Secret Santa fic for gottalovev
Title: Furniture Tales
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: PG (for language ;)
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own them...but if I did, I would have way more fun with them
A/N: For
gottalovev , who asked for Post rescue Sawyer/Jack : the pair go shopping for furniture for their new house. ...well, this is as close as I could get ;)
Furniture tales
Of course they'd bought the bed first.
No table to eat from, let alone chairs to sit on while eating, but the bed was bought and delivered and set up 6 hours after moving in. Sawyer even made it, tucked in the clean white sheets over the wide mattress, soft blankets and linen smelling like summer rain and lilacs, two huge pillows propped up against the wooden headboard.
"It looks better without the headboard!" Jack had said when they looked at the pictures on the internet catalogue.
"You're gonna need the headboard, trust me." Sawyer grinned, and when Jack had just raised his eyebrows and continued scrolling down to chrome steel and headboard-less bed frames, Sawyer rubbed his nose against the side of Jack's neck and brushed his lips across the soft skin under Jack's ear "You're gonna need the headboard, because you'll need something to hold on to when I fuck you senseless."
He could feel Jack's pulse quicken under his lips, and without saying a word Jack had scrolled back to the top of the page again.
~~***~~***~~
Jack also decided to get a wardrobe, because really, he's the one with the most clothes to put in it. As vain as Sawyer can be about his appearance, almost none of his clothes have to actually be put on a coat hanger, and the few button-down shirts he does own are of such a colour and pattern that you wouldn't even notice the crinkles or creases.
But Jack buys a big wardrobe anyway, with two large mirrors going all the way from the top to the bottom. Sawyer makes some smartass comment about them when he first sees the whole thing, something involving Jack and gowns and possibly debutante balls, but the truth is, Jack likes watching Sawyer getting dressed in front of the mirror.
He likes it even more watching Sawyer getting undressed in front of them, but most of the time it's Sawyer putting on shirts, or buttoning up his jeans, barefoot and the hair still wet from the shower, or tousled and hanging in his eyes when he looks down and snaps the belt tight.
Jack watches him from the bathroom, leaning against the door frame, the hand with the toothbrush still, and he sees both sides of Sawyer at once, one in the mirror and one three steps away, and sometimes he not only forgets about the toothbrush but about breathing as well.
~~***~~***~~
The shelf in the living room is the only piece that doesn't fit to the rest of the room. First of all, it's dark wood, a deep brown colour, more mahogany than oak like the rest of their furniture. And it's kind of stained, with what seems to be various liquids, most of them probably alcoholic. They'd found it at a yard sale, and it came complete with three Hemingway novels, a book about kite building, and the complete poems of Seamus Heaney.
It never matched with the rest of the furniture, but it matched with Sawyer, and really, that was enough for Jack.
~~***~~***~~
"Tell me again why we need a table for the kitchen when we eat at the dining room table, doc?"
"Because you need a table in your kitchen. It's just...you need one."
"What for? We cut stuff on the counter. Then we cook it and eat it someplace else. So what's the table for?"
"Sawyer, it's just a table. And some chairs. So you can sit there and...I don't know, just be in the kitchen without cooking something."
"Yeah, well. It's not as if I'll be sitting at the table reading my paper while you make my breakfast. Would be nice, though."
"Let's just get a table and the chairs, okay?"
"You do know that this simple act will take another three hours and about 400 bucks, right?"
"Sawyer."
"Give me just one good reason for the table!"
"Oh for Christ's sake."
"Just one!"
"If we have a table in the kitchen, I can fuck you on it while we're waiting for the food to be done."
"...." ?
"In various positions."
"Just...umm...just go get the table, okay."
~~***~~***~~
One thing Jack remembers most vividly about his father's study is the big desk he had; it was facing the door, so whenever you walked into the room it felt like coming into the Principal's office, standing in front of that desk, his father behind it a shadow cut out from the window.
Jack's work desk at home is facing towards the window, with a view over their back garden and that of their neighbour's with scattered toys all over the lawn.
The desk itself is a beautiful reddish wood; it feels cool in summer and warm in winter, and it reminds Jack of long days in the university library, how it felt like he was learning things just by sitting down on such a desk and spreading his books and papers over the polished surface. It's strange; Jack's been the chief or surgery three years ago, and he has people living or dying under his hands every single day, but the only time he feels really important is when he sits down at that desk, takes out a pen and makes notes, or looks something up in a book. He once caught Sawyer standing in the door, watching him from behind.
"Hey," Jack said, "how long have you been standing there?"
"Couple of minutes. I didn't want to disturb you."
Sawyer still wasn't moving, but stayed at the open door, as if he was scared to enter the room, and suddenly Jack wondered if it made any difference that he had placed his desk facing the window and not the door; if it maybe was the mere existence of such a desk that made people wary, and insecure.
He stood up and walked over to Sawyer, pulling the rolling desk chair behind him. "Sit down." Jack swiveled the chair until it was directly in front of Sawyer.
Sawyer just looked at him, confused, but then he turned and sat down in the leather chair, tilting his head back so he could look at Jack.
