Fic: Trying (Jack/Sawyer)
Title: Trying
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: R
Summary: A bit of angsty fluff. Serious schmoop.
This is my feeble attempt at working with the prompt several on my flist gave me a couple of weeks ago, before my muse pitched a fit. They wanted jealousy. It's actually about problems with jealousy, which leads to the angst, but it ends well. I promise.
This is especially for isis2015, as she was one of the prompters and LJ is telling me it's her birthday.
Note: Set in that nice utopian future where Jack is back to doctoring and Sawyer apparently just lays around the house and waits to be his willing sex slave. Forgive Jack coming off as a little too mature here, relatively free of mental static. I know he's not. Maybe he was on this particular day in their relationship.
Trying
Jack sat behind the wheel with the engine off, feeling the cold air outside already working its way into the car. Sawyer would have heard him get home, so he couldn't sit there forever, but he really didn't want to fucking go inside. He was still a little too angry.
The altercation with Sawyer had happened in the middle of Jack's shift at the hospital, leaving him pissed off and distracted for at least a couple of rounds with his patients. He had to find a way to block it all out so he could perform an operation that evening, and even though he'd succeeded in getting himself under control-he was too well-trained not to-now that he had pulled into his own driveway, worn out and hungry, he felt it all rushing back again. It was really the last thing he wanted to have to deal with. He wasn't sure what would happen now, only that something would and it would be ugly, whether Sawyer was home and waiting or straggled in later, probably drunk and even more belligerent than when he'd stood in front of the fifth floor nurses station and accused Jack of being a little too friendly with the newest-and youngest-nurse on the floor. Sawyer seemed oblivious to the fact that the girl was half his age and married, and he seemed to forget that Jack wasn't the one who still clung to notions of bisexuality, and that he had absolutely no reason to stray. Even disregarding all that, Sawyer had seen nothing substantial to hang such accusations on. He never did, actually, not that that ever stopped him.
All this girl had done was incline her head and knock her shoulder against his, just for a moment, in a playful and completely harmless way as she told him she would of course remember better next time to make her 6's look less like 0's, sorry Doctor. The girl was just a friendly kid, but Sawyer had sneered some unpleasant things and swept out of the hospital like a dark cloud, and Jack had watched with his knuckles clenched, then he'd spun around and stalked off himself. Only later did he learn that all the female nurses we so enamored of Sawyer that they couldn't imagine why Jack could be so angry. It was nice, wasn't it? A little jealousy was nice. But Jack had seen too much of that bullshit from Sawyer. His constant insecurity either meant Jack had failed to convince Sawyer that his feelings were serious or, more likely, Sawyer was the most monumentally difficult human being on the planet to deal with. If Sawyer wouldn't listen to him, he might listen to a fist in his jaw. He'd almost done it, there in the hospital; he was so irate he could have, but he was also keenly aware of how many people were watching their lover's spat. Jack knew hitting him was a bad idea, for more reasons than one, but he was growing more and more incensed as he climbed out of the car and trudged up the steps, and he really didn't know what else to do.
The house was dark, but the porch light was on. Sawyer must've been gone. That was good. Maybe Jack would figure out what to say this time to convince him to stop being so jealous, or at least to get the hell over this new need to put those feelings out on display where he worked, where he needed people's respect, where all day, because of this squabble, most of the female nurses had been wasting time twittering about the unfairness of hot doctors being gay and taking other hot guys-bad boys with hearts of gold-off the market. The male nurses were either annoyed at the disruption or in a few cases avoided his eyes for the rest of the day. He was certain the nurse who had been at the center of the over-exaggerated controversy would never quite look at him the same way again. Jack felt a burning in the pit of his stomach. Sawyer had found a way to make the entire afternoon about him and his possessiveness, and Jack hated especially that it returned him to the reaction he always had: blaming himself. If he could just keep his cool. Maybe if he found a ways to keep from reacting…
But he'd never quite been able to avoid reacting to Sawyer. It was probably why he loved him. That Sawyer could occasionally be the most sincere bastard in the world, leaving Jack's heart fluttering almost out of his chest just before that moment they came together and the rest of the world didn't mean anything in comparison to their fire-well, that was part of the reason, too.
Or maybe it was that he heard jazz.
He stopped with his head almost against the door, listening to what proved to be the strains of one of his own mixed CDs filling the house and threatening to swell out into driveway. Sawyer didn't love his jazz collection. He tolerated it, but he said he didn't get the appeal of it. To Jack there was something soothing but exciting about a good album full of slow jazz, with its intricate rhythms and progressions of chords you could just slide into. It was already getting inside his head and his body, but its effect was compounded by the anger and growing confusion and…anticipation? Damn him, he thought.
