fic, Lost: Breaking Into Society (Sawyer/Sayid), light NC17 for fosfomifira
And since I'm alone again (even if it was a great time I had), catching up for the luau shall begin. -nods-
Title: Breaking Into Society
Rating: light NC17 I presume
Pairing: Sawyer/Sayid
Word Count: 2380
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine and the movie I stole the inspiration from was John Ford's.
Summary: Sawyer and Sayid meet in New Mexico before the crash.
Spoilers: General for both characters, but since it's set pre-crash just after Sawyer gets out of prison, no spoilers really.
A/N: for Queen fosfomifira, who asked for visual inspiration and said that also a scene from a movie would have been fine. This is a veeery free reworking of the lunch scene in Stagecoach with some other quotes from that movie thrown in. I'd have linked the scene but YouTube doesn't have it. And since the Queen wasn't going to object to Sawyer/Sayid I tried that ;)
Ringo: Looks like I've got the plague, don't it?
Dallas: No, no it's not you.
Ringo: Well, I guess you can't break out of prison and into society in the same week.
John Wayne and Claire Trevor in John Ford'sStagecoach
The counter isn’t long and the bar is quite full.
As soon as Sayid steps into the room, a blond man dressing with a jeans jacket and carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder following him, he has to swallow, though; there are maybe twenty people, all men, and eighteen of them are somewhat glancing at him. The expressions in their eyes switch from annoyance to caution to pure disgust; well, maybe Silver City, New Mexico, wasn’t exactly the most suitable place for him to have dinner, but he was likely to drive all night in order to get to Lordsburg in time for his flight to Albuquerque and then back to Europe. Not much choice.
But at least he isn’t alone, since he thinks that they’re eyeing the guy standing next to him with more or less the same feeling. Maybe because they think he’s with him.
The floor croaks under his feet and suddenly he can feel the smoke of twenty cigarettes hanging in the air; he tries not to cough on instinct and settles on staying still for a few seconds, breathing deeply. He hopes not to throw up. It works; he shrugs and steps to the counter. Suddenly he finds himself about seven feet far from the first person standing there.
Sayid shakes his head and orders a coffee, then asks for a grilled cheese sandwich; suddenly the blond man shows up at his side and orders a beer and some chicken. The space between them and the regulars grows wider and Sayid eyes him, slightly turning his head to his left.
The man is taller than him, his dirty blond hair is rather unkempt even if Sayid can see that it would be of a beautiful golden shade if it was cleaner. His jeans are worn out as his flannel red shirt is; he can see a green eye staring at the bottle that the barman threw him not very nicely two seconds before and his hand grips the neck, even if he doesn’t drink it still.
At one point the man turns to him and shrugs his shoulders.
“Looks like I’ve got the plague, don’t it?”
The accent is Southern, too, even if Sayid doesn’t think that he’s from this zone; the voice low, the tone sort of resigned. He answers quickly; he has an idea that this man is not really the problem.
“Oh, no, it’s not you.”
The man shakes his head again.
“I was in jail in Las Cruces until this mornin’. Came here with the bus one hour ago or so but I guess it shows. That I was in jail, I mean. Well, guess you can’t break from prison and into society in the same week, right? And you probably might like some other company.”
Sayid’s hand goes to the man’s shoulder for a second purely on instinct.
“Please stay,” he says at the same time, “I really do not think it’s you. Or not entirely at least.”
“Well, fine. At least it’s company.”
Sayid nods and extends a hand, smiling just slightly.
“Well, I think we should at least introduce.”
He isn’t this friendly with strangers, not usually, but it’s late, he has been driving for one day with three breaks or so and well, having someone to share the outcast role or whatever it is feels good. Really good. The other man smiles in return, a small dimple appearing in his left cheek, and shakes it.
“I am Sayid.”
“I’m Sawyer.”
“Real name?”
Sawyer stays silent for a few seconds, then shrugs and turns back to the beer he was just served.
“Well, let’s say friends call me like that. Real name’s James, but I haven’t gone by that for a long time.”
Sayid nods and takes a bite from his sandwich, while the bartender shoves a plate full of chicken almost into Sawyer’s face. Green eyes follow him to the other side of the counter before turning to the plate.
“Manners were better in prison. Oh well, let’s have a nice, regular meal.”
