Fic: Shift (Jack/Sawyer)
The smut muse that has been pent up all semester has impatiently foisted another story upon me. Not the one I wanted--the one I wanted like a week ago. *hrump* I mean, thank you, O Gracious Muse.
Title: Shift
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rough and dirty PWP (or as close as I get to the “without plot/what plot?” part). No spoilers, really.
Note: For zelda_zee. It ain’t precisely your brand of s/D (or really s/D at all), but I think you might appreciate it anyway. I’m feeling all twitchy about the finale, and I needed to distract myself. And I figured you needed distraction from worrying about Sayid (no, I do not know any spoilers, don’t worry!)
Shift
Sawyer liked to flirt. That was his way. It didn’t particularly matter if he liked a person or not, although there was generally always some undercurrent of attraction, or of passion that could easily be anger or lust; Sawyer flirted anyway. Especially when it could either get him something or completely unnerve somebody.
Sawyer thought Jack would be an especially fine target for his flirtation, especially since Sawyer was often actually quite attracted to the man. Despite Jack’s reticence and foolish need to do the right thing, he could be slyly funny or, more often, quietly intense. Sawyer longed to provoke either of those moods. Unfortunately, the things that typically worked on anyone else didn’t work on Jack. It was maddening how Sawyer could give his dimpled grin or lick his lips or touch Jack’s arm or use the kind of innuendo that no reasonable person could ignore and Jack would snort or shake off his hand or simply act as though he had no idea what Sawyer was doing, nor did he care. That made Sawyer try harder, both because he hated admitting defeat and because all this denial was making him hornier than he thought possible. Every time Jack’s eyes went flat and he walked off, it was all Sawyer could do not to pounce on him, make him feel it.
He got to where he craved Jack’s reaction, whatever it was. If Jack finally gave in, Sawyer would make him feel so many things he wouldn’t dare walk away again. If he continued to refuse to give in, it would just make Sawyer tighten and ache more, make him run off into the jungle to stroke himself thinking about Jack’s hard stare and his arms, stronger now than they had ever been.
Then one day Sawyer came up behind Jack as he sat at the computer monitor. He often sat down there a few minutes before the alarm, working at the desk so that his pill counting or instrument cleaning didn’t get interrupted when he needed to input the numbers. That day, Sawyer walked up to the desk and reached out to massage Jack’s shoulders. Usually, Jack reacted rather quickly to his touches, jerking away annoyed or brushing them off as if they didn’t matter. But this time, Sawyer let his hands linger, just for a moment, and he caught a glimpse of Jack’s face in the monitor, telling him all he needed to know. Enough to send a tingle over his body that would turn into a warm arousal then a raging hard-on and send him to the shower to jerk off and wonder exactly how long Jack had been hiding a face like he’d just made-abandoned and pained, desperate-and why he had to hide it at all. In the shower, Sawyer braced himself with a hand against the wall and fisted himself mercilessly, a string of curses and Jack’s name tumbling out because at least he wasn’t too afraid to admit what he felt. He was struck now by how this was unlike him; he wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody, certainly not Jack Shephard. When he thought about what he planned to do, he could feel himself coming, and he could almost forgot about his hand pumping his dick and simply think about Jack’s eyes staring at him, not hard with hiding but with need. Then Jack succumbing, finally letting Sawyer have him, take him.
The next day, he waited for everyone but Jack to leave the hatch. Jack was at the monitor again, writing something in a notebook, when Sawyer came up behind him and simply laid a hand on his neck, in the exact spot that had made Jack unable to keep his guard completely up. Soon, Sawyer’s thumb was pressing up and over the nape of his neck. Jack shuddered this time, but then he froze.
Sawyer leaned over him, about to say something in his ear, about to tell him every dirty thing he’d ever thought about doing to him, but Jack pulled away, standing, and before Sawyer knew it, things had shifted: his back was thudding into the nearest wall, and Jack’s face was in his face.
“What in the fuck are you doing, Sawyer?” he said through gritted teeth. As if he didn’t know, as if this was not the culmination of every encounter they’d had in the past month.
Sawyer reached down to stroke a hand over Jack’s crotch, but Jack caught his arm. He pulled both of Sawyer’s arms up over his head, pinning them into the wall, and it was all Sawyer could do to breathe, feeling all of Jack’s weight rocking into his body, having his hands circling his wrists, squeezing, pulling the muscles in his arms until they ached.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he repeated.
