something different
I kind of accidentally wrote a slash story. About Jack and Sawyer. Inspired by a line in a story by khohen1. Oops?
Disclaimer: Lost belongs to ABC. No infringement intended.
Summary: Sawyer lends Jack a hand with an intimate task. Adult material. Slash.
Spoilers: Through Do No Harm, at least.
Archive: No.
Hands
by eponine119
May 20, 2005
Jack hasn't so much as touched himself since before the crash, and it's starting to wear at him.
He never had this kind of trouble being celibate in the past. It's not that sex wasn't important to him; he just had a full, busy life that didn't leave him a lot of time for dating. He also had an apartment with a lock on the door, a pager he could turn off, and a hot, private shower where he could look after his needs when they arose.
He has none of those luxuries on the island. Anyone could walk into his cave, at any time, needing something. He can't relax, knowing that, can't let himself go.
So the urge has gone into his subconscious and come out in dreams. It embarrasses him, and he could do without the extra laundry. Worse than that are the dreams themselves, the people in them. When it's Sarah in the dream, he wakes up shaky and nauseous, a feeling that follows him as he goes about his day.
Something's got to give.
That's when Sawyer walks into the cave. He's got a rag pressed to a cut above his eye. The muscles in his arm are defined, so he's applying pressure to the wound, but the rag's soaked with blood. Sawyer looks almost contrite, his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched like he expects Jack to bully him about it. "It's just a little bitty cut but I can't get it to stop," he says.
Jack nods. "Head wounds bleed a lot," he says. "Let me see."
Sawyer sits down and removes the rag. Bright red blood oozes from the cut, which is small but deep. Jack leans in close, almost nose to nose with the other man, trying to get a better look. He pushes Sawyer's hair out of the way, surprised by its silkiness under his fingers, and Sawyer exhales. His warm breath fans across Jack's skin and Jack's body reacts.
Fuck, is all Jack thinks. He struggles to keep his voice even as he lays out Sawyer's options. "A butterfly bandage ought to hold it, or I can sew it up. Your choice. Probably leave a scar either way."
"Butterfly," Sawyer says, and it's a beautiful word with that drawl of his.
"Okay," Jack says. Now he just has to get up and get the bandage from his supplies. He does this, pretending he's not acutely aware of the throb between his legs. He fumbles through the liquor cart he's turned into a supply cabinet, the bandages slipping between his fingers.
When he's finally got one, he turns and finds Sawyer's eyes on him. Jack feels his face heat at the look in the other man's eyes, in being discovered. He presses his lips together grimly, unwrapping the adhesive bandage. He feels Sawyer looking at him and tries to ignore him, but he has to brush back that golden hair again. It just falls back and Sawyer seems to preen a bit, making no move to help, so Jack has to sweep it back again, this time with his fingers skimming the curve of Sawyer's ear.
He swabs the blood away, then gently squeezes the skin together to apply the bandage. He smoothes it with his fingers, making sure it's working. "All set." His voice sounds thin to his own ears.
"Thanks, doc." Sawyer's smirking at him. He shakes his head so his hair falls free and rakish over the bandage.
"I've got scissors," Jack offers.
Sawyer laughs. "Nah, I like it." Then he nails Jack with eyes that seem darker than usual. "You like it too."
"Doesn't matter what I think," Jack says, shaking his head.
"What do I owe ya?" Sawyer asks.
Jack raises an eyebrow. "What're you offering?" This is new and unexpected, and it makes him a little nervous.
"Looks like you could use a hand," Sawyer says, his eyes dropping. His hand follows, caressing Jack through his jeans. Any protest Jack might have made dies on his lips. His eyes close and his head falls back. It feels too good.
When Sawyer's hand pushes him back on the exam cot, Jack thinks to struggle. He tries to sit up. "Wait," he protests.
"Ssh." It's more of an order than a suggestion. "You been running around here like a gun ready to go off. Relax. They're just hands." Those hands undo his jeans and slide them down his hips.
