Crossposted to numb3rs_slash
Summary: After a close call Don and Charlie feel the need to be close
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
It's well after midnight when Charlie finally speaks the words aloud. They've been pulsing through his head for hours now, the pressure building since the idea coalesced, malignant and terrible in his troubled mind.
"I almost died today."
They lay in Don's bed, rumpled from several bouts of desperate lovemaking, spooned together on their sides with Don's arm slung protectively across Charlie's torso. That arm tenses, tightens its hold, as the sentiment echoes within Don - not that he'd almost died as well, but that he'd almost lost Charlie.
"I won't let you die," he soothes, shifting closer, skin brushing against skin as he nestles his face in Charlie's hair, inhaling the familiar scent and exhaling only a tiny bit of the warring tension within.
"You can't always protect me."
The words ring out in the empty air, not meant as an accusation but a frightening realization. In the silence that follows Don doesn't even try to protest, he just shrinks back to his side of the bed, acknowledging the failure he's spent the last couple of hours trying to erase from the burned in image behind his eyes.
Charlie's hand reaches blindly behind him, fingers outstretched, seeking until they brush against Don's hip. He nudges the warm body behind him back where it belongs.
Dutifully Don slides forward a little, still distracted by the misery of his memory.
"Closer. I need you closer."
The insistence of the hand pulling him nearer and the undertone of need in Charlie's voice rousts him from his reverie. He folds himself around his lover - full contact - and returns his arm to its rightful place of protection.
Charlie takes hold of the arm and tucks it into his chest, curling around it and placing his own arm over it to hold it in place, as if this is enough to make Don stay.
They lay like that in the quiet hush, both struggling with their rampant thoughts and finding solace in the bond unbroken they feel between them.
Charlie lets out a sigh that is equal parts wistful and wanting.
"I can't seem to get close enough to you."
Don hears the words unspoken and knows what his brother wants, needs, is asking for. It hasn't been that long since the last time and he wonders if he can until Charlie, impatient, rubs back against him. He needs little encouragement it seems to raise his interest again and Charlie is still slick from before. He slips his thigh between his lover's legs, rubbing slowly against the cleft of his ass until he's fully ready.
Charlie reluctantly lets his arm go and bends forward slightly as Don moves his hand to his hip to hold him in place.
He slips inside so slowly, so effortlessly, it takes a moment for him to realize he's holding his breath.
It isn't until Charlie takes a breath that he realizes he was too.
He pushes the rest of the way in then pulls Charlie back up even as he curls around him.
Pressed up against each other, intimately entwined... This is the connection they needed.
There is nothing closer.
At first it suffices, then Don can't help but start to circle his hips ever so slightly. Tiny movements, but each one sends an electric shiver through Charlie as it brushes against the spot inside that shuts down his overactive brain, that frequency that he vibrates to sympathetically - in tune with Don, in tune with the universe.
Don's fingers caress Charlie's hip until he keens softly, aching for more touch, more pleasure. His hand dips down, the flat of his palm cupping the head of Charlie's cock. Each circling motion pushes him into Don's hand, the slight slickness there spreading as Don swirls his palm in mirror circles, applying only a hint of pressure.
Circles give way to shallow thrusts. Soft pants give way to gasps. Anxious minds yield to peace, desperate bodies yield to desire.
As the end draws near, Don closes his fist, encircling Charlie in his tender grip even as his languid pace speeds, strengthens. Charlie's frame goes taut, rocked by dual sensation, and he spasms helplessly under Don's control.
The delicious tension is too much for Don. Charlie clenching around him drives all coherent motion from his muscle memory and raw instinct takes over. Gracelessly he drives inside once, twice more then turns himself over to the inevitable euphoria that leaves him gray around the edges and lax from exertion.
Still joined, they breathe together, unconsciously in tandem, in harmony, in sync.
Respiration slows, fingers intertwine lovingly and sleep claims them before memory can reclaim them with evil intent.
They do not dream.
It is a rare gift they give each other.
Peace of mind.