Lead Me To Your Door - Lost - Charlie/Desmond

[toestastegood]

Title: Lead Me To Your Door
Pairing: Charlie/Desmond
Word Count: 7023
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Well, this was supposed to be a straight-up PWP for lostpicksix's "kink" prompt, using "Claiming or establishing ownership (private or public; by gesture, word, or ritual; with sex; with a collar and leash; with scent-marking or by biting)" from the kink list. However the boys refused to cooperate with me and this is therefore a lot longer than what I set out to write. It's an alternate timeline from early S3.
Summary: What is the correct response when your close friend - and personal psychic - tells you he's in love with you?


Desmond's watching him. Charlie's been able to feel it all day, prickling over his skin as he fishes with Jin and talks to Hurley and plays with Aaron and flirts with Claire.

Especially when he flirts with Claire.

It shouldn't give him the quiet thrill that it does, something that he can't quite explain and definitely can't understand. He's reasonably certain that Desmond is just a few baby steps from being a fully-certified lunatic. Being watched like this ought to be reason enough for Charlie to talk to Jack or Sayid or something. He hasn't forgotten Ethan. He remembers how accepted the other had been into the camp.

With Desmond, it's different. He has risked his neck to save Charlie's time after time - if that doesn't earn him a little trust, well, Charlie doesn't know what would.

"Charlie?" Desmond says as he catches up with him. His shirt is split open to a ridiculous degree, putting his tanned chest on display. Charlie's pretty certain that the buttons couldn't have all pinged off accidentally.

He smiles and turns to face Desmond, shoving his hands in his pockets. The beach is as busy as it always is, with various cliques and adventures going on around them, but right now his attention is focused purely on his very own psychic. "The one and only, mate. What’s going on? Did you have another of your, uh, flashes?"

Desmond shakes his head and glances away. "No. Nothing like that."

That's a relief.

Well, it's a relief for a second or two, until Charlie realises that must mean there's another reason for the severe expression on Desmond's face.

"So what is it, then?" he asks. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. It's…" Desmond shakes his head and won't look at him for more than a few moments at a time. "It's nothing."

Charlie nods once, slowly. It looks like Des is in the mood to give him more evidence to prove that he's crazy, but little else. "… Right then," he says. "As thrilling as this little chat is, I'm going for lunch."

"You and your girl," Desmond blurts. "You're getting pretty close, yeah?"

"Me and Claire?" It's hard to fight the defensive streak that instantly wants to flare up. "What's this got to do with her?"

Desmond raises his hands in the universal symbol of harmlessness. "Nothing, brother."

"Des. Desmond. Will you bloody talk to me? What's going on? I want to know. And don't tell me 'nothing'. I'm not an idiot, contrary to popular opinion."

"I never said you were."

"And I'm not a coward. Tell me. I can take it."

Must be a flash. Another gruesome way for him to die. What's that got to do with Claire?

"Forget it," Desmond mutters, taking a step away from him. "Just forget it, Charlie."

That isn't likely to happen, not any time soon, but when Desmond turns towards the jungle Charlie doesn't try to stop him. He shoves his hands into his pockets and scuffs the sand beneath his feet as he watches Desmond leave. There's a bizarre tension in Desmond's shoulders. "Jesus Christ," Charlie mutters. He rubs the back of his neck to try and rid himself of the sense of unease that had washed warmly over him.

He carries on walking, but for the remainder of the day he can't stop worrying about that encounter. "Dude, are you okay? You've been sorta distracted all day," Hurley asks him in the early evening.

Charlie shrugs, grins, pretends he's fine. "Are you suggesting that I am giving you anything but my full and brightest attention?" he asks. Hurley answers with an uncertain shrug and a twitch of his mouth like he was biting the inside of his cheek and Charlie had to side. Hiding anything from the big guy was like hiding stuff from God - it made you feel guilty and it was pointless anyway. "Have you talked to Des today, mate?"

"Desmond?"

"I spoke to him this morning and he seemed… well, weirder than normal." He shrugs. "Probably nothing."

"But you think it's something?"

He looks around the beach, trying to locate the object of their conversation. He usually isn't too far from him, but today Charlie can't find him. "Yeah," slips from his lips, almost unnoticed.

"Like what?"

Another one of his flashes. Something so terribly gruesome that Desmond can't even stand to tell him about it.

He smiles anyway. "If I knew that, Hurley, I wouldn't be quite so worried, would I?"

"You should relax," Hurley advises. "If it's important, he'll tell you."

