Fic: Modern Conveniences
Title: Modern Conveniences
Characters: Jack/Sawyer, Hurley, Sun
Rating: first half: PG, second half: NC-17
Summary: Welcome to the not-so-distant future.
Disclaimer: I am not the queen of Lost. Nor do I own the Jetsons (none of whom figure anywhere in this fic - thank GOD.)
Notes: This is the jetsons!fic of doom, if anyone has heard me talking about it in the past few days. No, it does not actually involve the Jetsons. I'd had the idea for a while, but finally decided to go for it because yesterday's queen ellel requested J/S futurefic with a happy ending. This qualifies, with an emphasis on "future".
Huge thanks to eponine119 for the quick and wonderful beta, and to arabella_hope for the usual brainstorming and handholding ;) Any strange factual errors involving motor vehicles rest entirely on my shoulders.
Modern Conveniences
Some might call them reunions, he supposes, but Sawyer actually prefers to think of their regular dinners as support meetings. The fact that he doesn’t mind being here is proof that he needs the support. Otherwise, why would a guy like him bother?
They always arrange to meet in a small, privately-owned diner just off a busy street, someplace easily accessible by public transit, at Sun’s request. The diner atmosphere is reassuring - all that false fifties cheer lovingly kept up over the years.
Tonight Sawyer’s at the counter working on his fourth cup of coffee when Hurley shows up, the little bell above the door swinging madly as he bursts into the place.
“Hey, man! How you doing?” he says, wild curls bouncing along behind him as he rushes to shake Sawyer’s hand in greeting.
“Surviving,” Sawyer says. He grips Hurley’s hand, then startles him by pulling him close and whispering in his ear. “You holding, big guy?” he asks, clapping him twice on the back in his best impression of a man-hug.
“Sorry, dude.”
Sawyer’s shoulders sag in disappointment, and the embrace quickly dissolves.
While they’re moving to a booth, Sun appears and wraps her arms around Hurley from behind, looking vaguely smug, like he was a prize she won at ring toss. His Return of the Jedi t-shirt only furthers the illusion. Then her glance meets Sawyer’s and she smiles at him a bit sadly. Sun and Sawyer share a certain camaraderie as the most affected - the only ones to make every single meeting of this unofficial club.
“Break it up, c’mon,” Sawyer’s saying. “My turn.”
Sun’s hands slide easily around his waist. He kisses her on the cheek before hugging her close, feeling the warmth of her belly pressed against him. “How bout you, Sunshine?” he mutters, tucking the long hair aside so he can speak directly into her ear. “You got anything for me?”
Sun just blushes and shakes her head no. Not that Sawyer was expecting anything different - he wouldn’t want her taking that sort of a risk, especially not with baby #3 on the way. But he had to ask. He lets his fingers wander over her belly for a moment. “Looks good on you,” he says before taking a seat.
Jane, a perky post-graduate student with a mop of shaggy red hair, drops by to take their orders. Her green eyes crinkle at the corners when she sees Hurley.
“Hey! How’s my favourite gajillionaire?” she says, not bothering with menus. They know the drill by now.
“Depends,” Hurley says, squirming next to Sun. “Still got that boyfriend?”
“Fraid I do,” Jane says, but she’s blushing.
“Could be better, then.”
They share a long teasing look before she clears her throat and addresses the group. “So. What can I get you kids?”
Before long, all three of them are digging into various deep-fried soy dishes, and Sawyer’s on his fifth cup of coffee. It’s an unspoken rule with them: to wait for the food to come before the airing of grievances can begin. As is the habit, Sawyer starts it off.
“Memory foam,” he says, seemingly out of the blue, and then for emphasis, “Memory. Fucking. Foam.”
The other two nod sympathetically. Sun takes a sip of water, then sits back to listen to the rant she knows is coming.
“We’re away for seven years… seven measly years and now every fucking thing in the known world is made out of memory foam. What the hell is that about? Just once this decade, I’d like to buy a pair of shoes I can actually, you know, feel. But apparently that’s too fuckin’ much to ask of these yahoos.” He waves a french fry around, indicating the entire world, then glares down at his plate. “Don’t even get me started on mattresses.”
“Still not sleeping?” Sun says.
Sawyer shrugs and pushes what’s left of his food around. The truth is, he sleeps a hell of a lot better when he’s got smokes, but since both of them have failed him on that front tonight, he elects to keep his mouth shut.
“Man, what’s it been, like, eight months?” Hurley says. “You should see a doctor or something.”
“How bout you and Ginger over there?” Sawyer says, jerking his head toward the counter where the waitress is leaning over a ridiculously thin laptop. “What’s it been, like, eight months?”
“You heard her,” Hurley mutters. “She’s got a boyfriend.”
“Has anyone actually seen this so-called boyfriend?”
“Sawyer…” Sun warns.
“I’m just sayin’. Sounds to me like Ginger’s got herself a healthy imagination.”
“You think she’s lying to Hurley?” Sun says, careful to keep her voice low.
“Think about it. Eight months, and we don’t even know this guy’s name?”
“Why would she do that?”
“Yeah,” Hurley says. “Besides, it’s not like she doesn’t dig me. She totally digs me. Doesn’t she?”
“Totally,” Sun echoes awkwardly, patting him on the arm.
“No comment,” Sawyer mutters, and in an instant Sun’s pointy little toes dig into his shin. “All right, all right, woman,” he says, and Hurley’s eyes light up with hope. “You want to know what I think? Maybe she does like you. But she’s afraid of you. To her, you’re that creepy desert island guy who doesn’t know the lingo, dresses weird and can’t even figure out how to use his iLink.”
“I’m working on it!” Hurley says, indignant. He wipes his hands, then pulls a little blue device out of his pocket, presses a button and the screen lights up. “I’ve never been good with technology, OK? Besides, I’m not doing too bad. Yesterday I figured out how to use it as a car starter. What use are you putting yours to, may I ask?”
“Makes a decent doorstop if you wedge it just right,” Sawyer says, cracking up at the scandalized expression on Hurley’s face.
“That thing was a gift,” Hurley says, wagging a finger in Sawyer’s face but betraying his threats with laughter. “Do not make me take it back.”
Sun’s giggling too, and the unusually animated conversation attracts Jane’s attention again. She comes over to refill coffee cups and gather looks of longing from Hurley. Once she’s gone, it unofficially becomes Hurley’s turn to talk.
“OK, so maybe I do dress weird. Can’t help it. I’m wide enough without all that shoulder padding. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Why would anyone want to look like a big triangle, anyway?”
“It’s a forties retro thing,” Sawyer says.
“Retro,” Hurley says, making a disgusted face.
“I like the hats,” Sun says quietly, with a little faraway smile. “Fedoras? Jin looks handsome in them. And the suits. So stylish.”
“Dude kind of already looks like a triangle, though,” Hurley says. “You have to admit.”
Sawyer snorts, and Sun rolls her eyes at them both.
“And another thing,” Hurley says, dropping the subject of fashion and concentrating on another, graver issue. “Man, do I miss meat. Like, real meat. With bones and fat and gristle and stuff? All this soy product is sucking my will to live.”
“I hear ya,” Sawyer says. Even Sun can’t argue.
