Lost fic: Taming [Jack/Sawyer for lostvalentines]
Disclaimer: Lost belongs to ABC, etc., not to me. No infringement is intended by this use.
Warnings: Some mentions of season 2 items and people. NC-17 slash with some violence.
Summary: Jack goes too far in his efforts to teach Sawyer a lesson.
Author's notes: Written for Zelda_zee's lostvalentines request, which was: “NC-17 slash, Sawyer/Jack, surprise me with the rest.” Also using for fanfic100 prompt #22, Enemies.
Special thanks to: alliecat8, halfdutch, and zenana7 for beta reading. Thanks also to lunadatura for running lostvalentines. And thanks, of course, to William Shakespeare.
Taming
by eponine119
He knew Sawyer was back to his old self when things started disappearing. Mostly from the hatch and mostly small things, the sort he could slip into his pocket unnoticed, but not always.
It made people tense and guarded. Ana Lucia dragged the damn radio with her everywhere she went now. She protected it, even though she wouldn't let anyone else use it. Sawyer seemed to enjoy the glares he got.
Jack had other things to worry about, so he ignored it as best he could. Until Kate came to him on the beach one day with something pleading in her eyes. "You have to do something about this, Jack," she said, her voice soft as though she was afraid of being overheard. She touched his hand lightly. "Not just for his safety." Her eyes darted away from his, down the beach, to where Mr. Eko and Ana Lucia were having a heated conversation.
Then Kate was gone, walking away fast like she didn't want to be seen. Ana's eyes burned across the beach, fixed on Jack. He knew she resented his leadership. He also knew he was barely holding onto it. These people, who'd once turned to him out of desperation and respect, now only came to him out of habit.
A plan tumbled quickly into place in his mind. If he dealt with the Sawyer problem, he might get their confidence back.
So he tossed some things into his backpack and walked over to Sawyer's shelter. Sawyer was sprawled out, sleeping as usual. A paperback lay a few inches from his fingers, as though he'd dropped it when he drifted off. As Jack studied him, Sawyer's eyes opened slowly, and when he saw Jack staring at him, he started to smile.
Jack picked up Sawyer's shirt and tossed it to him. "Get dressed. You're coming with me."
Sawyer made no move to dress. "Oh really," he said.
Jack nodded once, a tight movement of his head. "Salvage expedition." Somehow he had the feeling Sawyer would find that irresistible.
"Why didn't you say so?" Sawyer asked, shrugging into his shirt. Then he got to his feet. As though he'd miscalculated, he was standing too close to Jack. They were nose to nose, close enough for Jack to feel the heat radiating off Sawyer's body. If Jack moved a fraction of an inch, they'd be touching. But this was a test, so he didn't move. "Let's go," Sawyer said, with fire burning in his eyes as he walked out of the shelter.
Jack lead as they left the beach. He walked quickly, almost running. Soon the only sound within the blanket of trees was that of Sawyer's harsh breathing, echoed only slightly more softly by Jack's own. "Why'd you pick me?" Sawyer asked.
"This is right up your alley. Isn't it, Sawyer?" He turned and looked at Sawyer hard, eyes searching for some sign of guilt or remorse. What he really wanted was an explanation, or an apology, although he knew better than to think he'd get either.
"Nothin' on this island is ours," Sawyer pointed out. "You take what you need, same as I do."
"I also give it out freely to anyone who needs it," Jack said.
"It ain't free," Sawyer said. "You get what you need in return."
"Oh yeah?" Jack asked. "What'd I get for the antibiotics I gave you for your arm?"
"Power," Sawyer replied, and brushed past Jack. The trail crested up, and Sawyer stopped suddenly. "What in the name of --" he breathed, awed, and turned back to look at Jack. "Where'd this come from?"
"Who knows," Jack replied, standing up on the ridge with him, overlooking the ship.
"The Black Rock," Sawyer said, reading the name. Then he back looked at Jack. "And there's stuff in there?"
"Yes," Jack replied, but Sawyer was already skittering down to the ship. Jack followed him more slowly, taking in details. The box they'd carried out of the ship's hold was gone now. That meant the Others had taken it.
Sawyer whooped excitedly as he went inside. "This whole island's like a fucking theme park," he said to Jack, eyes glowing as his flashlight caught them. "First 70s-bizarro-world in the hatch and now a real live pirate ship."
"Slave ship," Jack corrected. The room was bare. The Others had taken not just the dynamite, but the skeletons that had been in chains. Cold trickled down Jack's spine as he had to wonder why.
"What're we looking for, doc?" Sawyer asked, moving into the next chamber.
"Anything useful," Jack replied, but his voice sounded hollow. A key had been left in the lock of the door to that room. He could push it closed and trap Sawyer inside. It would solve the greatest of his problems. Except it turned Jack's stomach to think of it. He couldn't kill Sawyer. He couldn't go back without him. It was Sawyer's reformation that would redeem Jack in the eyes of the other survivors, not his murder.
Jack slipped the key into his pocket anyway, then he stepped into the room. There was a low, narrow bed in the corner and a small desk strewn with maps. The time period was different, but in some ways it looked no different from the hatch: a self-contained unit in which someone could spend an endless amount of time.
Jack sat down on the bed and watched Sawyer as he looked through the papers on the desk and then began methodically poking through the drawers. He stopped suddenly and looked back at Jack. There was a scowl of realization on his face. Sawyer made it so easy sometimes to believe that he was stupid that sometimes Jack forgot it wasn't true. "Maybe we oughta head back," Sawyer said, but he'd figured it out.
"We aren't going back," Jack said. "Not just yet."
"Why'd you really bring me out here?" His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"To teach you a lesson," Jack said, in a voice so tightly controlled it barely rose above a whisper. He stood, knowing that when he did, Sawyer would lunge at him. Jack knocked him out cold. There was barely enough space in the tiny room for him to fall.
…
Jack sat in the small chair near the desk. One of the drawers was still hanging out from Sawyer's ravaging through it, and he stared at it, trying to concentrate his rage. One addition had been made to the desk's untidy surface. Manacles from the other room. They lay open, the heavy metal as threatening as a bear trap. He wouldn't use them unless he had to.
A groan heralded Sawyer's return to consciousness, and Jack's body tensed. "What do you think I need punishing for?" Sawyer asked in a low voice.
"Stealing." Jack said.
"Undermining your authority." Sawyer spoke as though Jack hadn't and he was answering his own question. "I get under your skin and you just can't stand it." He got to his feet but Jack was between him and the door. "I'm going back."
"You'll never find the way," Jack said. "Even if you did, that thing is still out there."
"Monsters," Sawyer scoffed, like he didn't believe in them. "How're you gonna teach me this lesson?" His gaze rested on the shackles on the desk.
Jack realized he hadn't thought this through. Adrenaline had gotten him here, but he hadn't considered what he'd do with Sawyer now. "You're going to tell me the location of every single secret stash you've established on the island," Jack said.
"Make me," Sawyer challenged. Jack said nothing. "B'sides," Sawyer said. "Even if I did tell you, how'd you know it was the truth? Minute you go check, I'm gone."
Jack set the key deliberately on the desk. "It only works from the outside," he said. He let Sawyer look at the key for a moment before he tucked it away again. "You'll stay here while I check."
"I'm not telling you anything," Sawyer said, and his eyes were wild.
"We don't have to do this the hard way, Sawyer," Jack said calmly.
"Yeah. We do," Sawyer replied. He liked the hard way better. He shifted his head to make his hair flutter down into his eyes. Smiling, like he wanted Jack to hurt him. But Jack must have waited too long, because Sawyer said, "You don't have what it takes."
Jack reacted instantly. He slammed Sawyer against the wall. His head hit it with a dull thud. Sawyer exhaled and then moved his head forward, his forehead striking Jack's, hard enough to daze him. Sawyer blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision, as he swung at Jack. The blow glanced off Jack's cheekbone, sending a shooting pulse of pain through his eye. Jack channeled that pain into a punch to Sawyer's mostly healed arm, and Sawyer howled. Jack got in another blow to Sawyer's stomach, which brought him down to his knees. Then Jack reached for the shackles.
"Don't." There was an abruptness to Sawyer's cry that made Jack stop. "Please."
The please tore him up inside. Sawyer didn't think Jack had what it took, and Jack knew deep in his heart that he was right. That's why Jack had no choice but to fasten them around Sawyer's wrists, pulling the chains tight.
He expected Sawyer to pull himself up again. But Sawyer just lay there on the floor, body stiff with rage and violated pride. "Just tell me," Jack said, his voice gentle. He still held Sawyer's arms in his hands, his fingers sliding easily between the knobs of Sawyer's wrists and the rough metal shackles.
"Ain't telling you anything," he said. He looked at Jack with eyes that had lost their fire and life.
It was the look in his eyes that got to Jack. Made him drop the heavy iron and back away. It frightened him that Sawyer could be so easily broken; and yet at the same time this had only increased Sawyer's stubbornness. Jack had no reason not to believe him when he said he wouldn't tell. But that meant Jack would have to back down if they were ever going to get out of here, and Jack refused.
They were at an impasse.
Jack slipped out into the other room, to give Sawyer time to change his mind. He didn't lock the door, and Sawyer didn't try to escape.
…
Sawyer slept for awhile after Jack returned, and Jack watched him. His scowl faded when he slept, the creases fading, leaving him unguarded. His cheeks looked soft, almost vulnerable in contrast to the hard planes of his forehead, nose and chin. And Sawyer was a sensual sleeper, given over completely to his dreams. His hands rubbed against his thighs and soft noises slipped from his throat, not moans or cries, just the pleasure and satisfaction of sleep itself.
He opened his eyes and found Jack watching him. Jack felt heat rush into his face, but he didn't look away. Looking away would be an admission of guilt, and he had nothing to be guilty about.
Sawyer smacked his lips, and raised his bound hands to rub them, then to brush back his hair. He paused a moment to study the antique handcuffs, hair tumbling back into his eyes. He tested the strength of the chain and its length. "You plannin' on feeding me?" he asked, eyes meeting Jack's.
"No," Jack replied, feeling his own gut clench with hunger. He had some fruit in his backpack, but not much. Better to save it, in case Sawyer's stubborn will held out. He was used to this gnawing hunger. Then again, so was Sawyer. They were all starving here on the island.
"You're going to get tired," Sawyer said, smiling a little. He'd slept, but Jack hadn't. Then again, Jack had the key. He toyed with it now, reminding Sawyer he could lock him in here and leave him. Sawyer's eyes darkened: message received. "Least you could do is talk to me. I'm gettin' bored here, doc."
