Lost fic: The White Elephant [Jack/Sawyer, NC17]
Notes: Using for fanfic100 #97, Writer's Choice (Marble).
Summary: Biltmore!fic. Jack/Sawyer, NC17
The White Elephant
by eponine119
June 22, 2007
= Prologue =
Sawyer hangs his head and won't meet Jack's eyes when he comes in. "What?" Jack asks. Sawyer hesitates further, and he sits up straighter, leaning in toward him. "What did you buy?"
"A house," Sawyer says. Then he gets that devil grin on his face. "A really cool house."
"Give me the checkbook," Jack demands. Sawyer surrenders the battered leather sleeve. Jack looks at him. "Do I want to look in here?"
"Prob'ly not."
"Uh-huh."
"Get your stuff, I'll show it to you," Sawyer says, waving a hand as though to swat Jack off the couch. Jack hesitates again, but complies.
"Where are we going?" he asks, as he tosses his aged suitcase in next to Sawyer's elegant overnight bag. The man does love to shop. He's never denied it.
"Asheville," Sawyer replies. "Place used to be owned by a bunch of Vanderbilts. Wait'll you see it. You're gonna love it." He gets in behind the wheel.
The pieces fall into place. "You bought the Biltmore Estate?" Jack asks.
"You know it?" Sawyer asks, with a jaunty tilt of his head.
"You bought the Biltmore Estate." The doubt has disappeared from Jack's voice, and come to be replaced with respect instead. "Let's go."
…
(=Aside=
The circumstances by which the Biltmore Estate came to be up for sale, and by which Sawyer came to have the money to purchase it, are better left unexplored. Suffice it to say, there was some luck involved on both sides. Some of it very very good, and some of it very very bad.)
…
= 1 =
"This is quite a place," Jack says, an understatement, trying to take it all in. They're still on the first floor, and already he's overwhelmed and the arches of his feet ache slightly from walking. They're approaching the grand staircase, and he lets out something of a sigh.
Sawyer swings around in front of him and sits down on the second step, legs spread wide, revealing the frayed denim seams up the insides of his thighs. Jack sits down next to him, a step lower, leaning back. Sawyer buries his fingertips in the soft fuzz of Jack's hair, massaging gently, and Jack closes his eyes.
"I can see why you bought it," Jack says, holding his eyes closed, relaxing.
"But do you like it?" Sawyer's words are cautious as he touches that spot at the nape of Jack's neck where all the tension seems to live. It dissolves under Sawyer's ministrations.
"I like it." Jack sprawls backward as Sawyer releases him. The steps are broad and shallow, cut into wedges wide as beds on one edge. He opens his eyes.
"I wanna do it," Sawyer says softly.
"Do what?" Jack teases, to see the look on Sawyer's face when he does. Dark-eyed, annoyed, and frustrated. It makes the blood pool between his legs.
"Fuck," Sawyer specifies, and it's a word that Jack will never tire of hearing said in Sawyer's unique accent, his voice. Jack begins to pull himself up, but Sawyer puts a hand against his chest. "Right here," he adds.
"You bought a house with 43 bedrooms and you want to screw on the stairs," Jack says.
"Forty-three bathrooms," Sawyer corrects him, flexing his fingers against Jack's shirt, then sliding his hand down and under the fabric. His skin burns against Jack's stomach, and Sawyer rakes his short nails just enough to get a reaction from Jack. "Two-fifty rooms. Ten thousand books in the library."
"I know where you'll be for the next thousand years then." The words are thin, distracted. Sawyer's lips are close to brushing against the pulsing artery in Jack's neck, so near he can almost feel them.
"It's gonna take us awhile to christen the place," Sawyer breathes. "This is a pretty good place to start."
Jack moans his agreement as Sawyer's hand moves downward, skimming over the cotton front of his trousers and settling there, moving slowly along the length of him. He opens his eyes as Sawyer peels back the layers of his clothing. A heavy iron chandelier fills the space in the center of the staircase spiral. Marble is cool and smooth against his back, and hard. A hard space, filled with hard things.
Sawyer strokes him now, skin against skin. He leans down, hair brushing against Jack's face with exquisite softness a moment before his lips meet Jack's, smoldering hot and wet, tongue plunging inside. Sawyer's eyes are closed, and Jack watches him. He likes seeing him like this. There's something helpless about him even as he's the one in control. Helpless and in love.
The kiss breaks. They shift positions. Sawyer pushes Jack's hips up with one hand. With the other, he touches Jack's mouth, dipping one finger inside to be caressed by Jack's tongue. He smears the moisture on himself, then slowly pushes inside Jack.
They make love face to face.
Sawyer enters him slowly, by inches, letting him adjust with each calculated thrust, until it becomes an agony of wanting. When he's finally inside, Sawyer pauses. He closes his eyes and makes that sound deep in the back of his throat. His arms are trembling and his breath is shallow. Then he begins to move.
This is when Jack closes his eyes. His own cock is hard, straining between their bodies. He touches Sawyer with half-frantic motions, first his hair, then his shoulder, his spine, his back, all the while their hips move, thrusting and meeting, and he feels the sharp-hot pain of bliss building.
He comes, saying Sawyer's name. Sawyer follows, with a raw grunt, and rolls off of him. They lay side by side, quietly fighting for breath. There aren't words. There just aren't.
Sawyer moves in closer. His taut belly is sticky with Jack's come. His head fits against the square of Jack's shoulder, and Jack holds him. He knows, because Sawyer tried to tell him once, that no matter how intense the sex is between them, these quiet moments after are Sawyer's favorite. Jack strokes silky-soft hair at the back of Sawyer's neck, and Sawyer practically purrs.