Sawyer didn’t cower at that, nor did he struggle anymore. He felt himself melting into the wall as his heart raced and every inch of his skin begged for Jack’s skin, riding tight over all those hard muscles in his body. But it wasn’t entirely about his body, because Sawyer was looking into his eyes, unable to exactly decipher the storm of feeling he saw there. His own eyes flitted for a moment to Jack’s jaw, then his neck. He couldn’t help it: he stretched his face toward him to bite down on his neck, not enough to break the skin. In fact, he was quickly tasting rather than biting, licking roughly with his tongue and sucking with his lips, as if he could milk out some of Jack’s righteous anger along with salt and the faint hint of soap. But Jack pulled away, releasing Sawyer’s arms and holding him now by both sides of his face.
“What are you doing?” he said. But he knew. He knew so well he was already moving like it, breathing like it, smelling like it. He held Sawyer’s head back against the wall, and when Jack closed his eyes, just for a moment, Sawyer felt something crumble inside him.
“Whatever the fuck you want,” Sawyer said, and he meant it.
God, did he mean it, standing there with the scent of Jack’s arousal so strong, a musk that surprised him because he thought he knew almost everything about the man’s body-the way it looked and smelled-but he’d never been this close. He craved him already, this cock he had never seen but could now feel pressing into his thigh, not even moving, just holding there. But Jack’s blood was thrumming through his veins, and he was looking at Sawyer like he was this close to losing his mind.
Still, Jack sounded rough, determined: “Turn around.” And Sawyer did. Jack soon had him jammed up against the concrete wall, from his face and chest down to his cock. Sawyer practically ground himself into the wall, just for relief, because he was so hard it was miserable and he was so close he could come if Jack would just slip his hand down into his pants and rub his thumb over his already slick head. Or if he only breathed on the back of his neck.
But Jack wasn’t breathing on him. He was holding him there with his arms, and his body was close enough for Sawyer to feel its heat but not close enough to really touch him. Then suddenly, Jack was pressing against him again, the hard ridge of his cock so obvious even through two layers of denim pushing against the crack of his ass; his voice, deep and half crazy, was in his ear: “I guess you knew I wouldn’t be able to ignore this forever. Sawyer, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to breathe. Take off your pants.”
After Jack let him go without really giving him any space, Sawyer couldn’t move. This was happening too fast, and it wasn’t what he had expected, not by a long shot. He shook with this confusing lust, resting his forehead on the wall, but when he heard Jack curse as he yanked at his own zipper, he found himself tearing off his own pants, no underwear to get in the way. His jeans pooled at his ankles, and with his eyes cast downward to see them, he also saw Jack’s jeans and boxers fall to the floor. Jack’s arms bent to pull them over his bare feet, and then Sawyer felt Jack’s body settle into his, cock pressing against his ass, so hot and hard Sawyer let out a breath, finally somehow processing that this was exactly what it was, and it was exactly what he had wanted. He had always pictured himself fucking Jack like this-on the sand, in the bed, in the shower, against this very wall-taking control and burying inside him and making him make these sounds, but now he was making the sounds, whimpering almost at the feel of Jack’s stomach and thighs and his cock as he pulled away from Sawyer enough to let it hang down and slide below Sawyer’s ass so that it brushed every sensitive inch of skin between his thighs, resting against his balls. It was not enough. He ground back into Jack, hoping to feel him sliding against his entrance, reminding him of something he hadn’t had in so long. But Jack’s arms held his hips, stopping him from moving.
“I wanna be inside you. Deep.”
“God, yeah.”
Jack pulled back a little, his cock still brushing the inside of Sawyer’s thighs, and then he felt Jack’s finger tracing over his jaw and sliding between his lips. He sucked greedily, knowing exactly what this was, but it still stung a little when Jack probed that finger into his entrance, slowly, deeper and deeper, as far as it would go.
He said, “God, Sawyer, you’re so fucking tight.”
After he withdrew, Sawyer heard him sucking his fingers himself this time before he thrust in two of them, less gingerly than before. At Sawyer’s sharp intake of breath, Jack was in his ear again: “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to open you up like this? I have never wanted somebody so bad in my whole fucking life.”
“Fuck me,” Sawyer panted.
Without any more preparation or ceremony, Jack was spitting into his hands, coating his cock, and pushing into Sawyer. It hurt like hell for a moment, but Jack’s cock was leaking already, and once he began really slipping, fast strokes in and out, it only felt like wonderful pressure. Sawyer held himself off the wall with his hands, scared to touch his cock for fear he wouldn’t last ten seconds stroking himself while Jack pounded into him. Jack’s cock was short and thick, and when he pulled Sawyer’s hips back and up a little, it suddenly angled things in a way that made each thrust feel like it tickled his prostate, sending shocks of arousal through him, fire-hot and sharp, sparkling behind his eyes and down through his legs to the floor, dissipating into heavy warmth just before he felt another shock.