“I mean, you’d think somewhere in a store there’d be a can of mechanically separated chicken or something, left on the shelf from ten years ago. I’d still eat that. I’d pay good money for something like that.” Hurley sighs and glares down at what’s left of his thigh-shaped hunk of soy. “Really good money.”
“How bout you, Sunshine?” Sawyer says before Hurley can get too caught up in self-pity. “How you holding up?”
Sun presses her lips together a moment before speaking.
“Things have been… difficult. I still don’t like to go outside. But it is necessary, so…”
Sawyer nods, remembering the disorientation he felt standing on the street for the first time after they got back, watching the newer cars zip silently along. High speed and almost no sound. It still makes him a bit jumpy, but he’s gotten over most of the shock. Sun, however, is terrified of being struck by a vehicle she can’t hear coming, or worse, terrified of her kids being struck by that vehicle.
Sawyer pointed out once that the obvious solution was to move out of the city, get a place in the desert or out in farm country, where traffic wouldn’t be a problem. But she looked at him like he’d suggested she eat one of her children for lunch, so he never brought it up again. Apparently, moving away is not an option.
“And there are so many police. So much crime. Someone was shot on our block last week.”
“Yeah, I saw that on TV,” Hurley says. “Some illegal drug thing, right?”
Sun nods. “They were storing large quantities of opium, hashish and tobacco in the basement. Can you imagine? Three houses down from ours. Jin was furious.”
“Wait,” Sawyer says. “You’ve been living three doors down from a dealer this whole time, and you’ve never hooked me up with some smokes? Not even some crappy filtered ultra lights or something?”
“I didn’t know he was a drug dealer,” Sun says. “That’s sort of the point of this story, Sawyer. He seemed like a nice, normal man. And his wife… normal. I am not sure how to be with people anymore.”
“Still,” Sawyer says, shaking his head. “That’s just…” He can’t think of a word, so he just growls instead, a harsh rumbling deep inside his throat.
“Yo, Sawyer. Indoor voice, man,” Hurley says, and grins. “You’re attracting riffraff.”
“I’ll opt to take that as a compliment,” Jane says, walking up to them from behind Sawyer.
“Oh, it was,” Hurley says.
“This little puppy says he knows you lot,” Jane says. Sawyer turns to see what she’s talking about and nearly coughs up a french fry. “Do you want him, or should I send him back to the pound?”
Jack is standing there, looking sheepish and too skinny and slightly sick, but looking like Jack.
In a flash, Hurley’s on his feet, hugging the breath out of him, rumpling his suit jacket, which is exactly the sort that Hurley was complaining about earlier. He calls Jack dude a half-dozen times, indoor voice completely abandoned as Jane stands by, amused. Then Sun slides out of the booth as well, tottering a little when she gets to her feet, and squeezes Jack tight, doing almost as good a job of squishing him as Hurley did.
“We’ve missed you, Jack,” she says, as if she’s worried he needs assurance. “You were missed.”
“Hey,” Jack says. “You’re pregnant again? When did that happen?”
“Seven months ago.”
“Has it really been that long?”
“Indeed it has,” Sawyer says as Sun lets go of Jack and scoots back into the booth.
Sawyer embraces him out of habit, first the handshake, then the quick pat on the back, the furtive whisper in the ear. “Good to see you again, Doc. You holding? I’ll take anything. Bitch sticks, anything.”
Jack pulls him closer and returns the clap on the back with an open palm, loudly thumping against Sawyer’s leather jacket. “There’s half a pack of unfiltered reds in my pocket,” he whispers back, so close to Sawyer’s ear that he can feel the moisture in Jack’s breath. “Later, though.”
Right now, right at this moment, Sawyer could marry him. He drops back onto the vinyl seat with a huge sigh of relief, and moves over to make room for his new best friend. It’s not that Sawyer’s addicted to cigarettes. He knows the physical addiction doesn’t last this long. But a cigarette is a little like a long-lost lover to him, and the fact that they’re so hard to come by lately (not to mention the risk of being caught with them) just makes him want them so much more.
Jack sags in his seat like a slumpy teenager. He orders whatever the special is, then watches as Jane fills his coffee cup and then disappears into the kitchen. “She seems nice.”
“Dude, you look like processed shit,” Hurley says. They’re all three staring at Jack, at the huge circles under his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks.
“Memory foam,” Jack says through clenched teeth.
Sawyer laughs. “Tell me about it.”
Jack turns to him and pounds the table for emphasis.
“In what universe is that stuff supposed to be good for your back? All it does is yield, yield, yield. And it’s everywhere, and everyone’s singing its fucking praises. Fucking foam.”
Sun smiles. “Jack, you are… what is it? Singing to the choir, and Sawyer is the choir.”
“Nice try, Princess,” Sawyer says. “Preaching to the choir.”
“I was close,” Sun says, pretending to pout.
“That you were,” Sawyer says, then turns back to Jack. “So, how’s the spinal surgery business these days?”
The muscle in Jack’s jaw sort of hardens.
“How’s the sex-and-deception business?”
Hurley winces. “Oh, harsh, dude.”
But Sawyer just shrugs. “Ain’t doing much of either of those anymore.”
“Me either,” Jack says, and then blushes when Sawyer’s eyes narrow. “Surgery, I mean. I’m not a surgeon anymore. Everything is nano-this, nano-that. It’s a completely different field from the one I left.”
“That mean I can’t call you Doc anymore?”
Jack grins into his coffee. “Call me whatever you like. I know how confusing it would be for you to have to retire a nickname.”
“Burn!” Hurley says under his breath. “Two-nothing Jack.” Then after what was probably a kick from Sun, “Not that we’re keeping score, or anything… but if we were…”
“So if you’re not in surgery, what are you doing with yourself?” Sawyer says.
Jack shrugs. “Adjusting, I guess. Looking for a job, maybe a teaching job. I’ve been talking to a guy I know at UCLA. It looks promising.”
“Hey! Sawyer works in the records department there!”
Sawyer’s finger snaps up and almost hits Hurley on the chin. “Shut the fuck up, Pork Rind. Who asked for your two cents?”
Hurley’s trying not to laugh, but it’s not working very well. “Oh, come on. It’s not like it’s some deep dark secret.”
“It’s a good job,” Sun says, and she’s so sweet Sawyer can’t stay mad. That always happens.
“That’s actually really cool,” Jack says, and means it, which makes Sawyer want to grind his teeth until they turn to dust.
Jack’s plate arrives then, heaped with fries and coleslaw, and with a perfectly round piece of tofu in the middle, possibly emulating filet mignon. Sawyer watches as Jack runs his hands down the front of his open jacket, fingers gliding over a slight lump in what must be an inside pocket. Cigarettes. Sawyer can practically taste them. He can hardly bear to look away as Jack picks up his knife and fork.
Somehow, he makes it through another entire meal and a whole lot of small talk without mauling Jack for the smokes in his pocket. Just barely, though. By then it’s the end of the night and they’re all running out of excuses to stay.
Sun tries to lay a few bills on the table, but Hurley glares at her until she puts her wallet away. Sawyer doesn’t even bother anymore, but he does offer Sun a ride home, even though she always refuses. She prefers to take the bus everywhere, feels safer in the large, slow vehicle.
