Southern Remedy (Jack/Sawyer NC-17)
Now that this is posted, I can go write my sluttyvegas fic. Because I think that has a due date. :P
Sorry if this is typolicious. My eyes are blurring at the computer screen because I need to take my contacts out, so I'm having a hard time focusing on words.
Title: Southern Remedy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Word Count: 1,875
Warnings: General S3 spoilers
Summary: Written for lost_bbq, Request #2: Jack and Sawyer play doctor.
lost_fic_awards Best Humorous Fic Nominee for July 2007
+++
From the way the air stilled and the space between the sand and the tarp around the frame of Sawyer's tent darkened he could tell that someone was standing outside, hesitating. It happened a lot since Hurley made him the begrudging boss, which was how Sawyer had gotten used to knowing when someone was about to ask him for something, but since the Doc's return, it was happening less. It was like he'd just been a temporary replacement all along, and Sawyer was perfectly okay with that, although people still looked at him when they didn't like what Jack was saying, certain that he had no problem fighting with the other man's decisions, which was also true, and since Jack returned with Juliet in tow, the subtle glances happened more often than not.
If he had to guess who was standing outside, Sawyer would have to say Hurley, who was using him as his own personal charity case as of late, or Kate, who was just using him. It was also possibly Sayid, but he was never one to hesitate, to wait for someone else to do what was necessary.
Sawyer reached forward from his cot, stretching his arm out to push aside the tarp, sick of waiting for whoever it was outside to make a decision, and was actually surprised to see the Doc himself standing there, looking uncomfortable. Running a hand through his short, dark hair, Jack let himself in, standing in the corner and facing away from Sawyer, other hand resting on his hip. This was the first time he'd been alone with Jack since they'd been captured by the Others, first time since before they left on their trek out with Michael to help rescue Walt, to help keep their people safe, and Sawyer was forced to remember him and Jack, in the hatch, taking inventory of the weapons that remained and making sure that each one of them was loaded.
Forced to remember hands on smooth, hard metal becoming hands on smooth, hard skin, and kisses that were too rough with too many teeth and their stubble chafed at one another's face, neck, chest, stomach, but something about it had been perfect, despite the need and desperation.
Uncomfortable didn't even begin to cover how Jack felt. When they got captured, Jack wasn't clear on what the hell was going on with his life anymore. His relationship with Sawyer had always been rocky, at best, clashing on opinions since the crash and vying for Kate. Then Sawyer had said they were friends, and after urgent sex in the hatch before trekking across the island, Jack thought maybe their energies had been misplaced. Seeing Sawyer and Kate together on the screen...there was a reason he'd stayed behind. Jack was tired of getting played by criminals.
The reason he was standing in Sawyer's tent, though, had nothing to do with the overall picture. It, if possible, was much more mortifying. Jack was trying to figure out the best way to ask Sawyer for a favor that involved looking at something for him. He didn't know if he touched something with his hands, slept near it, or managed to touch it while taking a piss, but the itch was unbearable to the point that he had to stop wearing boxers because the loose fabric periodically brushing against the irritated skin was driving him insane. Jack hoped it was just some form of poison ivy, but without being able to get a clear look at the rash, there was no way for him to be certain. Sawyer was the only one he felt like he could ask to help. He'd saved the other man's life enough times that Jack felt like Sawyer almost owed it to him, but because Sawyer was Sawyer, no amount of professionalism could keep Jack from feeling embarrassed.
Turning around, Jack held up an air of nonchalance. His eyes met Sawyer, who looked about as awkward as he felt without a physical reason. "I, um," Jack started, knowing what needed to be asked without knowing how. He figured being straight-forward was the way to go. "I need to you look at something for me."
"Worried our good buddy Ben put a chip in your head?" Sawyer asked, his gaze unwavering, and the tone in his voice lacked even the slightest hint of a joke. He had no idea what Jack was getting at, but it was amusing to watch him fidget.
Jack's laugh sounded like he was trying to break the tension. "If only." He cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated by the way Sawyer crossed his arms across his chest instead of maintaining the stare down. "I have a rash. I think. I can't get a good look at it, but the skin itches and seems inflamed." Before he could explain any further, Sawyer must have read something in Jack's body language or his reluctance that gave him away since Sawyer started laughing, lightly at first and escalating until he had to brace himself up on his hands against the cot. Jack probably would have been laughing, too, if someone came to him with the same problem, and he even probably deserved getting laughed at by Sawyer as he had joked at Sawyer's expense about his far-sightedness, but seeing the other man's eyes start to water with mirth felt like too much. He glanced over to the exit, thinking that going to Sawyer wasn't the best idea. "I shouldn't have-"
"Oh, come on, Doc," Sawyer interrupted before Jack could take a step to leave. There was still laughter dispersed between his words, but he was trying to disguise them as coughs until he got it under control. "I'll look. Not like it's nothing I've never seen before." Sliding off the cot, Sawyer stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying not to stare pointedly at Jack's crotch. "You don't want that thing to fall off."
