Scars & Stitches Part Three - Continued
For the third time that evening, Sawyer finds himself staring at Jack, watching him intently as he sits at the table bent over a slew of paperwork and textbooks.
“What is it you’re trying to figure out again?” Sawyer asks, finally giving up on the pretense of reading and letting the book fall open over his chest. Jack looks up at him, rubbing the back of his neck and twisting his head back and forth, trying to get the crick out of his neck.
“I’m not figuring out anything.” He mumbles, sounding frustrated. Sawyer sits up and sets his tattered paperback on the coffee table, his brow wrinkling.
“But I thought you were…all that stuff about “presenting with symptoms” and that shit, weren’t you-“
“I just meant that I’m not any closer to figuring this out than I was three hours ago,” Jack replies sharply and flips the cover of the book shut. He leans back in his chair and puts his hands over his face. “I just don’t know, Sawyer.”
“Don’t the other docs know? I mean, isn’t that their job, to know that shit? You’re still learning, ain’t you?”
“No one knows. This case is just…they think it’s psychological. I didn’t think…but now I might have to agree. Nothing else makes sense.”
“So it’s psychological,” Sawyer shrugs, rising from the couch and crossing the room toward Jack. “I know you want to solve everything, but maybe it just ain’t a physical thing. Let the psych ward handle it.”
“Sawyer-”
“Jack,” Sawyer stops behind him and sets his hands on his shoulders, rubbing them softly. “Let it go. You care about everyone this much and you’re gonna wear yourself out.” He slides his hands lower over Jack’s chest, his fingers slipping along the defined muscle of his pecs.
“It’s my job to care.”
“You can care too much,” Sawyer bends down and murmurs this in his ear, letting his lips brush intimately against his neck. He reaches over Jack’s shoulder and pushes his papers and books away, sliding them slowly across the table. Jack makes a move to stop him but Sawyer grasps his hand, pulling it back. “Enough for tonight.”
“Sawyer…” Jack starts to protest but Sawyer cradles his face in the palm of his hand and turns Jack’s head back toward his, his lips finding his mouth and kissing him gently but deeply. “I should-“
“Shhh,” Sawyer whispers. “Don’t talk.” Sawyer sets his hands on the arms of Jack’s chair and twists it toward him, the wooden legs loudly screeching over the hardwood floor with the movement. Not caring, Sawyer drops to his knees in front of Jack and kisses him again, this time pulling Jack down to meet him rather than drawing him upward. “You haven’t been around all week, Doc,” he continues between kisses, his fingers working to open up the front of Jack’s shirt. Not stopping there, he undoes the button and drags down the zipper of Jack’s pants. He carefully pushes back the fabric of Jack’s pale blue dress shirt and reveals his flat stomach and strong chest, already rising and falling rapidly with Jack’s fast breathing. Sawyer moves his hands over Jack’s skin, palms sliding over the muscles and then around Jack’s waist in a movement that seems to suggest a simple need to touch, not necessarily for any desired effect except basic contact.
“I missed you,” Sawyer says, the sentence so short and easy but hard to say. “I hate your weeks at the hospital like this.”
“It’s my job, Sawyer,” Jack replies and Sawyer feels his body tense. Sawyer pulls back with a sigh of frustration. Jack’s been like this all week, his edges sharp and his voice tight. Not cold or evasive but just withdrawn enough to make Sawyer worry that something between them has changed.
“I didn’t mean…” Sawyer stumbles slightly, discouraged. “I just missed you is all. Can’t I miss you?” Sawyer looks up at Jack, setting his hands flat on Jack’s thighs, and is relieved to see Jack’s expression soften, a tinge of apologetic regret in his brown eyes. Now it’s Jack’s turn to sigh and his shoulders relax as he leans forward in the chair. He touches the side of Sawyer’s face and the corners of his mouth turn upward slightly in a small, crooked smile.
“I missed you too. I’m sorry…I’m being a jerk.” Jack kisses him this time, feeling perhaps like he had been mistaken about suspecting Sawyer’s intentions. When he looks into his eyes, it doesn’t feel anything but real. Sawyer looks at him like he’s always wanted someone to look at him, in a way that makes his heart flutter and his body warm. He’d spent all week avoiding Sawyer when he could, throwing himself into his cases at the hospital with a fervor that even made his attending, a guy usually thrilled with Jack’s vigorous work ethic, ask him if everything was all right.
The truth is that Jack only feels all right when he’s with Sawyer, which is why he hasn’t had the courage to ask about what he had overheard. He doesn’t want to know the truth because he’s afraid of what Sawyer will say. But living in ignorance is something he’s not accustomed to handling either.