Hands shaking, he managed to unlock the door and push it open. As he dropped his bag on the floor, as he surveyed his surroundings, he felt at least half of his irritation at Sawyer physically lift off his shoulders, and it was really all he could do after a few moments to cling to the rest of it. His house had always been his haven, comfortable and welcoming after a draining, demanding day, but now it seemed to pull him in like a lover. It pulled him in like Sawyer.
The great room was dark, but everywhere it flickered with candles-small, almond-colored tea lights that glowed against taupe walls and dark woods and white countertops. They must've been what enveloped him in a faint hint of cinnamon and vanilla, almost like something had been baked, but not quite because there was something a little sharper there-some other spice, exotic and warm-and it was such an assault on his senses that he simply stood in the doorway for a while, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Sawyer didn't even show himself. Maybe he wasn't there. Jack smiled to himself. No, Sawyer knew he'd have his hide if he left so many candles burning unattended. Sawyer was there, and he was waiting on Jack to come in his own time. This was new. Usually, even when he was contrite, Sawyer pushed things.
He threw his coat on the counter that divided the kitchen and living area. The counter was free of junk mail and books and all the other clutter it tended to accumulate. Sawyer had been cleaning, he noticed as he surveyed the great room. Even the couch pillows were straight. He finally moved toward the other end of the counter, where one of his nice crystal glasses held the warm promise of scotch. He resisted the urge to down it all in one gulp just to steady his nerves; instead, he took a slow drink and cradled it in his hand, watching the light from the candles reflect in the cut of the crystal. It was like he was transfixed for a moment, watching the scotch shift in the glass, listening to the soothing strains of a familiar song, letting the vanilla and cinnamon and warmth seep into his bones along with the knowledge that Sawyer was somewhere waiting for him…
Sawyer, who he was angry with, who could not get out of bad behavior by falling back on his charm and his considerable ability to him exactly what he wanted, to woo him. Never mind that the wooing was always genuine and open and had been from the first time the man ever laid a hand on him. You couldn't misdirect a problem into scotch and sex and actually solve anything, and Jack was determined that Sawyer wouldn't even be allowed to try.
Nevertheless, Jack followed the candles out of the great room and into the hallway, where they lined the walls. As he moved away from the music and toward the den, he heard and smelled the fire burning in the fireplace before he saw it. As he went even further, he took in the sight of the scotch bottle sitting on the tall table against the wall. Then, as Jack finally stepped into the doorway, he saw Sawyer there on the leather couch, cradling his own glass of scotch and staring straight into the fire. He looked so damn good Jack nearly went hard just from the sight of him, and then he got angry all over again.
Sawyer wore a white button-down shirt, the top button left open, and it looked so crisp and white against his skin, especially in the light from the fire. It was Jack's shirt, as were the pants he was wearing, expensive black slacks that were tailored to fit Jack but couldn't look less than amazing on Sawyer. Jack sometimes had to beg him to dress this way, but when Sawyer took a mind to impressing Jack-or weaseling something out of him-he would pull something from Jack's closet and walk around in it like he was born to wear it and to have it peeled leisurely and erotically off him. Jack pictured him depositing his jeans and t-shirt in a messy pile on their bedroom floor, then pulling on Jack's clothes, down to black socks and dress shoes, probably even slipping on a pair of Jack's black boxer-briefs. The only thing Jack liked better then Sawyer in nice clothes was watching him take those nice clothes off, so Sawyer usually layered it on so as to provide as much enjoyment as possible. He was really surprised the man hadn't resorted to a tie and maybe even a jacket.
He didn't look at Jack for a long time, so Jack simply stood there in the doorway and waited, gazing into the fire. He had every right to be angry, and he had to dig in and hold onto it in the face of this sort of show.
Sawyer said, "I don't know why I act like that. I wish I did."
Jack finally let himself look back at him again. "Why you act like what?"
"I try my best to fuck everything up. And, yeah, I'm trying to make it up to you, but I realize that candles don't mean shit if you don’t believe I'm sorry."
Jack sighed. "I always believe you're sorry. What I'd like is for there not to be anything to be sorry about."
Sawyer stood then, going over to the bottle on the table. "You want another?"
Jack just frowned at him.
"No, look, I'm working on how to say what I have to say. I thought I had it straight until you came in, then it... You and those fucking scrubs," he mumbled. Then he held out his hand to take the glass and retreated with a shake of his head.
So Jack settled himself in the chair by the fire and waited. He said, "You like me in scrubs?"
Sawyer just nodded his head as he came to drop the glass in his hand, barely brushing his fingers, before he went back to his place on the couch. "Why in the hell do you think I'm always popping in on you up at the hospital. I don't know what it is, but they do all sorts of things to me. I think it's the color. Maybe the way they cut across your shoulders. Your ass."
