Summary: Fugitive recovery is a bitch.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never will. *sigh*
Notes: The unintentional prompts were "I'm starving" and "My ass hurts." Dedicated to penguingal.
It was another of those days. The ones where Don was forced to spend hours in one position while waiting for someone who may or may not show up. As always he was stuck with Coop in a too tight space.
"Wonder how long it's gonna take this guy to show up."
Here we go. Three hours in and Coop was already starting to complain. Don chewed his gum and tried to ignore the whispers coming from behind him. Usually took longer. He knew it was only to get him riled up and fuck if it didn't work every damn time.
"I'm fucking starving."
Don made a noise and tossed the pack of gum over his shoulder. He could almost hear Coop blinking in confusion. "What the fuck do you call this?"
"You said you're hungry. Chew on it."
He heard a pack open and heard Cooper start to chew. There were a few blessed moments of peace before Coop started up again. "My ass hurts."
This time all Don could do was groan and slap his palm against his face. "For the love of God, Coop, you're a seasoned agent." But the smirk from the other man let Don know that the goal had been achieved.
"You wait till we get back to the motel. Your ass is really going to be hurting."
"Is that a promise?" Lips pressed to his neck and he didn't stop the shudder that ran up his spine.
Don leaned back against him, keeping his eyes on the road. "You bet it is."
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