Jack buttons and unbuttons his jacket, and says, “I’ll take a ride, if you’re offering.”
“Sure thing, Doc,” Sawyer says with a smirk.
“Oh, that’s gonna get old,” Jack says.
The three of them see Sun onto the bus before Hurley shakes both their hands and takes off in the opposite direction from where Sawyer’s truck is parked.
“Hey, Romeo!” Sawyer yells after him. “Next time you clam up around Ginger, I’ll make sure she finds out how huge your dick is.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hurley yells back. “Promises, promises.” Then he turns off their street and is gone.
“What was that about?” Jack says.
“Just tryin’ to help the guy out,” Sawyer says. “Now about those smokes…”
Slowly, slowly, he’s reaching toward Jack’s coat. Jack swats his hand away.
“Not here. You want to get caught?”
Sawyer sighs. “Where, then?”
“I know somewhere. Where’s your truck?”
Sawyer leads him to the rickety pickup, which was probably on its last legs the year all of them disappeared into the Pacific. Nearly a decade later, it looks undead, with the passenger door nearly rusted through and a hood that doesn’t quite stay shut on its own, thanks to a collision the week he bought it. It’s one of the last diesel-powered vehicles he could find, but the fuel costs so much he hardly drives the thing. So much for that brilliant idea.
But tonight it feels like a luxury to have the truck, to be able to take Jack anywhere. He starts it and then lets Jack direct him out of the city and into the hills, off the road and onto a small path until they reach a kind of lookout surrounded by tall, narrow conifers. Then he lets it idle a bit while they sit in awkward silence, before shutting off the engine. As soon as he does, Jack gets out and starts wandering into the dark. Sawyer scrambles out of the cab and addresses the empty space in front of him.
“Whoa, Doc,” Sawyer says, forgetting to be sarcastic with the nickname. “Dammit, get back here. I can think of about ten people who’d kick the shit outta me if I let something happen to you.”
“I’m right here,” Jack says, stepping out of the shadows, leaves rustling around his feet. The sound reminds Sawyer of so many nights spent in the jungle, it actually makes his head spin with memories. But then he gets distracted by the bright red flicker inside Jack’s palm. Once, twice, and then it’s lit, and Sawyer walks over, trying to slow his breathing. He feels himself salivating, swallows loudly. Jack holds the lit smoke out to him, pulls another out of the beat-up red package for himself.
Sawyer takes it between his thumb and forefinger, and just looks at it for a second, watches the paper curl a tiny bit as it burns. Then he puts it to his mouth and takes a long, slow drag.
“Mmm. God, I needed that. You have no clue how much.”
Jack’s eyes drift shut as he takes in the smoke and then slowly pushes it back out, up into the night air where it swirls and dissipates.
“I think I might,” he says.
Sawyer climbs up into the truck bed and collapses onto his back, bringing the cigarette back to his lips and leaving it there while he searches for stars in the small patch of sky between treetops. He thinks there might be one that’s visible, but only when he’s not looking directly at it. Probably not good enough to wish on, in any case.
He feels the truck tilt and rock as Jack climbs up next to him. Jack stretches out, not touching him, but close enough that Sawyer can feel the heat of his body close by.
“Where’d you get ‘em?” Sawyer says, flicking ash over the side.
“A friend from the hospital,” Jack says. “A scrub nurse. He knows someone.”
“Ah.”
They lie there in silence for a while, smoke drifting up and away. Sawyer’s only got one or two pulls left when he turns to look at Jack.
“Jesus, didn’t you eat at all these past seven months?” he finally says, staring in the darkness at Jack’s face, angular and so pale he’s practically glowing in the moonlight.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not dead.”
Sawyer takes one long last toke, then stubs out the cigarette on the ribbed metal floor of the truck bed. Jack immediately passes him another, which he snatches away with trembling fingers. He notices that Jack doesn’t take another for himself.
“Well, you look pretty close to it, Doc. If you don’t mind my saying.”
“I’m fine, Sawyer. Just tired. Like I said before, I haven’t been sleeping.”
Sawyer blows a few smoke rings in Jack’s general direction.
“Yeah, me either.”
“I could tell.”
“Huh.”
It’s about halfway through this second cigarette that Jack turns to him and starts to touch his hair, casual at first like he’s just helping Sawyer out by tucking it behind his ear, and then he’s running his fingers through it, lingering in the soft strands. Sawyer closes his eyes, focusing on that soothing sensation and on the smoke burning in his lungs.
He could just let it go on forever, but finally he smirks and looks up at Jack.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Jack says, bringing his face up close and breathing in deep.
“Mhm. Right.”
“I really missed you,” Jack says. “All of you. Tonight was good.”
“Whine all you want, Jack. It’s not like you didn’t know where to find us.”
“I’m not whining.”
“S’not what it sounds like from here.”
“It was a sink or swim thing,” Jack mutters, like he’s embarrassed. He lays flat on his back again, speaks quietly. “I had to get back into the world, see if I could make it.”
“And?”
Sawyer drinks in a mouthful of smoke and just tastes it, like it’s some expensive cigar and not a piece of shit cancer stick. He holds the butt out to Jack, who grabs his wrist to steady it and then takes a long drag.
He lets out a heavy sigh before speaking again.
“Couldn’t.” The word is clipped, sounds thick in Jack’s throat.
Sawyer props himself up on an elbow, looms over Jack. Now that his eyes have had a chance to adjust, he can see the dark of stubble on Jack’s face, the squiggle of wrinkles across his forehead.
He watches Jack’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as Jack swallows nervously again and again, and then finally, just when Jack looks like he’s about to come apart at the seams, Sawyer leans down and kisses him.
It’s sweet and slow, and as it’s happening Sawyer thinks of it as almost an effort to wipe the unease from Jack’s face.
When he pulls back, sees Jack still wearing a distressed expression, he starts the kiss all over again, this time with more attention to detail and more feeling poured into it. His lips slide over Jack’s, soft and wet, taking in the warm salt of Jack’s skin, feeling the pulse beating beneath his tongue as it travels over Jack’s lower lip, slowly, carefully. He’s been doing this for what seems like hours before Jack yields a little, his lips parting just enough for Sawyer’s tongue to slip in between and taste the smoky bitterness inside.
It’s only when he feels his fingers burning that he breaks the kiss.
“Ow, sonofabitch,” he mutters, laughing as he crushes what’s left of the cigarette against the side of his truck. “These things are dangerous.”
He sucks on his slightly seared fingers, then leans over Jack, wanting that nicotine taste of Jack’s mouth again. Jack’s hand slides up his chest, presses against his throat, firm but not quite pushing him away.
“Don’t,” Jack says, but he doesn’t stop Sawyer.
This time it’s rougher, Sawyer capturing Jack’s mouth, Jack’s tongue clashing with his, retreating, and then it’s Jack that’s doing the kissing, pulling Sawyer’s lower lip into his mouth, tugging with teeth and then running his tongue over the tender parts. Sawyer tastes blood, but it all feels so good, and it’s about when Jack’s hand slides around to the back of his neck that he realizes he’s getting hard. Then Jack’s other hand goes around Sawyer’s waist. He pulls Sawyer down on top of him, arching up to press their bodies closer together, and Sawyer notices he’s not the only one enjoying this. The feel of Jack’s growing hard-on against Sawyer’s thigh is enough to push him over the edge to really fucking turned on. He lets out a helpless moan as Jack’s chin rubs its way down his cheek, coarse stubble and sweat almost unbearable against the sensitive skin.
