the strong protect the weak

Fic: Fated

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 22:50:46 GMT

14 weeks since last updated, oh the shame...

Title: Fated
Rating: R for language mostly
Characters: Jack/Sawyer, minor mentions of others
Spoilers: Not really; mention of possible S4 characters
A/N: Another weird one I'm afraid, just got this idea in my head and couldn't get it out...

‘Fuck,’ breathed Sawyer.
Jack nodded, then, realising Sawyer probably didn’t see him in the darkened room, said ‘Yeah’, in a flat, terse tone. He shone his flashlight up and along the stack after stack of dusty VHS tapes.
‘Any idea what it is?’ muttered Sawyer.
‘Maybe some kind of observation room. Like in the other hatch.’ Jack stepped forward into the room, pushing the heavy metal door back fully. Dust lay everywhere, thick, cloying. He felt it catch in his throat as he breathed, and he coughed.
‘You know dust is something like 70 per cent human skin cells,’ drawled Sawyer, and Jack snorted, he couldn’t help himself; a snort that turned into another cough.
‘Dignified,’ said Sawyer.
‘Fuck you.’
Jack wiped his fingers over the buttons of some kind of console underneath the shelves holding the video tapes, blew at the dust covering a small, rounded screen. Time felt heavy here, weighing down on him, weight on his chest, over his heart.
‘I’m gonna look at the other rooms, check Kate hasn’t stumbled across any more crazy fake rescuers.’
‘Go for it,’ muttered Jack as he bent to squint at some of the faded labels on the tapes. The movement must have been awkward somehow, because it sent a stab of pain up from his leg. He didn’t quite bite down on a cry as his hands snapped to grip the front of the console. ‘Dammit,’ he hissed.
‘You okay?’ said Sawyer from the doorway, after a pause.
‘Yeah.’
‘Sure?’
Jack didn’t reply the second time, just nodded, not caring it was dark and Sawyer couldn’t see it. He hated the way they reacted sometimes, like he was fragile now, felt it hot and sharp. He knew it was crazy to be angry, so he never trusted himself to speak at those moments, knew the anger would come out in his tone somehow.
After another pause, he heard Sawyer leave. He let out the shuddering breath he’d been holding, his right hand going to his thigh, fingers digging in through his jeans. He could feel the scarred skin through the denim and his stomach gave a little flip, as it always did (worse when he had to look at it), but he rubbed in anyway, massaging hard with his fingers.
Then he froze.
A tape, stuck out a little from the rest, with just one word on the label.
Jack
His own name, in what looked like, but couldn’t possibly be, his own handwriting.

---

A week later, and the others were sleeping. Jack paced the small kitchen in this new hatch, fingers digging viciously into his leg, as if he could physically tear out the cramp that was crippling his thigh. He breathed in bursts through his nose, anxious not to make too loud a noise and wake anyone. Not weak, he repeated in his head. Not weak.
As the cramp began to ease, he paused, leaning on the worktop they’d just about got clean yesterday. Maybe tomorrow they could eat something resembling a proper meal again. He looked up, through to the living quarters, at the sleeping forms inside. Sawyer, Kate, Desmond, Juliet. Sun, but not Jin. And Daniel.

The others were out there somewhere, but there was no reaching them. Not yet.

Jack turned away when he felt the acid rise in his stomach as he stared at Daniel. His leg twinged at the memory of how it was almost ruined; as Daniel stood there as that bastard had screamed at Jack, gun held over his knee; as Jack had yelled back through the blood and torn lip and cracked rib that he would never, ever tell him where they were; as the trigger was pulled and only Jack’s instinctive jerk had stopped the bullet shattering his knee, instead sending it tearing through his thigh just above.
And now Daniel was here, sleeping peacefully, his fingers still trailing against Kate’s shoulder where they slept together.

Going slowly, so as not to make any noise, Jack walked to the tape room.

---

He pulled the door shut behind him; it was a corridor and a turn away from the living quarters, but the latch made a sharp report when it slipped home; too loud. He turned in the darkness, his flashlight picking out the tape instantly, even though he’d turned it around, so the black strip of the tape casing faced out instead of the label.
He carefully pulled it out from between the dozens of others, slipped it out of its cardboard sheath.
Nothing on the top, just the label on the side.
Jack
He stood there, for hours it felt like, just staring at it as it lay in his hands, until suddenly, in a movement that half surprised himself, he pushed it into the deck in the console, making sure the volume control was cranked down to zero. It started playing automatically, and gooseflesh rose all over his body as he saw his own face staring back out of the small screen.

His finger slammed onto the pause button, and he stared at the face on the screen. It was him, but somehow not; a jagged scar ran down one cheek near an eye; the eyebrow above it didn’t grow quite right. His hair was a little longer; so was his beard. His eyes were bloodshot, red, raw-looking.

With some strange dislocating sensation flooding his thoughts, Jack turned the volume up a little, pressed the play button.
‘-never work out what I’m supposed to say. You? Me? We? How the fuck am I supposed to know? No-one’s ever been in this fucking situation before.’

Jack sank slowly down into the moth-eaten chair. On the tape, his voice was hoarse, his tone a little too loud.

‘Anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is the message. My message, to you. To us. Whatever. The same fucking message that’s been left time after time after fucking time. Each time a little different, but fundamentally the same. Because it never. Fucking. Works.’

‘You never know exactly what was said the time before this one, because you have to record over the same tape. That’s the first rule. And you can never say exactly how it happened to you, because it would be irrelevant, because each time happens differently. That’s the second rule.’
‘But what the fuck am I talking about rules for? Because there are big fucking rules that this whole thing shits all over. Rules of fucking physics, of how the Universe is supposed to work. Rules of science, of logic, of sanity.’

The Jack on screen paused for a moment, looking away from the camera. He seemed to compose himself.

‘The message, Jack. The message. I think, for the first time, I’ve worked it out. Because the tape I watched warned that it wouldn’t work. That soon, there would be a situation where you had to make a choice, you had to choose, and that it wouldn’t work. That I had to try something else, anything else, because one of them always dies. Every single time you choose, and one of them dies.’

‘Now it might seem like an easy choice to you, sitting there. It might seem simple. But this you need to understand. You have loved them both. With all your fucking heart-’

Screen-Jack’s voice cracked; his face twisted in agony. After a moment, he went on, his voice quieter.

‘You have loved them both. And it’s not as simple as save the one you love this time round. It’s like a research paper; with four conditions. You love Kate, she dies. You love Kate, she lives. You love Sawyer, he dies. You love Sawyer, he lives.’

Jack felt heat flood through his gut, through his face. His mouth went dry.

‘This whole thing has been on a loop for God-knows how long. You have loved them both, over and over and over again. It doesn’t matter who it is this time, it doesn’t matter who it is…was…for me.’

‘You can’t choose.’

‘So the message. This is the message, Jack, so listen up hard.’

‘It has to be you.’

‘This place wants blood, and it never works when you choose her over him or him over her. It just starts the loop over again. Oh, you get time to come back here, to leave this message for the next time around, to warn against it, but it never works.’

‘You have to let go, Jack. Let go of the idea that you can fix it, you can fight it, you can make it work. Because you can’t. You love them both, and the only way to save them both is to choose yourself. To choose to save them both, and for you to die.’

‘You got that? You hearing me? It has to be you. This is why this message is different from all those that go before it.’

‘Some point soon, there will be a situation where you have to make a choice. And instead of making the one choice or the other that we have been making for eternity, you need to stop, and think, and know that there’s only one way out of this.’

‘And maybe it will end it. Maybe if you die it will end. It has to. Because you can’t fucking live like this.’

Jack thought the tape was going to end then, as he sat there, his heart thumping in his throat. But it didn’t, not quite yet. Screen-Jack now had a challenging look on his face, a defiant look.

‘Now I know I said it doesn’t make a difference who it was for me, but of course it does. It was Sawyer. Started when Eko brought him back after he was shot. Thought I could ignore it but it’s a world of difference when you’ve got your hands on him. That game of poker was the real breakthrough though. I went to get the meds and ended up fucking him into the sand.’

A pause; Jack’s face was burning; he squirmed in his seat.

‘If he’s there, Jack, if he’s with you,’ and Screen-Jack’s face twisted again, ‘if he’s there, you make him feel it. Somehow. Make him fucking feel it.'

'You don’t have much time.’

And that was the end, the screen swallowed once again by blackness and the silence and gloom thundering back into the small dark room. Jack blinked, and was suddenly blinking past tears, something overwhelming clawing at his mind as he sat there, shaking.
‘Impossible,’ he whispered noiselessly, then jerked forward, slamming the eject button, hitting it again and again as it slowly spat the tape out. He scrabbled at the opening to the case, trying to prise it open until he lost patience and tore it from its pins. He reached in, closing his fingers around the film, preparing to rip-
‘Don’t,’ came Sawyer’s voice from the doorway.
And Jack froze.

...TBC

Oops!

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 16:09:17 GMT

So I posted some fic a couple of hours ago and without really thinking about it, wrote out some season 3 finale spoilers without a cut to explain why I wrote the fic - after a moment of sheer panic when I realised, I've now worked out how to edit the entries (one in my journal, one on sawyer_jack community) and put it all under a cut. So this is just to say a heartfelt apology to anyone who hasn't seen the finale and who might have read what I wrote before I edited and been spoiled when they didn't want to be, I'm truly sorry. Oh this LJ lark isn't as easy as you think sometimes!

Fic: Schism

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 12:45:51 GMT

So I was thinking about the finale, and a couple of things didn't make sense to me. How is Oceanic still operating in the flash-forward, considering it supposedly went bankrupt after the crash? If they had found Jack's body, and the bodies of all the other survivors, then how is Jack able to live under his own name, in his old job, unhassled, despite having 'come back from the dead'? (I know Naomi is not to be trusted, but Papa Locke said the same thing about the bodies, assuming he isn't part of a big conspiracy.) Now I'm sure the show will explain it all, but I thought up my own version. First part is here, more to follow at some point...

Title: Schism, part 1
Characters: This part, multiple; later parts, Jack/Sawyer and Kate
Rating: This part, maybe PG-13? Later parts, smutty!
Spoilers: Through the looking glass
Disclaimer: Don't own them, not making any money
A/N: I've read and absorbed so much fic it's possible someone else has used this title, so apologies. I also can't find the motivation to find out exactly where everyone was sitting on 815, so that's all a bit vague...

‘How can you trust him?’ she’d asked, biting the words out, her face hard and eyes fierce. He’d sighed, exhaustion making him hang his head. He rubbed a hand over his hair, longer now, an inch or so. He dug his fingers into his scalp, hard, trying to massage away the headache that he carried every waking moment these days.

‘What choice do we have?’ he’d replied in a flat tone. He was just about out of emotion, these days.

And she’d finally given him that, finally agreed, even though she couldn’t bring herself to say anything, just gave the barest of nods, and closed her eyes. He’d closed his eyes too, as their hands found each other, fingers entwining, gripping tight. He’d taken a breath, and stepped forward
trying not to think about the smile Ben had been unable to prevent, the small quirk of his lips as he’d closed the door on them, the triumphant smarmy little fucking smile that had made the acid churn in his stomach, the one that Kate hadn’t seen. But ultimately it didn’t change anything; he was still going to step through, they both were, because what choice did they have
and opened his eyes to see the back of a chair, the back of an airplane chair, the fuselage curving up from his left, glossy magazines with thumbed corners tucked in the back of the chair in front of him, beige acrylic glowing warmly in the sunlight.

I know this

He blinked, eyes made dry by the air con, and looked to his left, out through the window, out at blue sky, and far below, clouds. He looked to his right, no thoughts functioning yet, and looked into Rose’s concerned frown, and his heart lurched in his chest as a spike of adrenaline soured his gut.

‘You okay hon? You’re the one s’posed to be reassuring me!’ Rose chided gently, still frowning, a hint of nervousness in her voice. ‘Just a bit of turbulence, you said. Now you’re looking like we’re about to crash!’
He opened his mouth to speak, and caught himself just in time as a dislocating terror started to trickle up his spine. He’d been about to say, You’re dead.

He had a powerful urge to scream, or laugh, he wasn’t quite sure which, because he knew this. But this hadn’t happened.

All of a sudden Rose was looking like she wasn’t quite so glad of his company; she sat back in her chair, straightening up and looking down into her lap. He fixed his gaze on the back of the chair in front of him, felt sweat tricking down his neck into his collar, and he startled, looking down at his clothes, at the black suit, white shirt and black tie. What else? He slipped a hand into his pocket, fingertips brushing against the cold glass of a miniature spirits bottle. What else? Now all of a sudden his face was burning, his forehead was slick with sweat and blackness pawed at his vision. He dropped his head down between his knees, breathing hard until he no longer felt like he was fainting. Further down the plane, he could hear raised voices, a man, English accent. Charlie, his fevered brain whispered to him.

