Imagine
Title: Imagine
Pairing: Sawyer/Sayid (Jack/Liam, Sawyer/Sayid/Jack)
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None - AU
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Dedication: A belated gift for zelda_zee’s birthday. Another installment in the Rock Band ‘verse, because I just can't help myself.
Sayid has been sitting in the corner of the loud pub, subdued and silent, for the better part of an hour. Sawyer could have mistaken this withdrawl for uncharacteristic moroseness had he not moments before caught the intense spark of desire in Sayid’s dark eyes. His stare splits the crowd, focused straight ahead on Jack, unwavering no matter who passes across his line of vision.
Sawyer circles his hand around the cold neck of his beer and weaves his way through the minefield of tipsy girls and drunken boys and then sinks down into the booth beside Sayid. He tosses his hair from where it has fallen into his eyes and raises an eyebrow at Sayid, who seems to see the gesture without turning to look in his direction.
“He is rather attractive for a journalist, is he not?” Sayid’s words are as thick and smoky as the air, a near purr that warms Sawyer’s blood like a shot of alcohol. Sawyer hazards a glance in Jack’s direction, finding him ensconced in Liam Pace’s company, as he has been for the past two weeks.
Jack’s tall, hard body and handsome face had escaped no one’s attention. Not even his own.
“I didn’t know journalists had a reputation for being ugly,” Sawyer comments and leans back against the fake leather of their seat, hearing the plastic squeak. He hates that. Sayid keeps his gaze locked on Jack and Liam as he picks up his drink, takes a sip, sets it back down.
Sawyer knows this concentration, this single-minded devotion to a thought or a task. It’s the way Sayid looks at his guitar, at his writing, at him…or at least, the way he used to look at him before they put their relationship on hold until further notice.
“You know, if hiding your sexuality from the press is what you had in mind, staring at the said press like he’s a piece of meat probably ain’t a good idea.” Sawyer swigs a hearty gulp of beer and it tastes bitter all the way down. A slight smirk of amusement breaks the stone set of Sayid’s face and Sawyer snorts. “What’s so funny?”
“It is not my sexuality I’m so concerned about, Sawyer. It’s the inevitable gossip that intermingling band mates bring about.”
“It did wonders for Gwen Stefani.”
“And not so well for Boy George or George Michael.” Sayid counters, not batting an eye. Sawyer rolls his.
“George Michael and that other guy were not a couple,” Sawyer replies. “And that ain’t why they broke up.”
“Your knowledge of Wham! truly astounds me.” There’s definite laughter in Sayid’s voice and Sawyer wonders if he’s been had by this entire line of conversation, if he should’ve smelled bullshit from word go.
“You’re a dick,” Sawyer mutters. Sayid shifts, putting a steady hand on Sawyer’s thigh under the table.
“So…do you think that they are lovers?”
“Who?” Sawyer tries to ignore the intoxicating smell of Sayid’s cologne, the scent lingering in his hair, as Sayid moves imperceptibly closer, his hand shifting higher. Sawyer purposely keeps his eyes ahead, attempting to remain unflustered.
It’s hard - he’s hard - because he’s been hard up since two weeks ago when Sayid put an end to their post-gig hookups and late night meetings. He wants what the tease of Sayid’s hand is promising and he wants it way too much.
“The reporter. And Liam. There are rumors.” Sayid lifts his drink, twists his wrist, swirling the ice around its sides. “From the looks of things, I might be inclined to say they are true.”
As if to prove Sayid right, Liam chooses that moment to let out a hearty laugh, wrapping his arm around Jack’s shoulders. He takes a drink from Jack’s beer, passes it to Jack and encourages him to have some. Sawyer can’t imagine Jack’s on the clock now and he doubts any of the conversation passing between them has a thing to do with music or the magazine.
Liam is practically in Jack’s lap, his eyes wide and glazed over with the usual mix of drugs and booze. A man that impaired, that free of control, can hide nothing. He fawns over Jack loosely, easily, and Jack only blushes and lets it happen.
“I like looking at them,” Sayid comments, his palm pressing harder against Sawyer’s leg, warm and assured through his denims. “I like thinking about what it might look like.”
“What what might look like?” Sawyer swallows hard, knowing exactly where Sayid is going with this and a bit overwhelmed by exactly how much he wants to follow.
“I’m sure you have thought about it too.” Sayid’s fingers rub firmly, finding the inseam of his jeans and trailing upwards. “Tell me…when you do…think about it…what is it that you imagine?”
“I haven’t.” Sawyer lies, jaw twitching. He knows Sayid must see right through him. He always does.
“Well, when you didn’t think about them, together, Sawyer, tell me…was it Jack on his knees? Or Liam?”
Sayid’s finally pushes, heel of his hand against Sawyer’s cock, pressing the zipper rough and sharp down into his skin.