"Desmond?" Charlie says sceptically. "Doubt it. To get any answers from him you need to be fully qualified at pulling teeth. Maybe sodding Bernard would have more of a chance."

Hurley smiles good-naturedly. "Well, if you need to ask anything, he's right over there." He points to the edge of jungle. In the dusky half-light of the approaching evening, it takes Charlie a few moments to be able to make him out. Desmond stands at the tree line, hidden well. "Good luck, dude."

Charlie stands up, feeling awkward and stiff. He doesn't want to do this - wants to go home to his tent and forget all about Desmond' strange behaviour and these unexplained mysteries.

But, like he'd told Desmond, he's not a coward. Not really. No matter how much he'd like to be.

His thumbs hook into his pockets as he approaches. "Des?" he says. "Are you ready to talk to me yet?"

Desmond's answer is unexpected - a bubbling burst of laughter, harsh on the ears and harsher on the heart. That sound is Charlie's fault, but he doesn't know how to fix it. "Aye," Desmond says. "Ask your questions, Charlie. Maybe I'll answer."

"'Maybe'? That's not good enough."

Desmond moves out from under the trees. "It's the most I can give." He gestures along the beach. "Let's walk."

Charlie keeps his hands at his sides and his thumbs in his pockets as he walks at Desmond's side. He can't fight the thick rush of nerves or the clattering beating of his heart. "So what is it?" he asks. "You had another flash, didn't you?"

Desmond shakes his head, tight and restrained. "No flashes. Not today."

"So I'm not going to die?"

"If you are, I haven't seen it," Desmond answers, but his smile fades fast when he notices the helpless alarm this brings to Charlie's face. "No. No, Charlie, you're not going to die."

"Then what's going on? Christ, you're scaring the hell out of me."

They have wandered beyond the edge of the camp, past Sayid's tent at the outskirts, and Desmond seems prepared to keep going. Charlie keeps up with him, matching his long strides.

"It's just lately…" Desmond starts, before he cuts himself off.

"What? Lately what?"

"Give me a chance to think, Charlie. I've got to get this right."

"We're not rehearsing a bloody play, Des. Whatever it is, just say it. I can take it. You're making me nervous."

"I think about you," Desmond says in a hurry. The words trip up on their rush to get out into the open, almost too fast for him to hear. "All the time. I try not to, I try and you're just- You're always there. Always right there and I can't get away from you."

Charlie gives a nervous, unamused laugh - it tastes like salt water, unpalatable. "I don't understand…"

"You think I do? You think I want this? I hate you for - for making me like this."

"Like what? What are you saying?"

"I want you." The words echo and vibrate once they've been spilled from Desmond's mouth. The truth of them makes Charlie's jaw ache. "There. I've said it. I'm not gay. I'm not. Never have been. But… It's you. Just you. It's…" He sighs. "You."

Charlie shakes his head. "What are you telling me? Why are you telling me this?" It's a fucking joke; that's what it is.

"You asked." Desmond's hands cover his face for a few moments. He's more distressed than Charlie's ever seen him. "I'm sorry."

"Then just - stop. Just stop."

"I've tried. Believe me, I have tried. But I've got this connection to you, Charlie, whether I want it or not. You're in my head." He looks to Charlie, chocolate eyes wild. "You're in my future."

Charlie takes a step back, sand crunching beneath his shoes. "What?"

"I saw it. A few days ago. We get off the island. All of us. On the rescue boat, me and you… We're in a corridor. You're smiling and you're happy and - you kiss me. I saw it."

"Doesn't mean it's going to happen," Charlie says. "What about Claire? What about Penny?"

"I don't know." Desmond turns his back on him and breathes. His shoulders are broad and tense beneath the deep blue material of his shirt. "I'm going to stay away from you from now on."

"Des-"

"No. It's what's best for both of us."

And, yes, maybe he's right. Charlie can barely look at him without tension spiking through him. They'll be fine in a day or so, once the shock has worn off.

"We'd better go back to camp," Charlie says. He wants to put an arm around Claire's shoulders and breathe in the sunny scent of her hair.

Once again, Desmond isn't looking at him. Charlie wants to tell him that it's okay, that it's nothing to be ashamed of, but he can't force his mouth to form the words.

"I'll see you soon, okay?" he promises.

They just need to wait for this to blow over.

Mentally, Charlie crosses his fingers - and hopes that it doesn't take too long.

*

But the days pass and nothing changes. Desmond keeps his distance - Charlie barely catches a single glimpse of him. Considering the size of the camp, Charlie thinks that's quite an achievement.