They eat in silence; Sayid finishes before Sawyer does and drinks the lukewarm coffee the bartender gave him when he was through with the sandwich. Of course he had done it ten minutes ago, but Sayid figures he’s lucky if he wasn’t given one from the day before or something.
“Woah, nice and regular dinner sucks.”
Sayid has to smile at that; then figures that answering won’t do much harm.
“That would be more or less my opinion.”
“Figured. Well, least my beer ain’t warm. Guess you had less luck than yours truly.”
Sayid nods and leaves the coffee at half. His stomach suddenly turns and he figures that throwing up here wouldn’t actually be the best idea. Not really. So he gives the bartender a ten dollar bill without receiving any change and waits for Sawyer to finish, ignoring the fact that the bartender holds the bill like it carried some disease. That’s fine. He imagined it already.
Sawyer orders an apple pie and finishes it in a minute or something; then turns to him, raising an eyebrow.
“Where are you goin’?”
“Lordsburg. I need to catch a plane from there in two days.”
“Sweet. I’m goin’ to Lordsburg, too.”
“Now that would some kind of coincidence.”
“Oh, you bet ‘twould be.”
He casts a look around, then smirks at Sayid for a second and turns to the bartender again.
“I suppose you couldn’t put one whiskey on credit if I asked you one, right?”
The bartender doesn’t even look at him while he serves someone at the other side of the table.
“I’ve got an idea that if talkin’ was money, you’d be an helluva costumer. But I ain’t acceptin’ that.”
Sayid suddenly feels eyes on his back, like he didn’t have enough of those before.
“Are you crazy?”, he mutters hoping no one is going to hear that.
“Yeah, probably am.”
“If you go on like this, I think you will find yourself back in prison in no time.”
“Yeah, you got a point. Quite one.”
He lays a ten dollar bill over the counter, then turns back to Sayid again.
“Well, guess I’ll go washin’ my hands ‘fore I leave this hole.”
Sawyer leaves the counter and when he’s gone Sayid feels strangely naked and exposed. At that point there’s no one to share the attention of the bar’s crowd with him and it’s enough to make him turn and go straight towards the restroom, his feet quickly moving over the floor. He has this idea that maybe the bathroom isn’t that good of an idea, considering that he barely knows Sawyer. Scratch it, he doesn’t know him at all if not for being in the same situation for half an hour in some place he will likely not visit anymore in his life. But it still feels better than remaining at the counter and so he steps into the toilet, closing it behind him.
It’s barely a question of seconds before a hand grabs his wrist and he finds himself with his back against the wall of a restroom. It smells, the air is hot and heavy; he doesn’t flinch when the key turns a couple of times in the lock and thin lips are hovering over his own, blond strands brushing his skin and a devilish glint in Sawyer’s eyes.
Sayid can’t help licking his lips quickly, earning himself a chuckle and a couple of hands lightly pinning his wrists.
“Woah, seems like we’ve got someone who feels brave tonight.”
Sayid just swallows and doesn’t say a thing, his voice suddenly going missing. Sawyer’s is even lower than before, almost a whisper, his accent seems a bit thicker; Sayid shivers when Sawyer brings his lips close to his ear.
“Guess we should be very quiet, if you’re serious ‘bout this. Y’know, that wouldn’t be good if...”
Suddenly Sayid’s jeans feel too small and seemingly his brain cuts the connection with the rest of his body. It’s too much and it’s been too long and right, he needs to go and drive, he has to catch a plane because his permit expires in three days (and damn, he didn’t find Nadia where he was told she lived some time ago again) but right now he just can’t even bring himself to think about it.
He brings his hand on Sawyer’s face and kisses him abruptly, cutting his sentence in half; it’s not like he can’t imagine what he was saying anyway.
Sawyer stays still for a second, probably he didn’t expect it, but then Sayid is the one pinning him to the wall and Sawyer’s mouth is all heat and wetness, and oh, it has such a delicious taste. Chicken and beer and apple pie melt into a whole that has another flavor altogether, one that is both sweet and spicy (he figures it’s because of the chicken, but then forgets it) and it’s just so good. Sawyer’s stubble is rough under his fingers; when Sawyer’s fingers slowly reach Sayid’s nape threading in his hair, he feels them rough and calloused on his scalp and another shiver runs through his spine and he can’t help a moan. The kiss ends there, for a few seconds, before Sawyer’s lips find his again and Sayid’s hands reach the other man’s jeans.
