18: fan fic { numb3rs } : "rebirthing [1/4]" [colby]
title. rebirthing [1/4]
author. nv
fandom. numb3rs
characters. colby granger, charlie eppes (colby/david, colby/charlie)
genre. angst/drama
rating. nc-17
warnings. pre-slash, masturbation, language
word count. 2678
spoilers. "the janus list," "trust metric"
summary. colby returns and struggles to regain his life.
feedback. is the reason i do this
disclaimer. the characters and canon contained herein are the property of cheryl heuton and nicolas falacci, as well as any associated writers, producers, networks, and parent companies. the following was written by neur0 vanity. no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
cross-posting. numb3rs_slash, red_gumballs, eppes_slash, savecolby, wolf_tickets
Colby’s feet pounded the treadmill. With the incline set at 15 and the speed on 6, he had to grip the top of the console to keep from falling back and off; the ridge of plastic bit into his palms. His legs burned, and his arms ached from holding himself, but he kept going. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until the burning in his muscles was so intense that all other thoughts were pushed from his mind.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, all along his hairline, and dripped down his face and neck. His shirt was soaked under his arms, around the collar, down his spine. He tried to blink away the salty sweat that slipped into his eyes, and he dared to reach a hand for the small towel set in the treadmill’s cup holder, picking it up and wiping his forehead and eyes, then stuffing it back into its place. His hand quickly gripped the top of the treadmill again before he could lose balance.
Even with his iPod blaring in his ears - the pounding bass of hip-hop switching to the shrill wailing of an electric guitar - he could hear his sneakers pounding the track. He could feel each exhausted and desperate step shoot through his body and straight to his temples, exacerbating the headache that rose up twenty minutes ago.
He couldn’t stop. He needed this, needed to get out of his head. He’d lost everything. His desk at work had been cleared out, he’d had to find a new apartment after his landlord had evicted him and thrown out all his stuff while he was in prison (he could get a new bed and TV, kitchenware, collection of movies, but there was no replacing his family photos and journals from Afghanistan). While everyone else was proclaiming him a hero, his team couldn’t look him in the eyes, especially David. David - his best friend, partner, lover. For a moment, David had raised his eyes from the ground and looked at Colby long enough to tell him to not call. It was over. Every part of him had been erased or destroyed. He was a man with a name and little more.
The heat rolling off his body was intense, and the pain grew stronger, searing every taut muscle. He was becoming dizzy, faint. His heart felt like it was going to explode inside his burning chest, and he began to see spots of black and white. But the thoughts were still there; the emotional pain still cut at him.
He tried to push harder, but he knew himself well enough to recognize that he had reached his limit. Any second, he would blackout and collapse (or collapse and then blackout when he hit the floor). Against his wishes, he let a hand fall from the top of the treadmill and hit the big, red “stop” button. The track slowed and lowered below him, and he put his shaking arms on the handrails to hold him up on trembling legs.
In the shower, cold water prickled his body like sharp pins as he rested his forehead against the tiled wall. He was freezing now and hyperventilating from his body trying desperately hard to keep warm. It was more torture for himself. He wondered why the team couldn’t have been five minutes later finding him on that ship, why he couldn’t have just died right there. It would have been easier than this.
There was a sudden knock on the frosted glass of the shower door.
“Hey, man, you okay in there?” asked a stranger’s voice, loud enough to be heard over the water pelting the floor in all the showers.
“Fine,” Colby answered, his voice rough and dry and cracking.
“What’s that, man?” the stranger called.
