Pick Me Back Up Again - Lost - Charlie/Desmond
Title: Pick Me Back Up Again
Pairing: Charlie/Desmond
Word Count: 5100
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, spanking, mild bondage.
A/N: Written with lostsquee's D/s prompt from day nine, and writing_rainbow's 'bruise' prompt. It's AU from Through The Looking Glass - Charlie doesn't die and is in an established relationship with Desmond (part of the Pick Me Back Up Again 'verse). Dedicated to falafel_fiction. ♥
Summary: "Charlie found himself wishing he could snatch back the words he'd finally worked up the courage to say: he should have kept quiet, kept his dumb ideas to himself, kept his fantasies inside his head where they belonged."
The air disappeared from the room as Desmond looked at him, brown eyes showing nothing but confusion. Charlie found himself wishing he could snatch back the words he'd finally worked up the courage to say: he should have kept quiet, kept his dumb ideas to himself, kept his fantasies inside his head where they belonged. Now Desmond was silent and seemed at least a little bit cautious, while Charlie was blushing so much he felt that his skin might burst into flames at any moment.
"Forget it," he muttered, looking down at the couch he was sitting on. In Desmond's apartment in Glasgow, he should have felt out of place, like he didn't belong. It wasn't as if it was a long journey from Manchester, but it was a world away. It should have been, in any case, but he'd spent so much time here since the rescue that it was like another home for him. How many times had he sat here, pressed against Desmond's side as they talked? It had never been this awkward. He'd said a lot of stupid things in his time, but nothing had ever made him want to simply disappear. "I shouldn't have said anything. Just… Yeah. Just forget it."
"I don't want to," Desmond murmured. His voice purred quietly, causing Charlie's eyes to slip closed as they always did when Desmond used that tone on him. "I'm just… thinking."
"Thinking. Right. Fantastic." Charlie nodded and felt the butterflies in his stomach jerk uncomfortably. 'Thinking' sounded less fantastic and more alarming than anything else. "Want some tea?" he offered.
Desmond's eyes still lingered upon him, thoughtful and distant as he nodded. Charlie doubted if he knew what he was agreeing to, but he stood up and walked through the small apartment. He knew that Desmond could afford somewhere a lot bigger than this - and he also knew that the man wouldn't want to. He liked it. It was 'home'.
He moved to the small kitchen, taking the kettle to the sink and filling it. From the other room he could hear the quiet murmur of the music he and Desmond had been playing in the background, but nothing more than that. Even though that made sense - he'd hardly have found Desmond talking to himself relaxing - his fingers still tapped nervously against the kitchen counter as he waited for the kettle to finish churning and boiling. It seemed to take a short eternity, but by the time he was finished and had two steaming mugs in his hands it still felt like too soon.
In the living room, Desmond was sprawled on the couch when he entered. He placed his mug down in front of him - too much milk and too much sugar; it was hardly 'tea' at all, but that was apparently how Desmond drank it - and sat at the opposite end of the couch, cupping his own mug between his hands and staring down at it. He could feel Desmond's eyes crawling at the side of his face.
"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Desmond asked. He curled his leg onto the sofa after reaching for his drink. Charlie swallowed hard, feeling all too aware of his body. "You're really serious?"
"Wouldn't have said it if I wasn't," Charlie muttered.
"Mm," Desmond agreed, nodded, sipped from his tea. "I don't know if I could… It's not really me, is it?"
"I'm not asking you to dress up in leather and wield a whip, Des," Charlie snorted. The flash of that image through his mind was more than enough to prompt a wicked smile from him. "It'd just… Never mind. Like I said, forget it. It was a stupid suggestion."
"No." Desmond shuffled towards him until he was close enough to place a still tanned arm around Charlie's shoulders. "Stop saying that."
"But-"
"Stop saying that," Desmond repeated - with the slightest hint of steel in his voice before he broke into a grin when Charlie actually silenced. "Could get used to that, I suppose," he murmured, with the devil shining in his eyes before his lips brushed to Charlie's: light, teasing, gentle. Not enough. Desmond was always too careful with him, like he was going to fucking break at any second. It'd been that way ever since the incident in the underwater hatch, ever since Charlie had so narrowly escaped death.
He broke away and settled down against Desmond, head resting against his shoulder while he tried to remember not to spill scalding hot tea on their laps. "Better not 'get used to that'," he grumbled. "This is a one-night-only deal."
Desmond murmured something low and soothing: Charlie couldn't make out the words and didn't particularly want to try. Desmond's arm crept around his shoulders, the music continued to play quietly, and he was here in Scotland for one entire week before it was time to return home to that manic life. It was time to relax, time to unwind - and when Desmond whispered, "I'll think about it," into his ear, Charlie realised there might just be a flicker of excitement in this cosy week as well.
*
They didn't talk about it for a few days - Charlie allowed himself to think that it was forgotten about, and instead made Desmond show him around Glasgow once again. They'd already visited the tourist traps there, but walking around with his hand linked with Desmond's was something Charlie didn't think he'd ever get bored of. A real, proper, respectable relationship… It was similar to being with Lucy again, but this time he wasn't lying, he wasn't cheating, he wasn't stealing. He was himself.
And, as himself, he'd been glad to believe that the subject had been dropped - until he realised that Desmond's previous searches on Google seemed to include terms such as 'BDSM for beginners' and 'D/s help'.
"Bloody hell," Charlie whispered to himself, quickly navigating away from that page. He leaned back in his chair, an unsure grin on his face - were they really going to try this?
*
The film they were watching was clichéd and badly acted, but with Desmond's hand absently stroking through Charlie's hair he couldn't say he minded. They hadn't exactly chosen it for its cinematic excellence, after all. Charlie had just wanted an excuse to lie around and make fun of people with him. Bad acting seemed as good a reason to do that as any.
He'd be going back to Manchester on Monday: and it was always now, at the end of the weekend, that he wondered why he bothered. Why didn't he just move up here? But Claire and Aaron were down in Manchester too. Even if he and Claire were no longer a couple and hadn't been for a long while, the three of them were still a family. They'd been through too much not to be.
"Charlie," Desmond said - and there was that tone in his voice, the tone that implied they were about to talk about something Charlie didn't want to. "What you asked me about a few nights ago…" And they both knew what he meant by that, even if Charlie wished he didn't. He could already feel his face beginning to heat again. "Mind if I ask why?"