Jack nodded. Still feeling the fire in his belly. "There was food in the hatch. Anybody tell you that?" Sawyer's eyes narrowed. "It wouldn't have lasted, so we had a feast. Ate it all." Jack sighed, thinking about it. How he'd been full. The one time in forty-odd days he'd actually been satisfied. His tongue darted over his lips, watching Sawyer carefully. "It was so good. Cereal, and peanut butter, and chocolate. Mashed potatoes. The instant kind, made with milk so they were light and fluffy." He could practically taste it again.
"You have an orgy afterward?" Sawyer asked, sarcastic. Jack raised his eyebrows. The food had been their orgy. A man could live without sex, but he'd die without food. "Things've been a little tense between you'n Freckles lately. Figure that'd be the logical explanation."
Jack remembered sitting next to Kate that night. Firelight making her eyes sparkle, picking up the plump moistness of her lips. Eating off her plate and listening to her laugh. But they hadn't done anything that night. That night the food was enough. Of course he'd kissed her later on, discovered just how sweet she tasted, but that wasn't something he'd admit to Sawyer. Sawyer had kissed her too. He knew. The food, that primal night, was something Sawyer would never have.
"That why you've been worse than usual, Sawyer?" Jack inquired. "Jealous we had an orgy and didn't invite you?"
Sawyer shrugged like he didn't care, but his nostrils flared. "You think I'd care?" he asked carefully, in a low voice. "I found one of those chocolate bars you seem to think was so precious. I didn't miss nothin'."
Jack knew if Sawyer really had found a candy bar, he would have put it away. Something to be traded at a later date. Same as everything else Sawyer found and took. He realized now that Sawyer's sexual aggression, the relentless way he pursued Kate, was also something he was saving, to be used later when the time was right.
"You wanna tell me why you're so desperate for my company all of a sudden?" Sawyer asked, staring at Jack. "What it is you think you're punishing me for?"
"You know," Jack said.
"Humor me," Sawyer said, with a flash of smile. Jack refused. "You just wanted to be alone with me, that it, doc?" He reached out, somehow suddenly within arm's reach, and Jack slapped his hand away. He thought he saw a flash of hurt in Sawyer's eyes, but that was impossible.
"Why would I want that?" Jack demanded.
"You know you love me," Sawyer teased, his dimples showing but his voice low and dangerous.
"You're disgusting," Jack replied. He got to his feet, feeling his anger surge. He felt a strange satisfaction in the way Sawyer cringed back away from him. Jack's hand closed around the key, and he turned his back on Sawyer. The sound of the door closing behind him was almost final.
The quiet click of the key made Jack's heart race. He stood there for a moment, body tense, fighting the urge to push the key back in and unlock the door, but he stood his ground. He was tired and he was hungry and he wasn't going to give Sawyer the satisfaction. Solitary confinement worked, didn't it? This would bring things to a much quicker conclusion.
He heard the sound of Sawyer's body slam against the door. The door didn't budge. It was an old ship, solidly constructed. Jack took a step back, holding his breath. Waiting for the sound to come again. Instead he heard the loud, angry hammering of fists. "Jack!" Sawyer bellowed, and Jack knew he wouldn't open that door again now for anything. Sawyer would kill him. Somehow he hadn't bargained on that, but now he knew it as surely as he knew anything. Sawyer would rip him to shreds with his fingers. Even if it wasn't possible, Sawyer would do it. It was that kind of rage in his voice.
More pounding. Feet and fists this time. "Jack!" Sawyer screamed again, his voice thick and raw. Pain, Jack thought. He'd flung himself at the door hard enough to hurt himself. Jack moved closer, but stopped short with the key still in his pocket. This was what he wanted.
"It's so dark." Sawyer's voice was low, not meant to be heard. It sent chills down Jack's spine, and he fled. Out of the ship, into the oppressive heat and sunlight. He didn't want to hear anymore.
…
He waited as long as he could. Determined that every minute that ticked by, agonizingly slow for him, would pass even more slowly for Sawyer, locked up, in the dark. Jack sat outside until he couldn’t stand it anymore, the heat and the sunshine. Then he crept back into the ship. He tried to eat but the fruit turned to sour mush in his mouth that he couldn't manage to swallow.
He explored the ship, trying to take his mind off Sawyer. It didn't work. He kept thinking that Sawyer would hear his footsteps overhead and know that Jack was weak. He kept hearing Sawyer's voice in his head.
He crept into the room where the dynamite had been, the one with the locked door. His palms were sweating as he withdrew the key from the pocket of his jeans. Jack stood there, trying to quiet his racing heart. Sawyer would attack him the moment this door opened. He had to be ready.
He put the key into the lock, and listened. Silence. He felt a twinge of worry. Pushed it away as he turned the key. The door opened, swinging just a fraction of an inch with the release of the tension from the lock. It didn't move again until Jack pulled it open.
He almost didn't want to look. Somehow in his mind he'd built up his fear, and he was expecting to see something out of Edgar Allen Poe, Sawyer dead of fright or something equally ridiculous. Jack raised his eyes and let out a sigh when he saw that Sawyer was fine. He was sitting on the bed, a closed book clutched between his hands, blinking in the sudden brightness of Jack's light.
"Are you ready to talk?" Jack asked. Still feeling the whisper of fear down his spine, remembering Sawyer's voice through the door.
Sawyer pressed his lips together. Shook his head. Not meeting Jack's eyes. It was a subservient posture, completely at odds with the words he practically spat out. "I'll never tell you."
Jack felt his anger flare. It was a relief. He crossed the room in two strides and put his hands on the book. "You get much reading done in the dark, Sawyer?" he demanded. Determined to pull the book away. Sawyer held it fast, hands clenched. He snarled as Jack fought him. If this item had comforted him, Jack was determined to have it. Jack put one knee on the bed to get leverage, pulling harder on the book, but Sawyer wouldn't let go.
They struggled over it. Their bodies were close, both men sweating and grunting and they fought. Sawyer's feet scrabbled against the bed and Jack put his weight into it. Finally it dawned on him to take his hands off the book. As Sawyer jerked back at the loss of the counterweight, Jack grabbed the manacles securing his wrists and forced them up. The book clunked to the floor, but Jack didn't grab for it. He pinned Sawyer back against the bed, chest heaving with the effort. He could feel Sawyer's body bucking beneath him with the same rapid intake of breath.
Then he saw the condition of Sawyer's hands. The striking surface of his fists, from small finger down to wrists, were bruised. His knuckles were scraped raw. His nails were broken and torn and bloody. Sawyer had fought to get out. He'd given it everything he had. Jack sat back, holding Sawyer's fingers, staring in horror. Feeling what he'd done.
Jack pulled away. He picked up the book and set it on the desk, unable not to notice the blood staining its cover. He reached for his backpack, for the antiseptic and bandages he'd packed. The fact of his packing them betraying that he'd expected to hurt Sawyer. Having retrieved the items, he approached Sawyer again, but the other man pulled his hands away.
"Don't," he said to Jack.
Jack tried again, reaching for him. Sawyer struck out with his foot, catching Jack in the stomach. Acid roared up into his mouth with the blossom of pain that doubled him over. But even in the moments where the pain filled Jack's senses, Sawyer made no move for the door.
But Jack did, when he could stand. He walked through it and slammed it behind him, then sank to the floor on the other side, hugging his knees. This time there were no impacts to the door, no overheard words. When Jack got his breath back, he started walking.
Sawyer brought this on himself. All he had to do was confess, and then he'd be free. It was so simple, except with Sawyer even the simple things were complex.
…
In the morning, Jack went back. He felt the same fear when he stood outside the door with the key in the lock. "Are you ready to talk?" he asked as he stepped inside the small room.
"I'll die first," Sawyer said. There was no passion behind his words. He sounded bored. Like this entire thing was just a childish exercise, that he was indulging Jack with. As though he, the prisoner, had all of the power here.
The realization hit Jack hard. Sawyer did have all of the power here. As long as he refused, as long as he endured, Jack would have to keep coming back here. Jack would have to keep torturing him, keep hitting him, keep begging for an answer. Jack might be his jailer and Jack might have the key, but Sawyer was in control.
No wonder he was so calm, Jack thought, watching Sawyer sit quietly. Jack couldn't sit still. He itched to do something for Sawyer's injured hands. His heart raced and his stomach ached. It didn't bother Sawyer one bit to endure punishment, but it killed Jack to punish.
Jack's instinct was to leave again. To close the door behind him and wait for time to work its magic. Sawyer couldn't stay calm forever. No one could. Eventually the desperation of his survival instinct would kick in. But Jack couldn't wait that long.
He had to find a way to make Sawyer talk. If Sawyer could stand this, Jack had to find something he couldn't endure.
Jack gave in to the instinct to dress Sawyer's hands. Every minute he waited was an invitation for infection, yet more medicine and care that would eventually be wasted on Sawyer. The bandages and antiseptic were sitting on the desk rather than where they'd fallen the night before. The cap on the antiseptic was loose. Sawyer had tried to care for his own wounds.
Now Jack saw other things in the room had changed. He'd left his pack, and Sawyer had gone through it. Jack seized it up now, dumping its contents onto the desk. The fruit was missing several bites. The water had been drunk. And the last item to fall out was a flashlight, which struck the floor and rolled.
Jack looked accusingly at Sawyer. "Take that shit with you next time," Sawyer said. "Wouldn't want me to enjoy this."
Jack grabbed the antiseptic and bandages and crossed the room with them. This time he was mindful of where Sawyer's limbs were and kept out of harm's way. But Sawyer didn't fight. Any sign that he wanted out would have been a break in his façade. For it to be punishment, Sawyer had to not want it. Deciding to want it, or not mind it, further stole away Jack's power.
Jack held Sawyer's hands in his. No matter how much control Sawyer possessed, he couldn't repress the flinch when the cool sting of alcohol touched his raw flesh. He let out a hiss of breath. Jack gentled his touch, dabbing at the wounds as lightly as possible. It was habit to make things hurt as little as possible.
"I can take it, doc," Sawyer said. "Whyn't you see if you can make me scream? You'd like that."
Of course Sawyer wouldn't scream. Sawyer had made it clear he wouldn't let Jack get any satisfaction out of this. Which is why he said it. To taunt him. But it was giving Jack another idea.
Jack hadn't been the most popular kid in school. He did okay mostly, but there'd been a few run-ins with bullies along the way. He knew all they wanted was a reaction. He watched them torment Marc Silverman for years, because Marc reacted. He never did what Jack did, which was shrug and walk away.
