To Take Advantage - Lost - Charlie/Desmond
Title: To Take Advantage
Pairing: Charlie/Desmond
Word Count: 1475
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written with lostpicksix's "blowjob" prompt. PWP.
Summary: Desmond's been staring at Charlie's mouth all day. Once they're alone together he finally gets some relief.
Charlie's lips are glorious things. Desmond's found himself staring at them all day - it's bloody distracting. They never stop moving. Charlie is always talking to someone or other as if he is allergic to the spectre of his own company. Sometimes Desmond will glance across the beach to find the young man mid-smile and carefree - and at those times he always feels a stunning spark of arousal shudder through him, because he's learnt first hand what else Charlie can do with his mouth.
When they're alone together, hidden deep within the jungle, Desmond makes the first move. Their very first kiss was a product of Charlie's design, but Desmond likes to take the first step after that in every way that he can. Charlie's arms rest against his shoulders, hands forming fists in Desmond's loose hair. His lips offer a tempting, slippery sensation against his own that makes a weak whisper escape Desmond.
"Oh god," he breathes against Charlie's mouth. "Oh god, Charlie."
Charlie's only response is his intoxicating grin. His blue eyes are all too knowing, all too powerful. "You alright, Des?" he asks. "You sound a little out of breath."
"I wonder whose fault that is…" He takes Charlie's hand in his and leads it in between their bodies until it cups his hard cock through his trousers. Desmond can barely restrain a moan from that small piece of contact and Charlie's grin widens. "I've had that for you all afternoon."
A buzz of nerves still spark in his chest whenever he admits to something like that. It's so wrong. So delightfully sinful, just like Charlie himself.
"D'you want me to take care of that for you?" Charlie asks innocently. He looks up at Desmond but Desmond can't meet his eyes, too busy staring at his mouth instead. Charlie's hand remains on his cock, unmoving - just waiting.
"Aye," Desmond says. It's a miracle he doesn't stammer.
But the answer doesn't give him the instant gratification he needs. Charlie's smile twitches. "So ask for it," he suggests, edging even closer until Desmond can feel the press of Charlie's chest against his own. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do."
"Charlie…" Desmond says. He's whining and he knows it.
"I'll do it," Charlie promises, his lips wrapping around the words in a slow, careful way that makes Desmond's blood rush treacherously down. "Anything you want - just say the words."
Charlie's other hand rests on his chest, fingers idly playing with one of the free buttonholes. Desmond tries to remind himself that he's the one in charge here - Charlie is awaiting his instruction. But he feels lost and entirely at Charlie's mercy. "Please…"
"I want to hear you say it," Charlie says, low-down and breathy with a faux-smile on his lips. "I already know. I've been looking forward to it all day actually, watching you squirm as you thought about getting your cock in my mouth again."
"Bloody hell, Charlie."
Charlie's smile twitches wider. "Just say you want me to suck you off, Desmond. I'll be on my knees faster than you can blink."
God, that's a more enticing image than he would ever have thought possible: it's enough to make him moan, unable to control it. But his mouth won't form the words no matter how much he wants it. "Please, Charlie. I can't say it, but I want it. I want it."
There's some untold emotion that he could never attempt to read that flickers on Charlie's face for a few moments. Desmond has no chance of decoding it - Charlie is and will always be a stunning mystery to him. "Okay," Charlie murmurs, nodding. "That's okay."
His hands shift to the back of Desmond's neck, pulling him down so that their lips can meet. Desmond grabs Charlie's hips, tugging him as close as he can, and he doesn't resist at all when Charlie leads him backwards until they bump gently into one of the jungle's thick, strong trees. Desmond thinks he could do this forever, just kiss him, but his cock is so hard now and he feels shatteringly desperate.
"Please," he mutters again, lips barely pulled back from Charlie's. "I need…"
"Patience," Charlie says, smiling devilishly. "Won't be long now."
