Fic: Taking (White Dress Shirt Pr0n)
I swear. Last story post from me for a good long time. *beats bunnies with BIG stick*
Title: Taking
For: inthekeyofd’s White Dress Shirt of The Hotness Pr0n-a-thon
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: R
Summary: Sawyer’s back in the hatch bed. *ducks and covers* Sorry, I couldn’t help it. My bunnies like Sawyer this was-slightly helpless, a little nicer, but a captive audience and bored enough to be mischievous.
Note: This is just some sappy smut with characteristic J/S snark, with a tone that comes off as a second-rate imitation of uberaeryn’s because I’ve read too much of her work. Forgive, dear? *grovels*
Taking
Sawyer was sleeping. Even when he wasn’t, if he heard Jack come in, he closed his eyes. It was easier that way. Jack would leave him alone, and he could just lay there and listen to the man breathe, hear him shift in his seat, know he was there taking care of him. Whenever Sawyer opened his eyes to peek at Jack, he invariably found him sitting back, eyes closed, almost like he was obliging Sawyer by not looking at him, so that Sawyer could let his eyes drift over his face and body as long as he wanted. Looking at Jack was one of the only good things about being sick; in fact, some days early on, Jack was the only reason he fought to survive. Instead of being afraid of a need like that, he found that it was comforting. He could pick worse people to depend on, to want, to need. Of course, it was also frustrating, because he was relatively certain he would never be that person for Jack.
So Sawyer was sleeping as Jack came in. It was easy enough to fake because he had been dozing all day, on and off. He heard Jack’s feet shuffling but he didn’t sit down. Sawyer braced himself, expecting that warm hand on his forehead or his cheek-something he nearly always had to pretend to stir awake at because he couldn’t just lay there with Jack touching him-but he didn’t feel Jack stepping closer, leaning his body under the top bunk and so close to him, breathing on his skin. But he could almost feel Jack’s eyes on him, gauging his comfort with a glance now that Jack seemed to be able to read his body so easily. This thought made Sawyer feel warmer, somehow, and he wanted Jack’s hands on him, needed it badly. He had a fleeting thought that this was crazy, something psychologists surely knew all about. Desperation for your doctor, helped along by fever and fatigue and boredom. But though Sawyer was tired and bored, he wasn’t feverish, and he knew it had begun a long time before. It had just taken him slowing down, him being forced to watch Jack every day, and not just in the role of the bossy leader but as a doctor and as a man-quiet and weary and sometimes charming in his own subtle way-before Sawyer understood what he felt.
This was the man he saw now when he opened his eyes. Jack was standing with his back to the bunk beds, and his shoulders dropped in a sigh. The fact that those shoulders were covered in a clean white dress shirt, abnormally clean for anything on the island, had the force to make Sawyer stop breathing. He wondered what the shirt was for, but he remembered that they were christening Aaron and they had asked Jack to say a few words. Jack had even been bitching about it the day before, wondering how a doctor was supposed to christen a baby, or how he was supposed to know what to say. And now here he was, done with being the great all-purpose authority figure, standing in front of Sawyer’s bunk bed with shoulders knotted with tension from carrying the world. Someone should tell the man he didn’t have to feel like that. Someone should tell him, Sawyer thought, how fucking hot he looks in a white dress shirt. Someone should tell him how I would love to spend hours with my hands on his back, pulling out those knots and every bit of tension in his body until he was open and willing and wanting and craving my skin on his skin.
When Jack’s left hand began to pop the buttons on his right cuff, carefully, Sawyer felt a tightening in his body, one that only got worse when Jack moved on to the other. Then Jack was going toward the doorway, glancing out into the hallway, before his hands went to his top button. Jack’s body was turned to a perfect angle for Sawyer to watch his fingers-moving with the same quickness and softness as they did when he changed his bandages-working the buttons through their holes, white parting and revealing more and more dark hair and more and more of a chest that was wide and strong. It had been the only solid thing Sawyer was aware of when they dragged him in, almost dead: Jack’s chest against his face as the shower ran over him, clothes and all. Jack’s chest broad and inviting. Sometimes he wondered if he had dreamed that.
