A Lack of Self-Control - Lost - Charlie/Sayid
Title: A Lack of Self-Control
Pairing: Charlie/Sayid
Word Count: 1038
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for the Lost Fic Battle
Summary: Sayid can't stop himself from taking advantage.
He's taking advantage and he knows it. Charlie's blue eyes are sparkling with barely contained mischief and sarcasm as he kneels on the other side of Sayid's tent, but buried beneath those thick protective layers of attitude is something that Sayid recognises. It is something that he has seen in the eyes of dozens of others, and something that he normally has no problem with twisting to his own ends.
It is the desperate, lonely desire to please. To be loved or even to be liked. Approval.
Sayid's hand reaches for Charlie and he runs his hands through the man's short blond hair, standing before him. "You should leave," he whispers, though he knows Charlie won't. "Return to your own tent, Charlie."
Stubborn defiance.
Charlie is obeying Sayid's will, not his words.
"I'm not going anywhere," he states. "You don't scare me, y'know."
The corner of Sayid's mouth curls; it is not a pleasant expression. "I know," he says. Charlie wouldn't lie to him, not now. He doubts if he is capable of it. "Perhaps I should."
That is equally true. Sayid knows that he is not a good man; the memory of what he had done to Sawyer in his quest to find the inhalers still haunts him. He knows that, if pushed, he can fall into the past again: he can become a monster that knows nothing but pain and anger.
But Charlie trusts him.
Charlie, who burns with resentment; Charlie, who has been struck down by the world again and again; Charlie, who trusts no one any more…
He trusts him.
There's a power to that, a responsibility, that shivers through Sayid's spine and makes him feel more alive than he has since Shannon died. His hand curls through Charlie's hair and his fingertips trace Charlie's cheekbone. Charlie's eyes shiver closed just from that.
"You know what I want, don't you?" Sayid murmurs, looking down at him. Standing while Charlie kneels at his feet; it is sick, truly sick, how much Sayid enjoys that.
Charlie nods, eyes opening again to look up at him. His hands move from his sides, reaching up to the button of Sayid's jeans, then the zip. He does not take his time. Everything is a rush for Charlie - it is like he lives in a perpetual hurricane, always rushing from place to place in case it vanishes before he finishes. One day, Sayid would like to lie him down and teach him the merits of patience. He could order Charlie to stay perfectly still, to lie back and merely enjoy what is being done to him. Sayid could make him scream, he's certain of that.
But, no, he won't - because he has seen what happened to the last person he made love to. It is not an experience he wishes to repeat.
Charlie's eager hands rip open his trousers and pull them down along with his underwear. Sayid's cock, freed from its confines, stands long and thin. The island's night air caresses newly bared skin, and it is soon joined by the dry brush of Charlie's lips against the tip of his cock. Already hard. He was ready long before Charlie came to his tent.
His hand cups the back of Charlie's head and he meets no resistance when he pushes into the welcoming wet of Charlie's mouth. Charlie's hands rest on Sayid's hips to steady himself, to ground himself. Sayid barely notices, working Charlie's mouth at a keen pace himself. He should not feel guilty for this; he should not feel bad for taking what Charlie is so willing to give.
Charlie moans and his eyes close in concentration. Sayid is taking advantage of a man battered by life and misfortune; he would apologise but he knows that Charlie would not accept it. He would smile that crooked smile of his and roll his eyes, probably throwing a sarcastic comment in Sayid's direction. Sayid knows a defence mechanism when he sees one.
Charlie's tongue traces the underside of Sayid's cock every time Sayid thrusts into that perfect mouth. He's too good at this, far too good. He doesn't choke when Sayid pushes further than he would with anyone else. He accepts it, with only the slightest noise of discomfort.
Sayid longs for the ability to confer self-respect onto Charlie's shoulders, but not now; now his thoughts are lost in the slip and slide of his cock in and out of Charlie's mouth. His fingers twist in the hair at the back of Charlie's head and the only indication that he gives when he's about to come is a barely muffled grunt. He feels his cock twitching under Charlie's attention, his balls tensing, and then it finally hits him. His hand keeps its firm grip on Charlie's head and he presses in deep, coming down Charlie's throat and feeling the young man swallowing convulsively around him. It feels like absolution.
When he pulls back, feeling loose-limbed and satisfied, he isn't surprised to hear Charlie's cough, nor that Charlie has brought himself off with his hand in time for Sayid's own orgasm. Considerate. Too considerate.
"You should go back to your tent, Charlie," Sayid says as he tucks himself away. He can feel the burn of shame in his cheeks.
"I could stay," Charlie suggests, looking up at him. "If you wanted me to, I mean."
And, yes, Sayid would like to feel the warmth of a sleeping body next to his. He would like to wrap an arm around Charlie's waist as they slept and hold on tightly; he would like to show Charlie the appreciation that he deserves, to treat him in a way that was right and fair.
But he remembers Shannon. He remembers Nadia.
He won't make that mistake again.
"Charlie…"
"Yeah. Right. Sorry, shouldn't have…" The words mumble away into oblivion and Charlie shrugs. He pats himself down to ensure that he is presentable and gets to his feet. "See you tomorrow then, yeah?"
Sayid doesn't smile, but he nods. He will go to bed alone tonight - though he does not know for how much longer he will be able to resist the extra temptation of comfort and understanding that Charlie effortlessly offers him.