Desmond can't stop touching him, his hands wanting everything. As Charlie reaches between them, his hands unbuttoning Desmond's trousers, Desmond's hand find their way to his ass. Even through Charlie's jeans it gives Desmond such a rush to touch him like this - to be allowed to touch him like this. He feels like he hasn't earned it, not yet, but he's happy to take whatever Charlie will give him.
Charlie kisses him once more, an affectionate brush of lips, then he slides down to his knees. The sight alone is almost enough to make Desmond's brain short-circuit. Once Charlie's mouth is on him he knows it won't take long before he comes - it'll probably be embarrassingly quick. Charlie won't tease him, not about this. No one would ever be able to accuse Charlie of being tactful, but this is one area where he knows to hold his tongue.
Besides - he seems to take it as a compliment whenever the skill of his mouth undoes Desmond so quickly.
Charlie can be a real smug bastard at times.
Desmond leans against the strong tree trunk and watches as Charlie pulls down his trousers and underwear, letting them pool loosely at Desmond's feet. Desmond's erection is released, and the lustful heat in Charlie's eyes could make him howl.
He settles for a loose whimper instead. "Charlie. Soon."
Charlie nods, a distracted bob of his head. "You want me, right?" he asks, looking up at Desmond from his position at his feet.
"I…" Desmond blinks at him. "I'd have thought this was evidence of that."
Charlie gives a grin, the kind that Desmond's seen a dozen times before - the one that plasters over all those self-esteem issues and says, I'm okay, I'm always okay.
"Just checking," Charlie says, like maybe he was expecting something more.
But then Desmond feels the first daring brush of Charlie's lips against his cock and it ceases to matter. All he wants is this, and more, and always. The groan he makes when Charlie eases his mouth down, bobbing back and forth and taking a little more each time, is loud and unrestrained. If he had more presence of mind he might wonder if they were far enough from the beach for such a performance.
He doesn't want to know why Charlie's so good at this, so experienced. He's heard rumours around the camp and suffered through Hurley's bumbling info drops and that's enough to know that Charlie's life wasn't all sunshine, roses and rock-n-roll before he landed on this island. Maybe, one of these days, Charlie will tell him about it - and Desmond will wrap an arm around Charlie's shoulders, hold him tight, and admit to a sin or two of his own.
But now, right now, all that matters is the gorgeous relief that Charlie's mouth offers him. It is beautiful - and his, all his. Charlie makes that clear with every yielding movement, with the way he takes Desmond in as deep as he can and the way he uses every filthy trick that he knows to drive Desmond right to the brink.
Desmond finds himself chanting Charlie's name as his hand winds through Charlie's blond hair and he shouldn't do this, he knows he shouldn't, but he can't stop his hips from fucking forward into Charlie's mouth to get more and more and more. Charlie doesn't choke, but his eyes screw shut and even from the haze of near-orgasm Desmond can recognise the signs of discomfort but then it hits him, oh god it hits him, and as he spills down Charlie's throat his hand tightens instinctively in Charlie's hair.
Charlie pulls back almost immediately, spitting the liquid out onto the ground. "Jesus Christ, Des," he says in frustration as Desmond sags against the tree in loose-limbed pleasure. His head feels light. Bloodless. He wishes that he never had to pull himself together again.
Charlie is there to do it for him instead. Charlie pulls up his trousers for him, tucks him away, does the zip and the button and takes care of Desmond with much more skill than he's ever taken with himself. "Thank you," Desmond wheezes, pulling Charlie close against him once the man has climbed to his feet.
Any tension that had crept into Charlie's body fades quickly in Desmond's arms. Charlie's smallness - pint-sized - makes him perfect to hold onto, thought Desmond has no doubt that Charlie's would viciously defend himself against such an accusation if he knew about it.
"You're welcome," Charlie pants. "You're always sodding welcome."
They stand like that, together, until their feet ache and their stomachs growl and, finally, hiding is no longer an option.