"Hundred-n-two stairs," Sawyer sighs. "We got some work to do yet."
End.
Summary: Biltmore!fic. Jack/Sawyer, NC17
The White Elephant
by eponine119
June 22, 2007
= Prologue =
Sawyer hangs his head and won't meet Jack's eyes when he comes in. "What?" Jack asks. Sawyer hesitates further, and he sits up straighter, leaning in toward him. "What did you buy?"
"A house," Sawyer says. Then he gets that devil grin on his face. "A really cool house."
"Give me the checkbook," Jack demands. Sawyer surrenders the battered leather sleeve. Jack looks at him. "Do I want to look in here?"
"Prob'ly not."
"Uh-huh."
"Get your stuff, I'll show it to you," Sawyer says, waving a hand as though to swat Jack off the couch. Jack hesitates again, but complies.
"Where are we going?" he asks, as he tosses his aged suitcase in next to Sawyer's elegant overnight bag. The man does love to shop. He's never denied it.
"Asheville," Sawyer replies. "Place used to be owned by a bunch of Vanderbilts. Wait'll you see it. You're gonna love it." He gets in behind the wheel.
The pieces fall into place. "You bought the Biltmore Estate?" Jack asks.
"You know it?" Sawyer asks, with a jaunty tilt of his head.
"You bought the Biltmore Estate." The doubt has disappeared from Jack's voice, and come to be replaced with respect instead. "Let's go."
…
(=Aside=
The circumstances by which the Biltmore Estate came to be up for sale, and by which Sawyer came to have the money to purchase it, are better left unexplored. Suffice it to say, there was some luck involved on both sides. Some of it very very good, and some of it very very bad.)
…
= 1 =
"This is quite a place," Jack says, an understatement, trying to take it all in. They're still on the first floor, and already he's overwhelmed and the arches of his feet ache slightly from walking. They're approaching the grand staircase, and he lets out something of a sigh.
Sawyer swings around in front of him and sits down on the second step, legs spread wide, revealing the frayed denim seams up the insides of his thighs. Jack sits down next to him, a step lower, leaning back. Sawyer buries his fingertips in the soft fuzz of Jack's hair, massaging gently, and Jack closes his eyes.
"I can see why you bought it," Jack says, holding his eyes closed, relaxing.
"But do you like it?" Sawyer's words are cautious as he touches that spot at the nape of Jack's neck where all the tension seems to live. It dissolves under Sawyer's ministrations.
"I like it." Jack sprawls backward as Sawyer releases him. The steps are broad and shallow, cut into wedges wide as beds on one edge. He opens his eyes.
"I wanna do it," Sawyer says softly.
"Do what?" Jack teases, to see the look on Sawyer's face when he does. Dark-eyed, annoyed, and frustrated. It makes the blood pool between his legs.
"Fuck," Sawyer specifies, and it's a word that Jack will never tire of hearing said in Sawyer's unique accent, his voice. Jack begins to pull himself up, but Sawyer puts a hand against his chest. "Right here," he adds.
"You bought a house with 43 bedrooms and you want to screw on the stairs," Jack says.
"Forty-three bathrooms," Sawyer corrects him, flexing his fingers against Jack's shirt, then sliding his hand down and under the fabric. His skin burns against Jack's stomach, and Sawyer rakes his short nails just enough to get a reaction from Jack. "Two-fifty rooms. Ten thousand books in the library."
"I know where you'll be for the next thousand years then." The words are thin, distracted. Sawyer's lips are close to brushing against the pulsing artery in Jack's neck, so near he can almost feel them.
"It's gonna take us awhile to christen the place," Sawyer breathes. "This is a pretty good place to start."
Jack moans his agreement as Sawyer's hand moves downward, skimming over the cotton front of his trousers and settling there, moving slowly along the length of him. He opens his eyes as Sawyer peels back the layers of his clothing. A heavy iron chandelier fills the space in the center of the staircase spiral. Marble is cool and smooth against his back, and hard. A hard space, filled with hard things.
Sawyer strokes him now, skin against skin. He leans down, hair brushing against Jack's face with exquisite softness a moment before his lips meet Jack's, smoldering hot and wet, tongue plunging inside. Sawyer's eyes are closed, and Jack watches him. He likes seeing him like this. There's something helpless about him even as he's the one in control. Helpless and in love.
The kiss breaks. They shift positions. Sawyer pushes Jack's hips up with one hand. With the other, he touches Jack's mouth, dipping one finger inside to be caressed by Jack's tongue. He smears the moisture on himself, then slowly pushes inside Jack.
They make love face to face.
Sawyer enters him slowly, by inches, letting him adjust with each calculated thrust, until it becomes an agony of wanting. When he's finally inside, Sawyer pauses. He closes his eyes and makes that sound deep in the back of his throat. His arms are trembling and his breath is shallow. Then he begins to move.
This is when Jack closes his eyes. His own cock is hard, straining between their bodies. He touches Sawyer with half-frantic motions, first his hair, then his shoulder, his spine, his back, all the while their hips move, thrusting and meeting, and he feels the sharp-hot pain of bliss building.
He comes, saying Sawyer's name. Sawyer follows, with a raw grunt, and rolls off of him. They lay side by side, quietly fighting for breath. There aren't words. There just aren't.
Sawyer moves in closer. His taut belly is sticky with Jack's come. His head fits against the square of Jack's shoulder, and Jack holds him. He knows, because Sawyer tried to tell him once, that no matter how intense the sex is between them, these quiet moments after are Sawyer's favorite. Jack strokes silky-soft hair at the back of Sawyer's neck, and Sawyer practically purrs.
"Hundred-n-two stairs," Sawyer sighs. "We got some work to do yet."
End.