Jack refused to be drawn into easy banter and small talk. Instead-and it frustrated him inordinately-he found his eyes riveted to the look of the collar of the shirt against Sawyer's tanned neck, the contrast with it and with the dark stubble on his face. Sawyer wasn't looking at him but at the fire again, and he was clearly trying to work through something. Jack felt anticipation warring with calm, the combination of Sawyer's presence, their fight, the alcohol, the fire. He forced himself to breathe slowly, steadily.
Sawyer finally said, "It's classic, I guess. You don't believe something's as easy as it seems, so you make sure it's not. You gotta know it don't have anything to do with me trusting you or not. I do. If I didn't, do you think I'd've just dropped my life and come here. I gave up a lot of shit to be with you." He grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Granted, most of it was bad shit, but I'm just saying, I made a choice. I'm happy I decided to try this whole relationship thing."
"Stop trying."
Sawyer's head actually tilted, but he didn't say anything, only regarded him with this slightly pinched face. Confusion, maybe a trace of hurt there, but Sawyer was always good at pushing those emotions down to where a person couldn't see them.
Jack knew his voice would come out harsh, and he meant it to: "Stop trying and just do it then, for fuck's sake." He stood up, depositing the glass on the table and sitting down beside Sawyer. "Do you have any idea how stubborn I am?"
Still looking toward the fire, he mumbled, "I got a clue."
"I'm serious. As long as I'm convinced you care about me, there's nothing you can do to shake me loose. Maybe that's pathetic, I don't know, but I hold on tighter than you can imagine. The harder you push, the harder I hold."
"Don't you think I know that."
He turned Sawyer's head with the tips of his fingers so that he was looking him in the eyes. He left his hand there, but he forced himself not to start caressing his face with his thumb. Slowly, he said, "I'm not going anywhere, so stop pushing. Stop trying to piss me off. Stop thinking I'm going to stick my dick in the first nurse that smiles at me."
"I can't help that."
"Yes, you can."
"Don't you ever get jealous?"
"No."
Jack knew it was entirely untrue when he said it, and when Sawyer laughed bitterly, Jack pulled his hand away and sat back, watching something more confident come into Sawyer's expression. "Like hell," he said. "Maybe you've gotten over some of it, somehow. The physical stuff anyway. Maybe you found some way to forget that I'll flirt with anything the flirts back. But you've had other shit to be jealous over. Like Kate."
"Sawyer, we've already been over and over that."
"No. I mean, tell me you didn't sometimes hate her because it seemed like she understood me better than you did."
"That's not the same thing."
"It is. Even though you act like you've got me pegged, deep down you don't believe you understand anything about me-why I act the way I do, how my mind works, nothing. You think you don't get me. But you do."
"Maybe."
"Ain't no maybe about it. I think the real problem is you get me too good. You see me well enough to know when I'm just picking stupid fights."
"Why did you come to the hospital today and do your best to embarrass me?"
He murmured, "It wasn't a plan or anything." With a frown, he turned back to look Jack in the face. "I don't like them going all mushy over you, smiling at you just because you're a nice guy and treat them nice. You're completely fucking oblivious to the fact that those women-hell, any women-would just fall at your feet if you said the word. That worries me. I had to work hard to get you, pull some halfway manipulative shit, and if one of them-"
Jack pressed a finger to Sawyer's mouth and smiled even though it wasn't really that funny. "No you didn't. You let me exactly what I was getting into with you, long before I so much as let you see that I wanted you."
"Then why in the hell would you?"
"Let me ask you: why did you want me?"
"You're kidding me."
"No."
"I don't know. I guess some part of me wanted something stable?"
"Me too."
Sawyer just smirked. "Brilliant plan."
"You were the most stable thing I had on the island."
"And now…?"
"You still are. But we're not on the island anymore. We don't have to act like this might all disappear tomorrow."
"I do a lot better when I'm thinking in temporaries. I don't know how to want things…long term. And I sure as hell don't know how to want things I ain't gotta fight to get."
"I know," Jack said, even though he really didn't, or at least he hadn't thought about it in quite those terms before. He pulled his hand away from Sawyer's face and got up, going back to the table and the bottle. He poured himself another drink and stood there, looking down at Sawyer's face. He had learned to be open with Jack, but in that openness was a big swirling mess of confusion and emotions so muddled they were sometimes impossible to make sense of or pry apart. At a certain point in his life, that would have been enough to attract Jack to the man. He loved sorting out problems, making things clear. But now, he took no pleasure in doing battle with Sawyer's insecurities; the only joy would be in finally getting rid of enough of them that he could see the man behind them. From the glimpses he'd seen, he liked that man more than he would've ever thought possible.
Jack said, "I feel like I should still be pissed."
"You probably should. If it helps, I can say I won't do it again."
"Won't what?"
