Lost Fic: "Black, White, Red All Over" (Jack/Sawyer, PG-13)
Title: Black, White, Red All Over
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13 for language and innuendo
Length: 904 words
Notes: AU. inthekeyofd requested Jack/Sawyer, white and black, and dimples.
Summary: Sometimes books aren't the only thing worth checking out at the library.
The inside of the building smells like paste and old leather and crinkly sheets of paper. The carpeting is plush, worn in places but still successfully muffling the sound of his footsteps in most.
He keeps his hands in his pockets, like he's in a museum and doesn't want to tempt himself into touching or else he'll get in trouble. Mainly he scans around, bored, and hopes nobody thinks he looks lost and tries to approach him.
"Something I can help you with?"
Shit, Jack thinks. He looks up and is startled by what he sees: instead of some matronly old biddy standing there is a guy his age in nice but slightly rumpled dress clothes. Jack figures he must be another patron, until he catches the light glinting off his plastic nametag.
The guy has long golden-colored hair, and the bluest eyes Jack thinks he's ever seen. He flashes Jack a winning smile. A set of matching dimples appears, framing his mouth like bookends.
"What're looking for, chief?"
"Uh..." Jack stares at the floor, feeling dumb. If it'd been any other librarian confronting him, he wouldn't have a problem admitting he just came here to escape the heat. "I don't know, just browsing."
He looks over the New Arrivals display with what he can only hope is an expression of serious interest and consideration. Mainly he's trying not to let himself notice the scent of the other guy's aftershave.
Get a hold of yourself, he thinks. The last thing he needs is a crush on a librarian. He's got midterms coming up.
"Nah, you don't want that one." The guy shakes his sandy-colored head in response to whatever book Jack's eyes have landed on, a few strands falling in his eyes. He doesn't bother pushing them out of the way as he reaches for a plastic-covered hardback.
"This one. You'll love it."
"Oh?" Jack can't help it if his mouth quirks a bit of a smile at that, entirely against his will. Stupid mouth. The guy chuckles.
"Yeah. Trust me, Doc."
Jacks blinks, startled. "How did you know I-"
"Was a med student?" Librarian Guy finishes knowingly. "Well, the college is just down the road, isn't it? We get a lot of them in here. All have the same look, too: all stressed-out and distracted."
Jack feels mildly put-out, not because he objects to being called stressed-out and distracted (lord knows it's true) but because the guy's lumping him in with a type. He feels like he's just been dismissed somehow.
He points at the book jacket with his chin, trying not to sound huffy. "What's it about?"
"Oh, pretty standard." The guy turns the book over in his hand, looking absently at the back cover. "Plane crashes on a desert island and only a handful of people survive. Gotta band together to use their wits and eke out a living somehow."
He glances up, sees Jack's face and grins, showing those dimples again. "Now I know what you're thinking, but you'd be wrong. It's nothing like it sounds. It's a great book." He lets the spine fall open, gazing down at the pages reverently.
"The way this guy writes, you wouldn't believe it. It's like he takes you right there in the thick of it: the sound and smells of the jungle and the color of the water. The people too: he makes them so real it's like you know them. It's like you can hear them in your head."
He shakes his head softly. "It's the best damn book I've read in a long time. And I've read a lot of them."
Jack realizes at this very moment he isn't working in a library because he needs the money or because he's got nothing better to do. He's here because he wants to be.
The pages are the same as in any book, tiny black writing on smooth white paper, but this guy is looking at them like they're the doorway to another world.
Jack swallows. "I'll take it."
He doesn't have a library card, which is a minor embarrassment, but the guy keeps a professional face on while Jack fills one out.
"Thanks, Jack." He smiles at him after, blue eyes twinkling. "Take good care of it, okay?"
"I will-"
"Sawyer," he tells him.
"Your nametag says James," Jack points out before he can stop himself. The guy's smile fades ever so slightly.
"Yeah, well, call me Sawyer."
"Let me guess: like the book?"
Sawyer smirks a little, like Jack's made a mistake but a common one. But he says: "Yeah...like the book."
Jack realizes there's nothing else to say, so he nods, and lamely goes, "Well, thanks."
He starts to turn to leave but Sawyer stops him. "Oh, hey, Jack?"
He reaches out, fingers grazing against Jack's knuckles. "Feel free to come back and check me out anytime."
Jack feels kind of dumbstruck, and certain he must have misheard. He blinks stupidly.
"What?"
Sawyer smiles again and there's those dimples, those pearly whites. Only this time there's a sort of slant to it. Like a predatory leer.
"Oh," he says, "you heard me."
And he turns away from the desk and starts going through a card catalogue, like nothing's happened.
Jack walks numbly out the door, book tucked underneath his arm.