Charlie snorted and tried to remain concentrated on the film. "Des, just drop it. I should've kept my mouth shut."
Yet Desmond's hand tightened in his hair - not enough to hurt, not nearly enough, but it was enough to catch and hold Charlie's attention. He pulled slowly, tilting Charlie's hand to look at him. His eyes seemed darker than ever and though the nerves showed on his face there was a glimmer of confidence there as well. "I asked you a question," he said. "Why do you want me to do this?"
Charlie's heart hammered but he had to remain calm: if they were really doing this, if Desmond was even considering it, then panicking right now might scare him off again. Desmond's hand stayed tense in his hair and Charlie scrambled for an answer. "I trust you," he said. "More than anyone I've ever met. I mean, just… I've trusted you with my life, Des. Literally trusted you with my life more times than I'm comfortable with, so why not this?"
Desmond's hand relaxed again and he nodded. "Suppose that makes sense," he murmured.
"Des, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to," Charlie said. "It was just a suggestion."
With a glimmer of a smile, indulgent and warm, Desmond leaned down to kiss him quiet - and it was too nice, too sweet, too understanding. Sometimes Charlie felt like he was just waiting for the moment that Desmond decided he'd been an idiot not to reunite with Penny. Those two were perfect together. Charlie was just… second best. As always.
"We're doing this," Desmond said. "I just need you to talk to me first - tell me what it is you want."
The movie continued to play on the television, but Charlie reached for the remote to turn the sound down. "Doesn't that kinda defeat the whole purpose?" he said. "If I'm telling you what I want you to do then…"
"Yeah, I know," Desmond sighed. "Just give me some pointers- your boundaries, brother."
"Oh…" Charlie took a breath quietly, but he'd never thought this far ahead before. He'd never really thought that Desmond would actually want to do it with him. "Well. Um…"
"Do you-" Desmond broke off to swear quietly under his breath, and when he continued speaking he was no longer meeting Charlie's eyes. "Do you want me to hurt you?"
"Do I… Christ. I don't know." He brushed a hand over his face, looking for the privacy to think, but the butterflies in his stomach were downright aggressive by now. 'Thinking' seemed impossible. "Maybe?"
"Okay," Desmond said, seemingly willing to at least accept a 'maybe' for now. "And would you want me to…" He waved his hands in a tiny gesture that still seemed faintly alarming. "Restrain you at all?"
The heat Charlie felt on his skin at the idea of that couldn't just be from embarrassment: because even if he remembered being tied to the chair in the underwater hatch, even if he remembered the harsh pain in his face as Bonnie beat him, the idea of it being Desmond in control in that situation was more than enough to chase away his nerves.
He heard Desmond chuckling and felt the ghostly touch of his fingertips at the nape of his neck. "Guess that's all the answer I need for that one," Desmond observed, with a tickling laugh as he drew Charlie closer to him. "Tomorrow," he promised.
Charlie shivered, nodded, and told himself he could last that long.
*
It was the following evening, kneeling on the carpet with his wrists tied behind his back, that he really found himself questioning just how long he'd manage to last. Desmond had barely touched him yet and already it felt like too much, not enough. His wrists were bound with an old tie they'd found at the back of Desmond's closet: he never needed to suit up these days, not in this life, but it kept Charlie's arms tied fast and secure.
On his knees, feeling the blue carpet beneath his bare skin, Charlie looked up to find Desmond watching him from the other side of the room. He leant back against the wall, face impassive and his arms folded over his chest. With Desmond fully dressed though without his shoes or socks, seeming to be wearing even more layers than normal, Charlie was left with a crawling sense of unease and vulnerability over his naked skin. He breathed quietly through his nose, waiting.
"Come over here, Charlie," Desmond said eventually, his voice hushed. If he was as nervous as Charlie was, he didn't show it. Yet as Charlie started to get to his feet in order to approach, Desmond shook his head. "I didn't say you could get up, did I?"
Charlie paused, his very breath freezing, before he nodded and returned to his knees once more. This was going to take even more getting used to than he'd imagined - he was used to being the driving force here, the active one who always got what he wanted. That's kind of the whole point, he reminded himself, but he still felt the tingle of nerves down his spine as he shuffled forward on his knees. Behind his back, his arms could offer no assistance with his balance yet he could feel Desmond watching him so carefully, as if one stumble from walking on his knees across a carpet would actually hurt him.
When he was close enough, kneeling by Desmond's feet, Desmond's hand moved to stroke through his hair, pushing the blond mess back from Charlie's face with the same thoughtful affection you'd give to any pet. "You do what I say tonight," Desmond said, "and only what I say. Right?"
Charlie nodded. "Right, Des. I got it."
"Sir," Desmond corrected, with a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. "Call me sir."
Charlie struggled not to raise an eyebrow and bit back any comments about Desmond's time in the army: now wasn't the time. He wasn't going to screw this up because he was hopelessly addicted to snarking. "Yes, sir," he said, looking up to meet Desmond's gaze. Desmond smirked at him and even rolled his eyes, and this was- Yeah. This was nice. This was exactly what he'd been wanting.
He could have happily stayed there all night, kneeling in front of him with that gentle hand threading through his hair, but he had to pay attention when Desmond spoke again. "Unzip my trousers, Charlie," he ordered - and, fuck, that should have been such an easy thing to accomplish, but with his hands tied behind his back Charlie could only look up at Desmond in curious alarm. "You'll find a way."
Charlie agreed: he would, if Desmond told him to then he would. He paused uncomfortably, knowing that he was probably about to make a fool of himself: and if he did, then he at least had the chance that Desmond would take pity on him. Unstable, he leaned forward to take the zipper between his teeth, relieved to find out that Desmond had already undone the button. The top of the denim hung loose already, waiting for him to ease it down.
Desmond's breathing fluttered shallowly as Charlie managed to tug the zip with his teeth, pulling it down so slowly. He murmured quietly encouraging phrases under his breath that made Charlie's eyes close even when he should have been concentrating on getting this done. Desmond made it too difficult.