He lets Sawyer kiss him again and tries to push the worrisome thoughts from his mind. Sawyer’s tongue slides languidly into his mouth and Jack draws him in, wanting Sawyer to make him forget; to lose himself entirely in Sawyer so he can stop feeling this way, so confused and twisted inside. He wants Sawyer to make it all right somehow; convince him that he’s wrong to doubt and show him how to believe instead.
Sawyer makes a move to stand and Jack lets him pull him up, press him back against the table. Before he knows it he’s on his back, the manila folders and yellow lined notepaper crinkling underneath his weight, his pens and pencils rolling off the edge as Sawyer climbs on top of him. His body is hard and heavy, warm over his and it makes it easy for the rest of the world to fall away. The feel of Sawyer’s muscles shifting underneath his hands and the rhythm of his breath and his heartbeat the only things that seem to matter.
Sawyer grinds his hips against Jack’s and plunges his tongue deeper into the heat of Jack’s mouth, increasing the pace of their movements, intent on making this fast and hard, an explosion of everything he has kept pent up all week long. Every denied kiss or touch that was put off for another time escapes from his control now, need and desire surging through every inch of his body.
Jack can feel it, the desperation in Sawyer’s actions and he knows how badly Sawyer wants it. Within moments he knows Sawyer will be stripping off his clothes and pounding into him hard, dirty promises falling from his lips between the sensual moans that always made Jack come no matter how hard he tried not to. But it’s not what Jack needs; he needs it to last, to keep his nagging fears at bay for as long as possible because when it’s over, he knows he’ll feel lost and confused all over again.
He urges his hips upward and groans as he pushes to roll Sawyer over underneath him, not breaking their kiss as the power in the situation shifts.
“Can we…?” Jack finally pulls away, breathless, and nods his head toward his bed. Sawyer looks up at him, hesitating for a second in surprise, but then nods quickly in response.
“Yeah, sure,” Sawyer says, letting out a long breath as Jack climbs off of him. He sits up slowly, taking in the sight of Jack as he stands there before him with his pants unbuttoned and loose around his hips, his arousal evident, straining underneath the fabric of his boxers. His shirt is rumpled and hanging crookedly off his shoulders and his whole body seems flushed, his cheeks faintly tinged pink and his lips reddened from Sawyer’s insistent kisses.
Sawyer slides to the edge of the table and then stands up, tugging off his own shirt as he follows Jack toward his bed. He tosses his t-shirt to the floor and stands silently, watching, as Jack disrobes. He waits until Jack’s pants hit the floor and then pulls off his own jeans, his eyes never leaving Jack’s naked body.
“What?” Jack asks, looking up to meet Sawyer’s intense stare and wondering what’s the matter.
“Nothing, it’s just…” Sawyer starts, so many emotions welling up within him that they threaten to drown him entirely. He’s overwhelmed with lust and what he knows must be love, because it can’t be anything else. The need to say it, to blurt it out, is immediate and the words almost escape him before he manages to cross to Jack and stifle the sentence with a crushing kiss.
“Lay down,” he murmurs and steps away, allowing Jack room to follow his instructions.
Jack moves onto the bed, the blanket feeling cold and smooth against his skin, and lies back against the pillows. Sawyer straddles his body, resting his weight back on his heels and taking him in.
“I ain't ever gonna get sick of lookin’ at you,” he says as he leans forward, holding himself up a short distance above Jack as he dips his head to kiss him. Jack makes a small noise when Sawyer’s cock brushes against his, hard and full. “Or touchin’ you,” Sawyer adds, gently resting his weight down onto Jack’s body.
Just like that he’s melting into him, the space between them gone in more ways than one. Jack is welcoming him now, completely open, drawing him in even closer. Sawyer moves, thrusting his hips against Jack’s and trying to set the rhythm but Jack resists. He’s focused on kissing him, touching him, so slowly that it doesn’t even seem like foreplay, leading to nowhere further than the next kiss.
“Jack?” Sawyer looks down at him, confused. “What’re you…?”
“For once can we just stop and look at each other?” Jack asks quietly and Sawyer stops moving, Jack’s words catching him off guard.
“What?”
“Let’s just take it slow, okay? Please?”
“Okay,” Sawyer nods, unsure how he’s going to go along with that but knowing he should try. “Slow.” He repeats more to himself than to Jack.
