Fic: A Patient Man (Jack/Sayid)
I feel like I've published a lot of stories lately (oh, like half a dozen in two weeks *cringe* sorry), but I've had a lot of different irons in the fire (slash, het, and *gasp* gen; and different pairings too...I'm all over the fucking place). I've been sitting on this one for nearly a month, tooling around with it, and I'm about sick of tweaking. Thought I'd get it out there and let those who don't mind Jack cheating on Sawyer read it. And for those who lament the lack of Sayid pr0n.
Title: A Patient Man
Pairing: Jack/Sayid
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: whiny!Jack; some sap, too
Summary: “Jack’s reaction to loss of control is profound.”
Note: Spoilers through present (episode 2.9). Slightly AU, and it’s clear why I call it that pretty early on.
Many, many thanks to two patient and helpful betas: ficklemuse and zelda_zee. If this is hot and doesn’t sound silly, it’s because of them.
A Patient Man
Being with Sayid is a little like carrying back dynamite from the Black Rock. Jack wonders if Shannon felt that, too. But, no, Shannon was the volatile one in that relationship, even before it was a relationship. Sayid was the one gingerly touching her only to have his hand slapped away. But Sayid does not slap hands. He attacks-defends-with a glare or a strained intonation in his voice. Jack wonders if Sayid will explode, if he perhaps already has.
Jack is good at picking up pieces. He helped glue Boone back together after Shannon, and without even knowing what the original looked like. In fact, Boone would say he couldn’t remember his life before Shannon. So they built it slowly, much too slowly for something that would only exist for a couple of weeks. Jack refuses to believe it was only a matter of weeks. Boone has been dead longer than the short span of time in which Jack knew him, but Jack still has dreams about him, while beside him Sayid dreams of Shannon. These dreams are natural, but they cause problems, tensions neither will address. Sayid has his own deep-seated jealousies about Boone, but Jack’s feelings about the dreams are scarier. Sayid has never had a relationship with a man, for all his experience screwing around with them, and for him to be dreaming of his thin, blonde girlfriend makes Jack’s stomach tighten, wakes him up at night.
But Jack will not leave Sayid. He spent too many hours with him, listening to his silence, feeling his hollow stare that somehow left him empty too, holding himself back from offering any physical comfort, even from tracing his finger over the man’s face or wrapping his arms around him. He went weeks thinking that’s all it honestly was-healing, friendship, attraction that would lead nowhere. Then Sayid kissed him. It should have been wonderful, but it started more problems than Jack could have imagined.
Jack was, himself, a person who might easily self-destruct if handled the wrong way.
Jack had been the experienced one with Boone, in several ways, and he liked that role. It was comfortable, easy. That was what he had to give to the world: guidance, help, protection. And that’s what he gave Sayid for a long time, carefully and in a different way. But he was still shielding Sayid from every hurtful thing, going so far as to avoid Ana Lucia, even though she needed someone too. He found that once Sayid kissed him, he would have done anything to hold him together, make him smile, even if it meant letting him wander off into the jungle and stay away so long that Jack would feel a panic attack coming on. But overall, Jack was doing just fine caring for Sayid, cautiously but vigilantly keeping his hold on him, holding him together.
Then one day, when he woke up with his arm thrown over Sayid’s stomach, pressing a kiss into the man’s neck before he was even completely awake, he felt it. There were words for it, but they didn’t seem to signify the absolute helplessness he felt. Maybe there were two sides to love. He had always been on the high side, letting the feeling push him up and over the rest of the world to a place where he could rain it down over all of them in turn: Jess, Dylan, Sara, Boone. But what he felt was a desperation akin to praying to some God and hoping to be spared, never knowing if you would be. Or like being stranded on a desert island and seeing every cloud on the horizon as a boat or plane, eternally waiting.
He was in love with Sayid.