Colby turned off the shower, and his body was shivering, convulsing from the cold. “I said I’m fine.” A towel was tossed and hung over the shower door. Colby grabbed the end and pulled it into the stall. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Colby saw the bare feet outside his shower stall walking away, and he rubbed the towel over his short hair and then wrapped it around his waist. A few deep breaths, and he pushed the frosted door open and stepped out across the slippery tile floor and towards the lockers.
$$$
The blow-up mattress was uncomfortable, and he could feel the floor under him when he sat on it, the mattress definitely needing some more air. The back of his head was up against the wall, and he stared at the blank wall across from him. The only light in the room was coming from the streetlamps outside the window. Condensation dripped down the side of the cold beer bottle that froze his hand. Colby glanced over to the five empties on the floor beside him, and he was disappointed to know that he was on his last one. He had a good buzz going, was maybe a little drunk, but it wasn’t enough to eradicate the thoughts that clawed at him.
From the apartment next door, he could hear David Letterman’s voice and a laugh track. With a pang, he vaguely remembered what it was like to laugh. Somewhere else, a couple argued, and he remembered what it was like to argue with David over stupid things like who drank the last of the milk or whose turn it was to do the dishes. Cars whooshed by on the street outside the apartment building, the perfect white noise for sleep.
He finished the last of his beer and awkwardly got up off the mattress. He gathered up the rest of his empties and brought them into the small kitchen, setting them on the counter. Colby didn’t even have a trashcan yet, just his mattress, a blanket, and a pillow. Opening the refrigerator with the light that blinded him, he found only the empty box that had held his beer and a half-eaten carton of Chinese takeout. He shut the door, and his eyes adjusted to the dark of the apartment. Walking back into the barren living room, he decided it would be best to just sleep. There was nothing to do there, and he couldn’t go anywhere. He was too buzzed to drive, and even if he wasn’t, it’s not like he had anyone with whom to do something. He wouldn’t sit alone at a bar like a worthless loser, he wouldn’t sit alone at a restaurant and watch the couples sharing food, and he wouldn’t go to the movies by himself without a buddy to whom he could whisper wisecracks.
Colby laid back down on the uncomfortable, sagging air mattress and pulled the blanket over himself. He put his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep and the nightmares that would inevitably follow.
Then his cell phone rang.
“Damn it,” he muttered and sat up. He hoped it wasn’t a case. Sure, it would give him something to do, something to occupy his mind, but he couldn’t go into work in his current state of inebriation, and he didn’t think he could stand to see the disappointed looks from his former friends. The last thing he needed was to show up at the field office with alcohol on his breath. He knew what they would think - first, he betrayed them, and now he’s a drunk.
Colby flipped open his phone and pressed it to his ear. “Granger.”
“Hey, Colby.” He recognized Charlie’s voice on the other end. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, just going to bed,” he answered without thought.
“Really? It’s 7:30.”
“Uh, yeah. Just bored, I guess.” Colby rubbed his free hand over his face. Great, he could look like a sad sap to his boss’s brother now.
“I’ve got nothing going on, either,” Charlie confessed. “Amita’s grading papers, Larry’s at the monastery, Don’s with Liz, David’s not answering his phone, and Megan’s… well, I didn’t think I should hang out with my best friend’s girlfriend. So I decided to call you.”
And the hits just kept on coming; good to know that Colby was last on Charlie’s list of people he wanted to talk to. “I see.”
“You okay? You sound kind of down.” Well, no shit. Ya think? “But I suppose that makes sense. I mean, everybody thinking you’re a traitor and going to prison, and now no one really trusts you.”
“Jesus Christ, Charlie.” The harsh words were out of Colby’s mouth before he could stop them, and Colby sighed. For a triple agent and American hero, he sure could be an idiot. He huffed an uneasy laugh. “I get it, okay.”
“Sorry.”
“Look, don’t apologize. It’s fine.” It wasn’t, but Colby didn’t need Charlie whining to his brother about how he’d snapped at him; that certainly wouldn’t make life any easier.
“No, I am sorry. Sometimes, a lot of times, I just talk without thinking. I know this must be hard. And… I’m sorry.”
“Charlie, it’s fine. I deserve it.”
“But you’re a hero now.”
Colby sighed again. He was getting pretty sick of people calling him a hero while his own team (former team?) hated him. “Was there something you needed?”
“Uh, no? Well, I mean… not really, but… it’s-it’s nothing.”
