As Sure as the Sun (Jack/Sawyer) Hard R/NC-17
Title: As Sure as the Sun
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Spoilers: Through the Looking Glass
Note: Dedicated to birthday girl gottalovev. *smooooch* :) And also written for challenge #48 "Happily Ever After" at lostfichallenge. So yep, this one is a HAPPY post-finale fic. *nods* Just a *smidgen* of angst. Also claiming for fanfic100 prompt "Light."
ETA: The song As Sure as the Sun (m4a) by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
Jack started awake, his heart still pounding, an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He carefully explored the inside of his cheek with his tongue and found he’d bitten it hard enough to draw blood. He closed his eyes again, relieved to find himself still on the island, safe in Sawyer’s tent, instead of back there. Wherever there was.
Sawyer, who was usually impossible to wake, nestled closer, nudging Jack to turn onto his side so Sawyer could press the full length of his body against Jack's. It was what Jack had always considered spooning but Sawyer sternly insisted was not, under any circumstances to be called spooning, since he wasn’t the type to indulge in anything that disgustingly sweet.
“Thought we had a deal,” Sawyer murmured in that husky early-morning voice that always banished all thoughts of going back to sleep. “I have the shitty nightmares and you say funny things in your sleep that I can tease you about later on.”
Jack shifted, half stretching, half trying to find the perfect position in Sawyer’s arms. “Sorry I woke you.”
Sawyer’s laugh was a low chuckle, a soft burst of air against Jack’s neck. “Only you would apologize for havin’ nightmares, Doc.” Sawyer wrapped him even closer and Jack let his head rest on one of those toned arms that held him tight. Sawyer’s voice deepened, all amusement suspended for the moment. “Bad?”
“Yeah.” Jack hesitated, not sure how to explain the utter, terrifying bleakness of his dream. “We’d all been rescued ... well, some of us. But you weren’t there and I ... I just wanted to die. You know in a dream, everything feels so real? I felt it, here,” he waved vaguely at his stomach. “I used to dream I was back there. Waking up, here, was the nightmare."
“Not this time?” There was just a hint of hurt in Sawyer’s voice.
“Not for a long time,” Jack said firmly. He turned his head and kissed the skin of Sawyer's bicep, tasting the salt and musk there, like he still needed to reassure himself that Sawyer was real, that he was really here on the island with him.
“This time...” Jack drew a deep breath and he told Sawyer all of it. The scene on the bridge. The drinking and the pills and the body in the coffin and Kate not taking his calls and rushing back to someone else.
“So who was I?” Sawyer asked softly after Jack had fallen silent. “The body or the boyfriend?”
”I don’t know,” Jack confessed. “I guess ... it might be the same thing, if you were dead, or dead to me.”
Sawyer broke out in a loud guffaw, startling Jack. “Well, good to know you’d take a break-up well. Either way, I’m a dead man?”
”That’s not what I meant,” Jack said stiffly, pushing Sawyer away and sitting up. It wasn’t quite dawn yet and he shivered as the morning air hit bare skin that just a moment ago had been warmed by Sawyer.
“Easy there,” Sawyer said, propping himself up one arm and fixing Jack with a bemused grin. He seemed to take delight in being sunny when Jack was at his most cranky. “You sure this isn’t still about me and Kate?”
Jack heaved a sigh. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“So why’re you dreamin’ that you’re pinin’ over her in the future?” Sawyer’s forehead wrinkled in a way that seemed to indicate he wasn’t mad, just trying to understand.
"I wasn't," Jack rubbed his forehead, as if he could ward off a fight the same way he'd try to ward off a headache. "You misunderstood me." He dropped his hand, trying to get a read on Sawyer's expression. "Wait ... are we talking about Kate? And you?”
“No,” Sawyer answered slowly, giving him a look like Jack had finally gone round the bend for good. “She ain’t been my girl for a long time now. I traded up, remember? You sure this isn’t about you and Kate? As in how you never ...?”
“No, it isn’t.” Jack snapped. “Besides, Sayid would kill me.”
“That he would,” Sawyer agreed, a slow smile igniting his dimples. “It’s the only reason I’m with your sorry hide, Doc. Cuz Sayid’d kick my ass if I looked Kate’s way again.”
”Right,” Jack nodded, unable to resist Sawyer’s infectious grin. “Clearly we’re only together because we both live in mortal fear of Sayid.”
Sawyer threw up his hands. “Well, duh. Why else would I put up with you yammerin’ in your sleep and gettin’ up at the crack of dawn and lecturin’ at me about not wastin’ our precious resources so I can read till all hours?”
