard the noise and rushed from the break room through the lobby and swing doors into the kitchen, just in time to see the biker entering from the terrace, with Mal and George in hot pursuit. “Stop him!” George shouted.
The biker began to run along the centre aisle of the kitchen as Don headed him off. That was it. He was trapped. George was behind him, Don in front of him, there was nowhere else to go. Mac and Buck appeared in the doorway as the kid ran at Don like a linebacker. Don twisted sideways, grabbing the kid’s arm as he did so, but the force of the impact threw the kid to the floor and Don across the aisle. Instinctively, Don stretched out his arms to break his fall, and both hands landed squarely on the griddle plate on top of the cooker.
“SONOFABITCH!” Don cried, his hands burning from the hot griddle.
George grabbed the kid and started pulling him to his feet by one arm, as Mac reached them all and grabbed the kid’s other arm. Buck ran to the sink and turned on the taps. “Don, over here! Now! Get your hands under the water!”
Don, his hands so painful he could scarcely believe it, staggered across the kitchen to the sink, where Buck took his wrists and held his hands under the cool water. After the initial sharp knife of pain the water did help, and Don tried to take a large breath inward, ignoring his protesting ribs.
The biker was dressed in racing leathers, with a full face helmet, which George was in the process of unfastening, trying to get a look at the intruder, as Mac and Mal held the squirming figure firmly between them.
“You stupid little bastard,” Mac hissed at him as George removed the helmet, revealing a kid of no more than seventeen or eighteen tops, with a mass of curly red hair and a face contorted in rage.
“Lemme go! I’ll sue you! Let go of me!”
“Oh, shut up,” Mal said, his face inches from the kid’s. “You stupid moron! You could have killed yourself or, more importantly, one of us. Now shut the fuck up while we decide what we’re going to do with you….”
Chris and Vin appeared at the back door at that moment, with the other two bikers in tow, just as Jethro entered the kitchen through the swing doors.
“Buck?” The CDC’s security boss took control without pausing for breath, “get Don up to Simon’s office. Chris and Vin, take these kids to the back gatehouse, secure them and then get the bikes. And everyone who isn’t supposed to be here, get the hell out of Mac’s kitchen - NOW!”
Buck, supporting Don with an arm around his waist, grinned. “Still bored?”
<><><><><><><>
Simon turned off the high powered examination light and swung the magnifier out of the way. “You were lucky,” he said with a grin, “it could have been a lot worse.”
“I don’t feel very lucky,” Don said through clenched teeth.
“The burns are painful, but mercifully only minor,” Simon said, opening a cabinet and withdrawing packs of alginate dressings. “I’ll dress them with these, which will form a clear layer over the burned skin, and give you an anti inflammatory shot and some stronger painkillers.”
Don sighed. “I’m already taking painkillers.”
“I know, I know. Stop taking those, and take these instead,” he said, putting a packet down on the table, “these are stronger, but make sure you eat something with them… they pack a bit of a punch.”
Don pulled a face.
Simon expertly dressed Don’s hands and carefully covered them with wrapping and gauze gloves. “You might find things a bit awkward for a couple of days until the initial pain wears off a little, and I want to see you tomorrow to change the dressings. Any sign of blood or any fluid weeping from them that isn’t clear, any high fever or joint pain, and I want to see you straight away, got it?”
Don nodded. “Yes Doc.” He was tired, sore and his hands hurt like hell.
“Don’t be afraid to use your hands if you can, it won’t hurt the healing process,” Simon said, slipping the painkillers into Don’s shirt pocket and rolling up the shirtsleeve for the anti inflammatory shot, “although you might find it difficult for a while.”
Great, Don thought as Simon administered the shot. I can’t breathe or stretch, and now I can’t use my hands either. Should make for an interesting couple of days.
Simon held the door open as Don rose to leave. “Come back tomorrow. In the meantime, try and get some rest - watch a movie or sleep - please?” He was smiling.
“Okay Doc, you win.”
The first problem Don encountered was trying to extricate the keycard for his room from his jeans pocket. His fingers hurt but worse than that, they felt like sausages, he simply couldn’t get them to do what he wanted. After several abortive attempts to withdraw the card, he found himself standing outside the door to his room, unable even to let himself in.
Danny appeared at the end of the hallway. “Don? How are you? I heard about our unwelcome visitors… how are you feeling?”
