Lost fic: Pretend [Jack/Sawyer, NC17, AU]
A tiny break from the Titanic
Disclaimer: Not mine
Notes: Continuation of the AU series where Sawyer is a country star. Jack/Sawyer, NC17. 1150 words.
Using for fanfic100 #95, New Year
Pretend
by eponine119
January 19-20, 2008
Jack had never seen the point of celebrating New Year's in LA. All the excitement was in New York, three hours ago.
He sat alone on the sofa, a beer in his hand and two empties near his feet. On the television, three-hours-ago Dick Clark was ringing in New Year's Rockin' Eve. Jack watched it because he had nothing else to do, and he wasn't drunk enough to go to sleep. A few mistimed firecrackers exploded outside, crackling one-two-three-four.
What would Sawyer be doing tonight, he wondered. It hurt, a little, to think about. He was the one who'd bolted from the stifling atmosphere of Sawyer's house and Sawyer's real life. Jack thought maybe he should have gone to Thailand after all. Then he could be drinking beer alone on a beach somewhere, hours from now or hours in the past, he wasn't sure which.
As though conjured by Jack's thoughts, Sawyer flashed on the screen of his television. It was a music video. Jack's thumb dug at the volume button. Sawyer's voice. He was gone from the screen -- he used actors in his videos, mainly, intercut with a shot here and there of him with his guitar. The song was new, not one Jack recognized from the tour. Sawyer had been busy. Had he been lonely, too?
Jack closed his eyes and listened. The words drew images in his head like snapshots. A long distance to cross, one lover cheating and the other one leaving. Jack felt his hand shaking. It didn't have to be about him, but he had the feeling it was.
He would have reached for the phone if he'd known the number.
He turned off the TV. The ball was starting to drop. Outside, the traditional gunshots split the air. Jack's phone started ringing, a weak, pathetic sound.
He almost didn't answer it.
"Yeah."
"Happy new year, doc," came Sawyer's whiskey-dark voice in his ear. It was low and a little rough.
"Thanks," Jack said, unhappily. He'd been unhappy since the tour ended, since he left Sawyer. But this wasn't what he wanted -- was it? "I just saw your video." He closed his eyes to concentrate on what he was saying, on the conversation.
"Anybody ever write a song for you before?"
"No," Jack said, and it came out all wrong.
"I can't be alone without writing songs," Sawyer confessed softly. "Can't say things, 'cept that way."
Jack was silent. His mouth was dry. He didn't have songs to help him say what he needed to say. "I know," he replied, just as softly.
"You alone tonight, Jack?" Sawyer asked, and coming through the phone lines was the sound of him leaning back against his sofa in his basement room at home, and sighing.
"Are you?" he responded.
"Not anymore," Sawyer replied coyly, as though talking to Jack on the phone made him not be alone. "It's three in the morning. Course I'm alone."
But he hadn't been, earlier. Jack wondered so many things. Who had been there. What they had done. How Sawyer had looked, and what he'd said, and how much he'd had to drink to break down those barriers over three hours to call Jack in LA. "Sawyer --"
"You wanna fool around?" Sawyer asked.
"Phone sex?" Jack choked.
"If you gotta put a name to it, I guess," Sawyer drawled. He let out a breath and Jack could hear the slide of his palm against the rough denim of his jeans.
"I don't --"
"I miss you," Sawyer said. "It's just pretend, so come on."
Except it was all just pretend with them. Just pretend, and painfully real, all at the same time. The ache Jack felt wasn't just pretend, and neither was Sawyer's song. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Okay."
He heard Sawyer's zipper, and the rough, vocalized breath he let out in a growl. Jack could see Sawyer in his mind's eye. Remember the feel of his skin beneath his fingertips. He let his own hand settle gently between his own thighs, feeling the warmth growing through the fabric. With his other hand, he swigged the rest of the warm, flat beer. He needed something to bring his inhibitions crashing down.
"You get hard just hearin' my voice, Jack?" Sawyer breathed. Jack made an affirmative sound. "Let it out. I'm waitin' for you."
