A Pain That I'm Used To - Part Six Cont'd
Jack adjusts his carry-on bag over his shoulder for the fifth time in the past few minutes as he anxiously waits for his boarding call, checking his ticket once again to make sure he’s at the right gate. He never used to be so nervous to fly, but now he feels he has every reason to feel sick to his stomach. He’s been on a plane numerous times since the crash, and every time it gets progressively easier - but it’s certainly not easy yet.
He thrums his fingers nervously against the thick paper of his boarding pass, earning him an annoyed look from the middle-aged woman standing next to him.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, forcing an awkward smile, rubbing his clean-shaven chin in an effort to occupy his hands in another manner. “Nervous flyer.” The woman relents, giving him a small nod of understanding.
“Me too.”
Jack almost lets out a snort, thinking how his reasons for anxiety and hers are worlds apart and how he wants to tell her exactly that. But he catches himself, thinking for a moment how very Sawyer-like the impulse was. Sawyer, who hadn’t even been around to say good-bye when he left for the airport. They’d been childishly ignoring one another all week, though Jack’s not sure who had started the silent treatment first, himself or Sawyer. It was probably himself.
The boarding call comes over the loud speaker and the people in the waiting area move en masse toward the gate, each struggling to get ahead of one another in line as if they’re not all going to the same place, to sit on the plane and wait impatiently for take off. Everyone is in a big rush to hurry up and wait. Jack hangs back, wanting to remain with both feet on the ground as long as possible.
“Everybody’s getting on, Doc…you change your mind?”
Jack turns slowly and finds Sawyer coming to a stop next to him, bag slung over his shoulder and an uneasy grin on his face.
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
”Why?”
“Why not.” Sawyer shrugs. And like that, the past week spent with Jack gloomily avoiding Sawyer has dissipated into thin air. “Like ya said, Doc, I ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I don’t show up, and that’s just givin’ your momma what she wants.” He looks ahead at the long line ahead of them, frowning as he sees the gate. “I don’t see why you had to fuckin’ fly though. I hate fuckin’ flyin’.”
The woman who had glared at Jack now glares at Sawyer, who just shoots her a look right back.
“Sorry, hon, last time I was on an airplane, the thing crashed on an island full of crazies in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and we got stuck there for eight months. All right with you if I swear a little? Thanks.” The woman makes a noise of disgust but turns away, knowing better than to raise a stink with someone like Sawyer.
“Sawyer…” Jack starts warningly but Sawyer shrugs.
“Kids get on the plane first, Jackie boy. They ain’t around. I ain’t usin’ any words nobody here in line ain’t ever heard before.” Sawyer looks up the line in front of them and then glances backward. He spots a nun, dressed in full habit, towards the back of the line of late arrivals that has formed behind them, and smirks. “Except maybe her. But she’s out of earshot anyway.”
Jack’s about to tell him to shut up when Sawyer beats him to the punch, defending himself before the attack.
“Hey, you asked me to come. You want me to go home?”
“No.”
“Then pretend you’re amused and not annoyed outta your mind.”
“I’m not annoyed. I’m glad you’re here.” Jack replies, so seriously and so softly that Sawyer is caught off guard by his tone. He steals a furtive look toward the end of the line and grins at Jack wickedly.
“Then you want to shock a nun?” Jack grins in return, not expecting Sawyer to actually grab him and kiss him, thinking he was only joking. But seconds later Sawyer’s tongue is in his mouth, kissing him with the distinct purpose of leaving him reeling. He pulls away, looking triumphant, and readjusts his bag on his shoulder. It had slipped downward in his hurry to grab Jack, catching painfully in the crook of his elbow.
Jack casts a nervous look around the crowd, feeling embarrassed, self-consciously bringing his hand to his mouth and gently wiping away the ghost of Sawyer’s kiss. Sawyer merely grins again and takes a step forward, the line beginning to move past the gate.
“That was hot.” Jack glances toward the high-pitched voice and sees a trio of teenage girls a few paces ahead who are looking back at them, giggling.
Sawyer winks at them, sending them into another fit of giggles and hushed whispers, then turns to Jack.
“Hear that, Jacko? That was hot.”
Jack rolls his eyes and nudges Sawyer forward.
“Keep it movin’, Romeo,” he mutters. Once their tickets are checked, Jack follows Sawyer on board, not failing to notice how Sawyer’s pace slows the second he enters the cabin, his hands holding onto the headrest of every seat he passes as he walks to his seat, like he needs the support to keep moving. Jack lets it pass, knowing Sawyer hates being called out on any sign of weakness or distress.
He shoves his bag up into the overhead compartment and clicks the door shut before turning to Jack, who needs to find his seat further down the cabin.
“Guess this is where we part ways for a bit,” Sawyer comments, trying to keep the nervous edge from his voice and not succeeding.
“If you’d just agreed to come along in the first place, you know, we could’ve gotten seats together,” Jack can’t resist pointing out, earning him an irked expression on Sawyer’s face.
“Thanks for remindin’ me.”
Jack turns to go, knowing he’s holding up the line behind them, but pauses, concerned over the look of panic that flashes through Sawyer’s eyes.
“Hey. You gonna be all right?”
“Fine,” Sawyer waves him off, plopping into his seat.
“I’ll come back up here the second we’re allowed to get up and move around, okay?”
“Jack, I’m all grown up now, I think I can fly solo.” Jack nods at Sawyer’s snarky comment and heads to his seat as quickly as possible, trying to make up for the fact that he had held everyone up for a moment.
As soon as they’re in the air and the fasten seatbelt sign dings off, the stewardess announces that it is safe to move about the cabin and Jack unfastens his buckle and makes his way up the aisle. Sawyer’s hands are clenching the arm rests of his seat and his face is ashen.