“Honestly Danny? Pretty useless.” Don said. “I can’t even get my keycard out of my pocket.”
Danny grinned. “Let me help you - which pocket is it in?”
Danny pulled the card from the back pocket of Don’s jeans and swiped it through the doorlock. The door clicked and Danny opened it, ushering Don inside. “You gonna be okay?” He asked. “You need anything?”
Don shook his head. “No thanks- Simon says I need to rest, and right now I think that’s about all I can manage…”
Danny put the key card down on the table inside the door. “You just holler if you need anything, y’hear me?”
Don grinned. “Thanks Danny, I will. What happened to the kids? Do you know?”
Danny winked. “Oh, it was all just teenagers letting off steam - apparently the dare was to see who could make it to the house for a twenty dollar pot. The guys had a little fun scaring the shit out of them for a while, lots of Jayne roaring and stamping about, lots of Chris doing his quiet-but-deadly-scary routine, but in the end they took ‘em out to the main drag and let them go - I don’t think they’ll be back any time soon…”
“Stupid kids.”
“Yep - but hey, we’ve all been stupid….”Danny said with a knowing shake of his head and a wave as he headed back out into the corridor, the door closing quietly behind him.
Don sighed and leaned against the closed door, looking down at his hands. They *looked* the same as always, apart from the white gauze gloves, but felt as if they were ten sizes larger than normal, and hurt like the devil, throbbing in time with his pulse. He tried an experimental flex of his fingers, but his muscles refused to obey his commands and protested with a pain that made him catch his breath.
His ribs ached and his head hurt. He wanted a shower, but the effort required in working out how to undo his shirt buttons or untie his shoelaces seemed insurmountable.
He was almost at the point of just throwing himself, fully clothed, on his bed, when there was a loud knock at the door. “Delivery!”
Don frowned. “What?”
“Delivery for Eppes!”
Peering through the spyhole in the centre of the door, Don could see Mal standing in the corridor, carrying a foil covered tray.
“Stop admiring me through the spyhole and open the damned door before this goes cold,” Mal said with a wink.
Don laughed, shaking his head, but when he tried to bend his fingers to turn the doorknob, they would not co-operate. “Easier said than done,” he shouted to Mal through the closed door, “can’t twist the damned handle…” Then he noticed the key card on the table. “Hang on….” He swept the card onto the floor with the side of his hand, then slid it under the door with his foot.
“Ah! The old key under the mat trick,” Mal responded, “or near enough.” He bent down and retrieved the key with one hand, swiped it through the lock and the door opened. “Voila!” He grinned.
Don couldn’t resist a grin in return. “What’s all this?”
Mal side stepped around Don and placed the tray on the table. “Sit,” he said, pulling out one of the two chairs. Don sat, still smiling, as Mal began removing the foil. “Double pepperoni and cheese pizza and two root beers, special delivery for those injured in the line of duty…”
Don’s eyes widened. “Double pepperoni? That’s my favourite!”
Mal’s eyebrows raised. “I *know* that, that’s why I got Mac to make it specially….”
“You know my favourite pizza?” The surprise was plain.
Mal pulled out the remaining chair and sat down, facing Don. “Yep.”
“How?”
“You gonna talk - or eat?”
The smell of cheese and pepperoni had made Don realise just how long it had been since he had eaten, and his stomach rumbled at the prospect. He reached forwards to grab a slice of the delicious looking pizza, but again, his burned hands and swollen fingers refused to do his bidding. “Goddamit!”
Mal lifted a wedge of pizza. “No problem,” he said, extending his arm across the table, “all part of the service. Open wide now….”
Any discomfiture Don might have felt at the prospect of Mal feeding him disappeared after the first mouthful. “Mac is a genius,” he mumbled.
“Ain’t that the truth! And I always thought those stories about New Yorkers and pizza were exaggerated…”
They shared a few slices of the delicious pizza and Mal opened the root beers, threading a straw into the neck of the one he placed on the table in front of Don, so that he could drink it without holding it in his hands.
“You remembered to bring a straw?”
“Of course. Don’t sound so surprised, please.” But Mal was smiling.
Don sucked in a long draught of the root beer, but his eyes were on Mal’s face. “Thanks,” he said, once the cold liquid had lubricated his throat, “really…. I appreciate it.”
Mal shrugged. “No big deal - it’s just pizza.”
