Desmond was not alien to reciprocation; however, to be fair, he was pretty limited on the whole ‘sleeping around’ thing. The fixer tended to prefer liaisons that lasted—that meant something in terms of a relationship. More often that naught he unintentionally happened upon the ones that didn’t last, didn’t mean something; however, like most everyone in the realm of the dating sphere, he like to pretend—if not attempt—that something more permanent was going on. It wasn’t his fault that everyone leaned toward serial monogamy. And damnit if he hadn’t been angling for Dudley for a while—hoping against impossible hope that something more might come of his carefully planned meetings—his insane reasons for keeping a job that paid far less than what he was worth just to interact with the barista. Silly? Delusional? Maybe. But... but... Desmond didn’t mind being the hopeless romantic type, the one that held onto little things. Not when the most revered aspect of his parents’ marriage had been all the little things—the glue—that held then together.
Yes, the stupid kissey faces and idiotic gifts.
He wanted that.
He couldn’t say he loved Dudley, but he be damning himself to lie if he said he didn’t want to. It would be impossibly easily to fall for him, to take care of him, to make life easier for him. For Dudley... he paused mentally... for Dudley he would forget about the rules he held himself him in—the desire to make a name for himself. He just... Desmond wanted to give him everything, as stupid, as simplistic, and as naive as that was; for him, for Desmond, that was love. And he was... he didn’t know. It was ridiculous and insane and he couldn’t help it. It was so hard to keep it in. There was just... something broken, beautiful, an enigmatic about Dudley. Desmond liked to silently think that the man, the one who held his admiration, really had no idea how amazing he was—how beautiful he was. He’d laugh at him, probably—that was his greatest fear.
To not have all that he felt for Dudley returned. He refused to admit the lump in his heart was love simply because he didn’t know enough and he needed more. Lust, sure, but Desmond needed to more to confirm all that his heart swelled with—all that it knew that he could not accept or admit openly just yet based on a few passing interactions—was real.
Surely, he would be denied—surely Dudley would laugh at the very idea of Desmond’s child-like passion of love at first sight. He... he couldn’t bear it. He was far too emotional, too expressive, too earnest to pretend that everything would be ok. And yet...
How long could he hold out without saying something?
Fuck, his mind breathed, they were falling. But not just falling to the floor of his ship—that might have been ok. He would have apologized with a few words and a dash of red across the bridge of his nose. Mostly because he was embarrassed and mostly because he should have been better.
He just... damn him if he didn’t forget common sense around Dudley. Machine-minded? Sure. Genius. Perfect etiquette. Dudley? Forget it. All wobble and no class. Maybe he should have asked his mother for advice during that call...
He felt the other man tense and immediately felt awful. Then he felt the shift from one realm to another. He inhaled sharply, taking in cold and embracing the man in his arms more so as a result. He couldn’t help it. He’d been here before, once or twice, but Desmond had issue with things he couldn’t ...control. Which wasn’t the best way to word it. He didn’t mind relinquishing control; rather, it was the utter lack of problem solving in the moment that set him on edge—made him tense. He just had to breathe—remind himself to breathe.
“It’s ok” he said automatically as the other man held him close—most effectively distracted by said closeness. “It was my fault—I think. I just... I didn’t... I didn’t calculate what might occur in terms of my own weight, motion, in relation to yours for...” he trailed off, half wondering if that was enough to explain and half thinking how he might have done it all better. Which was difficult to consider in math terms with Dudley’s head pressed against this chest—with his hard cock pressed to his very center.
Blushing—lots of blushing he had no way of hiding. More so, as it was with Dudley, his libido was equally unaffected. But the closeness... How he had dreamed... fuck. Ignore the romance novel drivel.
Ignore!
Emerald-amber hues became curtained, became draped in thick brown lashes as he embraced the other man with one arm---sliding it between the seat and his back to grip and hold. The other wove into oceanic blue strands, taking and digging into his scalp with soft scrape.
“Sorry...” he murmured against his forehead, lips pushing hair out of the way and half pressing into erratic strands. “I didn’t mean to...” he trailed off again, unsure, wanting, and scared. “I just...” The blush reached his ears as he dug nails into his back and didn’t quite meet his gaze when he pulled back; amber-green dashed to the side, downward.
