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15 April 2010 @ 09:03 pm
fic, Lost: I Gazed A Gazeless Stare, NC17, for lostpicksix  
Title: I Gazed A Gazeless Stare
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Desmond/Sayid
Words: 1372
Warnings: light breathplay, some bondage.
Summary: “Brother, I just was tryin’ to get a reaction out of you. Seems like I did it, aye?”
Spoilers: heavy for 6x12, kinda goes AU from there.
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, duh. We would have seen this happening.
A/N: originally written for wandersfound for the five acts meme; the prompts were breathplay, kissing and hurt/comfort. And I threw in the bondage too because I had to. Using for lostpicksix #3, kink. Kind of more serious than the summary makes it sound, but it was the least spoiler-y line I could find. Title from Nirvana or David Bowie, as you see fit.

Desmond’s eyes open up and stare right back into Sayid’s and if he’s surprised at having been tied against the tree, he doesn’t show it.

It should perplex Sayid, at least, because no one should have such a nonchalant reaction, but Sayid does not exactly catch reactions, not lately. Not when he does not have reactions himself anymore, and when he can’t find it in himself to care about it.

So he just stares back and he’s pretty sure that not a muscle on his face has moved.

Desmond’s eyes are focused on him though, like he’s seeing something Sayid can’t see, and if Sayid felt something, he’d say that it would be unnerving.

As it is, it’s just nothing. As everything else is.

“Any reason I’m bound?” Desmond asks then, in the way he would rhetorically ask whether the weather is nice today. It should at least worry him.

It does not. Nothing worries him, not anymore.

“Security,” Sayid answers clinically, and Desmond laughs. Heartily. Like it really, really is amusing.

“Security,” Desmond repeats after, clearly mocking him, and Sayid thinks that if this had happened just one week ago, he would feel anger.

Right now, it seems just an idea of something he used to know.

“That all you got, brother? Security? Since when I’m dangerous? Hey, we bloody shared bunks in that freighter, you can’t really believe that.”

And yes, Sayid remembers that, but it’s alien, too. Like watching a movie starring himself.

“Yes, that is all I have got. Anything you must say about it?”

Desmond looks straight at him and Sayid wonders why is it that it’s so unnerving.

Maybe because he seems to know something he doesn’t.

“Oh, brother, you’re havin’ it all wrong,” he says, with some sort of compassion in his eyes and voice, even if he’s still smiling, and Sayid’s hand clenches around the knife’s handle without him even noticing it.

“And how would you know?” Sayid hisses, his voice strangely not so leveled anymore, and Desmond raises an eyebrow at him, almost like he wants to challenge him.

“Believe me, I reckon I know a whole lot of things after what happened to me before. A whole lot,” Desmond whispers, low and sounding like he has the upper hand and he’s not the one tied up against a tree.

“Why do you not share the knowledge?” Sayid asks then, because after all it’s information he wants.

Desmond shakes his head. “Brother, that’s so not happening. Sorry, but all things considered, I’d rather keep it to myself.”

For some reason, it makes something inside Sayid snap. Maybe it’s because of the way Desmond is still looking at him, maybe it’s because he’s obviously not taking this as seriously as he should, maybe it’s because he’s conscious that he doesn’t know anything and it feels wrong, even if he doesn’t think about it.

Still, it’s not how things should go. He suddenly wants Desmond to recognize that he isn’t here to play, and he doesn’t even realize that he has let the knife fall and that now he has his hands around Desmond’s neck.

Lightly. Barely touching. But there.

“I would not do that, if I were you.”

“But you aren’t, brother. You most definitely aren’t,” Desmond answers with a calm that makes something else snap and Sayid’s nerves go on fire, and before he knows he’s pressing his thumbs into Desmond’s throat, a bit stronger than before.

“Tell me,” he orders, his voice even, and Desmond looks at him in the eyes and mouths no.

He mouths it again when Sayid presses harder.

And he can’t possibly not know that Sayid could make him pass out with just a small motion, or that he could just outright kill him, but Desmond mouths no for the third time, as his eyes roll back slightly a bit and he tries to breathe but manages it sparsely and Sayid’s fingers come closer and closer to actual choking.

Then Desmond’s eyes meet his again, and they aren’t afraid, and Sayid suddenly lets Desmond’s throat go like it was fire burning through his skin.