Don looked uncomfortable. “I guess I’m just not used to it,” he said at last, “Being the oldest, I’m used to being the one doing the looking after, most looking after myself…”
Mal realised that he knew almost nothing about Don, or his family, and this seemed like an open invitation to find out. “You got a big family?”
Don let out a harsh laugh. “Hardly - just me and Charlie…”
“Little brother?”
“Oh yeah. But not your usual little brother….”
Mal put his head on one side. “Meaning?”
Don let out a long sigh. “My little brother could beat our Dad at chess when he was four, knew more than the senior maths teachers at 7 and went to Princeton when he was 9…. He’s a prodigy. A mathematical genius. Big brown spaniel eyes, black bubble curls, cute as a button, smart as a supercomputer… he was in all the national papers before he was 10, the toast of academic society before he could shave. Cute, smart and oh, *such* a gift…”
Mal caught the edge in Don’s voice. “That can’t have been easy….”
“You have no idea… Oh, I love Charlie, and I’m proud of him and I do realise it’s not his fault he’s so incredibly gifted, but, as a kid, it was hard. When everyone, including your parents, makes you feel half the time like you’re invisible, and the other half like you are responsible for making sure the wind doesn’t blow on this delicate creature…”
“You must have resented him.”
Don nodded. “As a kid it was impossible not to. Especially when he went to Princeton and our Mom went with him… leaving me and Pop in LA…”
Mal nodded. “You blamed him for taking your Mom away…”
“You bet I did! But, if I’m honest, he took Mom away from the minute everyone realised he was ‘special’ - we could never be a proper family after that… Lemme tell ya, it’s hard being the ‘normal’ one. No matter how you react, it’s wrong. If you ignore it, you’re jealous or unfeeling, if you play up to it, you’re just plain jealous. I got more black eyes and bruises defending Charlie than I ever did defending myself…” Don was quiet for a moment. “However I acted around him, I could never get it right, it was either Pop giving me the ‘you’re the oldest and you should know better’ routine or Mom with the ‘Donny, how could you? You know that Charlie is special’ speech. I guess I gave up trying to get it right. When your baby brother is at Princeton, and you can’t scrape a C in math… well, it doesn’t do much for your self confidence, let’s put it that way. But…”
“But what?”
Don looked up, his eyes sparking. “The stupid part about it is that I have never been jealous of what Charlie can do, I was only ever jealous of the fact that Mom and Dad seemed to care more about what happened to him than what happened to me…”
“And now?”
Don shrugged. “Now, it doesn’t matter. Dad’s retired and lives for his golf and Charlie’s a professor at Cal Si….”
“And your Mom?”
“Mom died when I was a teenager.”
Mal put his hand on Don’s shoulder. “That’s rough. For any kid.”
“Was a long time ago… but I sometimes felt that Charlie took away what time I *could* have had with her… how stupid is that? Like it was his fault!”
“What about other people? Friends? Lovers?”
Don’s expression darkened even more. “One or two, over the years, but only one that really counted.”
Mal didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to, Don’s expression said it all. “I was an FBI agent, he was ATF and married. We met by accident and I had never felt like that in my entire life. It was as if I had found the other half of myself - the missing piece. We never had it easy - you know how the Feds are about inter-agency relationships, and if you happen to be unfortunate enough to be the same sex then the proverbial really hits the fan if you get caught….”
“You got caught?”
“No. He died. Killed himself when he found out he had a terminal brain tumour.”
Mal winced. “Brave thing to do.”
“Yep, but it would have been nice if he could have told me himself, rather than just…. oh hell, it doesn’t matter now anyway…”
“True.” Mal looked Don straight in the eyes. “We’ve all got history here Don - there’s no one here who doesn’t have some spectres lurking in his past, or something he’s run away from. Here, that doesn’t matter. Here, no one judges you except on who you are *now*. I guess we’ve all got some missing pieces, but here we try and fill in for each other…”
“I know. And I *am* grateful… It just takes some getting used to, is all.”
Mal grinned. “You’ll get the hang of it - and for now, well - it’s just pizza and a root beer.”
“Thanks, anyway.”
Mal gave him an up and down look. Hair even more spiky than normal, tired eyes, deep furrows between them, slumped shoulders and hands that even to a stranger, looked as if they hurt. “You look, as our Vin would say, ‘like you been rode hard and put away wet’.”