Sitting in the sand by Aaron's crib, Charlie's thoughts are scattered. The baby is sleeping peacefully, hidden in the shade from the midday sun. Charlie can feel the beginnings of a headache pounding behind his temples. It makes him wish that he could hide away from the world for a while, just until everything has righted itself.

A long shadow casts over his face and the baby. Squinting, he looks up - and the sight is enough to make him smile when he sees who is standing before him. Desmond.

His friend looks tired and flighty, with dark marks beneath his eyes. Charlie wonders where he's been sleeping. Not in his tent, he knows that much. He's checked. "Desmond," he says, smiling as he stands up. He brushes sand from the back of his jeans.

Desmond takes a step backwards. "I just came to tell you to stay out of the jungle today." He passes Charlie a mango and an orange, throwing them across the gap. Charlie catches them clumsily and places them down on the bed: lunch. "No matter what."

Charlie should ask for more details, but he doesn't want to know. So much time; so many deaths. He can't stand any more.

"No jungle-bound adventures today, I promise." His hand scratches the back of his head uncomfortably. "How are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine, Charlie." Desmond looks away. Distant. He's so bloody distant that Charlie wants to shake him. "I should go. Being near you… It's hard."

"This is so stupid," Charlie complains. It's stupid and it's ridiculous and it's unfair. Friends, good friends, have always been a scarce resource for him. "You're my mate. I don't want this to come between us."

"You think I do? You think I like feeling like this at all? I'm straight. I am in love with Penelope. But you… You clog up my mind, brother. Just being near you…"

Charlie closes his eyes and wishes he could close his ears so easily. "You realise this is mad, right? I mean, I'd get it if you were talking about Sayid or Sawyer or… someone. But this is me. I'm a runty ex-drug addict. And, I might add, a complete twat at times. That's not exactly sex god material, is it?"

No, not the kind of guy that people were supposed to renounce their sexuality for.

"Thinking of you makes me smile, y'know. Just thinking of you. Because - you're a good guy. You're a good friend. You've got a big heart and I…" He shakes his head suddenly. "I don't expect anything from you, Charlie. I'm not asking for anything at all. Being around you; seeing you with Claire… It's too much for me right now."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing." Desmond's eyes linger on his face, studying him with an unheard of intensity that makes Charlie's skin tingle. "Charlie, I-"

"Is everything okay?" Claire asks, appearing behind him. Charlie barely manages to stop himself from yelping in surprise. Turning around, he recognises the concerned suspicion in her eyes easily.

"Aye," Desmond answers. "I was just leaving."

"Oh." Claire's brow creases in confusion. "Well, bye!" she says - even as her fingers waggle at him Desmond is already leaving, turning his back on them. Internally, Charlie winces. "That was weird, right?"

Claire sits on the side of her bed after checking in on Aaron, and Charlie nods, agreeing though he's barely listened. His attention remains focused on Desmond's retreating figure.

He doesn't exactly know the guy all too well, after all. Barely at all, if he's honest. He knows he's Scottish - he can tell that much by the accent - but beyond that he couldn't name more than two or three fact about Desmond. Doesn't even know the wanker's last name. Their's is a friendship borne of circumstance and nothing more. Out in the real world, the pair of them probably would never have said two words to each other.

Doesn't matter. They're not out in the real world. They're here; they're friends - and Charlie doesn't have a clue how to fix what's gone wrong.

He glances up at Claire - beautiful, funny and smart, the kind of girl that he knows he could fall in love with given a chance. "Claire?" he asks. "Can I ask you something?"

She tenses. Her intuitive blue eyes watch him intently. "Anything."

"What would you do if someone - I mean, a friend, someone close - told you they…" What? What was it that Desmond had told him? "If they told you they had feelings for you, then…"

"Oh, Charlie," Claire moans suddenly. Her face twists. "You're my friend; I really, really value you and your friendship, but-"

"What?" Charlie frowns, before - "Oh. No! I wasn't talking about me and you. No. God, no."

Still stings, though, to hear it so bluntly. He knows he's ruined his chances; he knows that after all he's done he's lucky that she'll ever talk to him any more, but… Shit.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Claire says, flustered. She pushes her hair away from her face, behind her ear. "What were you asking?" A red flush colours her cheeks and a few moments ago Charlie would have found that adorable. Now the need to run - to hide somewhere and nurse his wounded pride - is stronger than anything else.

"Just - nothing. It doesn't matter."