Jack shook his head, trying his hardest not to laugh. “It has nothing to do with those devilish blue eyes, or the way you always get me to laugh -- like now, you bastard,” Jack said, scooting away from Sawyer as he tried to pull him closer, “when I’m in the middle of a major angst and you won’t ever let me ...” And here he had to give up his protest because Sawyer had pinned him to the ground, completely unfairly, and had not only kissed him breathless, but had started to grind his hips into Jack’s through the blanket that was getting thinner by the second.
“You’re impossible,” Jack gasped before Sawyer threw the blanket to one side and slowly, maddeningly, inched his way down Jack’s body.
Jack arched up -- aching and needy now -- as Sawyer trailed soft, wet kisses down his stomach. He wanted to tell Sawyer that he had stopped wanting to go home long ago, that this was home now, here with him. Once the island had been the nightmare but now he couldn’t imagine leaving. Not without Sawyer.
Sawyer’s lips hovered at the line where Jack’s hip joined his torso, and Jack shifted impatiently, anxious to lose himself in the hot, wet oblivion of Sawyer’s mouth, but at the same time, perversely content to wait, since Sawyer knew just how to draw it out, just how to give Jack the best damn blowjob he’d ever had, every time.
Jack had long since stopped caring if the sighs and moans Sawyer wrung from him carried up the beach. He’d stopped caring that Sawyer wasn’t right for him, that Sawyer was probably even more fucked-up than he was, that there was no way in hell this could ever work.
Giving into Sawyer was just like this, this moment where he resisted, his body and soul hanging onto that edge of safety and restraint and should and then, when Sawyer’s mouth closed over his cock, Jack still held back from complete surrender, wanting to keep that last shred of self, even if Jack Shephard, that uptight, self-righteous hardass was long gone. He’d disappeared in a swirl of pleasure, had died gasping of happiness, fallen somewhere along the way to the fatal charms of Sawyer’s knowing blue eyes and fair hair and golden skin and strong arms and sweet ass and divine, dirty mouth.
Sawyer groaned, the vibration of it deep in his throat making Jack writhe. He was so close. He had to open his eyes and watch, watch Sawyer's lips stretched around his cock, watch Sawyer stroking himself, watch until he couldn't anymore, until he lost control and his head snapped back and his eyes squeezed shut.
Ever after, flashed through Jack’s mind as Sawyer brought him, howling, into the morning. His orgasm hit just as the rays of the rising sun flared through the seams of the tent, blinding him with light and heat so intense that it seemed that he was the sun, growing brighter and hotter by the second until he exploded into the sky.
The pleasure spiked and slowly faded, leaving behind a sense of contentment as strong as the dark fear of his nightmare. He lay, spent, lazily running his fingers through the damp, silky strands of Sawyer’s hair. He had it wrong. Sawyer was the sun, bronzed skin all aglow, his golden hair haloed by the bright light, a sated smile on his face, somehow, perversely, conjuring up a child’s drawing of a happy, beaming sun scribbled in a clear blue sky.
Happy. Jack turned the word over in his head.
Too many people had died here for Jack to claim any kind of real, lasting happiness without feeling that immediate stab of guilt for everyone they’d lost. They’d all seen too far much sorrow in far too short a time. Even before they came here, he and Sawyer were both broken in ways that could never be fixed, had each seen and done things that had left scars too deep to even talk about.
Now, before the demands of the day started, when they laid together like this, was the time to tell Sawyer that despite all the suffering and sorrow, he’d never felt this much at peace with himself, that it was all Sawyer’s doing. But when Sawyer stretched out sleepily, letting his head fall on Jack’s stomach like it was his personal pillow, he saw his own contentment mirrored there; just one more way Sawyer had of leaving him speechless.
“Chase all the nightmares away?” Sawyer asked, before giving into a powerful yawn. He rubbed at his face and closed his eyes again.
“You going to fall asleep like that?” Jack pretended to be indignant.
“Yes, I am.” Sawyer stuck out his tongue and refused to open his eyes. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” Jack said with a wicked chuckle, shifting Sawyer off his lap and pinning him to the ground this time, flipping him nearly hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
“Easy, Doc,” Sawyer huffed at him, making a halfhearted attempt to dislodge Jack. “We ain’t gettin’ any younger.”
“No, we’re not,” Jack nodded seriously, bracing himself on his arms. He stared down at Sawyer, committing to memory how he looked, just like this -- gorgeous and fuckable, flushed and half-laughing, blue eyes dancing with desire, mouth wet and invitingly half-open -- before he finally leaned down to kiss him.