He breathes heavily and realizes that his trousers are constraining, and it’s strange and weird and it does not make sense because it happened to him before, he knows.

It just never happened since he died.

He feels blood rushing through his veins and it’s like being drunk, maybe he remembers now how it feels like, and Desmond is still staring at him, coughing lightly, and looking so satisfied that Sayid just wants to wipe that expression off his face.

“What?!” he snaps again, feeling not in control and not knowing how to deal with it.

“Brother, I just was tryin’ to get a reaction out of you. Seems like I did it, aye?”

The knife is in his hand before he even knows it; Sayid kneels next to the tree and cuts away the ties binding Desmond to the tree but not the ones binding his wrists together before grabbing the knot and pushing Desmond’s arms up against the bark.

As he lets the knife drop and comes closer, he registers that Desmond was not exactly not afflicted in any way from this.

He keeps one hand up and the other circles Desmond’s throat again.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I was starting to get worried, but it seems like there wasn’t any reason. Good to know,” Desmond whispers in a way that isn’t exactly right, and then he can’t resist anymore.

He crushes his lips against Desmond as he keeps the other’s wrists pinned up against the tree, hoping that it hurts; but as much as he wants to, he realizes he can’t do the same with the kiss. It starts harsh but it becomes slow, maybe because Desmond is actually eager and kisses him back, his tongue dancing over Sayid’s lips and plunging into his mouth. And Sayid remembers the freighter, he remembers that something similar happened there, too, but now he can’t say, he can’t think, he can’t anything, not when Desmond’s hips start thrusting forward and when, when did it happen that his grip of the situation slipped through his fingers? And how can Desmond feel so sure of himself when he’s not the one in control?

Or at least he wasn’t, maybe, Sayid wishes he knew, but those motions are causing a friction that kills coherent thought and he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t but he wants and in the second that he realizes it, he thrusts forward and his hand lets go of the knot binding Desmond’s wrists in the moment he comes and everything spins so hard that he can’t even see.

But it also feels so good after so much pain and nothing and nothing that he can’t bring himself to do anything. He can just go with it.

As he comes to, he realizes that there are bound hands around his waist and that for some reason Desmond is holding him up and Sayid’s head is leaning on Desmond’s shoulder. He probably slipped them over his head, he fleetingly things, before lips press softly on his shoulder first, then his neck, then his cheek and then his temple.

“What… what are you doing?” he breathes out, hating how undone he sounds and not knowing what to do with the fact that he feels again and it’s too much at once.

“Trust me brother,” Desmond whispers as he places another lone, soft kiss on Sayid’s forehead, “I know exactly what I’m doing here, and I might be inclined to tell you some more if you cut that rope.”

Sayid nods, but when he attempts to move the hold tightens and Desmond keeps him there as he slowly lowers the both of them to the ground.

“I didn’t say now. There’s no rush,” Desmond says, his voice strangely soothing, before brushing his lips against Sayid’s temple again, and Sayid doesn’t want to know how Desmond’s fingers reached up to tangle in his hair even though his hands are still bound.

It feels too good to stop it before at least another short while.

Oh, he will think about everything else. Just not now.

End.
 
 
feeling: workingworking
on rotation: something from the band's greatest hits, can't remember the title
 
 
 
Janice: sayid stabjaydblu on May 3rd, 2010 07:00 pm (UTC)
See, this is what happened! Desmond brought him back. Again, I miss seeing fic with these two, especially since Sayid has gone *vacant* and Desmond is kind of...stalkery...right now.

And oh, nice to imagine what happens next (which I'm assuming has nothing to do with plot).

Very nice, honey. :)
the female ghost of tom joad: lost sayid *g*janie_tangerine on May 3rd, 2010 08:05 pm (UTC)
OH IT IS WHAT HAPPENED. And ha, I miss being able to write it without struggling with canon, dammit. :/ And words re the vacancy and the stalkeriness. Or however it's called.

And ha, sadly it had nothing to do with the plot but WHO NEEDS F!LOCKE when you have porn? ;) Glad you liked it, thanks! :D
(Deleted comment)
the female ghost of tom joad: lost/spn otp 2.0janie_tangerine on May 4th, 2010 09:20 pm (UTC)
Heee, and I'm much glad to hear it. ;) ;) <333333333333333333333333333 It was liberating to write that I must say, lol. ;) Thank you!!!