Jack grunted in time with each thrust, but when he began to use words again, Sawyer sank into the wall and concentrated on remembering every one of them.
“So good…I didn’t know…you needed to be fucked…so bad…I didn’t think you’d… let me do it…Wanted to…Shit-God, wanted to…Fuck, Sawyer, fuck, so-fuck, so beautiful…so tight…I wanted to fuck you so hard…Can you feel it?…Is this…Is this-Jesus, can you feel this?”
Sawyer only answered with moans, because he really couldn’t breathe, not with the pleasure so close to pain, and not with the scent of his own arousal and Jack’s hanging in the air. It was as if the whole of him was being held together through sheer force of will, and every thrust threatened to break him into pieces. He was this close to letting it go, and he needed Jack to bring it out of him. “Harder,” he said. “Harder, you big son of a bitch. Fuck me harder.”
At those words, Sawyer felt Jack coming. His own dick hung there, untouched, and he didn’t come when Jack finally buried deep and held himself there as he filled Sawyer, moving again through the orgasm, groaning and saying things Sawyer couldn’t understand.
After he pulled out, Sawyer didn’t move, even though his back and shoulders protested the knots they would have and his cock was so neglected it hurt. Jack collapsed into him for a moment, mumbling, “Fuck.” Then Sawyer felt him pulling away, and that hurt maybe even more, the thought that this was already over and this man’s strong arms and rough voice were already gone. Like he could just wash his hands and be done; like this was any if the other million disagreeable things he did on the island because he was a masochist.
But he wasn’t a masochist or even much of a sadist, because he soon slid into place between in the wall and Sawyer, on his knees, taking his time as he breathed hard and came down from his orgasm to look at Sawyer. Jack cupped his balls in his hot, sweaty hand, then he wrapped the other hand around the base of his cock and Sawyer watched through heavy lids as he slid into Jack’s wet mouth, slightly cool from panting.
Sawyer was almost too overcome to watch, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Jack’s head bobbing closer to his hips as he felt his tongue push against the head and trace wetly down the underside or as Jack’s head pulled away, his mouth sucking hard like he wanted not just to taste him but to suck him clean only to feel the new slickness that formed at his head, waiting for his tongue again.
He was glad he had the wall to hold him up, because he was so far gone that he shook as well as groaned with each bobbing of Jack’s head. When Jack started to take him in deeper, when he started to go faster, when he started making more and more groans of his own as well as greedy, hungry sucking sounds, it seemed like he had been holding back so long that he didn’t even know how to let it all go. Then Jack started to deep throat him, and he felt it coming, almost tearing loose from deep inside him.
Sawyer’s voice was hoarse from breathing too hard. He said, “I never thought you would fuck me. I never thought you could make it this fucking good. Suck me hard. That’s it. That’s-shit, oh fuck, oh my God your mouth is like-fuck, I’m gonna come, Jack. Make me come. Fuck me. Oh, fuck-“ He came with a shout, and it was Jack’s name over and over. He couldn’t move his hands to touch Jack’s head or shoulders; he could only pray for Jack to keep touching him and to never want to stop.
After Jack finally pulled off, Sawyer stayed there, hands against the wall, panting and watching him crawl out of his place. He heard the rustle of Jack’s pants, and but he time he’d tucked himself back into his own pants again, Jack was standing behind him, arms crossed and head bowed. Sawyer leaned back into the wall again, this time facing him, and the two exchanged a long, half-confused look. It was as if the world had shifted, and Sawyer realized that maybe he should never have been so flippant about the whole thing. He should have known this was not just something they could do once, or without changing everything between them. He had no idea what would happen next. Clearly, Jack didn’t either.
Finally, Jack let out a breath and said, “Am I allowed to kiss you, Sawyer?”
Sawyer’s face broke into a wide smile. He drawled, “Didn’t I tell you you could do whatever the fuck you wanted.”
Whatever had become suddenly bashful about Jack vanished again as he bridged the gap between them in two steps. His hands held Sawyer’s face again, and his hips pinned him against the wall, but this time, even though it was no less fierce and hard, it was more passionate. When Jack looked into his eyes, there was that same intensity, but it didn’t try to hide anything. And it left Sawyer no less helpless with lust, not that he could do a damn thing about it. So he smiled wickedly, and Jack kissed him the same way he had fucked him: powerfully.