Now Jack was the one who wanted a reaction. He wanted Sawyer to tell him where the food and supplies and medicine had gone, but more than that he wanted to win. He wouldn't, because Sawyer knew the secret. He'd been the bully in his playground since the day of the crash. Of course he knew how it worked.
"C'mon, doc," Sawyer taunted. "Now's your chance."
It worked. Jack wanted to hit him. So he focused on the red blotches in front of him, turning the problem over in his mind. For some reason he kept seeing his dad's face. He'd known the bullies were only ridiculing him to try to hurt his feelings, which meant they didn't mean it. His father, though…his father had spoken to him in a soft, caring voice. He'd put his hand on Jack's shoulder or ruffle his hair. The things he said, he said for Jack's own good. Because he loved him, because he wanted the best for him. Which meant that they hurt more than any bully's insults ever could.
To the point where Jack couldn't stand it. He'd do anything to get the old man off his back, because it hurt too much.
The key to pain was love.
He looked up from his work, into Sawyer's face. Sawyer's eyes were on his hands, watching what Jack was doing. Jack felt a moment of pure panic, wondering what to do with this information. Sawyer sensed this change and met Jack's eyes.
Jack remembered his father telling him once that hate and love were the exact same thing. It was the power to inspire such a strong emotion in someone else that mattered. Jack had dismissed it at the time, thinking it was another one of his dad's drunken excuses, a way to turn Jack's bitter words into something he'd never meant for them to be.
Jack's hands tightened on Sawyer's. Sawyer blinked, but didn't look away. He seemed to be holding his breath. Waiting to see what Jack would do.
Jack pulled away. He walked out of the tiny room, shutting the door swiftly behind him.
"Hey! You forgot to take the light," Sawyer called after him. He was so good at taking it, he wanted to be tormented more.
Or he couldn't stand even an accidental kindness.
Jack had to think about this.
…
Jack was getting tired of this coming and going. He listened at the door for a moment before he opened it. Steeling himself. This wasn't going to be easy, because it was psychological warfare and he was up against a master.
Sawyer was sprawled out on the bed, with his arms lying against his chest in an oddly protective posture. Jack sat down in the chair, facing him. Now that he was here, his heart was thudding unevenly. He wasn't sure he could do this.
"I'm sorry," Jack said quietly.
"Don't back down now, doc," Sawyer said, fixing him with that intense stare. "We're just getting started."
Jack nodded, staring back mildly at Sawyer. After a few moments, he saw Sawyer's expression change. His discomfort at being watched by Jack was evident. He shifted in the bed, finally tearing his eyes away to stare down at the floor.
So Jack moved closer. He got up from the chair and sat down on the bed. His body sank into it a little, just on the edge of the bed, the way his father used to when he was a boy, and it was warm from Sawyer's body. Jack wondered with a swift and sudden pain whether his father had set out intentionally to make Jack hate him, or if that had just happened along the way.
He reached for Sawyer's hands. Sawyer jerked them away. His breaths were coming short and fast, like he was afraid of Jack. He couldn't disguise that. Jack covered Sawyer's hands with his own, drawing them into his own space. He rubbed Sawyer's palms lightly with his fingertips as he visually examined the scrapes and cuts on the tops of Sawyer's hands, testing one with his thumb, finding it rough and scabbed.
He worked his way up the battered outsides of Sawyer's hands to his wrists. They were raw where the shackles rested against his skin. Jack frowned, and Sawyer sucked in a sharp breath as he jostled the metal against his wrists. It took a moment for Jack to find the catch. He could feel the agony radiating off of Sawyer before the iron bands opened, setting him free.
"I don't think we need these anymore," Jack said gently. He backed away, rising from the bed with the manacles in his hands. The door was open behind him. It would only take a second for Sawyer to grab his freedom. Jack's heart was still going erratically, because he expected Sawyer to turn on him. To fasten the cuffs around Jack's wrists with a snarl and then…what? Beat him to death with the chair, probably. Jack could almost feel the blows, but then he blinked, coming back to reality.
The reality was that Sawyer's eyebrows were drawn low, scowling so hard it made his face inhuman. But his eyes were bright and confused, and he was looking at Jack like Jack was his whole world.
It twisted Jack's stomach unexpectedly. He made himself sick. Did he want revenge so badly that this would be worth it? Did he really want to break another human being, to destroy his will, just for the satisfaction of having done it? So Sawyer was willful and stubborn and a thief. So what?
But it had gone too far for Jack to back down now.
Their eyes remained locked, even as Jack dug through his backpack. He had island medicine -- squares of cloth soaked in aloe and sealed up into a Ziploc bag. He withdrew one now and moved in again, holding Sawyer's hand in his as he dabbed at the raw places on his wrist. Sawyer's breathing still came harsh and fast, and his body was rigid, but he let Jack clean him up. Maybe he was used to it by now -- Jack had spent enough hours on this island ministering to him. Or maybe his wounds hurt that much, that he could stand the emotional agony of Jack touching him if it would make the physical pain go away.
Jack wanted to ask, but couldn't. If he'd found a way to phrase it -- an insult to hurl -- he might have done it. But Sawyer was strangely silent, and Jack let him be.
After soothing Sawyer's wrists and hands, Jack lifted an unused corner of the cloth to Sawyer's face. That was all it took to get Sawyer to finally pull away. His head jerked back from Jack's touch, but his eyes still burned. Jack stared back, suddenly aware that his own breathing was just as short and ragged as Sawyer's. He tried again, pressing the cloth against Sawyer's skin, and this time he let him.
Jack washed Sawyer's face gently. He felt something hot and strange swoop through him at the intimacy of it, as Sawyer's eyes sank closed and he let out a deep sigh. Sawyer's eyelashes were long and surprisingly light, matching the streaks of gold in his hair. Jack's hand trembled in spite of himself as he brushed Sawyer's hair back now. He'd meant it to be a practical move, to get it out of the way, but there was nothing practical to the way Jack's fingers stroked through the length of it. It was the way he'd touch a lover.
Sawyer opened his eyes like he knew that. He blinked, eyes slightly unfocused at Jack's nearness, and Jack saw something so beautiful in their blue-green depths that it startled him. His hands fell away from Sawyer's face. The blunt ends of his hair swung back down to obscure his eyes, and Sawyer drew in a deep breath, inhaling the light residue of aloe on his skin.
Jack withdrew, but Sawyer's hand caught him by the wrist, tight enough to hold him there. He tipped his head as he looked at Jack. "Am I supposed to be afraid of you? Or are you afraid of me now, doc?" His voice was low and the dimple tugging at his cheek was teasing and amused.
"No one's afraid of anyone," Jack said. "I'm just getting some bandages."
He got halfway up before Sawyer reeled him in again. This time his fingers closed tighter, almost threatening. "If this is a game, I don't want to play."
Jack didn't blink. "You're the one who plays games. Not me."
Sawyer's lips curled with disgust, and he dropped Jack's hand. Jack didn't move. "So you've discovered there's more than one kind of torture." Now he wouldn't meet Jack's eyes. He sighed, and added, "Figures."
"This was never about torture," Jack said. Once he was out of Sawyer's orbit, he could breathe again. He took extra care selecting which bandages he wanted, stealing a few clear headed moments.
"Not about torture, he says," Sawyer mocked. Jack moved in again, unwinding the roll of gauze. "I suppose you locked me up in here for some other reason then. Keep me for yourself."
"Now you just sound crazy," Jack said dismissively. What did that even mean? Keep Sawyer for himself for what? But Jack knew. Deep in his gut he knew. Could feel the fire burning. Hate and love were the same damn thing on some primal level. His father hadn't been wrong. He wrapped Sawyer's fingers, and when he finished Sawyer examined them.
"You seen Van Halen there, his hands all taped up the day we crashed?" Sawyer said. "You know why?"
Jack shrugged. "Figured it was a musician thing."
Sawyer shook his head. He made a back and forth motion with his loose fist. "Guess you never tried it, doc. Or you'd know it makes the friction intense." His voice was warm and smooth as whiskey, and he locked eyes with Jack again.
"I'll have to try that sometime," Jack said, making the words as meaningless as he could to be able to get them out at all. They still came out stiff and wooden and awkward.
Sawyer laughed. "Yeah, you do that, hero." The laughter which sounded so real must have been hollow; there was no amusement in his voice.
"Here," Jack said, returning with a bottle of water. He held it out to Sawyer, who eyed him with disbelief.
"You tryin' to make up for what you've done?" Sawyer asked. Not reaching for the bottle.
"If I said yes, would you drink it?" Jack asked. Genuinely uncertain. Sawyer had thrown him, whether Jack wanted to admit it or not. Otherwise Jack would have stayed with his original plan. Made Sawyer believe somehow that he couldn't have the water, which would have guaranteed he'd drink it. Offering it to him was a mistake.
"If you said yes, I'd figure you poisoned it, so you better say no," Sawyer said. "Cause I'm thirsty." Before Jack could reply either way, Sawyer opened the bottle and drank it. Jack watched his throat working as he swallowed repeatedly, draining the bottle so rapidly he gasped for air when he was finished. Then he threw the bottle at Jack as though they were playing a game here. "I know you just want me alive for more fun 'n games later."
Jack nodded slowly, as though that was exactly it. Maybe that was it. He was the one getting confused here. He picked up the bottle with careful fingers, then retrieved its cap, twisting it more tightly than necessary. He put it into his backpack and Sawyer let out a groan of mock disappointment. "Leaving so soon?" No matter how playful his voice, his eyes remained dark.
It was a moment before Jack nodded. "Unless you tell me what I want to know."
"I'd --"
"Die first," Jack finished for him. "I remember."
Sawyer nodded. He wrapped one arm around his chest, but then held up the other hand, checking out Jack's handiwork. "You sure you don't wanna find out how good it feels?" As though he was really offering. As though Jack might take him up on it. As though that was why they were there.
But it made Jack breathless, and he struggled not to let it show. "No," he said. Then he turned away fast, thinking of lab animals locked up in cages, how the chimpanzees would masturbate as an openly threatening gesture of aggression.
"Liar," Sawyer chuckled, low, and it made Jack slam the door hard behind him. He tried to believe it was the loud sound and force of it that made his heart pound and his face flame.
That was when he realized, for the first time, that this was a game he was going to lose.
…
Jack's determined walk into the jungle slowed, step by step, as he turned it all over in his head, replaying it. Sawyer haunting him, his face, his voice, the things he did to Jack. The things he made Jack want to do.
He stopped. Breathed hard as he leaned back against a tree with his eyes closed. Trying to clear his head. Trying to free his body from this arousal. But it was useless.