---

Time passed, maybe an hour or so, and he hadn’t moved from his seat. He was vaguely aware that he really wasn’t functioning, but it was only the pull of his full bladder that stirred him, that made him slip from his seat and walk unsteadily down the aisle. He felt like the plane was pitching from side to side, and he gripped the back of each chair as he passed it, his pulse pounding in his throat, heartbeat racing and guts churning. He made it to the toilet and pulled himself inside, locking the door and leaning on the sink, staring at his face in the mirror.

The light in the ceiling cast a sickly pallour over his features and it was no wonder Rose had recoiled from him; he could barely meet his own haunted gaze. His hair was short; his face clean-shaven. But when he’d stepped through that…door…he’d had a month-old beard, hair you could run fingers through. He turned on the tap, hands trembling, and splashed palmful after palmful of cold water over his face, until the cobwebs started to clear slightly.

---

He walked back to his seat slowly, taking the scenic route. He wanted to count them off in his head. There, from the back; blonde hair, highlighted, falling just above the shoulder: Shannon, Boone next to her. A mass of brown curls marked off Hurley. Sun and Jin made him pause; she had her hands in her lap, her head bent and eyes cast down, as Jin spoke at her, gesturing angrily. He switched aisles, now seeing faces, staring at each of them. Sayid was reading and didn’t look up. James did, and Jack stopped, utterly stricken as their eyes met, but James’s gaze slipped off him like water and went back to the magazine. James was frowning, and Jack wondered he was getting a headache, and something inside him twisted.

Sawyer, not James.

And then he saw Kate, and knew that she had been watching him the entire time, and that she remembered, because her brow shone with sweat and she was breathing hard through her nose, her mouth set in a hard line and her eyes, her eyes, were screaming at him. He stopped again, stock still, and everything but her eyes and his raging pulse, thumping in his temples, faded from his awareness, until the stewardess who had been trying to get his attention touched him on the shoulder.
‘Could you take your seat, please sir?’
He blinked. The marshall
You’re dead. I killed you.
had looked up, was watching him with a frown. Kate was fighting back tears.
‘Sir?’
He turned to the stewardess. ‘I’m sorry?’ His voice sounded raw, weak.
‘You need to take your seat, sir. For the descent.’
He had a sudden powerful urge to find Michael and Walt, to look into their faces and see what their eyes told him, but the marshall was still watching him, and the stewardess had a wary look on her face.
‘Sure,’ he whispered, and walked back to his seat.

---

‘Hey man, you all right?’
Jack flinched, blinked, as he realised he was stood staring at a virtually empty luggage carousel, at the last few bags going round and round. He turned, his mouth going dry as he looked into Boone’s concerned face.
‘Fine,’ he managed.
You’re dead. I held you as you died.
‘Boone!’
Shannon appeared at Boone’s side, pulling hard on his arm. Her gaze slipped over Jack, appraising, finding not worthy.
‘The stupid assholes lost my bag, Boone! What are you going to do about it?’
Boone smiled apologetically at Jack as Shannon pulled him away. ‘Take it easy man, you look out of it.’

He was halfway to the car park when he remembered. He stopped, for a few minutes completely unable to decide what to do. Eventually, he went back.

‘No sir, we have no record of any coffin on board,’ the desk clerk said, the same wary look on her face as the stewardess on the plane.
‘Fine,’ he whispered, and left.

---

His father came back, a day later; flew in from Sydney. He turned up at Jack’s apartment, steaming drunk. Jack could barely concentrate on what Christian was saying, so he interrupted.
‘My sister wasn’t there, was she?’ he blurted, and his father paused, swaying where he stood. He left soon after. The next day, he was dead. Heart attack, brought on by a drinking binge.

---

Jack finally noticed the light blinking on his answerphone. The first message brought him to his knees, made him cry so hard he threw up. His father had phoned from Australia, the evening before Jack flew home, from a bar, it sounded like. He said he was sorry, that Jack had been right, that he loved him and forgave him – no, thanked him. He had to replay the second message once he had stopped sobbing; it was from Kate, terse and to the point; she’d got away, was on the run again, and here was a number he could reach her on, but not for a while.

‘How can it be?’ she’d asked, but he doubted she expected him to have an answer.

He sat, dishevelled, on his apartment floor, and drank whiskey until he passed out. Just before oblivion overwhelmed him, he thought about James, and knew that somehow, in this place, James had convinced his father to call home. He wondered if his father had convinced James not to commit murder.
That’s why the Red Sox will never win the series

---

After several letters and phone calls, and a little bit of cashing in favours, he eventually got a meeting at Oceanic’s offices. One of their customer service managers, grey suit, instantly forgettable. That was probably the point. The man’s expression and manner was bland enough to begin with, but that soon changed as Jack diverted from the cover story he’d concocted in his letters, as he started talking about the crash, the island, the cover-up. Jack was on his feet and shouting by the time security reached the office.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ he yelled as he was escorted out. ‘I will not drop this!’ He stumbled and fell as they shoved him out onto the pavement; several people tutted, and he felt their eyes on him. He stood, brushing himself down with as much dignity as he could muster, then headed for the nearest bar.

He was so hungover he could barely move the next morning when his doorbell rang, insistently and incessantly. He opened the door, still wearing his clothes from the night before, to another bland man in a suit. The man flashed Oceanic I.D., which got Jack’s attention.
‘Dr Shephard, may I come in?’

Jack stared at the paperwork on his coffee table, fighting down wave after wave of nausea. He should be angry, furious that they were trying to buy him off. But as he looked down at the papers, at the ‘golden pass’ that the man had referred to, a thought got lodged in his mind.
Maybe that’s how we get back.
He looked up.
‘I’ll need two of these.’

To be continued.

Fic-tastic part 2!

Fri, 20 Apr 2007 16:30:25 GMT

And here's the second one. This one has no smut, but weirdness in spades. Pretty dark and a bit of what seems to be self-harm. One small part might be a bit inaccurate, medically, but that shouldn't affect anything really. They said Jack's time with the others had changed him, didn't they....

Title: Change
Characters: Mostly Jack/Sawyer, some Kate, Juliet, Sayid, Sun
Rating: R for mature content
Spoilers: As post below
Disclaimer: Don't own them, not making any money

Like many true horrors, it had a strange, unreal quality to it, made stronger by the time of day: just after sunrise, not in the dark depths of night; and the setting: on the beach, just as people were rising, emerging from their tents, greeting each other and the new day. It was so unreal that Sawyer at first thought he was hallucinating; his initial feeling was confusion, a sense of dislocation. It was only once Jack came within earshot that it became real, and it was like all the colour and sound suddenly rushed back into the world, without Sawyer even realising they had been gone in the first place. Jack wasn’t really forming words, and that made it worse; he sounded like a wounded animal, and it stirred some primeval terror inside Sawyer, made his bowels feel loose, his pulse thump in his throat, his face feel hot and cold sweat slick his skin.

Up until now only Sawyer had seen Jack, but now a woman started screaming, Sawyer couldn’t place who, maybe Claire, and the sound suddenly jerked him into action, pulling him forward like a puppet. Jack was on the ground now, on his knees with his palms held up towards himself, his ruined hands curled protectively towards his chest, still keening that inhuman sound. Sawyer reached him and had absolutely no idea what to do; up close the blood was all he could see, and he stared at it, transfixed; there was no part of Jack’s bare skin that wasn’t streaked with it. It was only when Sawyer spotted the first of the letters that he regained a little control, and as his mind put the words together from what he could see, somehow that made it all easier to rationalise, because it was familiar. He looked around, spotted a line of washing hanging from a nearby tree, and pulled a sheet off it. He tore it in half, and knelt down in front of Jack, covering his nakedness with one half and tearing the other half into smaller strips. The sheet he’d put over Jack’s lap instantly drew up some of the blood, scarlet blossoming through from underneath.

‘Doc.’
Jack was rocking back and forth slightly, making hardly any noise now.
‘Jack, I need your help.’
His own voice still sounded a long way off, quiet and distant, but somehow level and measured.
‘I need you to be a doctor, just for a minute. I need to know where to tie these.’
He reached out one hand, touching Jack on the side of the face, and Jack flinched weakly, but at least now he was looking at Sawyer with clouded eyes, eyes he was fighting to keep open. Sawyer held his head, thumb by his ear, and held up the strips with his other hand.
‘Your arms are cut to shreds. Where do I need to tie these?’
Jack looked from Sawyer to the strips, then down at his arms, at his hands, and his face twisted as he let out a quiet moan.

‘Jack!’ Sawyer shouted, gripping Jack’s head firmly, forcing Jack’s gaze back to himself, hating himself but knowing Jack was close to passing out. ‘You’re still bleeding, Jack. Where do I need to tie these? If you don’t tell me you’re going to bleed to death.’
Jack stared at him vacantly for a long time, then just as Sawyer was about to yell again, he blinked and tried to gesture with a hand, but stopped, making a soundless grimace. Sawyer touched him halfway up his upper arm with the hand he held the strips in. ‘Here?’ he asked. Jack shook his head, started to mouth something, stopped, and tried again.

‘Jus…Just above the elbow,’ he muttered, slurring, and Sawyer felt a cold prickle at the back of his neck, because Jack really was on the verge of passing out, and he was still bleeding from the wounds on his arms
from the letters he’s carved into his own skin
and if Sawyer didn’t do something soon he really was going to bleed to death. He tied the strips round Jack’s arms, as tight as he dared, but then Jack muttered tighter and he pulled even harder.

God

‘Oh, oh fucking hell,’ said a voice behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Kate, with her hands over her mouth, and a little way behind her, a whole bunch of people stood silently, watching. Kate took a step closer.

God loves

‘Stay back, freckles,’ Sawyer warned, and it had the opposite effect; she strode forward, crouching beside him, reaching out to cup Jack’s face like he’d done a moment earlier.
‘Jack? Jack, it’s Kate, can you hear me?’

God loves you

‘What happened? What the fuck happened? Where did all this blood come from?’ she asked, her voice wavering.

God loves you as

Sawyer was gripping the tourniquets he’d applied; his own arms were shielding Jack’s from Kate’s view.

God loves you as He

‘I don’t know what happened. He just came stumbling out of the jungle, right over there. Naked and bleeding.’

God loves you as He loves

‘What’s going on?’
Sawyer turned, he couldn’t help it, he had to see the look on Juliet’s face, to see if she looked surprised or not, and as he turned he let go of Jack’s arms

God loves you as He loves Jacob

Kate gasped, no words, as she read what Jack had cut into his skin, deep scores across the silk skin of his inner arms and palms

God loves you as He loves Jacob

and then she was on her feet, Sawyer a second behind her and he grabbed her from behind as she launched herself at Juliet. There was a gasp from the gathered crowd as they saw Jack more fully, no longer shielded by Sawyer’s body, but Sawyer barely noticed because Kate was struggling like a wildcat in his grip.

‘You bitch! You fucking bitch! You did this!’ she was screaming, and Juliet was stepping backwards, flinching under Kate’s words as if they were stinging her, but no, she didn’t look particularly surprised, and Sawyer almost let Kate go then, let her tear Juliet apart, but he knew, a heavy knowledge, that they’d need Juliet, need her help, and the thought made bile rise in his throat.

Sayid had come forward, glancing at Jack, then at Sawyer, his eyes betraying nothing.
‘Sayid, can you take her?’ Sawyer asked, gasping the words as Kate clawed at his hands. Sayid nodded, and there was a confusing moment as Sayid pulled Kate off him, pulled her away, even though a little of the fight had gone out of her. Sawyer looked at Juliet, and she looked back at him impassionately.
‘Good job with the tourniquet, but he needs stitches. I’ll get-’

‘You’ll get nothing, Juliet,’ Sawyer growled, and there must have been something in his voice that wasn’t there before, because she paused, trying to stare him out for a moment before looking down at the ground.

‘Sun, can you get Jack’s pack?’ Sawyer asked, and Sun nodded, turning away from the crowd. ‘Hurley, I need you and Jin to watch Juliet. Preferably somewhere I can’t see her.’
Juliet looked up at him again, but there was nothing but steel in his eyes, and she nodded and let them lead her away.

Sun was back a moment later, and Sawyer upended Jack’s pack onto a second sheet he’d taken from the line, fishing out the spool of thread, with a hook tucked in it, from the medical detritus. Sun put a hand on his.
‘Do you know what you’re doing? I can stitch-’
‘I’m fine.’
Jack was breathing hard now, his eyes slipping closed intermittently. Sawyer cupped his face again.
‘It’s gonna be okay, hoss. I got you,’ he murmured, and he thought that maybe Jack nodded as he started to stitch Jack’s wounds.