“Yeah, slow,” Jack says, his hands drifting down Sawyer’s back, his fingers trailing featherlight down the line of his spine, so lightly that Sawyer can barely feel it. Sawyer moves to kiss him again but Jack doesn’t let it last, each brush of their lips short and faint. Jack just keeps looking straight into Sawyer’s eyes as his hands explore the dips and rises of Sawyer’s body, his touch assured and firm but not aggressive. It makes Sawyer nervous, being still like this, letting Jack see everything he’s feeling. He can’t hide it, not with Jack underneath him and his brown eyes searching his like they are.
“I don’t know if I can do slow, Jack,” Sawyer whispers, closing his eyes and blocking Jack’s gaze out. Jack’s hands still on the curve of Sawyer’s lower back and Sawyer can feel his breath hitch for a second.
“Why not?” Sawyer can hear the fear present in his question, Jack steeling himself for a terrible answer.
“Because…I’ve never…with someone when it mattered.” Sawyer doesn’t know why he chose to be honest but lying just wasn’t an option. He couldn’t fathom adding yet another lie to the already vast pile of them. He rolls off of Jack and lies on his back. Jack turns on his side and lays his hand flat on Sawyer’s chest, an expression on his face that reads of both confusion and sadness.
“What do you mean, Sawyer?”
“I mean that I’m really good at fakin’ emotion in bed, Doc, but I’m not so hot at actually having, like, real feelins and shit, all right?” He sounds snappish and he knows Jack doesn’t deserve it but he can’t help it. Sawyer puts his hands over his face, wishing Jack would just turn away from him and ask him to go. Instead he can feel Jack watching him. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, would ya? I don’t know what to do when you’re lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?” Jack forcibly moves one of Sawyer’s hands from his face and Sawyer sits up, shifting away from him.
“Like that.” He gestures to Jack’s face.
“I’m always looking at you, Sawyer, especially when-“
“But when I have time to think about it…” Sawyer stops, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re seeing Jack - but it’s not me.”
“You don’t think I see you?” Jack is surprised by the very idea. He props himself up on his elbow, staring at Sawyer in a different way now. “I see you, Sawyer. Better than you think.”
“Yeah, then what do you see?”
“Right now I see someone who is scared shitless of doing anything other than fucking,” Jack retorts, sitting up now, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and bending down to pick up his boxers. He stands and pulls them on. “So just forget it.”
“Doc.”
“I said forget it, Sawyer.” Jack heads toward the kitchen, ignoring Sawyer as he reaches for him.
“Jack.” Sawyer watches Jack go into the kitchen and then climbs up from the bed, not bothering with his own clothes before going after him.
Jack is at the fridge and pouring himself a glass of filtered water when Sawyer enters. He shoots Sawyer a disgruntled look, perhaps like he’d been hoping Sawyer wouldn't choose to follow him in here. Sawyer leans against the door frame for a moment, trying to think of something to say.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what.” Jack puts the blue and white pitcher of water back into the fridge and closes the door. He leans back against it as he takes a small sip of water, then tilts his head toward Sawyer, giving him an expectant look. Sawyer doesn’t respond. “For what, Sawyer?” Jack presses.
“I’m sorry I can’t be who you want.” Sawyer casts his gaze down to the floor, his toes moving nervously on the linoleum floor. Jack is silent for a moment and Sawyer can hear him set down the glass of water on the counter.
“You’re exactly who I want, Sawyer. The question is, am I who you want? Am I…” Jack steps toward him but then turns away, bringing his hand to his mouth and running his thumb and index finger over his lips. He should ask the question now, he knows. He should just ask outright if Sawyer really wants to be with him or if this is some game, but once again his courage fails him. Instead of finishing his question he picks up his glass and dumps the water into the sink. “Maybe you should go, Sawyer.”
Jack moves to walk past Sawyer but suddenly Sawyer’s hand is on his arm, fingers curled around his bicep and pulling him back. Then he’s pressed back against the counter, Sawyer’s body against his and his hands on his face, his lips covering his.
“You’re all I god damn want, Jack,” Sawyer says forcefully, his fingers trailing over the faint shadow of stubble on Jack’s cheeks. “Everything,” he murmurs more faintly, weakly, scared by how much he means it.
When he leads Jack back to the bed, he forces himself to take the time to explore every inch of Jack’s body, his lips seeking to discover everything that he had not taken the time to find out before now. He carefully studies his tattoo, learning which lines are sharp and strong and which ones are thin and delicate. He re-discovers the spot behind Jack's ear that makes him sigh each time he kisses it and is once again amazed at how perfectly his hands fit against Jack's waist. He finds every scar; the one on his knee from when he fell off the monkey bars at age 9, the small slash on his elbow which is the last remnant of an unfortunate fender bender his mother had when driving him home from a friend’s house…he asks Jack about them and listens to the stories, running his tongue over the faint lines, reminders that Jack has been hurt before and he made it through just fine.
