The Fall - Lost - Esau/Jacob
Title: The Fall
Pairing: Esau/Jacob
Word Count: 1617
Rating: R
A/N: Written for lostsquee's Fic Battle but ended up way exceeding the character limit.
Summary: Esau and Jacob are turned human and left in the real world, struggling to find their feet.
They're human.
The island is gone, its power vanished. They are in America, lost and stranded, and Jacob isn't entirely sure what they're supposed to do now. He has an advantage over Esau, who hasn't left the island in centuries, but it isn't much. He doesn't know how to survive in a world where you don't catch your own food and sleep where you choose.
"We'll have to get jobs," Jacob says. He finds the idea faintly amusing.
Esau, to be honest, does not. "I am not going to work for humans," he says, as if the very concept is disgusting. To him, it probably is.
"You could be a waiter," Jacob suggests. "Serve humans all day. It would give you some humility."
Esau punches him, with only human strength behind the blow. Jacob's lip splits against his teeth; it makes them both feel better.
*
Jacob builds houses with his hands; Esau steals with grace after his rumbling stomach teaches him the value of money.
Esau is better at his job. Jacob is happier. Neither of them is happy, but Jacob thinks that this is still better than the alternative.
*
"Why are you still here?" Esau asks him one weekend.
They are sharing breakfast in their tiny flat: eggs from the fridge and toast from the supermarket. They don't taste fresh; it feels dirty to eat food he didn't catch for himself, but he's getting used to it. Living in New York, he's had to. Jacob cooks. Allowing Esau access to his food now than he could actually kill him doesn't seem like a smart idea.
Jacob pauses to chew and swallow, trying to come up with an answer. There isn't one. He could easily have left Esau behind by now. He is more than capable of taking care of himself and he doesn't need to stick with Esau, not for a second. He is human now, but his followers remain. If he searched, he could find Richard or Ilana carving out an existence of their own. He does not need Esau - but, he thinks, Esau might need him for once.
It's a nice feeling, to be needed even if he isn't entirely wanted.
"Why haven't you killed me yet?" he asks instead of answering.
Esau takes the time to look down and glare at his eggs as if they have mortally offended him. "You have your uses," he says. Jacob is fairly certain that Esau is addressing him, not the egg, but it is fairly difficult to be certain.
"As do you," Jacob says.
Esau looks up, finally catching his eye, and Jacob feels the odd sensation of the rest of the world slipping away from him: they are all that's left, the pair of them. Esau's eyes are blue and intelligent, glinting with unforetold insight. There's something filthy in the quirk of his smile, something wickedly suggestive about the way he looks at Jacob, and Jacob knows that this never happened before they Fell to humanity. With his mind racing, he breaks eye contact.
He looks down to his plate, taking the safest option as he waits for his racing heart to calm down. He isn't used to this rush of human emotion.
The illogical actions and reactions that he had observed time and time again on the island are starting to make sense. With their minds racing like this, Jacob can't understand how humans manage to get anything done at all.
*
It gets worse from that point onwards.
After that first spark of want, that first hint of desire, it only grows. He tries to focus on his work. He makes friends at the building site as best as
he can. They think he's odd - detached and gentle - but he's okay with that. Odd is good. Odd is something real.
But at home, in their dingy two-bedroom flat, reality is overcome by fantasy. He can only think of Esau's skin and mouth; his mind is possessed with all of the sensual things they could do together, with all of the experiences they have left to try. There is so much of this world that is left unexplored to their new mortality. For immortals, they are all too new and all too innocent. There is so much left that he hasn't tasted yet, and his fantasies want nothing more than to start with Esau alone.
He thinks that Esau knows. He thinks that Esau has to know, that he must take smug pleasure in tempting him. It's unsettling, to have Esau fit so neatly and comfortably into such a role. Jacob far preferred it when Esau was trying to kill him. It had been simpler, then.