---

‘What does it mean?’
The words startled Sawyer; Jack’s voice was raspy, tired, but at least he was awake.
‘What does what mean?’ said Sawyer, as he poured out a glass of water.
‘This,’ Jack said, gesturing at his arms with his bandaged hands. ‘What does it mean? I know you know.’
‘Don’t you?’ Sawyer asked, frowning, holding the cup out to Jack. Jack shook his head as he took the cup in both hands, Sawyer only letting go once he was sure Jack could hold it okay. Though only a little light from the fire filtered into the tent, Sawyer saw the fear on Jack’s face. He sipped the water, coughed, sipped again.

‘Last thing I remember is going to sleep in my tent,’ Jack said. ‘It’s not very clear after that, but I know I woke up in the jungle, I know I knew I was bleeding heavily, needed help fast.’
‘What’d you do with your clothes?’
Jack opened his mouth to answer, then frowned. ‘You…you think I did this to myself?’ He sounded incredulous, and Sawyer was surprised; for some reason he’d assumed Jack would have realised.

‘Charlie saw you walking towards the treeline in the middle of the night. You didn’t have a pack on or anything, so he didn’t think much of it. You were on your own.’
‘Well, that doesn’t mean anything,’ Jack said, confusion and defensiveness in his voice in equal measure.

Sawyer hesitated before continuing.

‘In their camp, the other’s camp, me and Kate came across a room. They had a guy in it, Rosseau’s daughter’s boyfriend, strapped to a chair. They were making him watch this fucked-up film, brainwashing him. That,’ Sawyer said, pointing at Jack’s arms, ‘was in that film. God loves you as He loves Jacob. Words on the screen.’
‘But I never saw that film. I’ve never heard that phrase before in my life.’
Sawyer must have got a look on his face, because Jack was now getting angry. ‘Somebody did this to me, Sawyer, and I don’t know why you’re-’
‘You did see the film, doc. Juliet admitted it.’

Jack stared at him, eyes dark in the tent’s shadows.
‘She’s lying,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never seen this before. I don’t know what it means.’
‘I don’t think she is.’
There was a pause; Jack looked down, his mind working visibly, before back up at Sawyer. The fear in his eyes had intensified, and Sawyer felt for him.

‘She’s protecting herself by making you all think I did it.’
‘Sayid and Kate both agree with me, doc. We all questioned Juliet. We think she’s telling the truth. There’s some other things too, like the fact that the letters on your right arm aren’t as clear as those on your left. If you were using your left hand for those, well that would explain it.’

Jack was shaking his head, drawing his arms in closer to himself.
‘I didn’t do this,’ he whispered, and Sawyer could see him withdrawing. He reached forward, gripping Jack’s knee.
‘Doc, they made you do this. It doesn’t mean you’re crazy or anything.’
Jack didn’t say anything, just stared at Sawyer, and Sawyer realised with a start that Jack was withdrawing from him; he was scared of him. Sawyer frowned.
‘Hey, talk to me, doc. You’re looking freaked out.’
‘Why…why are you doing this? Somebody did this to me…I didn’t…’
Sawyer sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
‘Doc…’
‘You remember when Claire thought somebody had injected her, and I didn’t believe her? That was Ethan, and Charlie almost died because I didn’t believe her-’
‘Doc-’
‘I didn’t do this!’ Jack was shouting now, agitated, angry, and scared as hell.
‘Look, Juliet said this might happen-’

It was the wrong thing to say, the wrong thing entirely, he could see it on Jack’s face instantly. Jack struggled to his feet, flinching as Sawyer stood up as well, blocking the way out.
‘Calm down, Jack,’ Sawyer said quietly, his hands raised, palms down flat.
‘Let me out.’
‘Calm down-’
Jack moved forward, and Sawyer grabbed him by the shoulders, again the wrong thing, because it made Jack struggle.

‘Let go of me,’ Jack hissed, pushing at Sawyer with his forearms, and in the tussle Sawyer inadvertently grabbed at one of Jack’s hands, making him gasp with pain, feeling stitches break and blood soak through the bandages. Jack yelled angrily, and Sawyer almost let go instinctively, but instead shoved Jack backwards into the tent. Jack stumbled backwards before steadying himself, cradling his hand to his chest and looking at Sawyer with an expression of utter betrayal. Sawyer felt guilt flood through his guts, but kept his face stony. If Jack needed someone to hate, he could bear it.
‘Calm the fuck down, doc. You’re staying in here til we figure out what the hell’s going on.’
Jack said nothing; something closed down in his eyes and his gaze slipped away from Sawyer’s, and he sat down cross-legged on the floor. Sawyer stared at him for a moment, then stepped out through the tent flap.

---

God loves you…as He loves Jacob…
God loves you…as He loves Jacob…

It was suffocating, the fear Sawyer felt when he heard it, when he heard Jack whispering it, because he realised it had been repeating on the very threshold of his hearing for some time, and what might have been happening before his brain registered it triggered an overwhelming feeling. He scrambled to his feet, throwing back the tent flap, and Jack was still sitting cross-legged where Sawyer had left him, only now he had unwound all his bandages and had torn out the stitches on half of one arm, torn them out by digging in with his nails because fresh blood was streaking his skin. Sawyer grabbed his hands, hard, held them away from his body at an awkward angle and the pain must have cut into Jack sharply, because he blinked rapidly, suddenly coming back to himself.

‘Fuck, Sawyer, let go!’ he gasped, pain and anger twisting his expression until he glanced down at his arm, and then he froze. Sawyer loosened his grip slowly, letting go, sitting back. Jack was reeling, struggling to breath steadily, as realisation dawned, and it was painful, too painful to watch. Sawyer hung his head, trying to block it all out; he could handle being hated, but he wasn’t sure he could handle this.

‘Oh…oh Jesus…’ Jack whispered, before grabbing at the undone bandages in a panic, starting to wrap them around his arms again. Sawyer grabbed his hands again, gently this time.
‘Take it easy, Jack. Take it easy.’
Jack didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him.
‘I don’t remember…anything…’
‘It’s okay, doc. It’s okay.’
‘What’s wrong with me?’ Jack looked at Sawyer then, needing to see how Sawyer reacted to the question, and all Sawyer could feel was a breathtaking hurt for him, and only now did he really understand what it meant to feel for another person, because he desperately wanted to take it away, to make it better, to stop that haunted look in Jack’s eyes.
‘We’re gonna figure it out,’ he said thickly. ‘We’re gonna figure it out.’

Fic-tastic!

Fri, 20 Apr 2007 16:07:30 GMT

Alas my time off work is coming to an end, but the bonus is that I've had time to write two more fics - hurrah I hear you say! Think I will have to post them in two seperate posts for ease of reading, so here's the first: a PWP! With tattoos! Yay! And no weirdness like in my previous fics! Savour if you like 'em cos this'll probably be all I can write for a while...booo!

Title: Green
Characters: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: NC-17 - it's a wee bit smutty this one! :) Plus some bad language
Spoilers: None I don't think, if you're up to date with current episodes, only minor if you're not
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, not making any money

Jack wasn’t surprised when he heard twigs snapping underfoot behind him; he’d had an idea that someone had followed him into the jungle, and a fairly good idea who it was.
‘What do you want, Sawyer?’ Jack said with a sigh, not bothering to turn around as he picked up a branch for firewood, stamping on it with a little more force than necessary to snap it in two.

‘Well good morning to you too, doc,’ Sawyer drawled sarcastically, but there was something a little off in his tone that made Jack glance at him; a glance that told him there was something off in Sawyer’s body language too, some uneasiness that wasn’t usually there, that made Jack straighten up and look at him with a frown.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

Sawyer took a few steps forward, narrowing the gap between them to a couple of feet. It wasn’t much distance, when they were stood in a spacious clearing, and it made Jack feel like stepping back, but he held his ground.
‘I worked it out,’ Sawyer said, his gruff voice surprisingly soft, the look on his face something like Jack had never seen directed at himself before; something like tenderness.

Fuck.

‘Worked what out?’ Jack said, unable to decide once he’d said it if he’d kept his tone neutral enough, and he bent to position another branch under his foot, well aware his emotions showed too clearly on his face, in his eyes, at the best of times.

This was not the best of times.

‘Why you brought her,’ Sawyer said.
Jack laughed, once, a sound tinged with bitterness, momentary relief flooding through him. Sawyer was talking about Juliet.
‘Well, I already explained that, so looks like you wasted some valuable thinking time.’
Sawyer had taken another step closer, and Jack felt his pulse pick up, felt his stomach clench.

‘Yeah, you did. Thing is, you were bullshitting. That’s what I worked out.’
Jack tucked the two broken pieces of branch into the bundle under his arm; he couldn’t carry any more, and he really didn’t want to be having this conversation right now; he was done with explaining himself to everyone, particularly about Juliet.
‘Good for you,’ he said, as he stepped past Sawyer.

‘You brought her so you wouldn’t be on your own anymore,’ Sawyer said quietly, not moving.
Jack paused, opened his mouth to say something, what he wasn’t sure, then shook his head and started walking again.
‘I also worked out it’s my fault,’ Sawyer said, raising his voice slightly, so Jack would hear as he walked away. This time Jack did stop, he couldn’t help it, and anger spiked in him, sharp and fierce.

‘Your fault?’ he echoed, turning to face Sawyer. ‘Because Kate chose you over me? Because you two fucked in a cage?’ He shocked himself with the harshness of his last words, and he shocked Sawyer too, he could tell; anger clouded Sawyer’s face for a moment before he obviously dampened it down. Jack mentally kicked himself, hard; he’d let himself feel the jealously, just for a moment; the jealously that had taken his breath away back there watching the monitor in that control room, and that had shaken him to his core, because it had been directed at the wrong person.

Kate, not Sawyer.

And that brought up a whole other set of issues, ones Jack had thought long buried. He’d just about managed to push them to the back of his mind again, when Sawyer said what he said next.

‘It’s my fault 'cause I chose Kate ‘stead of you,’ Sawyer murmured.

Jack’s entire world seemed to tilt on its axis; he simply couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He blinked, knowing there was an utterly blank expression on his face, as Sawyer closed the distance between them again, only an arm’s reach away again.

‘What?’ Jack whispered.

‘I chose her instead of you. Made the easy choice ‘stead of the right one.’

‘What?’ Jack said again, confusion now making him angry, disbelief warring with ridiculous hope, hope that simultaneously thrilled and terrified him.

Sawyer’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, pink against the tan of his face, and it gave Jack a visceral start.
‘You don’t need her, Jack. She’s your easy choice. And since she’s up to no good, she definitely ain’t the right one.’

Sawyer reached out, closing his hand round the bare skin of Jack’s forearm. The touch startled Jack far more than it should; he took a quick step backwards, dropping the branches he’d gathered. Sawyer stepped forward to match the distance again, pulling gently on Jack’s arm to close it even further, until they were just inches apart. If Jack just leant forward, he’d…he could feel his face burning, his pulse pounding in his throat.

‘I know it hurt you, seeing me and Kate, and I’m sorry,’ Sawyer whispered. ‘Let me make it up to you.’
Jack closed his eyes, dropping his head and shaking it.
‘This is ridiculous,’ he whispered back, face tensed into a frown, still disbelieving but not quite willing to step backwards, to break away.

He had to know.

Sawyer leant in slightly, his breath ghosting over Jack’s cheek, and when he spoke, his mouth was so close to Jack’s ear that his lips danced lightly over Jack’s skin, making him shudder.
‘Is it? I know you’ve felt it, been there ever since the first day.’

He pulled back ever so slightly, now facing Jack, mouth just there, and Jack grabbed Sawyer’s other arm with his own hand, gripping hard, not pushing or pulling, just anchoring himself. He was unbelievably tense, trembling, and he could feel that Sawyer was too, his breath uneven.

Jack looked into blue-green eyes, startling clear, and for once, he let go. ‘Too stubborn for our own good,’ he breathed, and in the next moment he gasped, bucked, because Sawyer’s mouth was on his, firm, insistent, just lips, warm and moist. He tightened his grip on Sawyer’s arm, must be painfully tight now, leaving finger marks, but he dared not let go, not yet. Instead he broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, eyes searching Sawyer’s face for something that would tell him to back away, that this wasn’t what it seemed, but he saw only hunger.

Now he let go, threading the fingers of his free hand through Sawyer’s long hair, pulling Sawyer’s head forward and opening his mouth to this kiss, his tongue darting out, wetting Sawyer’s lips, a little startled by his own audacity, and instantly Sawyer was surging against him, kissing back hard, tongue deep in his mouth and a ragged moan in his throat. Sawyer let go of Jack’s arm, moving his hands to Jack’s back, digging his fingertips into Jack’s flesh, kneading his muscles, slipping one hand down to the hem of his t-shirt, sliding his palm underneath and up onto Jack’s bare skin, slick with sweat. He took a step forward, pressing the lean length of his whole body against Jack’s, pushing slightly, and it made Jack stumble backwards, tripping on the uneven ground, landing in the dirt.