“Oh, God,” Jack gasps directly into his ear. “What do you want? I missed you. God, what do you want?” All Sawyer can think is, when the boy drives up into the hills for the purposes of debauchery, he really goes all out.
“Fuck me,” Sawyer says, squirming so that his thigh rubs back and forth over Jack’s erection, the movement or his words causing a surprised, throaty exclamation from Jack. “I want you to fuck me.”
He doesn’t know what it means, that he wants Jack inside him so badly. He could probably figure it out if he thought long and hard about it, but right now it’s just want and need, and nothing else seems real enough to matter. He cups Jack roughly through the wrinkled front of his dress pants and gets another one of those throaty groans before Jack grabs him by the shoulders and rolls them both, almost colliding with the side of the truck bed. Jack unbuttons Sawyer’s jeans and starts yanking at them.
“Time out, boy,” Sawyer says, pushing Jack’s hands away and removing his jeans himself. He pulls his t-shirt off in about a second and a half, then watches Jack loosen his tie and shrug out of his jacket. He only unfastens the top three buttons of his white dress shirt, and yanks the whole thing off over his head before looking down at Sawyer, holding his gaze while he takes off his trousers and underwear, pushing them down his thighs and then kicking them away. Jack’s cock is standing straight up, the glistening tip just barely touching his belly, and Sawyer aches just looking at it.
“C’mere,” Sawyer says, and when Jack complies, slowly laying his naked body over Sawyer’s, he almost comes right then. “Aw, fuck,” Sawyer says, biting his lip, and when Jack’s mouth seeks out his, he bites Jack’s.
Jack grabs his thighs, spreading them wide as he kneels in between and begins to stroke Sawyer, who is far too close to orgasm for this kind of attention. “Doc… no…” Jack fists his cock and then just moves his thumb in a slow circle around the head, gathering the slick liquid that pools at the tip. He keeps bringing Sawyer closer and closer to the edge with just this simple movement. “Jesus, Jack… I’m gonna… You have to…”
Sawyer’s hips start to jerk up into Jack’s grip, the lack of movement absolute torture as he continues to tease the tip of Sawyer’s cock with one finger. Sawyer’s breath hitches. “Fuck… Jack…. I’m gonna… Oh, God…” A hot flush spreads over his whole body. He feels himself passing the point of no return then, his cock trembling in Jack’s hands. Jack is watching him with an evil little smile on his face. “This is… I’m gonna… Jack, I’m… Jack… gonna come - oh, fuck!”
It goes through him like a wave, muscles hardening, body arching up as the warm liquid gets all over Jack’s hands and his stomach. Red and orange spread behind Sawyer’s closed eyes, complimenting the sudden warmth that reaches every part of him, pulsing through his cock as Jack’s hands run up and down the shaft, finally fucking moving as he helps Sawyer along, strokes him, unbearably soft, until there’s nothing left, and then Sawyer opens his eyes and glares at Jack.
“What the hell…” he says, trying to sound angry, which is downright impossible at the moment. He’s practically slurring.
Jack still smiles that evil little smile as he leans over Sawyer, pressing their mouths together to speak right against Sawyer’s lips for just an instant. “I needed something slippery,” Jack says. He swipes his fingers through Sawyer’s come and then pushes Sawyer’s legs further apart, pressing a slick finger to Sawyer’s entrance. Sawyer, sensitive to the slightest touch, swallows a whimper as Jack pushes inside.
“Fuck, Sawyer,” Jack says, adding a second finger, which is met with virtually no resistance from Sawyer’s body. “I did miss you. I did.”
Sawyer shifts down, working Jack’s fingers deeper inside him, desperate to feel Jack, as much of him as possible. Jack’s fingers press into his prostate then with all the subtlety of, well, of Jack, really, which isn’t much, and Sawyer cries out, it’s like a jolt through him. He doesn’t understand how, but he’s hard again, aching for release once more as Jack finally slicks himself up and pushes inside. Sawyer wills his body to relax as the strange sensation spreads through him. His legs wrap around Jack as he slides slowly further and further in, brushing lightly against that spot that is all Sawyer’s thinking about at the moment, and somehow Sawyer tilts up, changes the angle as Jack pulls back and then thrusts into him again, faster now, hitting Sawyer’s prostate head-on, and Sawyer clutches at Jack’s back, pulling him closer, encouraging him to go deeper, go faster.
“God, Sawyer,” Jack whispers, their mouths inches apart. “You feel so good…”
“I know,” Sawyer says as the pace quickens, his breath coming in quick bursts. “Fuck, I know.”
“Missed you… so much…” Jack says, staring down at him like it’s the first time he’s ever seen him, like they haven’t spent the better part of the last decade together.
He pounds into Sawyer, who alternates between swearing and begging every time Jack’s cock meets with his prostate.
“Fuck… please… Jack, dammit… please… fuck… touch me… oh, God…”
Finally, Jack braces himself with one hand and brings the other one between their bodies, squeezing Sawyer’s balls in time with his thrusts, and Sawyer’s a goner again, a series of breathless moans escaping him as he comes for a second time, muscles tightening deliciously around Jack, who digs his fingers hard into Sawyer’s thigh before crying out. “Yes, oh FUCK!” He explodes inside Sawyer, trembling with the effort of holding himself up as he lets the sensation roll through him, and finally collapses on top of Sawyer, exhausted and sweaty.
Sawyer’s hand runs up Jack’s back to the nape of his neck, feels the short, sweat-soaked tendrils there. He runs one finger softly back and forth across them, feeling them cool in the night air. Then, suddenly, he laughs, the sound echoing through the emptiness around the truck, seeming much louder than it actually is.
“What?” Jack says into his shoulder, not moving.
“Two-one Sawyer,” he mutters. “Not that we’re keeping score or anything.”
“Mm.” Jack says, and Sawyer’s not sure if he means something by it, or if he’s just falling asleep.
“Hey,” Sawyer says, “Maybe now I should quit calling you Doc.”
“No,” Jack says. He props himself up again and gently pulls out. Sawyer shifts uncomfortably, but lets Jack lie back down against him, head on Sawyer’s chest. “I like it.”
“Always act like you hate it,” Sawyer says.
“That’s cause I like it.”
“What kind of…” Sawyer mutters. “Hm. Clever. Gonna have to reinterpret some of the things I know about ya, then.”
“Mm,” Jack says, and again Sawyer’s convinced he’s falling asleep. He starts drifting off himself, but then Jack reaches for his coat and grabs the pack of cigarettes from the pocket. “One left.”
Sawyer rubs at his eyes and takes the smoke Jack’s offering. They split it in silence, staring up at the sky. Eventually, Jack does fall asleep, the cigarette drooping from his bottom lip until Sawyer rescues it and finishes it off.
Then he curls up with Jack and breathes in the scent of sex and tobacco until morning.