The painfully awkward tension settles in his throat. He'd known all along that he'd ruined his chances with Claire. It shouldn't hurt this much to have it confirmed. He looks down at the baby that sleeps in the crib. Aaron can usually make him feel better, can heal all wounds. Not today. Not this.

"I should go," he croaks. "There's some… stuff I've got to do."

Bullshit - he's going to walk the sand and mentally harass himself - and the silent apology that Claire offers in her sympathetic blue eyes tells him that she knows he's lying. They can both hide behind the illusion.

We'll be fine, he tells himself as he gets to his feet and wishes both Aaron and Claire goodbye. As a friend if nothing else he adores her - so they'll be fine too.

They just need time.

*

He misses her. He misses him.

This self-enforced isolation is driving him mad within only a few days. He's avoiding Claire - Desmond's avoiding him - and Hurley's avoiding the lot of them to stay out of any potentially sticky situations. Smart guy. Charlie wishes that he had the same luxury.

He's got his guitar, though, sitting in his lap. That's one friend that isn't going to spurn his advances or complicate their relationship. His fingers stroke her strings, mindlessly drawing out a tune. He can hear the whispering of the waves as a backdrop.

But it's not enough.

Music was never enough, was it? Not when Liam left; not now.

Fuck. Fuck.

He stops playing and looks up, out at the endless sea instead. Overstretching blue. He hates it. God, he hates this place.

He rests his elbow on the top of his guitar and runs an unhappy hand through his hair. How did this happen, any of it? How did he let it happen? He wants his life back - and it's surprising to find that that doesn't mean rescue, not to him. There's nothing left to go back to.

When he looks away from the blue ocean, it's a shock to find brown eyes watching him. Desmond stands a fair distance away, far down the beach. There are several people between them - Rose is hanging laundry and Steve is carrying firewood to their supply stack - but it feels like there's nothing, no one. Just the two of them, alone, connected. It's enough to steal Charlie's breath away.

And it's mad. It's mad because the world shouldn't stop for Desmond, not for him.

He forces himself to stir, looking down at his knees to ground himself in reality. Got to get this monster out of his mind. He ignores the shiver down his spine at the memory of Desmond's intense attention focused on him. That's bullshit. Doesn't mean anything at all.

When he looks up, Desmond is already gone, like he was a phantom or an illusion all along. Never there. Rose catches his eyes and waves at him, smiling. It takes more energy than he'd known he possessed just to return that smile.

He misses Des. He misses him more than he'd realised.

It's ridiculous and he stands abruptly, wanting to go somewhere, do something, whatever it takes to get his mind off of this. He looks around, holding his guitar by the neck. His mood brightens by a degree when he sees Sayid. Yeah, that guy's usually busy-bodying around, always up to something. Charlie jogs towards him. Keeping busy. That's the only way he's going to survive this.

*

Weeks pass like dripping wax. Charlie does more in those weeks than he had previously done in the entire time he's spent on the island. In his downtime he'd even helped Bernard with his various schemes for improving life around the camp. The man is a nagging slave-driver.

Charlie is quietly cursing the man's name as he finds himself sitting on the wooden floor of the beach's kitchen and trying to work out how to piece together a chair out of wood and string.

"No!" Bernard scowls. "Not like that, Charlie."

"Leave the poor man alone, Bernard. He's trying to help," Rose sighs absently.

"I'm just making sure it's done right."

Tuning people out is something that Charlie's had a lot of experience with - growing up with Liam as his big brother, learning to ignore people is an essential survival skill. When he hears the gleeful shouting from further down the beach, it cuts right through his mental earplugs. He looks up sharply and hunts for the source of the sound and that high-pitched joy. "What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing, probably. They're-"

Rose steps forward and flaps her hand to silence her husband. "There's a boat," she says.

"That's ridiculous, honey. There can't be…"

Even Bernard stops talking as he catches sight of it too. A boat, a little motorised dinghy and it's heading straight towards the beach. The sight of it is enough to make the clouds part. It's unreal - too good to be real.

Charlie steps forward, further towards the shoreline. His heart pounds with a definitive rhythm: rescue, rescue, rescue. He's too shocked to join the throng of shouting, yelling people. Shocked. Stunned. Delighted.

It's what they've all been waiting for.

It's no surprise when a quiet presence settles by his side. He doesn't need to glance to the side to know that it's Desmond: he can feel it. Sense him somehow.

"Rescue," Charlie says. His voice sounds so much more emotionless than it should. He's nervous, not excited. Worried, not gleeful. "Just like you said."

"Yeah." The skin on the side of his face prickles and he knows that Desmond is looking at him. "Just like I said."