Sawyer stands with his back against the wall and suddenly the air becomes even heavier; Sayid smirks just slightly when he breaks the kiss softly and his lips reach Sawyer’s ear.
“You were talking about being quiet?”, he whispers then, gaining a hand on the small of his back pushing him forward.
“Shut up. I fuckin’ know.”
A sudden rush of blood in the lower direction shakes Sayid all over again and damn, he really shouldn’t do this but he is and as Sawyer’s erection rubs against his thigh he decides that he’s going to feel guilty about this later. Much later.
Suddenly Sawyer’s hand grips his wrist so much that it hurts, but before he can ask for explanations he hears footsteps and someone entering into the adjacent restroom. He almost loses all of his force of will when he thinks about what would happen if someone caught them like that, but Sawyer is too near and too warm and the flavor Sawyer’s mouth tastes still trickles his tongue. He settles on staying very still and not moving an inch, barely breathing, until the toilet flushes and whoever it was leaves the room. Then he has to bite his tongue because, he finds, Sawyer has a terrible timing with remarks.
“Fuck. If there’s a thing I don’t like, it’s tryin’ to have a decent fuck in bathrooms in Apache County. Well, you still up for that?”
Sayid just nods and suddenly Sawyer’s fingers are on his jeans, quickly taking the zip down.
He thrusts his hips forward as soon as Sawyer takes him in hand and starts to get him off with fast strokes; the skin on his fingers is rough and Sayid can’t help pushing against him, biting his lip in order not to be noisy (which isn’t the easiest thing ever, especially with Sawyer’s mouth on his neck, fast and shallow breaths on Sayid’s skin. He comes just soon after, he had known he wasn’t ever going to last much; he blacks out for maybe a couple of seconds and then he finds himself staring into the devilish glint in Sawyer’s eyes, green and thoroughly satisfied. He just hopes he didn’t make too much noise, he can’t really remember, but he thinks he hasn’t.
He rubs his thigh a bit against Sawyer’s erection, earning a small sigh; well, his turn. He admits that it’d be quite a good idea to try again something he hasn’t done since his military days, but it isn’t the place nor the time. He settles on paying Sawyer with the same currency and as soon as Sawyer thrusts up as soon as Sayid touches him, his erection achingly hard against Sayid’s fingers, he feels another shiver of pleasure running through his spine.
Sawyer bites his shoulder when he comes and it isn’t as painful as it should feel, or maybe it’s because Sayid can barely feel it; it was over too soon, he thinks, but then Sawyer struggles up to his feet, takes a piece of toilet paper and hands it to him wordlessly, taking one for himself soon after. Sayid flushes the toilet when they’re done, then turns the key and opens the door. Sawyer joins him while he washes his hands and then Sayid turns and steps out of the restroom and of the bar altogether.
The air is cool, too cool; he shivers for a second and then leans on his car, breathing deeply as his hands grip the door handle.
He figures he can wait for ten minutes.
Fifteen later, he hasn’t showed up; Sayid just shrugs, suddenly wishing for his hair to be shorter. Then he opens the door of the car and starts to get in.
“Hold it!”
His head jerks up and Sawyer is there, duffel bag and everything.
“Fuck, that was hard. To get out from that hole, I mean. Well, don’t ever let me do that again.”
“You started it.”
“Not the point. So, you said you’re goin’ to Lordsburg? What about givin’ me a ride? I can buy you a drink when we get there.”
Sayid doesn’t know if he should laugh or feel outraged. He settles on smirking slightly at Sawyer.
“Alright, but just one.”
--
Sawyer eventually buys him a drink at the airport (after a night spent in a Lordsburg motel which, as filthy as it could have been, was a definitive improvement from that restroom) and took a flight to Los Angeles. Sayid goes to Albuquerque, then to New York and then to London and he kind of lays the experience in the back of his mind, figuring that there would be no use in thinking about it often. He doesn’t find Nadia for how much he tries.