"I can't promise not to be jealous. You kinda like it when I am, when I come home and wanna fuck you into the nearest hard surface and leave marks to claim you. You can try and deny that and I won't believe a word of it. But…I won't act like an ass in front of people again. Swear."
Sawyer meant it. It remained to be seen whether he could follow through, but he meant it now, so Jack felt the last bits of anger in him start to soften and fall away. "Okay." After a long pause, Jack said, "So, tell me: how should I react to…?" He gestured to the candles, the fire, the bottle of scotch.
Sawyer shrugged his shoulders. "I figured it was obvious what I was doing, so there'd be no harm in going all out."
"But no tie?"
He smiled and got up, retrieving a light blue tie from the mantle. Jack sat down in the warm place Sawyer had left on the couch as he watched Sawyer's long fingers expertly work the tie into a knot, pulled just snug against his neck. "Better?" he asked. Sawyer stayed there in front of the fireplace, letting Jack really look at him. Sawyer didn't like to be stared at like this, but he tolerated it from Jack, especially now, even if he would be feeling twice as vulnerable as he normally did. Sawyer did indeed look too good for words, but he always looked that way to Jack, even in an old wrinkled white t-shirt and worn-out jeans. Maybe particularly that way, because that was how he'd known him for so long. Not that having him cleaned up and in clothes with crisp lines and smelling like cool, entrancing cologne was bad either.
Jack couldn’t look away from him. He wanted to stay angry, or at least keep his distance, punish Sawyer. But there was no need, and it was childish, and he was tired. And this was a man that inspired a word like adore used without even a hint of irony. Seeing him now without being defensive about it made him want to finally surrender to the comforts of home. "I'm so fucking exhausted. And starved. You could've made me dinner or something."
Sawyer said, "I did get you some take-out."
"Oh?"
"I'm surprised you didn't smell the curry."
Jack smiled. That was the undertone, the scent augmenting the candles: Indian food. After the island, all he wanted was food spicy enough to really taste.
"Anyway," Sawyer added, "I was trying to impress you, not amuse you."
"But think of all the fun I could've had cleaning up the kitchen after you."
"If it helps, the bedroom is a disaster area."
"Yeah?"
"You keep all your blue ties hidden away in the depths of the closet." He groused, "You'd've thought I was on an archeological dig."
Jack just smiled. The fire had died down as they talked, and now the room was lit only by a few scattered candles and that dull orange glow of the logs in the fireplace. It still made Sawyer's face shine, his eyes glinting and impossibly dark and his hair like fine straw or thin gold.
Sawyer said, "So, is there any chance you're gonna let me sleep in the bed tonight?"
"Since when have I been able to keep your lazy ass out of the bed?"
"I figure a man has to have a breaking point. My charm only goes so far."
"No, it goes exactly as far as you want it to go. Especially with me."
He smiled, cautiously but seductively. "That mean you forgive me, Doc?"
"I don't know, Ford."
"I've got a lot of sorries left." He was serious, but he looked at him like he had definite plans to translate those apologies into the work of lips and thighs.
Jack said firmly, "I don't want any more sorries." Then he smiled wearily and forced a little edge into his voice. "Come here."
Sawyer crossed the room and settled into a straddled position over Jack's hips, with his knees in the couch. Jack said, "Are you wearing my underwear too?" Sawyer just smiled and nodded then bent himself so he could nip at Jack's jaw and neck, rough but playful at the same time, the was Jack liked. As soon as Jack's arms circled Sawyer's waist and he exhaled a moan, Jack felt all the heat in his body pooling in his groin-all except the heat on his skin where Sawyer licked a path over to his earlobe. When Jack pulled him down to grind against him, Sawyer held on tight, just sighing in his ear as his cock went hard too. Then he rocked into him and held his body there, and breathed his words out against Jack's forehead: "Do you have any idea how bad I need you?"
Jack felt all the air go out of his chest. Yes, this man could be frightfully easy to forgive sometimes. Jack growled in his ear: "Can I fuck you?"
"Hell yeah," he replied, sweeping his mouth over Jack's, kissing him to make him feel it, probing his mouth, searching it, kisses delving deep as if to prove something that he proved every day, even when he tried to fuck things up. Maybe especially when he tried to fuck things up.
Jack pulled out of the kiss for a deep breath, and when he went back to Sawyer's lips, he just brushed over them and left their labored breathing mingling as Sawyer cradled his head, holding tight.
Sawyer 's soft voice drawled against his lips: "You do whatever you want with me tonight."
Jack turned his head swiftly and let his lips drag up and over to Sawyer's temple as his hands at the back of Sawyer's head dug into his hair. When Sawyer went still, waiting, Jack slid his other hand over his jaw and neck, fingers running along stubble and over a throbbing pulse point. With his mouth still at Sawyer's hairline, he said, "Love you," but he didn't wait for a reply before he pulled Sawyer's head down to find his lips again.