“Jesus, Sawyer, are you okay?” Jack leans forward to allow another passenger by, then leans back and bends down, taking up the entire aisle next to Sawyer and not caring.
“You just had to fly. I hate you.”
“I didn’t know you were coming, Sawyer. And I didn’t know you were still so freaked about it either.”
“Ain’t you?”
“Well…yes.”
”You sure look pretty damn at ease to be sayin’ that.”
”I’m getting used to it. I’m getting over it.”
“Well I ain’t set foot in a plane since then, Doc. You better damn well appreciate this.” Sawyer lets out a long breath and closes his eyes. Jack stands and opens the overhead compartment, fishing around in Sawyer’s bag for a book. “Can’t read on a plane, Jack.” Sawyer states without opening his eyes, knowing what Jack is doing.
“Are you gonna puke?” A pre-teen with a backward baseball cap who is sitting next to Sawyer leans forward and looks at Sawyer critically. “Don’t puke on me.”
“Are you traveling by yourself?” Jack asks him before Sawyer can mutter something unrepeatable in response. The boy eyes him suspiciously. Jack hurries to explain himself before the kid gets the wrong idea. “Would you be willing to switch seats so I can sit here? My friend is having a bit of trouble with flying.”
“Your friend is a wussy.”
“Look, you punk ass-“
”I would really appreciate it, if you wouldn’t mind.” Jack cuts Sawyer off, shooting the kid a pleading look. He can’t believe he’s begging a child to trade seats, but that’s what it’s come to.
“Where are you sitting?” He stands up, glancing up and down the cabin eagerly. Jack points to his seat, which luckily is across the aisle from an appealing blonde speaking with a distinct Eastern European accent, the kind of girl who looks and talks like a model even if she isn’t one. The teen’s eyes near bulge out of his head and he snaps the outstretched ticket from Jack’s hand, grabbing his bag from the empty seat next to him and scrambling over Sawyer. “Hell yes.” He shoves his own ticket into Jack’s hand and hurries to Jack’s seat, grinning obnoxiously at the pretty woman unfortunate enough to have found an admirer to keep her company for the rest of the flight.
Sawyer moves over a seat and Jack sits down next to him, gingerly putting his hand on his forehead, noting that Sawyer is shivering.
“God, you’re really warm.”
“Yeah. Think I might be freaking out a bit, Jack,” Sawyer says, drawing in another measured breath. “I hate to prove that damn kid right, but I think I might throw up.” The plane jolts slightly then, hitting a bit of turbulence, and Sawyer quickly grabs Jack’s hand, holding it tight. It takes a moment for Sawyer to realize how hard his grip is on Jack’s fingers and he frowns at Jack. “You can’t bring this up ever again, Doc. Whatever happens on this plane, stays on this plane.”
“So it’s like Vegas.” Jack makes light.
”But in the air,” Sawyer points upward and swirls his finger around once, forcing a sly grin.
“You can relax, Sawyer, nothing is going to happen.”
“I seem to recall hearin’ that you told Rose the exact same thing last time.” Jack sighs, knowing Sawyer’s right about that but knowing this time that the plane won’t be falling apart under their feet.
“Sawyer, think of it this way. What are the odds of us being in another plane crash? The odds of even being in one are slim.”
“Yeah, and the odds of me runnin’ into your daddy in a bar in Australia and then bein’ in a plane crash with you are probably slimmer than that, you’d think,” Sawyer retorts. “Life likes to fuck with us, Jack, case you haven’t noticed.”
Jack stands up, disregarding Sawyer’s perfectly good point, digs one of Sawyer’s many books from his bag, sits back down and flips it open to the first page. He sends a little grin Sawyer’s way at seeing the title page.
“The Phantom Tollbooth, Sawyer?”
“I brought ‘grown-up’ books too, dumbass, if you insist on bein’ a snob. I just happen to like that book and don’t fancy tryin’ to wrap my mind around James Joyce on top of dealin’ with your mother.” Sawyer snaps, his nerves frayed.
”I like it too,” Jack relents, sensing Sawyer’s fuse is a too short for any more teasing, good-natured though it may be. “Want me to read to you?”
“Read to me?”
“Yeah. I used to read to Kate all the time. She said my voice was soothing.” Jack says this with confidence, trying to convince Sawyer he can be of help, but Sawyer scowls.
“If that was designed to make me feel better, it didn’t work,” he says. “You ‘n Kate…” he mumbles lowly underneath his breath, closing his eyes again. Jack snaps the book shut and sticks it into the pocket of the seat in front of him.
“Come on, Sawyer. Stand up.”
“Why?”
“We’re taking a walk. Just follow my lead.” He tugs Sawyer up and leads him down the aisle toward the back of the plane. He pauses in front of one of the stewardesses and flashes her the sexiest grin he can muster, laying on the charm he used to be able to utilize to get anything he wanted, a very long time ago. “Excuse me, Felicia?” He asks, reading her name tag. “My friend here isn’t feeling too well and I’m afraid he’s going to be sick. Is there any chance that I could trouble you for a bottle of water?”
She looks from Jack to Sawyer, who doesn’t really have to play along. He looks terrible.
“Of course,” she hurriedly grabs a bottle from the drink cart she was already preparing, looking concerned. “Is he going to be all right?”
“He’ll be fine. We’re just going to go in here for a second and save the rest of the passengers from something unpleasant,” Jack opens the bathroom door and leads Sawyer inside. He makes Sawyer kneel in front of the toilet before shutting the door behind them, knowing that Felicia is still watching.
Sawyer looks up at Jack through a curtain of his own messy hair and smiles crookedly.
“God damn, you’re a good liar. You would’ve made a good con man, Doc. I almost believed you myself.”
“I wasn’t really lying, Sawyer. You do look sick.”
