whoa! where did that come from? :)
Permission to touch
Jack/Sawyer, PG 13, approx. 500 words. Set during S3, D.O.C.
All mistakes are mine, since this is unbetaed (don't be afraid to tell me where I fucked up ETA: thank you
hendercats)... but
fosfomifira had a bad day, and this one is for her. ♥
It has been days now, days since Jack came back and Sawyer hasn't been able to corner him and verify if he can hope for something, anything approaching the contact he craves, check if he still has permission to touch. Jack is under intense scrutiny by the whole group, especially since he brought back that cold hearted bitch. Sawyer is watched too, and it feels like a test he is not sure he wants to pass.
Sawyer scans the beach and sees Jack in the makeshift kitchen, but doesn't see his blond shadow anywhere near. Weird. Sawyer never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, so he casually hurries to join Jack by the shelves, pretending to find the generic labels on the canned food highly interesting. Jack is not fooled.
"What do you want, Sawyer?"
Sawyer cocks an eyebrow and shows some dimples.
"Anything with flavor would be great. What do you suggest, Doc?"
Jack huffs, annoyed.
"You know what I mean."
Jack motions to go and Sawyer catches his wrist, his grip tightening when Jack tries to get away. He tugs Jack to him and they end up a couple inches apart, eye in eye. Jack leans towards him for a second before jerking back, almost hissing.
"Don't you dare touch me."
Sawyer doesn't let go.
"I know you know about Kate. Didn't mean anything Doc, we thought I was about to die."
Jack makes a sound half way between a sob and a snort, looking away.
"Yeah, sure."
"It's you I want, Jack. Always been."
Sawyer lets Jack go with that, and turns towards the shelves. Realizing he definitely lost Jack makes it harder to breathe suddenly, and he surely doesn't want to show such a weakness. But he doesn't hear Jack stomping away. Or the angry words he surely deserves. Jack just stays there, silent. Sawyer braces a hand on the structure before him, needing some support, an anchor.
Unexpectedly, Jack is flush against his back, solid. His breath is warm against Sawyer's ear:
"You'll be the death of me."
Sawyer's knees almost buckle with relief, trying to join his heart sinking towards the sand. One of Jack's hands on his hip steadies him, while eager fingers seek skin under the hem of his t-shirt. Sawyer grinds his ass against Jack, and it's maybe too much, too fast because Jack is peeling himself off, stepping back. Sawyer dares to turn, though, and Jack's pupils are blown with desire. Jack jerks his head towards the jungle.
"In fifteen minutes, you know where."
Sawyer knows that Jack expects a leer, a smart ass comment, something crude even. But the only thing Sawyer's able to do is smile like an idiot, so wide his cheeks could hurt if he keeps doing it for too long, and he just nods sharply. Jack's face softens and the corners of his lips fight between a smile and rightful indignation, up until he just turns away to walk towards the jungle, hiding what won.
Sawyer starts to count. Nine hundred seconds before he has permission to touch.
The End.
Jack/Sawyer, PG 13, approx. 500 words. Set during S3, D.O.C.
All mistakes are mine, since this is unbetaed (don't be afraid to tell me where I fucked up ETA: thank you
hendercats)... but
fosfomifira had a bad day, and this one is for her. ♥
It has been days now, days since Jack came back and Sawyer hasn't been able to corner him and verify if he can hope for something, anything approaching the contact he craves, check if he still has permission to touch. Jack is under intense scrutiny by the whole group, especially since he brought back that cold hearted bitch. Sawyer is watched too, and it feels like a test he is not sure he wants to pass.
Sawyer scans the beach and sees Jack in the makeshift kitchen, but doesn't see his blond shadow anywhere near. Weird. Sawyer never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, so he casually hurries to join Jack by the shelves, pretending to find the generic labels on the canned food highly interesting. Jack is not fooled.
"What do you want, Sawyer?"
Sawyer cocks an eyebrow and shows some dimples.
"Anything with flavor would be great. What do you suggest, Doc?"
Jack huffs, annoyed.
"You know what I mean."
Jack motions to go and Sawyer catches his wrist, his grip tightening when Jack tries to get away. He tugs Jack to him and they end up a couple inches apart, eye in eye. Jack leans towards him for a second before jerking back, almost hissing.
"Don't you dare touch me."
Sawyer doesn't let go.
"I know you know about Kate. Didn't mean anything Doc, we thought I was about to die."
Jack makes a sound half way between a sob and a snort, looking away.
"Yeah, sure."
"It's you I want, Jack. Always been."
Sawyer lets Jack go with that, and turns towards the shelves. Realizing he definitely lost Jack makes it harder to breathe suddenly, and he surely doesn't want to show such a weakness. But he doesn't hear Jack stomping away. Or the angry words he surely deserves. Jack just stays there, silent. Sawyer braces a hand on the structure before him, needing some support, an anchor.
Unexpectedly, Jack is flush against his back, solid. His breath is warm against Sawyer's ear:
"You'll be the death of me."
Sawyer's knees almost buckle with relief, trying to join his heart sinking towards the sand. One of Jack's hands on his hip steadies him, while eager fingers seek skin under the hem of his t-shirt. Sawyer grinds his ass against Jack, and it's maybe too much, too fast because Jack is peeling himself off, stepping back. Sawyer dares to turn, though, and Jack's pupils are blown with desire. Jack jerks his head towards the jungle.
"In fifteen minutes, you know where."
Sawyer knows that Jack expects a leer, a smart ass comment, something crude even. But the only thing Sawyer's able to do is smile like an idiot, so wide his cheeks could hurt if he keeps doing it for too long, and he just nods sharply. Jack's face softens and the corners of his lips fight between a smile and rightful indignation, up until he just turns away to walk towards the jungle, hiding what won.
Sawyer starts to count. Nine hundred seconds before he has permission to touch.
The End.