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Spoilers: Through the Looking Glass
Note: Dedicated to birthday girl gottalovev. *smooooch* :) And also written for challenge #48 "Happily Ever After" at lostfichallenge. So yep, this one is a HAPPY post-finale fic. *nods* Just a *smidgen* of angst. Also claiming for fanfic100 prompt "Light."
ETA: The song As Sure as the Sun (m4a) by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
Jack started awake, his heart still pounding, an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He carefully explored the inside of his cheek with his tongue and found he’d bitten it hard enough to draw blood. He closed his eyes again, relieved to find himself still on the island, safe in Sawyer’s tent, instead of back there. Wherever there was.
Sawyer, who was usually impossible to wake, nestled closer, nudging Jack to turn onto his side so Sawyer could press the full length of his body against Jack's. It was what Jack had always considered spooning but Sawyer sternly insisted was not, under any circumstances to be called spooning, since he wasn’t the type to indulge in anything that disgustingly sweet.
“Thought we had a deal,” Sawyer murmured in that husky early-morning voice that always banished all thoughts of going back to sleep. “I have the shitty nightmares and you say funny things in your sleep that I can tease you about later on.”
Jack shifted, half stretching, half trying to find the perfect position in Sawyer’s arms. “Sorry I woke you.”
Sawyer’s laugh was a low chuckle, a soft burst of air against Jack’s neck. “Only you would apologize for havin’ nightmares, Doc.” Sawyer wrapped him even closer and Jack let his head rest on one of those toned arms that held him tight. Sawyer’s voice deepened, all amusement suspended for the moment. “Bad?”
“Yeah.” Jack hesitated, not sure how to explain the utter, terrifying bleakness of his dream. “We’d all been rescued ... well, some of us. But you weren’t there and I ... I just wanted to die. You know in a dream, everything feels so real? I felt it, here,” he waved vaguely at his stomach. “I used to dream I was back there. Waking up, here, was the nightmare."
“Not this time?” There was just a hint of hurt in Sawyer’s voice.
“Not for a long time,” Jack said firmly. He turned his head and kissed the skin of Sawyer's bicep, tasting the salt and musk there, like he still needed to reassure himself that Sawyer was real, that he was really here on the island with him.
“This time...” Jack drew a deep breath and he told Sawyer all of it. The scene on the bridge. The drinking and the pills and the body in the coffin and Kate not taking his calls and rushing back to someone else.
“So who was I?” Sawyer asked softly after Jack had fallen silent. “The body or the boyfriend?”
”I don’t know,” Jack confessed. “I guess ... it might be the same thing, if you were dead, or dead to me.”
Sawyer broke out in a loud guffaw, startling Jack. “Well, good to know you’d take a break-up well. Either way, I’m a dead man?”
”That’s not what I meant,” Jack said stiffly, pushing Sawyer away and sitting up. It wasn’t quite dawn yet and he shivered as the morning air hit bare skin that just a moment ago had been warmed by Sawyer.
“Easy there,” Sawyer said, propping himself up one arm and fixing Jack with a bemused grin. He seemed to take delight in being sunny when Jack was at his most cranky. “You sure this isn’t still about me and Kate?”
Jack heaved a sigh. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“So why’re you dreamin’ that you’re pinin’ over her in the future?” Sawyer’s forehead wrinkled in a way that seemed to indicate he wasn’t mad, just trying to understand.
"I wasn't," Jack rubbed his forehead, as if he could ward off a fight the same way he'd try to ward off a headache. "You misunderstood me." He dropped his hand, trying to get a read on Sawyer's expression. "Wait ... are we talking about Kate? And you?”
“No,” Sawyer answered slowly, giving him a look like Jack had finally gone round the bend for good. “She ain’t been my girl for a long time now. I traded up, remember? You sure this isn’t about you and Kate? As in how you never ...?”
“No, it isn’t.” Jack snapped. “Besides, Sayid would kill me.”
“That he would,” Sawyer agreed, a slow smile igniting his dimples. “It’s the only reason I’m with your sorry hide, Doc. Cuz Sayid’d kick my ass if I looked Kate’s way again.”
”Right,” Jack nodded, unable to resist Sawyer’s infectious grin. “Clearly we’re only together because we both live in mortal fear of Sayid.”
Sawyer threw up his hands. “Well, duh. Why else would I put up with you yammerin’ in your sleep and gettin’ up at the crack of dawn and lecturin’ at me about not wastin’ our precious resources so I can read till all hours?”