He managed to pull it down low enough to realise Desmond wasn't wearing anything underneath: he was greeted with bare skin and a tantalising hardness. A ripple of Desmond's hips caused the jeans to drop to the floor. His hand still gripped Charlie's hair gently as he stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. "Thank you," he said, but with his eyes focused on Desmond's cock Charlie could hardly pay attention. Desmond's hand lowered to cup his cheek, with his thumb swiping over Charlie's bottom lip. "I think you know what I want now, don't you?"
Charlie nodded: watching Desmond, he wanted it too. So badly he wanted to take him inside his mouth, to hear Desmond's moans telling him that he was doing it right, to feel Desmond's hand tightening as he began to lose control.
"Say it," Desmond asked. "Say what you're going to do."
Charlie looked away from him, but he was only allowed that luxury for a few short moments before Desmond's hand guided his face back up to look at him. Charlie's skin was burning all over and he squirmed slightly in the restraints.
"Say it," Desmond repeated.
And he could get out of this - he just had to utter one word they'd agreed on long before the tie had been placed around his wrists and Desmond would stop - but Charlie wet his lips and swallowed. "I'm going to suck your…" He wished he could gesture. This was too difficult, too embarrassing. He had no idea how he could be this embarrassed over a few words when he was kneeling there without a stitch covering him, but he certainly managed.
"Yeah? My what?"
Feeling like the blush had reached every inch of him, Charlie knew Desmond had to be doing this on purpose. "I'm going to suck your cock," he gritted out.
Desmond smiled - a nice smile, a soft smile, a smile that didn't belong anywhere near what they were doing - and Charlie felt a little of his blush fade away. It shouldn't have been a big deal to say something like that: he'd been doing it for months anyway, even if he'd never been with, or wanted to be with, a man before Desmond had tumbled haphazardly into his life. "Yeah," Desmond confirmed. "So get on with it."
His hand once more found its grip in Charlie's hair - he was really going to have to ask Desmond about his obsession with it - and he yanked him forward, rougher than he ever would have been before. Balanced precariously, Charlie fought not to fall even as he felt the hot tip of Desmond's dick against his mouth. He breathed shallowly through his nose and could smell Desmond's scent as surely as he could taste him on his lips. Listening, he heard Desmond murmuring instructions to him again and opened his mouth, his tongue running over the head.
Desmond's head fell back against the wall he was leaning against with a faint thud and he moaned, a low-down, far-back sound that sent a shiver down Charlie's spine. "God," Desmond gasped, his hips shifting to demand more. Charlie obliged as best he could - teeth hidden, tongue wet, mouth warm. He could feel the material from Desmond's shirt brushing by his face. Another groan sounded and Desmond's hips moved forward again, just a little, just enough, just to see if Charlie could take it.
Charlie could sense the hesitation, the will to check if this was alright, and knew that under any other circumstances Desmond would ask first, and ask again, and double-check a ridiculous number of times - but right now, bound in front of him and committed to doing anything Desmond wanted to, Charlie let his eyes close and relaxed as much as he was able. He was ready when Desmond thrust forward, his cock feeling larger than Charlie remembered as it slid far into his mouth before Desmond pulled back with a grunt. With no clear reason why Charlie found himself moaning too - wanting this, wanting more.
He could sense Desmond watching him again, too careful and too safe. He didn't want that. He needed Desmond to get over the fears that the island had left him with about Charlie's safety. That was behind them now. Desmond hadn't had a single flash in years. He moaned again, muffled, and behind his back his hands formed desperate fists as Desmond nodded to himself. His hand moved to the back of Charlie's head, holding him firm; Charlie felt a nervous tremor run down his spine but there was hardly time to be anxious.
Desmond slammed forward and his jaw ached, he wanted to gag, he wanted to scream. His nails dug into the flesh of his palm and he could feel the tie around his wrists draping down and brushing against his bare legs. His mouth felt too full and too raw, but he closed his eyes, determined to take this. He wouldn't freak out. He refused to.
He could hear his name tumbling again and again from Desmond's lips, as if he couldn't believe he was really doing this. It was painful and uncomfortable, but Charlie was still unbearably hard. Desmond's breath came in short and shallow pants - it wouldn't be long now, couldn't be - but before he lost control completely he used his grip in Charlie's hair to pull him off his cock and shove him back.
Charlie nearly lost his balance and tumbled back a little, choking for breath now that air swirled easily into his lungs. Desmond stayed against the wall, breathing heavily too. His cheeks had turned red and his erection stood hard, wet with saliva. Silence passed as they caught their breath and Charlie wondered what came next.
Desmond pointed towards the edge of the couch, as he unbuttoned his shirt with his other hand. "Get up," he said. "I want you leaning over the armrest."
Charlie nodded and stood up shakily, without bothering to try and talk. His throat felt raw and he felt sure his voice would be hoarse when he spoke. His legs felt unsteady but he walked to where he'd been instructed. Leaning with his arms behind his back was ungainly, but he rested on his stomach, face pressed down against the sofa as he listened to Desmond moving behind him.
The warm hand that crept up his back allowed a slow sigh to leave Charlie's mouth. Desmond leaned down, soft lips pressed to the nape of his neck before he moved to his ear, teeth grazing. He was tight against him, the heat of him warming Charlie's skin, and he could feel that tempting hardness pressed by the cleft of his ass. "Are you doing alright, brother?" Desmond whispered, his hand stroking down Charlie's bound arm.
Charlie was never going to be able to tell Desmond that it was just a little creepy to keep calling him that during sex, but he smiled. "Doing fine, Des," he panted. "Keep going."
Desmond's hand found his and squeezed it for a second, only letting go when Charlie smiled and squeezed back - reassured that this was all alright, that it was still them, that nothing bad could possibly happen to him under Desmond's watch. Desmond pulled his hand away from his and touched his ass instead, his hand smoothing over the cheek. "Can't wait to fuck you again," he said: and Charlie didn't think he'd ever understand how Desmond's voice could continue to sound so soft when he talked like that.
"Please," Charlie gasped. Pressed over the couch he felt completely helpless, completely under Desmond's control. "Please, Des, just-"
He silenced as Desmond's hand pulled back before snapping forward to slap the side of his ass once. The sharp sound was impossibly loud in their living room. Spikes of pain still stung through his skin, and Charlie found that his breathing had frozen from the tingling shock of that. Even Desmond didn't speak at first, his hand staying immobile where it had landed. Charlie's eyes stayed open, staring at the material of the couch.