Jack let the full force of his desire wash over him. He hated Sawyer and he wanted him. Not knowing what to do with that, he kept his eyes closed and his head pressed back against the firm tree as he reached down and unfastened his jeans. Took himself in his hand.
Rough, fast, practical strokes. He didn't have time and didn't want to enjoy it, he just wanted it done. But even as his body shook with the climax of it, it was Sawyer he thought of. And he hated himself for it.
…
Later, he hesitated, again, at the door. Jack didn't know what was going to happen, and that scared him. He wished fleetingly that he'd left it unlocked. If he had, surely Sawyer would be gone and Jack wouldn't have to face him. Wouldn't have to face this. But the lock accepted the key willingly.
Sawyer was standing just inside the door, tearing the bandages off his fingers. The desk was littered with them. He raised his head as though curious to see who would be there, as though it was any surprise to him that it was Jack. He didn't move to let Jack pass, so they stood there for a long moment, eye to eye.
Jack started to say he'd brought Sawyer something, but the feel of Sawyer's hand brushing past his hip stopped him. Except Sawyer wasn't reaching for Jack, but for the door. His hand closed over the handle and Jack expected the other man to spill past him, to finally make his escape. Leave Jack all alone in this room, the tables turned.
But Sawyer pulled the door closed. It bumped against Jack's body, its unyielding surface trapping him as Sawyer leaned in. Sawyer's hair brushed Jack's face as he dropped his head so that his mouth was right up against Jack's ear. "It's time to end this," he whispered, more damp heat than sound but Jack understood it all the same.
In all this time, Jack had never paused to consider what Sawyer might want. He knew somewhere deep down that Sawyer wanted to thwart him at every turn, but Jack had never considered that there might be more. Much more.
Sawyer wanted Jack to hurt him. That's why he provoked him. If Jack knew that hate and love were the same damn thing, then what Sawyer knew was that love was pain. Deep, scarring, emotional pain. Sawyer believed that he was unlovable, but he still had that strongly human desire to make other people feel something toward him. He knew what his choices were: affection, pity, or hatred. He chose the only one he could stand.
So when Jack raised his hand to gently touch Sawyer's face, they both knew it was out of hatred. If Jack had loved Sawyer, he would have made it easy on him. Would have given him what he wanted. But Jack couldn't do that.
Jack caressed him, fingertips moving lightly up and back along his cheekbone, then cupping Sawyer's face in his hand. Sawyer turned into it, eyes closing, lips pressing the faintest kiss into Jack's palm. With a low sound from the back of his throat, half growl and half sigh, Sawyer opened his eyes. Gazing into Jack's, with a desire so potent Jack could feel it flowing through him, tugging at him.
Their lips met, crushing together hard in a struggle for dominance. Sawyer's body slammed hard against his and clung, hips moving against hips, Sawyer's arms slipping underneath Jack's to hold him close and tight.
The kiss never seemed to break, just changed, one kiss morphing into another. Jack's tongue seeking Sawyer's and then Sawyer thrusting back into Jack's mouth. Jack buried his hands in Sawyer's hair, pulling it at first, hard enough to hurt, to get his attention. Sawyer moved into it, like he liked it, like he wanted more, so again Jack gentled his touch.
"Stop it," Sawyer said, low and threatening. His hips ground into Jack's again, putting his weight into it so that Jack had to suck in a sharp breath at the exquisite friction and also the pain of being pushed against the hard, unforgiving surface of the door. "I wanna feel it." He thrust again, fingers digging into the muscles of Jack's arms, teeth sinking into the delicate skin of Jack's neck.
Jack cried out involuntarily and his fingers tightened in Sawyer's hair. Sawyer's cry matched his own, his body going tense, and then he replaced the pain with pleasure. His lips closed over the place where he'd bitten, soothing it away, sucking on Jack's skin with such intensity he could feel the throb deep in his blood.
Then Sawyer broke away. Eyes dark with desire, breath coming fast through parted lips. For a second, Jack thought he was going to say something. That he was going to stop this thing from happening between them. But they both needed this. Needed it to finish, and this was what it had always been about.
Then he took a breath and something within Sawyer relaxed. Sawyer's eyes started to close even before Jack realized he was going to kiss Sawyer again. There was no roughness in it this time, no anger, no fight. He stroked Sawyer with his hands while they kissed, soft, teasing touches. Seducing him. And Sawyer wanted to be seduced.
He responded almost shyly at first. Letting Jack take the lead. It was as though without the fire of rage burning with him, he didn't know what to do. Maybe he genuinely didn't know how to respond to such gentleness. When Jack raked his fingernails down Sawyer's spine, Sawyer tensed again, trembling with the effort of stillness. As though pain was all he recognized. It strengthened Jack's resolve. He wasn't going to fuck Sawyer. That was what Sawyer wanted, because that would make it meaningless and too easy to live with.
Jack was going to make love to him. That was the only way to truly hurt him. But even as Jack had the thought, he knew that wasn't what he wanted. Maybe that would be the end result, and maybe that was what Jack had to tell himself to be able to do this and live with it, because he knew that by trying to fix things he only made them more broken.
Once they lay down together, Sawyer's passion resurfaced. His fingers stopped being tentative, but they also stopped just short of hurting Jack, as they wrapped around his cock confidently. He used his blunt thumbnail with precision, bringing Jack to the fiery edge of torment and holding him there for a long, breathless moment before releasing him, not into bliss but crashing back down as the crest of pleasure subsided into the dull promise of desire.
"Like that," Sawyer whispered, moving his other hand onto Jack's. To show him how he wanted to be touched.
"No," Jack murmured. He kissed Sawyer's shoulder and then his mouth, softly, with great care. Covering Sawyer's body with his, cocks and hands caught between them.
"Just gimme what I want," Sawyer rasped.
"Die first," Jack breathed back against his lips. Sawyer groaned and closed his eyes, as much from Jack's touch between them as from the words. Jack sucked lightly at Sawyer's lower lip and Sawyer groaned again, deeper, more urgently. His hands were at Jack's shoulders now, and then his waist, trying to push him away and pull him closer.
Jack slipped down, kissing his way down Sawyer's jaw and throat. He swirled his tongue against Sawyer's collarbone and skimmed his way down the tanned skin of his chest. Sawyer's hands were still grabbing, seeking Jack, and Jack captured them with his own, interlacing their fingers. He pressed Sawyer's hands against the mattress as his mouth closed over the head of Sawyer's cock. Sawyer's hips bucked and his hands pressed up against Jack's, but Jack had him pinned, overpowered, kneeling over him and holding him down. Jack's tongue encircled Sawyer's engorged tip, tasting him slowly. A ragged sound tore from Sawyer's throat. It took a moment for Jack to recognize it as a word:
"Please."
Sawyer had his head raised up off the bed, eyes fixed on Jack. His entire body quivered. All Jack had to do was move again. One flick of the tongue, one push of his hands against Sawyer's, and this delicate stasis would be upset and Sawyer would come. Jack waited. He waited for it to turn to agony, and he waited for Sawyer to beg him again. He didn't know if Sawyer was asking for it to continue or asking him to stop. He didn't care. Sawyer didn't, either. It was inevitable now, just a question of when.
"Jack." The raw sound of his name made his hands tighten and his mouth slide. Jack's eyes closed and he felt his own body tightening as Sawyer came.
He kept his hands over Sawyer's, though there was no reason to hold him down now, as Jack repositioned himself on the bed. Sawyer's eyes remained closed, his body relaxed now in a way Jack had never seen it. He nuzzled at Sawyer's jaw, rough against his lips.
Sawyer's hands quickly slipped from underneath his, skimming down Jack's chest and lower, like roughened velvet encircling Jack's cock. Jack gasped, so harsh it was almost a scream, and his hands contracted, fists full of the sheets. Sawyer's touch was furious and desperate. His lips were turned up at the corners, amused, but his eyes were pure fire. Jack tried to keep his own eyes open, watching him, but it happened so fast and so intense he couldn't. The world faded away.
When it started to come back, it was with Sawyer's breath, still shallow and shuddery. Jack moved against him, shifting his weight off, onto one elbow. Watching him. The fire had faded, and there was something vulnerable now reflecting back at Jack. His mouth moved tentatively, like he couldn't quite figure out what to say or do now. Jack put his hand against Sawyer's forehead, stroking his hair back and sliding the back of his other hand down Sawyer's cheek, finding the soft spot under his jaw where his pulse still raced. Sawyer closed his eyes against the touch.
"Wish you'd hurt me." Sawyer's voice was raw.
"I know," Jack sighed. He nestled his body carefully against Sawyer's, only to be surprised when Sawyer's arms tightened around him.
…
In the end, Jack feigned sleep until Sawyer was gone. It was the coward's way, but this entire thing had been cowardly and wrong. Holding Sawyer prisoner, trying to bend him to Jack's will. He'd pay for it, he knew.
He walked so slowly through the jungle back to the caves that night fell along the way. Jack dawdled, stopping so many times to look up at the dark, unfamiliar sky that he thought he almost wanted the thing to swoop down and grab him and end this.
It had been about fixing Sawyer after all. Just like everything else in Jack's life. He hadn't realized it when it began, but he knew it now, so strongly he could smell it, acrid and bitter, and feel it festering against his skin. And while he'd been able to escape that pain and that guilt in real life by throwing himself into work, into running, into the bottle, he knew there were no such escapes on the island. Only the everyday business of survival.
The caves were silent when he reached them. Days here were so full that everyone slept early and soundly. Jack didn't think he'd be able to sleep, but when he lay down he found his eyes closed easily and the world faded away, at least for a little while.
It was there in the morning. Propped up in one corner of his cave as though it had always been there. A brown leather suitcase, scorched on one side. But it hadn't always been there. It hadn't been there last night even. Jack knew instantly where it had come from, even before he slid back the zipper to reveal its bounty of everyday items. Sunscreen and towels, diapers and small makeup kits overflowing with sponges and tweezers and band-aids. Nothing astounding, nothing he couldn't live without, but it would help.
As he inspected this bounty, he felt someone walk into the cave. He knew who, and let his head drop between his shoulders. He couldn't stand this. He turned his head, but it took him a moment to be able to raise his eyes and look at Sawyer.
He was standing there with his hands outstretched but loose. Not grabbing for something. Asking. "Fix 'em up?" Then he added as an afterthought, "Please."
It was a moment before Jack found his voice. But there was no question in his mind of what his answer would be. "Of course," he said, and met Sawyer's eyes. His hair was hanging down in them, and he looked as contrite as Jack felt. "Of course," Jack echoed again gently, twining his fingers with Sawyer's, holding his hands.