"Are you gonna spin me til I puke?"
Jack grinned and bent down to kiss him, just a short brush of lips, but then Sawyer made that noise in the back of his throat and stretched his head a bit more, his neck a long line disappearing into the collar of his blue shirt, and Jack opened his mouth and kissed him a bit more, a little deeper, tongues sliding together with practiced ease. When Jack pulled back Sawyer had his eyes closed, hands holding on lightly to the armrests. When Jack began to push the chair towards the desk he only tightened his hold but didn't open his eyes until Jack stopped, the chair in exact the same position he was in when he was working.
Sawyer looked at the stack of papers on it, the book about medical histories, case files, each one with the name and number printed in Jack's neat handwriting. He brushed his hand over the wooden plate, swiped his thumb over the rounded edge.
Sawyer turned and looked at Jack. "So?"
"What do you think about the desk?" Jack asked, his right hand wandering from the back of the chair to Sawyer's shoulder, his thumb mimicking Sawyer's movement on the wood, but stroking over skin and fine hairs instead.
"The desk?" Both of their thumbs stilled. "I like it."
"Good." Jack smiled and pulled Sawyer's head closer, leaning in to finish that kiss from before.
~~***~~***~~
It's late one Christmas Eve and they're lounging on the sofa, both pleasantly buzzed, a Humphrey Bogart movie on TV. Jack has his feet propped up on the table and Sawyer has his feet in Jack's lap, his left hand wrapped around a beer and the right toying with Jack's hand on his knees. Bogart says something about the spirit of Christmas, and Sawyer puts his beer on the table, right next Jack's feet.
"Jack."
"Hmm?" Jack doesn't avert his eyes from the screen, but he squeezes Sawyer's hand.
"What's your favourite piece of furniture in our house?"
At that Jack does look at him. "My favourite piece of furniture?"
"Yup."
"The bed."
Sawyer chuckles. "Liar. You hardly sleep past 8 am, how can the bed be your favourite?"
Jack looks at him and tries to glare, but fails miserably. "Okay then, then I choose my kitchen table. What's yours?"
Sawyer grins and pulls him closer, threading their fingers until their palms are flat against each other. "Our chaise lounge chairs in the garden, because you have a chair kink, and I like being in the garden and they're big enough to do all kinds of things on."
Jack knits his eyebrows together and shakes his head "Sawyer we don't have any lounge chairs in the garden."
Sawyer smiles at Jack, and the lights from the tree sparkle in his eyes. "Well, merry Christmas then."
~~***~~***~~
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: PG (for language ;)
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own them...but if I did, I would have way more fun with them
A/N: For
gottalovev , who asked for Post rescue Sawyer/Jack : the pair go shopping for furniture for their new house. ...well, this is as close as I could get ;)
Furniture tales
Of course they'd bought the bed first.
No table to eat from, let alone chairs to sit on while eating, but the bed was bought and delivered and set up 6 hours after moving in. Sawyer even made it, tucked in the clean white sheets over the wide mattress, soft blankets and linen smelling like summer rain and lilacs, two huge pillows propped up against the wooden headboard.
"It looks better without the headboard!" Jack had said when they looked at the pictures on the internet catalogue.
"You're gonna need the headboard, trust me." Sawyer grinned, and when Jack had just raised his eyebrows and continued scrolling down to chrome steel and headboard-less bed frames, Sawyer rubbed his nose against the side of Jack's neck and brushed his lips across the soft skin under Jack's ear "You're gonna need the headboard, because you'll need something to hold on to when I fuck you senseless."
He could feel Jack's pulse quicken under his lips, and without saying a word Jack had scrolled back to the top of the page again.
~~***~~***~~
Jack also decided to get a wardrobe, because really, he's the one with the most clothes to put in it. As vain as Sawyer can be about his appearance, almost none of his clothes have to actually be put on a coat hanger, and the few button-down shirts he does own are of such a colour and pattern that you wouldn't even notice the crinkles or creases.
But Jack buys a big wardrobe anyway, with two large mirrors going all the way from the top to the bottom. Sawyer makes some smartass comment about them when he first sees the whole thing, something involving Jack and gowns and possibly debutante balls, but the truth is, Jack likes watching Sawyer getting dressed in front of the mirror.
He likes it even more watching Sawyer getting undressed in front of them, but most of the time it's Sawyer putting on shirts, or buttoning up his jeans, barefoot and the hair still wet from the shower, or tousled and hanging in his eyes when he looks down and snaps the belt tight.
Jack watches him from the bathroom, leaning against the door frame, the hand with the toothbrush still, and he sees both sides of Sawyer at once, one in the mirror and one three steps away, and sometimes he not only forgets about the toothbrush but about breathing as well.
~~***~~***~~
The shelf in the living room is the only piece that doesn't fit to the rest of the room. First of all, it's dark wood, a deep brown colour, more mahogany than oak like the rest of their furniture. And it's kind of stained, with what seems to be various liquids, most of them probably alcoholic. They'd found it at a yard sale, and it came complete with three Hemingway novels, a book about kite building, and the complete poems of Seamus Heaney.
