Lost fic: Adrenaline [Jack/Sawyer]
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine.
Summary: Dreams make Sawyer vulnerable.
Notes: Inspired vaguely by hkath's request for denial at lostsquee. Using for fanfic100 #74, Dark.
Adrenaline
by eponine119
July 30, 2006
The bad dreams resurfaced, as they always did, when he had begun to feel safe. Now he awakened in the absolute darkness of the room, heart pounding and mouth dry. He hadn't made a sound. Jack still slept heavily against his back, one arm thrown around him, holding him close to the suffocating heat of Jack's body.
He pulled himself out of Jack's arms with small movements. He didn't wake until Sawyer opened the bedroom door, letting a sliver of light into the absolute blackness Jack insisted on. Then Jack sat up, eyes open, one hand loose and outstretched. "Go back to sleep," Sawyer said softly, knowing it was the kind of awake Jack wouldn't remember in the morning.
He wouldn't remember being left, but he'd notice waking up alone. Again.
Sawyer stretched out on the couch, arms folded across his chest. Light from the street filtered through the slightly open blinds, casting stripes across his body and the floor. He didn't intend to sleep, but the next thing he knew it was morning. Hot sunlight blazed through the window, and there was a blanket covering him. It hadn't been tossed but placed, carefully, by Jack's hands.
He lay there for a moment under it, eyes moving but his body still. It was quiet and he thought it was safe, so he got up, spine creaking from sleeping on the couch. But Jack fooled him. Jack was sitting in the kitchen, eating quiet cereal, just waiting for Sawyer to stumble in for some coffee.
Jack watched him silently and Sawyer couldn't stand it, as he filled a mug and took a deep breath, leaning back against the counter. The coffee was light and rich and fresh and useless to him. He slammed the mug down on the counter. "All this time and you can't even make a fucking cup of coffee."
Jack remained silent, but Sawyer could see the tension building in him.
He dug through the cabinets, slamming the doors as he went, looking for the coffee beans. "Supposed to be strong. And bitter. And burn."
"Like you." Jack's voice was so soft it was almost as though he hadn't spoken. But Sawyer heard him, and Jack knew it. Soft wasn't what he wanted.
He filled up the expensive coffeemaker and turned it on, even though he didn't really need coffee anymore. The adrenaline from a good fight would do just fine.
Jack folded his newspaper neatly, fingers pinching the creases hard. He got up to put his cereal bowl in the sink and Sawyer stepped in front of it. "Sawyer," Jack said.
"Doc." He let a smile twist on his face.
"Get out of my way." They were nose to nose now, and Sawyer wondered what it would take to get Jack to hit him. It had been such a long time. He didn't move, and his body tensed when Jack's hand shot out. But Jack set the bowl on another part of the counter. "What the hell is your problem?" Jack asked.
"You." Sawyer thought it would do it.
He was wrong. Jack took a step back, head bowed, covering his eyes with his hand. "Just go, Sawyer," he said. "I've had enough. Cut the shit and just go."
Sawyer's jaw went so tight he thought his teeth might break. What was he supposed to say? It didn't matter, because Jack was slinking away, shutting the front door softly behind him. Sawyer pounded on the counter with his fists. Swept the bowl into the sink. It clattered but didn't break. He wasn't going to get anything he wanted this morning.
…
He came back late that night, smelling of cigarette smoke and sweat. He wondered if Jack had been relieved. If Jack would be disappointed now, that he wasn't rid of Sawyer after all.
Sawyer was wrong. Jack was drunk. The TV was on and Jack slumped on the couch, eyes swollen and barely focused. "Thought you weren't coming back." The words were thick and hard to understand.
"Sorry to ruin your evenin'," Sawyer said, still standing in the doorway.
"You can have the bed," Jack offered. "'m okay here on the couch. Gonna stay up awhile. Watch whatever -- whatever this is." His eyes drifted closed once while he was talking. Sawyer pushed the door closed, and moved toward Jack. Jack staggered to his feet. "Keep back," he warned, but Sawyer paid no heed. He took the empty bottle from Jack's boneless fingers and slung one arm around his waist to steady him. Jack leaned heavily against Sawyer, face pushed into his neck.
Sawyer just about dragged him into the bedroom, and Jack groaned as he fell onto the bed. Sawyer thought he was out, but then Jack grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him down.
"I want you. I need you," Jack insisted, both hands tugging at Sawyer's shirt now, trying to get it off. Sawyer humored him. He got the shirt off finally, a twisted mess that landed on the floor. "God, Sawyer, touch me." He took Sawyer's hand and put it on his crotch, but Jack's nerve endings were too blotto to respond. He ground Sawyer's hand against him, hard enough to hurt.