“You know, one more smile and Felicia there would’ve been climbing right in here with you. Cute and thoughtfully taking care of a sick friend? Staple gun the words ‘chick magnet’ to your forehead already and get it over with.” Jack just waits patiently for Sawyer to get whatever comments he has left out of his system, leaning against the metal sink. Sawyer raises an eyebrow, pushing himself up off the floor and standing directly in front of Jack. “Why are we in here, Jack?”
“Thought you could use a distraction.” He shrugs, setting the bottle of water down on the sink counter and then crossing his arms matter of factly over his chest, leveling his gaze at Sawyer.
“And that distraction would be?” Sawyer inquires, stepping closer, feeling Jack’s body warm against his. Jack slowly unfolds his arms and guides Sawyer in front of him in the cramped space, his back against Jack’s chest, their bodies locked tightly as Jack deftly undoes the fly of Sawyer’s jeans without looking, watching Sawyer’s reaction in the mirror when he makes the first movement of his hand.
“You still thinking about being on a plane?” Jack whispers in his ear, locking eyes with him in his reflection.
“Can’t say as I am,” Sawyer replies, a little gasp punctuating the end of his sentence when Jack makes a small twist of his wrist as his hand brushes over the head of Sawyer’s penis.
‘What are you thinking about?”
“Not really able to think at the moment.”
When Jack strokes him harder, faster, Sawyer knows what he’s doing and resists. Jack can feel it, the sudden tension in his body as he tries to hold back.
“What’s wrong?” Jack slows his hand and Sawyer turns to face him, unfastening Jack’s belt and pulling open his pants in response.
“I ‘preciate you tryin’ to make it all ‘bout me, Doc, but if you really want to take my mind off bein’ on this jumbo jet, I suggest you get the fuck inside me right now.”
He finishes the task of freeing Jack from his pants and then shoves down his own unceremoniously, turning back around and leaning forward over the sink. Jack hesitates, Sawyer doesn’t know why, so Sawyer urges him on.
“Come on, Jack. Your pal Felicia will be back to check on us any second.”
“Isn’t that what-“ Jack’s sentence ends prematurely as he thrusts into Sawyer, both of them grunting in unison. “Gets you off? The thought of getting caught?”
“What gets me off is you, Jack, and nothin’ else,” Sawyer whispers, watching Jack moving behind him in the reflection of the mirror. He’s never seen what it looks like, Jack pounding into him from behind, Jack’s mouth half open and eyes glazed with lust, his stomach muscles contracting tightly with every hard thrust and his fingers gripping into the flesh of Sawyer’s hips.
What surprises him more is the expression of utter abandon he finds on his own face, contorting with pleasure in ways he’d be hard pressed to describe. He’s panting heavily, too turned on to feel self conscious, begging Jack’s hands to leave his waist and take hold of his cock, to make him come. He groans when Jack complies with his breathless request.
Plane crashes are the furthest thing from his mind when he rocks four times into Jack’s tight grip, coming over Jack’s fingers, Jack milking him into the sink in front of them and coating the stainless steel with liquid. Jack holds him tightly as he lets go himself, loving the sensation of Sawyer’s body clenching around him, holding him in as he empties everything he has.
“Feel better now?” Jack asks, brushing Sawyer’s hair back from his face as Sawyer stands upright, leaning back into Jack and laying his head on Jack’s strong shoulder.
“Hell yes.”
“Good.” He holds Sawyer for a few moments longer and then reluctantly straightens both their clothes, washes his hands and the sink, getting rid of the evidence of their latest round of risky business. Sawyer puts down the toilet lid and sits down, putting his head in his hands as Jack opens the bathroom door, beating any of the stewardesses who might be coming to check on them. “Excuse me, do you think I could have another bottle of water? And a towel?” He asks Felicia, who was literally just about to raise her hand to knock on the bathroom door. She glances over Jack’s shoulder and sees Sawyer sitting there, breathless and sweaty, his head between his knees, and frowns deeply.
“Are you sure he’s all right? Should I try to see if there is a doctor on board?”
“Actually, I am a doctor. We’re all right. He’s just motion sick. I’m gonna take him back to his seat, I think I might have some Dramamine in my bag.”
“Okay. Do you need any help moving him?”
“I think I got him. But if I could have that water and the towel, it would be a big help,” Jack finds himself instructing her using the same tone he uses with hospital interns, trying to be respectful but authoritative at the same time.
Felicia nods and leaves Jack with Sawyer, who lifts his head up and shakes his head at Jack.
“Natural con. God damn I wish you’d come around earlier. We could’ve made a killing.”
“Hilarious, Sawyer. Come on,” he gestures for Sawyer to quit joking and follow him back to their seats. Once they’ve sat back down and have been given another bottle of water, Jack makes Sawyer drink anyway, like he’s either trying to keep up appearances or he’s more worried about Sawyer than he wants to let on.
Sawyer feels Jack staring at him and tilts his head in his direction.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming, Sawyer.” Jack says softly. “It means a lot.”
”I didn’t mind coming at all,” Sawyer replies, his lips curling into a smile, delighting in the double entendre. “Feel free to make me do that again anytime.”
*******
Jack smiles as Sawyer digs out a pair of sunglasses from his bag and slips them on as they walk through the gate and into the airport. They’re far too stylish for his casual outfit of plaid shirt and worn jeans, but somehow seem to fit him just perfectly. Sawyer notices his grin and cocks him one back.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Jack shakes his head, laughing.
“It’s L.A., baby. Gotta wear shades. Where’s yours at?” Sawyer pulls at the zipper of Jack’s bag, almost pulling it off his shoulder. Jack stops and lets him rifle through, waiting until his fingers emerge triumphant with a glass case. He snaps it open and offers the sunglasses to Jack. He appraises Jack once he puts them on and then smirks. “No, think I like mine better.”
