Another Life
Title: Another Life
Author: Zenana
Pairing: Jack/James, bits of Jack/Desmond
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: For S2E1, “Man of Science, Man of Faith” (also S2E2, “Adrift,” as much of the same scene happens in that epi too)
Notes: Thank you foxxcub for Jack + James, and for the beta help. When I first saw Desmond running, in the dark of the stadium, I thought he was Sawyer, which likely influenced this story.
Set during the hatch exploration. Okay, it’s a lot of action concentrated in a moment, but isn’t that what dreams are?
Summary: Desmond triggers flashbacks of Jack’s other lives.
Another Life
By Zenana
“You.” The word slipped out before Jack could catch it, hung there in the musty air of that labyrinth beneath the hatch, because the moment he saw the face, his face, peering desperately from behind John’s disconcerting calmness, he knew him, knew it was him, and all the events from that pivotal day swirled around him in one quick moment, and he couldn’t even trust himself to speak again without his voice cracking, without fucking crying.
Because of the memories it stirred, the credit Sarah attributed to him when she unexpectedly could wiggle her toes, their engagement when the fiancé never returned to the hospital, didn’t see Sarah stumble, straighten, walk, dance. Because of the odd moment of closeness with his father, though as usual his father had offered the wrong advice. Because of the pain of the unexpected miracle, or the pain of rejection when that fiancé had shown up on their doorstep two years after their wedding, and Sarah had looked at him, Jack, with that remorseful expression he’d often directed at women himself, I’m so sorry...? Or because there was no return of instant recognition in the man’s eyes, even as Jack exclaimed his own?
Recognition he’d yet to admit to Sawyer, in all the weeks they’d been together, even when Sawyer’d given him the gift of his father. But not the gift of James.
Desmond, the name seared into his brain, Jack remembered how the lines of that Beatles’ song had jangled in his head when the runner had introduced himself, Obladi, Oblada, before resuming his run, calling over his shoulder, “See you in another life, yeah.” La la how the life goes on.
The spontaneous race and thrill of competition he’d felt, running up the stadium steps, catching up, trying to pass, when there’d been no hope of passing, just like that other time, on a track field, when James had let him think he’d caught up, only to break away, flying like a bird away from Jack’s land-bound feet. Until he’d stumbled, twisted his ankle, Jack was back in that long ago race that left him hot and sweating and rock hard. And that incredible release in the showers, return affection aborted that night with the invasion of wrestlers, but more than completed later, in James’s own bed.
Because there’d been James, and then no man until Desmond. Jack had gingerly hobbled down the stairs, to the stadium locker room, and that other life was waiting for him there, in the showers, Desmond slick and wet, meeting his eyes directly before dropping them pointedly to his cock as Jack stepped into the showers and dropped his soap.
No man after James, just a string of women, Cyndis and Mary Sues and Tinas, and now Jack’s ass clenched at the memory of Desmond’s surprisingly large, thick cock poking against him, then penetrating forcefully, filling him in a way no one had since James had disappeared more than a dozen years before. And James had never even filled him that way, though he had in every other way, had filled his mind and, yes, his heart, consumed him, passion like he’d never had with any cheerleader, psych major, med student. Desmond, that night, in the stadium showers, had felt the same, like a conduit for James, for the one Jack had blocked from his mind, the body he refused to remember as he savored breasts and the moist depths of nurses, secretaries, schoolteachers, who always had to be beautiful, blond California girls, why not. No Southern accents, thank you very much, no accents at all, please, brother. No musky sweat, no firm planes and hardness, nothing that could penetrate, just smooth hairless legs and soft, wet heat.
He’d decided Desmond had been there to drive away any vestiges of James, to make room for Sarah, to wipe his heart clean and open it up for her. At least, he’d tried to convince himself of this, even as he came into Desmond’s rough, firm hands as Desmond pounded into his ass, filling him with his own gasping orgasm, saying nothing as Jack shouted “James!” as he came with an intensity that he hadn’t known since he was 17, when he hadn’t known it would be the last time he’d feel the sweep of James’s tongue around his balls, feel the back of James’s throat as he swallowed, took Jack’s cock all the way into his mouth, his throat, and sucked him dry, leaving him weak and desperate to suck James too, to feel the thrust of his cock in his mouth, loved loved loved that time in the hotel when they’d sucked each other off at the same time, but that couldn’t happen under the bleachers during a girls’ track team practice.