"I didn't say you could talk," Desmond said with a shiver.
Charlie stayed perfectly still for a few moments, feeling the sting beginning to fade a little. His arms felt stiff by now from being held in the same position for far too long, but he found himself wanting to speak again - wanting to break this rule just so Desmond would repeat the action once more. He bit at his bottom lip for a second, fighting back the impulse as Desmond's hand smoothed over the red mark he'd left behind there.
"You liked that?" Desmond asked, with just a hint of incredulity buried behind the question. Charlie's eyes closed. Desmond's fingers brushed the centre of Charlie's ass, over his entrance, feather-light and all too much. He fought hard not to cry out and talk again. "Want me to do it again?"
"Yes," Charlie breathed, knowing he could at least answer a direct question. "Yes, god yes."
The slap was harder this time, enough to make Charlie's body jerk against the couch he was leaning over. He cried out, the painful sting echoing through him. His skin felt like it was burning again.
"Sir," Desmond reminded him. "Call me sir." He paused as his hand traced over the skin he'd just hit, so soft and gentle. "I'm going to hit you five more times," he said decisively. His voice barely wavered. "And I want you to thank me each time. Alright?"
"Yeah," Charlie said, blinking repeatedly to try and clear his mind. "Yes, sir."
A second passed before Desmond hit him again - and it was hard, painful, perfect. The thud of his hand shot through Charlie's entire body and his mind spun, leaving him stuttering out the gratitude Desmond had asked for. Desmond didn’t stop this time to sooth away the marks or to allow the sting to fade. The second slap slammed down with the speed of a whip, leaving Charlie crying out as his eyes stayed tightly shut. Another, another.
One more, he reminded himself, while wondering if he'd be able to sit down properly tomorrow, wondering if he'd have bruises to show for this, wondering how the hell he was supposed to stay in one seat for the entire train journey back to Manchester. One more, one more, one more.
"Thank you," he gasped - the words had barely slipped from his mouth before the fifth and final blow smacked into him. The sound was as sharp and clear as breaking glass, punctuated by Charlie's hoarse yell. Desmond's hand stayed against his skin this time, his fingers stroking him slowly, softly. "Thank you," he whispered, resting his sweat-soaked forehead against the couch. "Thank you."
Desmond's lips pressed against the inside of his wrist, just above where he was bound by the tight tie. "You're welcome," Desmond murmured with a smile in his voice. He stood up again. Charlie could hear the shuffling sounds of movement behind him, footsteps and bottle caps, but he couldn't find the energy or willpower to raise his head to find out what Desmond was doing.
The answer was fairly self-evident when two slick fingers pressed between his ass cheeks, searching and stretching. Charlie groaned quietly, spreading his legs apart for him. His dick was hard and ready for release, ready for anything Desmond was willing to give him, but he found it difficult to make himself move, to make himself more active. When he stirred, Desmond hushed him and his other hand moved to the small of his back and rested there, a wordless demand for him to stay how he was.
He surrendered to it, to the strain in his shoulders and the tightness around his wrists and the sting on his ass. Desmond's digits slipped out of him: when he groaned quietly at the sudden loss he heard Desmond hushing him again, felt him stroking the skin on his back and fell silent again, too peaceful already. He heard the rip of the condom packet then there was a bluntness by his entrance made him bite his bottom lip as Desmond pressed inside him - slow and gentle, careful, just like normal except Charlie's hands were bound behind his back, the skin of his right cheek was red with the reminder of Desmond's hand and they were both so ragged, so desperate, so complete. Desmond slid inside him like he belonged there, and Charlie could only sigh and groan in contentment.
Desmond's hand moved to rest on his hip, pulling him back enough from the couch so that his other hand could slip around to grasp his erection in a sure and steady grip. "You're okay?" he checked again. "You're definitely okay?"
"Yeah," Charlie whispered, not surprised by the way his breath caught in his throat. "I'm okay."
Desmond's lips pressed against his neck again and Charlie felt him breathing in deeply, absorbing the scent of his hair before he shifted and Charlie could feel himself moaning at the sensation as he pulled back, almost out of him. From there it was easy to find their rhythm with each other; no rush, but so intense, too intense. Charlie was never sure if he wanted to scream or start crying when Desmond moved with him. His chest felt tight and he didn't know why.
The muscles in his legs trembled with tension, but Desmond was there to hold him up, to keep him steady, to keep him safe. He could feel the heat curling in his belly, stronger with every second. His eyes were so tightly closed, blacking the world out. Desmond's voice invaded his senses with whispered words Charlie clung onto desperately. "Des…" he panted, but it was too difficult to focus and much too difficult to hold on - as soon as he heard Desmond's reply, urging him to let go, he felt his body tense and cried out as he spilled against the side of the couch and over Desmond's fingers.
His body shook, too intense, and his mind spun in lazy circles. He could feel the way Desmond's thrusts into him became faster and more urgent, both hands on his hips now hard enough that he'd have marks there to treasure tomorrow. His mind was white and when Desmond froze and held him close, grunting as he came, he moaned with him even if he was too spent to enjoy it.
He heard and felt Desmond chuckling quietly as he pulled out then held him close, arms finding their way around his waist in a twisted bear hug. His arms were trapped between them but Charlie could only smile lazily, finding it impossible to care as they moved to collapse down onto the couch. Their smiles didn't fade, not even when Desmond gestured at his arms, ready to release him.
His fingers felt warm as they fumbled with the tightened knot, and Charlie's wrists came apart with stiff tension when Desmond finally managed to pull away the material and chuck the tie down to the ground. He tugged Charlie towards him again and allowed him to rest his head against his chest as they both struggled to catch their breath. Charlie felt Desmond's lips press to the top of his head in a lazy kiss. "Was that okay?" he asked: every drop of the commanding tone that had possessed him had leaked away, leaving only his Desmond in its place.
Charlie grinned and rubbed at his wrist, taking in the faint bruises as he shifted where he sat to protect the spanked side of his bare ass. He chuckled and nodded. "Yeah," he whispered, settling down even if the air was beginning to feel cold on his sweat-lined skin. "You were bloody perfect."
Desmond's hand trailed soft lines down his arm, warming him up and sending shivers down his spine. He had to go home tomorrow and wouldn't see Desmond for weeks - but the bruises would remain to haunt him with these memories.
