Fic for gemjam: "On Hating Falafel"
Title: On Hating Falafel
Pairing: Jack/Sayid (Lost)
Rating: Hard R. Disclaimer: Lost is all ABC’s; no money/ownership here.
Summary: Moments in a morning off. Essentially a PWP.
Author’s note: Fic for a request from
gemjam , who made some lovely banners that my Luddite self will eventually figure out how to get up.
It’s been a long time since Jack’s been able to be anything but up at first light. The habit was part of his biological clock by his second term of med school - he spent a rare week off at a resort with his parents, he remembers, and he was awake at half past five every morning, starting the day at the same time as his father. His mother raised an objection to that, but Jack said, truthfully, that it was second nature by now, and he’d earned a rare grin from his dad. “You know the boy was born to be a surgeon, Margo,” Christian said.
He thinks it’s about five thirty when he wakes up now. Functioning watches are a thing of the past, and he can’t tell time by the sky or the tide. He should learn to do that… He’ll wait until tomorrow, though. Sun and Sawyer teamed up to insist that he take today off. He could have told them he didn’t need it, that he recognized the signs of burn-out and he didn’t have them yet, but he’s come to learn that sometimes people won’t take no for an answer. He has to pick his battles, and this isn’t one of them.
Well, he’s awake, even if they’ll all be carping at him if he tries to do anything useful. Once it might have occurred to him to go hiking on a day off, or else swimming in the ocean. Granted, he usually played golf or read, but hiking and swimming are about the only options here, and neither one of them is a break from the routine. He supposes he could read Titus Andronicus or Car and Driver again, but he hasn’t bored himself to that level of masochism.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s got Titus Andronicus tucked under his arm despite his best intentions, and he undoes the fastenings to Sayid’s tent as quietly as he can. When he opens the flap he’s surprised to find Sayid crouched to spring, holding one of his makeshift weapons ready in his hands. “Jack! What are you doing?”
“I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“Do you have any idea how much you frightened me? Or what I could have done to you?”
“Yeah. I’ve got some idea.” Jack takes another look at what he thinks is called the mace and swallows heavily. “I’m sorry. That was really stupid.”
“Yes. It was.” Sayid puts down the mace and takes a deep breath. “Everyone has foolish impulses once in a while. Come in.”
Jack squeezes himself into the most comfortable sitting position he can manage inside the tent. “Did I wake you up?”
“Not really. I just finished the night shift of keeping guard… What brings you here?”
Jack holds up the book. “I thought you’d be asleep. I just wanted to do some reading.”
“In my tent?”
“More fun to be curled up next to you.”
Sayid smiles. “That sounds fair. Why don’t you curl up right now?”
Jack does, negotiating the space of the tent as best as he can, and presses up against Sayid, back to stomach. He sets the book aside. “I’m not a big fan of Titus Andronicus anyway.”
“The old-fashioned English is challenging for me.”
“Get used to it and the shitty writing will be a challenge.”
“Perhaps I will not bother, then.” Sayid persuades Jack to shift so that they’re facing each other. “Is there something else you would like to do instead of reading?” He presses one of his thighs between Jack’s.
Jack pulls away and puts his hand on Sayid’s cheek. “Hey. If I wanted a booty call I wouldn’t have woken you up.”
“Okay.” Sayid extricates his leg. “What do you want?”
“We never get - I don’t know. We never really get any time together.”
“Not very often, no.” Not never, but usually they can only slip away from the group to talk privately for a little while, or have as much fun as they can during rest periods. It’s enough to take the edge off. “Would you like to do something about that?”
Jack smiles. “It’s why I’m here.”
“All right.”
Jack kisses his ear. “Tell me something about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you feel like telling me.”
“Something big or something small?”
“Small. Unless…”
“No. Other times are for confession… I have always hated falafel.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know why. When I had cook’s duty, everyone said I was very good at making it, but I have never quite liked that grouping of spices with chickpeas… Kibbeh is my favourite thing, I think.”
“Kibbeh?”
“A little ball of bulgur and spices with minced lamb. I like the raw kind and the cooked.”
“Right now I’d kill for anything besides plantains and fish.” Jack sighs. “Tell me about something that isn’t food.”
“All right… When I was in grammar school, I had the worst penmanship of anyone in my class.”
Jack laughs. “You should’ve been a doctor.” He takes Sayid’s hand between his own and runs his fingers over the palm and thumb.
Sayid puts his free hand on Jack’s arm. “Tell me about your tattoos.”
“The five is for my panic rule. The rest of them are from the bottom of a whiskey bottle right after Sarah left.”