We get off the island. All of us. On the rescue boat, me and you… We're in a corridor. You're smiling and you're happy and - you kiss me.

It doesn't help to calm his nerves, knowing what might be coming in his future - but he finds that he isn't horrified by the idea, the concept, any more. Standing next to Desmond, just next to him, he feels better than he has in weeks. He feels alive again, like all he has to do if reach for Desmond's hand all the world will be set right.

His fingers twitch in trepidation for a few moments, tempted, before he shakes the feeling away as the dinghy reaches the shore. "Are you coming?" he asks Desmond.

"I already know what he's got to say." Desmond's half-smile is a sad affair. "Seen it all before, remember."

"Yeah, well, I haven't. C'mon. You can tell me about it on the way over. Bet you a fiver you're wrong."

The smile broadens, becomes a little more real, and a burst of pride erupts in Charlie's chest. "You're on."

They start walking towards the figure; the man from the dinghy has already gathered a crowd, like Jesus preaching to his converts.

"His name's Daniel," Desmond says quietly as they walk towards him. "He's from a freighter stationed further offshore. There's been some kind of fight onboard - I don't think we ever find out the exact details - but now he's here to take us back. He'll take us in lots of six. They used to have a helicopter but it got shot up during the fight. He's a good guy."

Charlie snorts. Sounds like bullshit - he stopped believing in 'good guys' a long time ago.

They reach the clustered group and, as latecomers, have to stand near the back. Charlie can hardly see past the taller people in front of him and feels like cursing them; it reminds him all too much of the gigs he used to go to.

At the centre, near the little dinghy, Jack and Sayid are taking turns throwing questions at the small man that has appeared as if from nowhere. He holds his hands up as if in self-defence. Dressed in a shirt and tie with a constantly confused expression, this guy isn't exactly what Charlie had imagined rescue would look like.

But the stranger smiles sheepishly and looks around at them. "My name is Daniel Faraday," he says. American accent, Charlie notes. "I'm uh… I'm here to rescue you."

"Bugger," Charlie says, just loud enough for Desmond to hear him. "Looks like I owe you that fiver."

They're really going to do it. Really going to escape this place.

Smiling like he can't stop, Charlie doesn't think his future has ever looked brighter.

*

It takes forever to get everyone back to the freighter. They had to move in small groups - and some had insisted that a search team went out to locate John bloody Locke.

But the unstable feel of the freighter beneath his feet is amazing. Standing on the rocking deck, looking out at the endless ocean, the emptiness of the horizon lifts him up instead of dragging him down for the first time in a long while. Beside him, Desmond stands - silent, lost in his own thoughts. Charlie can hear the quiet sound of his breathing and is so aware of his bulk beside him. His arm is just an inch away. All he'd need to do is shift a little to the left and they'd be touching.

He's distracted completely from that when Claire appears, more beautiful and radiant than he's ever seen her. She's holding Aaron in her arms, wrapped warmly. Asleep. "Hey, Charlie. Hi, Desmond."

"Told you we'd get rescued, didn't I?" Charlie says, smiling. The very first night here, he'd told her that. The crash… It had felt like a new beginning. With Desmond beside him, stoic and peaceful, Charlie has the bizarre feeling that maybe he was right.

"You've told me a lot of stuff, Charlie," Claire says, smiling back at him. "I'm not surprised you eventually got something right."

"Oi. I get the feeling I've just been insulted." But he doesn't feel it. He's talking to Claire, he's standing next to Desmond, and they're about to get away from the island. He has nothing to feel bad about. "What's the thing you're looking forward to the most when we get back? All the peanut butter you can eat?"

Claire giggles, and shakes her head. "My mother. I want her to meet Aaron."

"She'll love him. He's quite the charmer."

She smiles but it doesn't look quite right. He's never heard her talk about her family before - she throws the question right back at him before he can ask anything further. "What about you, Charlie? Any family?"

"Just my brother. Liam. There's my dad too, but the three of us… We don't really get on, y'know. Issues." Drugs. But he's clean now, isn't he? It had been a bloody trial by fire, but he's made it through withdrawal.

"They'll have thought you were dead, Charlie. I'd say that's enough to make them get over any 'issues' you guys had, wouldn't you?"

In truth, the block between them had always been Charlie's fault, he's sure of that now - he'd been too stubborn, too immature, too blind. Maybe now… Maybe…

He watches the waves bobbing before glancing up at Desmond's stoic face. "And you? I guess you're running right to Penny's side, aren't you?"

He nods without looking back at him. "Aye. If she's still waiting for me."