“I imagine it would be Jack.” Sayid’s voice is husky, low. He’s near whispering and Sawyer closes his eyes, letting the sound of it wash over him. Underneath it all he can still feel the throb of the bass line of the music blasting over the pub’s speakers, but everything else is white noise, a murmur merely there to accompany the soft, undulating tones of Sayid’s sultry tone.
“Liam is the one doing the wanting. Anyone can see that plainly. He’d make the advance…a sloppy but overpowering kiss, perhaps. Tongue and teeth and all hands. Alcohol and smoke on his lips. Jack would be modest, surprised…but I think…I do think that he’d like it. I suspect you agree with this assumption?”
“Hmmm,” Sawyer nods, moving his hips upward, only a little, to match Sayid’s languid, smooth stroke.
“Do you think Jack has been with a man before?” Sayid asks and Sawyer forces his eyes open, focus landing on Jack. Sawyer thinks about what would happen if Liam closed that minimal distance between them right then and there, if Liam straddled Jack on the chair and grabbed the sides of his face, pulled him in and kissed him hard.
His cock twitches restlessly at the image of Liam shoving his tongue past Jack’s lips, insistent, eager. Liam’s black nail polish and heavy pewter rings would be in stark relief against Jack’s pale skin. The sight of them together would be a study in contrast: Liam rail thin, tricked out in his goth-lite heroin-chic get-up, spiky blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Always frantic, always moving.
Then there’d be Jack, so dark and solid and sure. The hipster with his cords and vintage tee under his mod blazer, intelligent and educated but thoroughly inexperienced and unsuspecting.
He wonders what it would look like when Jack got down on his knees and gave head, if that innocence would be unsettling or completely irresistible.
“I don’t think he has.” Sawyer replies belatedly. “And the way Kate looks at him, I don’t know if he ever will.”
He glances at Sayid in time to catch Sayid’s inquisitive gaze flicker over to their bandmate. She’s watching Jack with interest as well, a barely disguised hunger in her eyes.
“Jack has not looked at her. Not in that way. If it is anyone at all, it is Liam,” Sayid states, sounding completely sure. “Would you like to fuck him, Sawyer?”
Sayid traces the sharp outline of Sawyer’s hard on and then strokes again, rougher this time. Sawyer sucks in a sharp breath and glances around, trying to see if anyone is aware of what is going on underneath cover of their table.
He wants to reach over and touch Sayid as well, but he knows it would be too much. He knows Sayid wants control of this. The fantasy is his and it’s his choice to share it. Sawyer has to play his role.
“What would you say if I did?” Sawyer asks.
“I take it that means you do desire it.”
“Do you want me to fuck him?”
“I might. I might like to think about it. I might like to watch it. If things were different, I might even like to take part.”
Sawyer bites his lip, knocks his head back against the wall. Sayid is keeping a steady pace now, a steady pressure. Sawyer’s mind is bombarded with images. It’s not Liam’s cock that’s slipping in and out of Jack’s willing, wet mouth now; it’s his own. He can feel Jack’s short hair under his fingers, not enough to pull on but he tries anyway.
Sayid’s name escapes his lips like a plea to let this continue. Sayid touches him like only he knows how and Sawyer realizes that he’s going to do it - bring him off right here, in public, the object of their shared desire sitting only a few feet away. Unaware.
A series of settings - the bathroom in the bar, the backseat of a limo, a bunk in the tour bus - flash through his mind as options before he settles on the interior of a hotel room to play out the last of this unbelievable fantasy. Soft pillows and clean sheets under his sweaty, naked body as Jack bends over him, sucking him off. He thinks of Sayid in the corner, intent and staring just like he is now…then coming over to the bed, thick cock lining up with Jack and pushing in, pushing hard. He can almost hear Jack’s cry of pleasure-pain ringing in his ears.
God, he wants to know what that reserved, almost shy man would sound like when he’s being fucked from both ends. Would he scream when he came, or would he whimper?
Sawyer, he hisses, bites his lip, thuds his knee against the table. He shudders, warmth spilling, spurting, turning his jeans sticky and wet. Sayid strokes him through it, wringing every last bit of it out of him.
“Fuck,” Sawyer breathes out, shaking his head, trying to get his vision to clear. “Hell, Sayid. Just…damn.”
Sayid pulls his hand away and sets it on the table, palm flat on the wood, and takes another sip of his drink. Perfectly calm, almost unbothered. Sawyer runs his hands through his hair, flustered and annoyed with Sayid's complete ease.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He mumbles and Sayid gets up, downing the last of his drink and setting the glass back on the table.
“Jack seems otherwise engaged this evening. I’m going to go back to the hotel.”
To anyone else, Sawyer thinks that may have been even more infuriating, but not for him. He knows an invitation when he hears one. Gathering his leather jacket, he follows Sayid out of the bar.
They both might be thinking of Jack and Liam tonight, but he knows Sayid will scream his name when he comes.