"Yeah," Jack breathed, and his hand was oddly shaky as he undid his jeans and pushed them down his hips. He looked down at his hardness through the white cotton of his underwear, then pushed those down too. "Okay."
"You wanna make like I'm touching you?" Sawyer asked. "You wanna do what I say?"
"No," Jack sighed. "Let's just get off…together." He wondered if Sawyer had ever done this before. He didn't want to know. He closed his eyes and put his head back, cradling the phone between his jaw and his shoulder. The beer was flowing through him now, taking the edge off, making it easier for him to give in to the heavy, dark red pleasure waiting behind his eyelids.
"I wish I was in your mouth," Sawyer said.
Jack groaned, letting his hand linger along his length. Thinking of Sawyer, the differences between them. Sawyer's face, and the feel of him against Jack's tongue. How he tasted.
"I wish I could touch you." Sawyer's voice was getting low and thin, breaking up in spots. His breath came rapidly. Jack matched his own to it.
"Sawyer," Jack murmured. Having Sawyer on the line made this quick work. Neither one of them was going to last too long, wrapped up in this dark, ridiculous three a.m. fantasy. Sawyer went beyond words then, and Jack let his own orgasm overtake him, not hearing anything for a few long seconds.
Then he wiped his fingers on his jeans, and nestled the phone closer to his ear again. The man on the other end was humming tunelessly, music seeping out of him as though it was an extension of his body. "Sawyer," Jack said again, to get his attention. To keep him from drifting off. Jack pulled himself up to almost sitting, opening his eyes, reality settling back in.
"You got any plans for the new year, Jack?" Sawyer asked.
He wanted to lie, but he couldn't. "No."
"I hit the road again in a week," Sawyer said, then added in a softer voice, "In LA."
"Maybe you could leave me some tickets at will call," Jack said. He hated himself for being like this. For not knowing what he wanted, for not being able to go after the one thing he craved. Even now. For being bitter when he'd been the one to go.
"I need you, Jack," Sawyer said. Not "doc," not "a doctor for my tour." Jack. Silence stretched the line.
Jack leaped, as though from a great height, as though he'd always known he would. "I'll be there."
End
Disclaimer: Not mine
Notes: Continuation of the AU series where Sawyer is a country star. Jack/Sawyer, NC17. 1150 words.
Using for fanfic100 #95, New Year
Pretend
by eponine119
January 19-20, 2008
Jack had never seen the point of celebrating New Year's in LA. All the excitement was in New York, three hours ago.
He sat alone on the sofa, a beer in his hand and two empties near his feet. On the television, three-hours-ago Dick Clark was ringing in New Year's Rockin' Eve. Jack watched it because he had nothing else to do, and he wasn't drunk enough to go to sleep. A few mistimed firecrackers exploded outside, crackling one-two-three-four.
What would Sawyer be doing tonight, he wondered. It hurt, a little, to think about. He was the one who'd bolted from the stifling atmosphere of Sawyer's house and Sawyer's real life. Jack thought maybe he should have gone to Thailand after all. Then he could be drinking beer alone on a beach somewhere, hours from now or hours in the past, he wasn't sure which.
As though conjured by Jack's thoughts, Sawyer flashed on the screen of his television. It was a music video. Jack's thumb dug at the volume button. Sawyer's voice. He was gone from the screen -- he used actors in his videos, mainly, intercut with a shot here and there of him with his guitar. The song was new, not one Jack recognized from the tour. Sawyer had been busy. Had he been lonely, too?
Jack closed his eyes and listened. The words drew images in his head like snapshots. A long distance to cross, one lover cheating and the other one leaving. Jack felt his hand shaking. It didn't have to be about him, but he had the feeling it was.
He would have reached for the phone if he'd known the number.
He turned off the TV. The ball was starting to drop. Outside, the traditional gunshots split the air. Jack's phone started ringing, a weak, pathetic sound.
He almost didn't answer it.
"Yeah."
"Happy new year, doc," came Sawyer's whiskey-dark voice in his ear. It was low and a little rough.