“I like them anyway,” Sayid says. “They suit you somehow. Little as they might seem to.”
“I think I’ll have them removed if we ever get back to civilization.”
“Really? I will have to enjoy them as much as I can right now, in that case.”
“I didn’t know you liked them so much.” Sayid is becoming very enthusiastic about running his fingers over Jack’s upper arm, dropping little kisses onto each star and then exhaling over them. Every time he does it, a little shiver goes through Jack’s body. “Maybe I’ll keep them.”
“The choice is yours, if you ever have it.” Sayid traces one of the swirls with the tip of his tongue. “But insofar as it matters, I do like them very much.”
“How about I keep them if you keep your hair long?”
“My hair is incapable of remaining short.”
“Yeah, but I’ve heard you say you want it shorter.” Jack runs his fingers through Sayid’s hair, letting it brush against the webbing between them. “I love it right now.”
“Does it remind you of a woman’s hair?”
Jack strokes Sayid’s beard and starts running a hand over his chest. “I’d have a hell of a hard time pretending you were a woman.” He presses his crotch against Sayid's and kisses him on the mouth. “I could tell you a lot of things I like about you.”
“Do you think I am a good man?” It’s a tense question, loaded.
Jack pulls back just enough to look Sayid in the face. “Yes. I do. And I’d be willing to argue it with you.” He swallows. “I don’t want to do that right now, though.”
“I am not sure an argument would be worthwhile. But certainly not now.”
“No. Not now.” He sucks lightly at one side of Sayid’s neck. “I could tell you about a lot of things that wouldn’t make you mad.”
Sayid traces a finger around Jack’s lips. “Then why don’t you?”
“All right, then.” He rubs little circles behind Sayid’s ears again. “I love your body. I love - I love how fucking built you are. And I’m not the most intuitive guy there is, but I think you love it too, the way you work for it.”
Sayid shrugs. “I like the routine. And I need to be strong.”
“Yeah. You do.” He runs his hands over Sayid’s arms. “But it turns you on, too.”
“Yes. Although you are also speaking from your own experience.”
“Yeah. I am. You know what I want to do?” he whispers in Sayid’s ear.
“What?”
“See how you get yourself off. I’m always trying to guess what you like.”
“I try to help. And you are not bad at guessing.”
Jack kisses his lips a few times. “Oh, you help. But I want to know.”
“I don’t like to do the same thing every time.”
“Nobody does.”
An amused, almost sly expression comes over Sayid’s face. “Will you return the favour?”
“Don’t I always?” He and Sayid are both laughing.
“All right.” Sayid sits up to wriggle out of his clothes, which consist only of an undershirt and boxers. “You get undressed too. I don’t want to feel your jeans against me instead of your skin.”
Jack complies, although it takes him longer, and Sayid is already getting started by the time Jack’s clothes are off. He finds himself wanting to hold Sayid’s hand, but they’re both occupied; Sayid’s using one to tease his nipples, circling them and pinching. Jack settles for a few moments’ necking before he whispers in Sayid’s ear again. “I love your ears, too.”
“Mmm?”
Jack nips at the lobe. “They remind me of those Buddha statues. I think they’re supposed to mean wisdom or something.” Sayid gives a little gasp and rubs at the head of his cock. “I just think they’re adorable.” Another little nip, to prove his point.
Sayid’s free hand leaves his nipples and starts fondling his balls instead. Jack does nothing but watch for a while, finding it difficult to speak. Sayid, however, manages the task: “You had better return the favour some other day, Jack.” Jack struggles to make comprehend the words, any words, and Sayid adds, “Get yourself off before you poke a hold in my side.”
“Oh! Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Sayid groans and makes a half-strangled sound and then starts muttering in little spurts and dashes of breathy Arabic. For a while Jack works without speaking, too caught up in watching Sayid to say anything to him. He’s reaching a sort of plateau when he sees that Sayid is on the edge, ready to come, and for some reason it occurs to him say, “I - fucking love - love your nose. You brush it… against me kissing, and I get hard. Fuck. Jesus Christ, you’re hot. Your lips. Oh, fuck…” And Sayid is coming, kissing Jack as hard as he ever has, and Jack can’t think of anything to do but kiss him back and start thrusting against Sayid and crushing their mouths together until light seems to explode behind his eyes and he’s falling.
Eventually he hears his own breathing start to slow, alongside Sayid’s. He’s aware of something jabbing against his back. “I think I crushed Titus Andronicus.”
“Are you sorry?” asks Sayid.
He smiles. “Not at all.”
**Image credit: cylonized at lost-forum.