Sometimes he thinks about Sawyer, though, and wonders how would it feel like to meet him again. He figures that, if it ever happens, neither of them will have made that break into society. Not that it’s important, anyway.
End.
Title: Breaking Into Society
Rating: light NC17 I presume
Pairing: Sawyer/Sayid
Word Count: 2380
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine and the movie I stole the inspiration from was John Ford's.
Summary: Sawyer and Sayid meet in New Mexico before the crash.
Spoilers: General for both characters, but since it's set pre-crash just after Sawyer gets out of prison, no spoilers really.
A/N: for Queen fosfomifira, who asked for visual inspiration and said that also a scene from a movie would have been fine. This is a veeery free reworking of the lunch scene in Stagecoach with some other quotes from that movie thrown in. I'd have linked the scene but YouTube doesn't have it. And since the Queen wasn't going to object to Sawyer/Sayid I tried that ;)
Ringo: Looks like I've got the plague, don't it?
Dallas: No, no it's not you.
Ringo: Well, I guess you can't break out of prison and into society in the same week.
John Wayne and Claire Trevor in John Ford'sStagecoach
The counter isn’t long and the bar is quite full.
As soon as Sayid steps into the room, a blond man dressing with a jeans jacket and carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder following him, he has to swallow, though; there are maybe twenty people, all men, and eighteen of them are somewhat glancing at him. The expressions in their eyes switch from annoyance to caution to pure disgust; well, maybe Silver City, New Mexico, wasn’t exactly the most suitable place for him to have dinner, but he was likely to drive all night in order to get to Lordsburg in time for his flight to Albuquerque and then back to Europe. Not much choice.
But at least he isn’t alone, since he thinks that they’re eyeing the guy standing next to him with more or less the same feeling. Maybe because they think he’s with him.
The floor croaks under his feet and suddenly he can feel the smoke of twenty cigarettes hanging in the air; he tries not to cough on instinct and settles on staying still for a few seconds, breathing deeply. He hopes not to throw up. It works; he shrugs and steps to the counter. Suddenly he finds himself about seven feet far from the first person standing there.
Sayid shakes his head and orders a coffee, then asks for a grilled cheese sandwich; suddenly the blond man shows up at his side and orders a beer and some chicken. The space between them and the regulars grows wider and Sayid eyes him, slightly turning his head to his left.
The man is taller than him, his dirty blond hair is rather unkempt even if Sayid can see that it would be of a beautiful golden shade if it was cleaner. His jeans are worn out as his flannel red shirt is; he can see a green eye staring at the bottle that the barman threw him not very nicely two seconds before and his hand grips the neck, even if he doesn’t drink it still.
At one point the man turns to him and shrugs his shoulders.
“Looks like I’ve got the plague, don’t it?”
The accent is Southern, too, even if Sayid doesn’t think that he’s from this zone; the voice low, the tone sort of resigned. He answers quickly; he has an idea that this man is not really the problem.
“Oh, no, it’s not you.”
The man shakes his head again.
“I was in jail in Las Cruces until this mornin’. Came here with the bus one hour ago or so but I guess it shows. That I was in jail, I mean. Well, guess you can’t break from prison and into society in the same week, right? And you probably might like some other company.”
Sayid’s hand goes to the man’s shoulder for a second purely on instinct.
“Please stay,” he says at the same time, “I really do not think it’s you. Or not entirely at least.”
“Well, fine. At least it’s company.”
Sayid nods and extends a hand, smiling just slightly.
“Well, I think we should at least introduce.”
He isn’t this friendly with strangers, not usually, but it’s late, he has been driving for one day with three breaks or so and well, having someone to share the outcast role or whatever it is feels good. Really good. The other man smiles in return, a small dimple appearing in his left cheek, and shakes it.
“I am Sayid.”
“I’m Sawyer.”
“Real name?”
Sawyer stays silent for a few seconds, then shrugs and turns back to the beer he was just served.
“Well, let’s say friends call me like that. Real name’s James, but I haven’t gone by that for a long time.”
Sayid nods and takes a bite from his sandwich, while the bartender shoves a plate full of chicken almost into Sawyer’s face. Green eyes follow him to the other side of the counter before turning to the plate.
“Manners were better in prison. Oh well, let’s have a nice, regular meal.”