"Ease up," Sawyer whispered. He sucked on Jack's earlobe and it made Jack fall silent, hands moving against the sheets. Sawyer slipped his hand inside Jack's pants, skin to hot skin, touching him teasingly, pressing his thumb against the vein to stop the bloodflow, to try to get him hard. But it wasn’t going to happen, not tonight.
"I love you, you fucking asshole," Jack murmured, his eyes rolling as he struggled to keep them open.
"Sleep it off," Sawyer said, and with hard resolve. He pushed Jack away. He couldn't stand this vulnerability. Couldn't stand that Jack let him see it, that Sawyer knew he'd caused it. He didn't deserve it, not one bit.
He stretched out on the couch. It would be a safe sleep, alone, with the light slipping through the shades. There was a little whiskey left in the bottle, so he drank it down and sighed deeply, wrapping his arms around himself, pretending he wasn't the least bit lonely for Jack.
When he woke, in the middle of the night, his eyes were already open and he was sitting up and panting. He blinked and saw Jack, dark eyes glittering. Sawyer heard a whimper and knew it was his own, knew he'd been screaming in terror the way he'd done when he was a helpless child.
Jack opened his mouth but Sawyer was quicker. "Don't say anything," he growled. He shook his head. "Leave me alone."
"They're just dreams, Sawyer."
"Think I don't know that, doc?" he demanded. "Stop lookin' at me like that."
But Jack kept looking, and Sawyer knew what he must see. A strong, grown man reduced to a whimpering boy. Weakness. He couldn't raise his head.
"This is why?" Jack asked, like he was starting to understand. "All the reasons…and this is why? You think I didn't already know you have nightmares, Sawyer?" He forced himself to look at Jack, holding his eyes open. "I've seen you hurt, and sick. I've watched you sleep. I've watched you come. You think I'd turn away from this?"
"Shut up," Sawyer snarled.
"They're just dreams," Jack repeated. He had his hands on Sawyer's face, fingers tangled in his hair. "This is real." Sawyer let Jack kiss him, so softly and gently he could barely stand it. He wanted Jack harsh and mean, because that was safer, but then he wouldn't be Jack, and Sawyer wouldn't love him.
And Sawyer did love him. It was why Jack loved Sawyer that Sawyer still couldn't understand.
"Come back to bed, Sawyer," Jack said. "You've got nothing to hide from me."
After a moment, Sawyer complied. He followed Jack into the bedroom, and closed the door behind him.
End.
Summary: Dreams make Sawyer vulnerable.
Notes: Inspired vaguely by hkath's request for denial at lostsquee. Using for fanfic100 #74, Dark.
Adrenaline
by eponine119
July 30, 2006
The bad dreams resurfaced, as they always did, when he had begun to feel safe. Now he awakened in the absolute darkness of the room, heart pounding and mouth dry. He hadn't made a sound. Jack still slept heavily against his back, one arm thrown around him, holding him close to the suffocating heat of Jack's body.
He pulled himself out of Jack's arms with small movements. He didn't wake until Sawyer opened the bedroom door, letting a sliver of light into the absolute blackness Jack insisted on. Then Jack sat up, eyes open, one hand loose and outstretched. "Go back to sleep," Sawyer said softly, knowing it was the kind of awake Jack wouldn't remember in the morning.
He wouldn't remember being left, but he'd notice waking up alone. Again.
Sawyer stretched out on the couch, arms folded across his chest. Light from the street filtered through the slightly open blinds, casting stripes across his body and the floor. He didn't intend to sleep, but the next thing he knew it was morning. Hot sunlight blazed through the window, and there was a blanket covering him. It hadn't been tossed but placed, carefully, by Jack's hands.
He lay there for a moment under it, eyes moving but his body still. It was quiet and he thought it was safe, so he got up, spine creaking from sleeping on the couch. But Jack fooled him. Jack was sitting in the kitchen, eating quiet cereal, just waiting for Sawyer to stumble in for some coffee.
Jack watched him silently and Sawyer couldn't stand it, as he filled a mug and took a deep breath, leaning back against the counter. The coffee was light and rich and fresh and useless to him. He slammed the mug down on the counter. "All this time and you can't even make a fucking cup of coffee."
Jack remained silent, but Sawyer could see the tension building in him.
He dug through the cabinets, slamming the doors as he went, looking for the coffee beans. "Supposed to be strong. And bitter. And burn."
"Like you." Jack's voice was so soft it was almost as though he hadn't spoken. But Sawyer heard him, and Jack knew it. Soft wasn't what he wanted.
He filled up the expensive coffeemaker and turned it on, even though he didn't really need coffee anymore. The adrenaline from a good fight would do just fine.
Jack folded his newspaper neatly, fingers pinching the creases hard. He got up to put his cereal bowl in the sink and Sawyer stepped in front of it. "Sawyer," Jack said.