“Good thing you’re wearing them then and not me,” Jack replies, playfully shoving Sawyer’s hands away from his bag after he deposits the case back inside.
“Jack!” The smile drops from Sawyer’s face when he turns toward the source of the voice and finds a tall, thin, redheaded man grinning from ear to ear and waving for Jack’s attention. Jack’s smile is equally wide as he heads toward him.
“Marc, man, it’s good to see you.” They envelope one another in a fierce hug, patting each other on the back hard before separating.
“Good to see you too, Jack. Happy you made it - flight was okay?”
“It was…fine,” Jack glances sideways at Sawyer, who can’t help but chuckle. Marc notices Sawyer now, realization sweeping over his face.
“Are you the infamous Sawyer?”
“That I am,” Sawyer replies warily, defenses up. He’s not sure what reaction is to follow. Marc extends his hand and Sawyer shakes it, surprised when Marc suddenly grins again and pulls Sawyer into a hug as well.
“I didn’t think you were coming! I’m so glad you’re here. It’s good to finally meet you, man!” His welcome goes a long way to assuage Sawyer’s worries, knowing at least the best friend isn’t going to be on his case the entire time. “You guys got luggage?”
“Packed everything carry on,” Sawyer replies.
“Great. Baggage claim is insane here. Come on, I’m parked out this way.” Marc points in a vague direction and makes for Jack and Sawyer to follow him. “Can’t believe you’re really here, Jack. I didn’t think you were ever going to come back to L.A. if you couldn’t help it.”
“Well, I couldn’t help it,” Jack says with a shrug. Marc nods knowingly.
“Margo,” he says with a sigh, then glances at Sawyer. “You’re in for a lovely time, Sawyer.”
“I can imagine.”
“She actually called me when she found out about you two. Freaking out, Jack. I seriously couldn’t even understand her. Though I caught something like ‘grandchildren’ and ‘crazy’ and a whole lot of How could he do this to me?’s. She wanted me to go to Toronto and make sure you hadn’t gone mental.”
“What did you say to her?” Jack asks.
“I told her it was your dick and you could stick it wherever you wanted to,” Mark jokes.
“Think I like this guy,” Sawyer states as they walk out of Terminal 2 and into the bright L.A. sunlight and heat. Marc laughs.
“I think I actually said something more run-of-the-mill, like It’s his life and he has to live it the way he wants to. It wasn’t nearly as exciting, I assure you.”
“How’s Linda?”
“Great, great. Baby #2 is on the way.”
”Really? Marc, congratulations! Why didn’t you say anything?” Jack wraps both arms around him in a sideways haphazard hug, shaking him slightly before pushing him away. “You should’ve told me!”
“We were waiting to make sure…you know the whole three month thing,” Marc says sheepishly. “I wanted to tell everyone right away. She made me wait.”
“Boy or girl?”
“We’re doing it the old fashioned way. Don’t want to know.”
“Congratulations,” Sawyer adds after a moment’s hesitation, knowing he should say something. He feels awkward; cordiality doesn’t come naturally to him in the slightest.
“Thanks,” Marc nods. “Here I am.” He points his keys at a cherry red Camaro convertible and presses the button on his key chain, lights blinking as it unlocks.
“This yours?” Sawyer looks at the car, letting out a whistle of appreciation.
“When did you get this?” Jack asks, seemingly put off by it. It’s very unlike Marc. Marc is a Toyota Camry kind of guy, sensible, dependable, and somewhat boring. When he looks at Marc, he realizes his friend is blushing.
“It’s actually my brother’s,” He explains sheepishly. “Borrowed it for the afternoon, figured you might enjoy riding in style.” He opens the trunk and takes Jack’s bag from him, dumping it inside, then takes Sawyer’s. “There’s nothing glamorous about a compact car.” Jack opens up the passenger side door and starts to climb in back but Sawyer stops him, telling him wordlessly to sit up front with his friend and he’ll sit in the cramped back seat. Jack starts to resist but Sawyer jumps in, effectively ending the silent argument.
“So Ben has a Camaro, huh? Must be doing pretty well for himself,” Jack comments as he sits down, buckling up.
“The dealership is doing really well.”
“He older or younger?” Sawyer asks from the back and Marc looks at him. “Your brother.”
“Younger. He used to want to be a doctor like Jack here…” Marc chuckles at the memory. “He used to think Jack was so cool.”
“Used to, huh? I take it he wised up,” Sawyer teases and Jack rolls his eyes.
“More like he discovered that the sight of blood makes him faint,” Marc replies, turning the ignition. The engine purrs low but the radio blasts out Britney Spears. Marc quickly ejects the CD and turns the channel to NPR. Jack laughs outright and Sawyer stifles his own chuckle.
“I see you’ve broadened your musical horizons,” Jack comments.
“I had to drop Kimmy off at school on the way here,” Marc explains. “She loves her Britney.” He shakes his head as if he’s depressed by the very thought of it. “I only thank god she’s too young to understand all the stuff that girl says.”
“I take it you and Linda have stopped forcing her to listen to classical music twenty-four/seven then.”
“Yeah, we gave it the office. Figured she was already getting smarter than us, we had to head her off or we’d be in trouble.” Marc winks jokingly at Jack as he backs out of the parking space and heads down the parking ramp. “Truth be told, I just couldn’t take any more Bach or Tchaikovsky. It was making me nuts.”
“Know the feeling,” Sawyer mutters. Marc takes a quick look back at Sawyer and then looks back ahead, paying attention to his driving.
“Ha - Jack, you’re still inflicting it on yourself? I figured after all the stuff your mother made you listen to, you’d never want to hear an orchestra again.”
