Fic: Just The One
Title: Just The One
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Sawyer/Desmond
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: He's fairly certain at some point there was strip table tennis.
AN: 'Waking up together' cliche for cliche_bingo .
The ocean is particularly, obnoxiously, loud, each wave smashing apart hard enough and close enough to shove Sawyer out of sleep long before he's ready, and leave him scowling through his own hair. The light's getting in through a long gap in the tarp and that's too bright as well. The whole world is just made of too bright and too loud and too damn early.
A sluggish unpleasantness tells him he's going to miss those extra hours sleeping off the sheer quantity of beer he drank last night.
He remembers maybe half of it. That isn't exactly good odds, everything after the game of Twister is a half messed up jumble of stuff that may or may not have actually happened.
Though he's fairly certain at some point there was strip table tennis.
Jesus, who's idea had that been?
Probably yours, his brain offers sarcastically.
He grunts agreement.
That's fair enough.
He hopes to god Hurley hadn't been playing. That'd explain why he couldn't remember easily enough though. His brain had probably shut down in self defence? That isn't the kind of mental image he wants blindsiding him late at night that's for sure.
Something else occurs to him-
He's naked, which isn't exactly a dress code that's smart out here, and there's skin pressed all the way along his back.
So he got drunk with someone else and fooled around.
Maybe?
He figures it's most likely to be Kate. Since that's the only place he's gotten any action since they crashed here.
Though he's fairly certain she's mad at him again. He can't quite keep a handle on when she's mad at him and when she's not. Though he seems to get laid more when she's angry than when she isn't. A guy might get a complex about that.
He's half convinced himself it is Kate when the body behind him moves, it's a careless stretch of limbs that leaves his nameless bed partner shoved up against his back again.
But it tells him one thing for sure.
Whoever's behind him definitely isn't a woman.
"Awh hell," he decides under his breath,
He thinks he'll have to up the estimation of exactly how much he'd drunk last night.
Maybe even double it?
He's damned if he's going to lay here in indecision like a girl though.
He peers over his own shoulder, just far enough to catch a flash of tanned shoulder and a face half full of hair.
He doesn't need anything more than that. No matter what he tells everyone they're not exactly a large group of people, not enough that faces start to blur into one another.
Though this one's newer than most
"Now that's just brilliant."
Maybe nothing happened? Maybe they just stumbled back here, together, for some reason. Ended up naked, together, for some reason. Ended up kind of squashed together, just because drunk people didn't tend to care much where they fell down at the end of the night.
It could have happened exactly like that.
Completely and totally innocent and everything.
...
Yeah, that's a stretch even for him.
Well shit.
"Stop moving my head hurts," Desmond grumbles.
"What the hell are you doing in my tent?"
"Trying to sleep thanks very much," Desmond tells him.
"Yeah, well I'm not exactly feeling like napping any more."
"I told you last night that you'd regret it in the morning." Desmond's voice manages to be sleepy and irritated at the same time.
"Well then why didn't you stop me."
"You were insistent," Desmond points out, still with his eyes closed.
"I was drunk." It's an excuse, but it's a damn good one.
"Weren't we all. " Desmond sighs against his shoulder, a flare of warm breath against his skin, and Sawyer's going to pretend he didn't notice that.
He shifts over onto his back, but that isn't exactly a less incriminating position. He can see better now.
"If you promise to leave your wounded manly pride for a couple of hours I'll be appreciative when I wake up," Desmond tells him.
Sawyer scowls at him, he's kind of annoyed that it's a wasted effort.
"And what makes you think I'd be interested?"
"You didn't exactly complain last night." Desmond does open his eyes then, begrudgingly. He squints into the light. "The entire camp probably heard you, anyone would think you'd never gotten a blowjob before."
"Please tell me you're joking."
"You can ask them if you like?"
Sawyer stares at the tarp that covers the front of his tent.
"Stay, or go," Desmond grumbles, as if he's reading his mind, and isn't that a disturbing thought. "Just stop talking,"
When he doesn't move right away Desmond makes a noise and pushes one of his legs up and over his own. Sawyer's fairly sure he should be a hell of a lot more annoyed about that, but he has a warm length of thigh sliding across his, suddenly very interested, crotch.
He decides that, come to think of it, there's no terrible rush.