End.
Warnings: Some mentions of season 2 items and people. NC-17 slash with some violence.
Summary: Jack goes too far in his efforts to teach Sawyer a lesson.
Author's notes: Written for Zelda_zee's lostvalentines request, which was: “NC-17 slash, Sawyer/Jack, surprise me with the rest.” Also using for fanfic100 prompt #22, Enemies.
Special thanks to: alliecat8, halfdutch, and zenana7 for beta reading. Thanks also to lunadatura for running lostvalentines. And thanks, of course, to William Shakespeare.
Taming
by eponine119
He knew Sawyer was back to his old self when things started disappearing. Mostly from the hatch and mostly small things, the sort he could slip into his pocket unnoticed, but not always.
It made people tense and guarded. Ana Lucia dragged the damn radio with her everywhere she went now. She protected it, even though she wouldn't let anyone else use it. Sawyer seemed to enjoy the glares he got.
Jack had other things to worry about, so he ignored it as best he could. Until Kate came to him on the beach one day with something pleading in her eyes. "You have to do something about this, Jack," she said, her voice soft as though she was afraid of being overheard. She touched his hand lightly. "Not just for his safety." Her eyes darted away from his, down the beach, to where Mr. Eko and Ana Lucia were having a heated conversation.
Then Kate was gone, walking away fast like she didn't want to be seen. Ana's eyes burned across the beach, fixed on Jack. He knew she resented his leadership. He also knew he was barely holding onto it. These people, who'd once turned to him out of desperation and respect, now only came to him out of habit.
A plan tumbled quickly into place in his mind. If he dealt with the Sawyer problem, he might get their confidence back.
So he tossed some things into his backpack and walked over to Sawyer's shelter. Sawyer was sprawled out, sleeping as usual. A paperback lay a few inches from his fingers, as though he'd dropped it when he drifted off. As Jack studied him, Sawyer's eyes opened slowly, and when he saw Jack staring at him, he started to smile.
Jack picked up Sawyer's shirt and tossed it to him. "Get dressed. You're coming with me."
Sawyer made no move to dress. "Oh really," he said.
Jack nodded once, a tight movement of his head. "Salvage expedition." Somehow he had the feeling Sawyer would find that irresistible.
"Why didn't you say so?" Sawyer asked, shrugging into his shirt. Then he got to his feet. As though he'd miscalculated, he was standing too close to Jack. They were nose to nose, close enough for Jack to feel the heat radiating off Sawyer's body. If Jack moved a fraction of an inch, they'd be touching. But this was a test, so he didn't move. "Let's go," Sawyer said, with fire burning in his eyes as he walked out of the shelter.
Jack lead as they left the beach. He walked quickly, almost running. Soon the only sound within the blanket of trees was that of Sawyer's harsh breathing, echoed only slightly more softly by Jack's own. "Why'd you pick me?" Sawyer asked.
"This is right up your alley. Isn't it, Sawyer?" He turned and looked at Sawyer hard, eyes searching for some sign of guilt or remorse. What he really wanted was an explanation, or an apology, although he knew better than to think he'd get either.
"Nothin' on this island is ours," Sawyer pointed out. "You take what you need, same as I do."
"I also give it out freely to anyone who needs it," Jack said.
"It ain't free," Sawyer said. "You get what you need in return."
"Oh yeah?" Jack asked. "What'd I get for the antibiotics I gave you for your arm?"
"Power," Sawyer replied, and brushed past Jack. The trail crested up, and Sawyer stopped suddenly. "What in the name of --" he breathed, awed, and turned back to look at Jack. "Where'd this come from?"
"Who knows," Jack replied, standing up on the ridge with him, overlooking the ship.
"The Black Rock," Sawyer said, reading the name. Then he back looked at Jack. "And there's stuff in there?"
"Yes," Jack replied, but Sawyer was already skittering down to the ship. Jack followed him more slowly, taking in details. The box they'd carried out of the ship's hold was gone now. That meant the Others had taken it.
Sawyer whooped excitedly as he went inside. "This whole island's like a fucking theme park," he said to Jack, eyes glowing as his flashlight caught them. "First 70s-bizarro-world in the hatch and now a real live pirate ship."
"Slave ship," Jack corrected. The room was bare. The Others had taken not just the dynamite, but the skeletons that had been in chains. Cold trickled down Jack's spine as he had to wonder why.
"What're we looking for, doc?" Sawyer asked, moving into the next chamber.
"Anything useful," Jack replied, but his voice sounded hollow. A key had been left in the lock of the door to that room. He could push it closed and trap Sawyer inside. It would solve the greatest of his problems. Except it turned Jack's stomach to think of it. He couldn't kill Sawyer. He couldn't go back without him. It was Sawyer's reformation that would redeem Jack in the eyes of the other survivors, not his murder.
Jack slipped the key into his pocket anyway, then he stepped into the room. There was a low, narrow bed in the corner and a small desk strewn with maps. The time period was different, but in some ways it looked no different from the hatch: a self-contained unit in which someone could spend an endless amount of time.
Jack sat down on the bed and watched Sawyer as he looked through the papers on the desk and then began methodically poking through the drawers. He stopped suddenly and looked back at Jack. There was a scowl of realization on his face. Sawyer made it so easy sometimes to believe that he was stupid that sometimes Jack forgot it wasn't true. "Maybe we oughta head back," Sawyer said, but he'd figured it out.
"We aren't going back," Jack said. "Not just yet."
"Why'd you really bring me out here?" His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"To teach you a lesson," Jack said, in a voice so tightly controlled it barely rose above a whisper. He stood, knowing that when he did, Sawyer would lunge at him. Jack knocked him out cold. There was barely enough space in the tiny room for him to fall.
…
Jack sat in the small chair near the desk. One of the drawers was still hanging out from Sawyer's ravaging through it, and he stared at it, trying to concentrate his rage. One addition had been made to the desk's untidy surface. Manacles from the other room. They lay open, the heavy metal as threatening as a bear trap. He wouldn't use them unless he had to.
A groan heralded Sawyer's return to consciousness, and Jack's body tensed. "What do you think I need punishing for?" Sawyer asked in a low voice.
"Stealing." Jack said.
"Undermining your authority." Sawyer spoke as though Jack hadn't and he was answering his own question. "I get under your skin and you just can't stand it." He got to his feet but Jack was between him and the door. "I'm going back."
"You'll never find the way," Jack said. "Even if you did, that thing is still out there."
"Monsters," Sawyer scoffed, like he didn't believe in them. "How're you gonna teach me this lesson?" His gaze rested on the shackles on the desk.
Jack realized he hadn't thought this through. Adrenaline had gotten him here, but he hadn't considered what he'd do with Sawyer now. "You're going to tell me the location of every single secret stash you've established on the island," Jack said.
"Make me," Sawyer challenged. Jack said nothing. "B'sides," Sawyer said. "Even if I did tell you, how'd you know it was the truth? Minute you go check, I'm gone."
Jack set the key deliberately on the desk. "It only works from the outside," he said. He let Sawyer look at the key for a moment before he tucked it away again. "You'll stay here while I check."
"I'm not telling you anything," Sawyer said, and his eyes were wild.
"We don't have to do this the hard way, Sawyer," Jack said calmly.
"Yeah. We do," Sawyer replied. He liked the hard way better. He shifted his head to make his hair flutter down into his eyes. Smiling, like he wanted Jack to hurt him. But Jack must have waited too long, because Sawyer said, "You don't have what it takes."
Jack reacted instantly. He slammed Sawyer against the wall. His head hit it with a dull thud. Sawyer exhaled and then moved his head forward, his forehead striking Jack's, hard enough to daze him. Sawyer blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision, as he swung at Jack. The blow glanced off Jack's cheekbone, sending a shooting pulse of pain through his eye. Jack channeled that pain into a punch to Sawyer's mostly healed arm, and Sawyer howled. Jack got in another blow to Sawyer's stomach, which brought him down to his knees. Then Jack reached for the shackles.
"Don't." There was an abruptness to Sawyer's cry that made Jack stop. "Please."
The please tore him up inside. Sawyer didn't think Jack had what it took, and Jack knew deep in his heart that he was right. That's why Jack had no choice but to fasten them around Sawyer's wrists, pulling the chains tight.
He expected Sawyer to pull himself up again. But Sawyer just lay there on the floor, body stiff with rage and violated pride. "Just tell me," Jack said, his voice gentle. He still held Sawyer's arms in his hands, his fingers sliding easily between the knobs of Sawyer's wrists and the rough metal shackles.
"Ain't telling you anything," he said. He looked at Jack with eyes that had lost their fire and life.
It was the look in his eyes that got to Jack. Made him drop the heavy iron and back away. It frightened him that Sawyer could be so easily broken; and yet at the same time this had only increased Sawyer's stubbornness. Jack had no reason not to believe him when he said he wouldn't tell. But that meant Jack would have to back down if they were ever going to get out of here, and Jack refused.
They were at an impasse.
Jack slipped out into the other room, to give Sawyer time to change his mind. He didn't lock the door, and Sawyer didn't try to escape.
…
Sawyer slept for awhile after Jack returned, and Jack watched him. His scowl faded when he slept, the creases fading, leaving him unguarded. His cheeks looked soft, almost vulnerable in contrast to the hard planes of his forehead, nose and chin. And Sawyer was a sensual sleeper, given over completely to his dreams. His hands rubbed against his thighs and soft noises slipped from his throat, not moans or cries, just the pleasure and satisfaction of sleep itself.
He opened his eyes and found Jack watching him. Jack felt heat rush into his face, but he didn't look away. Looking away would be an admission of guilt, and he had nothing to be guilty about.
Sawyer smacked his lips, and raised his bound hands to rub them, then to brush back his hair. He paused a moment to study the antique handcuffs, hair tumbling back into his eyes. He tested the strength of the chain and its length. "You plannin' on feeding me?" he asked, eyes meeting Jack's.
"No," Jack replied, feeling his own gut clench with hunger. He had some fruit in his backpack, but not much. Better to save it, in case Sawyer's stubborn will held out. He was used to this gnawing hunger. Then again, so was Sawyer. They were all starving here on the island.
"You're going to get tired," Sawyer said, smiling a little. He'd slept, but Jack hadn't. Then again, Jack had the key. He toyed with it now, reminding Sawyer he could lock him in here and leave him. Sawyer's eyes darkened: message received. "Least you could do is talk to me. I'm gettin' bored here, doc."
