Title: Pulmonary Archery
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters/Pairing: Don/Charlie/Coop
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Incest, 2nd person POV
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't want, just borrowing, only fun, no infringement intended.
A/N: Written for ladyeternal


No one’s ever doubted that Don is good at what he does, and it’s no surprise to you – likely less a surprise to Coop – that he finds out everything. Everything, down to the finite details of how you had taken off your pants and started jerking off when Coop was telling you about their moments in hotel rooms and how Coop had let you scream Don’s name when he fucked you. Don knows everything, and – somehow – he doesn’t smack you like you had expected. He doesn’t punch Coop, either. Hell, he doesn’t even start shouting. Instead, a small smile spreads across his face, and his words come out smoothly and without the possibility of misinterpretation.

“Show me how Coop fucks you when you’re pretending it’s me.”

“Don…” you begin.

“Charlie,” he bats back. The small expanse of Don’s apartment living room seems even smaller now. “Take off your pants and get on the couch.” At your shocked and confused stare, he softens. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m okay with this. You’re okay with this, right?”

And you nod your head, fingers finding and unfastening the button of your jeans, and you’re reacting to everything with wide eyes like you’re drunk and fighting for some grasp on reality and logical thought. When your jeans hit your feet, Don’s ready with the next orders.

“Coop, you know what to do.”

Coop’s not the guy you are. He’s not seeking Don’s approval. If anything, Don had been seeking Coop’s approval during all that time in Fugitive Recovery, and Coop knows this, and he’s not going to be compliant unless what Don wants is in his favor.

Coop’s voice matches Don’s beat for beat. “You better know what you’re asking for, partner.”

And then Don’s fingers begin unbuttoning his shirt, and he doesn’t need to say anything more, and you turn your face forward, tilt your head down toward the top of the couch with your legs spread and hands bracing, and you hear the zipper, hear the rustle of clothes falling to the floor, and you feel Coop’s cock pressing into you.

“Wait… what – ”

Don beats you to it. “Don’t even think about fucking my brother if you’re not going to take care of him.” Don tosses him a packet of lube. And once he’s slicked, you feel the pressure and sting of him pushing into you, but it’s okay because Don’s walked over, and his hand is running over your hair, pulling back the curls, and then his hand cradles your jaw, your open mouth. “I know he’s good, Charlie. It’s good, isn’t it?”

All you can do is nod your head. Coop fucks you as hard as he had before, not one to be intimidated by the presence of your brother – Don had requested it, after all. There’s little sound in the room for long moments other than the sound of Coop pounding into you, the slick smack of the in-out movement and his hips hitting your ass, and you turn your head to the side, strain your eyes to the right to see Don staring down Coop and Coop returning the gaze. You’re momentarily shocked cold when you absorb the territorial threat. An even more paralyzing feeling washes over you when you realize that Don is just working up the courage.

“Yes, Don,” are the only words that you can say, and you don’t care how he chooses to interpret it, be it “yes, it feels amazing, and I know how you felt when Coop fucked you” or “yes, I want you to do this to me.” God, please, let it be the latter because you can’t bring yourself to say it. “Yes, please.”

And when you watch Don’s jeans coming down to his knees, his cock springing free, you’re so thankful because even if it’s just Don getting off to the scene, at least the sight of you is turning him on; it can’t just be Coop alone. If he only saw you as his brother, he wouldn’t be doing this. He wouldn’t have asked for this, and he wouldn’t be taking off his clothes, and he wouldn’t be taking out another packet of lube and slicking his cock with it, and now your throat is so tight that you can’t breathe because you know there are few reasons why Don would prep himself, and your hands shake as they grip harder into the couch. You don’t want to give yourself away by the expression on your face, but you know you’re putting everything out there – your wide eyes pleading yes, your open mouth and shaking lip begging for him to do what you so desperately want.

Coop pulls out of you, and you’re on the precipice of asking him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but then you feel new hands – Don’s hands – on your hips, and the pressure of a new cock.

“Oh, God.” You don’t even bother to censor your thoughts as they come pouring out of your mouth. “Oh, God. Don. Please.”

He presses into you, and your hands reach back, grasping at him. He runs his fingers down your back, down your hip, until they touch yours, and your hands clasp each other, and he pulls out, thrusts back into you.

And you scream because it’s exactly what you wanted – everything you’d dreamed of – your brother so deep inside you and not taking pity on you, not treating you like the fragile genius baby boy as he slams harder and harder. It’s so fucking perfect, so perfect, that you’re fighting to keep from crying because it’s everything you’ve fantasized and more. And, yeah, Coop hadn’t been part of the dream, but he’s making it easier for Don, making it somehow familiar as he finds home – solace – in you, and then it’s the three of you fucking each other.

So wrong yet, god, oh so fucking right. Maybe this is the only way it can be right – with Don keeping one foot in familiar territory. Maybe you’ll never be able to have it again, and with just the two of you, but what you’ve got right now, what you’re getting right now, is more than you could have imagined actually receiving. It’s a finally a fruitful fantasy, and you’re on the verge of exploding at the realization alone.

You push past the haze to tune into their conversation.

“Love your brother’s ass, don’t you? I know I loved it, knew you’d fucking love it.”

“Yeah? You’re still fucking me like the crazed schoolboy you were the first time. Can’t get over me, huh, Coop?”

“How does it feel to have me fucking Charlie through you?”

“Don’t get it wrong, baby; I’m the one fucking Charlie – right, buddy?”

You don’t hesitate. “God, fucking yes, Don.”

Their attention is turned back to you.

“Mmm, yeah, Charlie. You know it’s my cock that’s in you, making you feel so good. How good does it feel?”

You’re completely sober, but you might as well be wasted with the intoxication of Don’s cock burning through your veins, making your heart pound so hard and with so much aching that you wonder if a rib has punctured it, and your head is spinning, and your speech is slurred. “So fucking good, Donnie. You fuck so good.”

His fingers dig into your hips as his pace grows faster, harder, more erratic, and you hear his moans growing to a fever pitch, a promise that he’s coming, and then he’s letting go inside you, and something preternatural lets you know that Coop is coming inside Don, and Don’s hand reaches around to jack you off the rest of the way as his slowly softening cock hits your prostate over and over until he has to pull out, push you onto your back, and finish you off with his mouth.

His mouth is so warm and wet and perfect, and while you’ve received hundreds of blowjobs before from math groupies and teachers and colleagues, this is the way that it was always supposed to feel, the way that only Don can make it feel, and you come hard in his mouth, in his throat, and he swallows down every drop.

But then the moment is over, and Coop is putting on his pants, telling Don that his ass felt as good as it always had, and Don his zipping up his own jeans, and then you’re the only one left naked, fighting for enough grip on consciousness to find something with which to cover yourself since everyone else is determined to hide now. A pillow will suffice, and you twist around, settling into Don’s couch with the decorative piece to cover your softening cock, and you watch Don give Coop a pat on the back as he ushers him out the door.

The door shuts with a deafening thud, and it’s just the two of you, Don smiling softly with the faintest hint of discomfort.

But then he walks to you and softly presses his lips to yours, and the kiss is more than you could have asked for, even in the fantasy.

“You should have told me, Charlie. I would have given it to you.”

And it’s like a thousand arrows have been fired into your heart, all dipped in some neurotoxin to make your mouth dry and your eyes wide and your entire body desperate to believe that this is real – for once, at last, this is real. His hand is soft on your cheek, and you know he’s telling the truth.