![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spikedluv posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
numb3rsflashficTitle: Aliens Really Made Them Do It
Pairing/Characters: Don/Colby
Rating/Category: NC17/Slash
Word Count: 600 words
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Don learns that aliens are real.
Notes/Warning: Humor. Definitely crack-y. Smut mostly implied.
Written: March 30, 2009
It hadn’t been alcohol. God, how Don wished it had been alcohol. Or adrenaline. Don would really love to be able to use the excuse of adrenaline. Or acid. Not like an acid trip (though Don would take it), but like some weird acid reflux induced dream. Instead, it had been the other A-word.
Aliens.
Don’t laugh. Don wasn’t. Don was living proof that aliens (little green men with tear-drop shaped heads and antenna) actually existed. And they’d made him have sex.
With Colby.
They’d pulled out their little notebooks (and what looked like cameras) and ordered Don and Colby to have sex. Don had laughed and said no.
Then they’d pulled out their little ray guns, and one little green alien had aimed it at Don’s television. Don needed to get a new television now, because his old one had disappeared. It didn’t blow up or break, it just poofed! into thin air.
Then they’d pointed their stupid little ray guns at Don’s and Colby’s groins, and made menacing noises and gestures. Don didn’t want that to disappear, and Colby seemed to be of the same mind, so they’d had sex.
Really great sex.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was, aliens were real. (The sub-point being, they were apparently a bunch of perverted voyeurs.)
If Don told himself that enough times he might eventually come to believe it, but the actual point was, he’d had amazingly great sex. With Colby.
And Don couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about the way Colby had felt beneath him, the way he’d responded to Don’s touch, the way he’d sounded when Don was touching him just right. The way it had felt when Colby came apart around him.
(It didn’t help that the little green perverted voyeuristic aliens had left Don a copy of the recording they’d made and he just could not stop watching it.)
Don wanted things to go back to normal, where he went to work and did his job instead of zoning out on Colby’s ass, where he went to Charlie’s for supper instead of checking out prices on those huge flat screens so he could watch him and Colby having sex on a much, much bigger screen than the one on his computer.
Until Colby cornered him in the locker room one day and pinned Don to the lockers and kissed him. Don didn’t even care that a lock was jabbing him in the back because he was too busy trying to get his hands under Colby’s shirt. And Don didn’t want to do anything that would stop Colby from rubbing against him, or from sucking on his tongue.
When they finally came up for air, Don said, “Aliens?”
He tried to sound worried -- he wanted to be worried -- but in all honesty, all he cared about was the fact that Colby was touching him. And that he was making those same sounds, the memory of which had been driving Don mad (and to some pretty spectacular orgasms).
“No aliens,” Colby gasped.
“No aliens? They why are you . . . ?”
“Because you’re driving me nuts. Don, you have to stop looking at me like that at work.”
Don could feel himself pouting. “It’s not my fault, the aliens . . . .”
“Forget about the damn aliens! What’s done is done. The question is, what do you want to do now?”
Don thought that what he wanted to do now should be pretty obvious. He raised his eyebrows.
Colby flushed. “I meant . . . in general terms.”
“I’m buying the largest flat screen tv they make,” Don announced, and then he kissed Colby.
The End
Pairing/Characters: Don/Colby
Rating/Category: NC17/Slash
Word Count: 600 words
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Don learns that aliens are real.
Notes/Warning: Humor. Definitely crack-y. Smut mostly implied.
Written: March 30, 2009
It hadn’t been alcohol. God, how Don wished it had been alcohol. Or adrenaline. Don would really love to be able to use the excuse of adrenaline. Or acid. Not like an acid trip (though Don would take it), but like some weird acid reflux induced dream. Instead, it had been the other A-word.
Aliens.
Don’t laugh. Don wasn’t. Don was living proof that aliens (little green men with tear-drop shaped heads and antenna) actually existed. And they’d made him have sex.
With Colby.
They’d pulled out their little notebooks (and what looked like cameras) and ordered Don and Colby to have sex. Don had laughed and said no.
Then they’d pulled out their little ray guns, and one little green alien had aimed it at Don’s television. Don needed to get a new television now, because his old one had disappeared. It didn’t blow up or break, it just poofed! into thin air.
Then they’d pointed their stupid little ray guns at Don’s and Colby’s groins, and made menacing noises and gestures. Don didn’t want that to disappear, and Colby seemed to be of the same mind, so they’d had sex.
Really great sex.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was, aliens were real. (The sub-point being, they were apparently a bunch of perverted voyeurs.)
If Don told himself that enough times he might eventually come to believe it, but the actual point was, he’d had amazingly great sex. With Colby.
And Don couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about the way Colby had felt beneath him, the way he’d responded to Don’s touch, the way he’d sounded when Don was touching him just right. The way it had felt when Colby came apart around him.
(It didn’t help that the little green perverted voyeuristic aliens had left Don a copy of the recording they’d made and he just could not stop watching it.)
Don wanted things to go back to normal, where he went to work and did his job instead of zoning out on Colby’s ass, where he went to Charlie’s for supper instead of checking out prices on those huge flat screens so he could watch him and Colby having sex on a much, much bigger screen than the one on his computer.
Until Colby cornered him in the locker room one day and pinned Don to the lockers and kissed him. Don didn’t even care that a lock was jabbing him in the back because he was too busy trying to get his hands under Colby’s shirt. And Don didn’t want to do anything that would stop Colby from rubbing against him, or from sucking on his tongue.
When they finally came up for air, Don said, “Aliens?”
He tried to sound worried -- he wanted to be worried -- but in all honesty, all he cared about was the fact that Colby was touching him. And that he was making those same sounds, the memory of which had been driving Don mad (and to some pretty spectacular orgasms).
“No aliens,” Colby gasped.
“No aliens? They why are you . . . ?”
“Because you’re driving me nuts. Don, you have to stop looking at me like that at work.”
Don could feel himself pouting. “It’s not my fault, the aliens . . . .”
“Forget about the damn aliens! What’s done is done. The question is, what do you want to do now?”
Don thought that what he wanted to do now should be pretty obvious. He raised his eyebrows.
Colby flushed. “I meant . . . in general terms.”
“I’m buying the largest flat screen tv they make,” Don announced, and then he kissed Colby.
The End