Jack nodded. Still feeling the fire in his belly. "There was food in the hatch. Anybody tell you that?" Sawyer's eyes narrowed. "It wouldn't have lasted, so we had a feast. Ate it all." Jack sighed, thinking about it. How he'd been full. The one time in forty-odd days he'd actually been satisfied. His tongue darted over his lips, watching Sawyer carefully. "It was so good. Cereal, and peanut butter, and chocolate. Mashed potatoes. The instant kind, made with milk so they were light and fluffy." He could practically taste it again.
"You have an orgy afterward?" Sawyer asked, sarcastic. Jack raised his eyebrows. The food had been their orgy. A man could live without sex, but he'd die without food. "Things've been a little tense between you'n Freckles lately. Figure that'd be the logical explanation."
Jack remembered sitting next to Kate that night. Firelight making her eyes sparkle, picking up the plump moistness of her lips. Eating off her plate and listening to her laugh. But they hadn't done anything that night. That night the food was enough. Of course he'd kissed her later on, discovered just how sweet she tasted, but that wasn't something he'd admit to Sawyer. Sawyer had kissed her too. He knew. The food, that primal night, was something Sawyer would never have.
"That why you've been worse than usual, Sawyer?" Jack inquired. "Jealous we had an orgy and didn't invite you?"
Sawyer shrugged like he didn't care, but his nostrils flared. "You think I'd care?" he asked carefully, in a low voice. "I found one of those chocolate bars you seem to think was so precious. I didn't miss nothin'."
Jack knew if Sawyer really had found a candy bar, he would have put it away. Something to be traded at a later date. Same as everything else Sawyer found and took. He realized now that Sawyer's sexual aggression, the relentless way he pursued Kate, was also something he was saving, to be used later when the time was right.
"You wanna tell me why you're so desperate for my company all of a sudden?" Sawyer asked, staring at Jack. "What it is you think you're punishing me for?"
"You know," Jack said.
"Humor me," Sawyer said, with a flash of smile. Jack refused. "You just wanted to be alone with me, that it, doc?" He reached out, somehow suddenly within arm's reach, and Jack slapped his hand away. He thought he saw a flash of hurt in Sawyer's eyes, but that was impossible.
"Why would I want that?" Jack demanded.
"You know you love me," Sawyer teased, his dimples showing but his voice low and dangerous.
"You're disgusting," Jack replied. He got to his feet, feeling his anger surge. He felt a strange satisfaction in the way Sawyer cringed back away from him. Jack's hand closed around the key, and he turned his back on Sawyer. The sound of the door closing behind him was almost final.
The quiet click of the key made Jack's heart race. He stood there for a moment, body tense, fighting the urge to push the key back in and unlock the door, but he stood his ground. He was tired and he was hungry and he wasn't going to give Sawyer the satisfaction. Solitary confinement worked, didn't it? This would bring things to a much quicker conclusion.
He heard the sound of Sawyer's body slam against the door. The door didn't budge. It was an old ship, solidly constructed. Jack took a step back, holding his breath. Waiting for the sound to come again. Instead he heard the loud, angry hammering of fists. "Jack!" Sawyer bellowed, and Jack knew he wouldn't open that door again now for anything. Sawyer would kill him. Somehow he hadn't bargained on that, but now he knew it as surely as he knew anything. Sawyer would rip him to shreds with his fingers. Even if it wasn't possible, Sawyer would do it. It was that kind of rage in his voice.
More pounding. Feet and fists this time. "Jack!" Sawyer screamed again, his voice thick and raw. Pain, Jack thought. He'd flung himself at the door hard enough to hurt himself. Jack moved closer, but stopped short with the key still in his pocket. This was what he wanted.
"It's so dark." Sawyer's voice was low, not meant to be heard. It sent chills down Jack's spine, and he fled. Out of the ship, into the oppressive heat and sunlight. He didn't want to hear anymore.
…
He waited as long as he could. Determined that every minute that ticked by, agonizingly slow for him, would pass even more slowly for Sawyer, locked up, in the dark. Jack sat outside until he couldn’t stand it anymore, the heat and the sunshine. Then he crept back into the ship. He tried to eat but the fruit turned to sour mush in his mouth that he couldn't manage to swallow.
He explored the ship, trying to take his mind off Sawyer. It didn't work. He kept thinking that Sawyer would hear his footsteps overhead and know that Jack was weak. He kept hearing Sawyer's voice in his head.
He crept into the room where the dynamite had been, the one with the locked door. His palms were sweating as he withdrew the key from the pocket of his jeans. Jack stood there, trying to quiet his racing heart. Sawyer would attack him the moment this door opened. He had to be ready.
He put the key into the lock, and listened. Silence. He felt a twinge of worry. Pushed it away as he turned the key. The door opened, swinging just a fraction of an inch with the release of the tension from the lock. It didn't move again until Jack pulled it open.
He almost didn't want to look. Somehow in his mind he'd built up his fear, and he was expecting to see something out of Edgar Allen Poe, Sawyer dead of fright or something equally ridiculous. Jack raised his eyes and let out a sigh when he saw that Sawyer was fine. He was sitting on the bed, a closed book clutched between his hands, blinking in the sudden brightness of Jack's light.
"Are you ready to talk?" Jack asked. Still feeling the whisper of fear down his spine, remembering Sawyer's voice through the door.
Sawyer pressed his lips together. Shook his head. Not meeting Jack's eyes. It was a subservient posture, completely at odds with the words he practically spat out. "I'll never tell you."
Jack felt his anger flare. It was a relief. He crossed the room in two strides and put his hands on the book. "You get much reading done in the dark, Sawyer?" he demanded. Determined to pull the book away. Sawyer held it fast, hands clenched. He snarled as Jack fought him. If this item had comforted him, Jack was determined to have it. Jack put one knee on the bed to get leverage, pulling harder on the book, but Sawyer wouldn't let go.
They struggled over it. Their bodies were close, both men sweating and grunting and they fought. Sawyer's feet scrabbled against the bed and Jack put his weight into it. Finally it dawned on him to take his hands off the book. As Sawyer jerked back at the loss of the counterweight, Jack grabbed the manacles securing his wrists and forced them up. The book clunked to the floor, but Jack didn't grab for it. He pinned Sawyer back against the bed, chest heaving with the effort. He could feel Sawyer's body bucking beneath him with the same rapid intake of breath.
Then he saw the condition of Sawyer's hands. The striking surface of his fists, from small finger down to wrists, were bruised. His knuckles were scraped raw. His nails were broken and torn and bloody. Sawyer had fought to get out. He'd given it everything he had. Jack sat back, holding Sawyer's fingers, staring in horror. Feeling what he'd done.
Jack pulled away. He picked up the book and set it on the desk, unable not to notice the blood staining its cover. He reached for his backpack, for the antiseptic and bandages he'd packed. The fact of his packing them betraying that he'd expected to hurt Sawyer. Having retrieved the items, he approached Sawyer again, but the other man pulled his hands away.
"Don't," he said to Jack.
Jack tried again, reaching for him. Sawyer struck out with his foot, catching Jack in the stomach. Acid roared up into his mouth with the blossom of pain that doubled him over. But even in the moments where the pain filled Jack's senses, Sawyer made no move for the door.
But Jack did, when he could stand. He walked through it and slammed it behind him, then sank to the floor on the other side, hugging his knees. This time there were no impacts to the door, no overheard words. When Jack got his breath back, he started walking.
Sawyer brought this on himself. All he had to do was confess, and then he'd be free. It was so simple, except with Sawyer even the simple things were complex.
…
In the morning, Jack went back. He felt the same fear when he stood outside the door with the key in the lock. "Are you ready to talk?" he asked as he stepped inside the small room.
"I'll die first," Sawyer said. There was no passion behind his words. He sounded bored. Like this entire thing was just a childish exercise, that he was indulging Jack with. As though he, the prisoner, had all of the power here.
The realization hit Jack hard. Sawyer did have all of the power here. As long as he refused, as long as he endured, Jack would have to keep coming back here. Jack would have to keep torturing him, keep hitting him, keep begging for an answer. Jack might be his jailer and Jack might have the key, but Sawyer was in control.
No wonder he was so calm, Jack thought, watching Sawyer sit quietly. Jack couldn't sit still. He itched to do something for Sawyer's injured hands. His heart raced and his stomach ached. It didn't bother Sawyer one bit to endure punishment, but it killed Jack to punish.
Jack's instinct was to leave again. To close the door behind him and wait for time to work its magic. Sawyer couldn't stay calm forever. No one could. Eventually the desperation of his survival instinct would kick in. But Jack couldn't wait that long.
He had to find a way to make Sawyer talk. If Sawyer could stand this, Jack had to find something he couldn't endure.
Jack gave in to the instinct to dress Sawyer's hands. Every minute he waited was an invitation for infection, yet more medicine and care that would eventually be wasted on Sawyer. The bandages and antiseptic were sitting on the desk rather than where they'd fallen the night before. The cap on the antiseptic was loose. Sawyer had tried to care for his own wounds.
Now Jack saw other things in the room had changed. He'd left his pack, and Sawyer had gone through it. Jack seized it up now, dumping its contents onto the desk. The fruit was missing several bites. The water had been drunk. And the last item to fall out was a flashlight, which struck the floor and rolled.
Jack looked accusingly at Sawyer. "Take that shit with you next time," Sawyer said. "Wouldn't want me to enjoy this."
Jack grabbed the antiseptic and bandages and crossed the room with them. This time he was mindful of where Sawyer's limbs were and kept out of harm's way. But Sawyer didn't fight. Any sign that he wanted out would have been a break in his façade. For it to be punishment, Sawyer had to not want it. Deciding to want it, or not mind it, further stole away Jack's power.
Jack held Sawyer's hands in his. No matter how much control Sawyer possessed, he couldn't repress the flinch when the cool sting of alcohol touched his raw flesh. He let out a hiss of breath. Jack gentled his touch, dabbing at the wounds as lightly as possible. It was habit to make things hurt as little as possible.
"I can take it, doc," Sawyer said. "Whyn't you see if you can make me scream? You'd like that."
Of course Sawyer wouldn't scream. Sawyer had made it clear he wouldn't let Jack get any satisfaction out of this. Which is why he said it. To taunt him. But it was giving Jack another idea.
Jack hadn't been the most popular kid in school. He did okay mostly, but there'd been a few run-ins with bullies along the way. He knew all they wanted was a reaction. He watched them torment Marc Silverman for years, because Marc reacted. He never did what Jack did, which was shrug and walk away.