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: R
Summary: A bit of angsty fluff. Serious schmoop.
This is my feeble attempt at working with the prompt several on my flist gave me a couple of weeks ago, before my muse pitched a fit. They wanted jealousy. It's actually about problems with jealousy, which leads to the angst, but it ends well. I promise.
This is especially for isis2015, as she was one of the prompters and LJ is telling me it's her birthday.
Note: Set in that nice utopian future where Jack is back to doctoring and Sawyer apparently just lays around the house and waits to be his willing sex slave. Forgive Jack coming off as a little too mature here, relatively free of mental static. I know he's not. Maybe he was on this particular day in their relationship.
Trying
Jack sat behind the wheel with the engine off, feeling the cold air outside already working its way into the car. Sawyer would have heard him get home, so he couldn't sit there forever, but he really didn't want to fucking go inside. He was still a little too angry.
The altercation with Sawyer had happened in the middle of Jack's shift at the hospital, leaving him pissed off and distracted for at least a couple of rounds with his patients. He had to find a way to block it all out so he could perform an operation that evening, and even though he'd succeeded in getting himself under control-he was too well-trained not to-now that he had pulled into his own driveway, worn out and hungry, he felt it all rushing back again. It was really the last thing he wanted to have to deal with. He wasn't sure what would happen now, only that something would and it would be ugly, whether Sawyer was home and waiting or straggled in later, probably drunk and even more belligerent than when he'd stood in front of the fifth floor nurses station and accused Jack of being a little too friendly with the newest-and youngest-nurse on the floor. Sawyer seemed oblivious to the fact that the girl was half his age and married, and he seemed to forget that Jack wasn't the one who still clung to notions of bisexuality, and that he had absolutely no reason to stray. Even disregarding all that, Sawyer had seen nothing substantial to hang such accusations on. He never did, actually, not that that ever stopped him.
All this girl had done was incline her head and knock her shoulder against his, just for a moment, in a playful and completely harmless way as she told him she would of course remember better next time to make her 6's look less like 0's, sorry Doctor. The girl was just a friendly kid, but Sawyer had sneered some unpleasant things and swept out of the hospital like a dark cloud, and Jack had watched with his knuckles clenched, then he'd spun around and stalked off himself. Only later did he learn that all the female nurses we so enamored of Sawyer that they couldn't imagine why Jack could be so angry. It was nice, wasn't it? A little jealousy was nice. But Jack had seen too much of that bullshit from Sawyer. His constant insecurity either meant Jack had failed to convince Sawyer that his feelings were serious or, more likely, Sawyer was the most monumentally difficult human being on the planet to deal with. If Sawyer wouldn't listen to him, he might listen to a fist in his jaw. He'd almost done it, there in the hospital; he was so irate he could have, but he was also keenly aware of how many people were watching their lover's spat. Jack knew hitting him was a bad idea, for more reasons than one, but he was growing more and more incensed as he climbed out of the car and trudged up the steps, and he really didn't know what else to do.
The house was dark, but the porch light was on. Sawyer must've been gone. That was good. Maybe Jack would figure out what to say this time to convince him to stop being so jealous, or at least to get the hell over this new need to put those feelings out on display where he worked, where he needed people's respect, where all day, because of this squabble, most of the female nurses had been wasting time twittering about the unfairness of hot doctors being gay and taking other hot guys-bad boys with hearts of gold-off the market. The male nurses were either annoyed at the disruption or in a few cases avoided his eyes for the rest of the day. He was certain the nurse who had been at the center of the over-exaggerated controversy would never quite look at him the same way again. Jack felt a burning in the pit of his stomach. Sawyer had found a way to make the entire afternoon about him and his possessiveness, and Jack hated especially that it returned him to the reaction he always had: blaming himself. If he could just keep his cool. Maybe if he found a ways to keep from reacting…
But he'd never quite been able to avoid reacting to Sawyer. It was probably why he loved him. That Sawyer could occasionally be the most sincere bastard in the world, leaving Jack's heart fluttering almost out of his chest just before that moment they came together and the rest of the world didn't mean anything in comparison to their fire-well, that was part of the reason, too.
Or maybe it was that he heard jazz.
He stopped with his head almost against the door, listening to what proved to be the strains of one of his own mixed CDs filling the house and threatening to swell out into driveway. Sawyer didn't love his jazz collection. He tolerated it, but he said he didn't get the appeal of it. To Jack there was something soothing but exciting about a good album full of slow jazz, with its intricate rhythms and progressions of chords you could just slide into. It was already getting inside his head and his body, but its effect was compounded by the anger and growing confusion and…anticipation? Damn him, he thought.