Finally, Jack let the shirt slip off, and Sawyer’s eyes were pulled away from Jack’s taut stomach, covered in that same dark hair, to his round shoulders then to his back as Jack turned and deposited the shirt carefully on the chair, leaning over so that Sawyer found several dips in his lower back that begged to be worked over with his tongue; and Jack was going out the door, leaving Sawyer warm and flushed.
Once he was gone, Sawyer had the sudden urge to touch the shirt. He needed to. Jack wouldn’t be back for a while-he was headed to the shower, and he always took a long time-so Sawyer sat up slowly, a head rush making him dizzy as his weak and cranky limbs pulled him over the side of the bed. He managed to grab the shirt from where it lay before he sat back down, marveling at how tired he was. He pulled the shirt up to his nose and he could smell Jack on it. The man had stashed cologne somewhere, spicy and warm, or else it was burned into the memory of this shirt. Cologne was one of his weaknesses, and it made him close his eyes, allowing something like reverie to overtake him.
The shirt was smooth and still warm from Jack’s body, so Sawyer pulled it on. It didn’t quite hug his frame like it did Jack’s, but it felt good-clean and civilized in a way he’d never in his life desired civilization. Jack would never roll up the sleeves, which is just what Sawyer did. Sawyer didn’t button the shirt, only laying back into his pillow and losing himself in the smell of Jack’s cologne.
*****
When Jack came out of the shower room, he felt better. The dress shirt had left him feeling restrained, stuck into a role that everyone had placed on him, that he had probably placed on himself: composed, reasonable, paternal, all-knowing, somehow powerful. That had been him, he conceded-reserved, controlled-and it was still him to a certain extent. But now, here on the island, he felt so much better in jeans and a t-shirt, and he knew it wasn’t just the island but something inside him that had always been there.
This new wardrobe was comfortable, but it would never suit him like it did Sawyer, and that was fine. He needed that difference between the two of them. It made it easier to remind himself that there was practically a wall between them. Sawyer would not understand white shirts and duty. He’d even said as much. Why don’t you just do what you fuckin’ want, Doc? What are you afraid of? That they’ll fall apart if you don’t hold them together, or that you won’t be worth anything if you aren’t doing everything? I just don’t get you. Of course he didn’t, Jack thought. He did stupid things, impulsive things, things that Jack was apparently incapable of doing. That’s what made him know Sawyer didn’t want him, even when he was sure he did. When Sawyer wanted something, he took it. So it should not have been a surprise for Jack to come in and find that Sawyer had taken his white dress shirt.
Sawyer lay there asleep, bad arm crossed over his stomach and the other falling off the side of the bed. Jack sucked in a breath to see Sawyer wearing his shirt, and he’d rolled up the sleeves, revealing forearms that made him seem strong despite his recent illness. The shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the same flat, tan stomach and chest he’d seen over and over, but something about part of it being hidden under the crisp line of linen was fascinating. More than ever, he wanted his hands on Sawyer, to feel the softness of the hair on his stomach and the hardness of a tight nipple, maybe against his tongue.
He wondered why Sawyer had stolen his shirt, but he didn’t think about it too much. Instead, he moved toward him, finally noticing that he was awake, pretending to be asleep like he always did, but definitely awake. Sawyer’s breathing hitched and Jack lay a hand over Sawyer’s hand on his chest. Sawyer opened his eyes.
“Doc?” He didn’t pull his hand away, so Jack leaned down and kissed him. At first, it was too hard, but after this much waiting, it almost had to be. Then Sawyer’s other hand went around his neck and pulled him closer as his mouth came alive, his tongue exploring Jack’s lips and tongue, hungry and unapologetically happy to be tasting Jack and feeling him respond. Sawyer’s hand tugged him down until he was sitting on the bed, leaning over Sawyer. He wanted more contact, but he couldn’t get out of this position, and their mouths were colliding now so hard that it would have hurt if they were feeling anything other than an arousal now unguarded.
Finally, Jack pulled back, his breath a gasp. He said, “What are you doing?”
“Looks like I’m kissing you.”
“I mean…the shirt…?” His hands were already running down the clean white line that went across Sawyer’s chest and just beside his navel. He didn’t wait for a reply, already moving his mouth to follow his fingers, tongue going first into Sawyer’s navel and then making a trail up the center of his chest.