“Spit it out, Charlie.”
“I was kind of wondering if maybe, if you’re not doing anything, and I don’t think you’re doing anything ‘cause you said you were going to bed, and if you’re tired, I mean, that’s fine - ”
“Sometime this year, Charlie…”
“You want to hang out?” Colby stopped breathing for a moment. Charlie wanted to be around him? After everything with the Chinese and the Janus List and Lancer and now being the outcast on the team, Charlie still thought Colby was a good guy? “Or something. You know, whatever, whatever you want to do. Or if you don’t want to do anything tonight, that’s cool. And if you don’t want to hang out with me at all, I understand. I mean, guys like you didn’t like me in school. Not that you’re like those guys; you’re a nice guy. It’s just that - ”
“Sure. Where do you want to go?”
Charlie was quiet for a moment on the line. “What? You do want to hang out?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. What do you want to do?”
“I, uh, I don’t know. I kind of wasn’t expecting you to say yes. Um… want to check out the stars?”
“Stargazing? That’s a little gay, don’t you think?” Charlie again was silent, this time uncomfortably so. And then it dawned on Colby. “Oh, shit.” Colby pressed his hand to his lowered forehead. “Shit, I didn’t know, Charlie. I thought you and Amita…”
“No. Well, yes, but… no.”
“Dude, I didn’t mean anything bad by that.” Add to the list of things Colby didn’t need: Charlie telling Don that Colby was homophobic or critical of Charlie’s sexuality. “I’m gay, too.” And, once again, the words were out there in the world before he thought to stop them.
“You are??” Charlie’s voice sounded high and either skeptical or pleasantly surprised; Colby couldn’t tell which.
“Well, uh…” No use denying it now; he’d already said it, and if he turned around and said he’d been joking, Don would probably throttle him for mocking Charlie. “Yeah, I am. But, you know, don’t tell anyone.”
“I suppose you can’t really be ‘out’ in the FBI.”
“Yeah, not really.” It had been a year before he and David had revealed their sexual orientation to each other, and that was with being in close-quarters day in and out and sharing all kinds of personal information.
“So…”
“So.”
“Do you still want to hang out?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m gay.”
“Charlie, I’m gay, too. Two gay guys can hang out together without fucking each other.” Oh, God, there he went again. Colby made a mental note to have his lips sewn together. Or maybe his tongue surgically removed. And then there was more awkward silence on the end of the line. Jesus, I’m on a roll tonight. “Oh, hey, Charlie, listen, don’t worry about it. If you were wanting to go on a date with me, that’s cool. We can test the waters and, yeah…”
“You know, we’ve probably said more than enough tonight,” Charlie weakly said. “Maybe we can talk later. ‘Cause, uh, I’m kind of tired now, too.”
“It’s 7:30,” Colby protested, reciting Charlie’s earlier words.
“Well, it’s 7:33 but no less a valid point.” Colby could hear Charlie swallow in the silence of his apartment and the stillness on the other end. “Look, Colby, if we could just pretend this conversation didn’t happen… that would be great.”
“Okay, Charlie,” Colby answered, maybe a little too quickly, but he’d said enough that he’d rather have buried and forgotten. “I’ll probably see you soon. Always new cases we could use you on.”
“Right.”
“Take it easy, bud.”
“Night.”
The call abruptly ended, and Colby flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the floor next to him. He settled again into his makeshift bed, but sleep certainly wouldn’t come as easily this time.
Suddenly, all Colby could think of was Charlie. Did the genius - the Whiz Kid - really have a crush on him? When he called Colby to ask him to hang out, was it really with the underlying hope of it being a date? Thoughts of Charlie rolled around in Colby’s head, and he couldn’t get the image of Don’s little brother out of his mind. Those curls, that face, those hands moving emphatically as he gave his analogies to the mathematically-challenged.