Now Jack was the one who wanted a reaction. He wanted Sawyer to tell him where the food and supplies and medicine had gone, but more than that he wanted to win. He wouldn't, because Sawyer knew the secret. He'd been the bully in his playground since the day of the crash. Of course he knew how it worked.
"C'mon, doc," Sawyer taunted. "Now's your chance."
It worked. Jack wanted to hit him. So he focused on the red blotches in front of him, turning the problem over in his mind. For some reason he kept seeing his dad's face. He'd known the bullies were only ridiculing him to try to hurt his feelings, which meant they didn't mean it. His father, though…his father had spoken to him in a soft, caring voice. He'd put his hand on Jack's shoulder or ruffle his hair. The things he said, he said for Jack's own good. Because he loved him, because he wanted the best for him. Which meant that they hurt more than any bully's insults ever could.
To the point where Jack couldn't stand it. He'd do anything to get the old man off his back, because it hurt too much.
The key to pain was love.
He looked up from his work, into Sawyer's face. Sawyer's eyes were on his hands, watching what Jack was doing. Jack felt a moment of pure panic, wondering what to do with this information. Sawyer sensed this change and met Jack's eyes.
Jack remembered his father telling him once that hate and love were the exact same thing. It was the power to inspire such a strong emotion in someone else that mattered. Jack had dismissed it at the time, thinking it was another one of his dad's drunken excuses, a way to turn Jack's bitter words into something he'd never meant for them to be.
Jack's hands tightened on Sawyer's. Sawyer blinked, but didn't look away. He seemed to be holding his breath. Waiting to see what Jack would do.
Jack pulled away. He walked out of the tiny room, shutting the door swiftly behind him.
"Hey! You forgot to take the light," Sawyer called after him. He was so good at taking it, he wanted to be tormented more.
Or he couldn't stand even an accidental kindness.
Jack had to think about this.
…
Jack was getting tired of this coming and going. He listened at the door for a moment before he opened it. Steeling himself. This wasn't going to be easy, because it was psychological warfare and he was up against a master.
Sawyer was sprawled out on the bed, with his arms lying against his chest in an oddly protective posture. Jack sat down in the chair, facing him. Now that he was here, his heart was thudding unevenly. He wasn't sure he could do this.
"I'm sorry," Jack said quietly.
"Don't back down now, doc," Sawyer said, fixing him with that intense stare. "We're just getting started."
Jack nodded, staring back mildly at Sawyer. After a few moments, he saw Sawyer's expression change. His discomfort at being watched by Jack was evident. He shifted in the bed, finally tearing his eyes away to stare down at the floor.
So Jack moved closer. He got up from the chair and sat down on the bed. His body sank into it a little, just on the edge of the bed, the way his father used to when he was a boy, and it was warm from Sawyer's body. Jack wondered with a swift and sudden pain whether his father had set out intentionally to make Jack hate him, or if that had just happened along the way.
He reached for Sawyer's hands. Sawyer jerked them away. His breaths were coming short and fast, like he was afraid of Jack. He couldn't disguise that. Jack covered Sawyer's hands with his own, drawing them into his own space. He rubbed Sawyer's palms lightly with his fingertips as he visually examined the scrapes and cuts on the tops of Sawyer's hands, testing one with his thumb, finding it rough and scabbed.
He worked his way up the battered outsides of Sawyer's hands to his wrists. They were raw where the shackles rested against his skin. Jack frowned, and Sawyer sucked in a sharp breath as he jostled the metal against his wrists. It took a moment for Jack to find the catch. He could feel the agony radiating off of Sawyer before the iron bands opened, setting him free.
"I don't think we need these anymore," Jack said gently. He backed away, rising from the bed with the manacles in his hands. The door was open behind him. It would only take a second for Sawyer to grab his freedom. Jack's heart was still going erratically, because he expected Sawyer to turn on him. To fasten the cuffs around Jack's wrists with a snarl and then…what? Beat him to death with the chair, probably. Jack could almost feel the blows, but then he blinked, coming back to reality.
The reality was that Sawyer's eyebrows were drawn low, scowling so hard it made his face inhuman. But his eyes were bright and confused, and he was looking at Jack like Jack was his whole world.
It twisted Jack's stomach unexpectedly. He made himself sick. Did he want revenge so badly that this would be worth it? Did he really want to break another human being, to destroy his will, just for the satisfaction of having done it? So Sawyer was willful and stubborn and a thief. So what?
But it had gone too far for Jack to back down now.
Their eyes remained locked, even as Jack dug through his backpack. He had island medicine -- squares of cloth soaked in aloe and sealed up into a Ziploc bag. He withdrew one now and moved in again, holding Sawyer's hand in his as he dabbed at the raw places on his wrist. Sawyer's breathing still came harsh and fast, and his body was rigid, but he let Jack clean him up. Maybe he was used to it by now -- Jack had spent enough hours on this island ministering to him. Or maybe his wounds hurt that much, that he could stand the emotional agony of Jack touching him if it would make the physical pain go away.
Jack wanted to ask, but couldn't. If he'd found a way to phrase it -- an insult to hurl -- he might have done it. But Sawyer was strangely silent, and Jack let him be.
After soothing Sawyer's wrists and hands, Jack lifted an unused corner of the cloth to Sawyer's face. That was all it took to get Sawyer to finally pull away. His head jerked back from Jack's touch, but his eyes still burned. Jack stared back, suddenly aware that his own breathing was just as short and ragged as Sawyer's. He tried again, pressing the cloth against Sawyer's skin, and this time he let him.
Jack washed Sawyer's face gently. He felt something hot and strange swoop through him at the intimacy of it, as Sawyer's eyes sank closed and he let out a deep sigh. Sawyer's eyelashes were long and surprisingly light, matching the streaks of gold in his hair. Jack's hand trembled in spite of himself as he brushed Sawyer's hair back now. He'd meant it to be a practical move, to get it out of the way, but there was nothing practical to the way Jack's fingers stroked through the length of it. It was the way he'd touch a lover.
Sawyer opened his eyes like he knew that. He blinked, eyes slightly unfocused at Jack's nearness, and Jack saw something so beautiful in their blue-green depths that it startled him. His hands fell away from Sawyer's face. The blunt ends of his hair swung back down to obscure his eyes, and Sawyer drew in a deep breath, inhaling the light residue of aloe on his skin.
Jack withdrew, but Sawyer's hand caught him by the wrist, tight enough to hold him there. He tipped his head as he looked at Jack. "Am I supposed to be afraid of you? Or are you afraid of me now, doc?" His voice was low and the dimple tugging at his cheek was teasing and amused.
"No one's afraid of anyone," Jack said. "I'm just getting some bandages."
He got halfway up before Sawyer reeled him in again. This time his fingers closed tighter, almost threatening. "If this is a game, I don't want to play."
Jack didn't blink. "You're the one who plays games. Not me."
Sawyer's lips curled with disgust, and he dropped Jack's hand. Jack didn't move. "So you've discovered there's more than one kind of torture." Now he wouldn't meet Jack's eyes. He sighed, and added, "Figures."
"This was never about torture," Jack said. Once he was out of Sawyer's orbit, he could breathe again. He took extra care selecting which bandages he wanted, stealing a few clear headed moments.
"Not about torture, he says," Sawyer mocked. Jack moved in again, unwinding the roll of gauze. "I suppose you locked me up in here for some other reason then. Keep me for yourself."
"Now you just sound crazy," Jack said dismissively. What did that even mean? Keep Sawyer for himself for what? But Jack knew. Deep in his gut he knew. Could feel the fire burning. Hate and love were the same damn thing on some primal level. His father hadn't been wrong. He wrapped Sawyer's fingers, and when he finished Sawyer examined them.
"You seen Van Halen there, his hands all taped up the day we crashed?" Sawyer said. "You know why?"
Jack shrugged. "Figured it was a musician thing."
Sawyer shook his head. He made a back and forth motion with his loose fist. "Guess you never tried it, doc. Or you'd know it makes the friction intense." His voice was warm and smooth as whiskey, and he locked eyes with Jack again.
"I'll have to try that sometime," Jack said, making the words as meaningless as he could to be able to get them out at all. They still came out stiff and wooden and awkward.
Sawyer laughed. "Yeah, you do that, hero." The laughter which sounded so real must have been hollow; there was no amusement in his voice.
"Here," Jack said, returning with a bottle of water. He held it out to Sawyer, who eyed him with disbelief.
"You tryin' to make up for what you've done?" Sawyer asked. Not reaching for the bottle.
"If I said yes, would you drink it?" Jack asked. Genuinely uncertain. Sawyer had thrown him, whether Jack wanted to admit it or not. Otherwise Jack would have stayed with his original plan. Made Sawyer believe somehow that he couldn't have the water, which would have guaranteed he'd drink it. Offering it to him was a mistake.
"If you said yes, I'd figure you poisoned it, so you better say no," Sawyer said. "Cause I'm thirsty." Before Jack could reply either way, Sawyer opened the bottle and drank it. Jack watched his throat working as he swallowed repeatedly, draining the bottle so rapidly he gasped for air when he was finished. Then he threw the bottle at Jack as though they were playing a game here. "I know you just want me alive for more fun 'n games later."
Jack nodded slowly, as though that was exactly it. Maybe that was it. He was the one getting confused here. He picked up the bottle with careful fingers, then retrieved its cap, twisting it more tightly than necessary. He put it into his backpack and Sawyer let out a groan of mock disappointment. "Leaving so soon?" No matter how playful his voice, his eyes remained dark.
It was a moment before Jack nodded. "Unless you tell me what I want to know."
"I'd --"
"Die first," Jack finished for him. "I remember."
Sawyer nodded. He wrapped one arm around his chest, but then held up the other hand, checking out Jack's handiwork. "You sure you don't wanna find out how good it feels?" As though he was really offering. As though Jack might take him up on it. As though that was why they were there.
But it made Jack breathless, and he struggled not to let it show. "No," he said. Then he turned away fast, thinking of lab animals locked up in cages, how the chimpanzees would masturbate as an openly threatening gesture of aggression.
"Liar," Sawyer chuckled, low, and it made Jack slam the door hard behind him. He tried to believe it was the loud sound and force of it that made his heart pound and his face flame.
That was when he realized, for the first time, that this was a game he was going to lose.
…
Jack's determined walk into the jungle slowed, step by step, as he turned it all over in his head, replaying it. Sawyer haunting him, his face, his voice, the things he did to Jack. The things he made Jack want to do.
He stopped. Breathed hard as he leaned back against a tree with his eyes closed. Trying to clear his head. Trying to free his body from this arousal. But it was useless.