‘Sorry ‘bout that,’ Sawyer whispered, sounding anything but, as he laid his body down over Jack’s, his hair hanging forward, tips tickling Jack’s face. Jack dug his fingers into Sawyer’s hips, seeking out the masculine ridges there, feeling the heavy weight of Sawyer’s hard cock against his own hip.

‘You’re never sorry,’ Jack gasped back, shifting onto his side slightly, pulling Sawyer by the waistband of his jeans until he had their hips together, until he could thrust his own hardness against Sawyer’s, and he let out a long, guttural groan, mouth now at Sawyer’s throat, lips dragging against the scruff of his stubble.

Sawyer had his hand round Jack’s arm again, the inked one, and he held it up slightly, rubbing his thumb over the tattoos on the inside of his elbow.
‘It feel any different here?’ he asked, almost casually, and Jack realised that Sawyer wasn’t in any kind of a hurry to end this. It made him harder, if that was possible.

‘Not physically. In my head it does though, if that makes sense,’ Jack replied, wondering slightly at his own honesty, honesty that was rewarded when Sawyer bent his head to Jack’s arm, licking and biting wetly at his skin there.
‘Fuck,’ he gasped. ‘Oh fuck.’
Sawyer glanced up at him and grinned.
‘Been wanting to do that ever since I saw ‘em,’ he murmured. ‘Got any more I ain’t seen yet?’

Jack didn’t answer, just watched the way the sunlight glistened on Sawyer’s moist lips, on the dampness of his own skin where Sawyer’s mouth had been, adding nuances to the colours already marked there. Sawyer’s eyes darkened.

‘You fucking have, haven’t you?’ Without waiting for a reply he pulled at Jack’s t-shirt, stripping if off him, a quick examination of his chest and back before reaching for the fly of Jack’s jeans, deftly opening it with one hand and tugging them down over Jack’s hips. He’d got them just to the point when Jack’s pubic hair was showing thickly before he paused, hints of ink just showing on the sensitive flesh of Jack’s hip.

‘Oh fuck me,’ Sawyer whispered, fingers tracing the pattern where it emerged above the denim. ‘What is it?’

‘The ocean,’ Jack whispered, and lifted his hips, pushing his jeans down, his boxers with them, unabashed. Sawyer sucked in a breath as the intricate waves were revealed, his attention more on the tattoo than Jack’s cock, and he traced each twisting spiral with his fingertips, before replacing them with his tongue, his fingers curling lightly around Jack’s cock.

Jack bucked off the ground, his hand snapping to cover Sawyer’s, to close his hand tighter. Sawyer scraped his teeth over Jack’s hipbone and Jack almost came then, somehow holding it down as he pushed Sawyer over onto his back, almost tearing at his clothes. Sawyer watched him calmly, thumbs digging into Jack’s hips as Jack freed his cock, only reacting with a groan as Jack took him in hand, a few firm strokes before shifting down Sawyer’s body, placing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, stomach, just to the side of his cock.

Sawyer skimmed his fingers over Jack’s short hair, rubbing at his scalp, all the time watching Jack’s mouth, his eyes locked on it as Jack wrapped his fingers around Sawyer’s base, as Jack licked a slow, broad stroke up from the base of his cock to the head, tightening the tip of his tongue to tease at his slit, and Sawyer bit the back of his own hand to stop himself shouting, shifting his hips impatiently. Jack wet his lips, glancing up at Sawyer, seeing only a fierce intensity on his face, all of his attention completely on Jack. He wet his lips again and mouthed at the underside of Sawyer’s cock, before sliding the head between his lips.

‘Holy fuck,’ Sawyer gasped, spreading his thighs unconsciously, glancing down Jack’s body: his broad back, the muscles playing across one another, the flesh just above his hips, his jeans, halfway down his ass because they had been pulled open at the front, and all of a sudden Sawyer was just about tipping over the edge.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna-’ he gasped, a hand on Jack’s shoulder as a warning, but Jack wasn’t shifting; instead he quickly wet a finger, trailing it down between Sawyer’s legs and over his entrance as he hollowed his cheeks. Sawyer arched his back as he came, loudly, not covering it up this time. Jack waited out the spasms, stroking Sawyer’s balls, before slipping his mouth off Sawyer’s softening cock, quietly spitting his cum onto the ground next to them, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then Sawyer was pulling at him, pulling him back up to lie across his body, Jack’s hard cock pressed against the warm skin of his hip.

‘You want in me?’ Sawyer asked, quietly but fairly confidently. Jack kissed him, gently.
‘Like nothing else,’ he breathed back. ‘But we can’t. No slick.’
Sawyer started shaking his head, saying ‘It doesn’t-’, but Jack cut him off. ‘No. It does matter.’
‘Got some in my tent,’ Sawyer drawled, and Jack knocked his forehead against Sawyer’s.
‘Then why the fuck didn’t you bring it, genius?’ he growled, grinding his cock against Sawyer’s hip, and Sawyer laughed, before rolling them so Jack was beneath him.
‘Had to make sure you’d come back for more,’ he replied with a wink, meaning it as a joke, but there was a thread of vulnerability there, and Jack tangled his fingers in Sawyer’s hair again as Sawyer slid down Jack’s body, not teasing like Jack did, aware that Jack needed to come, hard and fast, so taking him deep. Jack let out a strangled gasp, then almost stopped breathing altogether as Sawyer let Jack’s cock slip from his mouth, as he licked down over Jack’s balls before pushing his legs up and apart, and swiping his tongue down further, teasing wetly at Jack’s entrance.

‘You dirty fuck,’ Jack gasped as his cock surged and his hips snapped up off the ground. He felt Sawyer grin against his thigh as he slid a finger in through the spit he’d left with his tongue, crooking it as he returned his mouth to Jack’s cock and sucked hard. Jack came silently, his entire body tensing up, thigh muscles going rock-hard, fingers digging into Sawyer’s scalp. Sawyer waited until Jack’s cock was soft in his mouth, lapping up the last few traces of cum with his tongue, before settling himself on his side next to Jack, Jack on his back and breathing hard.

They lay together for a few minutes, Jack getting his breath back, Sawyer letting his fingers play idly over the revelatory tattoo on Jack’s hip.
‘She is up to no good, you know,’ Sawyer murmured.
‘I know,’ Jack replied, with sadness in his tone.
‘And I know you’ve probably got a plan. But you shouldn’t be trying to do it on your own.’
‘I know that too. Now.’
‘So tell me.’
‘I will.’
‘When?’
‘When we get back to your tent,’ Jack replied with a grin, and Sawyer laughed.

First two-parter!

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 12:19:01 GMT

Hurrah! Have some time off work so as a treat (i.e. a break from DIY) I wrote a sequel to Ghosts. I'm not 100% happy with it, not sure I've taken it where I wanted to, but I just sat down and wrote and this is what came out. Maybe someday I'll go back and re-write the second half. Hope you like it.

Title: Demons
Characters: Jack/Sawyer, some Kate
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own them, not making any money

He’d only stepped out of the tent for a minute, to work off a bout of cramp he’d got from sitting beside Jack for too damn long. He’d only stepped out for a minute, walked ten feet away, and that was the exact goddamned moment Jack woke up. He didn’t know straight away, because Kate was in there, and Kate tried to calm Jack down, explain where he was, ask how he was, but after maybe a minute she was shouting for him.
‘Sawyer! Sawyer!’

His stomach clenched at the tone of her voice, the sudden note of panic, and he half-ran, half-limped back to the tent flap, his leg still cramping. He ducked in, seeing Jack standing, swaying, backed up in the corner, eyes still dark, black now in the shadows of the tent.

Kate flashed her eyes to Sawyer, then back to Jack. ‘He’s, he’s not making sense, I don’t know-’

Jack frowned, looking to the side, and once again, when he spoke, his voice wasn’t quite his. Sawyer felt terror wash through him, ice-cold, and he almost turned and ran then; the urge was a powerful one.

Not here. Jesus, not here in front of Kate.

‘No way man, no way,’ Jack muttered, and Sawyer untensed a fraction, because the accent was a little softer, and he knew that his pop hadn’t talked like that.
‘Doc?’ he said loudly, putting a hand on Kate’s arm, a message to stay put and stay quiet. ‘Hey Jack?’

Jack jerked, looking down now. The movement was a little sickening, because it didn’t look natural; it looked a little like Jack was a puppet. Fear ebbed back into Sawyer as a quiet thought got lodged in his head on repeat.

Who’s pulling the strings who’s pulling the strings who’s pulling the strings

‘Yeah I know I need the money. You ain’t gotta remind me bout that,’ Jack mumbled, twisting his foot in the sand, and something triggered, something made Sawyer feel like he was going to be sick, like he wished Jack would just shut the fuck up right now. But he was pinned again, forced to watch it play out.

Jack looked up, looked straight at him, and Sawyer felt his guts clench, but Jack was looking through him, at someone else.

Sometime else.

‘How…how do you work out who…?’ Jack said, flicking his head as if he had hair in his eyes, gesturing around helplessly, before his expression twisted with something like disgust. ‘Fuck, man.’

Sawyer felt Kate turn to him. ‘Sawyer,’ she whispered, but he tightened his grip on her arm, not daring to say another word.

You just gotta keep an eye out, he mouthed silently, why he didn’t really know. He remembered the other side of this conversation word for word, as if it were seared indelibly into his mind. Happens sometimes, with something that changes your life, flips it completely inside out. You’ll work it out – you’ll catch their eye, they’ll hold it for a little bit longer’n they should, take off to the john a moment later.

‘What, so I just waltz in there after them and drop to my fucking knees?’

Pretty much, bud. Pretty much. But you name your price first, for sure. Gotta get the green, that’s the whole fucking point. Pretty boy like you, you’ll clear those debts in no time.

Sawyer knew Kate was staring at him, knew her eyes were locked on his face, on his mouth.

‘Jesus,’ Jack muttered, rubbing his hand over his face, then behind his ear, as if he were tucking long hair there. And then he jerked again, before stilling. He got some focus back in his eyes, and Sawyer flinched because Jack was actually looking at him properly now. His mouth carried on working, but he was frowning now, his eyes confused. He spoke softly, and Sawyer clenched his jaw, because he knew he’d yelled the words, almost screamed them, when he’d been the one speaking them.

‘Fuck you, man. Fuck. You. I usually do this for money, you know. Don’t think you’re fucking special.’

Something finally snapped and suddenly Sawyer was free to move, and he turned and left the tent, not running but near as damn-it, and he tripped in the sand, stumbling back to his feet, as Kate called after him in anger and confusion. He made it to the shade of a nearby tree before falling to his knees and retching, not bring anything up but foul-tasting spit.

He had been torn open, eviscerated, his insides laid bare.

No more secrets. Not ever.

He knows you.

Kate was there a moment later.
‘What the fuck was that?’ she hissed, her voice trembling.
Sawyer shook his head, gathered his breath.
‘You shouldn’t’ve left him in there,’ he growled, his normally gruff voice sounding weak to his ears, hauling himself to his feet. He turned and faced the tent, and Kate stepped in front of him.
‘Sawyer…’

He took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly.
‘That, freckles, was between me, and the doc. Let me deal with this.’ He left the please unsaid, but Kate must have seen it, because she stared at him for a moment longer, searching his face, her eyes betraying her utter confusion, but she nodded.

He nodded back, hoping it conveyed his gratitude, and walked back towards the tent.

---

Jack was reeling, still on his feet, but swaying like he was punch-drunk. And it was Jack this time, no longer trapped in a memory that wasn’t his. But whatever was happening to him had left its mark; his eyes were wild, he was trembling, and he looked more terrified than anyone Sawyer had ever seen. He looked at Sawyer, and laughed, an unhinged giggle that gave Sawyer chills, that had more desperation than amusement in it.

‘And I thought I was fucked up,’ Jack rasped, his voice raw, and Sawyer took two quick steps forward and hit him before he’d even finished the sentence. It was a clumsy punch, and Sawyer tried to pull out of it halfway through, once his brain had actually engaged, but it still connected, and Jack stumbled back, falling down on his ass.

Sawyer followed him down, a quick glance at the expression on Jack’s face
I hate you
then he was grabbing Jack by the shoulders, pulling him into a fierce embrace, mouth at Jack’s ear.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t fucking mean that. I didn’t fucking mean that. I’m sorry.’

Jack twisted in his grip, struggling hard for an instant before something in Sawyer’s words or tone of voice got through, and he slumped, dropping his forehead to Sawyer’s shoulder. It felt right, somehow, and the thought gave Sawyer a jolt.

‘Are you okay?’
Jack huffed humourlessly against Sawyer’s shirt.
‘Okay. Stupid question. I meant, did I hurt you?’
‘With a pansy-ass punch like that?’ Jack muttered, letting out a shuddering breath. He was shaking now, a step up from trembling. Sawyer wondered how much adrenaline you had to have coursing through you before you had a heart attack, then pushed the thought away as he scooted back from Jack, sitting in the dirt of the floor of the tent. With one hand he tilted Jack’s face up, checking for injury; Jack allowed it for a second or two before batting his hand away.
‘You didn’t hurt me,’ he said quietly, tonelessly, looking away, towards the flap in the tent.