"You're staring at me," Esau says, without removing his eyes from the screen. He is watching a game show of some sort, one that he has developed a quiet addiction to in the recent weeks.
"I'm thinking," Jacob answers. It's true enough.
Esau looks towards him, hitting him with the filthy stare that Jacob has come to love and loathe. He wonders if Esau has always looked at him like that, or if it is something new that he can only see now. It's so difficult to make sense of the changes that have taken place since they Fell and the island was lost. "Do I even want to ask what you're thinking of?" Esau says.
Jacob wants to say that his smile is flirtatious, but it is so difficult to tell. This isn't in his realm of experience, not by a long shot.
"Work," Jacob answers.
He thinks that Esau knows that he's lying. Esau's warm chuckle certainly implies as much.
*
The tension breaks on a Monday evening, when Jacob's back aches and his head hurts and he can't be bothered putting up with Esau's nonsense any more. He used to have endless amounts of patience; he used to have eternity. Now that is lost, and all that is left is an endless ticking in his mind, the counting down of what little time they have left.
Esau picks at him, every single word jabbing away at his mind. Jacob hasn't washed the dishes in two weeks, according to Esau. It's a lie. It's all a lie.
They used to be gods, damn it. They shouldn't be doing this at all.
He grabs hold of Esau by the upper arms and shoves him backwards, enjoying the faint thud when he hits into the wall. Esau's eyes widen with excitement and Jacob can't stop himself from crowding in close, bracketing him in with his hands on the wall on either side of Esau's head.
"Don't push me, Esau," he warns. "Not tonight. Please."
He can feel it vibrating through him, all of these intense emotions that he's never had to tackle before: rage and irritation and the open burn of lust. He wants to crush Esau beneath him; he wants to make him scream.
Esau never has known how to take a warning seriously. "What's going to happen if I do?" he asks - and then he smiles.
He shows off that smirk that goes straight down to Jacob's cock, making him want in a way he hadn't even know was possible.
He doesn't answer with words, instead lunging in to kiss the smirk from his face. He doesn't have a clue what he's doing - he has to let this blind need light the way, leaning him on. It is like nothing he has ever felt before, the feel of Esau's mouth yielding to him. It is better than the waves of the ocean around his ankles or the shine of the sun upon his skin. It feels more natural than nature itself, even when their teeth clash together painfully.
His hands haven't moved from where they are carefully keeping Esau enclosed. He's panting when he pulls back to speak, a novice at this and terribly confused. They'll fumble their way through.
"I want to make love to you," he says, frowning with sincerity.
Esau's smirk spreads, smug and happy. "I don't think they use that term any more," he says.
Jacob kisses him again just to get him to shut up: he will not allow himself to listen to Esau of all people correct him about humanity.
*
Esau lies in Jacob's bed, spread out as if he owns it. It takes a lot of work for Jacob to stake claim on his own half, and he wonders if the bed is supposed to be a miniature island, something petty to fight over. Something pointless.
They're both nude beneath the covers, slowly getting used to their own humanity and the experiences that it brings. Jacob thinks there is so much more left to learn about Esau's body. He is desperate to know everything about him. He wants to watch him squirm in open delight again. He wants to hear him curse his name.
"Do you think we'll ever get back?" Esau asks thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling.
"To the island?"
"To the island," Esau confirms.
Jacob doesn't say that he's beginning to hope not; he doesn't say that he's starting to be happy with their life here, a builder and a thief. That isn't what Esau wants to hear, and Jacob is scared of what might happen if they become what they were again. He worries that they'll lose the ability to feel like this.
"Maybe," he murmurs, refusing to voice anything he's thinking.
Esau glances at him out of the corner of his eye, as if he knows already, as if he knows absolutely everything. Jacob wouldn't be surprised if that's the case; Esau has always known him.
There is, however, one subtle difference now: Esau doesn't pick an argument with him about it. It feels like it might be a miracle; at the very least, it is a new beginning.