Sawyer’s back arched. “God,” he mumbled. “Shit, what are you doing?”
Jack didn’t answer, instead sliding his hand down and into Sawyer’s boxers to grasp him. Jack couldn’t resist the urge to stroke him, slow and hard, making Sawyer’s hips come off the bed and his hands clutch at Jack’s body. Soon enough, Sawyer was turning to face him and Jack was crawling onto the bed with him, kissing him as he jerked him off, still hard but now faster as Sawyer cursed and thrust his hips forward. “Fuck, Jack. So fucking good.” Another few strokes and Sawyer was coming, his whole body contorting into the thrust of his hips. Jack loved the feel of his come coating his hands, making it easier to keep fisting Sawyer and listen to him moan and use words that didn’t exist, not even in his earlier fevered vocabulary. Jack hadn’t forgotten the throb of his own cock, still straining against his jeans, and neither had Sawyer, who was struggling to free him. Between the two of them, they got Jack naked, which wasn’t easy with a bunk bed above them, but they managed.
Sawyer started to sit up, to push Jack down onto his back, but Jack’s brain was overruling his body for the moment. He said, “No. Stop. Your arm.”
“Fuck my arm.”
“Sawyer…”
“I wanna suck you off. Need it.”
“No.”
His eyes went dark for a moment. “You’re a complete dumb ass, and you’re lucky I’m too weak to fight you.”
Jack crawled back on top of him, kissing him, saying, “Have you ever…?” Sawyer’s eyes narrowed, questioning. So Jack asked, “Can I fuck you?”
It must’ve been the right question, because Sawyer instantly stopped being belligerent and let out a breath and visibly shuddered before he kissed Jack soft, a kiss that probed like he was fucking his mouth slow and easy. Jack tore himself away reluctantly to find something to use for lube.
Sawyer was sitting up and watching him when he returned to the bed with a bottle of lotion. Jack delighted in slipping the shirt over Sawyer’s shoulders to reveal the tan back he had missed. He took a minute to run his hands over it, bowing to get his mouth on Sawyer’s shoulder blades, and then Sawyer was turning his head, kissing him, saying, “I’ve done this before, so don’t be so slow and fucking gentle with me,” before he lay face down on the bed, and Jack took in the sight of his back curving up and into his ass, sloping back down into his thighs.
Jack wasn’t too gentle. It would have been impossible not to take him just as he did: deep enough that he felt Sawyer’s body almost fighting against it even as he felt him thrusting back, inviting Jack deeper. He wasn’t even pulling out that much, because he needed that contact, needed the feeling of his body covering Sawyer’s hot skin and his hips thrusting deep into Sawyer’s tight ass. He didn’t last long, coming with a groan of his own and pulling out so that he could lay his whole body, hot and sweating, over Sawyer’s and kiss the top of his shoulders.
“Jesus, that was good,” Sawyer mumbled.
“Mmm,” Jack murmured. “Good. How’s your arm?”
“Fine, Jack. I’m all over fucking perfectly wonderful fine. You gonna tell me why you attacked me?”
“Shirt,” he mumbled. “So good…half buttoned…sleeves…mmm…” He felt himself falling into the haziness of sleep, occasioned by a contentment that seemed to spread physically over his body as the blood flowed back through his thumping heart and out into limbs now tangled with Sawyer’s.
Sawyer grumbled, “Don’t you fall asleep on top of me.”
Jack allowed himself to be rolled off, but he wrapped his arms around Sawyer from behind and pulled him back and into his chest. “Mine,” he said into Sawyer’s neck.
“Yes. Been yours for a while, dumb ass.”
Sawyer relaxed into Jack’s arms and Jack grinned as he said, “No. The shirt.”
“Asshole.”
“Shirt stealer. Voyeur,” he mumbled.
“This shit’s exactly why we shouldn’t talk to each other.”
“Fake sleeper.”
“If you knew I was faking, don’t that make you an exhibitionist?”
“Just shut up or I’ll never do it again.”
Sawyer snorted and held Jack’s arm tighter around him. Jack managed to pull the covers over both of them before he was falling fast into a sleep that could only come when the tension dissolved under eyes as blue as Sawyer’s.