Their conversation fades into only touch shortly after Sawyer discovers slightly crooked big toe that Jack once broke playing soccer. Sawyer is surprised by all the things he’d never noticed about Jack before, including the fact that touching his feet made Jack groan in arousal.
Even though they no longer talk, Jack learns Sawyer’s body just the same in return, the thin line on the side of Sawyer’s stomach the most recent addition in a long slew of incidents that Sawyer cares not to talk about. They are all things Jack has felt before, run his hands over in the heat of the moment, but now Sawyer lies still and lets him simply touch.
It seems like hours before Jack’s kisses start to grow more eager and when Sawyer pulls back, he sees the flicker of desire in the familiar brown depths.
“Jack?”
Jack makes a small humming noise from the back of his throat and nods, tilting his head to kiss Sawyer again. Sawyer doesn't look down at Jack’s hard cock when he finally takes it in hand, but at Jack’s face, his eyes trained on him intently, trying to read every minuscule reaction. Jack’s mouth parts in a little gasp when Sawyer drags his thumb along the ridge, swallows hard when his fingers play over the head teasingly, and he arches his neck and squeezes his eyes shut tightly when Sawyer strokes him firmly.
Sawyer glances down at his hand for just a moment, Jack’s length hard and pulsing in his palm, and he has to groan, his own hips shifting toward Jack, nudging his own dick against Jack’s hip.
“Sawyer…” Jack breathes out as a droplet of liquid gathers at his head, his cock beginning to weep. Sawyer fixates his gaze back on Jack’s face and moves his hand harder. Jack looks down the length of his body just once and his hips jerk upward, thrusting into Sawyer’s grip. “Fuck…” Jack whispers, his fingers clutching at the sheets underneath his body.
“Don’t, Jack,” Sawyer says, pumping him firmly, knowing that Jack is fighting it. “Come for me, baby, come on.”
“Don’t want to…not yet…” Jack replies brokenly and Sawyer shakes his head.
“We have all night, we can do it again. I want to see you, know that I did it for you, to you…” Sawyer slips one hand downward and squeezes Jack’s balls lightly, doing everything he knows how to do to set Jack off. It works, Jack’s hips arching off of the bed and a guttural moan escaping his throat as he explodes all over himself. Sawyer smiles, for some reason feeling relieved.
Jack lies there, breathing heavy and labored, his mind swirling and hazy as he comes back down, sensation returning to his limbs and the room slowly coming back into focus. Sawyer reaches up by his head and takes the pillow from beside him, pulling Jack’s hips up and sliding a pillow underneath to angle Jack upward. Then he opens up the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out the tube of lube.
Bending Jack’s knees and parting his legs, Sawyer settles himself in between. He squeezes a generous amount of the liquid into his palm and meets Jack’s hazy gaze as he coats his aching hard-on with it. He wants to slam into Jack right now, fuck him so hard that Jack would have to wrap his hands around the headboard to hold steady, like he had to a few weeks ago when they’d lost control and been so loud that the downstairs neighbors came up to complain.
He wants that yet he wants this too, this slow side into Jack, watching every inch of himself enter Jack’s willing, relaxed body like they were meant to fit together. Sawyer whimpers as they fully join, hips meeting when he leans over Jack and eases one of Jack’s legs around his waist.
“You feel so fucking good, Jack.” He’s warm and tight and Sawyer can feel every single sensation that rolls through him, each tiny shift of Jack’s body multiplied by ten now that he’s taking the time to feel every last movement he makes.
With great effort Sawyer keeps still inside of Jack, using every last bit of control he has to reach for Jack’s wasted cock and wrap his hand around it, slowly stroking him before he begins to move. Each urging of his hips is small and shallow, gently rocking into Jack. He watches the emotions play out openly over Jack’s face, each motion bringing another striking expression that seems to rock him to the core. Jack starts to get hard again in Sawyer’s grip so Sawyer starts to move deeper, pushing harder.
Jack reaches up and runs his fingers through Sawyer’s hair, his eyes trained on Sawyer’s face. They are locked onto one another now and a small part of Sawyer wants to close his eyes, unprepared to be this vulnerable, but he can’t do it, can’t look away. All he can do is stare into Jack’s eyes in wonder, wanting desperately to remain this way, together, for as long as they could.
When Jack meets his thrusts and pulls him deeper, when his eyes grow dark and his breathing starts coming in sharp, breathless pants, Sawyer can’t help but push back, pounding into Jack hard, each connection met with a sharp grunt, loving the way that Jack’s fingers dig into his waist and urge him on, neither of them about to deny each other this final moment of sheer bliss.