Hands shaking, he managed to unlock the door and push it open. As he dropped his bag on the floor, as he surveyed his surroundings, he felt at least half of his irritation at Sawyer physically lift off his shoulders, and it was really all he could do after a few moments to cling to the rest of it. His house had always been his haven, comfortable and welcoming after a draining, demanding day, but now it seemed to pull him in like a lover. It pulled him in like Sawyer.
The great room was dark, but everywhere it flickered with candles-small, almond-colored tea lights that glowed against taupe walls and dark woods and white countertops. They must've been what enveloped him in a faint hint of cinnamon and vanilla, almost like something had been baked, but not quite because there was something a little sharper there-some other spice, exotic and warm-and it was such an assault on his senses that he simply stood in the doorway for a while, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Sawyer didn't even show himself. Maybe he wasn't there. Jack smiled to himself. No, Sawyer knew he'd have his hide if he left so many candles burning unattended. Sawyer was there, and he was waiting on Jack to come in his own time. This was new. Usually, even when he was contrite, Sawyer pushed things.
He threw his coat on the counter that divided the kitchen and living area. The counter was free of junk mail and books and all the other clutter it tended to accumulate. Sawyer had been cleaning, he noticed as he surveyed the great room. Even the couch pillows were straight. He finally moved toward the other end of the counter, where one of his nice crystal glasses held the warm promise of scotch. He resisted the urge to down it all in one gulp just to steady his nerves; instead, he took a slow drink and cradled it in his hand, watching the light from the candles reflect in the cut of the crystal. It was like he was transfixed for a moment, watching the scotch shift in the glass, listening to the soothing strains of a familiar song, letting the vanilla and cinnamon and warmth seep into his bones along with the knowledge that Sawyer was somewhere waiting for him…
Sawyer, who he was angry with, who could not get out of bad behavior by falling back on his charm and his considerable ability to him exactly what he wanted, to woo him. Never mind that the wooing was always genuine and open and had been from the first time the man ever laid a hand on him. You couldn't misdirect a problem into scotch and sex and actually solve anything, and Jack was determined that Sawyer wouldn't even be allowed to try.
Nevertheless, Jack followed the candles out of the great room and into the hallway, where they lined the walls. As he moved away from the music and toward the den, he heard and smelled the fire burning in the fireplace before he saw it. As he went even further, he took in the sight of the scotch bottle sitting on the tall table against the wall. Then, as Jack finally stepped into the doorway, he saw Sawyer there on the leather couch, cradling his own glass of scotch and staring straight into the fire. He looked so damn good Jack nearly went hard just from the sight of him, and then he got angry all over again.
Sawyer wore a white button-down shirt, the top button left open, and it looked so crisp and white against his skin, especially in the light from the fire. It was Jack's shirt, as were the pants he was wearing, expensive black slacks that were tailored to fit Jack but couldn't look less than amazing on Sawyer. Jack sometimes had to beg him to dress this way, but when Sawyer took a mind to impressing Jack-or weaseling something out of him-he would pull something from Jack's closet and walk around in it like he was born to wear it and to have it peeled leisurely and erotically off him. Jack pictured him depositing his jeans and t-shirt in a messy pile on their bedroom floor, then pulling on Jack's clothes, down to black socks and dress shoes, probably even slipping on a pair of Jack's black boxer-briefs. The only thing Jack liked better then Sawyer in nice clothes was watching him take those nice clothes off, so Sawyer usually layered it on so as to provide as much enjoyment as possible. He was really surprised the man hadn't resorted to a tie and maybe even a jacket.
He didn't look at Jack for a long time, so Jack simply stood there in the doorway and waited, gazing into the fire. He had every right to be angry, and he had to dig in and hold onto it in the face of this sort of show.
Sawyer said, "I don't know why I act like that. I wish I did."
Jack finally let himself look back at him again. "Why you act like what?"
"I try my best to fuck everything up. And, yeah, I'm trying to make it up to you, but I realize that candles don't mean shit if you don’t believe I'm sorry."
Jack sighed. "I always believe you're sorry. What I'd like is for there not to be anything to be sorry about."
Sawyer stood then, going over to the bottle on the table. "You want another?"
Jack just frowned at him.
"No, look, I'm working on how to say what I have to say. I thought I had it straight until you came in, then it... You and those fucking scrubs," he mumbled. Then he held out his hand to take the glass and retreated with a shake of his head.
So Jack settled himself in the chair by the fire and waited. He said, "You like me in scrubs?"
Sawyer just nodded his head as he came to drop the glass in his hand, barely brushing his fingers, before he went back to his place on the couch. "Why in the hell do you think I'm always popping in on you up at the hospital. I don't know what it is, but they do all sorts of things to me. I think it's the color. Maybe the way they cut across your shoulders. Your ass."