They're just hands, Jack repeats to himself. Doesn't matter whose. Except it flickers through his brain that this is *Sawyer,* a man who doesn't like Jack any more than Jack likes him. Why the hell is he doing this, and why is Jack letting him? Jack reaches out, to knock Sawyer's hand away, but the other man persists. Jack lets him.
The skin of Sawyer's hand is rough with broken calluses as it slides along Jack's cock, inflaming him. Sawyer's using his left hand, so the pressure is coming from the same side as when Jack does this himself, but this is nothing like touching himself. There's nothing quick or gentle or certain, nothing familiar.
Sawyer works his thumb over the aching head of Jack's cock, then spreads the moisture he finds there along Jack's shaft, pumping him hard. Jack's breathing goes ragged and his brain overloads. He's not going to be able to stand much of this.
His skin feels red hot, burning from the inside, and he moans as Sawyer changes his touch. He drags his fingertips along the sensitive underside of Jack's cock and Jack shudders, deeply. Sawyer does it again, teasing him now, chuckling softly as Jack whimpers, shaking with every breath as he strains to keep still, because if he moves it'll be that much worse. Or better. Both.
He doesn't want it to end, not this fast. He doesn't want to come, doesn't want to know Sawyer can do that to him, doesn't want to think about the fact that it's Sawyer making him feel this way. And Jack knows he mustn't make a sound, because someone will hear.
But as Sawyer strokes him, building a rhythm that's impossible to resist, Jack feels the tension building within him, tightening the muscles in his thighs and his stomach. Sawyer's other hand rests on the inside of Jack's thigh, a constant, gentle pressure. So different from what Sawyer's doing to him with his other hand. "Relax." He sounds amused and that strengthens Jack's resolve. He's not going to come, he's not he's not he's not…
Every fast, shallow breath intensifies the sensation Sawyer's building up in him, so Jack stops. He holds his breath, willing it to stop, feeling the delicious tension stretch from his ribs down into his belly. He gets lightheaded with the friction Sawyer's hand is creating, every stroke a bomb bursting in his blood, forcing him closer to that bright, inevitable edge.
Unexpectedly, Sawyer's hair brushes his face and Jack's whole body jerks. Sawyer's lips touch Jack's ear. "Breathe," Sawyer murmurs, scorching against his skin. Jack's not sure he remembers how. He's lost in each second as it ticks past. There's no fighting it now, and he thrusts against that hot, rough hand that's squeezing the life out of him.
Jack gives a strangled scream as he starts to come. Sawyer's fingers continue to work him and the intensity of the pleasure becomes unbearable. It's like he's been grabbed by an electric current and he's dying, right here, like this, and he doesn't even care, it feels so fucking good. He can feel it to the soles of his feet and the roots of his hair. He's never felt anything like it.
He sighs, his chest rising and falling with a shallow spasm, still feeling tingles of that electric release firing through his body. He opens his eyes. After the moment it takes for them to focus, he's looking at Sawyer. The man who brought him to such vicious heights. Sawyer's eyes are shining, almost angry. He hates me, Jack thinks, suddenly vulnerable with his jeans shoved down and his limp dick damp and exposed. "Yeah, I guess you needed that," Sawyer says, in a low voice.
Jack's lips are dry and he runs his tongue over them. Sawyer watches, waiting. "Sawyer," he says, because he has to say something.
"Don't," Sawyer says, and his eyes slide away from Jack's. "Just don't." He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and shakes that golden hair down into his face. Jack reaches out, but Sawyer just brushes past, disappearing through the opening of the cave, into sunlight so bright it stings Jack's eyes and makes them water.
He's not going to be able to forget this. It'll come back to him when he falls asleep and dreams, or months from now when he finds a quiet spot in the jungle to take things into his own hands. He'll want to, but he won't be able to forget.
It won't be the same between him and Sawyer, either. Their fights will be more furious, their silences more insulting. The looks between them will blaze across the beach. Jack can't help thinking he owes Sawyer something he's never going to be able to repay. Sawyer's got claws, emotional and physical, and now he'll never let Jack get close. It makes Jack feel selfish, and sorry, and most of all regret.
