An Artist's Touch - Part Two
Series: An Artist's Touch
Part: 2/5
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Spoilers: None - AU
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Previous Parts: 1
Jack’s heart is in his throat when he climbs the last step and pauses at the top of the staircase, setting his hand on the railing in an attempt to steady himself. He grips it tightly, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal. He can’t take the next step, make that turn toward James’ door.
It’s not too late to go back. He could turn around and leave, call James and tell him that he won’t be stopping by after all.
But if Jack is honest with himself, he knows that’s not what he wants. What he wants is to knock on that hard, heavy door, to have James open it and pull him inside.
“You waitin’ for an invitation?” The sudden sound makes Jack jump and he whips his head in the direction it had come from. James is standing on the landing by the large window, backlit by the early morning sunlight. He smiles at Jack, slowly, knowingly, and lowers the hand holding his cigarette down to his side.
“You scared me,” Jack laughs nervously, taking a step away from the steep staircase. James merely shrugs, unapologetic, and saunters closer, his every movement so languid that even his walk seems sensual, every step promising slow, lingering sex that could last so long it would make his head go dizzy. “I didn’t see you standing there,” Jack adds, his voice cracking, betraying his anxiety.
James stops in front of him, the tip of his dusty, untied work boot tapping once against Jack’s expensive shoes.
“Well you see me now, dontcha?” He asks, bringing his fingers to his mouth and curling his lips around his cigarette. Jack finds himself staring and the answer to James’ question comes out as a low murmur, his words loaded with heat.
“Yeah…I see you.”
“You gonna do anythin’ about that?” He exhales a narrow stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, not turning his gaze away from Jack. The question is a challenge, as if he won’t be surprised if Jack backs out now, turns tail and runs. Silly straight edge rich boy who thought he could have an illicit affair with the bohemian artist type.
Jack can see the amusement in his eyes, like he’s just waiting for Jack to realize he’s in over his head. Jack knows there’s something in him that James wants, something in him that he’d seen yesterday that made him make the move, but now James just looks at him like he’s prepared to discover he’d made a mistake.
The dare is there, dancing mischievously in his eyes, asking Jack to prove his doubts incorrect, and Jack wants to take it. He’s just not sure if he can.
“What do you suggest I do?” Jack replies coyly, though he hears himself waver in the midst of those words, his nerves betraying him. A knowing smile plays at the edges of James’ lips and he edges closer to Jack, close enough that the folds of their clothes seem to touch, but still that desperate millimeter apart that their bodies don’t. He looks Jack straight in the eye and brushes his lips against his, just once, so softly that Jack isn’t sure that he didn’t imagine it.
“I suggest you come inside,” James whispers, the words forming on his lips and passing directly to Jack’s, felt more than spoken.
Then he pulls away sharply, leaving Jack feeling bereft, making him realize just how badly he had wanted James to truly kiss him, to grab him and crush his lips to his. James turns away and opens the heavy door to his loft, pushing it wide open. He walks inside, not looking back at Jack to make sure he’s following.
Jack watches him from the hallway as he goes about business as normal, picking up some stray containers of white wall paint from the ground and putting them on a set of crooked metal shelves and then wiping his hands on the front legs of his pants, adding a new streak of brilliant satin white to his dark blue denims.
He’s acting as if it’s no matter to him if Jack decides to come in, and his casual attitude divides Jack equally, one half affronted and wanting to leave, while the other wants to step inside and prove he’s not a coward, that he had in fact come here for a reason and he’s not afraid of that fact.
The truth is, he’s terrified.
But he takes a deep breath and walks into James’ apartment anyway, closing the metal door behind him slowly. Not knowing what else to do, he leans against it, watching James for a moment before making another move.
James keeps to his tasks, gathering up a random scattering of drawing pencils and erasers and depositing them haphazardly into a bin. He’s humming a tune lowly to himself that Jack doesn’t recognize. Jack remains silent, not sure how to break the silence that’s present between them now, no matter what song is in the air.
Finally James looks up and surveys the room, acting like Jack had only been patiently waiting for his host to finish straightening up before inviting him further in.
“So, you want a drink, Doc?” He sweeps some eraser shavings onto the floor and then brushes his hands off, one against the other. He glances at Jack just once, not waiting for an answer before heading toward his tiny kitchen.
James opens his only cupboard and pulls out two wine glasses, sets them on a nearby table, then crouches down, pulling out a tattered cardboard box from underneath it.
