jalabert (jalabert) wrote,

FIC: Last Call

Title: Last Call
Author: Jalabert
Pairing: Don Flack/Sheldon Hawkes
Rating: Teen
Summary: Game over.

Author's Note: This story was inspired by a story written by haloisbent, which can be found here . I challenged her to continue the story and she suggested that I write it myself. I'm way too tractable.

“Let's raise the stakes.”

“What did you have in mind, because I don't need any more of your money,” Sheldon replied smugly.

“I was just softening you up. And now that I have you right where I want you, I'm ready to move in for the kill,” Don said, reaching across Sheldon to grab his beer. Sheldon smiled at the obvious double entendre.

“Double or nothing?” he suggested.

“I have a better idea,” Don said, before he leaned in and spoke softly in his ear. Sheldon's eyes opened wider, and he licked his lips as a smile slowly suffused his face.

“And what do I get if I win?”

“Name your own prize, Doc,” Don said confidently. “Not that you stand a snowball's chance in hell of collecting. I fully intend to win.”

“That's a sucker bet,” Sheldon said, his eyes twinkling. Don's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

“Should I draw any sort of conclusion about your choice of prize from that statement, Dr. Hawkes?”

Sheldon rolled his eyes and grabbed the mug from Don's hand before he could lift it to his mouth.

“You don't need this,” he said before draining the mug and setting it down. Don made a token protest, but he didn't really mind. For once, Sheldon had matched him beer for beer and by Don's reckoning, that greatly improved the likelihood that the two of them would finally move beyond subtle flirtation and get down to business. “Actually, I was going to offer you the same prize, but that would be a zero-sum game,” Sheldon replied.

“Then maybe you should up the ante a little,” Don suggested, leaning in again and speaking in a low, husky voice.

“That makes no sense, either,” Sheldon said as he unsuccessfully attempted to suppress the thrill that raced down his spine.

“Why not?”

“You know perfectly well why not.”

“I do not,” Don replied, leaning against the end of the bar. Sheldon gave him a withering glance. “Why not?”

“All right; you'd throw the game. That's why not.”

“Why Dr. Hawkes! You impugn my honor!” Don cried, dramatically clutching his heart.

“Yeah, right,” Sheldon stepping back to let someone pass by.

“I do not cheat.”

“Not even to collect a prize?” Sheldon said, tacitly upping the ante in spite of himself.

“Depends on the prize,” Don said in a tone so full of subtext that Sheldon laughed.

“See?” he said. “You're a liar and a cheat.”

“I'm a horny son of a bitch, too,” he muttered as he folded his arms and pouted. If Sheldon heard him, he pretended not to notice. He carefully placed the darts in their case and handed it to Don. “Game over?”

Sheldon shrugged.

“We seem to be at a stalemate.”

“We're only at a stalemate because you're refusing to play,” Don petulantly reminded him as he flagged down the waitress. He started to order another round, but Sheldon stopped him. “You know, Doc, you are becoming less fun with each passing minute.”

“Sorry,” Sheldon replied unrepentantly. “But I think we've both had enough for one evening.”

“Speak for yourself,” Don said, raising his hand again. Once again, Sheldon pulled it down. This time, he held on to Don's wrist and looked him in the eye.

“Let me take you home,” he said softly.

“No thanks. You go if you want. I'll hang out here for a while. Maybe I can get someone else to play a game or two.”

“You going to offer up the same prize?” Sheldon asked pointedly, releasing him. Don stared into his eyes for a moment, before he averted them to his hands.

“Maybe I should,” he said glumly. Sheldon frowned. “Hey, I don't have much of an ego, but I don't like rejection any more than the next guy.”

“Rejection?” Sheldon asked in confusion.

“You wouldn't play,” Don said sullenly.

“Play time's over,” Sheldon said smiling. “You coming?”

He turned and headed for the door, deliberately pausing to put on his jacket and scarf. Don watched him move across the room and reach for the doorknob. Then his brain kicked in and he leapt to his feet. He caught up to Sheldon before he reached the curb.

“Hey,” Sheldon said calmly as he hailed a cab.

“Hey,” Don replied. They got into a cab and headed uptown to Sheldon's place. “I would have won, you know.”

“Give it up, Flack.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” Don slouched in his seat and closed his eyes, the fingers of one hand absently wandering over Sheldon's thigh as the cab sped up the FDR Drive.

The End
Tags: csi:ny, don flack, last call, sheldon hawkes

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