And he still doesn't know why.
End.
Disclaimer: Lost belongs to ABC. No infringement intended.
Summary: Sawyer lends Jack a hand with an intimate task. Adult material. Slash.
Spoilers: Through Do No Harm, at least.
Archive: No.
Hands
by eponine119
May 20, 2005
Jack hasn't so much as touched himself since before the crash, and it's starting to wear at him.
He never had this kind of trouble being celibate in the past. It's not that sex wasn't important to him; he just had a full, busy life that didn't leave him a lot of time for dating. He also had an apartment with a lock on the door, a pager he could turn off, and a hot, private shower where he could look after his needs when they arose.
He has none of those luxuries on the island. Anyone could walk into his cave, at any time, needing something. He can't relax, knowing that, can't let himself go.
So the urge has gone into his subconscious and come out in dreams. It embarrasses him, and he could do without the extra laundry. Worse than that are the dreams themselves, the people in them. When it's Sarah in the dream, he wakes up shaky and nauseous, a feeling that follows him as he goes about his day.
Something's got to give.
That's when Sawyer walks into the cave. He's got a rag pressed to a cut above his eye. The muscles in his arm are defined, so he's applying pressure to the wound, but the rag's soaked with blood. Sawyer looks almost contrite, his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched like he expects Jack to bully him about it. "It's just a little bitty cut but I can't get it to stop," he says.
Jack nods. "Head wounds bleed a lot," he says. "Let me see."
Sawyer sits down and removes the rag. Bright red blood oozes from the cut, which is small but deep. Jack leans in close, almost nose to nose with the other man, trying to get a better look. He pushes Sawyer's hair out of the way, surprised by its silkiness under his fingers, and Sawyer exhales. His warm breath fans across Jack's skin and Jack's body reacts.
Fuck, is all Jack thinks. He struggles to keep his voice even as he lays out Sawyer's options. "A butterfly bandage ought to hold it, or I can sew it up. Your choice. Probably leave a scar either way."
"Butterfly," Sawyer says, and it's a beautiful word with that drawl of his.
"Okay," Jack says. Now he just has to get up and get the bandage from his supplies. He does this, pretending he's not acutely aware of the throb between his legs. He fumbles through the liquor cart he's turned into a supply cabinet, the bandages slipping between his fingers.
When he's finally got one, he turns and finds Sawyer's eyes on him. Jack feels his face heat at the look in the other man's eyes, in being discovered. He presses his lips together grimly, unwrapping the adhesive bandage. He feels Sawyer looking at him and tries to ignore him, but he has to brush back that golden hair again. It just falls back and Sawyer seems to preen a bit, making no move to help, so Jack has to sweep it back again, this time with his fingers skimming the curve of Sawyer's ear.
He swabs the blood away, then gently squeezes the skin together to apply the bandage. He smoothes it with his fingers, making sure it's working. "All set." His voice sounds thin to his own ears.
"Thanks, doc." Sawyer's smirking at him. He shakes his head so his hair falls free and rakish over the bandage.
"I've got scissors," Jack offers.
Sawyer laughs. "Nah, I like it." Then he nails Jack with eyes that seem darker than usual. "You like it too."
"Doesn't matter what I think," Jack says, shaking his head.
"What do I owe ya?" Sawyer asks.
Jack raises an eyebrow. "What're you offering?" This is new and unexpected, and it makes him a little nervous.
"Looks like you could use a hand," Sawyer says, his eyes dropping. His hand follows, caressing Jack through his jeans. Any protest Jack might have made dies on his lips. His eyes close and his head falls back. It feels too good.
When Sawyer's hand pushes him back on the exam cot, Jack thinks to struggle. He tries to sit up. "Wait," he protests.
"Ssh." It's more of an order than a suggestion. "You been running around here like a gun ready to go off. Relax. They're just hands." Those hands undo his jeans and slide them down his hips.