Don grinned. “That just about sums it up.”
“Still hungry?”
Don shook his head. “No - just tired.”
Mal stood up. “In which case I recommend a shower and sleep…”
“Sounds like a plan…” Don gazed down at his hands. “Might be easier said than done, though.”
“Nonsense! Where’s your spirit of adventure?” Mal beckoned Don to stand up. “Stand there against the table, and I’ll sort out the more tricky parts of the manoeuvre like shoelaces and buttons.”
Don did as he was told, leaning against the edge of the table, and Mal dropped onto one knee. “Left foot first,” he instructed, deftly unfastening the laces of Don’s boots, holding Don’s left ankle as he pulled the boot off gently.
Mal carefully placed Don’s left foot back on the ground. “Other one,” he said, without looking up. There was something comforting - no, more than that - something in the attentive way Mal acted, that made such a mundane thing almost seductive. Don gave an involuntary shiver as Mal released the other boot. It was nonsense, he decided. The pain and the drugs were giving him notions. So why was his heart beginning to thump?
Mal still did not look up. “Socks,” he said simply, returning his grasp to Don’s left ankle. Mal’s hands were warm, Don almost jumped at the contact of fingers on his skin as Mal removed the sock.
Don could feel his pulse quickening and he closed his eyes, trying to quell the rising arousal he began to feel. Was Mal doing this on purpose? Of *course* not, he told himself sternly, that was nonsense. Mal was simply trying to help him! Mal efficiently tucked the removed socks into the boots, then, still on one knee, looked up. Don’s eyes were closed, but Mal almost smiled. He supposed he should feel a bit guilty, doing this to Don in his weakened state, but he didn’t. Don was tired, stressed and in pain, and Mal was very skilled at relieving all three. Mal was more than aware of where his strengths lay when it came to seduction, and right now he was showing Don just where those strengths were.
Very slowly, he stood up, allowing one hand to trace a deliberate and slow path up Don’s leg, applying just enough pressure through the denim to produce a shiver. Ankle, knee, thigh, the hand stopped, then gently covered the now obvious bulge in Don’s jeans.
“Nice. Very nice,” Mal whispered.
“Shit! Sorry Mal…” Embarrassment coloured Don’s cheekbones.
“For what?”
“I didn’t mean… sorry… I…”
“Don’t be sorry,” he stood closer, right against Don’s chest. “I’m not sorry in the least.” The voice was low now, little more than a whisper against Don’s neck. “If you’re sorry I must not be doing it right…”
The hand squeezed gently, and Don inhaled sharply. “Oh, you’re doing it right. Believe me.”
Mal smiled, moving his hand up to the collar of Don’s shirt. “Buttons next, I think.” The skilled fingers made short work of the first three buttons and Mal’s hand slid inside the open shirt, cool fingers against warm skin, the rapid pulse of Don’s heartbeat thudding into his palm.
“I…don’t…I didn’t…”
“Ssshhh.” Mal kissed him then, soft and gentle, just a brush of lips. Don’s eyes closed, a deep line furrowing his brow.
“Why?” he breathed at last. “Is this is client staffer thing?”
Mal kissed him again. “No, this is Mal Don thing. A friend thing. And why not?”
“I just… I guess I never thought…”
“What?” Mal’s mouth was working on Don’s neck, but he could feel the smile, even if he couldn’t see it. “Hey, I maybe a staffer here, but I’ve got eyes, and let me tell you Mr Security,” a gentle bite under Don’s earlobe produced another shiver, “you’re hot…”
Don blushed again, much to Mal’s delight.
“I should warn you,” Don said softly as Mal finished undoing the buttons and carefully slid the shirt off, “it’s been a while… a long while.”
Mal shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters here except you and me - okay?”
“Okay.” But he didn’t sound as sure as the word suggested.
“Shower first?” Mal asked, unfastening the buckle of Don’s belt. Don couldn’t speak, he just nodded.
“Got any gloves?” Mal asked, looking around the room, “don’t want to undo all Simon’s hard work and get your hands wet.”