And it hurts - irrationally - to hear that. Some part of Charlie has started to look at Desmond and think, Mine.

Stupid. Bloody stupid.

"I'm going to go in," Desmond says. "See if I can't find that captain, get some sense out of him."

"Good luck," Claire says, watching him go. "I swear he gets weirder each time I talk to him."

"Part of his charm," Charlie tells her. "He's just putting it on, y'know. It's all an act to draw in the girls. He's really as normal as, well, Steve. Was probably an accountant before he turned up here."

Claire rolls her eyes at him. "I'm going to miss this. Having you around to talk my ear off… It'll be weird not seeing all you guys every day."

The idea, it's pretty terrifying. "Are you going to be staying in Australia then?"

"Yep. It's home. After the past couple of months I think home'd be a good thing."

"I've not had much of a home in a while. Nowhere settled. If you need anything - any help with the little one - I could… Well, I could be there. In-built nanny, right?" He ducks his head in shame and embarrassment. Christ, this is more nerve-wracking than asking someone on a date - but the idea of falling out of Aaron's life is too frightening to think about. "Not as- Not as you and me. Not as… you know, not romantic, just…"

"Family," Claire finishes for him. Her blue eyes are bright and full of love. With the sun on her hair, she looks like an angel fallen to Earth.

"Family," Charlie agrees. Best word in the world. He brushes his fingers over the top of Aaron's head, feeling the wispy soft hair there.

"I'll think about it," Claire promises.

Charlie takes a step back and lets the topic drop: he can't push it, as much as he'd like to. It's out there now. He walks with her to Sun and Jin. The whole deck of the boat tingles and buzzes with excitement.

Everyone is onboard by the time night falls - or, at the very least, everyone that hasn't chosen to stay behind - and there's been a struggle to find everyone somewhere to sleep. Charlie leaves the deck, turning his back on the sparkling stars and wishing good night to those that are staying awake longer than him.

He's glad to be away from the deck, to be honest. It's a tad on the awkward side - sodding Michael is back. Here, of all places. It's mad.

He goes down the steep stairs, holding onto the banister to make sure he doesn't fall. It's dark down here, lit only by regularly scattered electric lights on the walls. It's like a set from a horror movie. Charlie reminds himself that he's survived an island filled with polar bears and monsters made from smoke. A boat is nothing to be scared of.

At the other end of the corridor there is a dark figure approaching. Hard to see in this light. Charlie's footsteps falter.

"It's just me, Charlie," Desmond says.

Charlie's hands shove into his pockets. "Yeah, I know," he says defensively. "This place creeps me out."

"The captain says we'll hit land within a few days." Desmond stops walking once they're fairly close. "It's going to be odd being back again. I still can't get used to the idea."

"Better hurry up then," Charlie says. "Isn't much time left to adjust. We'll be back to real life soon."

And, god, he can't stop smiling as he thinks about it. Back to the real world. He knows what Desmond means; after so long has passed in such an isolated community walking down a crowded high streets seems as impossible as walking on the moon.

"Things aren't going to be the same again, are they?" Charlie says, realising it now.

And he's always hated change - always resisted it as much as he could - but now no amount of digging his heels in will make it stop. The world he wakes up in tomorrow will be turned on its head from the one that welcomed him today.

So what's the point in playing it safe?

"Probably not," Desmond agrees. He doesn't edge away when Charlie takes a nervous step forward - it's like he's expecting it. "I spent too much of my life on that island, brother. Can't say I'll miss it."

Charlie looks up at him, close enough that he can feel Desmond's breath. Shit. "It's not been all bad, has it?"

"No," Desmond murmurs, lowering his head. His eyes dip and take in Charlie's lips. His attention makes it impossible to breathe. "Not all bad."

"There must be…" But he gives up on thinking, gives up on running or hiding away. He reaches for Desmond, tugging him close with his hand in his shirt. Their lips touch, gliding together so lightly. He can feel the prickling burn of Desmond's facial hair against him.

Instantly, Desmond surges against him like he's been waiting his entire life for this. Charlie finds himself backed against the cold wall, held there under the weight of Desmond's body. His mouth opens under the claiming onslaught of Desmond's tongue. It's dizzying. Like a rowing boat in a whirlpool, there is no choice but to let himself be swept along.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, the sound smothered by the hungry curve of Desmond's mouth when he feels one of Desmond's hands pushing under his t-shirt onto bare skin. "Steady on, mate."

"Sorry," Desmond breathes, withdrawing his hand and moving back an inch. "Sorry, I just - I've been waiting a while for this."