Jack refused to be drawn into easy banter and small talk. Instead-and it frustrated him inordinately-he found his eyes riveted to the look of the collar of the shirt against Sawyer's tanned neck, the contrast with it and with the dark stubble on his face. Sawyer wasn't looking at him but at the fire again, and he was clearly trying to work through something. Jack felt anticipation warring with calm, the combination of Sawyer's presence, their fight, the alcohol, the fire. He forced himself to breathe slowly, steadily.
Sawyer finally said, "It's classic, I guess. You don't believe something's as easy as it seems, so you make sure it's not. You gotta know it don't have anything to do with me trusting you or not. I do. If I didn't, do you think I'd've just dropped my life and come here. I gave up a lot of shit to be with you." He grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Granted, most of it was bad shit, but I'm just saying, I made a choice. I'm happy I decided to try this whole relationship thing."
"Stop trying."
Sawyer's head actually tilted, but he didn't say anything, only regarded him with this slightly pinched face. Confusion, maybe a trace of hurt there, but Sawyer was always good at pushing those emotions down to where a person couldn't see them.
Jack knew his voice would come out harsh, and he meant it to: "Stop trying and just do it then, for fuck's sake." He stood up, depositing the glass on the table and sitting down beside Sawyer. "Do you have any idea how stubborn I am?"
Still looking toward the fire, he mumbled, "I got a clue."
"I'm serious. As long as I'm convinced you care about me, there's nothing you can do to shake me loose. Maybe that's pathetic, I don't know, but I hold on tighter than you can imagine. The harder you push, the harder I hold."
"Don't you think I know that."
He turned Sawyer's head with the tips of his fingers so that he was looking him in the eyes. He left his hand there, but he forced himself not to start caressing his face with his thumb. Slowly, he said, "I'm not going anywhere, so stop pushing. Stop trying to piss me off. Stop thinking I'm going to stick my dick in the first nurse that smiles at me."
"I can't help that."
"Yes, you can."
"Don't you ever get jealous?"
"No."
Jack knew it was entirely untrue when he said it, and when Sawyer laughed bitterly, Jack pulled his hand away and sat back, watching something more confident come into Sawyer's expression. "Like hell," he said. "Maybe you've gotten over some of it, somehow. The physical stuff anyway. Maybe you found some way to forget that I'll flirt with anything the flirts back. But you've had other shit to be jealous over. Like Kate."
"Sawyer, we've already been over and over that."
"No. I mean, tell me you didn't sometimes hate her because it seemed like she understood me better than you did."
"That's not the same thing."
"It is. Even though you act like you've got me pegged, deep down you don't believe you understand anything about me-why I act the way I do, how my mind works, nothing. You think you don't get me. But you do."
"Maybe."
"Ain't no maybe about it. I think the real problem is you get me too good. You see me well enough to know when I'm just picking stupid fights."
"Why did you come to the hospital today and do your best to embarrass me?"
He murmured, "It wasn't a plan or anything." With a frown, he turned back to look Jack in the face. "I don't like them going all mushy over you, smiling at you just because you're a nice guy and treat them nice. You're completely fucking oblivious to the fact that those women-hell, any women-would just fall at your feet if you said the word. That worries me. I had to work hard to get you, pull some halfway manipulative shit, and if one of them-"
Jack pressed a finger to Sawyer's mouth and smiled even though it wasn't really that funny. "No you didn't. You let me exactly what I was getting into with you, long before I so much as let you see that I wanted you."
"Then why in the hell would you?"
"Let me ask you: why did you want me?"
"You're kidding me."
"No."
"I don't know. I guess some part of me wanted something stable?"
"Me too."
Sawyer just smirked. "Brilliant plan."
"You were the most stable thing I had on the island."
"And now…?"
"You still are. But we're not on the island anymore. We don't have to act like this might all disappear tomorrow."
"I do a lot better when I'm thinking in temporaries. I don't know how to want things…long term. And I sure as hell don't know how to want things I ain't gotta fight to get."
"I know," Jack said, even though he really didn't, or at least he hadn't thought about it in quite those terms before. He pulled his hand away from Sawyer's face and got up, going back to the table and the bottle. He poured himself another drink and stood there, looking down at Sawyer's face. He had learned to be open with Jack, but in that openness was a big swirling mess of confusion and emotions so muddled they were sometimes impossible to make sense of or pry apart. At a certain point in his life, that would have been enough to attract Jack to the man. He loved sorting out problems, making things clear. But now, he took no pleasure in doing battle with Sawyer's insecurities; the only joy would be in finally getting rid of enough of them that he could see the man behind them. From the glimpses he'd seen, he liked that man more than he would've ever thought possible.
Jack said, "I feel like I should still be pissed."
"You probably should. If it helps, I can say I won't do it again."
"Won't what?"