It never matched with the rest of the furniture, but it matched with Sawyer, and really, that was enough for Jack.
~~***~~***~~
"Tell me again why we need a table for the kitchen when we eat at the dining room table, doc?"
"Because you need a table in your kitchen. It's just...you need one."
"What for? We cut stuff on the counter. Then we cook it and eat it someplace else. So what's the table for?"
"Sawyer, it's just a table. And some chairs. So you can sit there and...I don't know, just be in the kitchen without cooking something."
"Yeah, well. It's not as if I'll be sitting at the table reading my paper while you make my breakfast. Would be nice, though."
"Let's just get a table and the chairs, okay?"
"You do know that this simple act will take another three hours and about 400 bucks, right?"
"Sawyer."
"Give me just one good reason for the table!"
"Oh for Christ's sake."
"Just one!"
"If we have a table in the kitchen, I can fuck you on it while we're waiting for the food to be done."
"...." ?
"In various positions."
"Just...umm...just go get the table, okay."
~~***~~***~~
One thing Jack remembers most vividly about his father's study is the big desk he had; it was facing the door, so whenever you walked into the room it felt like coming into the Principal's office, standing in front of that desk, his father behind it a shadow cut out from the window.
Jack's work desk at home is facing towards the window, with a view over their back garden and that of their neighbour's with scattered toys all over the lawn.
The desk itself is a beautiful reddish wood; it feels cool in summer and warm in winter, and it reminds Jack of long days in the university library, how it felt like he was learning things just by sitting down on such a desk and spreading his books and papers over the polished surface. It's strange; Jack's been the chief or surgery three years ago, and he has people living or dying under his hands every single day, but the only time he feels really important is when he sits down at that desk, takes out a pen and makes notes, or looks something up in a book. He once caught Sawyer standing in the door, watching him from behind.
"Hey," Jack said, "how long have you been standing there?"
"Couple of minutes. I didn't want to disturb you."
Sawyer still wasn't moving, but stayed at the open door, as if he was scared to enter the room, and suddenly Jack wondered if it made any difference that he had placed his desk facing the window and not the door; if it maybe was the mere existence of such a desk that made people wary, and insecure.
He stood up and walked over to Sawyer, pulling the rolling desk chair behind him. "Sit down." Jack swiveled the chair until it was directly in front of Sawyer.
Sawyer just looked at him, confused, but then he turned and sat down in the leather chair, tilting his head back so he could look at Jack.
"Are you gonna spin me til I puke?"
Jack grinned and bent down to kiss him, just a short brush of lips, but then Sawyer made that noise in the back of his throat and stretched his head a bit more, his neck a long line disappearing into the collar of his blue shirt, and Jack opened his mouth and kissed him a bit more, a little deeper, tongues sliding together with practiced ease. When Jack pulled back Sawyer had his eyes closed, hands holding on lightly to the armrests. When Jack began to push the chair towards the desk he only tightened his hold but didn't open his eyes until Jack stopped, the chair in exact the same position he was in when he was working.
Sawyer looked at the stack of papers on it, the book about medical histories, case files, each one with the name and number printed in Jack's neat handwriting. He brushed his hand over the wooden plate, swiped his thumb over the rounded edge.
Sawyer turned and looked at Jack. "So?"
"What do you think about the desk?" Jack asked, his right hand wandering from the back of the chair to Sawyer's shoulder, his thumb mimicking Sawyer's movement on the wood, but stroking over skin and fine hairs instead.
"The desk?" Both of their thumbs stilled. "I like it."
"Good." Jack smiled and pulled Sawyer's head closer, leaning in to finish that kiss from before.
~~***~~***~~
It's late one Christmas Eve and they're lounging on the sofa, both pleasantly buzzed, a Humphrey Bogart movie on TV. Jack has his feet propped up on the table and Sawyer has his feet in Jack's lap, his left hand wrapped around a beer and the right toying with Jack's hand on his knees. Bogart says something about the spirit of Christmas, and Sawyer puts his beer on the table, right next Jack's feet.
"Jack."
"Hmm?" Jack doesn't avert his eyes from the screen, but he squeezes Sawyer's hand.
"What's your favourite piece of furniture in our house?"
At that Jack does look at him. "My favourite piece of furniture?"
"Yup."
"The bed."
Sawyer chuckles. "Liar. You hardly sleep past 8 am, how can the bed be your favourite?"
Jack looks at him and tries to glare, but fails miserably. "Okay then, then I choose my kitchen table. What's yours?"
Sawyer grins and pulls him closer, threading their fingers until their palms are flat against each other. "Our chaise lounge chairs in the garden, because you have a chair kink, and I like being in the garden and they're big enough to do all kinds of things on."
Jack knits his eyebrows together and shakes his head "Sawyer we don't have any lounge chairs in the garden."
Sawyer smiles at Jack, and the lights from the tree sparkle in his eyes. "Well, merry Christmas then."
~~***~~***~~