"Yeah." A long while longer than Charlie has been, but he can still feel a longing stirring in his groin and buzzing in his stomach. "This is a lot more - public than I'd like, y'know? Someone else might-"

"I'm sleeping right through there," Desmond says, nodding at the nearest door. "Do you want to..."

He should say no. He should shake his head and reject everything that Desmond can offer. It's wrong - it's bad - and he should really know better. For fuck's sake, Desmond's a man. That alone is reason enough to turn him down.

But he nods his head.

"Yeah. I want to. I really want to."

That's all it takes. Those words are all it takes to make Desmond pick him up, hands placed carefully on his ass. Charlie can't stop the startled laugh that bursts from him. "My god, you prick," he complains, but as he's laughing it's hard to take him seriously.

Desmond certainly doesn't, grinning broadly instead as he carries Charlie towards the door. "You should smile more," Charlie tells him, whispering into his ear. "It's hot."

He can't believe he just said that to Desmond of all people, but as they burst inside the door and Desmond closes it behind him with a kick of his foot he can't care. There's no time to take in their surroundings before Charlie finds himself thrown down onto a thin mattress. Desmond follows him, resting between his legs. He can feel the hard jut of Desmond's erection against his thigh, so foreign that it's baffling.

Desmond's mouth willingly claims his again, drowning him in sensation. Charlie's lips part willingly for him and their tongues touch. He can hear the sounds that Desmond is making against him, desperate, breathy moans.

"Charlie," Desmond pants when their lips part. His attention shifts, skimming Charlie's jaw before focusing on his neck. His lips brush against one shiver-sensitive spot. His hand rests against the other side of Charlie's neck and Charlie swallows when his thumb rests lightly against his Adam's apple. "Christ, Charlie, I want to fuck you."

The words and the raw desperation in Desmond's voice go straight to Charlie's cock. His hips buck hopefully, but… "Wait, Desmond. Ten minutes ago I wasn't even sure if kissing you was a good idea."

Desmond groan against his skin, full of endless frustration. "Right. You're right. Sorry."

He begins to get up, peeling himself away from Charlie's body. Before he can get entirely away, Charlie's legs hook tightly around his hips. "No. Don't- don't leave. I…" He doesn't know what's going on, what he wants. Can't make sense of any of this.

"Okay," Desmond pants. "Okay, we can… We can just…" His hands rustle between them, dealing with the buttons and zips of their trousers. He continues to chant nonsense, smothered against Charlie's lips. "We'll just… We'll just…"

He tugs Charlie's jeans and underwear down, followed by his own. Charlie glances down for a second, just long enough to see the thin length of Desmond's cock against his own. "Jesus," he yelps, looking back up at Desmond's face.

"I'll take care of it," Desmond whispers. "I'll do it all."

Their lips crush together, fast and near-painful. The bristle on Desmond's face scratches against Charlie's skin.

They pull back and Desmond places his hand near Charlie's mouth. "Lick it," he says.

Charlie pauses and glances up at him, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Just do it, Charlie," Desmond pleads.

Charlie struggles to breathe and reaches for Desmond's hand. Holding him by the wrist, his tongue sticks out and runs along Desmond's palm from his wrist to the tip of his fingers. He sees Desmond's eyelids shudder and feels his hips bucking down against him, bare skin against bare skin.

"God, do that again."

He repeats the movement, tasting the salt of Desmond's palm as he runs his tongue along it. The sound Desmond makes it response is downright animal.

Dampened, Desmond's hand moves between them and wraps around their cocks, both of them. He can feel the length of Desmond's member against his own. Fuck. Fuck. That feels like nothing he can remember in his life, so strange. Desmond's hand moves, stroking them together quickly, and Charlie's head falls back against the paper-thin pillows. His hips thrust blindly.

"Fuck," Desmond grits. His head drops, hair tickling Charlie's face. His mouth presses against the exposed line of Charlie's neck. Lips. Tongue. His hand speeds up and he sucks hard on Charlie's neck; Charlie can't stop himself from gasping and moaning and wouldn't want to try.

"Des. Des, please, god, please." His hand winds through the back of Desmond's hair. "Please."

He doesn't know what he's begging for - only that he wants more and that he thinks he'd agree to anything that Desmond wants right now. He can feel Desmond's other hand slipping beneath them to take a handful of his ass.

Charlie can't make sense of the nonsense spilling from his mouth.

"Please. Desmond, you wanker."