Title: Taking
For: inthekeyofd’s White Dress Shirt of The Hotness Pr0n-a-thon
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: R
Summary: Sawyer’s back in the hatch bed. *ducks and covers* Sorry, I couldn’t help it. My bunnies like Sawyer this was-slightly helpless, a little nicer, but a captive audience and bored enough to be mischievous.
Note: This is just some sappy smut with characteristic J/S snark, with a tone that comes off as a second-rate imitation of uberaeryn’s because I’ve read too much of her work. Forgive, dear? *grovels*
Taking
Sawyer was sleeping. Even when he wasn’t, if he heard Jack come in, he closed his eyes. It was easier that way. Jack would leave him alone, and he could just lay there and listen to the man breathe, hear him shift in his seat, know he was there taking care of him. Whenever Sawyer opened his eyes to peek at Jack, he invariably found him sitting back, eyes closed, almost like he was obliging Sawyer by not looking at him, so that Sawyer could let his eyes drift over his face and body as long as he wanted. Looking at Jack was one of the only good things about being sick; in fact, some days early on, Jack was the only reason he fought to survive. Instead of being afraid of a need like that, he found that it was comforting. He could pick worse people to depend on, to want, to need. Of course, it was also frustrating, because he was relatively certain he would never be that person for Jack.
So Sawyer was sleeping as Jack came in. It was easy enough to fake because he had been dozing all day, on and off. He heard Jack’s feet shuffling but he didn’t sit down. Sawyer braced himself, expecting that warm hand on his forehead or his cheek-something he nearly always had to pretend to stir awake at because he couldn’t just lay there with Jack touching him-but he didn’t feel Jack stepping closer, leaning his body under the top bunk and so close to him, breathing on his skin. But he could almost feel Jack’s eyes on him, gauging his comfort with a glance now that Jack seemed to be able to read his body so easily. This thought made Sawyer feel warmer, somehow, and he wanted Jack’s hands on him, needed it badly. He had a fleeting thought that this was crazy, something psychologists surely knew all about. Desperation for your doctor, helped along by fever and fatigue and boredom. But though Sawyer was tired and bored, he wasn’t feverish, and he knew it had begun a long time before. It had just taken him slowing down, him being forced to watch Jack every day, and not just in the role of the bossy leader but as a doctor and as a man-quiet and weary and sometimes charming in his own subtle way-before Sawyer understood what he felt.
This was the man he saw now when he opened his eyes. Jack was standing with his back to the bunk beds, and his shoulders dropped in a sigh. The fact that those shoulders were covered in a clean white dress shirt, abnormally clean for anything on the island, had the force to make Sawyer stop breathing. He wondered what the shirt was for, but he remembered that they were christening Aaron and they had asked Jack to say a few words. Jack had even been bitching about it the day before, wondering how a doctor was supposed to christen a baby, or how he was supposed to know what to say. And now here he was, done with being the great all-purpose authority figure, standing in front of Sawyer’s bunk bed with shoulders knotted with tension from carrying the world. Someone should tell the man he didn’t have to feel like that. Someone should tell him, Sawyer thought, how fucking hot he looks in a white dress shirt. Someone should tell him how I would love to spend hours with my hands on his back, pulling out those knots and every bit of tension in his body until he was open and willing and wanting and craving my skin on his skin.
When Jack’s left hand began to pop the buttons on his right cuff, carefully, Sawyer felt a tightening in his body, one that only got worse when Jack moved on to the other. Then Jack was going toward the doorway, glancing out into the hallway, before his hands went to his top button. Jack’s body was turned to a perfect angle for Sawyer to watch his fingers-moving with the same quickness and softness as they did when he changed his bandages-working the buttons through their holes, white parting and revealing more and more dark hair and more and more of a chest that was wide and strong. It had been the only solid thing Sawyer was aware of when they dragged him in, almost dead: Jack’s chest against his face as the shower ran over him, clothes and all. Jack’s chest broad and inviting. Sometimes he wondered if he had dreamed that.