“I don’t know, somewhere along the line it started to rub off on me, I guess,” Jack shrugs, fixing his sunglasses as they emerge from the dark of the parking ramp and onto the incredibly busy ring road of the airport, heading for Sepulveda Boulevard. “And it’s not like it’s the only stuff I listen to, you know.” He says over his shoulder to Sawyer, who just shrugs. Jack’s taste ranges from jazz to punk but it’s rare they find something to agree upon, mostly because Sawyer enjoys arguing with Jack more than listening to the radio.
They all fall silent for a moment listening to the droll monotone of the speaker on the radio, elaborating on the newest novel by so and so and critiquing the latest law proposed by whoever. There was a time when Sawyer would’ve listened, his appetite for knowledge absolutely ravenous despite his lack of formal education, but now he just sits back and enjoys the ride, letting the breeze blow through his hair and watching as Jack laughs and smiles the entire way to his childhood home.
Jack’s beautiful smile disappears when Marc pulls to a stop in front of a huge house that Sawyer would’ve called a mansion, had he not seen places twice as big along the way there. The place looks immaculate and magazine ready, the kind of place with perfectly green manicured grass and perfectly sculpted landscaping to compliment the crystal clear blue pool out back. Gorgeous as it is, it looks like no place for children, and he can’t imagine having to grow up within this house’s elegant white walls.
“You ready?” Marc asks Jack in a way that only confirms Sawyer’s suspicions, like he’s checking to see if Jack is prepared to go off to war in some remote foreign land where death is almost guaranteed.
“No.” Jack replies, frowning.
“Come on, man…time to face the music.”
“Tell me again why I agreed to come here?”
“Because you’re a good son,” Marc replies comfortingly, then snorts. “And a pussy.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Marc slaps Jack on the shoulder before climbing out the driver’s side. Jack looks back at Sawyer; now he looks like he’s about to throw up.
“I apologize in advance for anything that happens between now and Friday, Sawyer.” Jack says seriously. Sawyer sighs and then clambers over the car’s side, and opens Jack’s door, pulling him to his feet.
“C’mere.” He pulls Jack toward him and they kiss, Sawyer’s lips and tongue working to reassure Jack without the trouble of forming words.
“She’s harsher in person. Really.” Jack tells him as they break away from one another.
“I’m sure I’ve handled worse things than your mother, Jack,” Sawyer responds confidently. “I mean…I’ve faced down a raging polar bear in the middle of a jungle. How bad can one woman be?”
“Are you guys talking about polar bears?” Marc inquires, confused. He slams the trunk, Sawyer’s bag in one hand and Jack’s in the other. Sawyer and Jack look at him and then at each other, not knowing how to even begin that explanation.
“It’s a long story,” Jack just states, reaching out and taking his bag from Marc. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Sawyer lifts his own from Marc’s grasp with a small nod of appreciation. Marc slaps his hands together and then brushes him off as if ridding himself of them.
“Well, guys, this has been fun, but I’m going to bolt before Margo realizes you’re here.”
“Wait, you’re not going to come in?” Jack is surprised. “Come on…seeing you will slow her down.” Marc shakes his head, backing away.
“As much as I’d love to be the sacrificial lamb, Jack…” Marc shakes his head no. “So…dinner. Tomorrow, six o’clock. Linda’s cooking, so eat beforehand.” Marc walks back to the driver’s side and opens the door. “It was very nice to meet you, Sawyer, we’ll see you tomorrow.” He looks up past both men toward the house and panic crosses over his face. “Shit, here she comes. Gotta run.” He revs the engine and waves toward the house with a fake smile, saying good-bye to Mrs. Shephard before she even gets the chance to say hello.
Jack waits until Marc rounds the corner, watching the car disappear, trying to buy himself some more time. Sawyer nudges him gently.
“We doin’ this or what?” He whispers out of the corner of his mouth. Jack closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in and out slowly, murmuring a reminder of It’s only three days before turning back toward his former home.
”Okay, let’s go.”
*******
Sawyer lets out a long sigh of exhaustion as he enters Jack’s bedroom, dropping his bag with a loud thud to the deep dark blue carpet. He looks around as Jack enters the room behind him, nudging Sawyer’s luggage out of the way so he can shut the door.
“So this is it…the old childhood bedroom…” Jack gazes at the room, still full of his old things, memories both bad and good.
“You had your own bathroom?” Sawyer points to the open door to their right in disbelief. Jack shrugs. “Fuck you, man. I don’t believe this place. It’s like you had your own apartment or somethin’.”
“Yeah, it’s somethin’ all right,” Jack replies, sitting down on the edge of his full size bed, still decked out in the same worn dark blue and light blue striped comforter that’s been there since he was fourteen years old. He kicks off his shoes and lays back, feeling like he could sleep for hours and hours. His mother is already exhausting, and they’ve only been in the house fifteen minutes.
Sawyer slowly circles the room, fingering the books lined on his bookcase first, scanning the titles.
“Usual high school fare, Doc,” he comments, his brow furrowing as he looks at the titles of Jack’s heavy college tomes, all replete with unpronounceable titles that sound as boring as they are long. He moves on to his record and tape collection, smiling when he looks at beat up old cassettes. “Lots of U2 here, boy…see you ran pretty middle of the road.”
“Didn’t have much time for music then.” Jack’s comments are muffled, his hands over his face. Sawyer looks at the long shelf of trophies on his wall, stepping closer to read them and to look at the team pictures hanging underneath.
“Football MVP…Basketball MVP…” He rattles some gold medals and blue ribbons hanging loosely with his fingers, metal clanging against metal loudly. “Quite the track star as well, I see.”