Characters: Jack/Sawyer, Hurley, Sun
Rating: first half: PG, second half: NC-17
Summary: Welcome to the not-so-distant future.
Disclaimer: I am not the queen of Lost. Nor do I own the Jetsons (none of whom figure anywhere in this fic - thank GOD.)
Notes: This is the jetsons!fic of doom, if anyone has heard me talking about it in the past few days. No, it does not actually involve the Jetsons. I'd had the idea for a while, but finally decided to go for it because yesterday's queen ellel requested J/S futurefic with a happy ending. This qualifies, with an emphasis on "future".
Huge thanks to eponine119 for the quick and wonderful beta, and to arabella_hope for the usual brainstorming and handholding ;) Any strange factual errors involving motor vehicles rest entirely on my shoulders.
Modern Conveniences
Some might call them reunions, he supposes, but Sawyer actually prefers to think of their regular dinners as support meetings. The fact that he doesn’t mind being here is proof that he needs the support. Otherwise, why would a guy like him bother?
They always arrange to meet in a small, privately-owned diner just off a busy street, someplace easily accessible by public transit, at Sun’s request. The diner atmosphere is reassuring - all that false fifties cheer lovingly kept up over the years.
Tonight Sawyer’s at the counter working on his fourth cup of coffee when Hurley shows up, the little bell above the door swinging madly as he bursts into the place.
“Hey, man! How you doing?” he says, wild curls bouncing along behind him as he rushes to shake Sawyer’s hand in greeting.
“Surviving,” Sawyer says. He grips Hurley’s hand, then startles him by pulling him close and whispering in his ear. “You holding, big guy?” he asks, clapping him twice on the back in his best impression of a man-hug.
“Sorry, dude.”
Sawyer’s shoulders sag in disappointment, and the embrace quickly dissolves.
While they’re moving to a booth, Sun appears and wraps her arms around Hurley from behind, looking vaguely smug, like he was a prize she won at ring toss. His Return of the Jedi t-shirt only furthers the illusion. Then her glance meets Sawyer’s and she smiles at him a bit sadly. Sun and Sawyer share a certain camaraderie as the most affected - the only ones to make every single meeting of this unofficial club.
“Break it up, c’mon,” Sawyer’s saying. “My turn.”
Sun’s hands slide easily around his waist. He kisses her on the cheek before hugging her close, feeling the warmth of her belly pressed against him. “How bout you, Sunshine?” he mutters, tucking the long hair aside so he can speak directly into her ear. “You got anything for me?”
Sun just blushes and shakes her head no. Not that Sawyer was expecting anything different - he wouldn’t want her taking that sort of a risk, especially not with baby #3 on the way. But he had to ask. He lets his fingers wander over her belly for a moment. “Looks good on you,” he says before taking a seat.
Jane, a perky post-graduate student with a mop of shaggy red hair, drops by to take their orders. Her green eyes crinkle at the corners when she sees Hurley.
“Hey! How’s my favourite gajillionaire?” she says, not bothering with menus. They know the drill by now.
“Depends,” Hurley says, squirming next to Sun. “Still got that boyfriend?”
“Fraid I do,” Jane says, but she’s blushing.
“Could be better, then.”
They share a long teasing look before she clears her throat and addresses the group. “So. What can I get you kids?”
Before long, all three of them are digging into various deep-fried soy dishes, and Sawyer’s on his fifth cup of coffee. It’s an unspoken rule with them: to wait for the food to come before the airing of grievances can begin. As is the habit, Sawyer starts it off.
“Memory foam,” he says, seemingly out of the blue, and then for emphasis, “Memory. Fucking. Foam.”
The other two nod sympathetically. Sun takes a sip of water, then sits back to listen to the rant she knows is coming.
“We’re away for seven years… seven measly years and now every fucking thing in the known world is made out of memory foam. What the hell is that about? Just once this decade, I’d like to buy a pair of shoes I can actually, you know, feel. But apparently that’s too fuckin’ much to ask of these yahoos.” He waves a french fry around, indicating the entire world, then glares down at his plate. “Don’t even get me started on mattresses.”
“Still not sleeping?” Sun says.
Sawyer shrugs and pushes what’s left of his food around. The truth is, he sleeps a hell of a lot better when he’s got smokes, but since both of them have failed him on that front tonight, he elects to keep his mouth shut.
“Man, what’s it been, like, eight months?” Hurley says. “You should see a doctor or something.”
“How bout you and Ginger over there?” Sawyer says, jerking his head toward the counter where the waitress is leaning over a ridiculously thin laptop. “What’s it been, like, eight months?”
“You heard her,” Hurley mutters. “She’s got a boyfriend.”
“Has anyone actually seen this so-called boyfriend?”
“Sawyer…” Sun warns.
“I’m just sayin’. Sounds to me like Ginger’s got herself a healthy imagination.”
“You think she’s lying to Hurley?” Sun says, careful to keep her voice low.
“Think about it. Eight months, and we don’t even know this guy’s name?”
“Why would she do that?”
“Yeah,” Hurley says. “Besides, it’s not like she doesn’t dig me. She totally digs me. Doesn’t she?”
“Totally,” Sun echoes awkwardly, patting him on the arm.
“No comment,” Sawyer mutters, and in an instant Sun’s pointy little toes dig into his shin. “All right, all right, woman,” he says, and Hurley’s eyes light up with hope. “You want to know what I think? Maybe she does like you. But she’s afraid of you. To her, you’re that creepy desert island guy who doesn’t know the lingo, dresses weird and can’t even figure out how to use his iLink.”
“I’m working on it!” Hurley says, indignant. He wipes his hands, then pulls a little blue device out of his pocket, presses a button and the screen lights up. “I’ve never been good with technology, OK? Besides, I’m not doing too bad. Yesterday I figured out how to use it as a car starter. What use are you putting yours to, may I ask?”
“Makes a decent doorstop if you wedge it just right,” Sawyer says, cracking up at the scandalized expression on Hurley’s face.
“That thing was a gift,” Hurley says, wagging a finger in Sawyer’s face but betraying his threats with laughter. “Do not make me take it back.”
Sun’s giggling too, and the unusually animated conversation attracts Jane’s attention again. She comes over to refill coffee cups and gather looks of longing from Hurley. Once she’s gone, it unofficially becomes Hurley’s turn to talk.
“OK, so maybe I do dress weird. Can’t help it. I’m wide enough without all that shoulder padding. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Why would anyone want to look like a big triangle, anyway?”
“It’s a forties retro thing,” Sawyer says.
“Retro,” Hurley says, making a disgusted face.
“I like the hats,” Sun says quietly, with a little faraway smile. “Fedoras? Jin looks handsome in them. And the suits. So stylish.”
“Dude kind of already looks like a triangle, though,” Hurley says. “You have to admit.”
Sawyer snorts, and Sun rolls her eyes at them both.
“And another thing,” Hurley says, dropping the subject of fashion and concentrating on another, graver issue. “Man, do I miss meat. Like, real meat. With bones and fat and gristle and stuff? All this soy product is sucking my will to live.”
“I hear ya,” Sawyer says. Even Sun can’t argue.