Desmond's breath shudders - the bastard is laughing - and if Charlie had the concentration he'd thwack him for it. Desmond's thumb squeezes near the top of their cocks; Charlie groans desperately in response. He's close now, so close.

"You're mine, aren't you?" Desmond whispers, breath floating hot against Charlie's ear. "Even if it's just for tonight… Mine."

Charlie nods his head, face flushed. "Yeah," he agrees. "Yours. Whatever you want, mate, just- keep doing that." He punctuates that statement with an upwards thrust against the torturous hand.

"Do you want to…" Desmond looks down at him, eyes dark and fiery with lust.

I did that, Charlie thinks with an irrational spike of pride. That's 'cause of me.

Desmond takes his hand from their cocks and grabs Charlie's, bringing it down there. Their fingers wrap around it together. It's not like touching himself, not at all like that. Wider, thicker, two erections to deal with. They move in sync, their hands as one.

"Oh god," Charlie mutters. "Oh Christ."

It's too much, all too much. His eyes screw closed, unable to stand this any longer. He never knew how much he'd needed this, wanted it. Should've given in earlier.

Desmond's teeth mark his neck and the pain of his shatters through him in sharp starbursts. Oh god. His hips strain up into the heat of his and Desmond's hands, moving faster. Desmond's mouth stays on his neck, biting, marking, claiming. He'll have a mark there tomorrow, large and impossible to ignore.

Close. He's so close, and the shivering of Desmond's breath says that he is too.

"I'm gonna come," he says raggedly. He feels Desmond groan against his skin, vibration making him tremble. "Shit. Fuck, Des."

Faster. Their hands are faster and hurried and more uncoordinated than ever. It's good, though, it's so good - and it's more than enough to push him right over the edge and into the abyss. His orgasm hits him like a knife to the gut, so intense that it almost hurts.

His come splatters against his t-shirt and Desmond's shirt too, wet and sticky. It leaves him breathless, panting and moaning with over-stimulation. He can still feel Desmond's dick hard against his own.

"Roll over," he gasps. "Roll the fuck over, Des."

Desmond complies with a grunt, turning on his back on the thin bed and pulling Charlie on top of him. His hand leaves their cocks to run up and down Charlie's thighs. Charlie's hand settles firmly around Desmond's hard length, stroking it with a lot more confidence than he feels. The tip is dark and glistening in anticipation.

"Is this alright?" Charlie asks, as his hand moves fast and eager.

Desmond nods, staring at him - not at him, though. Not at his eyes. At his neck, and the quietly aching mark that Desmond left behind there. "So hot. You're so hot, Charlie, I want you, I want you, I want-"

"You've got me, mate," Charlie says with a grin, and while his hand moves fast between them he leans down to kiss Desmond thoroughly, able to hear those pants and moans as the freighter rocks gently around them. It feels amazing, Desmond's lips trapped beneath his.

He feels it when Desmond stiffens beneath him and he hears the muffled groan - it almost sounds like a cry of pain, but the hot splatter over his stomach says otherwise. Charlie's hand moves, wringing the last pearly drops of pleasure from his companion, until Desmond's body relaxes and sinks flat against the mattress.

Charlie begins to climb off of him, having no real clue of where to go now or what to do, but Desmond's strong arms wrap around his waist and make escape impossible. "Stay," he murmurs, pleasure-drunk and smiling.

The sight of that smile instinctively prompts one of Charlie's own. "You sure?"

"Aye." Desmond's hand pushes damp hair from Charlie's forehead, before it moves down to tenderly brush his fingertips over the harsh mark on Charlie's neck. "I'm sure."

Feeling peaceful and at ease, they shuffle into a comfortable position to lie together. Charlie thinks that they could both really do with a change of clothing and a good shower, but with Desmond's arms around him and the soft brush of his breath on his skin, Charlie relaxes and can't bring himself to care.

*

The sight of the harbour is dizzying. So many people. So many forgotten sights. Charlie can see a diner in the background and with a greedy grumble his stomach recalls the taste of chips fresh from the fryer.

Desmond stands on the deck next to him. They're surrounded by their friends, by the odd family they've built over the past few months. This feels like the end. It is the beginning.

"Ready to face the outside world again, brother?" Desmond asks, leaning down to whisper into his ear, one hand resting on Charlie's waist.

Charlie pauses, still smiling. The world is never going to be the same again for him - he is never going to be the same again - but at this moment he is happier than he's been in his entire life.

"Yeah. I reckon we can take on whatever it throws at us next."

He takes a long, deep breath and looks to the future - ready to face the world with Desmond at his side.