“Would you quit looking at all that shit?” Jack pleads, only succeeding in bringing a grin to Sawyer’s face. He moves back over to the bookshelf and finds exactly what he’s looking for, flipping open to the senior section and finding Jack’s picture all too easily.
“So that’s what your hair looks like when you let it grow, huh?” Sawyer inquires and Jack sits up, confused until he sees the yearbook that Sawyer has in his grasp.
“Oh jesus. For the love of god, put that back.”
“Spanish club, Latin club, jazz ensemble, orchestra, marching band - what’d you play?”
“Sawyer-“
“Come on.”
“Trumpet.”
“Explains the mouth control,” Sawyer quips and then presses forward. “What else we got here…yearbook staff, newspaper staff, youth volunteers, varsity football, varsity basketball…when did you sleep?“
“Sawyer, that’s enough.“
”Anything you didn’t do, Jacko?”
“Yeah, have fun,” Jack replies, sitting up and looking at Sawyer. Sawyer nods and flips through the next few pages.
“Look at that…Most Likely to be Successful. Best Smile. And awww…look at you and Susie Q. Cheerleader. Best Couple. You two go steady?” Sawyer sits down next to Jack on the bed, flaunting the picture in his face. Jack grasps for the yearbook, tired of this conversation, but Sawyer moves it out of his reach. “Come on…she ain’t bad lookin’. Ya coulda done worse.” He turns a page and grimaces, catching sight of a more unfortunate young girl. A lot worse.”
“She actually writes for the NY Times now. Very smart. And she grew into the nose.”
“Thank the lord,” Sawyer shuts the yearbook and tosses it onto the floor. He sets his hand on Jack’s knee and casts a sideways glance at the vast expanse of bed laying behind them. “So, this cheerleader…”
“Kelly.”
“Kelly…she the first one?”
“First one to…?”
“You know what I mean. She make you a man, Jackie boy?” Jack chuckles at Sawyer’s question, shaking his head.
“No.”
“And that honor belongs to…?”
“You really wanna know?” Jack inquires.
“Hells yeah.”
“Okay…” Jack pauses and Sawyer swears he’s almost blushing. “Her name was Claudine.” Sawyer just waits, making it obvious he wants further elaboration. “She was 18, I was 16. Her father was a movie producer and they moved here from France. From Paris. I was helping her in English, this paper about Shakespeare. Next thing I know her tongue was down my throat and her hand was down my pants. I wasn’t about to protest.” Jack watches Sawyer take it all in, waiting for some kind of reaction, not sure why Sawyer even cares in the first place.
“Mine was with a girl named Lizzie. We were in the same foster home. One day we got stuck home alone and got bored.” Sawyer stops speaking and Jack raises an eyebrow.
“That’s it?”
“Yep. She decided she just wanted to have it done and over with and I was more than happy to give her a hand. After, we stole a couple ‘a cigarettes from our foster mother’s purse and snuck ‘em out back. Then she thanked me, like I’d loaned her five bucks for a sandwich, and we never mentioned it again. How’s that for romance?”
“How old were you?” Jack asks softly.
“15. Couple of months later I dropped out of school and hit the road. Never looked back.” Sawyer lays back onto Jack’s mattress, one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. “Sure is typical, ain’t it? I got welfare Lizzie and you got a hot French chick named Claudine.”
“I never said she was hot,” Jack says in an attempt to make the differences between them seem smaller, but Sawyer scoffs at him.
“You tellin’ me she wasn’t?” Jack hesitates and Sawyer can see him trying to conjure up a story, a description of her. “Oh, you liar. She was smokin’. Nice try though.”
Jack lies down next to Sawyer, shooting him a smile.
“If it makes you feel any better, in retrospect, it wasn’t any good.”
“Mine either. First times never are.” Sawyer moves his hand over the bedspread next to him thoughtfully. “You do it right here? This still the same bed?”
Jack thinks for a moment, trying to remember if anything had been changed in his room since then.
“Yeah…yeah, it is.”
“Were your parents home?”
“Actually…they were. Right downstairs.” Jack replies. “Why?”
“Just wonderin’,” Sawyer says, grinning mischievously. He runs his hand over the inside of Jack’s arm, over his tattoo, then angles the brightly colored design toward his seeking lips, laying light kisses along Jack’s sensitive skin.
“Sawyer, no…” Jack starts but Sawyer covers his mouth with his hand, stifling his words.
“Just be really, really, quiet,” Sawyer instructs him with another smile, straddling Jack’s waist. “Just like in high school, Jack. Gotta get off before the parents realize what you’re doin’ up here, right?”
“Sawyer, we’re not in high school…we’re practically middle-aged.”
“Hell no we ain’t,” Sawyer shakes his head, grinding down hard against Jack as if the pleasure is a punishment for his comment. “Think we still got quite a few years left in us yet before we get that boring.” Sawyer slides his hands down Jack’s arms and circles his fingers around Jack’s wrists, guiding Jack’s hands to his hips.
“You can’t possibly be…” Jack’s sentence is interrupted by a tiny moan when Sawyer moves his hips, rubbing hard and purposefully between Jack’s legs with his own growing erection. “Serious.” A louder moan escapes him before he can stop it, Sawyer thrusting downward as if to assure Jack he’s nothing if not serious. “I am really starting to think you have a fetish, Sawyer…it’s like you wanna get caught…”
“Unless that fetish is wanting to fuck you every chance I get, then I’d have to disagree,” Sawyer replies huskily, leaning forward to kiss Jack. “Now shush up.”
“And what if I don’t?” Jack retorts.
“Well then your mother’s gonna come in here and get an eyeful. So’s unless you want her to see what it looks like when her son gets a blowjob, I suggest you keep your mouth otherwise occupied.”
