All ways the Queen's ways
This has been the most randomly weird day so far. Hmm...I blame Susie. ;) (It IS your day, love. Gotta take the blame with the praise. Lol.)
Title: You told me not to drive (but I made it home alive)
Fandom: LOST
Pairing:Jack/Sawyer
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.
Summary: He's still sort of amazed that this is how everything turned out.
Spoilers: No I'm just making stuff up. As usual.
A/N: For the best partner in convertible crime and amusement park frivolity uhzoomzip, the one, the only, the incredible.
Sawyer is always a little shocked.
Even after a year, a long, slow, wonderfully uneventful year, his heart still skips a beat when he hears the overly loud noise in the driveway, his five second warning to make it look like he wasn't waiting for Jack to come home.
He's not sure why he still tries to hide it. Why he always settles deeper into the couch, instead of admitting he was waiting.
It's something about not wanting to completely give in, to finally accept once and for all, the life of a 1950's housewife as his. About not being willing to admit his role as Jack's protector.
It's more than a little weird, how hard it is to resist looking out the window. Jack on "his baby", the random choice of transportation Sawyer spent the better half of a month joking on him for buying, is a sight to see.
But Sawyer does manage, somehow, to stay put and let Jack come to him.
The front door opens and Sawyer will turn his head. He'll give Jack that. A small smile and a sugary sweet "How was your day honey?" dipped in sarcasm he knows Jack will ignore.
He's not sure it's supposed to, and he's not sure why it does - but it always makes Jack smile.
Sometimes he knows that's why he does it.
Jack is a creature of habit, and after a year Sawyer knows what he'll do before he does it.
He'll throw the bag with his dirty scrubs in the general vicinity of the washroom, stop momentarily to grab two beers from the fridge, and settle as close to Sawyer as he can get without skipping a few steps.
There will be a small kiss, that's expected but not something Sawyer's got comfortable enough with yet to take for granted. Then Jack's hand on his leg, low but not low enough to be casual.
Jack there - again - with Sawyer after a day without.
And Sawyer might think he shouldn't - but he's still a little thrilled every time.
He's still sort of amazed that this is the way everything turned out.
- - -
Jack won't let him drive it. In fact, his actual quote was "Get your own motorcycle." But Sawyer doesn't really want one.
On Sunday's Jack gets up before dawn and disappears for hours. Sawyer knows he cruises the ten miles it takes to get from their house to the highway.
He knows that once he's there, once the Pacific offers an inspiring view, Jack opens it up and drives too fast around dangerous curves.
There's at least three speeding tickets on the kitchen table. Sawyer moves them to the nearby counter when he wakes up at 11 and needs a spot to put his cereal and orange juice.
Jack is laughing when he returns, eyes sparkling, skin and hair damp with sweat, and Sawyer knows that means he's gotten another one. These days the man's mood lightens with the subsequent increase in his insurance.
It bothers Sawyer, just a little. The humor Jack seems to find in self destruction. Less because of the stupid behavior and mostly because he's never been the type to judge, to care.
Jack jokes, all the time, about moving to South Carolina where there's no helmet law.
Sawyer keeps his feet firmly planted in California, wondering aloud, more than once, how a "fuckin' doctor can drive one of those death machines."
It's just one of the ways they've changed.
Jack, post-Island, is a little wild. A trait with it's perks and it's downfalls. He doesn't work as hard, doesn't worry as much. He doesn't try to control everyone and everything. But the new Jack isn't very careful, he lives as if he's already died once and is not particularly adverse to doing it again.
It's the darkness underneath that pulled Sawyer in the first time, back then, now its the light behind the clouds that keeps him here.
Sawyer wants Jack the way he was. He only takes him for how he is because it's only fair.
Sawyer, after all the chaos, is a little more tame. A lot like a dog trained to fight, still alive past his prime. All his rage and killer instinct was overused and spent a long time ago. He's vanquished every demon. Found his foes and did what he had to to outlive them. It seems stupid to dwell.
Equally stupid to turn away from what he wants, and can have, just because Jack hasn't learned the same lesson.
Jack comes home. That's what matters. He's still the kind of guy who needs one. That's enough.
Sawyer isn't sure how that became him, when he turned into a touchstone, but he doesn't do anything to change it.
- - -
This is what they have now. Motions to go through to get to this place where they let it go.
Jack goes to work and on his thrill rides. Sawyer pretends he doesn't miss him when he's gone, isn't relieved when he's back.
But there is nothing but the truth when lips touch, when clothes are shed. Then they are both left naked, wanting each other too much to deny the need. Needing too much not to take what they want.
They're both still holding on, in their own way. Keeping yesterday fresh by building a future together.
It still surprises Sawyer - that that is the only way he can make it through the day.