“I mean, you’d think somewhere in a store there’d be a can of mechanically separated chicken or something, left on the shelf from ten years ago. I’d still eat that. I’d pay good money for something like that.” Hurley sighs and glares down at what’s left of his thigh-shaped hunk of soy. “Really good money.”
“How bout you, Sunshine?” Sawyer says before Hurley can get too caught up in self-pity. “How you holding up?”
Sun presses her lips together a moment before speaking.
“Things have been… difficult. I still don’t like to go outside. But it is necessary, so…”
Sawyer nods, remembering the disorientation he felt standing on the street for the first time after they got back, watching the newer cars zip silently along. High speed and almost no sound. It still makes him a bit jumpy, but he’s gotten over most of the shock. Sun, however, is terrified of being struck by a vehicle she can’t hear coming, or worse, terrified of her kids being struck by that vehicle.
Sawyer pointed out once that the obvious solution was to move out of the city, get a place in the desert or out in farm country, where traffic wouldn’t be a problem. But she looked at him like he’d suggested she eat one of her children for lunch, so he never brought it up again. Apparently, moving away is not an option.
“And there are so many police. So much crime. Someone was shot on our block last week.”
“Yeah, I saw that on TV,” Hurley says. “Some illegal drug thing, right?”
Sun nods. “They were storing large quantities of opium, hashish and tobacco in the basement. Can you imagine? Three houses down from ours. Jin was furious.”
“Wait,” Sawyer says. “You’ve been living three doors down from a dealer this whole time, and you’ve never hooked me up with some smokes? Not even some crappy filtered ultra lights or something?”
“I didn’t know he was a drug dealer,” Sun says. “That’s sort of the point of this story, Sawyer. He seemed like a nice, normal man. And his wife… normal. I am not sure how to be with people anymore.”
“Still,” Sawyer says, shaking his head. “That’s just…” He can’t think of a word, so he just growls instead, a harsh rumbling deep inside his throat.
“Yo, Sawyer. Indoor voice, man,” Hurley says, and grins. “You’re attracting riffraff.”
“I’ll opt to take that as a compliment,” Jane says, walking up to them from behind Sawyer.
“Oh, it was,” Hurley says.
“This little puppy says he knows you lot,” Jane says. Sawyer turns to see what she’s talking about and nearly coughs up a french fry. “Do you want him, or should I send him back to the pound?”
Jack is standing there, looking sheepish and too skinny and slightly sick, but looking like Jack.
In a flash, Hurley’s on his feet, hugging the breath out of him, rumpling his suit jacket, which is exactly the sort that Hurley was complaining about earlier. He calls Jack dude a half-dozen times, indoor voice completely abandoned as Jane stands by, amused. Then Sun slides out of the booth as well, tottering a little when she gets to her feet, and squeezes Jack tight, doing almost as good a job of squishing him as Hurley did.
“We’ve missed you, Jack,” she says, as if she’s worried he needs assurance. “You were missed.”
“Hey,” Jack says. “You’re pregnant again? When did that happen?”
“Seven months ago.”
“Has it really been that long?”
“Indeed it has,” Sawyer says as Sun lets go of Jack and scoots back into the booth.
Sawyer embraces him out of habit, first the handshake, then the quick pat on the back, the furtive whisper in the ear. “Good to see you again, Doc. You holding? I’ll take anything. Bitch sticks, anything.”
Jack pulls him closer and returns the clap on the back with an open palm, loudly thumping against Sawyer’s leather jacket. “There’s half a pack of unfiltered reds in my pocket,” he whispers back, so close to Sawyer’s ear that he can feel the moisture in Jack’s breath. “Later, though.”
Right now, right at this moment, Sawyer could marry him. He drops back onto the vinyl seat with a huge sigh of relief, and moves over to make room for his new best friend. It’s not that Sawyer’s addicted to cigarettes. He knows the physical addiction doesn’t last this long. But a cigarette is a little like a long-lost lover to him, and the fact that they’re so hard to come by lately (not to mention the risk of being caught with them) just makes him want them so much more.
Jack sags in his seat like a slumpy teenager. He orders whatever the special is, then watches as Jane fills his coffee cup and then disappears into the kitchen. “She seems nice.”
“Dude, you look like processed shit,” Hurley says. They’re all three staring at Jack, at the huge circles under his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks.
“Memory foam,” Jack says through clenched teeth.
Sawyer laughs. “Tell me about it.”
Jack turns to him and pounds the table for emphasis.
“In what universe is that stuff supposed to be good for your back? All it does is yield, yield, yield. And it’s everywhere, and everyone’s singing its fucking praises. Fucking foam.”
Sun smiles. “Jack, you are… what is it? Singing to the choir, and Sawyer is the choir.”
“Nice try, Princess,” Sawyer says. “Preaching to the choir.”
“I was close,” Sun says, pretending to pout.
“That you were,” Sawyer says, then turns back to Jack. “So, how’s the spinal surgery business these days?”
The muscle in Jack’s jaw sort of hardens.
“How’s the sex-and-deception business?”
Hurley winces. “Oh, harsh, dude.”
But Sawyer just shrugs. “Ain’t doing much of either of those anymore.”
“Me either,” Jack says, and then blushes when Sawyer’s eyes narrow. “Surgery, I mean. I’m not a surgeon anymore. Everything is nano-this, nano-that. It’s a completely different field from the one I left.”
“That mean I can’t call you Doc anymore?”
Jack grins into his coffee. “Call me whatever you like. I know how confusing it would be for you to have to retire a nickname.”
“Burn!” Hurley says under his breath. “Two-nothing Jack.” Then after what was probably a kick from Sun, “Not that we’re keeping score, or anything… but if we were…”
“So if you’re not in surgery, what are you doing with yourself?” Sawyer says.
Jack shrugs. “Adjusting, I guess. Looking for a job, maybe a teaching job. I’ve been talking to a guy I know at UCLA. It looks promising.”
“Hey! Sawyer works in the records department there!”
Sawyer’s finger snaps up and almost hits Hurley on the chin. “Shut the fuck up, Pork Rind. Who asked for your two cents?”
Hurley’s trying not to laugh, but it’s not working very well. “Oh, come on. It’s not like it’s some deep dark secret.”
“It’s a good job,” Sun says, and she’s so sweet Sawyer can’t stay mad. That always happens.
“That’s actually really cool,” Jack says, and means it, which makes Sawyer want to grind his teeth until they turn to dust.
Jack’s plate arrives then, heaped with fries and coleslaw, and with a perfectly round piece of tofu in the middle, possibly emulating filet mignon. Sawyer watches as Jack runs his hands down the front of his open jacket, fingers gliding over a slight lump in what must be an inside pocket. Cigarettes. Sawyer can practically taste them. He can hardly bear to look away as Jack picks up his knife and fork.
Somehow, he makes it through another entire meal and a whole lot of small talk without mauling Jack for the smokes in his pocket. Just barely, though. By then it’s the end of the night and they’re all running out of excuses to stay.
Sun tries to lay a few bills on the table, but Hurley glares at her until she puts her wallet away. Sawyer doesn’t even bother anymore, but he does offer Sun a ride home, even though she always refuses. She prefers to take the bus everywhere, feels safer in the large, slow vehicle.