“You gonna help me with that?” Jack murmurs flirtatiously, giving into Sawyer’s desire; Sawyer smiles, knowing he has triumphed over Jack’s rationality once again.
“If you want me to.”
“God yes,” Jack whispers, grabbing Sawyer’s ass and urging him closer. Sawyer slides up over Jack’s body, straddling his chest now, and unzips his jeans. He fumbles for a pillow; Jack lifts his head and lets Sawyer slide it under, reaching out and taking Sawyer’s cock in hand at the same time. He grabs Sawyer by the base and tugs him roughly toward his waiting mouth, not in the mood to be gentle and giving, but rather demanding and impatient.
Sawyer’s hips jerk toward Jack’s face at the first contact, his entire body shuddering as Jack’s tongue eagerly draws him further into his mouth. Jack might be trying to hurry this along for fear that they might actually get caught, but Sawyer doesn’t want it to be over so fast. Nonetheless, he can’t fight it. The intense suction around his dick is too much to handle - Jack is utilizing every last trick he’s learned over the past two months, all in rapid succession, confident that he’s doing it just the way Sawyer likes it, knows which swipe of the tongue elicits which groan, which slide of the lips earns a whispered curse or a fevered touch.
Despite how amazingly good it all feels, it makes Sawyer feel annoyed, like Jack is playing dirty while he’s still playing fair. He thrusts down Jack’s throat; if Jack wants him to hurry, he’ll hurry. He’ll fuck his mouth hard and fast, biting back his groans and replacing them with low animalistic grunts, his fingers splayed over the back of Jack’s head as he guides him, holds him between his legs.
Jack’s short fingernails dig into his lower back, trying to release some of his own pressure, and Sawyer revels in the sensation, slightly painful but more than pleasurable. When his palms slide down into his jeans, into his boxers, when one of those fingers slide into his ass, searching for that specific spot that Jack has learned to find all too quickly, Sawyer decides to fight back, wanting Jack to come along with him.
He blindly reaches behind his body, twisting at the waist, and cups Jack through his jeans, feeling him straining hard against the harsh metal of his zipper. Sawyer moves his hand roughly, digging in with the palm of his hand and gripping with his fingers, feeling Jack beneath the tightly stretched denim. Jack makes a noise, a whimper of delicious pain, the sound of it shivering down Sawyer’s dick and pooling like heat in his stomach.
“That’s more like it,” Sawyer growls and repeats the movement again. He succeeds all too well in getting Jack worked up, more than he would’ve liked, in fact. Jack tears his mouth from Sawyer’s cock and throws his head back against the pillows, letting out a loud moan, wincing and biting his lip so hard that Sawyer’s surprised he doesn’t draw blood.
The second Jack’s mouth is off of him, all Sawyer wants is to be back inside that wet warmth. His erection twitches and strains against the empty air, yearning for the enveloping heat that had just been lost.
“Sawyer, please…hurry,” Jack begs. Sawyer doesn’t know what Jack wants faster; for Sawyer to come or for Sawyer to make him come. Sawyer moves down Jack’s body, groin against groin, and leans forward and kisses Jack fiercely as his hands free Jack of his clothing restraints on his lower body, fumbling blindly, Jack sighing against his lips as Sawyer’s fingers close around him. “Fuck…god, that’s…” His body arches upward toward Sawyer’s and he swears again. They rock against one another in frenzied passion, their tongues mimicking Sawyer’s movements down below. Jack closes his hand over Sawyer’s pushing both of their cocks together in one tight, joint, grip.
“Not like this,” Sawyer mumbles and moves back up Jack’s body, quickly positioning himself back above Jack’s mouth, though this time he faces the opposite direction, now able to lean forward and guide Jack’s throbbing erection between his own two lips.
He senses Jack falter, his body tensing for a split second before Jack decides to go with this new position, his tongue darting out to flick across Sawyer’s tip. His reservations slip into oblivion, barely remembered ideas of propriety, as they are completely decimated by the earthquake of lust that shakes them both to the core.
Jack’s hands dig into Sawyer’s jean clad thighs, needing to hold onto something to ground himself, to keep himself from losing his mind with want and desire. Seconds later he’s grabbing the waistband of Sawyer’s jeans, pulling them down, his finger then finding Sawyer’s entrance and pushing in. Sawyer groans around his cock and sucks him harder in response, releasing tension by working Jack as thoroughly as he can.
When Sawyer spasms inside his mouth, Jack briefly thinks that it happened just in the nick of time, that two seconds later his body would’ve stopped working, too overwhelmed to function. He swallows and swallows and then holds him there as he comes himself, thrusting upward into Sawyer’s willing mouth, pumping wildly as if he is releasing more than just the usual liquid, but all of the emotions and tension that had been weighing him down all day long.
They both groan in exhaustion when Sawyer rolls off of Jack, completely sated. Sawyer stares at the ceiling, panting heavily. He chuckles and Jack lifts his head to look at him.
“What?”
Sawyer moves, turning himself around to face the right direction again, settling next to Jack’s body on his side and draping his arm lazily across Jack’s waist, using his other hand to trace the outline of Jack’s lips.
“Bet that never happened in high school,” Sawyer murmurs and this time Jack joins him in light laughter.
“No. No, it certainly didn’t.”
They lose themselves in a series of long lingering kisses, one kiss fading right into another, mouths moving languidly; there’s no rush now. When they finally part, Jack forces himself to look at the clock, not wanting to face reality.
“We should get ready. Reservations at 6.”
“You know how I feel about reservations,” Sawyer replies, laying another kiss on Jack’s lips and letting his hand slink downward. Jack quickly pushes his touch away, scrambling off the bed.
“Anyone ever told you you’re incorrigible?” Jack zips up his jeans.
“I’m sure they have,” Sawyer drawls languidly.
“Aren’t you tired yet?”
