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janie_tangerineTitle: The Flesh Is Weak
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Desmond/Sayid
Words: 613
Summary: Sayid probably doesn’t even know, but the way his hands are sure and practiced as he picks the broken engine part up and breaks it in pieces and observes it, the way they’re dirty with grease but still functional is making things to Desmond’s stomach.
Spoilers: for S4.
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, duh. We would have seen this happening.
A/N: originally written months ago for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lostsquee fic battle, using gear for a prompt. Using it for lostpicksix #36, quickie.
You can put it in two ways.
Number one: the flesh is weak.
Number two: it’s Sayid’s fault.
It’s a bit of one and a bit of the other, Desmond guesses, but it isn’t really his fault if the captain has locked them down in an engine room because something broke, Sayid can fix it and they don’t have many choices, considering the situation. And here comes problem number one, because Sayid probably doesn’t even know, but the way his hands are sure and practiced as he picks the broken engine part up and breaks it in pieces and observes it, the way they’re dirty with grease but still functional is making things to Desmond’s stomach.
Let’s rephrase it: it’s so bloody hot that it’s scorching. And Desmond might not be one to turn to men, not when he loves Penny more than he loves himself, but that’s where problem number two is. Because the flesh is weak, the old saying recites, and it’s generally true. Point is, either someone is strong and resists, or someone isn’t and gives in to it. Not counting the fact that the last time Desmond got off was with his own right hand, he never was a particularly strong person. Ask brother Campbell in the monastery. That wasn’t what he was born for and he knows is; as he knows now that the more time Sayid spends repairing that bloody thing which Desmond can’t even name the more he grows hard and he can’t do nothing about it.
Except maybe acting on it.
Then it turns out that Sayid himself is casting small glances in his direction, and his eyes are dark and hazy and even if they haven’t spoken a word there’s a tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife.
Desmond waits until Sayid puts the part back where it is and then he can’t wait anymore. There’s a limit and he’s way past it; and it seems like Sayid isn’t too adverse since when they kiss it’s equally fast and hard and messy and not really romantic but you know, that really wasn’t the problem. Sayid’s hands are dirty as they reach the button keeping Desmond’s trousers up and Desmond doesn’t give a damn about it; he just knows that he won’t hold on much longer, not when there’s a certain smirk on Sayid’s lips and Sayid, after wiping his hand on a rag that came with the tools, wraps his fingers around Desmond’s painfully hard erection. They’re good hands, strong enough but not too much, with long but not really delicate fingers, and they move up and down, up and down, up and down, with that certain practice and efficiency that they have when repairing machinery. And fuck, if it doesn’t get Desmond off more than everything else he doesn’t know what does; Sayid’s mouth is on his shoulder, which his shirt is leaving half-bare, and it’s hot and wet as his tongue traces random patterns, as calm and collected as it can be, while Sayid’s other hand keeps the small of his back steady. And he can’t really last, he can’t, and he comes in a rush, hard and fast and so relieving that he can’t remember a time when it felt better (and it saddens him; but his and Penny’s last time is too far in time and with too many numbers pushed in between for him to recall as he should); Sayid’s breathing is slightly less controlled though, and Desmond feels that he’s hard, too. And well, after such an experience, it would be just rude not to return the favor, wouldn’t it?
And so he drops to his knees.
End.
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Desmond/Sayid
Words: 613
Summary: Sayid probably doesn’t even know, but the way his hands are sure and practiced as he picks the broken engine part up and breaks it in pieces and observes it, the way they’re dirty with grease but still functional is making things to Desmond’s stomach.
Spoilers: for S4.
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, duh. We would have seen this happening.
A/N: originally written months ago for the
lostsquee fic battle, using gear for a prompt. Using it for lostpicksix #36, quickie.You can put it in two ways.
Number one: the flesh is weak.
Number two: it’s Sayid’s fault.
It’s a bit of one and a bit of the other, Desmond guesses, but it isn’t really his fault if the captain has locked them down in an engine room because something broke, Sayid can fix it and they don’t have many choices, considering the situation. And here comes problem number one, because Sayid probably doesn’t even know, but the way his hands are sure and practiced as he picks the broken engine part up and breaks it in pieces and observes it, the way they’re dirty with grease but still functional is making things to Desmond’s stomach.
Let’s rephrase it: it’s so bloody hot that it’s scorching. And Desmond might not be one to turn to men, not when he loves Penny more than he loves himself, but that’s where problem number two is. Because the flesh is weak, the old saying recites, and it’s generally true. Point is, either someone is strong and resists, or someone isn’t and gives in to it. Not counting the fact that the last time Desmond got off was with his own right hand, he never was a particularly strong person. Ask brother Campbell in the monastery. That wasn’t what he was born for and he knows is; as he knows now that the more time Sayid spends repairing that bloody thing which Desmond can’t even name the more he grows hard and he can’t do nothing about it.
Except maybe acting on it.
Then it turns out that Sayid himself is casting small glances in his direction, and his eyes are dark and hazy and even if they haven’t spoken a word there’s a tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife.
Desmond waits until Sayid puts the part back where it is and then he can’t wait anymore. There’s a limit and he’s way past it; and it seems like Sayid isn’t too adverse since when they kiss it’s equally fast and hard and messy and not really romantic but you know, that really wasn’t the problem. Sayid’s hands are dirty as they reach the button keeping Desmond’s trousers up and Desmond doesn’t give a damn about it; he just knows that he won’t hold on much longer, not when there’s a certain smirk on Sayid’s lips and Sayid, after wiping his hand on a rag that came with the tools, wraps his fingers around Desmond’s painfully hard erection. They’re good hands, strong enough but not too much, with long but not really delicate fingers, and they move up and down, up and down, up and down, with that certain practice and efficiency that they have when repairing machinery. And fuck, if it doesn’t get Desmond off more than everything else he doesn’t know what does; Sayid’s mouth is on his shoulder, which his shirt is leaving half-bare, and it’s hot and wet as his tongue traces random patterns, as calm and collected as it can be, while Sayid’s other hand keeps the small of his back steady. And he can’t really last, he can’t, and he comes in a rush, hard and fast and so relieving that he can’t remember a time when it felt better (and it saddens him; but his and Penny’s last time is too far in time and with too many numbers pushed in between for him to recall as he should); Sayid’s breathing is slightly less controlled though, and Desmond feels that he’s hard, too. And well, after such an experience, it would be just rude not to return the favor, wouldn’t it?
And so he drops to his knees.
End.