Pairing: Charlie/Desmond
Word Count: 5100
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, spanking, mild bondage.
A/N: Written with lostsquee's D/s prompt from day nine, and writing_rainbow's 'bruise' prompt. It's AU from Through The Looking Glass - Charlie doesn't die and is in an established relationship with Desmond (part of the Pick Me Back Up Again 'verse). Dedicated to falafel_fiction. ♥
Summary: "Charlie found himself wishing he could snatch back the words he'd finally worked up the courage to say: he should have kept quiet, kept his dumb ideas to himself, kept his fantasies inside his head where they belonged."
The air disappeared from the room as Desmond looked at him, brown eyes showing nothing but confusion. Charlie found himself wishing he could snatch back the words he'd finally worked up the courage to say: he should have kept quiet, kept his dumb ideas to himself, kept his fantasies inside his head where they belonged. Now Desmond was silent and seemed at least a little bit cautious, while Charlie was blushing so much he felt that his skin might burst into flames at any moment.
"Forget it," he muttered, looking down at the couch he was sitting on. In Desmond's apartment in Glasgow, he should have felt out of place, like he didn't belong. It wasn't as if it was a long journey from Manchester, but it was a world away. It should have been, in any case, but he'd spent so much time here since the rescue that it was like another home for him. How many times had he sat here, pressed against Desmond's side as they talked? It had never been this awkward. He'd said a lot of stupid things in his time, but nothing had ever made him want to simply disappear. "I shouldn't have said anything. Just… Yeah. Just forget it."
"I don't want to," Desmond murmured. His voice purred quietly, causing Charlie's eyes to slip closed as they always did when Desmond used that tone on him. "I'm just… thinking."
"Thinking. Right. Fantastic." Charlie nodded and felt the butterflies in his stomach jerk uncomfortably. 'Thinking' sounded less fantastic and more alarming than anything else. "Want some tea?" he offered.
Desmond's eyes still lingered upon him, thoughtful and distant as he nodded. Charlie doubted if he knew what he was agreeing to, but he stood up and walked through the small apartment. He knew that Desmond could afford somewhere a lot bigger than this - and he also knew that the man wouldn't want to. He liked it. It was 'home'.
He moved to the small kitchen, taking the kettle to the sink and filling it. From the other room he could hear the quiet murmur of the music he and Desmond had been playing in the background, but nothing more than that. Even though that made sense - he'd hardly have found Desmond talking to himself relaxing - his fingers still tapped nervously against the kitchen counter as he waited for the kettle to finish churning and boiling. It seemed to take a short eternity, but by the time he was finished and had two steaming mugs in his hands it still felt like too soon.
In the living room, Desmond was sprawled on the couch when he entered. He placed his mug down in front of him - too much milk and too much sugar; it was hardly 'tea' at all, but that was apparently how Desmond drank it - and sat at the opposite end of the couch, cupping his own mug between his hands and staring down at it. He could feel Desmond's eyes crawling at the side of his face.
"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Desmond asked. He curled his leg onto the sofa after reaching for his drink. Charlie swallowed hard, feeling all too aware of his body. "You're really serious?"
"Wouldn't have said it if I wasn't," Charlie muttered.
"Mm," Desmond agreed, nodded, sipped from his tea. "I don't know if I could… It's not really me, is it?"
"I'm not asking you to dress up in leather and wield a whip, Des," Charlie snorted. The flash of that image through his mind was more than enough to prompt a wicked smile from him. "It'd just… Never mind. Like I said, forget it. It was a stupid suggestion."
"No." Desmond shuffled towards him until he was close enough to place a still tanned arm around Charlie's shoulders. "Stop saying that."
"But-"
"Stop saying that," Desmond repeated - with the slightest hint of steel in his voice before he broke into a grin when Charlie actually silenced. "Could get used to that, I suppose," he murmured, with the devil shining in his eyes before his lips brushed to Charlie's: light, teasing, gentle. Not enough. Desmond was always too careful with him, like he was going to fucking break at any second. It'd been that way ever since the incident in the underwater hatch, ever since Charlie had so narrowly escaped death.
He broke away and settled down against Desmond, head resting against his shoulder while he tried to remember not to spill scalding hot tea on their laps. "Better not 'get used to that'," he grumbled. "This is a one-night-only deal."
Desmond murmured something low and soothing: Charlie couldn't make out the words and didn't particularly want to try. Desmond's arm crept around his shoulders, the music continued to play quietly, and he was here in Scotland for one entire week before it was time to return home to that manic life. It was time to relax, time to unwind - and when Desmond whispered, "I'll think about it," into his ear, Charlie realised there might just be a flicker of excitement in this cosy week as well.
*
They didn't talk about it for a few days - Charlie allowed himself to think that it was forgotten about, and instead made Desmond show him around Glasgow once again. They'd already visited the tourist traps there, but walking around with his hand linked with Desmond's was something Charlie didn't think he'd ever get bored of. A real, proper, respectable relationship… It was similar to being with Lucy again, but this time he wasn't lying, he wasn't cheating, he wasn't stealing. He was himself.
And, as himself, he'd been glad to believe that the subject had been dropped - until he realised that Desmond's previous searches on Google seemed to include terms such as 'BDSM for beginners' and 'D/s help'.
"Bloody hell," Charlie whispered to himself, quickly navigating away from that page. He leaned back in his chair, an unsure grin on his face - were they really going to try this?
*
The film they were watching was clichéd and badly acted, but with Desmond's hand absently stroking through Charlie's hair he couldn't say he minded. They hadn't exactly chosen it for its cinematic excellence, after all. Charlie had just wanted an excuse to lie around and make fun of people with him. Bad acting seemed as good a reason to do that as any.
He'd be going back to Manchester on Monday: and it was always now, at the end of the weekend, that he wondered why he bothered. Why didn't he just move up here? But Claire and Aaron were down in Manchester too. Even if he and Claire were no longer a couple and hadn't been for a long while, the three of them were still a family. They'd been through too much not to be.
"Charlie," Desmond said - and there was that tone in his voice, the tone that implied they were about to talk about something Charlie didn't want to. "What you asked me about a few nights ago…" And they both knew what he meant by that, even if Charlie wished he didn't. He could already feel his face beginning to heat again. "Mind if I ask why?"