Pairing: Charlie/Desmond
Word Count: 1475
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written with lostpicksix's "blowjob" prompt. PWP.
Summary: Desmond's been staring at Charlie's mouth all day. Once they're alone together he finally gets some relief.
Charlie's lips are glorious things. Desmond's found himself staring at them all day - it's bloody distracting. They never stop moving. Charlie is always talking to someone or other as if he is allergic to the spectre of his own company. Sometimes Desmond will glance across the beach to find the young man mid-smile and carefree - and at those times he always feels a stunning spark of arousal shudder through him, because he's learnt first hand what else Charlie can do with his mouth.
When they're alone together, hidden deep within the jungle, Desmond makes the first move. Their very first kiss was a product of Charlie's design, but Desmond likes to take the first step after that in every way that he can. Charlie's arms rest against his shoulders, hands forming fists in Desmond's loose hair. His lips offer a tempting, slippery sensation against his own that makes a weak whisper escape Desmond.
"Oh god," he breathes against Charlie's mouth. "Oh god, Charlie."
Charlie's only response is his intoxicating grin. His blue eyes are all too knowing, all too powerful. "You alright, Des?" he asks. "You sound a little out of breath."
"I wonder whose fault that is…" He takes Charlie's hand in his and leads it in between their bodies until it cups his hard cock through his trousers. Desmond can barely restrain a moan from that small piece of contact and Charlie's grin widens. "I've had that for you all afternoon."
A buzz of nerves still spark in his chest whenever he admits to something like that. It's so wrong. So delightfully sinful, just like Charlie himself.
"D'you want me to take care of that for you?" Charlie asks innocently. He looks up at Desmond but Desmond can't meet his eyes, too busy staring at his mouth instead. Charlie's hand remains on his cock, unmoving - just waiting.
"Aye," Desmond says. It's a miracle he doesn't stammer.
But the answer doesn't give him the instant gratification he needs. Charlie's smile twitches. "So ask for it," he suggests, edging even closer until Desmond can feel the press of Charlie's chest against his own. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do."
"Charlie…" Desmond says. He's whining and he knows it.
"I'll do it," Charlie promises, his lips wrapping around the words in a slow, careful way that makes Desmond's blood rush treacherously down. "Anything you want - just say the words."
Charlie's other hand rests on his chest, fingers idly playing with one of the free buttonholes. Desmond tries to remind himself that he's the one in charge here - Charlie is awaiting his instruction. But he feels lost and entirely at Charlie's mercy. "Please…"
"I want to hear you say it," Charlie says, low-down and breathy with a faux-smile on his lips. "I already know. I've been looking forward to it all day actually, watching you squirm as you thought about getting your cock in my mouth again."
"Bloody hell, Charlie."
Charlie's smile twitches wider. "Just say you want me to suck you off, Desmond. I'll be on my knees faster than you can blink."
God, that's a more enticing image than he would ever have thought possible: it's enough to make him moan, unable to control it. But his mouth won't form the words no matter how much he wants it. "Please, Charlie. I can't say it, but I want it. I want it."
There's some untold emotion that he could never attempt to read that flickers on Charlie's face for a few moments. Desmond has no chance of decoding it - Charlie is and will always be a stunning mystery to him. "Okay," Charlie murmurs, nodding. "That's okay."
His hands shift to the back of Desmond's neck, pulling him down so that their lips can meet. Desmond grabs Charlie's hips, tugging him as close as he can, and he doesn't resist at all when Charlie leads him backwards until they bump gently into one of the jungle's thick, strong trees. Desmond thinks he could do this forever, just kiss him, but his cock is so hard now and he feels shatteringly desperate.
"Please," he mutters again, lips barely pulled back from Charlie's. "I need…"
"Patience," Charlie says, smiling devilishly. "Won't be long now."