He’d been with Cyndi, the cheerleader who had somehow become his girlfriend, knowing it pained James, but knowing he had to have a girlfriend, because he was Jack Shephard, jock and golden boy, no other choice. James had approached them that day; Jack touched his tender eye as he saw James coming, felt Cyndi tighten her grip on his hand. James had spoken directly to Cyndi, saying, “Sorry about last week. Didn’t mean to scare you, Sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart,” she’d responded, and she’d sounded whiny to Jack.
“Oh I know that,” James said smoothly, dimples working double time, “But - to see someone like you - a guy can dream,” and Cyndi actually changed her pout to a grin. “That was kind of the problem. But hey, the best man obviously won.” He turned to Jack, said, “Looks like the bleachers have a good view of girl’s track practice. Well, must be going. I’ll catch you love birds later.”
“See you around, James,” Cyndi had said, easily won over.
Fifteen minutes later Jack had ditched her and found James waiting for him under the bleachers, and he was hard as soon as he stepped into the striped shade of the enclosed space, stirred by the memory of that earlier time. Wordlessly, he kissed James, pulling him close, kneading his ass as their tongues pressed together. Pausing to catch his breath, he leaned against one of the support posts, and James sank to his knees and unzipped his fly, releasing Jack’s straining cock. James looked up at Jack, locking eyes as his tongue snaked out and began to lick the head of his cock, and then James took him in and further in and gave Jack the blowjob of his life.
That was the last time he’d seen James, though he hadn’t known it then, thought he’d have plenty of time to feel James’s cock in his mouth again, and maybe something more, more being an amorphous concept then, more being what he got from Desmond a decade and a half later.
And more being what he wanted from Sawyer, but he’d been unable to uncover James, although he’d known that’s who he was the moment he’d seen Sawyer searching through the wreckage while he looked for antibiotics, Sawyer’s ironic “Boo.” Jack had known then, maybe before, but he hadn’t said “You” to him, and Sawyer never did either, kept his eyes closed to Jack, even when they were open and Jack could feel himself ready to drown in their sea color, but Sawyer would never meet his eyes, just maintained the façade of competition for Kate’s affection, and now he was gone, again, and the only one Jack could acknowledge here, now, in this life, was Desmond.
END
Author: Zenana
Pairing: Jack/James, bits of Jack/Desmond
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: For S2E1, “Man of Science, Man of Faith” (also S2E2, “Adrift,” as much of the same scene happens in that epi too)
Notes: Thank you foxxcub for Jack + James, and for the beta help. When I first saw Desmond running, in the dark of the stadium, I thought he was Sawyer, which likely influenced this story.
Set during the hatch exploration. Okay, it’s a lot of action concentrated in a moment, but isn’t that what dreams are?
Summary: Desmond triggers flashbacks of Jack’s other lives.
Another Life
By Zenana
“You.” The word slipped out before Jack could catch it, hung there in the musty air of that labyrinth beneath the hatch, because the moment he saw the face, his face, peering desperately from behind John’s disconcerting calmness, he knew him, knew it was him, and all the events from that pivotal day swirled around him in one quick moment, and he couldn’t even trust himself to speak again without his voice cracking, without fucking crying.
Because of the memories it stirred, the credit Sarah attributed to him when she unexpectedly could wiggle her toes, their engagement when the fiancé never returned to the hospital, didn’t see Sarah stumble, straighten, walk, dance. Because of the odd moment of closeness with his father, though as usual his father had offered the wrong advice. Because of the pain of the unexpected miracle, or the pain of rejection when that fiancé had shown up on their doorstep two years after their wedding, and Sarah had looked at him, Jack, with that remorseful expression he’d often directed at women himself, I’m so sorry...? Or because there was no return of instant recognition in the man’s eyes, even as Jack exclaimed his own?
Recognition he’d yet to admit to Sawyer, in all the weeks they’d been together, even when Sawyer’d given him the gift of his father. But not the gift of James.
Desmond, the name seared into his brain, Jack remembered how the lines of that Beatles’ song had jangled in his head when the runner had introduced himself, Obladi, Oblada, before resuming his run, calling over his shoulder, “See you in another life, yeah.” La la how the life goes on.