Finally, Jack let the shirt slip off, and Sawyer’s eyes were pulled away from Jack’s taut stomach, covered in that same dark hair, to his round shoulders then to his back as Jack turned and deposited the shirt carefully on the chair, leaning over so that Sawyer found several dips in his lower back that begged to be worked over with his tongue; and Jack was going out the door, leaving Sawyer warm and flushed.
Once he was gone, Sawyer had the sudden urge to touch the shirt. He needed to. Jack wouldn’t be back for a while-he was headed to the shower, and he always took a long time-so Sawyer sat up slowly, a head rush making him dizzy as his weak and cranky limbs pulled him over the side of the bed. He managed to grab the shirt from where it lay before he sat back down, marveling at how tired he was. He pulled the shirt up to his nose and he could smell Jack on it. The man had stashed cologne somewhere, spicy and warm, or else it was burned into the memory of this shirt. Cologne was one of his weaknesses, and it made him close his eyes, allowing something like reverie to overtake him.
The shirt was smooth and still warm from Jack’s body, so Sawyer pulled it on. It didn’t quite hug his frame like it did Jack’s, but it felt good-clean and civilized in a way he’d never in his life desired civilization. Jack would never roll up the sleeves, which is just what Sawyer did. Sawyer didn’t button the shirt, only laying back into his pillow and losing himself in the smell of Jack’s cologne.
*****
When Jack came out of the shower room, he felt better. The dress shirt had left him feeling restrained, stuck into a role that everyone had placed on him, that he had probably placed on himself: composed, reasonable, paternal, all-knowing, somehow powerful. That had been him, he conceded-reserved, controlled-and it was still him to a certain extent. But now, here on the island, he felt so much better in jeans and a t-shirt, and he knew it wasn’t just the island but something inside him that had always been there.
This new wardrobe was comfortable, but it would never suit him like it did Sawyer, and that was fine. He needed that difference between the two of them. It made it easier to remind himself that there was practically a wall between them. Sawyer would not understand white shirts and duty. He’d even said as much. Why don’t you just do what you fuckin’ want, Doc? What are you afraid of? That they’ll fall apart if you don’t hold them together, or that you won’t be worth anything if you aren’t doing everything? I just don’t get you. Of course he didn’t, Jack thought. He did stupid things, impulsive things, things that Jack was apparently incapable of doing. That’s what made him know Sawyer didn’t want him, even when he was sure he did. When Sawyer wanted something, he took it. So it should not have been a surprise for Jack to come in and find that Sawyer had taken his white dress shirt.
Sawyer lay there asleep, bad arm crossed over his stomach and the other falling off the side of the bed. Jack sucked in a breath to see Sawyer wearing his shirt, and he’d rolled up the sleeves, revealing forearms that made him seem strong despite his recent illness. The shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the same flat, tan stomach and chest he’d seen over and over, but something about part of it being hidden under the crisp line of linen was fascinating. More than ever, he wanted his hands on Sawyer, to feel the softness of the hair on his stomach and the hardness of a tight nipple, maybe against his tongue.
He wondered why Sawyer had stolen his shirt, but he didn’t think about it too much. Instead, he moved toward him, finally noticing that he was awake, pretending to be asleep like he always did, but definitely awake. Sawyer’s breathing hitched and Jack lay a hand over Sawyer’s hand on his chest. Sawyer opened his eyes.
“Doc?” He didn’t pull his hand away, so Jack leaned down and kissed him. At first, it was too hard, but after this much waiting, it almost had to be. Then Sawyer’s other hand went around his neck and pulled him closer as his mouth came alive, his tongue exploring Jack’s lips and tongue, hungry and unapologetically happy to be tasting Jack and feeling him respond. Sawyer’s hand tugged him down until he was sitting on the bed, leaning over Sawyer. He wanted more contact, but he couldn’t get out of this position, and their mouths were colliding now so hard that it would have hurt if they were feeling anything other than an arousal now unguarded.
Finally, Jack pulled back, his breath a gasp. He said, “What are you doing?”
“Looks like I’m kissing you.”
“I mean…the shirt…?” His hands were already running down the clean white line that went across Sawyer’s chest and just beside his navel. He didn’t wait for a reply, already moving his mouth to follow his fingers, tongue going first into Sawyer’s navel and then making a trail up the center of his chest.