Don indicated the shelf were he kept his box of latex gloves with another nod of his head, and Mal grabbed a couple. Holding them one at a time, they managed to cover Don’s bandaged hands. He gave Don an unmistakable look from under his eyelashes. “C’mon then - s’bout time I got you all wet, I think…”
The bathroom in Don’s staff quarter was small, but the shower was easily big enough to accommodate two. Mal leaned inside the cubicle and set the water running, then turned to Don with a smile. “Let’s finish what we started out there,” he grinned, gently undoing the zipper on Don’s jeans and lowering them along with his boxers. Don stepped out of them as Mal peeled off his clothes. “In you go.” Don stepped under the hot water.
“You stand, I wash,” Mal said, squeezing the citrus scented shower gel into his palm. He smoothed the gel over Don’s shoulders and chest, carefully avoiding the still healing scar from the surgery Don had undergone after the blue call, and gently washing the ribs he knew had been broken. “Still hurt?” he said, his palm resting softly over the scar.
“Not much… some.”
Mal nodded in understanding. His soapy hand moved downwards. “I’ll be very gentle with you then.” He was grinning again.
Don shivered as Mal continued to massage the suds into his muscles, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. He felt weird, unable to reciprocate, unable to touch Mal. It was frustrating. Mal pushed him gently up against the warm tiles, and dropped to his knees, washing Don’s legs. He planted a kiss on the end of Don’s very obvious erection. “Lovely,” he breathed. Don let out a moan.
Mal stood up. “Enough?” he said through the running water. “Don’t want to waste that.” His eyes dropped downwards. Without waiting for a reply he shut off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping it carefully around Don’s waist. Grabbing another for himself, they stepped out of the shower cubicle.
Don’s head was spinning. His heart thudded against his ribs and his hands shook. Mal seemed so confident, so relaxed, and he was terrified. The few steps from the bathroom to the bed seemed like miles. He stood at the side of the bed, looking down at the green comforter and wondering what the hell to do next.
Mal walked up behind him and slid strong arms around his waist, nuzzling the nape of his neck. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said softly into Don’s still damp hair.
“Maybe not for you,” Don replied, arching into Mal’s arms despite himself, “I feel pretty damned weird.”
Mal unwound the towel from Don’s waist and let it drop to the floor. “No you don’t,” he said, his hand grasping Don’s fully risen shaft, “you feel great.”
Don moaned at the touch. “Easy Mal - I told you, it’s been a while - if you’re expecting this to last longer than a minute, you’d better ease up some.”
Mal turned Don around to face him. “I’m not expecting anything. This isn’t some kind of test - this is just you, and me, and a little harmless, healthy sex - okay? You’re hurting and frustrated, and it’s the best way I know of letting off a little steam…” His smile was infectious, his blue eyes dancing. “Now get on that bed and get comfortable.”
Don did as he was bidden, settling himself against the pillows, his arms outstretched to keep his hands out of the way.
“They painful?” Mal asked, stretching out beside him.
“Not as bad as earlier… but no picnic.” Don said simply. In truth, they were very painful, every movement hurt and they still felt as if they were on fire.
Mal leaned over him, careful of his damaged ribs. “Then we need to think of something to take your mind off them…” He began to stroke Don’s arms, gently, his fingers ghosting over the skin. “Relax.”
The fingers wandered further - tracing the outline of Don’s collarbones, drawing circles on his chest and stomach, gently increasing their pressure. Don’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling with his increased breathing rate. A soft gasp escaped him when Mal finally closed his fist around his throbbing cock. “Now you’re getting’ it,” Mal said gently, lowering his head and kissing Don’s stomach.
Don was lost in Mal’s skilled fingers. His chest still hurt, his hands still hurt, but they were such small things when compared to Mal’s fingers. His cock was throbbing so hard he could feel it in his head, and Mal was just keeping him on the edge of something more - a squeeze, a pump, then nothing. It had been so long - so very, very long, since he had felt like this. He’d forgotten what a good substitute for the adrenalin of work this could be. Mal’s lips sealed themselves onto his left nipple and he let out another gasp.
Mal looked down at Don, enjoying the look of concentration mixed with sensation on his face. If it had been as long as he suspected since Don had been with anyone, then this first encounter would have to be short and sweet. Very, very sweet. There would be time for something a little more adventurous later.
Without removing his hands from Don’s body, Mal shifted his weight to his knees. “Open your legs for me Don.” Don obeyed with a slight groan, and Mal repositioned himself between the spread thighs, raising himself up onto his knees. “Now open your eyes.”
Don opened his eyes to see Mal smiling down at him. “You look a bit flushed there, Mr Security.”