Jack shook his head, trying his hardest not to laugh. “It has nothing to do with those devilish blue eyes, or the way you always get me to laugh -- like now, you bastard,” Jack said, scooting away from Sawyer as he tried to pull him closer, “when I’m in the middle of a major angst and you won’t ever let me ...” And here he had to give up his protest because Sawyer had pinned him to the ground, completely unfairly, and had not only kissed him breathless, but had started to grind his hips into Jack’s through the blanket that was getting thinner by the second.
“You’re impossible,” Jack gasped before Sawyer threw the blanket to one side and slowly, maddeningly, inched his way down Jack’s body.
Jack arched up -- aching and needy now -- as Sawyer trailed soft, wet kisses down his stomach. He wanted to tell Sawyer that he had stopped wanting to go home long ago, that this was home now, here with him. Once the island had been the nightmare but now he couldn’t imagine leaving. Not without Sawyer.
Sawyer’s lips hovered at the line where Jack’s hip joined his torso, and Jack shifted impatiently, anxious to lose himself in the hot, wet oblivion of Sawyer’s mouth, but at the same time, perversely content to wait, since Sawyer knew just how to draw it out, just how to give Jack the best damn blowjob he’d ever had, every time.
Jack had long since stopped caring if the sighs and moans Sawyer wrung from him carried up the beach. He’d stopped caring that Sawyer wasn’t right for him, that Sawyer was probably even more fucked-up than he was, that there was no way in hell this could ever work.
Giving into Sawyer was just like this, this moment where he resisted, his body and soul hanging onto that edge of safety and restraint and should and then, when Sawyer’s mouth closed over his cock, Jack still held back from complete surrender, wanting to keep that last shred of self, even if Jack Shephard, that uptight, self-righteous hardass was long gone. He’d disappeared in a swirl of pleasure, had died gasping of happiness, fallen somewhere along the way to the fatal charms of Sawyer’s knowing blue eyes and fair hair and golden skin and strong arms and sweet ass and divine, dirty mouth.
Sawyer groaned, the vibration of it deep in his throat making Jack writhe. He was so close. He had to open his eyes and watch, watch Sawyer's lips stretched around his cock, watch Sawyer stroking himself, watch until he couldn't anymore, until he lost control and his head snapped back and his eyes squeezed shut.
Ever after, flashed through Jack’s mind as Sawyer brought him, howling, into the morning. His orgasm hit just as the rays of the rising sun flared through the seams of the tent, blinding him with light and heat so intense that it seemed that he was the sun, growing brighter and hotter by the second until he exploded into the sky.
The pleasure spiked and slowly faded, leaving behind a sense of contentment as strong as the dark fear of his nightmare. He lay, spent, lazily running his fingers through the damp, silky strands of Sawyer’s hair. He had it wrong. Sawyer was the sun, bronzed skin all aglow, his golden hair haloed by the bright light, a sated smile on his face, somehow, perversely, conjuring up a child’s drawing of a happy, beaming sun scribbled in a clear blue sky.
Happy. Jack turned the word over in his head.
Too many people had died here for Jack to claim any kind of real, lasting happiness without feeling that immediate stab of guilt for everyone they’d lost. They’d all seen too far much sorrow in far too short a time. Even before they came here, he and Sawyer were both broken in ways that could never be fixed, had each seen and done things that had left scars too deep to even talk about.
Now, before the demands of the day started, when they laid together like this, was the time to tell Sawyer that despite all the suffering and sorrow, he’d never felt this much at peace with himself, that it was all Sawyer’s doing. But when Sawyer stretched out sleepily, letting his head fall on Jack’s stomach like it was his personal pillow, he saw his own contentment mirrored there; just one more way Sawyer had of leaving him speechless.
“Chase all the nightmares away?” Sawyer asked, before giving into a powerful yawn. He rubbed at his face and closed his eyes again.
“You going to fall asleep like that?” Jack pretended to be indignant.
“Yes, I am.” Sawyer stuck out his tongue and refused to open his eyes. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” Jack said with a wicked chuckle, shifting Sawyer off his lap and pinning him to the ground this time, flipping him nearly hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
“Easy, Doc,” Sawyer huffed at him, making a halfhearted attempt to dislodge Jack. “We ain’t gettin’ any younger.”
“No, we’re not,” Jack nodded seriously, bracing himself on his arms. He stared down at Sawyer, committing to memory how he looked, just like this -- gorgeous and fuckable, flushed and half-laughing, blue eyes dancing with desire, mouth wet and invitingly half-open -- before he finally leaned down to kiss him.