Charlie snorted and tried to remain concentrated on the film. "Des, just drop it. I should've kept my mouth shut."
Yet Desmond's hand tightened in his hair - not enough to hurt, not nearly enough, but it was enough to catch and hold Charlie's attention. He pulled slowly, tilting Charlie's hand to look at him. His eyes seemed darker than ever and though the nerves showed on his face there was a glimmer of confidence there as well. "I asked you a question," he said. "Why do you want me to do this?"
Charlie's heart hammered but he had to remain calm: if they were really doing this, if Desmond was even considering it, then panicking right now might scare him off again. Desmond's hand stayed tense in his hair and Charlie scrambled for an answer. "I trust you," he said. "More than anyone I've ever met. I mean, just… I've trusted you with my life, Des. Literally trusted you with my life more times than I'm comfortable with, so why not this?"
Desmond's hand relaxed again and he nodded. "Suppose that makes sense," he murmured.
"Des, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to," Charlie said. "It was just a suggestion."
With a glimmer of a smile, indulgent and warm, Desmond leaned down to kiss him quiet - and it was too nice, too sweet, too understanding. Sometimes Charlie felt like he was just waiting for the moment that Desmond decided he'd been an idiot not to reunite with Penny. Those two were perfect together. Charlie was just… second best. As always.
"We're doing this," Desmond said. "I just need you to talk to me first - tell me what it is you want."
The movie continued to play on the television, but Charlie reached for the remote to turn the sound down. "Doesn't that kinda defeat the whole purpose?" he said. "If I'm telling you what I want you to do then…"
"Yeah, I know," Desmond sighed. "Just give me some pointers- your boundaries, brother."
"Oh…" Charlie took a breath quietly, but he'd never thought this far ahead before. He'd never really thought that Desmond would actually want to do it with him. "Well. Um…"
"Do you-" Desmond broke off to swear quietly under his breath, and when he continued speaking he was no longer meeting Charlie's eyes. "Do you want me to hurt you?"
"Do I… Christ. I don't know." He brushed a hand over his face, looking for the privacy to think, but the butterflies in his stomach were downright aggressive by now. 'Thinking' seemed impossible. "Maybe?"
"Okay," Desmond said, seemingly willing to at least accept a 'maybe' for now. "And would you want me to…" He waved his hands in a tiny gesture that still seemed faintly alarming. "Restrain you at all?"
The heat Charlie felt on his skin at the idea of that couldn't just be from embarrassment: because even if he remembered being tied to the chair in the underwater hatch, even if he remembered the harsh pain in his face as Bonnie beat him, the idea of it being Desmond in control in that situation was more than enough to chase away his nerves.
He heard Desmond chuckling and felt the ghostly touch of his fingertips at the nape of his neck. "Guess that's all the answer I need for that one," Desmond observed, with a tickling laugh as he drew Charlie closer to him. "Tomorrow," he promised.
Charlie shivered, nodded, and told himself he could last that long.
*
It was the following evening, kneeling on the carpet with his wrists tied behind his back, that he really found himself questioning just how long he'd manage to last. Desmond had barely touched him yet and already it felt like too much, not enough. His wrists were bound with an old tie they'd found at the back of Desmond's closet: he never needed to suit up these days, not in this life, but it kept Charlie's arms tied fast and secure.
On his knees, feeling the blue carpet beneath his bare skin, Charlie looked up to find Desmond watching him from the other side of the room. He leant back against the wall, face impassive and his arms folded over his chest. With Desmond fully dressed though without his shoes or socks, seeming to be wearing even more layers than normal, Charlie was left with a crawling sense of unease and vulnerability over his naked skin. He breathed quietly through his nose, waiting.
"Come over here, Charlie," Desmond said eventually, his voice hushed. If he was as nervous as Charlie was, he didn't show it. Yet as Charlie started to get to his feet in order to approach, Desmond shook his head. "I didn't say you could get up, did I?"
Charlie paused, his very breath freezing, before he nodded and returned to his knees once more. This was going to take even more getting used to than he'd imagined - he was used to being the driving force here, the active one who always got what he wanted. That's kind of the whole point, he reminded himself, but he still felt the tingle of nerves down his spine as he shuffled forward on his knees. Behind his back, his arms could offer no assistance with his balance yet he could feel Desmond watching him so carefully, as if one stumble from walking on his knees across a carpet would actually hurt him.
When he was close enough, kneeling by Desmond's feet, Desmond's hand moved to stroke through his hair, pushing the blond mess back from Charlie's face with the same thoughtful affection you'd give to any pet. "You do what I say tonight," Desmond said, "and only what I say. Right?"
Charlie nodded. "Right, Des. I got it."
"Sir," Desmond corrected, with a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. "Call me sir."
Charlie struggled not to raise an eyebrow and bit back any comments about Desmond's time in the army: now wasn't the time. He wasn't going to screw this up because he was hopelessly addicted to snarking. "Yes, sir," he said, looking up to meet Desmond's gaze. Desmond smirked at him and even rolled his eyes, and this was- Yeah. This was nice. This was exactly what he'd been wanting.
He could have happily stayed there all night, kneeling in front of him with that gentle hand threading through his hair, but he had to pay attention when Desmond spoke again. "Unzip my trousers, Charlie," he ordered - and, fuck, that should have been such an easy thing to accomplish, but with his hands tied behind his back Charlie could only look up at Desmond in curious alarm. "You'll find a way."
Charlie agreed: he would, if Desmond told him to then he would. He paused uncomfortably, knowing that he was probably about to make a fool of himself: and if he did, then he at least had the chance that Desmond would take pity on him. Unstable, he leaned forward to take the zipper between his teeth, relieved to find out that Desmond had already undone the button. The top of the denim hung loose already, waiting for him to ease it down.
Desmond's breathing fluttered shallowly as Charlie managed to tug the zip with his teeth, pulling it down so slowly. He murmured quietly encouraging phrases under his breath that made Charlie's eyes close even when he should have been concentrating on getting this done. Desmond made it too difficult.