Sawyer’s back arched. “God,” he mumbled. “Shit, what are you doing?”
Jack didn’t answer, instead sliding his hand down and into Sawyer’s boxers to grasp him. Jack couldn’t resist the urge to stroke him, slow and hard, making Sawyer’s hips come off the bed and his hands clutch at Jack’s body. Soon enough, Sawyer was turning to face him and Jack was crawling onto the bed with him, kissing him as he jerked him off, still hard but now faster as Sawyer cursed and thrust his hips forward. “Fuck, Jack. So fucking good.” Another few strokes and Sawyer was coming, his whole body contorting into the thrust of his hips. Jack loved the feel of his come coating his hands, making it easier to keep fisting Sawyer and listen to him moan and use words that didn’t exist, not even in his earlier fevered vocabulary. Jack hadn’t forgotten the throb of his own cock, still straining against his jeans, and neither had Sawyer, who was struggling to free him. Between the two of them, they got Jack naked, which wasn’t easy with a bunk bed above them, but they managed.
Sawyer started to sit up, to push Jack down onto his back, but Jack’s brain was overruling his body for the moment. He said, “No. Stop. Your arm.”
“Fuck my arm.”
“Sawyer…”
“I wanna suck you off. Need it.”
“No.”
His eyes went dark for a moment. “You’re a complete dumb ass, and you’re lucky I’m too weak to fight you.”
Jack crawled back on top of him, kissing him, saying, “Have you ever…?” Sawyer’s eyes narrowed, questioning. So Jack asked, “Can I fuck you?”
It must’ve been the right question, because Sawyer instantly stopped being belligerent and let out a breath and visibly shuddered before he kissed Jack soft, a kiss that probed like he was fucking his mouth slow and easy. Jack tore himself away reluctantly to find something to use for lube.
Sawyer was sitting up and watching him when he returned to the bed with a bottle of lotion. Jack delighted in slipping the shirt over Sawyer’s shoulders to reveal the tan back he had missed. He took a minute to run his hands over it, bowing to get his mouth on Sawyer’s shoulder blades, and then Sawyer was turning his head, kissing him, saying, “I’ve done this before, so don’t be so slow and fucking gentle with me,” before he lay face down on the bed, and Jack took in the sight of his back curving up and into his ass, sloping back down into his thighs.
Jack wasn’t too gentle. It would have been impossible not to take him just as he did: deep enough that he felt Sawyer’s body almost fighting against it even as he felt him thrusting back, inviting Jack deeper. He wasn’t even pulling out that much, because he needed that contact, needed the feeling of his body covering Sawyer’s hot skin and his hips thrusting deep into Sawyer’s tight ass. He didn’t last long, coming with a groan of his own and pulling out so that he could lay his whole body, hot and sweating, over Sawyer’s and kiss the top of his shoulders.
“Jesus, that was good,” Sawyer mumbled.
“Mmm,” Jack murmured. “Good. How’s your arm?”
“Fine, Jack. I’m all over fucking perfectly wonderful fine. You gonna tell me why you attacked me?”
“Shirt,” he mumbled. “So good…half buttoned…sleeves…mmm…” He felt himself falling into the haziness of sleep, occasioned by a contentment that seemed to spread physically over his body as the blood flowed back through his thumping heart and out into limbs now tangled with Sawyer’s.
Sawyer grumbled, “Don’t you fall asleep on top of me.”
Jack allowed himself to be rolled off, but he wrapped his arms around Sawyer from behind and pulled him back and into his chest. “Mine,” he said into Sawyer’s neck.
“Yes. Been yours for a while, dumb ass.”
Sawyer relaxed into Jack’s arms and Jack grinned as he said, “No. The shirt.”
“Asshole.”
“Shirt stealer. Voyeur,” he mumbled.
“This shit’s exactly why we shouldn’t talk to each other.”
“Fake sleeper.”
“If you knew I was faking, don’t that make you an exhibitionist?”
“Just shut up or I’ll never do it again.”
Sawyer snorted and held Jack’s arm tighter around him. Jack managed to pull the covers over both of them before he was falling fast into a sleep that could only come when the tension dissolved under eyes as blue as Sawyer’s.