Sawyer stared at Jack for a minute or two, biting at his bottom lip, frowning, desperately trying to think of a question that would help things, even just a little.
‘When it happens…you remember it all afterwards?’
Jack nodded, still looking away, and Sawyer’s stomach dropped, even though he’d known what the answer would be.

He knows you

‘Is it…real?’
Jack cut his eyes to meet Sawyer’s for a second, then stared back out of the tent.
‘You mean, was I really channeling your dead dad, who shot your mom in a jealous rage then turned the gun on himself on top of the bed you were hiding underneath?’

No secrets

Sawyer stifled a surge of rage at the sarcasm in Jack’s voice.
‘Yeah,’ he forced out.

There was a silence, that stretched almost unbearably.

‘Yeah,’ Jack whispered in reply, and then he was crying, silently. He covered his face with his hand, and Sawyer just sat, and stared. He hadn’t actually been expecting that answer; he rebelled against it but then remembered that this was Jack, who wasn’t remotely convinced by whatever mysticism this island seemed to possess.

‘Fuck,’ he breathed, and reached for Jack again, but Jack pushed him away.
‘Don’t. Leave me alone.’
‘C’mon doc…’
‘What can you possibly do to make it any better, James?’ Jack’s voice was loud, and raw, and he stared at Sawyer as tears streaked his face, so frighteningly close to a complete breakdown.

‘You said…you said not to cry,’ Sawyer croaked through a dry throat; simple, childish words. ‘You said that way they win.’
It wasn’t enough to make it better, not by a long shot, but it was enough to let him in. Jack didn’t push him away this time; he let Sawyer reach for him, hold him, hard and fierce.
‘We’ll figure it out, hoss. We’ll figure it out.’

---

It was later, dusk, and Sawyer was outside the tent, reading. Jack had been sleeping for nine hours straight and Sawyer had been just about to check on him when the tent flap opened and he sat down in the sand next to him. Sawyer marked his page, folded the book.

‘You’ve been out all day.’
Jack nodded towards the sunset.
‘I noticed. You been here all day?’
‘Nope. Kate was here for some of it.’
Jack frowned. ‘I think…I think I scared her. Back there.’
‘You mean, with the whole ‘I can transmit thoughts directly into your brain’ shit?’ He said it gently, keen to keep Jack away from that terrifying edge he’d been teetering on earlier. ‘Scared us both, doc. Don’t worry about Kate. She’s pretty tough for a girl.’

Jack nodded absently, biting his lip. Sawyer shifted his ass slightly so he didn’t have to crick his neck to look at him.

‘You sleep okay?’
‘Think so. Don’t remember otherwise if I didn’t.’
‘Do you think it’ll just wear off?’
Jack shrugged. ‘They gave me a shot, that’s what seemed to start it all. So maybe it’s just something that’ll work its way out my system.’
‘But maybe not, right?’
‘Yeah. Maybe not.’

‘What can you…when you were doing that shit…can you hear what I’m thinking?’
‘I could. Not so much now.’

At all?

Jack grinned. ‘It’s just a murmur now. Nothing that actually makes sense.’
‘Doubt anything in there ever made much sense, doc,’ Sawyer snorted, starting to turn away, to get up.

‘You’d be surprised,’ Jack said quietly, looking at him for a few heartbeats, then away again, and Sawyer felt himself go red, an honest-to-fucking-goodness blush, because that look had a fair bit of heat in it, and he kinda got the feeling he knew which thoughts Jack was talking about. His cock twitched, and visions of Jack back in that room flashed by him, of Jack on his knees with his back to Sawyer, of Jack kneeling next to him with his thick, hard cock outlined against his jeans.

Sawyer pinched the bridge of his nose hard, steadying his breath.

‘That ain’t what you want,’ he whispered, trying to convince himself as much as Jack. ‘If that had been what you wanted, you would’ve taken it back in that fucking room.’

Part of him hoped Jack wouldn’t understand what he was talking about, that Sawyer had mis-read what Jack’d meant, and he could just cover it up with his usual bluster. Jack picked up a handful of sand, let it trickle from between his fingers. He was frowning.

‘I didn’t want to hurt you, and that’s what would’ve happened back in that room,’ he said quietly.

Sawyer wasn’t sure why they were keeping their voices low; there was no-one anywhere near them. He sat up straighter, embarrasment turning slowly to anger, not at Jack, but at what had happened to Jack, and what had happened to all his closely guarded secrets.

‘So you slept well for a couple of hours. So what? Doesn’t mean it’s gone, doc. And ‘til it has, you don’t know what’s you and what’s me. I know what’s me, and wanting to fuck around with another guy sure ain’t you. So let’s just drop it. They’ve fucked with you enough, I ain’t planning to make things worse.’

Jack picked up another handful of sand, said nothing.

‘And I ain’t gonna apologise for anything you picked up, it don’t work like that, man can think a whole lot things without any intention of acting on any of it.’

Jack opened his hand, let all the sand fall out, then wiped his palm on his jeans.

‘I didn’t fuck around with another guy until I was 35,’ Jack said, and all Sawyer’s anger dissolved, instantly, melting away into a sour taste in his mouth.

‘I went to Thailand after Sarah and I broke up – we got divorced – I just needed to escape, completely. Met a guy in a bar, from New Zealand. He had all these Maori tattoos, all over his arms. Couldn’t stop staring at them. Nothing happened at first, we just got talking, drank some, talked some more. Got on well, it was weird, completely different backgrounds, jobs, everything.’

Jack paused, trailing his fingers in the sand. Sawyer realised he was holding his book in a death-grip; he let go, dropping it beside him.

‘Must have been the fourth night we’d hooked up, he dropped ‘ex-boyfriend’ into the conversation. It shocked me, big guy like that, then I got angry with myself that it’d got to me, so I over-compensated trying to look like it didn’t bother me, asking lots of questions. Got back to my room with biggest fucking hard-on I could remember and had my hand on my cock before I’d even shut the door behind me.’

Jack paused again, glancing at Sawyer for a moment. He’d said the last sentence in a rush.

‘Heard enough yet?’ he asked, his voice betraying his nervousness. Sawyer could only shake his head; he didn’t trust himself to say anything. He was suddenly, powerfully jealous of both Sarah and this man.

‘So, I call him the next day, make some excuse why I can’t meet up with him that night like we’d agreed, to watch a game in one of the international bars, and next thing I know he’s at the door, mad as hell, saying he knew I was bothered, but that he didn’t think I’d be such an asshole about it, that he normally wouldn’t give a shit but I was one of the few decent, or so he’d thought, people he’d met since he’d been here. I was just stood there, too chicken-shit to say a thing, and he yelled a bit more, then kind of deflated, went to leave and finally I got the balls to do something, grabbed his arm, and then it was kind of a blur, but I was pretty soon fucking around with a guy and coming harder than I ever imagined possible.’

He stopped, clenching his hand into a fist to stop himself playing with the sand.

‘Don’t think you’ve got me figured out, Sawyer. I know I got an unfair advantage with all this shit that’s going on, but I’m trying to even the odds a little.’

It was almost incomprehensible to Sawyer that Jack would still want to talk to him, let alone do anything else, now that he knew who Sawyer really was. He just couldn’t get his head around it. All the secrets he had so closely guarded the whole of his life were known to this man, and more than just the actual events themselves; what he thought and how he felt, too. It was terrifying, but despite it all, he was achingly hard.

‘In the tent,’ Sawyer croaked.
‘What?’
‘Get in the fucking tent.’

It was clumsy, at first, but soon settled into a rhythm. As soon as they were both inside Sawyer had pulled Jack down onto him, Jack half-falling to the floor, and now he slid his hands up underneath Jack’s t-shirt, hand to heated skin, pulling towards him, and Jack gasped, bending his elbows to brush his lips against Sawyer’s, sharing a breath. He kept on his knees, although he could feel Sawyer raising his hips beneath him, rubbing against the inside of his thighs.

‘God,’ Jack whispered shakenly, as he crossed mouths with Sawyer again, Sawyer opening the kiss and licking into his mouth, such an obscene feeling after such a long time. His cock surged, and Sawyer grabbed the waistband of his jeans, pulled to the side, and suddenly they were laying flush against each other, Sawyer pushing one leg in between Jack’s, rutting against him. Sawyer kissed Jack hard, revelling in the rasp of stubble against his own, in the wet surge of Jack’s tongue against his own.

He was incredibly turned on, had been since Jack had first started talking about the Maori, and coupled with his jealously it drove him on, made him kiss Jack deeper, pull at him harder.

Jack got Sawyer’s shirt open, marvelling that his shaking fingers still had the dexterity to work buttons, then pulled out of the kiss, biting gently at Sawyer’s neck, at his collarbone, at his nipple.

‘Fuck,’ Sawyer growled, arching against Jack’s mouth, tugging at Jack’s t-shirt, pulling it off then popping the button of his jeans, unzipping the fly, sliding his hand down Jack’s back, underneath his boxers, kneading his ass and grinding his cock against Jack’s.

Jack moaned, and the sound went straight to Sawyer’s cock, and pretty soon after that, things became kind of a blur, punctuated by first Sawyer, then Jack, coming hard; Sawyer in Jack’s mouth, Jack inside Sawyer.

---

Sawyer woke a few hours later. It was still dark; he could see the first glimmers of dawn through the tent flap.

The half-open tent flap.

He turned to Jack, and felt fear slam into him like a freight train – the tent was empty. He scrambled to his feet and struggled into his jeans, his heart hammering in what felt like his throat, before he saw an arm waving him down from outside.

‘Relax, I’m just getting some air. Thought you could see me from where you were.’

The relief was a physical thing, and he gasped with it. He shook his head, catching his breath, then stepped out, sat down next to Jack, and punched him lightly on the arm.
‘Jackass,’ he grumbled. Jack grinned. He was half-dressed, wearing his boxers and t-shirt. Sawyer eyed his muscular thighs before a thought occurred to him.

‘You ain’t bothered that someone might see you sitting half-naked outside my tent?’
Jack looked around.
‘Didn’t realise this was your tent, to be honest. And no, not really.’
Sawyer nodded. ‘Good,’ he said, and only surprised himself slightly that he really meant it.

‘We’ll need to talk to Kate once it’s light.’
Sawyer nodded his agreement. ‘Why’d you wake up? Any weird shit?’
Jack shook his head.
‘Feel pretty normal actually.’
‘Even with this?’ Sawyer said, casually gesturing between them, not feeling very casual about the possible answer.

Jack looked at him, nodded. ‘You?’
Sawyer nodded, then grinned.
‘Get in the fucking tent?’ Jack asked, smiling too.
‘Hell fucking yeah.’

Another dark fic...

Thu, 08 Mar 2007 22:09:33 GMT

Would you believe I'd forgotten all about this story and discovered it two days ago tucked away on a memory stick? It's got a slight similarity to Vitality and 57, but a bit more smutty...still pretty damn dark though...

Title: Ghosts
Characters: Jack/Sawyer, some Kate, Sayid
Rating: R, for mature themes
Spoilers: None really
A/N: A long one, 3,000 words +. Set after the end of season two. Goes a bit screwy towards the end. Poor old Jack...

He’d tried to read the label as they drew out the syringe, but his head was pounding, and his vision was blurred, and he could only guess at what the clear liquid was.

A drug. Obviously. Sedative? No, doesn’t make sense. I’m not exactly a threat right now. So, what? Tests. They want to do tests. So something to do with a test.

But he couldn’t think straight, and it was too late anyway, because there were hands on him, holding him, and there was a flash of silver out the corner of his eye, then a pain in his arm. Almost too quickly his head was spinning, and they left him as silently as they’d come, shutting the door to the room quietly.

He tried to stand, but the room yawed and pitched around him, sending him sprawling. He shut his eyes tightly and yelled with anger, no real words, just a noise of frustration and fear as he dug his fingers into the dirt floor, reassuringly solid beneath him.

‘Christ, look at yourself.’

He froze, all of him; for a terrifying moment he thought his heart had seized up too. For half a minute or so there was silence, and he could almost start to imagine there would be no more, but the same sharp voice, dripping with disdain, came back out of the darkness.

‘You’re a disgrace. A goddamned disgrace.’

And all of a sudden Jack knew what he would see when he looked up, and the knowledge somehow lessened the fear. Because he’d been here before. He raised his head, opened his eyes, and saw his father. Not as he’d looked in the body bag, no. His dad looked like he did the day he’d first found out about what happened in Thailand, and what had happened afterwards. So Jack sat back in the dirt, and looked up at his father, and grinned.

Christian had been drinking, that wasn’t a surprise, but the reason for it was subtly different. This time, he needed some Dutch courage. Jack knew that because Christian didn’t quite look him in the eye, and Christian normally prided himself on a steely blue-eyed stare.

