The Distance Between - Lost - Charlie/Desmond
Title: The Distance Between
Pairing: Charlie/Desmond
Word Count: 641
Rating: R
A/N: Written for the Porn Battle. In the Pick Me Back Up Again 'verse
Summary: They live too far apart for Desmond to be able to handle.
When his eyes rest upon Charlie waiting for him outside his apartment, his slim shoulders huddled against the pouring battering of Scotland's rain, Desmond can only smile and feel a comforting burst of warmth spreading through him. After so many years on the island, being back home takes a little adjustment. Seeing Charlie again, though…
Well, that makes the rain seem inconsequential.
"You're early, brother," he comments as he approaches, fumbling with his keys in his pocket so that he can get them indoors as soon as he can. In his other hand he clutches a plastic bag full of food from the nearest supermarket: he'd had a plan of trying to cook for Charlie tonight. "Wasn't expecting you for another hour."
"Train was on time," Charlie says, shivering as they step into the dingy lobby of Desmond's apartment block, "For once. Had to sit next to an old lady that smelled like cats for bloody hours, but I got here. Miracle, isn't it?"
Desmond nods in agreement as he leads Charlie upstairs, even though he's no doubt that by now Charlie knows the way himself. It's a miracle to have him there, a miracle to see him alive and breathing - a triumph over fate that's all the sweeter for it. They won. They won.
They tumble inside the little place that Desmond calls home these days; it's nothing big and it's nothing special, but it's all he wants. Charlie wanders inside to dump his wet things on the ground, looking around as if he hasn't been here a thousand and one times before. Desmond watches the raindrops that clog his short hair, watches them as they tumble down the skin of Charlie's neck; he barely even hears what Charlie's saying.
"You live too far away," he comments - though at least Charlie isn't like the others. At least they're in the same country, roughly. 'least they're on the same continent.
"You live too far away," Charlie complains, but he's smiling and he's walking towards Desmond in sodden, soggy steps of soaking jeans and dripping clothes. "Can't pin this one on me, Des. Don't see why you're so above living in England anyway."
He slips into Desmond's waiting arms, his lips cold from the harsh temperature outside when their mouths meet. Warm inside, though, and Desmond can't stop himself from tugging Charlie as close as he can despite the rain-soaked clothes. His shopping bag is dropped forgotten on the floor and he abandons his keys similarly - he'll come back to them. Later.
A lot later.
For now there's this, only this, because they've earned it. After battling with fate for months on end, after lightning strikes and drownings and arrows and all the blood that had been shed before Desmond's foreseeing eyes, they've earned a little peace from the pain.
Charlie's freezing hands seek his skin and he leads him determinedly towards the bedroom door, as fluidly as if this was his own home.
It is, Desmond whispers, though the memory of Penny still lurks in his mind. He belongs here.
Charlie is lean and agile underneath him as they tumble, laughing, to the bed together in an untidy heap. They're jittery in agitation, because it's too long- too long- always too bloody long since they'd last seen each other. The wet clothes cling to their skin and take wiggling moments to pull off. It's not picture-perfect; it's not the kind of sex lifted straight from a film; it's not glamorous and there are no swelling violin playing, but… It makes Charlie smile and Desmond reckons that's worth anything in the world.
"Missed you, y'know" Charlie whispers to him, his fingers tangled and lost in the swamp of Desmond's hair. "So sodding much."
Aye, he confirms to himself as he seeks to close any remaining gap between Charlie and him, Worth everything.
Pairing: Charlie/Desmond
Word Count: 641
Rating: R
A/N: Written for the Porn Battle. In the Pick Me Back Up Again 'verse
Summary: They live too far apart for Desmond to be able to handle.
When his eyes rest upon Charlie waiting for him outside his apartment, his slim shoulders huddled against the pouring battering of Scotland's rain, Desmond can only smile and feel a comforting burst of warmth spreading through him. After so many years on the island, being back home takes a little adjustment. Seeing Charlie again, though…
Well, that makes the rain seem inconsequential.
"You're early, brother," he comments as he approaches, fumbling with his keys in his pocket so that he can get them indoors as soon as he can. In his other hand he clutches a plastic bag full of food from the nearest supermarket: he'd had a plan of trying to cook for Charlie tonight. "Wasn't expecting you for another hour."
"Train was on time," Charlie says, shivering as they step into the dingy lobby of Desmond's apartment block, "For once. Had to sit next to an old lady that smelled like cats for bloody hours, but I got here. Miracle, isn't it?"
Desmond nods in agreement as he leads Charlie upstairs, even though he's no doubt that by now Charlie knows the way himself. It's a miracle to have him there, a miracle to see him alive and breathing - a triumph over fate that's all the sweeter for it. They won. They won.
They tumble inside the little place that Desmond calls home these days; it's nothing big and it's nothing special, but it's all he wants. Charlie wanders inside to dump his wet things on the ground, looking around as if he hasn't been here a thousand and one times before. Desmond watches the raindrops that clog his short hair, watches them as they tumble down the skin of Charlie's neck; he barely even hears what Charlie's saying.
"You live too far away," he comments - though at least Charlie isn't like the others. At least they're in the same country, roughly. 'least they're on the same continent.
"You live too far away," Charlie complains, but he's smiling and he's walking towards Desmond in sodden, soggy steps of soaking jeans and dripping clothes. "Can't pin this one on me, Des. Don't see why you're so above living in England anyway."
He slips into Desmond's waiting arms, his lips cold from the harsh temperature outside when their mouths meet. Warm inside, though, and Desmond can't stop himself from tugging Charlie as close as he can despite the rain-soaked clothes. His shopping bag is dropped forgotten on the floor and he abandons his keys similarly - he'll come back to them. Later.
A lot later.
For now there's this, only this, because they've earned it. After battling with fate for months on end, after lightning strikes and drownings and arrows and all the blood that had been shed before Desmond's foreseeing eyes, they've earned a little peace from the pain.
Charlie's freezing hands seek his skin and he leads him determinedly towards the bedroom door, as fluidly as if this was his own home.
It is, Desmond whispers, though the memory of Penny still lurks in his mind. He belongs here.
Charlie is lean and agile underneath him as they tumble, laughing, to the bed together in an untidy heap. They're jittery in agitation, because it's too long- too long- always too bloody long since they'd last seen each other. The wet clothes cling to their skin and take wiggling moments to pull off. It's not picture-perfect; it's not the kind of sex lifted straight from a film; it's not glamorous and there are no swelling violin playing, but… It makes Charlie smile and Desmond reckons that's worth anything in the world.
"Missed you, y'know" Charlie whispers to him, his fingers tangled and lost in the swamp of Desmond's hair. "So sodding much."
Aye, he confirms to himself as he seeks to close any remaining gap between Charlie and him, Worth everything.