Title: Shift
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rough and dirty PWP (or as close as I get to the “without plot/what plot?” part). No spoilers, really.
Note: For zelda_zee. It ain’t precisely your brand of s/D (or really s/D at all), but I think you might appreciate it anyway. I’m feeling all twitchy about the finale, and I needed to distract myself. And I figured you needed distraction from worrying about Sayid (no, I do not know any spoilers, don’t worry!)
Shift
Sawyer liked to flirt. That was his way. It didn’t particularly matter if he liked a person or not, although there was generally always some undercurrent of attraction, or of passion that could easily be anger or lust; Sawyer flirted anyway. Especially when it could either get him something or completely unnerve somebody.
Sawyer thought Jack would be an especially fine target for his flirtation, especially since Sawyer was often actually quite attracted to the man. Despite Jack’s reticence and foolish need to do the right thing, he could be slyly funny or, more often, quietly intense. Sawyer longed to provoke either of those moods. Unfortunately, the things that typically worked on anyone else didn’t work on Jack. It was maddening how Sawyer could give his dimpled grin or lick his lips or touch Jack’s arm or use the kind of innuendo that no reasonable person could ignore and Jack would snort or shake off his hand or simply act as though he had no idea what Sawyer was doing, nor did he care. That made Sawyer try harder, both because he hated admitting defeat and because all this denial was making him hornier than he thought possible. Every time Jack’s eyes went flat and he walked off, it was all Sawyer could do not to pounce on him, make him feel it.
He got to where he craved Jack’s reaction, whatever it was. If Jack finally gave in, Sawyer would make him feel so many things he wouldn’t dare walk away again. If he continued to refuse to give in, it would just make Sawyer tighten and ache more, make him run off into the jungle to stroke himself thinking about Jack’s hard stare and his arms, stronger now than they had ever been.
Then one day Sawyer came up behind Jack as he sat at the computer monitor. He often sat down there a few minutes before the alarm, working at the desk so that his pill counting or instrument cleaning didn’t get interrupted when he needed to input the numbers. That day, Sawyer walked up to the desk and reached out to massage Jack’s shoulders. Usually, Jack reacted rather quickly to his touches, jerking away annoyed or brushing them off as if they didn’t matter. But this time, Sawyer let his hands linger, just for a moment, and he caught a glimpse of Jack’s face in the monitor, telling him all he needed to know. Enough to send a tingle over his body that would turn into a warm arousal then a raging hard-on and send him to the shower to jerk off and wonder exactly how long Jack had been hiding a face like he’d just made-abandoned and pained, desperate-and why he had to hide it at all. In the shower, Sawyer braced himself with a hand against the wall and fisted himself mercilessly, a string of curses and Jack’s name tumbling out because at least he wasn’t too afraid to admit what he felt. He was struck now by how this was unlike him; he wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody, certainly not Jack Shephard. When he thought about what he planned to do, he could feel himself coming, and he could almost forgot about his hand pumping his dick and simply think about Jack’s eyes staring at him, not hard with hiding but with need. Then Jack succumbing, finally letting Sawyer have him, take him.
The next day, he waited for everyone but Jack to leave the hatch. Jack was at the monitor again, writing something in a notebook, when Sawyer came up behind him and simply laid a hand on his neck, in the exact spot that had made Jack unable to keep his guard completely up. Soon, Sawyer’s thumb was pressing up and over the nape of his neck. Jack shuddered this time, but then he froze.
Sawyer leaned over him, about to say something in his ear, about to tell him every dirty thing he’d ever thought about doing to him, but Jack pulled away, standing, and before Sawyer knew it, things had shifted: his back was thudding into the nearest wall, and Jack’s face was in his face.
“What in the fuck are you doing, Sawyer?” he said through gritted teeth. As if he didn’t know, as if this was not the culmination of every encounter they’d had in the past month.
Sawyer reached down to stroke a hand over Jack’s crotch, but Jack caught his arm. He pulled both of Sawyer’s arms up over his head, pinning them into the wall, and it was all Sawyer could do to breathe, feeling all of Jack’s weight rocking into his body, having his hands circling his wrists, squeezing, pulling the muscles in his arms until they ached.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he repeated.