He managed to pull it down low enough to realise Desmond wasn't wearing anything underneath: he was greeted with bare skin and a tantalising hardness. A ripple of Desmond's hips caused the jeans to drop to the floor. His hand still gripped Charlie's hair gently as he stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. "Thank you," he said, but with his eyes focused on Desmond's cock Charlie could hardly pay attention. Desmond's hand lowered to cup his cheek, with his thumb swiping over Charlie's bottom lip. "I think you know what I want now, don't you?"
Charlie nodded: watching Desmond, he wanted it too. So badly he wanted to take him inside his mouth, to hear Desmond's moans telling him that he was doing it right, to feel Desmond's hand tightening as he began to lose control.
"Say it," Desmond asked. "Say what you're going to do."
Charlie looked away from him, but he was only allowed that luxury for a few short moments before Desmond's hand guided his face back up to look at him. Charlie's skin was burning all over and he squirmed slightly in the restraints.
"Say it," Desmond repeated.
And he could get out of this - he just had to utter one word they'd agreed on long before the tie had been placed around his wrists and Desmond would stop - but Charlie wet his lips and swallowed. "I'm going to suck your…" He wished he could gesture. This was too difficult, too embarrassing. He had no idea how he could be this embarrassed over a few words when he was kneeling there without a stitch covering him, but he certainly managed.
"Yeah? My what?"
Feeling like the blush had reached every inch of him, Charlie knew Desmond had to be doing this on purpose. "I'm going to suck your cock," he gritted out.
Desmond smiled - a nice smile, a soft smile, a smile that didn't belong anywhere near what they were doing - and Charlie felt a little of his blush fade away. It shouldn't have been a big deal to say something like that: he'd been doing it for months anyway, even if he'd never been with, or wanted to be with, a man before Desmond had tumbled haphazardly into his life. "Yeah," Desmond confirmed. "So get on with it."
His hand once more found its grip in Charlie's hair - he was really going to have to ask Desmond about his obsession with it - and he yanked him forward, rougher than he ever would have been before. Balanced precariously, Charlie fought not to fall even as he felt the hot tip of Desmond's dick against his mouth. He breathed shallowly through his nose and could smell Desmond's scent as surely as he could taste him on his lips. Listening, he heard Desmond murmuring instructions to him again and opened his mouth, his tongue running over the head.
Desmond's head fell back against the wall he was leaning against with a faint thud and he moaned, a low-down, far-back sound that sent a shiver down Charlie's spine. "God," Desmond gasped, his hips shifting to demand more. Charlie obliged as best he could - teeth hidden, tongue wet, mouth warm. He could feel the material from Desmond's shirt brushing by his face. Another groan sounded and Desmond's hips moved forward again, just a little, just enough, just to see if Charlie could take it.
Charlie could sense the hesitation, the will to check if this was alright, and knew that under any other circumstances Desmond would ask first, and ask again, and double-check a ridiculous number of times - but right now, bound in front of him and committed to doing anything Desmond wanted to, Charlie let his eyes close and relaxed as much as he was able. He was ready when Desmond thrust forward, his cock feeling larger than Charlie remembered as it slid far into his mouth before Desmond pulled back with a grunt. With no clear reason why Charlie found himself moaning too - wanting this, wanting more.
He could sense Desmond watching him again, too careful and too safe. He didn't want that. He needed Desmond to get over the fears that the island had left him with about Charlie's safety. That was behind them now. Desmond hadn't had a single flash in years. He moaned again, muffled, and behind his back his hands formed desperate fists as Desmond nodded to himself. His hand moved to the back of Charlie's head, holding him firm; Charlie felt a nervous tremor run down his spine but there was hardly time to be anxious.
Desmond slammed forward and his jaw ached, he wanted to gag, he wanted to scream. His nails dug into the flesh of his palm and he could feel the tie around his wrists draping down and brushing against his bare legs. His mouth felt too full and too raw, but he closed his eyes, determined to take this. He wouldn't freak out. He refused to.
He could hear his name tumbling again and again from Desmond's lips, as if he couldn't believe he was really doing this. It was painful and uncomfortable, but Charlie was still unbearably hard. Desmond's breath came in short and shallow pants - it wouldn't be long now, couldn't be - but before he lost control completely he used his grip in Charlie's hair to pull him off his cock and shove him back.
Charlie nearly lost his balance and tumbled back a little, choking for breath now that air swirled easily into his lungs. Desmond stayed against the wall, breathing heavily too. His cheeks had turned red and his erection stood hard, wet with saliva. Silence passed as they caught their breath and Charlie wondered what came next.
Desmond pointed towards the edge of the couch, as he unbuttoned his shirt with his other hand. "Get up," he said. "I want you leaning over the armrest."
Charlie nodded and stood up shakily, without bothering to try and talk. His throat felt raw and he felt sure his voice would be hoarse when he spoke. His legs felt unsteady but he walked to where he'd been instructed. Leaning with his arms behind his back was ungainly, but he rested on his stomach, face pressed down against the sofa as he listened to Desmond moving behind him.
The warm hand that crept up his back allowed a slow sigh to leave Charlie's mouth. Desmond leaned down, soft lips pressed to the nape of his neck before he moved to his ear, teeth grazing. He was tight against him, the heat of him warming Charlie's skin, and he could feel that tempting hardness pressed by the cleft of his ass. "Are you doing alright, brother?" Desmond whispered, his hand stroking down Charlie's bound arm.
Charlie was never going to be able to tell Desmond that it was just a little creepy to keep calling him that during sex, but he smiled. "Doing fine, Des," he panted. "Keep going."
Desmond's hand found his and squeezed it for a second, only letting go when Charlie smiled and squeezed back - reassured that this was all alright, that it was still them, that nothing bad could possibly happen to him under Desmond's watch. Desmond pulled his hand away from his and touched his ass instead, his hand smoothing over the cheek. "Can't wait to fuck you again," he said: and Charlie didn't think he'd ever understand how Desmond's voice could continue to sound so soft when he talked like that.
"Please," Charlie gasped. Pressed over the couch he felt completely helpless, completely under Desmond's control. "Please, Des, just-"
He silenced as Desmond's hand pulled back before snapping forward to slap the side of his ass once. The sharp sound was impossibly loud in their living room. Spikes of pain still stung through his skin, and Charlie found that his breathing had frozen from the tingling shock of that. Even Desmond didn't speak at first, his hand staying immobile where it had landed. Charlie's eyes stayed open, staring at the material of the couch.