‘I saw you, Jack,’ he said, quickly, then seemed to regret saying it.

Jack didn’t answer. He stared out the window of his parents living room. He didn’t trust himself to answer. He didn’t know how he’d react until he heard his dad say the words.

‘I saw you…kissing…’ Christian couldn’t finish, as if it was too disgusting for words.
Jack tensed up, flicking his gaze to his dad briefly, before staring back into the comfort of the night.
‘How could you, Jack? You have responsibilities, to your family, to Sarah-’
‘Sarah is gone, dad. She left me. She isn’t coming back. And I don’t want her to.’

It was as if Jack had insulted Sarah, and this galvanised Christian into animation.
‘Nooo, of course you don’t! Because you’re found something else to occupy your time, haven’t you? Some new fancy-’
‘He has a name,’ Jack said quietly, but firmly, and then his dad was suddenly right there, and his hand was gripping Jack’s forearm fiercely, nails digging into the tattoo as if it was somehow responsible for everything that had happened since it was inked into Jack’s skin. All of a sudden Christian didn’t have a problem meeting his eye; his stare was hot, and full of rage.

‘He is a fucking queer, son, and you will stay the hell away from him, you will stay away, and you will talk to someone, because you need help, you will talk to someone and I will talk to Sarah and maybe-’
Jack shoved his dad away, a hard shove in the chest, and he stuck his arm out, brandishing its ink like a bullfighter’s flag.

‘You see this, dad? You see this? I got this because I went to Thailand and I met a man, a Maori, and he had tattoos all over his body, and I thought they were the most incredible thing I had ever seen. I got to see them all, dad, every single one, and it was a fucking epiphany. I do not need fucking help – what I need-’
He took a deep breath, and continued more quietly. ‘What I need is for you to try and understand, dad. Try and understand. This is who I am. I know it seems sudden, and new, but believe me. Believe me. This is who I am. I loved Sarah, I did. But this is who I am.’

In the darkened room, with his dead dad looking down at him, Jack threw his arms open wide.
‘This is who I am, dad! Get used to it!’

His voice sounded deafeningly loud in the bare room. His dad was gone, there one minute, not the next, and the surge of bravado that had made him shout out trickled away. They would be back. And they would give him more of whatever was in the syringe. And it would be worse, much worse.

---

Sawyer woke, and for a moment thought he was back home, coming round with a raging hangover. Then he felt the rope digging into his wrists, felt the solid chair beneath him, and it was all too real. He laughed bitterly, once, more of a huff than a real laugh, before raising his head slowly, gritting his teeth against the scream of his neck muscles.

He saw a small, dark room, and he saw Jack slumped against the wall, facing him.

‘Doc?’ His throat was raw; he must have been shouting, yelling, but at what, he couldn’t remember.
Jack twitched, and slowly opened his eyes. But for some subtle, terrifying reason, it didn’t look like Jack.
And when Jack spoke, it wasn’t his voice.

‘Jamie? That you, boy?’

Sawyer’s heart lurched, but he didn’t notice. He was overwhelmed with a surge of anger, and he held onto it tightly, because underneath was a cold, stark terror. They couldn’t do this, not this. They had no goddamned right.

He’d only been young, but his memories were startlingly clear.

Jack shifted forward slightly, squinting in the darkness, his open mouth set in an expression so familiar it made Sawyer feel like he was going to puke.

‘Can’t be,’ Jack murmured, and the accent, cain’t be, was so strong, so completely unlike Jack’s, that it cut through Sawyer’s anger like a hot knife, piercing the fear and letting it flood through him.

‘No,’ Sawyer whispered, paralysed, pinned by Jack’s dark stare. Jack was on his feet, unsteady, like he was drunk, but he was coming forward. He stopped a few feet from Sawyer, swaying backwards.
‘Ah don’t like your hair, son. Long hair’s for fags.’
Jack drew out the last word, caressing it with his new-found drawl. Only it wasn’t Jack. Sawyer pulled at the rope tying him down, suddenly desperate, but only tore the raw skin round his wrists.

Jack leaned in close, one hand reaching past Sawyer, onto the back of the chair for support. His eyes searched Sawyer’s face, and Sawyer couldn’t look away.
‘You grew up big, J. Handsome devil too.’ He paused. ‘Wish I coulda been there.’
‘Jack, stop it,’ Sawyer whispered; he’d been meaning to yell it, scream it, but all he could do was croak. Jack’s face twisted, like he was in pain.
‘Don’t be scared, son. I ain’t…I ain’t gonna hurt you.’
Jack reached up, his hand trembling, and Sawyer pulled back, as far as he could twist in his binds. Jack dropped his hand, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it. He pushed himself off the chair, looking around the room, and then he was blinking back tears.

‘I never meant…I never meant any of it, Jamie. She just…she just made me so goddamned angry. I couldn’t help it.’
Jack moved suddenly, on his knees pushing in between Sawyer’s legs, grabbing at either side of Sawyer’s face roughly. His expression was fierce, insistent. Sawyer swallowed down a surge of bile, his heart thudding violently, but frozen again, pinned again.

‘I am sorry, son. I am so fucking sorry. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. It’s too late. Your momma…she loved you so much…’
And at that Sawyer crumpled, gasping as the tears came, the grief and fear heavy in his throat. He forced his eyes shut, dropping his head, shaking it, as Jack’s hands suddenly loosened their grip.

‘Sawyer, don’t.’
Sawyer snapped his head back up; it was Jack’s voice, and it was Jack looking back at him; horrified, shaking, but Jack. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Jack took a breath, and fixed him with a fierce look.
‘Don’t. Don’t give in. It’s what they want.’ Jack’s voice shook, but there was still some strength there, some undercurrent of steel. He took Sawyer’s head in his hands again, gently, wiping the remnants of Sawyer’s tears with his thumbs.

And then the door was opening, but Jack didn’t look away.
‘Don’t give up. Don’t let them win,’ he said, as they pulled Sawyer to his feet, pulling him towards the door.
Sawyer found his voice only as they almost had him out the door.
‘You too, Doc,’ he shouted, his voice hoarse. ‘You fucking too.’

There was no chair the second time round; they opened the door and shoved Sawyer through it roughly, so that he tripped and went sprawling on the dirt floor. His hands were bound again, behind him, so the fall knocked the wind out of him, and he lay still for a few moments, catching his breath, idly wondering why, if Jack was in the room, he hadn’t come to help him up.

He struggled to his knees, tossing his head to flick his hair out of his eyes, and saw Jack in the corner of the room. A chill passed through him at the sight; Jack was facing the corner, kneeling, with his head in his hands, completely still apart from shallow breaths. The fear that Jack might not be Jack right now was a fierce, tangible thing, but Sawyer refused to let it beat him, refused to let them beat him.
‘Hey doc,’ Sawyer said lightly, ‘Fancy untying me here?’

Jack shuddered, but didn’t otherwise move.
‘Don’t,’ he said in a strangled whisper. Sawyer felt the chill again, a little colder this time. At least it was Jack’s voice.
‘Don’t what? You all right? They hurt you?’
Jack raised his head slightly, reaching out with his hands to touch the walls penning him in.
‘Don’t talk, Sawyer. Please. Just stay back and shut up.’ His voice wavered, and as he spoke he caressed the walls. There was something strangely sexual in the way he did it.
‘What? Why? What they do to y-’
‘Jesus, shut up,’ Jack gasped. ‘I can’t…’
He bent his head again, shaking it, now shaking all over. ‘I can’t…’
‘Jack, you’re kinda freaking me out-’
Sawyer jumped as Jack punched the wall, he couldn’t help it. Jack slammed his fist over and over again into the bamboo, half a dozen times, splitting the skin and drawing blood.

He stopped, and paused, gasping for breath.
‘They want me to hurt you, Sawyer, they gave me something to make me…but I won’t, I won’t, but you have to be quiet…’

So Sawyer was quiet, aware of how loudly his heart sounded in his chest as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position as silently as possible. He was scared, hell, maybe even a little bit terrified. Jack knelt there, blood from his hand dripping onto the dirt floor, breathing heavily, occasionally twitching, his hips thrusting forward in a jerking motion, and suddenly Sawyer realised what Jack had meant by ‘hurt’, and his mouth went very dry.

‘No, no, no,’ Jack murmured, and then moaned lightly, one hand disappearing from view, and Sawyer knew that Jack was stroking himself through his jeans, and despite everything, Sawyer felt his cock twitch.

With a grunt Jack brought his hand back up, forcing both palms flat against the walls, gasping now, groaning, shaking his head and whispering to himself. Sawyer couldn’t stop watching him, couldn’t despite the swell of self-disgust he felt, because part of him wanted to urge Jack on, and he didn’t know why.

Jack went very still, balling his hands into fists, and then suddenly he was moving, undoing his jeans, and even with his back to Sawyer, Sawyer could tell he was touching himself, masturbating, jerking himself hard and fast with his head bowed and one hand high up on the wall. And Sawyer was still watching, his cock half-hard, breathing shallowly, as Jack shuddered and moaned and his hips jerked, once, and twice again. Jack slumped, and as his hands went to re-fasten his jeans Sawyer could hear his breath hitch, could hear him cry quietly.

‘You fucking bastards,’ Sawyer whispered to the air.

---

The third time, they paused outside the room, and without preamble suddenly laid into him, vicious punches to his face mostly, a few to his ribs, and as he stumbled in their grip, he knew why, and hate started to crystallise hard and fierce inside him.

They shoved him through the door again, onto the floor, and one of them went to Jack, once again huddled in the corner.
‘He’s hurt, Dr Shephard,’ the Other whispered into Jack’s ear. ‘You’ll have to touch him now.’ Sawyer nodded, despite the blossoming pain across his face.

You fucking bastards.

They dumped a bag on the floor next to him, and left the room. Sawyer lay on his back for a moment, just breathing. After a few moments he turned his head; Jack was looking at him, still in the corner, and the look on Jack’s face made him catch his breath, made his heart hammer. Jack looked like he was going to be sick, but his eyes were hungry.

‘They gave me more of it,’ Jack whispered, staring at him unblinking.
Sawyer swallowed.
‘I know. But I’m okay. You don’t need to fix me up.’
Jack’s face twisted; for a moment he looked like he was going to cry, then he grunted, shifting his hips.
‘You’re bleeding. You’ve got open wounds. They’ll get infected.’
Sawyer stared back at him.
‘Then be quick, doc.’

Jack crawled over to him, and upended the bag, panting, glassy-eyed. He pulled out a bottle of antiseptic, cotton wool, a needle and thread. With shaking hands he soaked the cotton wool and wiped it somewhat clumsily over Sawyer’s face; Sawyer hissed at the sting. Jack tried to thread the needle, his hands shaking, and as he tried over and over again, Sawyer let his eyes drop to Jack’s crotch, to the erection clearly straining against his jeans. He looked back up at Jack, licking dry lips.
‘I could help you out, doc…’

Jack twitched violently, shaking his head.
‘Don’t, don’t, it’s not like that, they want me to hurt you…’
He stopped, thread and needle in hand, and stared down at Sawyer, and Sawyer stared back, stared into pain, desperation, longing.
‘And I won’t,’ Jack whispered, as tears began streaking his cheeks silently. He shook his head, mouthing ‘no’, as he succeeded in threading the needle, and with a deep, shaking breath, he started stitching Sawyer’s wounds.
Sawyer watched for a while, making silent promises. I’ll fucking kill them, Jack, I’ll fucking kill the bastards.

---

There was no fourth time; Sawyer woke to the sound of running, shouting, in the corridor outside the room he slept in. He rolled off the thin, hard bed, stumbling when he got to his feet, rubbing his eyes, wincing at the suddenly ferocious throb of bruises and swelling on his face. He shook his head, trying to clear the vestiges of sleep from it, and banged his fist on the door.
‘Hey! Hey, what the hell’s going on?’

There was no answer, but the noise outside the door suddenly cut out. Sawyer could hear nothing but the liquid thump of his heart. Then the sharp, gristly sound of a key in the lock of the door. His heart stuttered and he took a few involuntary steps back as the door swung in, as Jack smiled crookedly at him.

Sawyer froze, pinned by Jack’s stare, his impossibly black stare, by the thin trail of blood that ran from one nostril.

‘J-Jack,’ he stuttered, completely unnerved. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘Jailbreak,’ Jack whispered, but his mouth didn’t move, and Sawyer felt his whole mind spasm as he realised the words really had arrived in his brain without Jack’s mouth moving at all. Jack was still grinning, but it was a smile that made Sawyer wish for sunlight. There was movement behind Jack, and Kate stepped into view; she looked like Sawyer felt; petrified.
‘Come on, Sawyer,’ she said, obviously trying to keep her wavering voice level. ‘We’re getting out of here.’
Sawyer looked from Kate, to Jack, back to Kate. She nodded slightly, and he let her reach for his arm and pull him out of the room, out into the corridor.
‘Okay, Jack. How do we get out?’
Sawyer didn’t like the way Kate grew more nervous as she spoke to Jack; he didn’t like it at all. Something’s really not right here.