Jack’s reaction to loss of control is profound. Often, he simply denies it. He shuts the thing out, pretends he is not a ticking bomb of tension and fear because of it. But when he cannot ignore something, it makes him angry and defensive and all too prone to picking fights. Sawyer is his preferred target, and he actually does come to blows with him over something he can’t even remember a few days later. But everyone suffers from his frustration, everyone except Sayid. Sayid receives his fair share, to be sure, but he refuses to fight back. He simply lets Jack rave, acts mature enough to further enrage him, and finally leaves him be. This makes Jack so angry that one day he leaves the camp with a backpack, a compass, and a bottle of Jim Beam he stole from Sawyer. He fully expects Sayid to be gone when he returns, which doesn’t make him all that eager to do so.
It is still light outside and he is not nearly so drunk to justify the fact that he’s angry enough to spit and sad enough to cry when Sayid comes for him. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and worn khaki pants and Jack curses the day he ever met him, fully aware of how melodramatic that sounds, even inside his own head. If Jack can’t ignore a problem, he turns it into a much bigger one than it ever should have been.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Sayid asks.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been behaving like a jackass for a week now. You weren’t even this bad when you lost Boone.”
Jack feels something inside him wrench loose, and he stops thinking before he talks, which is never a good thing. “Shut up about my loss! Don’t tell me how to grieve!” Pathetically, he hurls the remains of a papaya at Sayid, whose eyes darken with concern, indulgence allowing for Jack’s attitude, for the moment. Then Jack spits, “Just because you were dead for a month after Shannon -- ”
Sayid is suddenly on top of him, legs pinning him, one hand on the ground to hold himself up and the other pressing over Jack’s mouth. With a ferocity that scares Jack and drowns him a little deeper in his well of self-pity, he says, “This has nothing to do with Boone and Shannon, and if you don’t stop treating the people around you like shit, you might find yourself as alone as you believe you are. But me, I’m crazy. I love you, and I’m not leaving until you tell me why you’ve left me alone so you can come out here and wallow.”
Having said it, his anger dissolves from his face and body. He releases Jack’s mouth, and his hand slides easily down the side of Jack’s face to rest on his chest. His eyes, full of concern, search Jack’s, and Jack finds it impossible to stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. “I didn’t think…”
“Clearly.”
“I mean, I didn’t think you’d care if I left.”
Sayid’s face contorts with confusion, then he gives Jack the longest incredulous look of his life, followed by a puzzled smile that completely disarms Jack. Of course, Jack thinks. Of course. It just keeps echoing through his head as his arm falls protectively over his face as the tears flow. Then Sayid repeats, this time quietly, more confused, “What in the hell is the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles, a giggle escaping his lips. “Nothing whatsoever.”
Sayid sighs and pulls himself off Jack, sitting beside him with his arms resting over his bent knees, although he never takes his eyes off him. Jack sits up. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being a jerk.”
“You should apologize to them. Not to me.”
“No?”
“I’ve already forgiven you. I’m just happy to see that you’re…I don’t know. You seem…”
“You really were worried about me? You seemed more angry than…”
His dark eyes close for a moment, opening up again tired and something like embarrassed. “I saw that you were gone, and perhaps I panicked a bit. Did I hurt you?”
Jack just shakes his head. “No.” Then he smiles. “You used to do the same thing to me, you know. Running off. And it scared me, even before I realized…”
Sayid’s eyes narrow for a moment. “It really isn’t about Shannon, is it? Or Boone?”
“I thought you said…”
“I really had no idea what your problem was, not until now. I was bluffing.”
“So was I.”
“What?”
“Back when I told you I could be your friend and we could fool around and have it not mean anything more. I was just trying not to scare you.”
Sayid laughs, and it is a laugh like Jack hasn’t heard from him in weeks. He leans in toward him, sliding his palm over the back of Jack’s neck. “I am perhaps not as blind as you think--or as you are. You were already in love with me then and I thought it would be foolish to tell you, since, apparently,” he paused, smirking a bit, “love makes you crazy.”