Jack buttons and unbuttons his jacket, and says, “I’ll take a ride, if you’re offering.”
“Sure thing, Doc,” Sawyer says with a smirk.
“Oh, that’s gonna get old,” Jack says.
The three of them see Sun onto the bus before Hurley shakes both their hands and takes off in the opposite direction from where Sawyer’s truck is parked.
“Hey, Romeo!” Sawyer yells after him. “Next time you clam up around Ginger, I’ll make sure she finds out how huge your dick is.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hurley yells back. “Promises, promises.” Then he turns off their street and is gone.
“What was that about?” Jack says.
“Just tryin’ to help the guy out,” Sawyer says. “Now about those smokes…”
Slowly, slowly, he’s reaching toward Jack’s coat. Jack swats his hand away.
“Not here. You want to get caught?”
Sawyer sighs. “Where, then?”
“I know somewhere. Where’s your truck?”
Sawyer leads him to the rickety pickup, which was probably on its last legs the year all of them disappeared into the Pacific. Nearly a decade later, it looks undead, with the passenger door nearly rusted through and a hood that doesn’t quite stay shut on its own, thanks to a collision the week he bought it. It’s one of the last diesel-powered vehicles he could find, but the fuel costs so much he hardly drives the thing. So much for that brilliant idea.
But tonight it feels like a luxury to have the truck, to be able to take Jack anywhere. He starts it and then lets Jack direct him out of the city and into the hills, off the road and onto a small path until they reach a kind of lookout surrounded by tall, narrow conifers. Then he lets it idle a bit while they sit in awkward silence, before shutting off the engine. As soon as he does, Jack gets out and starts wandering into the dark. Sawyer scrambles out of the cab and addresses the empty space in front of him.
“Whoa, Doc,” Sawyer says, forgetting to be sarcastic with the nickname. “Dammit, get back here. I can think of about ten people who’d kick the shit outta me if I let something happen to you.”
“I’m right here,” Jack says, stepping out of the shadows, leaves rustling around his feet. The sound reminds Sawyer of so many nights spent in the jungle, it actually makes his head spin with memories. But then he gets distracted by the bright red flicker inside Jack’s palm. Once, twice, and then it’s lit, and Sawyer walks over, trying to slow his breathing. He feels himself salivating, swallows loudly. Jack holds the lit smoke out to him, pulls another out of the beat-up red package for himself.
Sawyer takes it between his thumb and forefinger, and just looks at it for a second, watches the paper curl a tiny bit as it burns. Then he puts it to his mouth and takes a long, slow drag.
“Mmm. God, I needed that. You have no clue how much.”
Jack’s eyes drift shut as he takes in the smoke and then slowly pushes it back out, up into the night air where it swirls and dissipates.
“I think I might,” he says.
Sawyer climbs up into the truck bed and collapses onto his back, bringing the cigarette back to his lips and leaving it there while he searches for stars in the small patch of sky between treetops. He thinks there might be one that’s visible, but only when he’s not looking directly at it. Probably not good enough to wish on, in any case.
He feels the truck tilt and rock as Jack climbs up next to him. Jack stretches out, not touching him, but close enough that Sawyer can feel the heat of his body close by.
“Where’d you get ‘em?” Sawyer says, flicking ash over the side.
“A friend from the hospital,” Jack says. “A scrub nurse. He knows someone.”
“Ah.”
They lie there in silence for a while, smoke drifting up and away. Sawyer’s only got one or two pulls left when he turns to look at Jack.
“Jesus, didn’t you eat at all these past seven months?” he finally says, staring in the darkness at Jack’s face, angular and so pale he’s practically glowing in the moonlight.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not dead.”
Sawyer takes one long last toke, then stubs out the cigarette on the ribbed metal floor of the truck bed. Jack immediately passes him another, which he snatches away with trembling fingers. He notices that Jack doesn’t take another for himself.
“Well, you look pretty close to it, Doc. If you don’t mind my saying.”
“I’m fine, Sawyer. Just tired. Like I said before, I haven’t been sleeping.”
Sawyer blows a few smoke rings in Jack’s general direction.
“Yeah, me either.”
“I could tell.”
“Huh.”
It’s about halfway through this second cigarette that Jack turns to him and starts to touch his hair, casual at first like he’s just helping Sawyer out by tucking it behind his ear, and then he’s running his fingers through it, lingering in the soft strands. Sawyer closes his eyes, focusing on that soothing sensation and on the smoke burning in his lungs.
He could just let it go on forever, but finally he smirks and looks up at Jack.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Jack says, bringing his face up close and breathing in deep.
“Mhm. Right.”
“I really missed you,” Jack says. “All of you. Tonight was good.”
“Whine all you want, Jack. It’s not like you didn’t know where to find us.”
“I’m not whining.”
“S’not what it sounds like from here.”
“It was a sink or swim thing,” Jack mutters, like he’s embarrassed. He lays flat on his back again, speaks quietly. “I had to get back into the world, see if I could make it.”
“And?”
Sawyer drinks in a mouthful of smoke and just tastes it, like it’s some expensive cigar and not a piece of shit cancer stick. He holds the butt out to Jack, who grabs his wrist to steady it and then takes a long drag.
He lets out a heavy sigh before speaking again.
“Couldn’t.” The word is clipped, sounds thick in Jack’s throat.
Sawyer props himself up on an elbow, looms over Jack. Now that his eyes have had a chance to adjust, he can see the dark of stubble on Jack’s face, the squiggle of wrinkles across his forehead.
He watches Jack’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as Jack swallows nervously again and again, and then finally, just when Jack looks like he’s about to come apart at the seams, Sawyer leans down and kisses him.
It’s sweet and slow, and as it’s happening Sawyer thinks of it as almost an effort to wipe the unease from Jack’s face.
When he pulls back, sees Jack still wearing a distressed expression, he starts the kiss all over again, this time with more attention to detail and more feeling poured into it. His lips slide over Jack’s, soft and wet, taking in the warm salt of Jack’s skin, feeling the pulse beating beneath his tongue as it travels over Jack’s lower lip, slowly, carefully. He’s been doing this for what seems like hours before Jack yields a little, his lips parting just enough for Sawyer’s tongue to slip in between and taste the smoky bitterness inside.
It’s only when he feels his fingers burning that he breaks the kiss.
“Ow, sonofabitch,” he mutters, laughing as he crushes what’s left of the cigarette against the side of his truck. “These things are dangerous.”
He sucks on his slightly seared fingers, then leans over Jack, wanting that nicotine taste of Jack’s mouth again. Jack’s hand slides up his chest, presses against his throat, firm but not quite pushing him away.
“Don’t,” Jack says, but he doesn’t stop Sawyer.
This time it’s rougher, Sawyer capturing Jack’s mouth, Jack’s tongue clashing with his, retreating, and then it’s Jack that’s doing the kissing, pulling Sawyer’s lower lip into his mouth, tugging with teeth and then running his tongue over the tender parts. Sawyer tastes blood, but it all feels so good, and it’s about when Jack’s hand slides around to the back of his neck that he realizes he’s getting hard. Then Jack’s other hand goes around Sawyer’s waist. He pulls Sawyer down on top of him, arching up to press their bodies closer together, and Sawyer notices he’s not the only one enjoying this. The feel of Jack’s growing hard-on against Sawyer’s thigh is enough to push him over the edge to really fucking turned on. He lets out a helpless moan as Jack’s chin rubs its way down his cheek, coarse stubble and sweat almost unbearable against the sensitive skin.