“If I say I’m tired, does that mean you lay back down and we take a long nap?”
“We can’t get out of this dinner, Sawyer, I’m sorry. We’re just going to have to eat and get out of there as quickly as possible.”
Sawyer sighs, reluctantly giving into the inevitable, and sits up on the edge of the bed, fixing and fastening his own pants.
“Have you noticed that when your ma looks at me, she gets this weird look like she’s smellin’ something awful?”
“Sawyer…you’ve never cared what people thought about you before…don’t start giving a damn now just because it’s my mother. Don’t worry about her, of all people. She dislikes 90% of the people she comes in contact with, and disdains the other 10%.”
“I don’t care, I just…I just know I can’t tell her off and that is makin’ me nuts.”
“Look, I know how hard it is to hold back. I’ve been holding it back for years. But it’s just three days. We can both do this.”
“You’ve spent your whole life being their puppet, Jack. Her and your daddy. You talk shit behind their backs but face to face you’re still the golden boy. You let your father criticize you until you thought you were nothin’ and then practically begged your mother to keep doing the same. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you stopped holding back, dontcha think?”
Jack stares at Sawyer, looking wounded. Sawyer opens his mouth to say something else, but stops himself, not wanting to hurt Jack any more. He knows Jack needs to hear it, but for the first time in his life, he’s not finding any joy in being the blunt bearer of truth.
Jack sighs, moving one hand over the back of his head, averting his gaze from Sawyer. He turns and walks toward where his bag was left on the floor. He picks it up and returns to the bed, dropping it next to where Sawyer is sitting. He unzips it, frowning.
“I told her about you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a start. One step at a time, Sawyer, all right?” He doesn’t look at Sawyer as he says this, instead digging around in his bag for a nicer set of clothes. Lifting a pair of folded slacks and a dress shirt out, Jack eyes them, discouraged. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into not bringing a garment bag. These clothes look like shit.”
“They’re just clothes, Doc.”
“Yeah…just clothes…” Jack unfurls the pants and looks at the wrinkles, knowing that his mother is going to comment. He shouldn’t care, he knows, but his relationship with his mother is like an open wound and every acidic statement she makes stings like hell. After 39 years of endlessly seeking approval, it’s hard to simply stop, just like that.
Jack steps away and pulls off his shirt, tossing it onto his desk chair, then unfolds the black dress shirt and slips it over his shoulders. Sawyer stands and moves in front of him, pushing Jack’s hands away from the buttons and fixing them himself. He slips the top button through its hole and smoothes Jack’s collar before leaning in, kissing him delicately, his lips seeking to give comfort and understanding because his words always fail him in that way.
“I promise, I’ll behave,” Sawyer murmurs and Jack nods against his gentle kiss, letting Sawyer take it deeper.
Jack’s bedroom door opens then, opened in a manner not of someone unsure whether or not to enter, or of someone bursting in, but in a way that suggests the person behind it has every right to be opening it.
“Excuse me,” Margo’s voice interrupts them calmly but tightly. Jack pulls away from Sawyer slowly, mostly because he doesn’t want to look at his mother. When he does, he quickly looks away, equal parts embarrassed and annoyed.
“Mom. Sorry, I didn’t hear you knock.”
“That’s ‘cause she didn’t,” Sawyer mumbles, plopping back down onto the bed and shooting Jack’s mother a look bordering on contemptuous. He catches himself before it becomes too obvious and quickly forces a placating, pleasant smile onto his face.
“I didn’t realize you were…busy,” Margo states, her eyes flitting toward Sawyer and then back to her son. “I just came to tell you that the car service called and they will be here in ten minutes.”
”Car service? What happened to the Cadillac?”
“Jack, don’t be silly. I sold the Cadillac after your father…” Margo stops, not wanting to say it. She adjusts her black suit coat and smoothes the sides of her knee-length skirt, pretending to be otherwise occupied. “You know I don’t drive.”
She lets out a little laugh, like the very idea of her behind the wheel is preposterous.
“Anyway, ten minutes. You better get ready, we don’t want to be late. I don’t know how they do it in Canada,” Margo says the country’s name like a swear word. “But here they cancel reservations quite quickly. They don’t wait around until we feel like showing up.”
“I’m getting changed now, Mom.”
Margo looks to Sawyer, raising an eyebrow and fingering the delicate string of pearls around her neck, as if asking him why he’s still wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and not something more appropriate.
“I’m just watchin’ him change,” Sawyer says with a smirk, not able to resist. “I’ve got something that don’t scream hillbilly, don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.”
“How lovely, I am so relieved,” Margo replies, clipped, and turns back to Jack purposefully.
“I’ll be waiting for you downstairs in the foyer. Try not to dawdle.” She takes one step out of the room and then turns back. “And please do something about that awful shirt, Jack. It’s terribly wrinkled. You can’t go out like that.”
She closes the door. Sawyer laughs. Jack doesn’t.
“Come on, Jack. She’s like a fucking Stepford Wife. Stick is so far up her ass that she’s like a human popsicle. You have to laugh at her or she’ll make you crazy.”
“I think it’s too late for laughter in my case,” Jack replies.
“Well then, Jackie boy, only one thing to do.”
“What’s that?”
Sawyer picks up the pants from the bed and tosses them at Jack.
“Get your fancy pants on and get down there. She thinks your outfit needs work? Wait until she sees mine. Enough wrinkles to cause a heart attack. Shit, I didn’t even fold ‘em, I just shoved ‘em in there.”
“Sawyer…you said you’d behave.”
“I’m behavin’, I’m behavin’,” Sawyer grins, standing up. He smacks Jack in the butt. “Now get your ass in gear, boy, faster we get this done with, the happier we’ll be.”
-------> THIS PART CONTINUED...