He wondered what it would be like to kiss Charlie. Colby imagined it would be completely different than kissing David, who’d always been hard and commanding. Charlie would be soft, malleable, compliant and tender under Colby’s lips and fingers.
Colby felt his cock twitch in his sweatpants, and he mentally groaned. Hi, Don. Not only have I betrayed your trust, but now I want to fuck your little brother. That thought lasted for a whole five seconds before Colby’s cock grew harder at the thought of Charlie under him.
Slipping a hand under the elastic waistband of his pants, Colby wrapped a hand around his cock and lightly stroked. He imagined that sweet, dorky smile and Charlie looking shy and uncertain but fully aware of what he wanted.
Colby sped up his strokes, tightened his grip, and felt desperate for completion.
Charlie down on his knees between Colby’s legs, hand jerking him off, scientific mind studying Colby’s body.
Charlie’s lips wrapped around his cock, shiny with spit, mouth warm, tongue lapping at and teasing each sensitive spot.
Charlie on all fours, ass in the air, Colby’s finger in his ass, that sweet voice begging for more and more and more.
Charlie moaning and crying out as Colby pushed slowly inside him inch by agonizing inch and then began a rough and fast pace, pounding hard into him, ass slapping against hips.
Charlie’s cock in Colby’s hand exploding his orgasm onto the bed as Colby pumped his own inside Charlie.
Colby came with a heated grunt, his cum spilling onto his stomach and pooling in his navel. On legs weak from post-orgasmic bliss and his previous exertions at the gym, he made his way to the bathroom for some toilet paper to clean up. As he caught his reflection in the mirror, he smiled when he realized that for those few minutes of fantasy, he hadn’t thought of how bad his life had become. He hadn’t thought of his friends disowning him and of all the things he lost. He’d thought only of Charlie, and those thoughts had filled him with warmth.
Maybe there was hope after all. It didn’t have to be so bad. He could still feel happiness and anticipation. He could still want love. He’d survive this, just like he survived Afghanistan and those close calls with Don’s team and the death shot from Lancer aboard that Chinese freighter.
He would survive.
to be continued...
like it? watch whereismytalent.
author. nv
fandom. numb3rs
characters. colby granger, charlie eppes (colby/david, colby/charlie)
genre. angst/drama
rating. nc-17
warnings. pre-slash, masturbation, language
word count. 2678
spoilers. "the janus list," "trust metric"
summary. colby returns and struggles to regain his life.
feedback. is the reason i do this
disclaimer. the characters and canon contained herein are the property of cheryl heuton and nicolas falacci, as well as any associated writers, producers, networks, and parent companies. the following was written by neur0 vanity. no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
cross-posting. numb3rs_slash, red_gumballs, eppes_slash, savecolby, wolf_tickets
Colby’s feet pounded the treadmill. With the incline set at 15 and the speed on 6, he had to grip the top of the console to keep from falling back and off; the ridge of plastic bit into his palms. His legs burned, and his arms ached from holding himself, but he kept going. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until the burning in his muscles was so intense that all other thoughts were pushed from his mind.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, all along his hairline, and dripped down his face and neck. His shirt was soaked under his arms, around the collar, down his spine. He tried to blink away the salty sweat that slipped into his eyes, and he dared to reach a hand for the small towel set in the treadmill’s cup holder, picking it up and wiping his forehead and eyes, then stuffing it back into its place. His hand quickly gripped the top of the treadmill again before he could lose balance.
Even with his iPod blaring in his ears - the pounding bass of hip-hop switching to the shrill wailing of an electric guitar - he could hear his sneakers pounding the track. He could feel each exhausted and desperate step shoot through his body and straight to his temples, exacerbating the headache that rose up twenty minutes ago.
He couldn’t stop. He needed this, needed to get out of his head. He’d lost everything. His desk at work had been cleared out, he’d had to find a new apartment after his landlord had evicted him and thrown out all his stuff while he was in prison (he could get a new bed and TV, kitchenware, collection of movies, but there was no replacing his family photos and journals from Afghanistan). While everyone else was proclaiming him a hero, his team couldn’t look him in the eyes, especially David. David - his best friend, partner, lover. For a moment, David had raised his eyes from the ground and looked at Colby long enough to tell him to not call. It was over. Every part of him had been erased or destroyed. He was a man with a name and little more.