They eat in silence; Sayid finishes before Sawyer does and drinks the lukewarm coffee the bartender gave him when he was through with the sandwich. Of course he had done it ten minutes ago, but Sayid figures he’s lucky if he wasn’t given one from the day before or something.
“Woah, nice and regular dinner sucks.”
Sayid has to smile at that; then figures that answering won’t do much harm.
“That would be more or less my opinion.”
“Figured. Well, least my beer ain’t warm. Guess you had less luck than yours truly.”
Sayid nods and leaves the coffee at half. His stomach suddenly turns and he figures that throwing up here wouldn’t actually be the best idea. Not really. So he gives the bartender a ten dollar bill without receiving any change and waits for Sawyer to finish, ignoring the fact that the bartender holds the bill like it carried some disease. That’s fine. He imagined it already.
Sawyer orders an apple pie and finishes it in a minute or something; then turns to him, raising an eyebrow.
“Where are you goin’?”
“Lordsburg. I need to catch a plane from there in two days.”
“Sweet. I’m goin’ to Lordsburg, too.”
“Now that would some kind of coincidence.”
“Oh, you bet ‘twould be.”
He casts a look around, then smirks at Sayid for a second and turns to the bartender again.
“I suppose you couldn’t put one whiskey on credit if I asked you one, right?”
The bartender doesn’t even look at him while he serves someone at the other side of the table.
“I’ve got an idea that if talkin’ was money, you’d be an helluva costumer. But I ain’t acceptin’ that.”
Sayid suddenly feels eyes on his back, like he didn’t have enough of those before.
“Are you crazy?”, he mutters hoping no one is going to hear that.
“Yeah, probably am.”
“If you go on like this, I think you will find yourself back in prison in no time.”
“Yeah, you got a point. Quite one.”
He lays a ten dollar bill over the counter, then turns back to Sayid again.
“Well, guess I’ll go washin’ my hands ‘fore I leave this hole.”
Sawyer leaves the counter and when he’s gone Sayid feels strangely naked and exposed. At that point there’s no one to share the attention of the bar’s crowd with him and it’s enough to make him turn and go straight towards the restroom, his feet quickly moving over the floor. He has this idea that maybe the bathroom isn’t that good of an idea, considering that he barely knows Sawyer. Scratch it, he doesn’t know him at all if not for being in the same situation for half an hour in some place he will likely not visit anymore in his life. But it still feels better than remaining at the counter and so he steps into the toilet, closing it behind him.
It’s barely a question of seconds before a hand grabs his wrist and he finds himself with his back against the wall of a restroom. It smells, the air is hot and heavy; he doesn’t flinch when the key turns a couple of times in the lock and thin lips are hovering over his own, blond strands brushing his skin and a devilish glint in Sawyer’s eyes.
Sayid can’t help licking his lips quickly, earning himself a chuckle and a couple of hands lightly pinning his wrists.
“Woah, seems like we’ve got someone who feels brave tonight.”
Sayid just swallows and doesn’t say a thing, his voice suddenly going missing. Sawyer’s is even lower than before, almost a whisper, his accent seems a bit thicker; Sayid shivers when Sawyer brings his lips close to his ear.
“Guess we should be very quiet, if you’re serious ‘bout this. Y’know, that wouldn’t be good if...”
Suddenly Sayid’s jeans feel too small and seemingly his brain cuts the connection with the rest of his body. It’s too much and it’s been too long and right, he needs to go and drive, he has to catch a plane because his permit expires in three days (and damn, he didn’t find Nadia where he was told she lived some time ago again) but right now he just can’t even bring himself to think about it.
He brings his hand on Sawyer’s face and kisses him abruptly, cutting his sentence in half; it’s not like he can’t imagine what he was saying anyway.
Sawyer stays still for a second, probably he didn’t expect it, but then Sayid is the one pinning him to the wall and Sawyer’s mouth is all heat and wetness, and oh, it has such a delicious taste. Chicken and beer and apple pie melt into a whole that has another flavor altogether, one that is both sweet and spicy (he figures it’s because of the chicken, but then forgets it) and it’s just so good. Sawyer’s stubble is rough under his fingers; when Sawyer’s fingers slowly reach Sayid’s nape threading in his hair, he feels them rough and calloused on his scalp and another shiver runs through his spine and he can’t help a moan. The kiss ends there, for a few seconds, before Sawyer’s lips find his again and Sayid’s hands reach the other man’s jeans.