“I’m ok,” he managed gently, inhaling once—more like a sniff than inhale. In a way he was terrified; not by the transport, cold and chilled as it made him for a moment, but by the very notion of rejection. The grip on Dudley’s scalp lessened. “I’m fine,” he promised again, not entirely sure who he was trying to convince in light of the scolding.
Damn... is this how he was supposed to feel? Lost, entwined, and entirely out of sorts? His heart on the verge of nose-diving into an abyss?
Maybe...
He shook once with it, eyes closing and jaw clenching.
Yes, the stupid kissey faces and idiotic gifts.
He wanted that.
He couldn’t say he loved Dudley, but he be damning himself to lie if he said he didn’t want to. It would be impossibly easily to fall for him, to take care of him, to make life easier for him. For Dudley... he paused mentally... for Dudley he would forget about the rules he held himself him in—the desire to make a name for himself. He just... Desmond wanted to give him everything, as stupid, as simplistic, and as naive as that was; for him, for Desmond, that was love. And he was... he didn’t know. It was ridiculous and insane and he couldn’t help it. It was so hard to keep it in. There was just... something broken, beautiful, an enigmatic about Dudley. Desmond liked to silently think that the man, the one who held his admiration, really had no idea how amazing he was—how beautiful he was. He’d laugh at him, probably—that was his greatest fear.
To not have all that he felt for Dudley returned. He refused to admit the lump in his heart was love simply because he didn’t know enough and he needed more. Lust, sure, but Desmond needed to more to confirm all that his heart swelled with—all that it knew that he could not accept or admit openly just yet based on a few passing interactions—was real.
Surely, he would be denied—surely Dudley would laugh at the very idea of Desmond’s child-like passion of love at first sight. He... he couldn’t bear it. He was far too emotional, too expressive, too earnest to pretend that everything would be ok. And yet...
How long could he hold out without saying something?
Fuck, his mind breathed, they were falling. But not just falling to the floor of his ship—that might have been ok. He would have apologized with a few words and a dash of red across the bridge of his nose. Mostly because he was embarrassed and mostly because he should have been better.
He just... damn him if he didn’t forget common sense around Dudley. Machine-minded? Sure. Genius. Perfect etiquette. Dudley? Forget it. All wobble and no class. Maybe he should have asked his mother for advice during that call...
He felt the other man tense and immediately felt awful. Then he felt the shift from one realm to another. He inhaled sharply, taking in cold and embracing the man in his arms more so as a result. He couldn’t help it. He’d been here before, once or twice, but Desmond had issue with things he couldn’t ...control. Which wasn’t the best way to word it. He didn’t mind relinquishing control; rather, it was the utter lack of problem solving in the moment that set him on edge—made him tense. He just had to breathe—remind himself to breathe.
“It’s ok” he said automatically as the other man held him close—most effectively distracted by said closeness. “It was my fault—I think. I just... I didn’t... I didn’t calculate what might occur in terms of my own weight, motion, in relation to yours for...” he trailed off, half wondering if that was enough to explain and half thinking how he might have done it all better. Which was difficult to consider in math terms with Dudley’s head pressed against this chest—with his hard cock pressed to his very center.
Blushing—lots of blushing he had no way of hiding. More so, as it was with Dudley, his libido was equally unaffected. But the closeness... How he had dreamed... fuck. Ignore the romance novel drivel.
Ignore!
Emerald-amber hues became curtained, became draped in thick brown lashes as he embraced the other man with one arm---sliding it between the seat and his back to grip and hold. The other wove into oceanic blue strands, taking and digging into his scalp with soft scrape.
“Sorry...” he murmured against his forehead, lips pushing hair out of the way and half pressing into erratic strands. “I didn’t mean to...” he trailed off again, unsure, wanting, and scared. “I just...” The blush reached his ears as he dug nails into his back and didn’t quite meet his gaze when he pulled back; amber-green dashed to the side, downward.
“I’m ok,” he managed gently, inhaling once—more like a sniff than inhale. In a way he was terrified; not by the transport, cold and chilled as it made him for a moment, but by the very notion of rejection. The grip on Dudley’s scalp lessened. “I’m fine,” he promised again, not entirely sure who he was trying to convince in light of the scolding.
Damn... is this how he was supposed to feel? Lost, entwined, and entirely out of sorts? His heart on the verge of nose-diving into an abyss?
Maybe...
He shook once with it, eyes closing and jaw clenching.
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
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