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Title: Sometimes Love Don't Feel Like It Should
Part 2 of the Drowning Out Your Love Series
Pairing/Characters: Billy/Charlie
Prompt #228 Hurt

Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 300
Summary: Charlie finds a new way to cope with the hurt from his feelings of unrequited not-so-brotherly love
Spoilers: Takes place immediately after Man Hunt Episode
Warnings: references to incest
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the Numb3rs characters. If I did, the show would be a lot less family friendly.

Author’s Notes: Sequel to Misery Loves Company. Ginormous thanks to [info]emmademarais for her incredible patience in midwifing this series of drabbles (my first fanfic evah!)  and for laying down some serious knowledge about the writing and rewriting and rewriting again process; and to [info]melissima for all their handholding and cheerleading and fabulous feedback. For serious, these ladies are multi-talented. As gifted in teaching as they are in writing.

 

 

Novelist Amelia Barr once noted, “The fate of love is that it always seems too little or too much.”
 

 

Sometimes Love Don’t Feel Like It Should

Thrilling little shivers ripple through Charlie’s body as he’s swept away by his arousal. He arches beneath Billy, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Charlie squeezes his eyes shut, but the pain of the stretch is all at once too much and not enough to erase Don’s face. A slow burn. A deluge of images churns through his mind - his thoughts a maelstrom of dark hair, dazzling smiles, and sharp eyes like his own crinkled in mirth. Charlie shifts, squirming slightly, his eyes easing half-open. A glimpse of freckled shoulders, the flare of russet hair bristling under his fingers keeps his reverie at bay. Reckless fingernails scrape across the nape of Billy’s neck, unable to stop themselves from inflicting their own harm.

 

Billy moves fast, fluid, strong. Charlie’s hips rise up to meet him on every thrust, rocking up and receding to fuck Billy’s fist. The calluses on Billy’s fingers drag along Charlie’s cock with delicious friction. More memories surface unbidden: the feel of Don’s gun-coarsened hand gentle around his wrist, his head ducked to catch Charlie’s gaze, a rare look of concern softening the lines of his face. Charlie’s mouth falls open, defenseless, as waves of pleasure swamp him, dulling the hurt down to a perfect ache. He seeks out Billy’s eyes, desperately wanting to anchor himself to reality, but all he sees is Billy’s face screwed up in raw gratification, lost in his own riptide of desires hidden behind closed eyes. Without the will to fight, his own eyes fall closed in surrender, and his fantasy engulfs him.  

 

It is Don’s breath ghosting across his damp neck, tongue dragging through the pools of his collarbone. Charlie whimpers when his brother’s teeth graze the cords of his neck, biting, nipping their way down. Don is all around him now – his wet skin, slick and salty, the heated air resonant with low moans, heady with cordite and sweat - weighing him down, suffocating Charlie. Succumbing to the power of his illicit passion, he drowns.

 

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