Pairing: Esau/Jacob
Word Count: 1617
Rating: R
A/N: Written for lostsquee's Fic Battle but ended up way exceeding the character limit.
Summary: Esau and Jacob are turned human and left in the real world, struggling to find their feet.
They're human.
The island is gone, its power vanished. They are in America, lost and stranded, and Jacob isn't entirely sure what they're supposed to do now. He has an advantage over Esau, who hasn't left the island in centuries, but it isn't much. He doesn't know how to survive in a world where you don't catch your own food and sleep where you choose.
"We'll have to get jobs," Jacob says. He finds the idea faintly amusing.
Esau, to be honest, does not. "I am not going to work for humans," he says, as if the very concept is disgusting. To him, it probably is.
"You could be a waiter," Jacob suggests. "Serve humans all day. It would give you some humility."
Esau punches him, with only human strength behind the blow. Jacob's lip splits against his teeth; it makes them both feel better.
*
Jacob builds houses with his hands; Esau steals with grace after his rumbling stomach teaches him the value of money.
Esau is better at his job. Jacob is happier. Neither of them is happy, but Jacob thinks that this is still better than the alternative.
*
"Why are you still here?" Esau asks him one weekend.
They are sharing breakfast in their tiny flat: eggs from the fridge and toast from the supermarket. They don't taste fresh; it feels dirty to eat food he didn't catch for himself, but he's getting used to it. Living in New York, he's had to. Jacob cooks. Allowing Esau access to his food now than he could actually kill him doesn't seem like a smart idea.
Jacob pauses to chew and swallow, trying to come up with an answer. There isn't one. He could easily have left Esau behind by now. He is more than capable of taking care of himself and he doesn't need to stick with Esau, not for a second. He is human now, but his followers remain. If he searched, he could find Richard or Ilana carving out an existence of their own. He does not need Esau - but, he thinks, Esau might need him for once.
It's a nice feeling, to be needed even if he isn't entirely wanted.
"Why haven't you killed me yet?" he asks instead of answering.
Esau takes the time to look down and glare at his eggs as if they have mortally offended him. "You have your uses," he says. Jacob is fairly certain that Esau is addressing him, not the egg, but it is fairly difficult to be certain.
"As do you," Jacob says.
Esau looks up, finally catching his eye, and Jacob feels the odd sensation of the rest of the world slipping away from him: they are all that's left, the pair of them. Esau's eyes are blue and intelligent, glinting with unforetold insight. There's something filthy in the quirk of his smile, something wickedly suggestive about the way he looks at Jacob, and Jacob knows that this never happened before they Fell to humanity. With his mind racing, he breaks eye contact.
He looks down to his plate, taking the safest option as he waits for his racing heart to calm down. He isn't used to this rush of human emotion.
The illogical actions and reactions that he had observed time and time again on the island are starting to make sense. With their minds racing like this, Jacob can't understand how humans manage to get anything done at all.
*
It gets worse from that point onwards.
After that first spark of want, that first hint of desire, it only grows. He tries to focus on his work. He makes friends at the building site as best as
he can. They think he's odd - detached and gentle - but he's okay with that. Odd is good. Odd is something real.
But at home, in their dingy two-bedroom flat, reality is overcome by fantasy. He can only think of Esau's skin and mouth; his mind is possessed with all of the sensual things they could do together, with all of the experiences they have left to try. There is so much of this world that is left unexplored to their new mortality. For immortals, they are all too new and all too innocent. There is so much left that he hasn't tasted yet, and his fantasies want nothing more than to start with Esau alone.
He thinks that Esau knows. He thinks that Esau has to know, that he must take smug pleasure in tempting him. It's unsettling, to have Esau fit so neatly and comfortably into such a role. Jacob far preferred it when Esau was trying to kill him. It had been simpler, then.
