Like Air

Characters: Charlie/Desmond. As in slash. Mentions of Claire and Penny.
Rating: R
Setting: Sometime after Catch 22 but before Greatest Hits.
Disclaimer: Nope. I own nothing.
Summary: Their relationship has become even more complex.

Note: Not only is this my first R fic, but it’s also my first slash fic. Yeah, kids these days. I wrote it in about…hmm…an hour? So yeah. It’s like, a page and a couple paragraphs in Word. Right now, it’s looking to be just as it is. But if I feel inspired to continue it, I will. Also - the title is a reference to my line in the second paragraph, if you don’t catch that. It’s kind of an awkward title if you don’t get the meaning of it.

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They usually had some sort of agreement to things like this. A shy exchange during the day where their eyes wouldn’t meet. A quick promise that they would see each other that night when expressions would be masked and their was no obligation to actually look at the other one. It felt wrong. But Desmond didn’t have Penny, and Claire certainly wasn’t about to meet Charlie’s needs.

There was that saying - sex was like air. You don’t know how badly you need it until you’re not getting any.

This time was different, though. During the day, Desmond hadn’t said a word to Charlie. He had glanced his way a few times, almost guiltily. For awhile, Charlie was convinced that Desmond had another one of his visions.

When night fell, Charlie had unhappily gone into his tent. The nights he spent with Desmond had been pretty consistent. If Desmond wasn’t planning on spending the night with him, he’d tell him and offer a decent explanation. This time there had been nothing.

Charlie buried his face in his pillow and closed his eyes in a useless attempt to get some sleep. He didn’t know why he was upset, really. He and Desmond shouldn’t have had this type of relationship. Then again, their relationship due to the flashes wasn’t exactly normal, either. But Desmond loved Penny, and Charlie was starting to feel the same towards Claire. It was almost like they thought they owed it to each other. Charlie to Desmond, because he had to keep saving his life. Desmond to Charlie, because he was sorry.

When they did spend the night together, it was nothing more than aggressive kissing, rough groping and grinding through cotton shirts and their denim jeans, and on one occasion a blowjob. They had stopped abruptly after that, afraid of where it could lead. Charlie had hardly finished zipping up his jeans before Desmond muttered an apology and quickly left. But the next night, he was back as he always was.

And how he was back again. Moonlight flooded into Charlie’s tent as the flap was opened and he sat up. He caught a brief glimpse of Desmond’s troubled face before it was shadowed again. Desmond sat down with him.

“Hi, Charlie.”

“Hey.”

Greetings were hardly necessary anymore. When Desmond went in to kiss him, Charlie frowned and pushed back his shoulder gently. “What happened today, Des?”

Charlie could sense that Desmond was frowning - even if he couldn’t see it. He heard his friend shift nervously and sigh.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just…wanted to control something between us for once. I didn’t want to come in tonight, but I…” he stopped and coasted his hand up Charlie’s thigh.

Charlie frowned but didn’t push him away. They’d been over this before. Desmond felt like succumbing to their desires was just creating one more thing that they couldn’t control. And he wanted to be empowered so desperately. This relationship on top of the death visions was almost too much. But when Desmond found he couldn’t keep himself from Charlie’s tent, he certainly took control sexually. It wasn’t that Charlie minded, really. But sometimes he felt like he was just an object - a tool - that Desmond was using to reassure himself that there was something in this universe that he had power over. And who better than Charlie? If he couldn’t control the man’s fate, he could at least control him physically. Charlie always regretted thinking of him so low, especially when Desmond proved him wrong by treating him so carefully and tenderly.

Charlie didn’t think he would ever love Desmond fully. There was too much bad history already. And it would probably only get worse. The idea didn’t really bother him much. He didn’t think he could ever love a man in a romantic sense. But he did feel like a hypocrite - when here he was, complaining internally about how he sometimes felt Desmond was using him when in reality, Charlie was using Desmond, too. What made it worse was the possibility that Desmond didn’t view him as an object at all. But still - there was nothing more than lust between them at night and their odd friendship during the day. Maybe one of those relationships would save him in the end, but Charlie wasn’t exactly expecting it. He figured Desmond would choose Penny over him in a heartbeat. In fact, Desmond had nearly proven it that day in the jungle.

Charlie kissed him now and loosened the remaining buttons on Desmond’s shirt. Usually they would be between blankets. There was no doubting that they were ashamed, and with Desmond’s weight on him, he always felt like he did that night when Desmond attacked him…right before revealing the visions that had been plaguing his mind. He knows, during those situations that always brought pleasure, he should probably be thinking of something else - like the present sensation or the emotion welling up in him. But Desmond’s weight only registers one thing - visions, death, “you’re gonna die, Charlie.”

So tonight is different. And maybe the future will be, too.