Don didn’t respond. His mouth was dry and his pulse seemed to fill his head. Mal’s blue eyes twinkled.
“Okay now - just let me do all the work.” Grasping Don’s hips, Mal pulled him forwards, up the slope of his thighs, then bent his head and took Don’s whole length into his mouth.
“Jesus!” Don shouted, arching off the bed at the sensation of being sucked into that hot softness.
Mal’s fingers, Mal’s magical, incredible fingers, kneaded the muscles in Don’s thighs, stroked his shins, trickled across his stomach. Mal knew it wouldn’t take long, Don’s thigh muscles were already quivering, so he grabbed hold of Don’s hips and pulled him up further, literally swallowing Don into his throat.
“Holy Christ!” It was somewhere between a shout and a sob. Mal pulled Don’s hips up, once, twice, before Don got the idea and began to thrust. Mal was quite right, Don was so close to the edge that it was less than a minute before he stiffened, shuddering out his climax. Mal held him tight, swallowing it all, his grasp only softening when he felt Don’s muscles begin to relax. Gently, he released his grip, easing Don backwards out of his throat.
Don was boneless, still shaking, a look of stunned surprise in his dark brown eyes.
“Okay?” Mal asked, unable to hide a grin.
Don nodded, taking in rapid gasps of air. “Wow… that… was… amazing.”
Mal feigned a bow. “Why thank you.”
“Where in the hell did you ever learn how to do that?”
“Just a little something I picked up along the way.”
Don was laughing now, still short of breath, but the pain had gone from his face, and the smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Hell man, I’m sorry… it’s been so long… that can’t have been much fun for you.”
Mal waved the apology aside and stretched out alongside Don. “This was about you,” he winked, “this time. Next time, it will be about both of us.”
“Next time?”
“If you want.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“How’re the hands?”
“I have hands? Who knew?” Don joked. “You were right, I needed something to take my mind off them… and that was definitely something.”
“And now I recommend some rest,” Mal said, pulling the comforter over them both, turning Don on his side and spooning up behind him. “And, if you are very, very good, I might do it to you again when you wake up.”
Don laughed, enjoying the sensation of Mal’s arms around him, the feeling of another warm body beside him in his bed. He was exhausted but relaxed and sated, and could already feel sleep beckoning him. Mal kissed the back of his neck and gave him a gentle hug.
“Thanks Mal. Really. I’d forgotten…”
“Forgotten what?” Mal whispered into Don’s hair, in front of him on the pillow.
“What it feels like…to have someone take care of me.”
“Sleep now.”
Don’s dreams, fuelled by the drugs, pain and exhaustion, were feverish, disturbed and erotic. He mumbled and thrashed around in his sleep, and Mal held him gently, soothing the nightmares with gentle murmurings and preventing him damaging his hands any further. It was almost dawn when Mal was woken again, Don was talking in his sleep, obviously disturbed and upset. Mal could guess who and what the nightmare was about and the emotion was obvious.
“No! Dead!….. shot? Who? …No! NO! I want him…”
Don was obviously deeply upset by the pictures that were playing out in his imagination. He was sweating, distressed and moaning. Mal turned onto his side again, pulling Don backwards onto his chest. He began to settle as soon as Mal’s arms around him registered in his subconscious, but the dream had left him disturbed and aroused. Don, still asleep, reached for his dream fuelled erection and Mal had to grab his wrist. “Ssshhh… It’s okay Don - I’ll take care of it…ssshhh now.”
Don was not really aware that Mal was there, not consciously. Somewhere, on some level, he sensed him, sensed the strength and safety, but was only dimly aware of Mal gently pushing his right leg forwards until his knee bent and prevented him rolling over fully onto his stomach. Then the fingers were back - cool, gentle fingers, kneading the base of his spine, stroking between his cheeks, setting his heart pumping faster. Don was in that twilight world between sleep and wakefulness, stirring and moaning, only half sensing Mal’s fingers gently entering him, Mal’s words in his ear, Mal’s lips on his neck. Another hand reached underneath his waist, gently encircling his erection, and Don gasped.
”I got you… you’re okay..” Mal was whispering, one hand gently probing inside Don, the other smoothly grasping and pumping him.
Mal bit down gently on the junction of Don’s neck and shoulder, and Don’s eyes flew open. “S’okay Don, you’re okay, I’m here,” Mal soothed him, fingers gently stretching and circling inside. Don moaned out loud as the reality of the situation finally replaced the dream.
