A/N: Back by popular demand, some more Sixteen and Desmond. Sorry it's mostly implied.
It'd been so long.
Panting filled the quiet room, it drove him insane. He was alone, yes, but who knew if someone could walk by and hear him? It didn't matter.
Body pressed back against the bedroom door, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead as a moan left his scarred lips. His hands were exploring his own body, one up his shirt and the other shoved down the front of his pants and boxers. So, so long. Weeks, months? He couldn't reason with how long it felt since he'd done something like this. A while, he knew for certain.
Fingers fumbled and teased the head of his erection, finding it difficult to work with while still having his pants up on his hips. A shaky breath, dark brown eyes fluttered closed. "Nnnh..."
He could remember all the times back in the Black Room. The times in-between memories, the times he spent with Sixteen on the island. God damn, he could still hear his voice in the back of his head. "Say my name again, Desmond. /Say it/."
A clumsy hand reached behind himself to lock the door, stumbling forward until he fell face-first onto his bed. A heavy sigh escaped him as he kicked his pants and boxers off. Damn it felt good to be in a bed again. 'Too bad Clay couldn't enjoy it, too.' The thought hung in his mind for a moment before he shook his head. No time to think about that. Not right now, please, not now. He had to get this out of his system. His physical body hadn't had release in who-knows-how-long, even if his virtual avatar had. Talk about a mind fuck.
Desmond rolled over onto his back, still in the middle of the bed and not even grabbing a pillow to support his head. He didn't need it. With pants gone and flesh exposed, he felt a cold shiver run up his spine as he gingerly touched himself.
"Ahh..." Another sigh. It had been hard to avoid conversations once he'd come to and needed some privacy. All those little "sessions" with him and Clay caught up to him as soon as he woke up and well... It was hard to avoid everyone with a major hard on. But he managed.
His fingers wrapped around the nearly-painfully hard member, biting his lip as he stroked himself. Pants were growing more erratic with every touch, hand moving to slide up and down at just the right rhythm he liked.
"Oh, Dezzy likes it when I let him have his way, does he? Fine. But I get to watch." Having someone watch you get off certainly made the experience better. Well, for him. It was embarrassing, yes, but it apparently had its side effects on the blond man too. And that's why he did it.
Desmond could remember the way he touched him, how he returned the touches. How they clung to each other like they would be gone the next time they were apart. It was never a good feeling; the ominous dread that if you're not careful you'll get deleted. But no. Clay saved him. In more ways than one.
Breath hitched as he swore he heard footsteps go by his door. He had to bite back another moan as he only slowed down his pace until he was sure they were gone. "You're all I've got left to lose now, Des." Why? Why couldn't he have just taken him with him? He didn't have to... to sacrifice himself like that. Desmond was sure if it came down between him getting deleted and him sharing his body he would have said yes. Just so he wasn't gone for good. But there had been no time. It was too late for that.
He spread his legs apart as his hips lifted to meet his left hand, the right having its fingers thoroughly coated in his saliva. Ah, he should have grabbed some lotion from the bathroom on his way to his room. Rebecca always kept an extra bottle in there. Maybe she realized it was disappearing every now-and-then.
Arching a bit awkwardly, he let his hand fall behind him to rub slick fingers against his entrance. He hated doing this. It always made his arm numb from laying on it. Middle finger worked until he felt himself relax as he pressed a bit harder, but he didn't slide it in just yet. His left hand had to go at an achingly slow pace so he didn't reach that peak so soon.
Damn it. Desmond bit his lip, feeling the scar tissue on his tongue. He remembered how Clay liked biting it. People always were curious about his scar. He personally thought nothing of it, probably because he was used to it. But they way the older man would roll his lip between his teeth and nipped at it would send sparks through his skin. Maybe it was just Clay, though.
"I'll make it so that... so that I'm always part of you... No matter where you go. You'll never forget." Clay had a thing about being forgotten. He didn't want to completely disappear. Desmond didn't blame him. So he'd hang onto what he did remember, and he would wish the voices he remembered were actually speaking to him like he was really there.
When his mind focused on the present, he felt two fingers embedded down to the knuckle inside of him. Ah, he must've done it when he was day dreaming again. Pants and moans filled the room once more, the bed thankfully not making much noise as he lifted his hips to finger himself. He added the third digit along with the other two, wincing as he noted the saliva didn't last that long. No way he was putting his hand back in his mouth though. He'd have to deal.
With how much he wanted to get off, it sure was taking a long time to reach his climax. Maybe because he kept thinking about him. And when his thoughts wandered, it made him want to choke up slightly, but he couldn't let himself do that. Not until after he was done. He was too far gone into the pleasure to let it bother him too bad anyways.
A whimper left him as he thrust his fingers inside faster, groping along and curling his fingers; searching, searching, until finally he brushed up against that spot he'd been waiting to hit this entire time. White and black filled his vision in speckles, hand working to pull forth his orgasm quicker. A thumb slid across the slit of the head, letting the precum that had gathered to drip down his length only to be smeared as his hand stroked again.
"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you're going to be seeing /my/ ancestors." And Desmond couldn't suppress the shudder than racked his body as he felt himself getting closer. That voice filled his head, saying the things he remembered telling him. Pretending he could still tell him it'll be okay. Just relax.
His orgasm hit him hard, unable to keep back the lewd moans and noises he made as he thrust his fingers a few more times to ride it out. He may have shucked his jacket earlier, but his black shirt would need a good hand wash in the sink before throwing it into the hamper.
He sighed and let go of himself, fingers slipping out and damn his arm was achy. It would take a few minutes to get the blood flowing through it again. He laid there for what felt like hours, but wasn't more than ten minutes.
After he cleaned up and put his pants back on, he flopped onto his bed and grabbed the closest pillow. He pulled it close to his chest and he buried his face into it, taking in the fresh scent of laundry detergent on the pillow case. He wanted Clay. To hear the, "Love ya, sweetheart." afterward or the, "Come on, Dezzy. Don't lay there all day. You've got work to do." Wanted the endless moments where they held each other, comforting with promises and empty words. Desmond knew what he meant now by memories of touching. It would never be the same. It was all gone now.
He knew that one day he would forget. And he never wanted that day to come.