Desmond can't stop touching him, his hands wanting everything. As Charlie reaches between them, his hands unbuttoning Desmond's trousers, Desmond's hand find their way to his ass. Even through Charlie's jeans it gives Desmond such a rush to touch him like this - to be allowed to touch him like this. He feels like he hasn't earned it, not yet, but he's happy to take whatever Charlie will give him.
Charlie kisses him once more, an affectionate brush of lips, then he slides down to his knees. The sight alone is almost enough to make Desmond's brain short-circuit. Once Charlie's mouth is on him he knows it won't take long before he comes - it'll probably be embarrassingly quick. Charlie won't tease him, not about this. No one would ever be able to accuse Charlie of being tactful, but this is one area where he knows to hold his tongue.
Besides - he seems to take it as a compliment whenever the skill of his mouth undoes Desmond so quickly.
Charlie can be a real smug bastard at times.
Desmond leans against the strong tree trunk and watches as Charlie pulls down his trousers and underwear, letting them pool loosely at Desmond's feet. Desmond's erection is released, and the lustful heat in Charlie's eyes could make him howl.
He settles for a loose whimper instead. "Charlie. Soon."
Charlie nods, a distracted bob of his head. "You want me, right?" he asks, looking up at Desmond from his position at his feet.
"I…" Desmond blinks at him. "I'd have thought this was evidence of that."
Charlie gives a grin, the kind that Desmond's seen a dozen times before - the one that plasters over all those self-esteem issues and says, I'm okay, I'm always okay.
"Just checking," Charlie says, like maybe he was expecting something more.
But then Desmond feels the first daring brush of Charlie's lips against his cock and it ceases to matter. All he wants is this, and more, and always. The groan he makes when Charlie eases his mouth down, bobbing back and forth and taking a little more each time, is loud and unrestrained. If he had more presence of mind he might wonder if they were far enough from the beach for such a performance.
He doesn't want to know why Charlie's so good at this, so experienced. He's heard rumours around the camp and suffered through Hurley's bumbling info drops and that's enough to know that Charlie's life wasn't all sunshine, roses and rock-n-roll before he landed on this island. Maybe, one of these days, Charlie will tell him about it - and Desmond will wrap an arm around Charlie's shoulders, hold him tight, and admit to a sin or two of his own.
But now, right now, all that matters is the gorgeous relief that Charlie's mouth offers him. It is beautiful - and his, all his. Charlie makes that clear with every yielding movement, with the way he takes Desmond in as deep as he can and the way he uses every filthy trick that he knows to drive Desmond right to the brink.
Desmond finds himself chanting Charlie's name as his hand winds through Charlie's blond hair and he shouldn't do this, he knows he shouldn't, but he can't stop his hips from fucking forward into Charlie's mouth to get more and more and more. Charlie doesn't choke, but his eyes screw shut and even from the haze of near-orgasm Desmond can recognise the signs of discomfort but then it hits him, oh god it hits him, and as he spills down Charlie's throat his hand tightens instinctively in Charlie's hair.
Charlie pulls back almost immediately, spitting the liquid out onto the ground. "Jesus Christ, Des," he says in frustration as Desmond sags against the tree in loose-limbed pleasure. His head feels light. Bloodless. He wishes that he never had to pull himself together again.
Charlie is there to do it for him instead. Charlie pulls up his trousers for him, tucks him away, does the zip and the button and takes care of Desmond with much more skill than he's ever taken with himself. "Thank you," Desmond wheezes, pulling Charlie close against him once the man has climbed to his feet.
Any tension that had crept into Charlie's body fades quickly in Desmond's arms. Charlie's smallness - pint-sized - makes him perfect to hold onto, thought Desmond has no doubt that Charlie's would viciously defend himself against such an accusation if he knew about it.
"You're welcome," Charlie pants. "You're always sodding welcome."
They stand like that, together, until their feet ache and their stomachs growl and, finally, hiding is no longer an option.