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listersgirlMaybe you heard that last week I wrote this smutty piece of Lost fic. I have no idea where it came from, because I don't write fanfic. I figured it was a random fluke that needed to be put down on paper, and that would be that.
Except I was wrong, because I wrote something else. Last night, after sitting bolt upright in bed (and I honestly thought that was just a turn of phrase and not something that people actually did) at midnight and fumbling for my glasses, because trying to write without them meant that three lines took up the whole page. Yeah, I don't know either.
So, anyway, if you want to continue believing that I'm not someone who writes fic, then this is your cue to move on.
Otherwise, I present to you:
Fate
Charlie/Claire, Charlie/Boone
Charlie sometimes wonders how far back into his past he'd have to go to make the initial decision that would have kept him off the plane, and off the island.
Would it have been enough to have taken his brother up on his offer to stay with him? If he'd stayed away from the drugs would he have found something else important in his life, something that would have meant he'd have been uninterested in starting up the band again? Or was his whole life as a rock star (rock god) leading up to this moment? Would he have ended up here no matter what decisions he made?
The thing is that he's not necessarily unhappy with the way things turned out. He'd like to be off the island, sure, but here he found Claire, and the wonder that is his blossoming relationship with her makes him jittery, blissful and calm, all at the same time.
Spending time with Claire, he feels that there's something potentially momentous, something that could change his life again and for the better, and he's afraid to make any decisions that might nudge fate from its preordained course. He decides that everything has a purpose, that everything in his life (the band, the drugs, the girls, the withdrawal) led him to this, and he's not going to fuck that up by making any rash moves. Fate knows what it's doing, he thinks, and gives himself over.
So when Boone sits down next to him as he's noodling through Driveshaft's first hit on his guitar, he smiles happily and starts the next verse.
When Boone leans over to him as he finishes the last chorus and kisses him, gently at first, tongue delicately running along the seam of Charlie's lips, he sighs and opens his mouth.
When Boone stands up, brushing the sand off his pants, and reaches a hand down to Charlie, staring at him with darkened eyes, Charlie lets the other man pull him to his feet.
When Boone takes him around a curve in the shoreline and carefully pulls Charlie's shirt over his head, running his roughened hands along Charlie's ribs and across his nipples, Charlie takes a ragged breath and leans into the touch like a cat, humming an unrecognizable tune.
When Boone sinks to his knees, palming Charlie through his pants, Charlie grins with pleasure and runs his fingers gently through the silken hair of the man in front of him.
When Boone holds Charlie's cock fully in his hot mouth, tongue running across the head, fingers cupping Charlie's balls reverently, Charlie closes his eyes and gives himself over to the heat and the pressure and the joy.
When Charlie finally opens his eyes and sees Claire standing at the edge of the water, eyes shaded against the sun, he realizes that some things are better off not left to fate, and he feels a part of himself crumble into dust.
Except I was wrong, because I wrote something else. Last night, after sitting bolt upright in bed (and I honestly thought that was just a turn of phrase and not something that people actually did) at midnight and fumbling for my glasses, because trying to write without them meant that three lines took up the whole page. Yeah, I don't know either.
So, anyway, if you want to continue believing that I'm not someone who writes fic, then this is your cue to move on.
Otherwise, I present to you:
Fate
Charlie/Claire, Charlie/Boone
Charlie sometimes wonders how far back into his past he'd have to go to make the initial decision that would have kept him off the plane, and off the island.
Would it have been enough to have taken his brother up on his offer to stay with him? If he'd stayed away from the drugs would he have found something else important in his life, something that would have meant he'd have been uninterested in starting up the band again? Or was his whole life as a rock star (rock god) leading up to this moment? Would he have ended up here no matter what decisions he made?
The thing is that he's not necessarily unhappy with the way things turned out. He'd like to be off the island, sure, but here he found Claire, and the wonder that is his blossoming relationship with her makes him jittery, blissful and calm, all at the same time.
Spending time with Claire, he feels that there's something potentially momentous, something that could change his life again and for the better, and he's afraid to make any decisions that might nudge fate from its preordained course. He decides that everything has a purpose, that everything in his life (the band, the drugs, the girls, the withdrawal) led him to this, and he's not going to fuck that up by making any rash moves. Fate knows what it's doing, he thinks, and gives himself over.
So when Boone sits down next to him as he's noodling through Driveshaft's first hit on his guitar, he smiles happily and starts the next verse.
When Boone leans over to him as he finishes the last chorus and kisses him, gently at first, tongue delicately running along the seam of Charlie's lips, he sighs and opens his mouth.
When Boone stands up, brushing the sand off his pants, and reaches a hand down to Charlie, staring at him with darkened eyes, Charlie lets the other man pull him to his feet.
When Boone takes him around a curve in the shoreline and carefully pulls Charlie's shirt over his head, running his roughened hands along Charlie's ribs and across his nipples, Charlie takes a ragged breath and leans into the touch like a cat, humming an unrecognizable tune.
When Boone sinks to his knees, palming Charlie through his pants, Charlie grins with pleasure and runs his fingers gently through the silken hair of the man in front of him.
When Boone holds Charlie's cock fully in his hot mouth, tongue running across the head, fingers cupping Charlie's balls reverently, Charlie closes his eyes and gives himself over to the heat and the pressure and the joy.
When Charlie finally opens his eyes and sees Claire standing at the edge of the water, eyes shaded against the sun, he realizes that some things are better off not left to fate, and he feels a part of himself crumble into dust.