The spontaneous race and thrill of competition he’d felt, running up the stadium steps, catching up, trying to pass, when there’d been no hope of passing, just like that other time, on a track field, when James had let him think he’d caught up, only to break away, flying like a bird away from Jack’s land-bound feet. Until he’d stumbled, twisted his ankle, Jack was back in that long ago race that left him hot and sweating and rock hard. And that incredible release in the showers, return affection aborted that night with the invasion of wrestlers, but more than completed later, in James’s own bed.
Because there’d been James, and then no man until Desmond. Jack had gingerly hobbled down the stairs, to the stadium locker room, and that other life was waiting for him there, in the showers, Desmond slick and wet, meeting his eyes directly before dropping them pointedly to his cock as Jack stepped into the showers and dropped his soap.
No man after James, just a string of women, Cyndis and Mary Sues and Tinas, and now Jack’s ass clenched at the memory of Desmond’s surprisingly large, thick cock poking against him, then penetrating forcefully, filling him in a way no one had since James had disappeared more than a dozen years before. And James had never even filled him that way, though he had in every other way, had filled his mind and, yes, his heart, consumed him, passion like he’d never had with any cheerleader, psych major, med student. Desmond, that night, in the stadium showers, had felt the same, like a conduit for James, for the one Jack had blocked from his mind, the body he refused to remember as he savored breasts and the moist depths of nurses, secretaries, schoolteachers, who always had to be beautiful, blond California girls, why not. No Southern accents, thank you very much, no accents at all, please, brother. No musky sweat, no firm planes and hardness, nothing that could penetrate, just smooth hairless legs and soft, wet heat.
He’d decided Desmond had been there to drive away any vestiges of James, to make room for Sarah, to wipe his heart clean and open it up for her. At least, he’d tried to convince himself of this, even as he came into Desmond’s rough, firm hands as Desmond pounded into his ass, filling him with his own gasping orgasm, saying nothing as Jack shouted “James!” as he came with an intensity that he hadn’t known since he was 17, when he hadn’t known it would be the last time he’d feel the sweep of James’s tongue around his balls, feel the back of James’s throat as he swallowed, took Jack’s cock all the way into his mouth, his throat, and sucked him dry, leaving him weak and desperate to suck James too, to feel the thrust of his cock in his mouth, loved loved loved that time in the hotel when they’d sucked each other off at the same time, but that couldn’t happen under the bleachers during a girls’ track team practice.
He’d been with Cyndi, the cheerleader who had somehow become his girlfriend, knowing it pained James, but knowing he had to have a girlfriend, because he was Jack Shephard, jock and golden boy, no other choice. James had approached them that day; Jack touched his tender eye as he saw James coming, felt Cyndi tighten her grip on his hand. James had spoken directly to Cyndi, saying, “Sorry about last week. Didn’t mean to scare you, Sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart,” she’d responded, and she’d sounded whiny to Jack.
“Oh I know that,” James said smoothly, dimples working double time, “But - to see someone like you - a guy can dream,” and Cyndi actually changed her pout to a grin. “That was kind of the problem. But hey, the best man obviously won.” He turned to Jack, said, “Looks like the bleachers have a good view of girl’s track practice. Well, must be going. I’ll catch you love birds later.”
“See you around, James,” Cyndi had said, easily won over.
Fifteen minutes later Jack had ditched her and found James waiting for him under the bleachers, and he was hard as soon as he stepped into the striped shade of the enclosed space, stirred by the memory of that earlier time. Wordlessly, he kissed James, pulling him close, kneading his ass as their tongues pressed together. Pausing to catch his breath, he leaned against one of the support posts, and James sank to his knees and unzipped his fly, releasing Jack’s straining cock. James looked up at Jack, locking eyes as his tongue snaked out and began to lick the head of his cock, and then James took him in and further in and gave Jack the blowjob of his life.
That was the last time he’d seen James, though he hadn’t known it then, thought he’d have plenty of time to feel James’s cock in his mouth again, and maybe something more, more being an amorphous concept then, more being what he got from Desmond a decade and a half later.
And more being what he wanted from Sawyer, but he’d been unable to uncover James, although he’d known that’s who he was the moment he’d seen Sawyer searching through the wreckage while he looked for antibiotics, Sawyer’s ironic “Boo.” Jack had known then, maybe before, but he hadn’t said “You” to him, and Sawyer never did either, kept his eyes closed to Jack, even when they were open and Jack could feel himself ready to drown in their sea color, but Sawyer would never meet his eyes, just maintained the façade of competition for Kate’s affection, and now he was gone, again, and the only one Jack could acknowledge here, now, in this life, was Desmond.
END