Pairing: Charlie/Sayid
Word Count: 1038
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for the Lost Fic Battle
Summary: Sayid can't stop himself from taking advantage.
He's taking advantage and he knows it. Charlie's blue eyes are sparkling with barely contained mischief and sarcasm as he kneels on the other side of Sayid's tent, but buried beneath those thick protective layers of attitude is something that Sayid recognises. It is something that he has seen in the eyes of dozens of others, and something that he normally has no problem with twisting to his own ends.
It is the desperate, lonely desire to please. To be loved or even to be liked. Approval.
Sayid's hand reaches for Charlie and he runs his hands through the man's short blond hair, standing before him. "You should leave," he whispers, though he knows Charlie won't. "Return to your own tent, Charlie."
Stubborn defiance.
Charlie is obeying Sayid's will, not his words.
"I'm not going anywhere," he states. "You don't scare me, y'know."
The corner of Sayid's mouth curls; it is not a pleasant expression. "I know," he says. Charlie wouldn't lie to him, not now. He doubts if he is capable of it. "Perhaps I should."
That is equally true. Sayid knows that he is not a good man; the memory of what he had done to Sawyer in his quest to find the inhalers still haunts him. He knows that, if pushed, he can fall into the past again: he can become a monster that knows nothing but pain and anger.
But Charlie trusts him.
Charlie, who burns with resentment; Charlie, who has been struck down by the world again and again; Charlie, who trusts no one any more…
He trusts him.
There's a power to that, a responsibility, that shivers through Sayid's spine and makes him feel more alive than he has since Shannon died. His hand curls through Charlie's hair and his fingertips trace Charlie's cheekbone. Charlie's eyes shiver closed just from that.
"You know what I want, don't you?" Sayid murmurs, looking down at him. Standing while Charlie kneels at his feet; it is sick, truly sick, how much Sayid enjoys that.
Charlie nods, eyes opening again to look up at him. His hands move from his sides, reaching up to the button of Sayid's jeans, then the zip. He does not take his time. Everything is a rush for Charlie - it is like he lives in a perpetual hurricane, always rushing from place to place in case it vanishes before he finishes. One day, Sayid would like to lie him down and teach him the merits of patience. He could order Charlie to stay perfectly still, to lie back and merely enjoy what is being done to him. Sayid could make him scream, he's certain of that.
But, no, he won't - because he has seen what happened to the last person he made love to. It is not an experience he wishes to repeat.
Charlie's eager hands rip open his trousers and pull them down along with his underwear. Sayid's cock, freed from its confines, stands long and thin. The island's night air caresses newly bared skin, and it is soon joined by the dry brush of Charlie's lips against the tip of his cock. Already hard. He was ready long before Charlie came to his tent.
His hand cups the back of Charlie's head and he meets no resistance when he pushes into the welcoming wet of Charlie's mouth. Charlie's hands rest on Sayid's hips to steady himself, to ground himself. Sayid barely notices, working Charlie's mouth at a keen pace himself. He should not feel guilty for this; he should not feel bad for taking what Charlie is so willing to give.
Charlie moans and his eyes close in concentration. Sayid is taking advantage of a man battered by life and misfortune; he would apologise but he knows that Charlie would not accept it. He would smile that crooked smile of his and roll his eyes, probably throwing a sarcastic comment in Sayid's direction. Sayid knows a defence mechanism when he sees one.
Charlie's tongue traces the underside of Sayid's cock every time Sayid thrusts into that perfect mouth. He's too good at this, far too good. He doesn't choke when Sayid pushes further than he would with anyone else. He accepts it, with only the slightest noise of discomfort.
Sayid longs for the ability to confer self-respect onto Charlie's shoulders, but not now; now his thoughts are lost in the slip and slide of his cock in and out of Charlie's mouth. His fingers twist in the hair at the back of Charlie's head and the only indication that he gives when he's about to come is a barely muffled grunt. He feels his cock twitching under Charlie's attention, his balls tensing, and then it finally hits him. His hand keeps its firm grip on Charlie's head and he presses in deep, coming down Charlie's throat and feeling the young man swallowing convulsively around him. It feels like absolution.
When he pulls back, feeling loose-limbed and satisfied, he isn't surprised to hear Charlie's cough, nor that Charlie has brought himself off with his hand in time for Sayid's own orgasm. Considerate. Too considerate.
"You should go back to your tent, Charlie," Sayid says as he tucks himself away. He can feel the burn of shame in his cheeks.
"I could stay," Charlie suggests, looking up at him. "If you wanted me to, I mean."
And, yes, Sayid would like to feel the warmth of a sleeping body next to his. He would like to wrap an arm around Charlie's waist as they slept and hold on tightly; he would like to show Charlie the appreciation that he deserves, to treat him in a way that was right and fair.
But he remembers Shannon. He remembers Nadia.
He won't make that mistake again.
"Charlie…"
"Yeah. Right. Sorry, shouldn't have…" The words mumble away into oblivion and Charlie shrugs. He pats himself down to ensure that he is presentable and gets to his feet. "See you tomorrow then, yeah?"
Sayid doesn't smile, but he nods. He will go to bed alone tonight - though he does not know for how much longer he will be able to resist the extra temptation of comfort and understanding that Charlie effortlessly offers him.