“You’re serious.”
“Quite. Although now I’m rethinking that decision.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“I have never been scared of anything with you.”
Before Jack can prolong their discussion, Sayid is kissing him. It’s his favorite method of shutting Jack up, one Jack doesn’t mind at all. Sayid, in this mood, kisses slowly, carefully, as though he is savoring Jack. His tongue does wonderful things over his lips, sliding into his mouth. His hands are steadying even as they roam, one moving over his neck and the other slipping up under his shirt.
Sayid breaks the kiss for a moment, mumbling, “You taste like very strange bourbon.”
“Papaya.”
“Mmm,” he says against Jack’s lips. Now, he is kissing Jack and then withdrawing a little. Slowly, Jack realizes what he’s doing: coaxing him into taking the lead. So Jack closes a hand around Sayid’s neck and forces the kiss deeper until Sayid sighs into his mouth and tightens his grip. Without breaking the kiss, Jack moves onto his knees until he is straddling Sayid’s legs, until he feels Sayid’s hands pull him down into his lap, forcing their erections together in a way that makes them both tear their mouths away, panting into each other’s ears and laughing.
Sayid says, “Did you know we haven’t done this in nearly a week?”
“Shit.”
“I need this from you. Don’t you know that?”
“I was being really stupid.”
“You’re quite adept at that.”
“You know what else I’m quite adept at?”
He gets the reaction he wanted: Sayid sighing, almost groaning. Jack smiles as he pushes him onto his back and makes quick work of getting him out of his pants. He had been surprised at first that Sayid chose to go commando. It provides a frustrating distraction sometimes when he should be doing something important, but it never ceases to turn him on. He enjoys giving head anyway, but something about seeing Sayid’s cock as he unzips his pants often makes him over-eager. Jack is glad Sayid doesn’t seem to mind how far from in control he is when he’s aroused.
Jack has to pull at Sayid’s hips at first, inviting him to thrust into his mouth, but when he finally starts, those movements go straight to Jack’s cock. Sayid is sliding into his mouth in a way that almost seems like he’s trying to give as much pleasure as he’s getting. He goes slowly, knowing Jack’s eyes are open and he’s taking in the sight of Sayid’s hips moving toward him, his cock disappearing into his mouth. Jack grasps Sayid’s ass with both hands, helping the lift of Sayid’s hips toward him, and he loves Sayid like this, the concentration that only gives glimpses of urgency, need. Jack wants to make him come, to feel him let it all go under his hands; he wants to feel Sayid pulling at the back of his head, holding his mouth there, needing it there, insistently asking Jack without words to take him all the way in. Jack wants to taste him as he comes, listening for his release of breath, the tightening in his body that always gives way to a sloppy, wonderful blur of hands and lips. Usually, after he comes, he doesn’t even pretend to take care of Jack’s needs for a while, only kissing him and murmuring things that Jack recognizes as affirmations, grateful and happy, open and eyes burning dark and breath wracking his body as he suddenly finds focus again and finally asks Jack what he wants.
But what Jack wants this time is something different. He knows Sayid would gladly take him in, writhe below him and ask with his body for Jack to be harder, faster, fill him somehow more completely. But that’s what Jack wants for himself, so he releases Sayid’s cock and kisses away from it and up over his stomach and chest, and before he can ask, Sayid is unbuttoning his pants, his hands already slipping into his boxers to stroke him. Jack is so hard, his cock so neglected, that that touch makes him jump, his eyes slamming shut as Sayid permits himself to chuckle at Jack’s reaction.
“God, Sayid.”
“So you’re going to be loud today, are you?” he asks, teasingly.
“I fucking hope so.”