"I really don't," Jack replied, smiling in spite of everything. "I should sit." He motioned vaguely to Sawyer's makeshift bed. "Do you have any calamine lotion or hydrocortisone cream tucked away?"
"Might if they didn't divvy it all up when we took off for Othersville. Now quit stalling, Doc, and ante up. Sooner you whip it out and let me look the sooner you can be out of here pretending this never happened."
Jack bit his tongue, trying his best to remove himself as far away mentally from the present as possible. He unzipped his pants, forcing himself to breathe normally, and tried very hard not to remember the last time Sawyer had his dick in his hand. He focused on a knot in the wood that formed the frame of the tent as he felt Sawyer angle him slightly to get a better look at the underside where the irritation was mostly coming from. Upon hearing an "uh" from Sawyer, Jack looked at the other man, seeing him leaning in a little closer like he was trying to focus on something, blinking in disbelief, before he started the laugh, trying to cover them up at first, but then letting them out full force at the indignant look Jack knew he was giving.
Not able to help himself, Sawyer just let the laughter run its course. He had to crouch to the ground so he wouldn't fall over, and while part of him felt at least a little bad for Jack, still sitting on the cot, confused and worried and annoyed all rolled into one, the rest of him figured Jack deserved it after all the times he'd laughed at Sawyer's. He hadn't believed what he was seeing, so Sawyer had needed to look closer to make sure it wasn't just that he needed to dig out his glasses, but there was no doubting it. "It's a mosquito bite," he coughed out between chuckles, the laughter at the point where it was becoming hard to breathe and his stomach hurt.
"A mosquito bite," Jack repeated, at least sounding relieved. The fact that it itched was the only problem where before he was worried about the rash spreading or potentially leading to worse symptoms; he doubted an EpiPen had been found among the unclaimed baggage, and anaphylactic shock from a rash on his penis wasn't the way Jack wanted to die. The bite was bothering him more than any he'd ever had previously, which made sense due to the fact that it was on more sensitive skin than Jack was used to, so he subconsciously scratched himself.
Sawyer noticed, his laughter getting replaced with a sly grin. "Bet it itches like hell, Doc. D'you wanna know how we take care of that back home?" Unable to control himself, Jack let out a grunt in response that was more of a groan. Sawyer's tone had dropped, his voice thick with intention, and even though he was sitting two feet away in the sand, Jack swore he could feel Sawyer's breathe as he uttered each word, moving the air around his dick that was already feeling raw and over sensitized. "A little spit seems to do the trick," was Sawyer's response, inching closer until his head was near Jack's knees.
Tongue darting out to lick his lips, Jack realized that Sawyer's remedy made sense. He managed to get out, "Saliva has digestive enzymes that would break down-" before he felt Sawyer's tongue at the base of his cock, running his tongue up the length, coaxing Jack into his mouth while clutching Jack's ankles in both hands. He had a brief moment of cohesive thought - that the itching seemed to stop and he felt a lot better - before feeling Sawyer do this thing with his tongue and getting lost in it. All the tension and anxiety from the last couple weeks also melted away with the furious urge to scratch himself, and he almost came right then as Sawyer started making these little noises in the back of his throat, but he seemed to sense this, backed off a little, let Jack's fingers run through and wrap themselves in the blond strands framing Sawyer's face.
He couldn't keep himself from getting hard from the sight of Jack in such obvious rapture, but Sawyer could keep himself from touching his own cock, from rubbing himself with the heel of his hand through his jeans as he sucked Jack off. He instead left the pressure to build, knowing Jack gave as well as he took, that he would reciprocate, though not necessarily right away. Jack was a giver, not a taker like Sawyer was, which worked in Sawyer's favor. No one he'd ever fucked had been like Jack - even the times with Kate paled in comparison. She never knew what she wanted where Jack had a single-minded purpose.
By the way Jack's body was curved around him, muscles tight and straining, Sawyer could tell that he was getting close. He let Jack's cock slip out of his mouth slowly, enough to tease but not enough to bring him over the edge, and met the other man's gaze, relishing in how dark Jack's eyes had gotten. "Is it helping?"