“Oh, God,” Jack gasps directly into his ear. “What do you want? I missed you. God, what do you want?” All Sawyer can think is, when the boy drives up into the hills for the purposes of debauchery, he really goes all out.
“Fuck me,” Sawyer says, squirming so that his thigh rubs back and forth over Jack’s erection, the movement or his words causing a surprised, throaty exclamation from Jack. “I want you to fuck me.”
He doesn’t know what it means, that he wants Jack inside him so badly. He could probably figure it out if he thought long and hard about it, but right now it’s just want and need, and nothing else seems real enough to matter. He cups Jack roughly through the wrinkled front of his dress pants and gets another one of those throaty groans before Jack grabs him by the shoulders and rolls them both, almost colliding with the side of the truck bed. Jack unbuttons Sawyer’s jeans and starts yanking at them.
“Time out, boy,” Sawyer says, pushing Jack’s hands away and removing his jeans himself. He pulls his t-shirt off in about a second and a half, then watches Jack loosen his tie and shrug out of his jacket. He only unfastens the top three buttons of his white dress shirt, and yanks the whole thing off over his head before looking down at Sawyer, holding his gaze while he takes off his trousers and underwear, pushing them down his thighs and then kicking them away. Jack’s cock is standing straight up, the glistening tip just barely touching his belly, and Sawyer aches just looking at it.
“C’mere,” Sawyer says, and when Jack complies, slowly laying his naked body over Sawyer’s, he almost comes right then. “Aw, fuck,” Sawyer says, biting his lip, and when Jack’s mouth seeks out his, he bites Jack’s.
Jack grabs his thighs, spreading them wide as he kneels in between and begins to stroke Sawyer, who is far too close to orgasm for this kind of attention. “Doc… no…” Jack fists his cock and then just moves his thumb in a slow circle around the head, gathering the slick liquid that pools at the tip. He keeps bringing Sawyer closer and closer to the edge with just this simple movement. “Jesus, Jack… I’m gonna… You have to…”
Sawyer’s hips start to jerk up into Jack’s grip, the lack of movement absolute torture as he continues to tease the tip of Sawyer’s cock with one finger. Sawyer’s breath hitches. “Fuck… Jack…. I’m gonna… Oh, God…” A hot flush spreads over his whole body. He feels himself passing the point of no return then, his cock trembling in Jack’s hands. Jack is watching him with an evil little smile on his face. “This is… I’m gonna… Jack, I’m… Jack… gonna come - oh, fuck!”
It goes through him like a wave, muscles hardening, body arching up as the warm liquid gets all over Jack’s hands and his stomach. Red and orange spread behind Sawyer’s closed eyes, complimenting the sudden warmth that reaches every part of him, pulsing through his cock as Jack’s hands run up and down the shaft, finally fucking moving as he helps Sawyer along, strokes him, unbearably soft, until there’s nothing left, and then Sawyer opens his eyes and glares at Jack.
“What the hell…” he says, trying to sound angry, which is downright impossible at the moment. He’s practically slurring.
Jack still smiles that evil little smile as he leans over Sawyer, pressing their mouths together to speak right against Sawyer’s lips for just an instant. “I needed something slippery,” Jack says. He swipes his fingers through Sawyer’s come and then pushes Sawyer’s legs further apart, pressing a slick finger to Sawyer’s entrance. Sawyer, sensitive to the slightest touch, swallows a whimper as Jack pushes inside.
“Fuck, Sawyer,” Jack says, adding a second finger, which is met with virtually no resistance from Sawyer’s body. “I did miss you. I did.”
Sawyer shifts down, working Jack’s fingers deeper inside him, desperate to feel Jack, as much of him as possible. Jack’s fingers press into his prostate then with all the subtlety of, well, of Jack, really, which isn’t much, and Sawyer cries out, it’s like a jolt through him. He doesn’t understand how, but he’s hard again, aching for release once more as Jack finally slicks himself up and pushes inside. Sawyer wills his body to relax as the strange sensation spreads through him. His legs wrap around Jack as he slides slowly further and further in, brushing lightly against that spot that is all Sawyer’s thinking about at the moment, and somehow Sawyer tilts up, changes the angle as Jack pulls back and then thrusts into him again, faster now, hitting Sawyer’s prostate head-on, and Sawyer clutches at Jack’s back, pulling him closer, encouraging him to go deeper, go faster.
“God, Sawyer,” Jack whispers, their mouths inches apart. “You feel so good…”
“I know,” Sawyer says as the pace quickens, his breath coming in quick bursts. “Fuck, I know.”
“Missed you… so much…” Jack says, staring down at him like it’s the first time he’s ever seen him, like they haven’t spent the better part of the last decade together.
He pounds into Sawyer, who alternates between swearing and begging every time Jack’s cock meets with his prostate.
“Fuck… please… Jack, dammit… please… fuck… touch me… oh, God…”
Finally, Jack braces himself with one hand and brings the other one between their bodies, squeezing Sawyer’s balls in time with his thrusts, and Sawyer’s a goner again, a series of breathless moans escaping him as he comes for a second time, muscles tightening deliciously around Jack, who digs his fingers hard into Sawyer’s thigh before crying out. “Yes, oh FUCK!” He explodes inside Sawyer, trembling with the effort of holding himself up as he lets the sensation roll through him, and finally collapses on top of Sawyer, exhausted and sweaty.
Sawyer’s hand runs up Jack’s back to the nape of his neck, feels the short, sweat-soaked tendrils there. He runs one finger softly back and forth across them, feeling them cool in the night air. Then, suddenly, he laughs, the sound echoing through the emptiness around the truck, seeming much louder than it actually is.
“What?” Jack says into his shoulder, not moving.
“Two-one Sawyer,” he mutters. “Not that we’re keeping score or anything.”
“Mm.” Jack says, and Sawyer’s not sure if he means something by it, or if he’s just falling asleep.
“Hey,” Sawyer says, “Maybe now I should quit calling you Doc.”
“No,” Jack says. He props himself up again and gently pulls out. Sawyer shifts uncomfortably, but lets Jack lie back down against him, head on Sawyer’s chest. “I like it.”
“Always act like you hate it,” Sawyer says.
“That’s cause I like it.”
“What kind of…” Sawyer mutters. “Hm. Clever. Gonna have to reinterpret some of the things I know about ya, then.”
“Mm,” Jack says, and again Sawyer’s convinced he’s falling asleep. He starts drifting off himself, but then Jack reaches for his coat and grabs the pack of cigarettes from the pocket. “One left.”
Sawyer rubs at his eyes and takes the smoke Jack’s offering. They split it in silence, staring up at the sky. Eventually, Jack does fall asleep, the cigarette drooping from his bottom lip until Sawyer rescues it and finishes it off.
Then he curls up with Jack and breathes in the scent of sex and tobacco until morning.