After Sayid succeeds in getting Jack naked, he pulls him down on top of him, and Jack slowly pulls his hips over Sayid’s, kissing him hard, knowing it takes very little to provoke Sayid into moving against him with his body no longer rolling and sensuous but tight and hot and grasping Jack fiercely. Jack likes to feel Sayid’s hands holding his hips still, or grinding them down and into his hard cock. Sayid’s body does slacken a bit as his hand wanders over to his discarded khakis, fumbling to find a bottle of lotion. He flips the cap and Jack takes the opportunity to pull at his shoulder, rolling him over so that Sayid is on top of him, half-annoyed and disoriented until Jack thrusts up with his hips and Sayid takes in a sharp breath.
Sayid says, “You are being quite bossy today.”
“Not bossy. Just wanna feel you…hard.” He thrusts up with his hips again.
Sayid chuckles, a nervous gesture that is almost always a cover for a near loss of control in this context. “Bossy,” he mumbles, pulling himself up off Jack. “You know I can’t control myself when you’re like this.”
Jack just gives him a slightly evil grin, one Sayid echoes as he is suddenly lifting Jack’s hips, pushing back his knees, dipping his head between Jack’s thighs, poised, deciding, then Sayid is working his tongue over his entrance. Jack feels every muscle in his body tighten with arousal, but Sayid’s hands are stroking his thighs, pressing the tension out of him, reminding him that this is supposed to relax him, allow Sayid inside him more easily. Jack breathes slowly, waiting, and feels two fingers, slick with cool lotion, sliding inside him, brushing his prostate, and that’s when Jack realizes he’s being insistent again, because he’s utterly helpless. “Fuck, Sayid. Please. Now. God, please. Inside me now.”
This time Sayid doesn’t chuckle. He slides out those two fingers and soon the head of his cock is brushing at Jack’s opening. Jack props up on his elbows, always eager to watch, even when he feels like his body might rattle apart with need, but Sayid’s mouth captures his as he slips in, holding there until he feels Jack’s body relax again; then he is moving.
Jack was surprised at first by how, if Sayid can maintain eye contact with Jack while they fuck, he does. This time, it’s too much, and Jack pulls his face down to kiss him. Sayid’s strokes are short, never pulling very far out, and his arms tremble. Jack finally lets their lips part, falling onto his back and pulling Sayid down on top of him as best he can. He needs to feel Sayid’s body pressing his securely into the ground. Sayid at first just bends his torso down toward Jack, then he lets his whole body fall flush with Jack’s, deepening his strokes, slowing them down.
When Sayid’s eyes finally meet his, he wonders how he was really stupid enough not to see it, not to realize that Sayid is happy with him, and not because Jack has chosen him, protected him, but because he has chosen and protected Jack. Jack finds himself saying what he has never said before, not to this deep and complicated man, and it makes Sayid pull up again, shortening his strokes, pouring every bit of his energy into fucking Jack into the ground. Jack takes himself in hand as he listens to Sayid’s groans, deep, as if they are wrenched from his body, and then Jack comes, adding his own moans to Sayid’s. The heat explodes through his body, and he knows he is clenching around Sayid’s cock because Sayid groans again and drives so deep inside him it hurts, coming and continuing his thrusts as he does. Jack’s body, still hot and raw from the orgasm, now shudders at the contact.
When Sayid finally stops, he pulls out carefully, but he doesn’t move to smother Jack with his hands and lips. He simply breathes hard and stares at him, questioning.
“What?” Jack finally asks.
“I still cannot believe you threw papaya at me,” he replies, shaking his head and smiling.
Jack turns his head, saying, “Sayid…” but Sayid is finally lowering his body down to cover Jack’s again, and he shuts him up with his mouth.
After a long, slow kiss, Sayid says, “I had a good mind to just hold you down and suck you off until you stopped being so ridiculous.”
“You did not.”
“Only fleeting thoughts. You are very hot when you’re angry. Dangerous, but hot.”
“I’m not dangerous,” Jack says, snorting.
“Not to me. To yourself. You can be…difficult to deal with.”