It still surprises Sawyer, that after all this time, after everything they've been through - they still have each other.
Title: You told me not to drive (but I made it home alive)
Fandom: LOST
Pairing:Jack/Sawyer
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.
Summary: He's still sort of amazed that this is how everything turned out.
Spoilers: No I'm just making stuff up. As usual.
A/N: For the best partner in convertible crime and amusement park frivolity uhzoomzip, the one, the only, the incredible.
Sawyer is always a little shocked.
Even after a year, a long, slow, wonderfully uneventful year, his heart still skips a beat when he hears the overly loud noise in the driveway, his five second warning to make it look like he wasn't waiting for Jack to come home.
He's not sure why he still tries to hide it. Why he always settles deeper into the couch, instead of admitting he was waiting.
It's something about not wanting to completely give in, to finally accept once and for all, the life of a 1950's housewife as his. About not being willing to admit his role as Jack's protector.
It's more than a little weird, how hard it is to resist looking out the window. Jack on "his baby", the random choice of transportation Sawyer spent the better half of a month joking on him for buying, is a sight to see.
But Sawyer does manage, somehow, to stay put and let Jack come to him.
The front door opens and Sawyer will turn his head. He'll give Jack that. A small smile and a sugary sweet "How was your day honey?" dipped in sarcasm he knows Jack will ignore.
He's not sure it's supposed to, and he's not sure why it does - but it always makes Jack smile.
Sometimes he knows that's why he does it.
Jack is a creature of habit, and after a year Sawyer knows what he'll do before he does it.
He'll throw the bag with his dirty scrubs in the general vicinity of the washroom, stop momentarily to grab two beers from the fridge, and settle as close to Sawyer as he can get without skipping a few steps.
There will be a small kiss, that's expected but not something Sawyer's got comfortable enough with yet to take for granted. Then Jack's hand on his leg, low but not low enough to be casual.
Jack there - again - with Sawyer after a day without.
And Sawyer might think he shouldn't - but he's still a little thrilled every time.
He's still sort of amazed that this is the way everything turned out.
- - -
Jack won't let him drive it. In fact, his actual quote was "Get your own motorcycle." But Sawyer doesn't really want one.
On Sunday's Jack gets up before dawn and disappears for hours. Sawyer knows he cruises the ten miles it takes to get from their house to the highway.
He knows that once he's there, once the Pacific offers an inspiring view, Jack opens it up and drives too fast around dangerous curves.
There's at least three speeding tickets on the kitchen table. Sawyer moves them to the nearby counter when he wakes up at 11 and needs a spot to put his cereal and orange juice.
Jack is laughing when he returns, eyes sparkling, skin and hair damp with sweat, and Sawyer knows that means he's gotten another one. These days the man's mood lightens with the subsequent increase in his insurance.
It bothers Sawyer, just a little. The humor Jack seems to find in self destruction. Less because of the stupid behavior and mostly because he's never been the type to judge, to care.
Jack jokes, all the time, about moving to South Carolina where there's no helmet law.
Sawyer keeps his feet firmly planted in California, wondering aloud, more than once, how a "fuckin' doctor can drive one of those death machines."
It's just one of the ways they've changed.
Jack, post-Island, is a little wild. A trait with it's perks and it's downfalls. He doesn't work as hard, doesn't worry as much. He doesn't try to control everyone and everything. But the new Jack isn't very careful, he lives as if he's already died once and is not particularly adverse to doing it again.
It's the darkness underneath that pulled Sawyer in the first time, back then, now its the light behind the clouds that keeps him here.
Sawyer wants Jack the way he was. He only takes him for how he is because it's only fair.
Sawyer, after all the chaos, is a little more tame. A lot like a dog trained to fight, still alive past his prime. All his rage and killer instinct was overused and spent a long time ago. He's vanquished every demon. Found his foes and did what he had to to outlive them. It seems stupid to dwell.
Equally stupid to turn away from what he wants, and can have, just because Jack hasn't learned the same lesson.
Jack comes home. That's what matters. He's still the kind of guy who needs one. That's enough.
Sawyer isn't sure how that became him, when he turned into a touchstone, but he doesn't do anything to change it.
- - -
This is what they have now. Motions to go through to get to this place where they let it go.
Jack goes to work and on his thrill rides. Sawyer pretends he doesn't miss him when he's gone, isn't relieved when he's back.
But there is nothing but the truth when lips touch, when clothes are shed. Then they are both left naked, wanting each other too much to deny the need. Needing too much not to take what they want.
They're both still holding on, in their own way. Keeping yesterday fresh by building a future together.
It still surprises Sawyer - that that is the only way he can make it through the day.
It still surprises Sawyer, that after all this time, after everything they've been through - they still have each other.