Sawyer stands with his back against the wall and suddenly the air becomes even heavier; Sayid smirks just slightly when he breaks the kiss softly and his lips reach Sawyer’s ear.
“You were talking about being quiet?”, he whispers then, gaining a hand on the small of his back pushing him forward.
“Shut up. I fuckin’ know.”
A sudden rush of blood in the lower direction shakes Sayid all over again and damn, he really shouldn’t do this but he is and as Sawyer’s erection rubs against his thigh he decides that he’s going to feel guilty about this later. Much later.
Suddenly Sawyer’s hand grips his wrist so much that it hurts, but before he can ask for explanations he hears footsteps and someone entering into the adjacent restroom. He almost loses all of his force of will when he thinks about what would happen if someone caught them like that, but Sawyer is too near and too warm and the flavor Sawyer’s mouth tastes still trickles his tongue. He settles on staying very still and not moving an inch, barely breathing, until the toilet flushes and whoever it was leaves the room. Then he has to bite his tongue because, he finds, Sawyer has a terrible timing with remarks.
“Fuck. If there’s a thing I don’t like, it’s tryin’ to have a decent fuck in bathrooms in Apache County. Well, you still up for that?”
Sayid just nods and suddenly Sawyer’s fingers are on his jeans, quickly taking the zip down.
He thrusts his hips forward as soon as Sawyer takes him in hand and starts to get him off with fast strokes; the skin on his fingers is rough and Sayid can’t help pushing against him, biting his lip in order not to be noisy (which isn’t the easiest thing ever, especially with Sawyer’s mouth on his neck, fast and shallow breaths on Sayid’s skin. He comes just soon after, he had known he wasn’t ever going to last much; he blacks out for maybe a couple of seconds and then he finds himself staring into the devilish glint in Sawyer’s eyes, green and thoroughly satisfied. He just hopes he didn’t make too much noise, he can’t really remember, but he thinks he hasn’t.
He rubs his thigh a bit against Sawyer’s erection, earning a small sigh; well, his turn. He admits that it’d be quite a good idea to try again something he hasn’t done since his military days, but it isn’t the place nor the time. He settles on paying Sawyer with the same currency and as soon as Sawyer thrusts up as soon as Sayid touches him, his erection achingly hard against Sayid’s fingers, he feels another shiver of pleasure running through his spine.
Sawyer bites his shoulder when he comes and it isn’t as painful as it should feel, or maybe it’s because Sayid can barely feel it; it was over too soon, he thinks, but then Sawyer struggles up to his feet, takes a piece of toilet paper and hands it to him wordlessly, taking one for himself soon after. Sayid flushes the toilet when they’re done, then turns the key and opens the door. Sawyer joins him while he washes his hands and then Sayid turns and steps out of the restroom and of the bar altogether.
The air is cool, too cool; he shivers for a second and then leans on his car, breathing deeply as his hands grip the door handle.
He figures he can wait for ten minutes.
Fifteen later, he hasn’t showed up; Sayid just shrugs, suddenly wishing for his hair to be shorter. Then he opens the door of the car and starts to get in.
“Hold it!”
His head jerks up and Sawyer is there, duffel bag and everything.
“Fuck, that was hard. To get out from that hole, I mean. Well, don’t ever let me do that again.”
“You started it.”
“Not the point. So, you said you’re goin’ to Lordsburg? What about givin’ me a ride? I can buy you a drink when we get there.”
Sayid doesn’t know if he should laugh or feel outraged. He settles on smirking slightly at Sawyer.
“Alright, but just one.”
--
Sawyer eventually buys him a drink at the airport (after a night spent in a Lordsburg motel which, as filthy as it could have been, was a definitive improvement from that restroom) and took a flight to Los Angeles. Sayid goes to Albuquerque, then to New York and then to London and he kind of lays the experience in the back of his mind, figuring that there would be no use in thinking about it often. He doesn’t find Nadia for how much he tries.
Sometimes he thinks about Sawyer, though, and wonders how would it feel like to meet him again. He figures that, if it ever happens, neither of them will have made that break into society. Not that it’s important, anyway.
End.