Jack shakes his head, pulling Sayid back into a kiss, mumbling, “Thank God I’ve found a patient man.”
He is relieved to feel Sayid’s breath hitch, a snort recognizing some sort of irony in that statement, only Jack’s not sure what.
Title: A Patient Man
Pairing: Jack/Sayid
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: whiny!Jack; some sap, too
Summary: “Jack’s reaction to loss of control is profound.”
Note: Spoilers through present (episode 2.9). Slightly AU, and it’s clear why I call it that pretty early on.
Many, many thanks to two patient and helpful betas: ficklemuse and zelda_zee. If this is hot and doesn’t sound silly, it’s because of them.
A Patient Man
Being with Sayid is a little like carrying back dynamite from the Black Rock. Jack wonders if Shannon felt that, too. But, no, Shannon was the volatile one in that relationship, even before it was a relationship. Sayid was the one gingerly touching her only to have his hand slapped away. But Sayid does not slap hands. He attacks-defends-with a glare or a strained intonation in his voice. Jack wonders if Sayid will explode, if he perhaps already has.
Jack is good at picking up pieces. He helped glue Boone back together after Shannon, and without even knowing what the original looked like. In fact, Boone would say he couldn’t remember his life before Shannon. So they built it slowly, much too slowly for something that would only exist for a couple of weeks. Jack refuses to believe it was only a matter of weeks. Boone has been dead longer than the short span of time in which Jack knew him, but Jack still has dreams about him, while beside him Sayid dreams of Shannon. These dreams are natural, but they cause problems, tensions neither will address. Sayid has his own deep-seated jealousies about Boone, but Jack’s feelings about the dreams are scarier. Sayid has never had a relationship with a man, for all his experience screwing around with them, and for him to be dreaming of his thin, blonde girlfriend makes Jack’s stomach tighten, wakes him up at night.
But Jack will not leave Sayid. He spent too many hours with him, listening to his silence, feeling his hollow stare that somehow left him empty too, holding himself back from offering any physical comfort, even from tracing his finger over the man’s face or wrapping his arms around him. He went weeks thinking that’s all it honestly was-healing, friendship, attraction that would lead nowhere. Then Sayid kissed him. It should have been wonderful, but it started more problems than Jack could have imagined.
Jack was, himself, a person who might easily self-destruct if handled the wrong way.
Jack had been the experienced one with Boone, in several ways, and he liked that role. It was comfortable, easy. That was what he had to give to the world: guidance, help, protection. And that’s what he gave Sayid for a long time, carefully and in a different way. But he was still shielding Sayid from every hurtful thing, going so far as to avoid Ana Lucia, even though she needed someone too. He found that once Sayid kissed him, he would have done anything to hold him together, make him smile, even if it meant letting him wander off into the jungle and stay away so long that Jack would feel a panic attack coming on. But overall, Jack was doing just fine caring for Sayid, cautiously but vigilantly keeping his hold on him, holding him together.
Then one day, when he woke up with his arm thrown over Sayid’s stomach, pressing a kiss into the man’s neck before he was even completely awake, he felt it. There were words for it, but they didn’t seem to signify the absolute helplessness he felt. Maybe there were two sides to love. He had always been on the high side, letting the feeling push him up and over the rest of the world to a place where he could rain it down over all of them in turn: Jess, Dylan, Sara, Boone. But what he felt was a desperation akin to praying to some God and hoping to be spared, never knowing if you would be. Or like being stranded on a desert island and seeing every cloud on the horizon as a boat or plane, eternally waiting.
He was in love with Sayid.