"Doc." He let a smile twist on his face.
"Get out of my way." They were nose to nose now, and Sawyer wondered what it would take to get Jack to hit him. It had been such a long time. He didn't move, and his body tensed when Jack's hand shot out. But Jack set the bowl on another part of the counter. "What the hell is your problem?" Jack asked.
"You." Sawyer thought it would do it.
He was wrong. Jack took a step back, head bowed, covering his eyes with his hand. "Just go, Sawyer," he said. "I've had enough. Cut the shit and just go."
Sawyer's jaw went so tight he thought his teeth might break. What was he supposed to say? It didn't matter, because Jack was slinking away, shutting the front door softly behind him. Sawyer pounded on the counter with his fists. Swept the bowl into the sink. It clattered but didn't break. He wasn't going to get anything he wanted this morning.
…
He came back late that night, smelling of cigarette smoke and sweat. He wondered if Jack had been relieved. If Jack would be disappointed now, that he wasn't rid of Sawyer after all.
Sawyer was wrong. Jack was drunk. The TV was on and Jack slumped on the couch, eyes swollen and barely focused. "Thought you weren't coming back." The words were thick and hard to understand.
"Sorry to ruin your evenin'," Sawyer said, still standing in the doorway.
"You can have the bed," Jack offered. "'m okay here on the couch. Gonna stay up awhile. Watch whatever -- whatever this is." His eyes drifted closed once while he was talking. Sawyer pushed the door closed, and moved toward Jack. Jack staggered to his feet. "Keep back," he warned, but Sawyer paid no heed. He took the empty bottle from Jack's boneless fingers and slung one arm around his waist to steady him. Jack leaned heavily against Sawyer, face pushed into his neck.
Sawyer just about dragged him into the bedroom, and Jack groaned as he fell onto the bed. Sawyer thought he was out, but then Jack grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him down.
"I want you. I need you," Jack insisted, both hands tugging at Sawyer's shirt now, trying to get it off. Sawyer humored him. He got the shirt off finally, a twisted mess that landed on the floor. "God, Sawyer, touch me." He took Sawyer's hand and put it on his crotch, but Jack's nerve endings were too blotto to respond. He ground Sawyer's hand against him, hard enough to hurt.
"Ease up," Sawyer whispered. He sucked on Jack's earlobe and it made Jack fall silent, hands moving against the sheets. Sawyer slipped his hand inside Jack's pants, skin to hot skin, touching him teasingly, pressing his thumb against the vein to stop the bloodflow, to try to get him hard. But it wasn’t going to happen, not tonight.
"I love you, you fucking asshole," Jack murmured, his eyes rolling as he struggled to keep them open.
"Sleep it off," Sawyer said, and with hard resolve. He pushed Jack away. He couldn't stand this vulnerability. Couldn't stand that Jack let him see it, that Sawyer knew he'd caused it. He didn't deserve it, not one bit.
He stretched out on the couch. It would be a safe sleep, alone, with the light slipping through the shades. There was a little whiskey left in the bottle, so he drank it down and sighed deeply, wrapping his arms around himself, pretending he wasn't the least bit lonely for Jack.
When he woke, in the middle of the night, his eyes were already open and he was sitting up and panting. He blinked and saw Jack, dark eyes glittering. Sawyer heard a whimper and knew it was his own, knew he'd been screaming in terror the way he'd done when he was a helpless child.
Jack opened his mouth but Sawyer was quicker. "Don't say anything," he growled. He shook his head. "Leave me alone."
"They're just dreams, Sawyer."
"Think I don't know that, doc?" he demanded. "Stop lookin' at me like that."
But Jack kept looking, and Sawyer knew what he must see. A strong, grown man reduced to a whimpering boy. Weakness. He couldn't raise his head.
"This is why?" Jack asked, like he was starting to understand. "All the reasons…and this is why? You think I didn't already know you have nightmares, Sawyer?" He forced himself to look at Jack, holding his eyes open. "I've seen you hurt, and sick. I've watched you sleep. I've watched you come. You think I'd turn away from this?"
"Shut up," Sawyer snarled.
"They're just dreams," Jack repeated. He had his hands on Sawyer's face, fingers tangled in his hair. "This is real." Sawyer let Jack kiss him, so softly and gently he could barely stand it. He wanted Jack harsh and mean, because that was safer, but then he wouldn't be Jack, and Sawyer wouldn't love him.
And Sawyer did love him. It was why Jack loved Sawyer that Sawyer still couldn't understand.
"Come back to bed, Sawyer," Jack said. "You've got nothing to hide from me."
After a moment, Sawyer complied. He followed Jack into the bedroom, and closed the door behind him.
End.