This might be darker than you had in mind, but I was miraculously inspired to write Jack/Sawyer and just went with it. This takes place during season 6.
Requiem for a Love Story
The only thing they have in common is their failures. Leadership. Family. Love.
Kate, Juliet.
This floats between them like poisonous gas fogging their lungs, heartbreak toxic and tragically self-inflicted.
Three years have aged them three decades. If they were damaged goods before, they’re both utterly unlovable now.
It’s a cold comfort that they can hardly be disappointments to each other, not after how thoroughly they’ve fucked up everything that’s ever mattered before. When you’re a consolation prize, sometimes it’s just not worth the effort to even pretend.
--
If it were as simple as a rivalry over the women, they wouldn’t be doing this now, when said women are dead or disconnected. Irrelevant.
The sex is ugly and necessary and cathartic and, really, all they have. Sawyer loves it, the oblivion, the novelty, the fact that he’s been subconsciously wanting this since Jack stood up in front of the castaways and indirectly claimed his role as leader.
Jack comes all over his hand and Sawyer fakes like it’s years ago and they never fell in love with other people, like they’re not just filling the voids in their respective hearts.
“We’re two old men, Doc.” Sawyer slips back into his shirt, plants his hands on the subtle beginnings of a gut. “Shame we didn’t go for it when we were better-looking.”
Jack coasts his eyes lackadaisically over Sawyer. Zips his jeans like he doesn’t care. He disagrees. This way there’s some poetic irony, and Sawyer’s still hot. Kind of.
“I hated you,” he remarks. Bloodlessly. “I really fucking hated you. For the right reasons.”
“Kate?”
Jack laughs angrily. Aching somewhere inside. “You'd think.”
“Well, you were gonna blow up the world for her.”
“I was blowing up the world because I made a mess I wanted to clean up.” He stands and it feels good to confess, to explain. “Wouldn’t you have jumped at the chance for a fresh start?”
Sawyer pounds forward and grips Jack’s face in his hand and kisses him roughly. Jack’s mouth opens and he allows Sawyer’s assault and if he closes his eyes and clears his mind, the knowledge that this could have worked before doesn’t hurt as much as it should.
“Maybe it ain’t too late,” Sawyer whispers against his lips.
Tears of shame burn Jack’s eyeballs and stick there. The past bleeds into the future and a lifetime of mistakes and burned bridges flashes before his eyes.
Requiem for a Love Story
The only thing they have in common is their failures. Leadership. Family. Love.
Kate, Juliet.
This floats between them like poisonous gas fogging their lungs, heartbreak toxic and tragically self-inflicted.
Three years have aged them three decades. If they were damaged goods before, they’re both utterly unlovable now.
It’s a cold comfort that they can hardly be disappointments to each other, not after how thoroughly they’ve fucked up everything that’s ever mattered before. When you’re a consolation prize, sometimes it’s just not worth the effort to even pretend.
--
If it were as simple as a rivalry over the women, they wouldn’t be doing this now, when said women are dead or disconnected. Irrelevant.
The sex is ugly and necessary and cathartic and, really, all they have. Sawyer loves it, the oblivion, the novelty, the fact that he’s been subconsciously wanting this since Jack stood up in front of the castaways and indirectly claimed his role as leader.
Jack comes all over his hand and Sawyer fakes like it’s years ago and they never fell in love with other people, like they’re not just filling the voids in their respective hearts.
“We’re two old men, Doc.” Sawyer slips back into his shirt, plants his hands on the subtle beginnings of a gut. “Shame we didn’t go for it when we were better-looking.”
Jack coasts his eyes lackadaisically over Sawyer. Zips his jeans like he doesn’t care. He disagrees. This way there’s some poetic irony, and Sawyer’s still hot. Kind of.
“I hated you,” he remarks. Bloodlessly. “I really fucking hated you. For the right reasons.”
“Kate?”
Jack laughs angrily. Aching somewhere inside. “You'd think.”
“Well, you were gonna blow up the world for her.”
“I was blowing up the world because I made a mess I wanted to clean up.” He stands and it feels good to confess, to explain. “Wouldn’t you have jumped at the chance for a fresh start?”
Sawyer pounds forward and grips Jack’s face in his hand and kisses him roughly. Jack’s mouth opens and he allows Sawyer’s assault and if he closes his eyes and clears his mind, the knowledge that this could have worked before doesn’t hurt as much as it should.
“Maybe it ain’t too late,” Sawyer whispers against his lips.
Tears of shame burn Jack’s eyeballs and stick there. The past bleeds into the future and a lifetime of mistakes and burned bridges flashes before his eyes.
It has always been too late.
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I have a happier, sexier idea for your other prompt, if that's okay.
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I would love that! I'm so excited to have you filling these-you're so talented!
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