He has a feeling he's going to be doing a lot of research at this library from now on.
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13 for language and innuendo
Length: 904 words
Notes: AU. inthekeyofd requested Jack/Sawyer, white and black, and dimples.
Summary: Sometimes books aren't the only thing worth checking out at the library.
The inside of the building smells like paste and old leather and crinkly sheets of paper. The carpeting is plush, worn in places but still successfully muffling the sound of his footsteps in most.
He keeps his hands in his pockets, like he's in a museum and doesn't want to tempt himself into touching or else he'll get in trouble. Mainly he scans around, bored, and hopes nobody thinks he looks lost and tries to approach him.
"Something I can help you with?"
Shit, Jack thinks. He looks up and is startled by what he sees: instead of some matronly old biddy standing there is a guy his age in nice but slightly rumpled dress clothes. Jack figures he must be another patron, until he catches the light glinting off his plastic nametag.
The guy has long golden-colored hair, and the bluest eyes Jack thinks he's ever seen. He flashes Jack a winning smile. A set of matching dimples appears, framing his mouth like bookends.
"What're looking for, chief?"
"Uh..." Jack stares at the floor, feeling dumb. If it'd been any other librarian confronting him, he wouldn't have a problem admitting he just came here to escape the heat. "I don't know, just browsing."
He looks over the New Arrivals display with what he can only hope is an expression of serious interest and consideration. Mainly he's trying not to let himself notice the scent of the other guy's aftershave.
Get a hold of yourself, he thinks. The last thing he needs is a crush on a librarian. He's got midterms coming up.
"Nah, you don't want that one." The guy shakes his sandy-colored head in response to whatever book Jack's eyes have landed on, a few strands falling in his eyes. He doesn't bother pushing them out of the way as he reaches for a plastic-covered hardback.
"This one. You'll love it."
"Oh?" Jack can't help it if his mouth quirks a bit of a smile at that, entirely against his will. Stupid mouth. The guy chuckles.
"Yeah. Trust me, Doc."
Jacks blinks, startled. "How did you know I-"
"Was a med student?" Librarian Guy finishes knowingly. "Well, the college is just down the road, isn't it? We get a lot of them in here. All have the same look, too: all stressed-out and distracted."
Jack feels mildly put-out, not because he objects to being called stressed-out and distracted (lord knows it's true) but because the guy's lumping him in with a type. He feels like he's just been dismissed somehow.
He points at the book jacket with his chin, trying not to sound huffy. "What's it about?"
"Oh, pretty standard." The guy turns the book over in his hand, looking absently at the back cover. "Plane crashes on a desert island and only a handful of people survive. Gotta band together to use their wits and eke out a living somehow."
He glances up, sees Jack's face and grins, showing those dimples again. "Now I know what you're thinking, but you'd be wrong. It's nothing like it sounds. It's a great book." He lets the spine fall open, gazing down at the pages reverently.
"The way this guy writes, you wouldn't believe it. It's like he takes you right there in the thick of it: the sound and smells of the jungle and the color of the water. The people too: he makes them so real it's like you know them. It's like you can hear them in your head."
He shakes his head softly. "It's the best damn book I've read in a long time. And I've read a lot of them."
Jack realizes at this very moment he isn't working in a library because he needs the money or because he's got nothing better to do. He's here because he wants to be.
The pages are the same as in any book, tiny black writing on smooth white paper, but this guy is looking at them like they're the doorway to another world.
Jack swallows. "I'll take it."
He doesn't have a library card, which is a minor embarrassment, but the guy keeps a professional face on while Jack fills one out.
"Thanks, Jack." He smiles at him after, blue eyes twinkling. "Take good care of it, okay?"
"I will-"
"Sawyer," he tells him.
"Your nametag says James," Jack points out before he can stop himself. The guy's smile fades ever so slightly.
"Yeah, well, call me Sawyer."
"Let me guess: like the book?"
Sawyer smirks a little, like Jack's made a mistake but a common one. But he says: "Yeah...like the book."
Jack realizes there's nothing else to say, so he nods, and lamely goes, "Well, thanks."
He starts to turn to leave but Sawyer stops him. "Oh, hey, Jack?"
He reaches out, fingers grazing against Jack's knuckles. "Feel free to come back and check me out anytime."
Jack feels kind of dumbstruck, and certain he must have misheard. He blinks stupidly.
"What?"
Sawyer smiles again and there's those dimples, those pearly whites. Only this time there's a sort of slant to it. Like a predatory leer.
"Oh," he says, "you heard me."
And he turns away from the desk and starts going through a card catalogue, like nothing's happened.
Jack walks numbly out the door, book tucked underneath his arm.
He has a feeling he's going to be doing a lot of research at this library from now on.