Jack’s reaction to loss of control is profound. Often, he simply denies it. He shuts the thing out, pretends he is not a ticking bomb of tension and fear because of it. But when he cannot ignore something, it makes him angry and defensive and all too prone to picking fights. Sawyer is his preferred target, and he actually does come to blows with him over something he can’t even remember a few days later. But everyone suffers from his frustration, everyone except Sayid. Sayid receives his fair share, to be sure, but he refuses to fight back. He simply lets Jack rave, acts mature enough to further enrage him, and finally leaves him be. This makes Jack so angry that one day he leaves the camp with a backpack, a compass, and a bottle of Jim Beam he stole from Sawyer. He fully expects Sayid to be gone when he returns, which doesn’t make him all that eager to do so.
It is still light outside and he is not nearly so drunk to justify the fact that he’s angry enough to spit and sad enough to cry when Sayid comes for him. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and worn khaki pants and Jack curses the day he ever met him, fully aware of how melodramatic that sounds, even inside his own head. If Jack can’t ignore a problem, he turns it into a much bigger one than it ever should have been.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Sayid asks.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been behaving like a jackass for a week now. You weren’t even this bad when you lost Boone.”
Jack feels something inside him wrench loose, and he stops thinking before he talks, which is never a good thing. “Shut up about my loss! Don’t tell me how to grieve!” Pathetically, he hurls the remains of a papaya at Sayid, whose eyes darken with concern, indulgence allowing for Jack’s attitude, for the moment. Then Jack spits, “Just because you were dead for a month after Shannon -- ”
Sayid is suddenly on top of him, legs pinning him, one hand on the ground to hold himself up and the other pressing over Jack’s mouth. With a ferocity that scares Jack and drowns him a little deeper in his well of self-pity, he says, “This has nothing to do with Boone and Shannon, and if you don’t stop treating the people around you like shit, you might find yourself as alone as you believe you are. But me, I’m crazy. I love you, and I’m not leaving until you tell me why you’ve left me alone so you can come out here and wallow.”
Having said it, his anger dissolves from his face and body. He releases Jack’s mouth, and his hand slides easily down the side of Jack’s face to rest on his chest. His eyes, full of concern, search Jack’s, and Jack finds it impossible to stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. “I didn’t think…”
“Clearly.”
“I mean, I didn’t think you’d care if I left.”
Sayid’s face contorts with confusion, then he gives Jack the longest incredulous look of his life, followed by a puzzled smile that completely disarms Jack. Of course, Jack thinks. Of course. It just keeps echoing through his head as his arm falls protectively over his face as the tears flow. Then Sayid repeats, this time quietly, more confused, “What in the hell is the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles, a giggle escaping his lips. “Nothing whatsoever.”
Sayid sighs and pulls himself off Jack, sitting beside him with his arms resting over his bent knees, although he never takes his eyes off him. Jack sits up. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being a jerk.”
“You should apologize to them. Not to me.”
“No?”
“I’ve already forgiven you. I’m just happy to see that you’re…I don’t know. You seem…”
“You really were worried about me? You seemed more angry than…”
His dark eyes close for a moment, opening up again tired and something like embarrassed. “I saw that you were gone, and perhaps I panicked a bit. Did I hurt you?”
Jack just shakes his head. “No.” Then he smiles. “You used to do the same thing to me, you know. Running off. And it scared me, even before I realized…”
Sayid’s eyes narrow for a moment. “It really isn’t about Shannon, is it? Or Boone?”
“I thought you said…”
“I really had no idea what your problem was, not until now. I was bluffing.”
“So was I.”
“What?”
“Back when I told you I could be your friend and we could fool around and have it not mean anything more. I was just trying not to scare you.”
Sayid laughs, and it is a laugh like Jack hasn’t heard from him in weeks. He leans in toward him, sliding his palm over the back of Jack’s neck. “I am perhaps not as blind as you think--or as you are. You were already in love with me then and I thought it would be foolish to tell you, since, apparently,” he paused, smirking a bit, “love makes you crazy.”
“You’re serious.”
“Quite. Although now I’m rethinking that decision.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“I have never been scared of anything with you.”