"You're staring at me," Esau says, without removing his eyes from the screen. He is watching a game show of some sort, one that he has developed a quiet addiction to in the recent weeks.
"I'm thinking," Jacob answers. It's true enough.
Esau looks towards him, hitting him with the filthy stare that Jacob has come to love and loathe. He wonders if Esau has always looked at him like that, or if it is something new that he can only see now. It's so difficult to make sense of the changes that have taken place since they Fell and the island was lost. "Do I even want to ask what you're thinking of?" Esau says.
Jacob wants to say that his smile is flirtatious, but it is so difficult to tell. This isn't in his realm of experience, not by a long shot.
"Work," Jacob answers.
He thinks that Esau knows that he's lying. Esau's warm chuckle certainly implies as much.
*
The tension breaks on a Monday evening, when Jacob's back aches and his head hurts and he can't be bothered putting up with Esau's nonsense any more. He used to have endless amounts of patience; he used to have eternity. Now that is lost, and all that is left is an endless ticking in his mind, the counting down of what little time they have left.
Esau picks at him, every single word jabbing away at his mind. Jacob hasn't washed the dishes in two weeks, according to Esau. It's a lie. It's all a lie.
They used to be gods, damn it. They shouldn't be doing this at all.
He grabs hold of Esau by the upper arms and shoves him backwards, enjoying the faint thud when he hits into the wall. Esau's eyes widen with excitement and Jacob can't stop himself from crowding in close, bracketing him in with his hands on the wall on either side of Esau's head.
"Don't push me, Esau," he warns. "Not tonight. Please."
He can feel it vibrating through him, all of these intense emotions that he's never had to tackle before: rage and irritation and the open burn of lust. He wants to crush Esau beneath him; he wants to make him scream.
Esau never has known how to take a warning seriously. "What's going to happen if I do?" he asks - and then he smiles.
He shows off that smirk that goes straight down to Jacob's cock, making him want in a way he hadn't even know was possible.
He doesn't answer with words, instead lunging in to kiss the smirk from his face. He doesn't have a clue what he's doing - he has to let this blind need light the way, leaning him on. It is like nothing he has ever felt before, the feel of Esau's mouth yielding to him. It is better than the waves of the ocean around his ankles or the shine of the sun upon his skin. It feels more natural than nature itself, even when their teeth clash together painfully.
His hands haven't moved from where they are carefully keeping Esau enclosed. He's panting when he pulls back to speak, a novice at this and terribly confused. They'll fumble their way through.
"I want to make love to you," he says, frowning with sincerity.
Esau's smirk spreads, smug and happy. "I don't think they use that term any more," he says.
Jacob kisses him again just to get him to shut up: he will not allow himself to listen to Esau of all people correct him about humanity.
*
Esau lies in Jacob's bed, spread out as if he owns it. It takes a lot of work for Jacob to stake claim on his own half, and he wonders if the bed is supposed to be a miniature island, something petty to fight over. Something pointless.
They're both nude beneath the covers, slowly getting used to their own humanity and the experiences that it brings. Jacob thinks there is so much more left to learn about Esau's body. He is desperate to know everything about him. He wants to watch him squirm in open delight again. He wants to hear him curse his name.
"Do you think we'll ever get back?" Esau asks thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling.
"To the island?"
"To the island," Esau confirms.
Jacob doesn't say that he's beginning to hope not; he doesn't say that he's starting to be happy with their life here, a builder and a thief. That isn't what Esau wants to hear, and Jacob is scared of what might happen if they become what they were again. He worries that they'll lose the ability to feel like this.
"Maybe," he murmurs, refusing to voice anything he's thinking.
Esau glances at him out of the corner of his eye, as if he knows already, as if he knows absolutely everything. Jacob wouldn't be surprised if that's the case; Esau has always known him.
There is, however, one subtle difference now: Esau doesn't pick an argument with him about it. It feels like it might be a miracle; at the very least, it is a new beginning.