Desmond David Hume. (ourmutualfriend) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-01-20 17:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed |
Who? Desmond Hume
Where? Physically, the hospital. Mentally, all over the place.
What? Jigsaw-puzzle flash-forwards.
When? Physically now, some time before Charlie is discharged. Mentally, some time in the near future.
Rating? Moderate-high.
Status? Complete narrative.
Desmond wasn't sure how much time had passed. Days came and went. Charlie grew stronger. Desmond, used to having short bouts of sleep, occasionally dropped off for an hour or so, but by now he was wearing himself thin. He needed a shower, he needed to eat properly, he needed a rest- things he was used to doing without by now, but it still wasn't a very comfortable situation to be in. He had a rough idea what was going on, but until Charlie was able to come with him, he wasn't going to do any exploring. As much as he was sure Freddie and Bel would look out for him, he didn't want to leave him. He would never forgive himself if he died while he was gone.
Still, brief separations were necessary. Desmond did still need to go to the toilet, for example. But now, as he washed his hands at the sink, splashing some onto his face to try and make himself feel more awake, something strange started to happen. Or at least it should have been strange- he was getting more to these things.
A splash of water to his face, and when he opened his eyes again and looked in the mirror, his facial hair had disappeared. He frowned deeply, running his hands over his smooth skin, and then up to touch his hair- shorter, tidier. A look around showed a completely different bathroom, it looked just like an apartment.
Charlie's laugh filling a room. The clink of glasses. Warmth.
Numbers. 2. 1. 0. 4.
"Maybe it was destiny, brother," he was saying, although he didn't realise that he had moved his lips to utter the sentence.
And then a different kind of warmth. Charlie's lips, pressed against his own, moving- hands pulling him in closer, and as much as he'd never thought about it before, he wasn't fighting it. Not at all. It was so welcome.
"Des-" Charlie's voice, a tone he'd never heard before.
Fumbling. The feeling of bare skin beneath his fingertips. Heat and the noise of kissing filling a room. Breathless gasps. Waves of pleasure.
The sound of water hitting the sink, the cold of the enamel beneath his palms- he was gripping on to stop himself falling, and as he looked in the mirror, he still had his beard. Had that been a flash? He knew the answer, but he didn't really know what to think about it. All he knew was that despite being back to the present moment, he didn't want to loosen his grip on the sink just yet. His knees were trembling.