The heat rolling off his body was intense, and the pain grew stronger, searing every taut muscle. He was becoming dizzy, faint. His heart felt like it was going to explode inside his burning chest, and he began to see spots of black and white. But the thoughts were still there; the emotional pain still cut at him.
He tried to push harder, but he knew himself well enough to recognize that he had reached his limit. Any second, he would blackout and collapse (or collapse and then blackout when he hit the floor). Against his wishes, he let a hand fall from the top of the treadmill and hit the big, red “stop” button. The track slowed and lowered below him, and he put his shaking arms on the handrails to hold him up on trembling legs.
In the shower, cold water prickled his body like sharp pins as he rested his forehead against the tiled wall. He was freezing now and hyperventilating from his body trying desperately hard to keep warm. It was more torture for himself. He wondered why the team couldn’t have been five minutes later finding him on that ship, why he couldn’t have just died right there. It would have been easier than this.
There was a sudden knock on the frosted glass of the shower door.
“Hey, man, you okay in there?” asked a stranger’s voice, loud enough to be heard over the water pelting the floor in all the showers.
“Fine,” Colby answered, his voice rough and dry and cracking.
“What’s that, man?” the stranger called.
Colby turned off the shower, and his body was shivering, convulsing from the cold. “I said I’m fine.” A towel was tossed and hung over the shower door. Colby grabbed the end and pulled it into the stall. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Colby saw the bare feet outside his shower stall walking away, and he rubbed the towel over his short hair and then wrapped it around his waist. A few deep breaths, and he pushed the frosted door open and stepped out across the slippery tile floor and towards the lockers.
$$$
The blow-up mattress was uncomfortable, and he could feel the floor under him when he sat on it, the mattress definitely needing some more air. The back of his head was up against the wall, and he stared at the blank wall across from him. The only light in the room was coming from the streetlamps outside the window. Condensation dripped down the side of the cold beer bottle that froze his hand. Colby glanced over to the five empties on the floor beside him, and he was disappointed to know that he was on his last one. He had a good buzz going, was maybe a little drunk, but it wasn’t enough to eradicate the thoughts that clawed at him.
From the apartment next door, he could hear David Letterman’s voice and a laugh track. With a pang, he vaguely remembered what it was like to laugh. Somewhere else, a couple argued, and he remembered what it was like to argue with David over stupid things like who drank the last of the milk or whose turn it was to do the dishes. Cars whooshed by on the street outside the apartment building, the perfect white noise for sleep.
He finished the last of his beer and awkwardly got up off the mattress. He gathered up the rest of his empties and brought them into the small kitchen, setting them on the counter. Colby didn’t even have a trashcan yet, just his mattress, a blanket, and a pillow. Opening the refrigerator with the light that blinded him, he found only the empty box that had held his beer and a half-eaten carton of Chinese takeout. He shut the door, and his eyes adjusted to the dark of the apartment. Walking back into the barren living room, he decided it would be best to just sleep. There was nothing to do there, and he couldn’t go anywhere. He was too buzzed to drive, and even if he wasn’t, it’s not like he had anyone with whom to do something. He wouldn’t sit alone at a bar like a worthless loser, he wouldn’t sit alone at a restaurant and watch the couples sharing food, and he wouldn’t go to the movies by himself without a buddy to whom he could whisper wisecracks.
Colby laid back down on the uncomfortable, sagging air mattress and pulled the blanket over himself. He put his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep and the nightmares that would inevitably follow.
Then his cell phone rang.
“Damn it,” he muttered and sat up. He hoped it wasn’t a case. Sure, it would give him something to do, something to occupy his mind, but he couldn’t go into work in his current state of inebriation, and he didn’t think he could stand to see the disappointed looks from his former friends. The last thing he needed was to show up at the field office with alcohol on his breath. He knew what they would think - first, he betrayed them, and now he’s a drunk.