“God Mal…” His body was already primed and responding, his heart pumping. “That’s so good.”
“You wanna go for it?” Mal’s finger located the soft nub of Don’s prostate and circled gently. Mal felt the shiver run the whole length of Don’s body.
“Yes. Yes… please.. now!”
Mal eased forwards and over, positioning himself carefully and skilfully before thrusting his hips forward, a little at a time, as he entered Don’s warm, grasping heat. Don panted and moaned, trying to shift his weight backwards. “Now… yes, that’s it! More, please Mal, more.”
“Easy, easy. No rush.” Mal pushed again, a little further this time, feeling Don’s internal muscles clench around him. A breathy sigh escaped him. “Jesus, you’re so hot…”
Don began to move against Mal’s thrusts, gentle at first, then stronger as their rhythm began to build. Mal’s arms tightened around him, and he began to pump Don’s cock in time with his forward thrusts. Unable to use his hands to grab Mal, Don settled for moving his body in counterpoint, forwards into Mal’s hand, back onto Mal’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of being worked inside and out almost overloading his nervous system, Don almost screamed in pleasure, it felt so good. The pain in his hands and chest vanished, the only thing he could sense or feel was Mal - Mal inside him, Mal’s hand working his shaft, Mal’s chest against his back, Mal’s breath on his neck.
Limbs growing slippery with sweat, chest heaving, Mal felt the tension beginning to build in Don’s muscles. He circled his hips, unerringly hitting that perfect spot inside Don, feeling his own orgasm starting to build. “You with me here buddy?” He whispered against Don’s sweat drenched skin, “ready to come for me?”
“Yes…. Yes…” Don moaned, beginning to thrust faster, “please Mal… oh Jesus, please.”
Mal kept pace with Don’s ever more frantic movements, their bodies twisting and sliding together, hips thrusting in unison. Eventually Don couldn’t hold on any longer and with one final, violent forward thrust, orgasm overtook his muscles and his body went rigid. Mal gave a few short, heavy thrusts before his completion took the breath from his lungs and froze his muscles.
For several minutes the only sound to be heard in the room was two bodies trying to recover their breath. Mal moved first, easing out of Don’s relaxed body and turning over onto his back, still breathing deeply. Eventually, the tremors in Don’s muscled subsided, and he managed to roll over into Mal’s arms.
“Okay?” Mal asked.
The smile he received in response was answer enough. “Oh yeah.”
No other words seemed necessary and this time, when sleep overtook him, there were no dreams or pain to disturb Don’s rest.
It was the smell that woke him, eventually. Blinking, bleary-eyed, he breathed in. Coffee. And something else. Pizza? He struggled to sit up, realising as he did so that his hands were a good deal less painful than they had been. “Mal?”
Mal, clad only in boxer shorts covered with the words “Danger Zone” on them in violent pink letters, was standing before the microwave in Don’s kitchenette area, two mugs of steaming liquid in his hands. “Morning! How’re you feeling?”
“Like someone drove over me in a Mack truck! Wasted….” Don smiled again, that smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and transformed his natural soulful expression into something entirely different. “Pretty damned good, actually.”
Mal walked up to the bed and set a steaming cup of coffee down on the nightstand. “Likewise.”
Don blushed and Mal couldn’t resist laughing.
“You forget buddy, I’ve seen you in the shower,” he winked, “and, if memory serves, we got pretty wild there for a while last night, so I think the blushes are unnecessary … Can you hold this?” He held out the mug of coffee. To his surprise, Don found that he could, after a fashion, hold it. At least enough to drink without looking as if his arms belonged to someone else. “Hey! That’s good!” Mal was grinning.
“Mal?” Don nodded in the direction of the microwave, “I think something’s burning…”
“Shit! The pizza!” Mal ran back across the room and pushed the button. The microwave door swung open, allowing a large cloud of smoky steam to escape into the room. “Shit!” Mal said again, retrieving the plate and carrying it, still smoking faintly, to the bed. “It was supposed to be breakfast in bed,” he said ruefully, looking down at the blackened, curled at the edges, remains of the previous nights’ pizza, “but it’s a bit scorched.”
Don leaned forward and kissed Mal, hard on the mouth. “I know how it feels.”
~The End~ (of this one… I have a feeling there will be more…)