Sawyer is still staring into Jack’s eyes when he comes and somehow he keeps on looking even as he pours himself into Jack’s body. He’s unfocused for only a split second and then he’s right back with Jack, forcing his eyes open. Jack cries out as he comes for the second time, warm all over Sawyer’s already heated skin.
He’s just so beautiful and Sawyer feels it, feels it so overwhelmingly strong that he can’t stop himself from saying it, doesn’t even realize he’s saying it until it’s already been said. He freezes, hesitant, shocked by his own admission.
Jack looks at him, his vision clearing, and then lifts his head from the pillows, kissing Sawyer passionately.
“I love you too,” he whispers and kisses Sawyer again, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close.
It isn’t until Jack is asleep that Sawyer has the time to fully wrap his mind around what exactly he’s done. He’d had the opportunity to walk away from this before it was too late but now he’s gone and made it far worse than he’d ever imagined.
He lies silently in the dark next to Jack and curses himself for being so stupid. Jack is sleeping soundly, peaceful, happy, and all Sawyer has is the even rise and fall of his breathing and the beeping horns and quiet hum of traffic rising from the street below to keep his mind occupied. But the guilty voice inside his head overtakes all else, making his heart palpitate and his blood rush.
Sawyer disentangles himself carefully from Jack’s embrace and gathers his clothes, needing to be anywhere but there. The apartment, once seeming so big that he never imagined it could be filled, now closes in on him, making him feel trapped and claustrophobic.
He should have known better than this, is what he thinks as he pulls on his shoes in the empty hallway, closing the door quietly behind him and locking it carefully.
There’s only one thing to do, one solution. He can’t be this guy, feel these things. No matter what he does, Jack gets hurt. But if he keeps pretending to be the kind of man Jack needs him to be…
The choice he has is simple. Protect himself and get away. Save himself and destroy Jack, or destroy them both. There’s no way to leave Jack undamaged. The second he’d entered his life, Sawyer had made that an impossibility.
Sawyer heads for the subway, only one place left for him to go from here.
*******
He pounds on the door hard with his fist, again and again and again, not caring that he might wake up everyone in the entire building. This wasn’t the kind of place where being neighborly was valued; he doubted that a night went by without the sound of fighting or sirens didn’t disturb the quiet. The weak door rattles each time he connects and it isn’t long before he hears the sound of shuffling feet and muffled swearing, the click of the lock and the slide of the chain.
“Sawyer, what the hell…it’s four in the morning. Have you gone crazy?” Hibbs mumbles in a sleepy and annoyed voice, blinking at Sawyer as he stands there in the bright light of the hallway. Sawyer pushes past him and walks inside, flipping on the light and turning back to face Hibbs. Hibbs leans back against the door after he closes it and crosses his arms over his chest. “You better have a damn good reason for wakin’ me up, boy.”
“Let’s do this.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m done, I’m in. Let’s just…get it over with.”
“You…are not making any sense, Sawbucks. You need a drink?” Hibbs steps toward him and Sawyer shakes his head fiercely, determined to get on with it. Hibbs waves him off and walks the short distance to his tiny, cramped kitchen, tightening the tie on his loose bathrobe as he moves. “Hell, I need a drink.” He pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the otherwise empty cupboard and takes a straight swig. “This about your surgeon?”
“You were right. I need out before...” Sawyer trails off, on the verge of crying and not wanting Hibbs to see. He coughs looks down, letting his hair hang in his face, hiding behind it. “I just need out.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Test run tomorrow.” He glances up and finds Hibbs looking at him attentively. “More money next week.” Sawyer grunts, turning away, ashamed.
“You think a week’s long enough between?” Hibbs asks, surprised. Sawyer shakes his head, looking at Hibbs sharply.
“No. But I can’t keep doing this so it’s gonna have to be,” He states strongly, his eyes darkening with fierce determination.
“Okay.” Hibbs can sense that now is not the time to argue it so he just takes another drink and then offers it to Sawyer. Sawyer grabs it and takes a long drag off the bottle and shoves it back to Hibbs. “How you gonna do it?”
Sawyer stands upright like he’s bracing himself for something and looks Hibbs in the eye.
“Punch me.”
“Oh. That way.” Hibbs sets the bottle down on the counter with a sigh and steps toward Sawyer, already drawing his hand back. “Well…good. Lord knows I’ve been itchin’ to punch you anyway.”
The last thing Sawyer has time to think before he hits the ground, out cold, is that he deserves worse.
TBC
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