"Thanks," Jack said, unhappily. He'd been unhappy since the tour ended, since he left Sawyer. But this wasn't what he wanted -- was it? "I just saw your video." He closed his eyes to concentrate on what he was saying, on the conversation.
"Anybody ever write a song for you before?"
"No," Jack said, and it came out all wrong.
"I can't be alone without writing songs," Sawyer confessed softly. "Can't say things, 'cept that way."
Jack was silent. His mouth was dry. He didn't have songs to help him say what he needed to say. "I know," he replied, just as softly.
"You alone tonight, Jack?" Sawyer asked, and coming through the phone lines was the sound of him leaning back against his sofa in his basement room at home, and sighing.
"Are you?" he responded.
"Not anymore," Sawyer replied coyly, as though talking to Jack on the phone made him not be alone. "It's three in the morning. Course I'm alone."
But he hadn't been, earlier. Jack wondered so many things. Who had been there. What they had done. How Sawyer had looked, and what he'd said, and how much he'd had to drink to break down those barriers over three hours to call Jack in LA. "Sawyer --"
"You wanna fool around?" Sawyer asked.
"Phone sex?" Jack choked.
"If you gotta put a name to it, I guess," Sawyer drawled. He let out a breath and Jack could hear the slide of his palm against the rough denim of his jeans.
"I don't --"
"I miss you," Sawyer said. "It's just pretend, so come on."
Except it was all just pretend with them. Just pretend, and painfully real, all at the same time. The ache Jack felt wasn't just pretend, and neither was Sawyer's song. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Okay."
He heard Sawyer's zipper, and the rough, vocalized breath he let out in a growl. Jack could see Sawyer in his mind's eye. Remember the feel of his skin beneath his fingertips. He let his own hand settle gently between his own thighs, feeling the warmth growing through the fabric. With his other hand, he swigged the rest of the warm, flat beer. He needed something to bring his inhibitions crashing down.
"You get hard just hearin' my voice, Jack?" Sawyer breathed. Jack made an affirmative sound. "Let it out. I'm waitin' for you."
"Yeah," Jack breathed, and his hand was oddly shaky as he undid his jeans and pushed them down his hips. He looked down at his hardness through the white cotton of his underwear, then pushed those down too. "Okay."
"You wanna make like I'm touching you?" Sawyer asked. "You wanna do what I say?"
"No," Jack sighed. "Let's just get off…together." He wondered if Sawyer had ever done this before. He didn't want to know. He closed his eyes and put his head back, cradling the phone between his jaw and his shoulder. The beer was flowing through him now, taking the edge off, making it easier for him to give in to the heavy, dark red pleasure waiting behind his eyelids.
"I wish I was in your mouth," Sawyer said.
Jack groaned, letting his hand linger along his length. Thinking of Sawyer, the differences between them. Sawyer's face, and the feel of him against Jack's tongue. How he tasted.
"I wish I could touch you." Sawyer's voice was getting low and thin, breaking up in spots. His breath came rapidly. Jack matched his own to it.
"Sawyer," Jack murmured. Having Sawyer on the line made this quick work. Neither one of them was going to last too long, wrapped up in this dark, ridiculous three a.m. fantasy. Sawyer went beyond words then, and Jack let his own orgasm overtake him, not hearing anything for a few long seconds.
Then he wiped his fingers on his jeans, and nestled the phone closer to his ear again. The man on the other end was humming tunelessly, music seeping out of him as though it was an extension of his body. "Sawyer," Jack said again, to get his attention. To keep him from drifting off. Jack pulled himself up to almost sitting, opening his eyes, reality settling back in.
"You got any plans for the new year, Jack?" Sawyer asked.
He wanted to lie, but he couldn't. "No."
"I hit the road again in a week," Sawyer said, then added in a softer voice, "In LA."
"Maybe you could leave me some tickets at will call," Jack said. He hated himself for being like this. For not knowing what he wanted, for not being able to go after the one thing he craved. Even now. For being bitter when he'd been the one to go.
"I need you, Jack," Sawyer said. Not "doc," not "a doctor for my tour." Jack. Silence stretched the line.
Jack leaped, as though from a great height, as though he'd always known he would. "I'll be there."
End