Jack let the full force of his desire wash over him. He hated Sawyer and he wanted him. Not knowing what to do with that, he kept his eyes closed and his head pressed back against the firm tree as he reached down and unfastened his jeans. Took himself in his hand.
Rough, fast, practical strokes. He didn't have time and didn't want to enjoy it, he just wanted it done. But even as his body shook with the climax of it, it was Sawyer he thought of. And he hated himself for it.
…
Later, he hesitated, again, at the door. Jack didn't know what was going to happen, and that scared him. He wished fleetingly that he'd left it unlocked. If he had, surely Sawyer would be gone and Jack wouldn't have to face him. Wouldn't have to face this. But the lock accepted the key willingly.
Sawyer was standing just inside the door, tearing the bandages off his fingers. The desk was littered with them. He raised his head as though curious to see who would be there, as though it was any surprise to him that it was Jack. He didn't move to let Jack pass, so they stood there for a long moment, eye to eye.
Jack started to say he'd brought Sawyer something, but the feel of Sawyer's hand brushing past his hip stopped him. Except Sawyer wasn't reaching for Jack, but for the door. His hand closed over the handle and Jack expected the other man to spill past him, to finally make his escape. Leave Jack all alone in this room, the tables turned.
But Sawyer pulled the door closed. It bumped against Jack's body, its unyielding surface trapping him as Sawyer leaned in. Sawyer's hair brushed Jack's face as he dropped his head so that his mouth was right up against Jack's ear. "It's time to end this," he whispered, more damp heat than sound but Jack understood it all the same.
In all this time, Jack had never paused to consider what Sawyer might want. He knew somewhere deep down that Sawyer wanted to thwart him at every turn, but Jack had never considered that there might be more. Much more.
Sawyer wanted Jack to hurt him. That's why he provoked him. If Jack knew that hate and love were the same damn thing, then what Sawyer knew was that love was pain. Deep, scarring, emotional pain. Sawyer believed that he was unlovable, but he still had that strongly human desire to make other people feel something toward him. He knew what his choices were: affection, pity, or hatred. He chose the only one he could stand.
So when Jack raised his hand to gently touch Sawyer's face, they both knew it was out of hatred. If Jack had loved Sawyer, he would have made it easy on him. Would have given him what he wanted. But Jack couldn't do that.
Jack caressed him, fingertips moving lightly up and back along his cheekbone, then cupping Sawyer's face in his hand. Sawyer turned into it, eyes closing, lips pressing the faintest kiss into Jack's palm. With a low sound from the back of his throat, half growl and half sigh, Sawyer opened his eyes. Gazing into Jack's, with a desire so potent Jack could feel it flowing through him, tugging at him.
Their lips met, crushing together hard in a struggle for dominance. Sawyer's body slammed hard against his and clung, hips moving against hips, Sawyer's arms slipping underneath Jack's to hold him close and tight.
The kiss never seemed to break, just changed, one kiss morphing into another. Jack's tongue seeking Sawyer's and then Sawyer thrusting back into Jack's mouth. Jack buried his hands in Sawyer's hair, pulling it at first, hard enough to hurt, to get his attention. Sawyer moved into it, like he liked it, like he wanted more, so again Jack gentled his touch.
"Stop it," Sawyer said, low and threatening. His hips ground into Jack's again, putting his weight into it so that Jack had to suck in a sharp breath at the exquisite friction and also the pain of being pushed against the hard, unforgiving surface of the door. "I wanna feel it." He thrust again, fingers digging into the muscles of Jack's arms, teeth sinking into the delicate skin of Jack's neck.
Jack cried out involuntarily and his fingers tightened in Sawyer's hair. Sawyer's cry matched his own, his body going tense, and then he replaced the pain with pleasure. His lips closed over the place where he'd bitten, soothing it away, sucking on Jack's skin with such intensity he could feel the throb deep in his blood.
Then Sawyer broke away. Eyes dark with desire, breath coming fast through parted lips. For a second, Jack thought he was going to say something. That he was going to stop this thing from happening between them. But they both needed this. Needed it to finish, and this was what it had always been about.
Then he took a breath and something within Sawyer relaxed. Sawyer's eyes started to close even before Jack realized he was going to kiss Sawyer again. There was no roughness in it this time, no anger, no fight. He stroked Sawyer with his hands while they kissed, soft, teasing touches. Seducing him. And Sawyer wanted to be seduced.
He responded almost shyly at first. Letting Jack take the lead. It was as though without the fire of rage burning with him, he didn't know what to do. Maybe he genuinely didn't know how to respond to such gentleness. When Jack raked his fingernails down Sawyer's spine, Sawyer tensed again, trembling with the effort of stillness. As though pain was all he recognized. It strengthened Jack's resolve. He wasn't going to fuck Sawyer. That was what Sawyer wanted, because that would make it meaningless and too easy to live with.
Jack was going to make love to him. That was the only way to truly hurt him. But even as Jack had the thought, he knew that wasn't what he wanted. Maybe that would be the end result, and maybe that was what Jack had to tell himself to be able to do this and live with it, because he knew that by trying to fix things he only made them more broken.
Once they lay down together, Sawyer's passion resurfaced. His fingers stopped being tentative, but they also stopped just short of hurting Jack, as they wrapped around his cock confidently. He used his blunt thumbnail with precision, bringing Jack to the fiery edge of torment and holding him there for a long, breathless moment before releasing him, not into bliss but crashing back down as the crest of pleasure subsided into the dull promise of desire.
"Like that," Sawyer whispered, moving his other hand onto Jack's. To show him how he wanted to be touched.
"No," Jack murmured. He kissed Sawyer's shoulder and then his mouth, softly, with great care. Covering Sawyer's body with his, cocks and hands caught between them.
"Just gimme what I want," Sawyer rasped.
"Die first," Jack breathed back against his lips. Sawyer groaned and closed his eyes, as much from Jack's touch between them as from the words. Jack sucked lightly at Sawyer's lower lip and Sawyer groaned again, deeper, more urgently. His hands were at Jack's shoulders now, and then his waist, trying to push him away and pull him closer.
Jack slipped down, kissing his way down Sawyer's jaw and throat. He swirled his tongue against Sawyer's collarbone and skimmed his way down the tanned skin of his chest. Sawyer's hands were still grabbing, seeking Jack, and Jack captured them with his own, interlacing their fingers. He pressed Sawyer's hands against the mattress as his mouth closed over the head of Sawyer's cock. Sawyer's hips bucked and his hands pressed up against Jack's, but Jack had him pinned, overpowered, kneeling over him and holding him down. Jack's tongue encircled Sawyer's engorged tip, tasting him slowly. A ragged sound tore from Sawyer's throat. It took a moment for Jack to recognize it as a word:
"Please."
Sawyer had his head raised up off the bed, eyes fixed on Jack. His entire body quivered. All Jack had to do was move again. One flick of the tongue, one push of his hands against Sawyer's, and this delicate stasis would be upset and Sawyer would come. Jack waited. He waited for it to turn to agony, and he waited for Sawyer to beg him again. He didn't know if Sawyer was asking for it to continue or asking him to stop. He didn't care. Sawyer didn't, either. It was inevitable now, just a question of when.
"Jack." The raw sound of his name made his hands tighten and his mouth slide. Jack's eyes closed and he felt his own body tightening as Sawyer came.
He kept his hands over Sawyer's, though there was no reason to hold him down now, as Jack repositioned himself on the bed. Sawyer's eyes remained closed, his body relaxed now in a way Jack had never seen it. He nuzzled at Sawyer's jaw, rough against his lips.
Sawyer's hands quickly slipped from underneath his, skimming down Jack's chest and lower, like roughened velvet encircling Jack's cock. Jack gasped, so harsh it was almost a scream, and his hands contracted, fists full of the sheets. Sawyer's touch was furious and desperate. His lips were turned up at the corners, amused, but his eyes were pure fire. Jack tried to keep his own eyes open, watching him, but it happened so fast and so intense he couldn't. The world faded away.
When it started to come back, it was with Sawyer's breath, still shallow and shuddery. Jack moved against him, shifting his weight off, onto one elbow. Watching him. The fire had faded, and there was something vulnerable now reflecting back at Jack. His mouth moved tentatively, like he couldn't quite figure out what to say or do now. Jack put his hand against Sawyer's forehead, stroking his hair back and sliding the back of his other hand down Sawyer's cheek, finding the soft spot under his jaw where his pulse still raced. Sawyer closed his eyes against the touch.
"Wish you'd hurt me." Sawyer's voice was raw.
"I know," Jack sighed. He nestled his body carefully against Sawyer's, only to be surprised when Sawyer's arms tightened around him.
…
In the end, Jack feigned sleep until Sawyer was gone. It was the coward's way, but this entire thing had been cowardly and wrong. Holding Sawyer prisoner, trying to bend him to Jack's will. He'd pay for it, he knew.
He walked so slowly through the jungle back to the caves that night fell along the way. Jack dawdled, stopping so many times to look up at the dark, unfamiliar sky that he thought he almost wanted the thing to swoop down and grab him and end this.
It had been about fixing Sawyer after all. Just like everything else in Jack's life. He hadn't realized it when it began, but he knew it now, so strongly he could smell it, acrid and bitter, and feel it festering against his skin. And while he'd been able to escape that pain and that guilt in real life by throwing himself into work, into running, into the bottle, he knew there were no such escapes on the island. Only the everyday business of survival.
The caves were silent when he reached them. Days here were so full that everyone slept early and soundly. Jack didn't think he'd be able to sleep, but when he lay down he found his eyes closed easily and the world faded away, at least for a little while.
It was there in the morning. Propped up in one corner of his cave as though it had always been there. A brown leather suitcase, scorched on one side. But it hadn't always been there. It hadn't been there last night even. Jack knew instantly where it had come from, even before he slid back the zipper to reveal its bounty of everyday items. Sunscreen and towels, diapers and small makeup kits overflowing with sponges and tweezers and band-aids. Nothing astounding, nothing he couldn't live without, but it would help.
As he inspected this bounty, he felt someone walk into the cave. He knew who, and let his head drop between his shoulders. He couldn't stand this. He turned his head, but it took him a moment to be able to raise his eyes and look at Sawyer.
He was standing there with his hands outstretched but loose. Not grabbing for something. Asking. "Fix 'em up?" Then he added as an afterthought, "Please."
It was a moment before Jack found his voice. But there was no question in his mind of what his answer would be. "Of course," he said, and met Sawyer's eyes. His hair was hanging down in them, and he looked as contrite as Jack felt. "Of course," Jack echoed again gently, twining his fingers with Sawyer's, holding his hands.
End.