"Just shut up and blow me," Jack moaned, and Sawyer willingly obliged.
Sorry if this is typolicious. My eyes are blurring at the computer screen because I need to take my contacts out, so I'm having a hard time focusing on words.
Title: Southern Remedy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Word Count: 1,875
Warnings: General S3 spoilers
Summary: Written for lost_bbq, Request #2: Jack and Sawyer play doctor.
lost_fic_awards Best Humorous Fic Nominee for July 2007
+++
From the way the air stilled and the space between the sand and the tarp around the frame of Sawyer's tent darkened he could tell that someone was standing outside, hesitating. It happened a lot since Hurley made him the begrudging boss, which was how Sawyer had gotten used to knowing when someone was about to ask him for something, but since the Doc's return, it was happening less. It was like he'd just been a temporary replacement all along, and Sawyer was perfectly okay with that, although people still looked at him when they didn't like what Jack was saying, certain that he had no problem fighting with the other man's decisions, which was also true, and since Jack returned with Juliet in tow, the subtle glances happened more often than not.
If he had to guess who was standing outside, Sawyer would have to say Hurley, who was using him as his own personal charity case as of late, or Kate, who was just using him. It was also possibly Sayid, but he was never one to hesitate, to wait for someone else to do what was necessary.
Sawyer reached forward from his cot, stretching his arm out to push aside the tarp, sick of waiting for whoever it was outside to make a decision, and was actually surprised to see the Doc himself standing there, looking uncomfortable. Running a hand through his short, dark hair, Jack let himself in, standing in the corner and facing away from Sawyer, other hand resting on his hip. This was the first time he'd been alone with Jack since they'd been captured by the Others, first time since before they left on their trek out with Michael to help rescue Walt, to help keep their people safe, and Sawyer was forced to remember him and Jack, in the hatch, taking inventory of the weapons that remained and making sure that each one of them was loaded.
Forced to remember hands on smooth, hard metal becoming hands on smooth, hard skin, and kisses that were too rough with too many teeth and their stubble chafed at one another's face, neck, chest, stomach, but something about it had been perfect, despite the need and desperation.
Uncomfortable didn't even begin to cover how Jack felt. When they got captured, Jack wasn't clear on what the hell was going on with his life anymore. His relationship with Sawyer had always been rocky, at best, clashing on opinions since the crash and vying for Kate. Then Sawyer had said they were friends, and after urgent sex in the hatch before trekking across the island, Jack thought maybe their energies had been misplaced. Seeing Sawyer and Kate together on the screen...there was a reason he'd stayed behind. Jack was tired of getting played by criminals.
The reason he was standing in Sawyer's tent, though, had nothing to do with the overall picture. It, if possible, was much more mortifying. Jack was trying to figure out the best way to ask Sawyer for a favor that involved looking at something for him. He didn't know if he touched something with his hands, slept near it, or managed to touch it while taking a piss, but the itch was unbearable to the point that he had to stop wearing boxers because the loose fabric periodically brushing against the irritated skin was driving him insane. Jack hoped it was just some form of poison ivy, but without being able to get a clear look at the rash, there was no way for him to be certain. Sawyer was the only one he felt like he could ask to help. He'd saved the other man's life enough times that Jack felt like Sawyer almost owed it to him, but because Sawyer was Sawyer, no amount of professionalism could keep Jack from feeling embarrassed.
Turning around, Jack held up an air of nonchalance. His eyes met Sawyer, who looked about as awkward as he felt without a physical reason. "I, um," Jack started, knowing what needed to be asked without knowing how. He figured being straight-forward was the way to go. "I need to you look at something for me."
"Worried our good buddy Ben put a chip in your head?" Sawyer asked, his gaze unwavering, and the tone in his voice lacked even the slightest hint of a joke. He had no idea what Jack was getting at, but it was amusing to watch him fidget.
Jack's laugh sounded like he was trying to break the tension. "If only." He cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated by the way Sawyer crossed his arms across his chest instead of maintaining the stare down. "I have a rash. I think. I can't get a good look at it, but the skin itches and seems inflamed." Before he could explain any further, Sawyer must have read something in Jack's body language or his reluctance that gave him away since Sawyer started laughing, lightly at first and escalating until he had to brace himself up on his hands against the cot. Jack probably would have been laughing, too, if someone came to him with the same problem, and he even probably deserved getting laughed at by Sawyer as he had joked at Sawyer's expense about his far-sightedness, but seeing the other man's eyes start to water with mirth felt like too much. He glanced over to the exit, thinking that going to Sawyer wasn't the best idea. "I shouldn't have-"
"Oh, come on, Doc," Sawyer interrupted before Jack could take a step to leave. There was still laughter dispersed between his words, but he was trying to disguise them as coughs until he got it under control. "I'll look. Not like it's nothing I've never seen before." Sliding off the cot, Sawyer stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying not to stare pointedly at Jack's crotch. "You don't want that thing to fall off."