Understatement of the year, J.

‘Follow me,’ came Jack’s soft words, and he headed down the corridor. Kate tugged on Sawyer’s arm, and they followed, walking quickly, but not running, Jack striding ahead without looking back.
‘You all right?’ Sawyer whispered to Kate. She was still clutching his arm, clutching it tightly.
She darted a look at him, her mouth set in a tight line.
‘I’m fine. You okay?’
He gestured to his face. ‘Fine, considering.’

Kate suddenly flinched violently, biting down a cry; one of the Others had turned into the corridor ahead, was coming towards them. Jack stopped, cocked his head, and Sawyer realised he never, ever, wanted to see whatever expression was on Jack’s face right now. The man had raised a gun, but now his hand shook, and his eyes went wide, and he dropped the gun on the floor, and turned, and ran.

Jack looked at them over his shoulder.
‘Come along now,’ came the words, but his lips were still, and Sawyer found himself hoping that maybe, just maybe, he was dreaming all this. It was a lonely hope, and a precarious one.

Jack led them out of the compound, into the jungle, and the journey swiftly became a blur. Jack never once looked back, as if confident there would be no pursuit, but Sawyer couldn’t be so sure, found himself flinching at every snapped twig, darting a glance behind, his eyes fitfully searching the ubiquitous undergrowth.
They moved swiftly, and silently, but every now and then Jack would chuckle to himself, and because he was ahead of them, facing forward, Sawyer couldn’t tell if he’d really made the sound out loud. He would catch Kate’s eye now and then, and her face would be tight in a frown, and she would nod almost imperceptibly. What they were communicating Sawyer wasn’t sure, but it made him feel a little bit less like he was losing his mind.

---

After several hours, the trees started to thin, and all of a sudden they were on a beach, and there, right there gently bobbing in the tide, was Desmond’s boat, and Sayid was on deck, watching with binoculars. Sawyer made a noise, an unintelligible noise of relief, a feeling something like salvation flooding through him, even as Jack stumbled in the sand.

‘Oh,’ Sawyer heard. ‘Oh, fuck.’

He lunged forward, just managing to catch Jack as he fell, a sudden, shocking dead weight, just managing to break his fall so Jack landed not so hard on the ground.

‘Jack!’ Sawyer yelled, grunting as he pulled Jack over onto his back. Jack’s head lolled; he was out, utterly, and as Sawyer watched a fresh trail of blood started oozing out of his nostril.

Kate was there, next to him, and wordlessly they took Jack between them, hurrying down to the water’s edge, wading in, wading out to meet the small boat that Sayid was doggedly rowing out to them.

To be continued...?

Working. Sucks. End. Of.

Fri, 09 Feb 2007 23:51:56 GMT

Right, so I'm pissed on Jacob's Creek Chardonnay (classy me, ooooohhh yeahhh) and it's all my stoopid work's fault. I can't believe I was so angry earlier on, tried to install some zen-like calm in myself and it. just. didn't. work. Grrrrrrrrrr. But I'm okay now, too drunk to care. Have to have a haircut tomorrow at 10am, but that's okay, I'll make it. And then my brother's getting married on Monday. Yes, I should probably be more excited about that than I sound, but frankly, it's causing so many issues, I can't summon the energy....Have got the boyo to agree to stay drunk all weekend, so it's allllll goooooooddd ( that's a total lie, BTW, I am an official lightweight and would never, ever cope, but it's the only solution I can think of.......)

Hmm, slightly dark fic...

Mon, 05 Feb 2007 00:05:30 GMT

For some reason I got inspired to finish off a little ficlet I'd half-written a short while ago. It's pretty dark, and has slashy undertones.

If you happen to read it, I'd be grateful if you could let me know if you got it - the way I wrote it meant I alluded to some stuff rather than spelling it out explicitly, so if there was anything you didn't understand, please say so. Thanks!

Title: Vitality
Characters: Jack, Sawyer, some Kate, some Ben
Rating: R for mature themes and strong language
Spoilers: none really
Word count: around 1,000
Disclaimer: not mine :(

Cold pulled at him, at his guts and his heart. A cold, icy terror; the realisation that you’re really not dreaming. Ben stared at him, unblinking, and for the first time, though it seemed impossible he’d not seen it before, Jack realised Ben was crazy. Completely and utterly insane. Jack started to speak, had to stop and work up some saliva, then tried again.
‘I can’t. You have to believe me. I really can’t.’
Ben just stared, the faintest of smiles playing on his thin lips. Then he nodded once, sharply, as if he’d just made up his mind. He pointed at Jack.
‘Yes, you can. You just need the right…motivation.’

Ben turned on his heel, clasping his hands behind his back and stooping slightly, looking very much like a stereotypical Englishman at leisure. He first faced Kate, then turned slightly to face Sawyer. Jack felt terror churn his bowels.

‘It’s impossible,’ Jack said, speaking a little louder and faster. His heart was beating at a regular breakneck speed now, occasionally skipping a beat as adrenalin coursed through it.
Ben turned his head slightly in Jack’s direction, but not enough to look at him.
‘Nothing’s impossible. And you yourself are living proof that it’s not. Or should I say Sarah is. And Charlie.’
‘They weren’t dead,’ Jack blurted. ‘You can’t bring people back from the dead!’ He was shouting now, in desperation, because Ben was slowly, one deliberate step at a time, walking towards Sawyer. Jack twisted in the grip of his captor, but as before, he was held tight.

‘Listen. Hey.’ Jack tried to sound warm, friendly. ‘Listen. How do you think…how would it work? Think about it. It’s impossible.’ Jack had to stop; Ben had reached Sawyer, was whispering in his ear, and Jack’s throat had closed up. Cold sweat soaked him. And then Sawyer winced, looked surprised.

Ben stepped back, and looked at Jack, a sick, wistful smile on his face. Time seemed to stop; for a long, long moment Jack was pinned by Ben’s cold, watery gaze, felt like he was falling into a pit of madness. The spell was only broken by the vivid colour of it; the vibrant scarlet of it as it blossomed on Sawyer’s dirty t-shirt like an unfurling flower. Jack’s eye was drawn to it, a slow careering slew of eye to blood, to its darkest, slickest point, right over Sawyer’s heart.

He stabbed him in the heart. Oh God Jesus he stabbed him in the heart.

Jack lurched forward, and he was suddenly freed; he stumbled in the dirt, scrambling to his feet, reaching Sawyer as he started to fall. He felt Sawyer’s hands close on his biceps in a fierce grip that at once seemed to waver; they hit the ground together, and his hands went by instinct to press on the wound. Sawyer gasped, coughed, and blood stained his lips. The whole room lurched, tilted, see-sawing but he and Sawyer were solid on the ground. From a long, long way away, Jack could hear Kate screaming. Blood surged from Sawyer’s chest, an impossible amount, a vital, powerful stream that he was powerless to stop.

‘Sawyer,’ Jack whispered, as the nightmare enveloped him in its black wings. Sawyer’s eyes met his, wild with fear, and a broken smile tugged at his lips.
‘James,’ Sawyer rasped, followed by a bubbling rattle.
Blinking back stinging tears, Jack gasped for air. ‘What?’
‘My name.’ A cough, a gasp. ‘James.’
And Sawyer went limp, the back of his skull making a dull thump as it hit the dirt floor. Jack stared, and stared, his mind completely and utterly empty, scoured clean.

James.

His hands were slick and slippery with Sawyer’s blood, which surged a little less now. Sawyer’s eyes had rolled back in his head, showing only white.
Kate’s screams had subsided to a repetitive moan, ohgodnopleasegodno.

James.

Jack's mouth worked, as if he wanted to speak, but he had absolutely no idea what he would say. His fingers twitched, bunching up Sawyer’s blood-sodden shirt. As if he were moving through treacle he reached one shaking hand to Sawyer’s throat, pressed into the skin there, felt nothing. No pulse. Just the silent echo of death.

James.

Something was pulling his head up, some urge, something that made him lock eyes with Ben and not look away, made him keep his eyes locked with Ben’s as he slid his hands underneath Sawyer, one under his shoulders and one under the back of his head, pulling him up into an embrace. Jack stared at Ben, stared at the childish excitement and expectance on his face as he cradled Sawyer’s heavy weight, as he pressed Sawyer’s cooling cheek against his own. Words that weren’t his own, that terrified him, spilled from him.
‘You wanted to see, you fuck.’ His voice was raw, hoarse, and he didn’t recognise it.
Ben nodded. ‘Oh yes. Very much so.’
‘Let me show you then, you cunt.’

And as Jack stared at Ben with a hate that he couldn’t control, as he tightened his grip on Sawyer, Ben’s expression began to change.
His grin faded, and his excitement was replaced with first confusion, then a frown.
He opened his mouth, but said nothing.

As the first spot of blood appeared on the front of Ben’s shirt, right over his heart, Jack closed his eyes, because he couldn’t watch it unfold. He was shaking, trembling, because something was flowing through him, into and out of him, something that he didn’t understand and that chilled him to his core.

He heard the others in the room shout, and heard Ben’s gargled gasp as he fell to his knees. He didn’t care, because he was only listening for one thing.

He heard Ben’s breath rattle, heard the splash of liquid on the dirt floor as Ben’s blood poured from his heart from a wound no doctor could explain. He didn’t care. He was only listening for one thing.

And he almost missed it, because now everyone in the room was shouting all at once, shouts of ‘fuck’ and ‘christ’ and ‘jesus’, but he caught it, just.

Sawyer gasped, almost silently, as he started to breathe again.

Sundays

Sun, 04 Feb 2007 22:51:17 GMT

So last night, I wanted to go and see The Fountain. It only came out over here a week or two ago, and I've been waiting for it for ages. So off we go to the cinema, and it's been taken off already! Gah! Why? Come on cinema people, give it a chance!

Today I have been mostly painting. My mum and dad came up to see our new house for the first time today, and they said it was nice. How they can see that through all the decorating we have to do I'm not quite sure. Maybe that's the special kind of vision that parents have. The boyo was very pleased with his new stepladder, spent most of the day on it even when he was only painting about five foot off the ground (he's six-three). Bless!

Note to self - get a new job. Yours sucks and makes you sad, even though it should be the best job ever.

Test of how to link

Wed, 31 Jan 2007 19:59:10 GMT

This ain't as easy as it looks, this livejournal lark...before I post to a community let's see if this works: Test

First ever fic!

Wed, 31 Jan 2007 19:55:07 GMT

So, so sorry that this is so late. It was due on Jan 13th!!! My excuse is that I've just moved house and have ONLY just got my internet back - I've had this written for ages. Also, tis the first ever fic I have posted anywhere so please be nice....

Title: 57
Rating: R
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, not trying to profit in any way!

57. Jack and Sawyer want to murder each other. Maybe they try, and slash ensues

Pickett held the small glass bottle up against the light, eyeing it suspiciously.
‘You sure this’ll work?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Sure. Unless they’re faggots,’ he said, then sniggered. Pickett looked at him with distaste.
‘What the fuck does that mean?’
Jason’s grin faded at the fierce expression on Pickett’s face. He glanced at Tom, seeking support, but Tom was watching him with a frown.
‘Nothin’,’ he said to Pickett. ‘It’ll work.’
Pickett stared at him until he looked away, then nodded.
‘It better. Come on. Let’s get this over with.’