Colby flipped open his phone and pressed it to his ear. “Granger.”
“Hey, Colby.” He recognized Charlie’s voice on the other end. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, just going to bed,” he answered without thought.
“Really? It’s 7:30.”
“Uh, yeah. Just bored, I guess.” Colby rubbed his free hand over his face. Great, he could look like a sad sap to his boss’s brother now.
“I’ve got nothing going on, either,” Charlie confessed. “Amita’s grading papers, Larry’s at the monastery, Don’s with Liz, David’s not answering his phone, and Megan’s… well, I didn’t think I should hang out with my best friend’s girlfriend. So I decided to call you.”
And the hits just kept on coming; good to know that Colby was last on Charlie’s list of people he wanted to talk to. “I see.”
“You okay? You sound kind of down.” Well, no shit. Ya think? “But I suppose that makes sense. I mean, everybody thinking you’re a traitor and going to prison, and now no one really trusts you.”
“Jesus Christ, Charlie.” The harsh words were out of Colby’s mouth before he could stop them, and Colby sighed. For a triple agent and American hero, he sure could be an idiot. He huffed an uneasy laugh. “I get it, okay.”
“Sorry.”
“Look, don’t apologize. It’s fine.” It wasn’t, but Colby didn’t need Charlie whining to his brother about how he’d snapped at him; that certainly wouldn’t make life any easier.
“No, I am sorry. Sometimes, a lot of times, I just talk without thinking. I know this must be hard. And… I’m sorry.”
“Charlie, it’s fine. I deserve it.”
“But you’re a hero now.”
Colby sighed again. He was getting pretty sick of people calling him a hero while his own team (former team?) hated him. “Was there something you needed?”
“Uh, no? Well, I mean… not really, but… it’s-it’s nothing.”
“Spit it out, Charlie.”
“I was kind of wondering if maybe, if you’re not doing anything, and I don’t think you’re doing anything ‘cause you said you were going to bed, and if you’re tired, I mean, that’s fine - ”
“Sometime this year, Charlie…”
“You want to hang out?” Colby stopped breathing for a moment. Charlie wanted to be around him? After everything with the Chinese and the Janus List and Lancer and now being the outcast on the team, Charlie still thought Colby was a good guy? “Or something. You know, whatever, whatever you want to do. Or if you don’t want to do anything tonight, that’s cool. And if you don’t want to hang out with me at all, I understand. I mean, guys like you didn’t like me in school. Not that you’re like those guys; you’re a nice guy. It’s just that - ”
“Sure. Where do you want to go?”
Charlie was quiet for a moment on the line. “What? You do want to hang out?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. What do you want to do?”
“I, uh, I don’t know. I kind of wasn’t expecting you to say yes. Um… want to check out the stars?”
“Stargazing? That’s a little gay, don’t you think?” Charlie again was silent, this time uncomfortably so. And then it dawned on Colby. “Oh, shit.” Colby pressed his hand to his lowered forehead. “Shit, I didn’t know, Charlie. I thought you and Amita…”
“No. Well, yes, but… no.”
“Dude, I didn’t mean anything bad by that.” Add to the list of things Colby didn’t need: Charlie telling Don that Colby was homophobic or critical of Charlie’s sexuality. “I’m gay, too.” And, once again, the words were out there in the world before he thought to stop them.
“You are??” Charlie’s voice sounded high and either skeptical or pleasantly surprised; Colby couldn’t tell which.
“Well, uh…” No use denying it now; he’d already said it, and if he turned around and said he’d been joking, Don would probably throttle him for mocking Charlie. “Yeah, I am. But, you know, don’t tell anyone.”
“I suppose you can’t really be ‘out’ in the FBI.”