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Sawyer/Desmond
Rating: R
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: He's fairly certain at some point there was strip table tennis.
AN: 'Waking up together' cliche for cliche_bingo .
The ocean is particularly, obnoxiously, loud, each wave smashing apart hard enough and close enough to shove Sawyer out of sleep long before he's ready, and leave him scowling through his own hair. The light's getting in through a long gap in the tarp and that's too bright as well. The whole world is just made of too bright and too loud and too damn early.
A sluggish unpleasantness tells him he's going to miss those extra hours sleeping off the sheer quantity of beer he drank last night.
He remembers maybe half of it. That isn't exactly good odds, everything after the game of Twister is a half messed up jumble of stuff that may or may not have actually happened.
Though he's fairly certain at some point there was strip table tennis.
Jesus, who's idea had that been?
Probably yours, his brain offers sarcastically.
He grunts agreement.
That's fair enough.
He hopes to god Hurley hadn't been playing. That'd explain why he couldn't remember easily enough though. His brain had probably shut down in self defence? That isn't the kind of mental image he wants blindsiding him late at night that's for sure.
Something else occurs to him-
He's naked, which isn't exactly a dress code that's smart out here, and there's skin pressed all the way along his back.
So he got drunk with someone else and fooled around.
Maybe?
He figures it's most likely to be Kate. Since that's the only place he's gotten any action since they crashed here.
Though he's fairly certain she's mad at him again. He can't quite keep a handle on when she's mad at him and when she's not. Though he seems to get laid more when she's angry than when she isn't. A guy might get a complex about that.
He's half convinced himself it is Kate when the body behind him moves, it's a careless stretch of limbs that leaves his nameless bed partner shoved up against his back again.
But it tells him one thing for sure.
Whoever's behind him definitely isn't a woman.
"Awh hell," he decides under his breath,
He thinks he'll have to up the estimation of exactly how much he'd drunk last night.
Maybe even double it?
He's damned if he's going to lay here in indecision like a girl though.
He peers over his own shoulder, just far enough to catch a flash of tanned shoulder and a face half full of hair.
He doesn't need anything more than that. No matter what he tells everyone they're not exactly a large group of people, not enough that faces start to blur into one another.
Though this one's newer than most
"Now that's just brilliant."
Maybe nothing happened? Maybe they just stumbled back here, together, for some reason. Ended up naked, together, for some reason. Ended up kind of squashed together, just because drunk people didn't tend to care much where they fell down at the end of the night.
It could have happened exactly like that.
Completely and totally innocent and everything.
...
Yeah, that's a stretch even for him.
Well shit.
"Stop moving my head hurts," Desmond grumbles.
"What the hell are you doing in my tent?"
"Trying to sleep thanks very much," Desmond tells him.
"Yeah, well I'm not exactly feeling like napping any more."
"I told you last night that you'd regret it in the morning." Desmond's voice manages to be sleepy and irritated at the same time.
"Well then why didn't you stop me."
"You were insistent," Desmond points out, still with his eyes closed.
"I was drunk." It's an excuse, but it's a damn good one.
"Weren't we all. " Desmond sighs against his shoulder, a flare of warm breath against his skin, and Sawyer's going to pretend he didn't notice that.
He shifts over onto his back, but that isn't exactly a less incriminating position. He can see better now.
"If you promise to leave your wounded manly pride for a couple of hours I'll be appreciative when I wake up," Desmond tells him.
Sawyer scowls at him, he's kind of annoyed that it's a wasted effort.
"And what makes you think I'd be interested?"
"You didn't exactly complain last night." Desmond does open his eyes then, begrudgingly. He squints into the light. "The entire camp probably heard you, anyone would think you'd never gotten a blowjob before."
"Please tell me you're joking."
"You can ask them if you like?"
Sawyer stares at the tarp that covers the front of his tent.
"Stay, or go," Desmond grumbles, as if he's reading his mind, and isn't that a disturbing thought. "Just stop talking,"
When he doesn't move right away Desmond makes a noise and pushes one of his legs up and over his own. Sawyer's fairly sure he should be a hell of a lot more annoyed about that, but he has a warm length of thigh sliding across his, suddenly very interested, crotch.
He decides that, come to think of it, there's no terrible rush.