Sawyer didn’t cower at that, nor did he struggle anymore. He felt himself melting into the wall as his heart raced and every inch of his skin begged for Jack’s skin, riding tight over all those hard muscles in his body. But it wasn’t entirely about his body, because Sawyer was looking into his eyes, unable to exactly decipher the storm of feeling he saw there. His own eyes flitted for a moment to Jack’s jaw, then his neck. He couldn’t help it: he stretched his face toward him to bite down on his neck, not enough to break the skin. In fact, he was quickly tasting rather than biting, licking roughly with his tongue and sucking with his lips, as if he could milk out some of Jack’s righteous anger along with salt and the faint hint of soap. But Jack pulled away, releasing Sawyer’s arms and holding him now by both sides of his face.
“What are you doing?” he said. But he knew. He knew so well he was already moving like it, breathing like it, smelling like it. He held Sawyer’s head back against the wall, and when Jack closed his eyes, just for a moment, Sawyer felt something crumble inside him.
“Whatever the fuck you want,” Sawyer said, and he meant it.
God, did he mean it, standing there with the scent of Jack’s arousal so strong, a musk that surprised him because he thought he knew almost everything about the man’s body-the way it looked and smelled-but he’d never been this close. He craved him already, this cock he had never seen but could now feel pressing into his thigh, not even moving, just holding there. But Jack’s blood was thrumming through his veins, and he was looking at Sawyer like he was this close to losing his mind.
Still, Jack sounded rough, determined: “Turn around.” And Sawyer did. Jack soon had him jammed up against the concrete wall, from his face and chest down to his cock. Sawyer practically ground himself into the wall, just for relief, because he was so hard it was miserable and he was so close he could come if Jack would just slip his hand down into his pants and rub his thumb over his already slick head. Or if he only breathed on the back of his neck.
But Jack wasn’t breathing on him. He was holding him there with his arms, and his body was close enough for Sawyer to feel its heat but not close enough to really touch him. Then suddenly, Jack was pressing against him again, the hard ridge of his cock so obvious even through two layers of denim pushing against the crack of his ass; his voice, deep and half crazy, was in his ear: “I guess you knew I wouldn’t be able to ignore this forever. Sawyer, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to breathe. Take off your pants.”
After Jack let him go without really giving him any space, Sawyer couldn’t move. This was happening too fast, and it wasn’t what he had expected, not by a long shot. He shook with this confusing lust, resting his forehead on the wall, but when he heard Jack curse as he yanked at his own zipper, he found himself tearing off his own pants, no underwear to get in the way. His jeans pooled at his ankles, and with his eyes cast downward to see them, he also saw Jack’s jeans and boxers fall to the floor. Jack’s arms bent to pull them over his bare feet, and then Sawyer felt Jack’s body settle into his, cock pressing against his ass, so hot and hard Sawyer let out a breath, finally somehow processing that this was exactly what it was, and it was exactly what he had wanted. He had always pictured himself fucking Jack like this-on the sand, in the bed, in the shower, against this very wall-taking control and burying inside him and making him make these sounds, but now he was making the sounds, whimpering almost at the feel of Jack’s stomach and thighs and his cock as he pulled away from Sawyer enough to let it hang down and slide below Sawyer’s ass so that it brushed every sensitive inch of skin between his thighs, resting against his balls. It was not enough. He ground back into Jack, hoping to feel him sliding against his entrance, reminding him of something he hadn’t had in so long. But Jack’s arms held his hips, stopping him from moving.
“I wanna be inside you. Deep.”
“God, yeah.”
Jack pulled back a little, his cock still brushing the inside of Sawyer’s thighs, and then he felt Jack’s finger tracing over his jaw and sliding between his lips. He sucked greedily, knowing exactly what this was, but it still stung a little when Jack probed that finger into his entrance, slowly, deeper and deeper, as far as it would go.
He said, “God, Sawyer, you’re so fucking tight.”
After he withdrew, Sawyer heard him sucking his fingers himself this time before he thrust in two of them, less gingerly than before. At Sawyer’s sharp intake of breath, Jack was in his ear again: “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to open you up like this? I have never wanted somebody so bad in my whole fucking life.”
“Fuck me,” Sawyer panted.
Without any more preparation or ceremony, Jack was spitting into his hands, coating his cock, and pushing into Sawyer. It hurt like hell for a moment, but Jack’s cock was leaking already, and once he began really slipping, fast strokes in and out, it only felt like wonderful pressure. Sawyer held himself off the wall with his hands, scared to touch his cock for fear he wouldn’t last ten seconds stroking himself while Jack pounded into him. Jack’s cock was short and thick, and when he pulled Sawyer’s hips back and up a little, it suddenly angled things in a way that made each thrust feel like it tickled his prostate, sending shocks of arousal through him, fire-hot and sharp, sparkling behind his eyes and down through his legs to the floor, dissipating into heavy warmth just before he felt another shock.