"I didn't say you could talk," Desmond said with a shiver.
Charlie stayed perfectly still for a few moments, feeling the sting beginning to fade a little. His arms felt stiff by now from being held in the same position for far too long, but he found himself wanting to speak again - wanting to break this rule just so Desmond would repeat the action once more. He bit at his bottom lip for a second, fighting back the impulse as Desmond's hand smoothed over the red mark he'd left behind there.
"You liked that?" Desmond asked, with just a hint of incredulity buried behind the question. Charlie's eyes closed. Desmond's fingers brushed the centre of Charlie's ass, over his entrance, feather-light and all too much. He fought hard not to cry out and talk again. "Want me to do it again?"
"Yes," Charlie breathed, knowing he could at least answer a direct question. "Yes, god yes."
The slap was harder this time, enough to make Charlie's body jerk against the couch he was leaning over. He cried out, the painful sting echoing through him. His skin felt like it was burning again.
"Sir," Desmond reminded him. "Call me sir." He paused as his hand traced over the skin he'd just hit, so soft and gentle. "I'm going to hit you five more times," he said decisively. His voice barely wavered. "And I want you to thank me each time. Alright?"
"Yeah," Charlie said, blinking repeatedly to try and clear his mind. "Yes, sir."
A second passed before Desmond hit him again - and it was hard, painful, perfect. The thud of his hand shot through Charlie's entire body and his mind spun, leaving him stuttering out the gratitude Desmond had asked for. Desmond didn’t stop this time to sooth away the marks or to allow the sting to fade. The second slap slammed down with the speed of a whip, leaving Charlie crying out as his eyes stayed tightly shut. Another, another.
One more, he reminded himself, while wondering if he'd be able to sit down properly tomorrow, wondering if he'd have bruises to show for this, wondering how the hell he was supposed to stay in one seat for the entire train journey back to Manchester. One more, one more, one more.
"Thank you," he gasped - the words had barely slipped from his mouth before the fifth and final blow smacked into him. The sound was as sharp and clear as breaking glass, punctuated by Charlie's hoarse yell. Desmond's hand stayed against his skin this time, his fingers stroking him slowly, softly. "Thank you," he whispered, resting his sweat-soaked forehead against the couch. "Thank you."
Desmond's lips pressed against the inside of his wrist, just above where he was bound by the tight tie. "You're welcome," Desmond murmured with a smile in his voice. He stood up again. Charlie could hear the shuffling sounds of movement behind him, footsteps and bottle caps, but he couldn't find the energy or willpower to raise his head to find out what Desmond was doing.
The answer was fairly self-evident when two slick fingers pressed between his ass cheeks, searching and stretching. Charlie groaned quietly, spreading his legs apart for him. His dick was hard and ready for release, ready for anything Desmond was willing to give him, but he found it difficult to make himself move, to make himself more active. When he stirred, Desmond hushed him and his other hand moved to the small of his back and rested there, a wordless demand for him to stay how he was.
He surrendered to it, to the strain in his shoulders and the tightness around his wrists and the sting on his ass. Desmond's digits slipped out of him: when he groaned quietly at the sudden loss he heard Desmond hushing him again, felt him stroking the skin on his back and fell silent again, too peaceful already. He heard the rip of the condom packet then there was a bluntness by his entrance made him bite his bottom lip as Desmond pressed inside him - slow and gentle, careful, just like normal except Charlie's hands were bound behind his back, the skin of his right cheek was red with the reminder of Desmond's hand and they were both so ragged, so desperate, so complete. Desmond slid inside him like he belonged there, and Charlie could only sigh and groan in contentment.
Desmond's hand moved to rest on his hip, pulling him back enough from the couch so that his other hand could slip around to grasp his erection in a sure and steady grip. "You're okay?" he checked again. "You're definitely okay?"
"Yeah," Charlie whispered, not surprised by the way his breath caught in his throat. "I'm okay."
Desmond's lips pressed against his neck again and Charlie felt him breathing in deeply, absorbing the scent of his hair before he shifted and Charlie could feel himself moaning at the sensation as he pulled back, almost out of him. From there it was easy to find their rhythm with each other; no rush, but so intense, too intense. Charlie was never sure if he wanted to scream or start crying when Desmond moved with him. His chest felt tight and he didn't know why.
The muscles in his legs trembled with tension, but Desmond was there to hold him up, to keep him steady, to keep him safe. He could feel the heat curling in his belly, stronger with every second. His eyes were so tightly closed, blacking the world out. Desmond's voice invaded his senses with whispered words Charlie clung onto desperately. "Des…" he panted, but it was too difficult to focus and much too difficult to hold on - as soon as he heard Desmond's reply, urging him to let go, he felt his body tense and cried out as he spilled against the side of the couch and over Desmond's fingers.
His body shook, too intense, and his mind spun in lazy circles. He could feel the way Desmond's thrusts into him became faster and more urgent, both hands on his hips now hard enough that he'd have marks there to treasure tomorrow. His mind was white and when Desmond froze and held him close, grunting as he came, he moaned with him even if he was too spent to enjoy it.
He heard and felt Desmond chuckling quietly as he pulled out then held him close, arms finding their way around his waist in a twisted bear hug. His arms were trapped between them but Charlie could only smile lazily, finding it impossible to care as they moved to collapse down onto the couch. Their smiles didn't fade, not even when Desmond gestured at his arms, ready to release him.
His fingers felt warm as they fumbled with the tightened knot, and Charlie's wrists came apart with stiff tension when Desmond finally managed to pull away the material and chuck the tie down to the ground. He tugged Charlie towards him again and allowed him to rest his head against his chest as they both struggled to catch their breath. Charlie felt Desmond's lips press to the top of his head in a lazy kiss. "Was that okay?" he asked: every drop of the commanding tone that had possessed him had leaked away, leaving only his Desmond in its place.
Charlie grinned and rubbed at his wrist, taking in the faint bruises as he shifted where he sat to protect the spanked side of his bare ass. He chuckled and nodded. "Yeah," he whispered, settling down even if the air was beginning to feel cold on his sweat-lined skin. "You were bloody perfect."
Desmond's hand trailed soft lines down his arm, warming him up and sending shivers down his spine. He had to go home tomorrow and wouldn't see Desmond for weeks - but the bruises would remain to haunt him with these memories.