"I can't promise not to be jealous. You kinda like it when I am, when I come home and wanna fuck you into the nearest hard surface and leave marks to claim you. You can try and deny that and I won't believe a word of it. But…I won't act like an ass in front of people again. Swear."
Sawyer meant it. It remained to be seen whether he could follow through, but he meant it now, so Jack felt the last bits of anger in him start to soften and fall away. "Okay." After a long pause, Jack said, "So, tell me: how should I react to…?" He gestured to the candles, the fire, the bottle of scotch.
Sawyer shrugged his shoulders. "I figured it was obvious what I was doing, so there'd be no harm in going all out."
"But no tie?"
He smiled and got up, retrieving a light blue tie from the mantle. Jack sat down in the warm place Sawyer had left on the couch as he watched Sawyer's long fingers expertly work the tie into a knot, pulled just snug against his neck. "Better?" he asked. Sawyer stayed there in front of the fireplace, letting Jack really look at him. Sawyer didn't like to be stared at like this, but he tolerated it from Jack, especially now, even if he would be feeling twice as vulnerable as he normally did. Sawyer did indeed look too good for words, but he always looked that way to Jack, even in an old wrinkled white t-shirt and worn-out jeans. Maybe particularly that way, because that was how he'd known him for so long. Not that having him cleaned up and in clothes with crisp lines and smelling like cool, entrancing cologne was bad either.
Jack couldn’t look away from him. He wanted to stay angry, or at least keep his distance, punish Sawyer. But there was no need, and it was childish, and he was tired. And this was a man that inspired a word like adore used without even a hint of irony. Seeing him now without being defensive about it made him want to finally surrender to the comforts of home. "I'm so fucking exhausted. And starved. You could've made me dinner or something."
Sawyer said, "I did get you some take-out."
"Oh?"
"I'm surprised you didn't smell the curry."
Jack smiled. That was the undertone, the scent augmenting the candles: Indian food. After the island, all he wanted was food spicy enough to really taste.
"Anyway," Sawyer added, "I was trying to impress you, not amuse you."
"But think of all the fun I could've had cleaning up the kitchen after you."
"If it helps, the bedroom is a disaster area."
"Yeah?"
"You keep all your blue ties hidden away in the depths of the closet." He groused, "You'd've thought I was on an archeological dig."
Jack just smiled. The fire had died down as they talked, and now the room was lit only by a few scattered candles and that dull orange glow of the logs in the fireplace. It still made Sawyer's face shine, his eyes glinting and impossibly dark and his hair like fine straw or thin gold.
Sawyer said, "So, is there any chance you're gonna let me sleep in the bed tonight?"
"Since when have I been able to keep your lazy ass out of the bed?"
"I figure a man has to have a breaking point. My charm only goes so far."
"No, it goes exactly as far as you want it to go. Especially with me."
He smiled, cautiously but seductively. "That mean you forgive me, Doc?"
"I don't know, Ford."
"I've got a lot of sorries left." He was serious, but he looked at him like he had definite plans to translate those apologies into the work of lips and thighs.
Jack said firmly, "I don't want any more sorries." Then he smiled wearily and forced a little edge into his voice. "Come here."
Sawyer crossed the room and settled into a straddled position over Jack's hips, with his knees in the couch. Jack said, "Are you wearing my underwear too?" Sawyer just smiled and nodded then bent himself so he could nip at Jack's jaw and neck, rough but playful at the same time, the was Jack liked. As soon as Jack's arms circled Sawyer's waist and he exhaled a moan, Jack felt all the heat in his body pooling in his groin-all except the heat on his skin where Sawyer licked a path over to his earlobe. When Jack pulled him down to grind against him, Sawyer held on tight, just sighing in his ear as his cock went hard too. Then he rocked into him and held his body there, and breathed his words out against Jack's forehead: "Do you have any idea how bad I need you?"
Jack felt all the air go out of his chest. Yes, this man could be frightfully easy to forgive sometimes. Jack growled in his ear: "Can I fuck you?"
"Hell yeah," he replied, sweeping his mouth over Jack's, kissing him to make him feel it, probing his mouth, searching it, kisses delving deep as if to prove something that he proved every day, even when he tried to fuck things up. Maybe especially when he tried to fuck things up.
Jack pulled out of the kiss for a deep breath, and when he went back to Sawyer's lips, he just brushed over them and left their labored breathing mingling as Sawyer cradled his head, holding tight.
Sawyer 's soft voice drawled against his lips: "You do whatever you want with me tonight."
Jack turned his head swiftly and let his lips drag up and over to Sawyer's temple as his hands at the back of Sawyer's head dug into his hair. When Sawyer went still, waiting, Jack slid his other hand over his jaw and neck, fingers running along stubble and over a throbbing pulse point. With his mouth still at Sawyer's hairline, he said, "Love you," but he didn't wait for a reply before he pulled Sawyer's head down to find his lips again.