Before Jack can prolong their discussion, Sayid is kissing him. It’s his favorite method of shutting Jack up, one Jack doesn’t mind at all. Sayid, in this mood, kisses slowly, carefully, as though he is savoring Jack. His tongue does wonderful things over his lips, sliding into his mouth. His hands are steadying even as they roam, one moving over his neck and the other slipping up under his shirt.
Sayid breaks the kiss for a moment, mumbling, “You taste like very strange bourbon.”
“Papaya.”
“Mmm,” he says against Jack’s lips. Now, he is kissing Jack and then withdrawing a little. Slowly, Jack realizes what he’s doing: coaxing him into taking the lead. So Jack closes a hand around Sayid’s neck and forces the kiss deeper until Sayid sighs into his mouth and tightens his grip. Without breaking the kiss, Jack moves onto his knees until he is straddling Sayid’s legs, until he feels Sayid’s hands pull him down into his lap, forcing their erections together in a way that makes them both tear their mouths away, panting into each other’s ears and laughing.
Sayid says, “Did you know we haven’t done this in nearly a week?”
“Shit.”
“I need this from you. Don’t you know that?”
“I was being really stupid.”
“You’re quite adept at that.”
“You know what else I’m quite adept at?”
He gets the reaction he wanted: Sayid sighing, almost groaning. Jack smiles as he pushes him onto his back and makes quick work of getting him out of his pants. He had been surprised at first that Sayid chose to go commando. It provides a frustrating distraction sometimes when he should be doing something important, but it never ceases to turn him on. He enjoys giving head anyway, but something about seeing Sayid’s cock as he unzips his pants often makes him over-eager. Jack is glad Sayid doesn’t seem to mind how far from in control he is when he’s aroused.
Jack has to pull at Sayid’s hips at first, inviting him to thrust into his mouth, but when he finally starts, those movements go straight to Jack’s cock. Sayid is sliding into his mouth in a way that almost seems like he’s trying to give as much pleasure as he’s getting. He goes slowly, knowing Jack’s eyes are open and he’s taking in the sight of Sayid’s hips moving toward him, his cock disappearing into his mouth. Jack grasps Sayid’s ass with both hands, helping the lift of Sayid’s hips toward him, and he loves Sayid like this, the concentration that only gives glimpses of urgency, need. Jack wants to make him come, to feel him let it all go under his hands; he wants to feel Sayid pulling at the back of his head, holding his mouth there, needing it there, insistently asking Jack without words to take him all the way in. Jack wants to taste him as he comes, listening for his release of breath, the tightening in his body that always gives way to a sloppy, wonderful blur of hands and lips. Usually, after he comes, he doesn’t even pretend to take care of Jack’s needs for a while, only kissing him and murmuring things that Jack recognizes as affirmations, grateful and happy, open and eyes burning dark and breath wracking his body as he suddenly finds focus again and finally asks Jack what he wants.
But what Jack wants this time is something different. He knows Sayid would gladly take him in, writhe below him and ask with his body for Jack to be harder, faster, fill him somehow more completely. But that’s what Jack wants for himself, so he releases Sayid’s cock and kisses away from it and up over his stomach and chest, and before he can ask, Sayid is unbuttoning his pants, his hands already slipping into his boxers to stroke him. Jack is so hard, his cock so neglected, that that touch makes him jump, his eyes slamming shut as Sayid permits himself to chuckle at Jack’s reaction.
“God, Sayid.”
“So you’re going to be loud today, are you?” he asks, teasingly.
“I fucking hope so.”
After Sayid succeeds in getting Jack naked, he pulls him down on top of him, and Jack slowly pulls his hips over Sayid’s, kissing him hard, knowing it takes very little to provoke Sayid into moving against him with his body no longer rolling and sensuous but tight and hot and grasping Jack fiercely. Jack likes to feel Sayid’s hands holding his hips still, or grinding them down and into his hard cock. Sayid’s body does slacken a bit as his hand wanders over to his discarded khakis, fumbling to find a bottle of lotion. He flips the cap and Jack takes the opportunity to pull at his shoulder, rolling him over so that Sayid is on top of him, half-annoyed and disoriented until Jack thrusts up with his hips and Sayid takes in a sharp breath.