Jack closed his eyes and let his head fall back slightly, until he felt the cold, damp wall against his scalp. At least they’d let him shower before the surgery. He’d insisted, for hygiene reasons, and it had felt so damned good. He’d stood, face upraised in the spray, trying to let the warm water relax him, untangle the clenched knot in his stomach. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what he would do, what he was going to do to Ben, whether it would work, whether Kate and Sawyer would get away, whether it would all be pointless in the end.
It had been worth it, he told himself now, repeated it silently to try and stop the lump forming in his throat, the tell-tale prickle behind his eyes. Kate had got away. He’d thought both of them were free, but about an hour ago the intercom had crackled into life, and he’d heard Sawyer, heard him yelling indignantly, defiantly. It had only been a snippet, a snatched stutter before the com had fallen silent, but it had crumbled Jack’s quiet elation into a thousand pieces.
He’d got the call from Kate, and so he’d fixed Ben, stitched up his kidney sac, successfully removed the tumour. And now the only flimsy bargaining chip he had was his dire warnings that Ben might suffer complications, that some bacteria might have slipped past the attempted sterility of the operating room, and be filling his kidneys with pus. Better keep the doc alive for a week or two to make sure. He’d thought a week was long enough, that he’d work something out. But now they’d brought Sawyer back, kicking and screaming, and half of the reason he’d given himself up was suddenly, undeniably, torn away from him. His life now, for Kate’s. And only as long as she stayed one step ahead.
He’d refused to believe Juliet when she said his plan wouldn’t work, that they weren’t on his island anymore, but instead another island, a smaller one. Even as a seed of terror was planted in his guts, he’d grinned fakely at her.
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s the truth. Whether you believe it or not is up to you.’
‘You’ll have to do better than that.’
The words echoed in his mind now, because of course she hadn’t been lying, had she? They’d caught up with Sawyer, and the only way he could imagine that happening was if Sawyer ran out of places to run.
He refused to let himself try and figure out why Kate had made the call if they weren’t truly free, because he’d already tried, and it was driving him crazy.
Jack dropped his head forward, rubbing at his temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. He still had his scrubs on, hadn’t even bothered asking for clothes - the look on the faces of the Others, even Tom, had told him it would have been pointless. Ben’s blood was mostly dry now, still damp in places. The seat of his pants was wet through where he sat on the damp floor. He was thirsty, hungry, and tired. And he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do.
The door opened, its juddering creak a violent intrusion into his thoughts, and he flinched, before scrambling to his feet. Pickett stepped through, his stance threatening, his body tense. Jack’s gut clenched as his pulse jittered, throbbing in his throat.
Pickett didn’t speak, he just stopped a few feet inside the door, and tossed one of the sacks at Jack. Jack could see two more Others just outside the corridor.
‘Where’re we going?’ Jack asked loudly, trying to sound confident, feeling anything but.
Pickett clenched his jaw, tilting his chin up slightly, staring at Jack like he was a piece of shit he’d trodden in.
The sack had fallen at Jack’s feet. He made no move to pick it up. ‘You expect me to put that on without-’
‘You’ll see,’ Pickett interrupted. ‘Put it on.’
The last thing Jack saw as he lowered the sack over his head was Pickett grinning. It looked like someone had had to teach him how to do it. His arms had been gripped, and he’d felt the cold sting of a needle before he could react. He’d yelled, struggled, but was held firm, and the cool oblivion he expected never came. He felt his pulse pick up a little, but nothing else immediately. They’d pulled him forward, and after a moment’s indecision with himself, he let them lead him out the room.

He snatched the sack off his head as soon as he heard the door shut behind him; this was a room he had never been in before, he could tell from the acoustics. And he was right; small, dark, lit only by a grill high up in the wall, and it had Sawyer in it. A Sawyer who was pacing, running his hands over the walls, the door they’d just shut behind Jack. Jack stared at him in dumbfoundment for a moment, then shook himself out of it.
‘Hey,’ he said, his voice swallowed by the confines of the room. It was bare, except a low, unfurnished platform that could act as a bed, in the loosest sense of the word.
Sawyer shoved against the door, then glanced at Jack momentarily.
‘Hey yourself, Doc. Make yourself useful and see if you can find any way outta here.’
Jack had stepped forward automatically once he’d got a look at Sawyer’s face; he placed a hand on Sawyer’s shoulder, tugging slightly.
‘Let me see your face. Looks pretty bad.’
Sawyer jerked at Jack’s touch, growling as he shrugged him off, an honest-to-goodness growl. Jack frowned.
‘Sawyer-’
‘You don’t wanna be touching me, Doc. They gave me a shot, and ever since I’ve been feeling a little on edge. Not sure what they’re up to, but I don’t really feel like hanging around to find out.’
Jack took a step backwards, partly to give Sawyer a bit more space, partly because Sawyer mentioning a shot had made him aware of how he was reacting to his own injection – his pulse was up, his mind was racing, and he felt a bit like Sawyer looked – like his skin didn’t quite fit. He took a couple of deep breaths, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sawyer glanced at him again.
‘You too, huh? Any idea what it is?’
Jack shook his head, then looked up and around the room.
‘I don’t think there’s any way out of here. Think they would’ve checked for that.’
Sawyer barked out a single laugh, sounding bitter.
‘Oh, right, you being their best buddy an’ all, sort of thing you’d know.’
‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’ Jack snapped, and knew he hadn’t meant to. He was tense, every muscle tight, agitation churning in his guts like acid. Sawyer glared at him from under a deeply furrowed brow.
‘Didn’t see you in no cage, hoss. Don’t see you with no black eyes or split lips. Think maybe you got off easy.’ Sawyer’s voice was low, dangerous.
Jack held up his hands, forcing his breathing to be steady, catching Sawyer’s eye and holding it.
‘Stop it. It’s the shot. They gave us drugs. Testosterone probably, plus maybe an amphetamine and some god-knows-what Dharma shit. We need to calm down.’
Sawyer held his stare for a moment, then took two quick steps forward, suddenly invading Jack’s personal space, backing him up against the wall.
‘Think it’s too late for that, jackass,’ Sawyer breathed. Jack shoved him backwards with a snarl, instinctively pushing off from the wall, fists clenched, but just about catching himself. Sawyer grinned at him, fire dancing in his eyes.
‘That’s the spirit, Jack-o,’ he growled.
Jack took a deep breath, followed by another. The room was drawing in around them, the shadows growing thicker.
‘Stop it. Get a fucking grip, okay?’
‘Bad language don’t suit you, Doc,’ Sawyer murmured, a split-second before he lashed out, punching Jack hard in the jaw. Jack grunted, thrown back against the wall and dropping to one knee, his vision clouded by a white flash, pain flaring through his skull. He tasted the metallic tang of blood, his mouth cut on his own teeth. It had been a hard punch, and he was still slightly stunned as Sawyer grabbed a fistful of his scrubs and pulled him to his feet. Sawyer looked at him, at the blood spilling from the corner of Jack’s mouth.
‘Much better,’ he whispered. Jack blinked, hard, and in one snake-fast movement grabbed the arm Sawyer was holding his scrubs with and twisted it behind Sawyer’s back, taking three steps and slamming Sawyer into the opposite wall, face first.
‘Fuck you,’ he snarled, twisting Sawyer’s arm further and feeling a sickening but vicarious thrill as Sawyer grunted in pain.
He never, not in a million years, expected Sawyer to then start laughing.
It was a laugh that came from deep within, and Sawyer shook with it.
‘Something funny?’ Jack barked.
Sawyer’s voice was muffled slightly because his face was pressed against the wall, but it was clear enough.
‘Guess their plan to have us kill each other might’ve worked if we’d been straight,’ he said, and pushed back against Jack, against Jack’s half-hard cock, not to free himself, but to get closer.
Jack tightened his grip on Sawyer’s arm, opening his mouth to reply, but a sudden rush of blood to his cock distracted him slightly. Sawyer felt it, and grunted again, shifting his hips backwards in a clumsy grind.
Jack screwed his eyes shut tight, canting his hips away from Sawyer.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ he hissed, blood roaring in his ears.
‘Will be if you don’t let me turn round,’ Sawyer replied, his gravelly drawl sounding even thicker than usual. Jack loosened his grip slightly, but still held firm. He shook his head, even though Sawyer couldn’t see it.
‘Don’t. You’re with Kate. You’re straight. Get a grip.’
‘Not straight. Bi. And you’re queer, though I don’t reckon you’ve ever really admitted it to yourself. Let me turn around. Christ, I’m so fucking hard. I gotta touch you.’
The words seemed to fall from Sawyer’s mouth easily, naturally, but Jack just couldn’t match them with the Sawyer he knew. But he didn’t have time to think about it, because he’d let his grip on Sawyer slip, and Sawyer shoved away from the wall, turned, and was walking Jack backwards to the other wall, pressing him against it and shoving a knee in between Jack’s legs.
Jack caught his breath as Sawyer pushed up tight against him, his mouth an inch away, his breath smelling surprisingly sweet. Jack’s hands went to Sawyers hips, instinctively seeking out the sharpness of his hipbones. He swallowed dryly, then grinned, gently, despite the dizzying sensation that he was going quite mad.
‘I’ve admitted it. Took me a while, and a marriage, but I did it.’
‘Mostly,’ he added, after a moment’s thought.
He brushed his mouth against Sawyer’s, ignoring the twinge from his cut lip, hearing the other man’s breath catch in his throat. But then he forced himself to look away, to close his eyes and drop his head back against the wall. His cock was a hot, heavy weight, screaming for attention.
‘Sawyer,’ he murmured, before repeating it more firmly. ‘Sawyer, this is crazy. We’ve gotta stop this. They’re just fucking with us.’
Sawyer eyed the column of Jack’s exposed throat, the curve of his collarbone, and leaned in, biting wetly at the junction of neck and shoulder. Jack groaned, and the sound went straight to Sawyer’s cock.
‘You’re saying you’ve never thought about it, Doc?’ Sawyer mumbled as he licked his way up to Jack’s ear, biting gently on his earlobe. Jack slid a hand up into Sawyer’s hair, gripping tightly, pulling Sawyer’s head back slightly.
‘Never said that,’ he whispered, as he leant in and kissed Sawyer, not gently, a hard, intrusive kiss, forcing his mouth wide, his tongue deep, the pain from his own mouth forgotten completely. Sawyer made a noise deep in his throat, a needy growl, and his hands were suddenly, shockingly, on Jack’s skin, pushing up underneath his scrubs and touching him, grabbing at him, warm strong fingers kneading the flesh of his back, tracing his tensed muscles. Jack gasped, the sensation so surprising he flinched bodily, and Sawyer’s lust was momentarily tinged with sadness as he realised it’d been much too long since Jack had been touched like this, intimately. It was surprising, following the force of Jack’s kiss, and it pulled him up short for a moment. He pulled back from Jack, holding his face still, looking into brown eyes turned black by shadows and lust.
‘What?’ Jack whispered, breathless.
A pause of a few more heartbeats, then Sawyer was grinning, murmuring ‘Nothin’,’ and his mouth was on Jack’s again, his tongue duelling wetly with Jack’s again. But now Sawyer knew that what could have just been rough, visceral release was something different, a connection that meant something amongst the rage of hormones they were both enveloped in. And he knew that Jack felt it too, because his touch had grown a little more tender, a little more lingering. They were both panting now, Jack impatiently tugging at Sawyer’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons until Sawyer pushed back and pulled it off over his head as Jack stripped off the top half of his scrubs.
They came together urgently, Sawyer pressing Jack back against the damp wall, making him gasp and push back. ‘There,’ Jack grunted, nodding at the low platform jutting out of the wall, and Sawyer pulled him down onto it, on top of him and into him, until Jack could barely breathe. He shifted back just far enough to unfasten Sawyer’s jeans, to shove them down past his knees. His own scrubs were much easier and then everything condensed into one tight, hot moment as his cock pressed hard against Sawyer’s, as his hand gripped them both and his fingers entwined with Sawyer’s, and they both pushed into the heat of their palms and against the solid, throbbing flesh of each other. Jack lost the rhythm of his breath, gasping into Sawyer’s mouth as Sawyer shoved up against him, a forceful jerk of his hips punctuated by a muffled groan. Later Jack tried to remember how long it had lasted, this suffocating ecstasy, but it was undefinable until Sawyer came, the throbbing twitch of his cock and the first spurt of his cum instantly triggering Jack’s own climax.
Jack dropped his forehead onto Sawyer’s shoulder and lay still, just breathing, as the last surge of his orgasm passed and his cock softened against Sawyer’s. Sawyer surprised him by resting a hand on the back of his neck; not caressing, just resting.
‘When do you think the shots wore off?’ Sawyer murmured.
Jack grinned against the warm skin of Sawyer’s shoulder. In a minute or two they would have to face reality again, and he still had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. But right now, for a few more seconds, he was content. And he didn’t feel quite so alone.

Bad lady!

Fri, 17 Nov 2006 21:59:52 GMT

Oh where can I put my face. Look how long it's been since I posted an entry! I have no excuse, I have been using livejournal, just not for leaving my thoughts...must do better. It doesn't help matters that I still have dial-up internet (I KNOW, okay, I know!) but that will all change soon. We're hopefully only a week away from exchanging on the house, so as soon as I'm back living in London, broadband will be installed, I promise...

Getting there

Thu, 29 Jun 2006 11:58:59 GMT

Well lookit! This morning I've worked out how to add a header! And very purty it is too. I am disproportionately pleased with myself. And why not? I had to find a pic, edit it in photoshop, open an account with photobucket, work out how to upload said pic from my mac to photobucket, then change from S2 to S1 and THEN work out how to fiddle with the code to slot it in. Not bad for a morning's work.

Current weather: sunny. Cats are both lolling around indoors, recovering from 'the snip'. Sorry guys. I've given myself another ten minutes online before lunch and then off to London. I would recommend everyone takes the week off over their birthday, tis very indulgent.

One small step...

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 19:22:14 GMT

After lurking for I think about a year, I've finally got myself an account. Only problem is, I have no idea how to use it! I would also like a paid account, but because I live in the UK, and don't have a credit card, I don't think I can get one. Arse. So anyway, it looks crap at the moment, hopefully I will quickly work out how to make it look all kinds of pretty.