"I really don't," Jack replied, smiling in spite of everything. "I should sit." He motioned vaguely to Sawyer's makeshift bed. "Do you have any calamine lotion or hydrocortisone cream tucked away?"
"Might if they didn't divvy it all up when we took off for Othersville. Now quit stalling, Doc, and ante up. Sooner you whip it out and let me look the sooner you can be out of here pretending this never happened."
Jack bit his tongue, trying his best to remove himself as far away mentally from the present as possible. He unzipped his pants, forcing himself to breathe normally, and tried very hard not to remember the last time Sawyer had his dick in his hand. He focused on a knot in the wood that formed the frame of the tent as he felt Sawyer angle him slightly to get a better look at the underside where the irritation was mostly coming from. Upon hearing an "uh" from Sawyer, Jack looked at the other man, seeing him leaning in a little closer like he was trying to focus on something, blinking in disbelief, before he started the laugh, trying to cover them up at first, but then letting them out full force at the indignant look Jack knew he was giving.
Not able to help himself, Sawyer just let the laughter run its course. He had to crouch to the ground so he wouldn't fall over, and while part of him felt at least a little bad for Jack, still sitting on the cot, confused and worried and annoyed all rolled into one, the rest of him figured Jack deserved it after all the times he'd laughed at Sawyer's. He hadn't believed what he was seeing, so Sawyer had needed to look closer to make sure it wasn't just that he needed to dig out his glasses, but there was no doubting it. "It's a mosquito bite," he coughed out between chuckles, the laughter at the point where it was becoming hard to breathe and his stomach hurt.
"A mosquito bite," Jack repeated, at least sounding relieved. The fact that it itched was the only problem where before he was worried about the rash spreading or potentially leading to worse symptoms; he doubted an EpiPen had been found among the unclaimed baggage, and anaphylactic shock from a rash on his penis wasn't the way Jack wanted to die. The bite was bothering him more than any he'd ever had previously, which made sense due to the fact that it was on more sensitive skin than Jack was used to, so he subconsciously scratched himself.
Sawyer noticed, his laughter getting replaced with a sly grin. "Bet it itches like hell, Doc. D'you wanna know how we take care of that back home?" Unable to control himself, Jack let out a grunt in response that was more of a groan. Sawyer's tone had dropped, his voice thick with intention, and even though he was sitting two feet away in the sand, Jack swore he could feel Sawyer's breathe as he uttered each word, moving the air around his dick that was already feeling raw and over sensitized. "A little spit seems to do the trick," was Sawyer's response, inching closer until his head was near Jack's knees.
Tongue darting out to lick his lips, Jack realized that Sawyer's remedy made sense. He managed to get out, "Saliva has digestive enzymes that would break down-" before he felt Sawyer's tongue at the base of his cock, running his tongue up the length, coaxing Jack into his mouth while clutching Jack's ankles in both hands. He had a brief moment of cohesive thought - that the itching seemed to stop and he felt a lot better - before feeling Sawyer do this thing with his tongue and getting lost in it. All the tension and anxiety from the last couple weeks also melted away with the furious urge to scratch himself, and he almost came right then as Sawyer started making these little noises in the back of his throat, but he seemed to sense this, backed off a little, let Jack's fingers run through and wrap themselves in the blond strands framing Sawyer's face.
He couldn't keep himself from getting hard from the sight of Jack in such obvious rapture, but Sawyer could keep himself from touching his own cock, from rubbing himself with the heel of his hand through his jeans as he sucked Jack off. He instead left the pressure to build, knowing Jack gave as well as he took, that he would reciprocate, though not necessarily right away. Jack was a giver, not a taker like Sawyer was, which worked in Sawyer's favor. No one he'd ever fucked had been like Jack - even the times with Kate paled in comparison. She never knew what she wanted where Jack had a single-minded purpose.
By the way Jack's body was curved around him, muscles tight and straining, Sawyer could tell that he was getting close. He let Jack's cock slip out of his mouth slowly, enough to tease but not enough to bring him over the edge, and met the other man's gaze, relishing in how dark Jack's eyes had gotten. "Is it helping?"
"Just shut up and blow me," Jack moaned, and Sawyer willingly obliged.