Jack grunted in time with each thrust, but when he began to use words again, Sawyer sank into the wall and concentrated on remembering every one of them.
“So good…I didn’t know…you needed to be fucked…so bad…I didn’t think you’d… let me do it…Wanted to…Shit-God, wanted to…Fuck, Sawyer, fuck, so-fuck, so beautiful…so tight…I wanted to fuck you so hard…Can you feel it?…Is this…Is this-Jesus, can you feel this?”
Sawyer only answered with moans, because he really couldn’t breathe, not with the pleasure so close to pain, and not with the scent of his own arousal and Jack’s hanging in the air. It was as if the whole of him was being held together through sheer force of will, and every thrust threatened to break him into pieces. He was this close to letting it go, and he needed Jack to bring it out of him. “Harder,” he said. “Harder, you big son of a bitch. Fuck me harder.”
At those words, Sawyer felt Jack coming. His own dick hung there, untouched, and he didn’t come when Jack finally buried deep and held himself there as he filled Sawyer, moving again through the orgasm, groaning and saying things Sawyer couldn’t understand.
After he pulled out, Sawyer didn’t move, even though his back and shoulders protested the knots they would have and his cock was so neglected it hurt. Jack collapsed into him for a moment, mumbling, “Fuck.” Then Sawyer felt him pulling away, and that hurt maybe even more, the thought that this was already over and this man’s strong arms and rough voice were already gone. Like he could just wash his hands and be done; like this was any if the other million disagreeable things he did on the island because he was a masochist.
But he wasn’t a masochist or even much of a sadist, because he soon slid into place between in the wall and Sawyer, on his knees, taking his time as he breathed hard and came down from his orgasm to look at Sawyer. Jack cupped his balls in his hot, sweaty hand, then he wrapped the other hand around the base of his cock and Sawyer watched through heavy lids as he slid into Jack’s wet mouth, slightly cool from panting.
Sawyer was almost too overcome to watch, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Jack’s head bobbing closer to his hips as he felt his tongue push against the head and trace wetly down the underside or as Jack’s head pulled away, his mouth sucking hard like he wanted not just to taste him but to suck him clean only to feel the new slickness that formed at his head, waiting for his tongue again.
He was glad he had the wall to hold him up, because he was so far gone that he shook as well as groaned with each bobbing of Jack’s head. When Jack started to take him in deeper, when he started to go faster, when he started making more and more groans of his own as well as greedy, hungry sucking sounds, it seemed like he had been holding back so long that he didn’t even know how to let it all go. Then Jack started to deep throat him, and he felt it coming, almost tearing loose from deep inside him.
Sawyer’s voice was hoarse from breathing too hard. He said, “I never thought you would fuck me. I never thought you could make it this fucking good. Suck me hard. That’s it. That’s-shit, oh fuck, oh my God your mouth is like-fuck, I’m gonna come, Jack. Make me come. Fuck me. Oh, fuck-“ He came with a shout, and it was Jack’s name over and over. He couldn’t move his hands to touch Jack’s head or shoulders; he could only pray for Jack to keep touching him and to never want to stop.
After Jack finally pulled off, Sawyer stayed there, hands against the wall, panting and watching him crawl out of his place. He heard the rustle of Jack’s pants, and but he time he’d tucked himself back into his own pants again, Jack was standing behind him, arms crossed and head bowed. Sawyer leaned back into the wall again, this time facing him, and the two exchanged a long, half-confused look. It was as if the world had shifted, and Sawyer realized that maybe he should never have been so flippant about the whole thing. He should have known this was not just something they could do once, or without changing everything between them. He had no idea what would happen next. Clearly, Jack didn’t either.
Finally, Jack let out a breath and said, “Am I allowed to kiss you, Sawyer?”
Sawyer’s face broke into a wide smile. He drawled, “Didn’t I tell you you could do whatever the fuck you wanted.”
Whatever had become suddenly bashful about Jack vanished again as he bridged the gap between them in two steps. His hands held Sawyer’s face again, and his hips pinned him against the wall, but this time, even though it was no less fierce and hard, it was more passionate. When Jack looked into his eyes, there was that same intensity, but it didn’t try to hide anything. And it left Sawyer no less helpless with lust, not that he could do a damn thing about it. So he smiled wickedly, and Jack kissed him the same way he had fucked him: powerfully.