“Yeah, not really.” It had been a year before he and David had revealed their sexual orientation to each other, and that was with being in close-quarters day in and out and sharing all kinds of personal information.
“So…”
“So.”
“Do you still want to hang out?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m gay.”
“Charlie, I’m gay, too. Two gay guys can hang out together without fucking each other.” Oh, God, there he went again. Colby made a mental note to have his lips sewn together. Or maybe his tongue surgically removed. And then there was more awkward silence on the end of the line. Jesus, I’m on a roll tonight. “Oh, hey, Charlie, listen, don’t worry about it. If you were wanting to go on a date with me, that’s cool. We can test the waters and, yeah…”
“You know, we’ve probably said more than enough tonight,” Charlie weakly said. “Maybe we can talk later. ‘Cause, uh, I’m kind of tired now, too.”
“It’s 7:30,” Colby protested, reciting Charlie’s earlier words.
“Well, it’s 7:33 but no less a valid point.” Colby could hear Charlie swallow in the silence of his apartment and the stillness on the other end. “Look, Colby, if we could just pretend this conversation didn’t happen… that would be great.”
“Okay, Charlie,” Colby answered, maybe a little too quickly, but he’d said enough that he’d rather have buried and forgotten. “I’ll probably see you soon. Always new cases we could use you on.”
“Right.”
“Take it easy, bud.”
“Night.”
The call abruptly ended, and Colby flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the floor next to him. He settled again into his makeshift bed, but sleep certainly wouldn’t come as easily this time.
Suddenly, all Colby could think of was Charlie. Did the genius - the Whiz Kid - really have a crush on him? When he called Colby to ask him to hang out, was it really with the underlying hope of it being a date? Thoughts of Charlie rolled around in Colby’s head, and he couldn’t get the image of Don’s little brother out of his mind. Those curls, that face, those hands moving emphatically as he gave his analogies to the mathematically-challenged.
He wondered what it would be like to kiss Charlie. Colby imagined it would be completely different than kissing David, who’d always been hard and commanding. Charlie would be soft, malleable, compliant and tender under Colby’s lips and fingers.
Colby felt his cock twitch in his sweatpants, and he mentally groaned. Hi, Don. Not only have I betrayed your trust, but now I want to fuck your little brother. That thought lasted for a whole five seconds before Colby’s cock grew harder at the thought of Charlie under him.
Slipping a hand under the elastic waistband of his pants, Colby wrapped a hand around his cock and lightly stroked. He imagined that sweet, dorky smile and Charlie looking shy and uncertain but fully aware of what he wanted.
Colby sped up his strokes, tightened his grip, and felt desperate for completion.
Charlie down on his knees between Colby’s legs, hand jerking him off, scientific mind studying Colby’s body.
Charlie’s lips wrapped around his cock, shiny with spit, mouth warm, tongue lapping at and teasing each sensitive spot.
Charlie on all fours, ass in the air, Colby’s finger in his ass, that sweet voice begging for more and more and more.
Charlie moaning and crying out as Colby pushed slowly inside him inch by agonizing inch and then began a rough and fast pace, pounding hard into him, ass slapping against hips.
Charlie’s cock in Colby’s hand exploding his orgasm onto the bed as Colby pumped his own inside Charlie.
Colby came with a heated grunt, his cum spilling onto his stomach and pooling in his navel. On legs weak from post-orgasmic bliss and his previous exertions at the gym, he made his way to the bathroom for some toilet paper to clean up. As he caught his reflection in the mirror, he smiled when he realized that for those few minutes of fantasy, he hadn’t thought of how bad his life had become. He hadn’t thought of his friends disowning him and of all the things he lost. He’d thought only of Charlie, and those thoughts had filled him with warmth.
Maybe there was hope after all. It didn’t have to be so bad. He could still feel happiness and anticipation. He could still want love. He’d survive this, just like he survived Afghanistan and those close calls with Don’s team and the death shot from Lancer aboard that Chinese freighter.
He would survive.
to be continued...
like it? watch whereismytalent.