They're just hands, Jack repeats to himself. Doesn't matter whose. Except it flickers through his brain that this is *Sawyer,* a man who doesn't like Jack any more than Jack likes him. Why the hell is he doing this, and why is Jack letting him? Jack reaches out, to knock Sawyer's hand away, but the other man persists. Jack lets him.
The skin of Sawyer's hand is rough with broken calluses as it slides along Jack's cock, inflaming him. Sawyer's using his left hand, so the pressure is coming from the same side as when Jack does this himself, but this is nothing like touching himself. There's nothing quick or gentle or certain, nothing familiar.
Sawyer works his thumb over the aching head of Jack's cock, then spreads the moisture he finds there along Jack's shaft, pumping him hard. Jack's breathing goes ragged and his brain overloads. He's not going to be able to stand much of this.
His skin feels red hot, burning from the inside, and he moans as Sawyer changes his touch. He drags his fingertips along the sensitive underside of Jack's cock and Jack shudders, deeply. Sawyer does it again, teasing him now, chuckling softly as Jack whimpers, shaking with every breath as he strains to keep still, because if he moves it'll be that much worse. Or better. Both.
He doesn't want it to end, not this fast. He doesn't want to come, doesn't want to know Sawyer can do that to him, doesn't want to think about the fact that it's Sawyer making him feel this way. And Jack knows he mustn't make a sound, because someone will hear.
But as Sawyer strokes him, building a rhythm that's impossible to resist, Jack feels the tension building within him, tightening the muscles in his thighs and his stomach. Sawyer's other hand rests on the inside of Jack's thigh, a constant, gentle pressure. So different from what Sawyer's doing to him with his other hand. "Relax." He sounds amused and that strengthens Jack's resolve. He's not going to come, he's not he's not he's not…
Every fast, shallow breath intensifies the sensation Sawyer's building up in him, so Jack stops. He holds his breath, willing it to stop, feeling the delicious tension stretch from his ribs down into his belly. He gets lightheaded with the friction Sawyer's hand is creating, every stroke a bomb bursting in his blood, forcing him closer to that bright, inevitable edge.
Unexpectedly, Sawyer's hair brushes his face and Jack's whole body jerks. Sawyer's lips touch Jack's ear. "Breathe," Sawyer murmurs, scorching against his skin. Jack's not sure he remembers how. He's lost in each second as it ticks past. There's no fighting it now, and he thrusts against that hot, rough hand that's squeezing the life out of him.
Jack gives a strangled scream as he starts to come. Sawyer's fingers continue to work him and the intensity of the pleasure becomes unbearable. It's like he's been grabbed by an electric current and he's dying, right here, like this, and he doesn't even care, it feels so fucking good. He can feel it to the soles of his feet and the roots of his hair. He's never felt anything like it.
He sighs, his chest rising and falling with a shallow spasm, still feeling tingles of that electric release firing through his body. He opens his eyes. After the moment it takes for them to focus, he's looking at Sawyer. The man who brought him to such vicious heights. Sawyer's eyes are shining, almost angry. He hates me, Jack thinks, suddenly vulnerable with his jeans shoved down and his limp dick damp and exposed. "Yeah, I guess you needed that," Sawyer says, in a low voice.
Jack's lips are dry and he runs his tongue over them. Sawyer watches, waiting. "Sawyer," he says, because he has to say something.
"Don't," Sawyer says, and his eyes slide away from Jack's. "Just don't." He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and shakes that golden hair down into his face. Jack reaches out, but Sawyer just brushes past, disappearing through the opening of the cave, into sunlight so bright it stings Jack's eyes and makes them water.
He's not going to be able to forget this. It'll come back to him when he falls asleep and dreams, or months from now when he finds a quiet spot in the jungle to take things into his own hands. He'll want to, but he won't be able to forget.
It won't be the same between him and Sawyer, either. Their fights will be more furious, their silences more insulting. The looks between them will blaze across the beach. Jack can't help thinking he owes Sawyer something he's never going to be able to repay. Sawyer's got claws, emotional and physical, and now he'll never let Jack get close. It makes Jack feel selfish, and sorry, and most of all regret.
And he still doesn't know why.
End.