Sayid says, “You are being quite bossy today.”
“Not bossy. Just wanna feel you…hard.” He thrusts up with his hips again.
Sayid chuckles, a nervous gesture that is almost always a cover for a near loss of control in this context. “Bossy,” he mumbles, pulling himself up off Jack. “You know I can’t control myself when you’re like this.”
Jack just gives him a slightly evil grin, one Sayid echoes as he is suddenly lifting Jack’s hips, pushing back his knees, dipping his head between Jack’s thighs, poised, deciding, then Sayid is working his tongue over his entrance. Jack feels every muscle in his body tighten with arousal, but Sayid’s hands are stroking his thighs, pressing the tension out of him, reminding him that this is supposed to relax him, allow Sayid inside him more easily. Jack breathes slowly, waiting, and feels two fingers, slick with cool lotion, sliding inside him, brushing his prostate, and that’s when Jack realizes he’s being insistent again, because he’s utterly helpless. “Fuck, Sayid. Please. Now. God, please. Inside me now.”
This time Sayid doesn’t chuckle. He slides out those two fingers and soon the head of his cock is brushing at Jack’s opening. Jack props up on his elbows, always eager to watch, even when he feels like his body might rattle apart with need, but Sayid’s mouth captures his as he slips in, holding there until he feels Jack’s body relax again; then he is moving.
Jack was surprised at first by how, if Sayid can maintain eye contact with Jack while they fuck, he does. This time, it’s too much, and Jack pulls his face down to kiss him. Sayid’s strokes are short, never pulling very far out, and his arms tremble. Jack finally lets their lips part, falling onto his back and pulling Sayid down on top of him as best he can. He needs to feel Sayid’s body pressing his securely into the ground. Sayid at first just bends his torso down toward Jack, then he lets his whole body fall flush with Jack’s, deepening his strokes, slowing them down.
When Sayid’s eyes finally meet his, he wonders how he was really stupid enough not to see it, not to realize that Sayid is happy with him, and not because Jack has chosen him, protected him, but because he has chosen and protected Jack. Jack finds himself saying what he has never said before, not to this deep and complicated man, and it makes Sayid pull up again, shortening his strokes, pouring every bit of his energy into fucking Jack into the ground. Jack takes himself in hand as he listens to Sayid’s groans, deep, as if they are wrenched from his body, and then Jack comes, adding his own moans to Sayid’s. The heat explodes through his body, and he knows he is clenching around Sayid’s cock because Sayid groans again and drives so deep inside him it hurts, coming and continuing his thrusts as he does. Jack’s body, still hot and raw from the orgasm, now shudders at the contact.
When Sayid finally stops, he pulls out carefully, but he doesn’t move to smother Jack with his hands and lips. He simply breathes hard and stares at him, questioning.
“What?” Jack finally asks.
“I still cannot believe you threw papaya at me,” he replies, shaking his head and smiling.
Jack turns his head, saying, “Sayid…” but Sayid is finally lowering his body down to cover Jack’s again, and he shuts him up with his mouth.
After a long, slow kiss, Sayid says, “I had a good mind to just hold you down and suck you off until you stopped being so ridiculous.”
“You did not.”
“Only fleeting thoughts. You are very hot when you’re angry. Dangerous, but hot.”
“I’m not dangerous,” Jack says, snorting.
“Not to me. To yourself. You can be…difficult to deal with.”
Jack shakes his head, pulling Sayid back into a kiss, mumbling, “Thank God I’ve found a patient man.”
He is relieved to feel Sayid’s breath hitch, a snort recognizing some sort of irony in that statement, only Jack’s not sure what.