“You look like you need one,” James states, not waiting for Jack to reply before pulling out a bottle of wine from the box. “You like red?”
“Red’s fine.” Jack sticks his hands in his pockets and slowly crosses the wide room toward James, each step careful and considered.
“It’s not the best stuff, it’s just something I grabbed that they had left over at a gallery opening.” James goes back to the kitchen and digs around in another box for a corkscrew, rifling through random items that don’t seem like they should be in a kitchen in the first place. Jack doesn’t move and doesn’t speak, not trusting his voice. He just waits for James to emerge victorious, which he does a moment later.
Jack steps closer to the table when James comes back to it, trying to gather the nerve to speak, to say something about why he’s here and what that means. But the nerve never arrives, so he just eyes the label on the wine and smiles when James pours a liberal amount into each glass, obviously not about to observe wine etiquette for a cheap bottle of red. Besides, it’s not like they are drinking to savor the taste and pompously discuss changing flavors.
They are drinking because Jack can’t make a move and James knows it.
James lifts one glass and holds it out to Jack. Jack forces himself to look, to meet James’ gaze. It feels electric and when James’ fingers linger moments too long over Jack’s, Jack swears there is an actual spark, his body receiving a jolting shock.
The glass is light and chintzy, the kind that everyone uses for large parties and no one minds if you break. As he absentmindedly taps his finger against its side, he wonders if James had liberated it from the gallery as well.
Jack takes a gingerly sip and swallows quickly, discovering that the wine doesn’t only look cheap, but tastes even cheaper. That fact doesn’t stop him from downing the entire glass at breakneck speed, his anxiety getting the better of him. He knows James is still looking at him so Jack keeps his eyes focused elsewhere, setting down the empty glass on the table between them and then nervously running his hand over the back of his head. He feels like he’s shaking and he hopes desperately that James can’t see his fingers trembling, that he’s managing to keep his trepidation from showing.
James doesn’t comment on Jack’s behavior, remaining silent as he tips the bottle slowly toward Jack’s glass and fills it once again, but Jack can feel his questions hanging unspoken in the air, somewhere between amusement and disappointment.
“Thanks,” Jack murmurs, forcing a crooked, sheepish smile as he reaches out to take it from James’ outstretched hand. He searches his mind for something to say that doesn’t sound pathetic but can’t come up with anything worthwhile. He wanders a few steps away from the kitchen, sighing deeply but quietly as he takes in the rest of James’ loft, desperate to find a focal point for their conversation.
“This is interesting,” Jack finally says, gesturing to James’ easel where a 36x24 canvas is displayed, mid-completion. Jack moves closer, carefully avoiding the myriad items that are scattered around - brushes dangling off the edges of the small table, a palette with wet paint equally close to tumbling to the ground. He still jostles the table lightly as he maneuvers around a tool box on the floor, accidentally bumping the plastic container filled halfway with cloudy water that sits beside his messy palette. The jar moves and the water ripples just enough to make Jack think for a brief moment that it’s going to tip.
James follows him, stopping just behind him and looking over Jack’s shoulder at his own work much like he had yesterday, and just like then Jack feels like James is more interested in watching Jack look than looking himself. Jack glances back over is shoulder at James and the other man crosses his arms over his chest and begins to study his own painting critically, clearly not agreeing with Jack’s assessment of the work.
“Interesting? It’s a piece of crap,” James states, chuckling.
“Don’t say that,” Jack replies. “I think it’s-“
“Naw, nice try, but it really is shit. I hate using guache, it’s ridiculous. It’s like painting with Crayola or some junk like that.”
“Guache?” Jack asks, not knowing what he’s talking about and actually thrilled that he doesn’t, since it gives him a perfect topic of conversation to start with.
“Here.” James reaches behind him and picks up a small tube of paint about two inches long and a quarter of an inch wide and tosses it up and down in his palm a couple of times before passing it to his other hand and unscrewing the cap. He set the cap back behind him and then reaches for Jack’s hand. He pries Jack’s drink from his grip and places it aside carefully before turning his attention completely to Jack.
“What are you…” Jack starts, but stops when James pulls his hand open, unfurling his fingers gently and grabbing hold specifically of his index finger. He squeezes a dime size amount onto the tip and then lets go.
“That’s guache. Just add a little water and you’re good to go.” James points to his painting and Jack’s brow wrinkles in confusion.
“You want me to…” He points as well, not believing he understands James correctly. But James nods, cocking his head toward the canvas.
“Go ahead. Anywhere you want.”
“I’ll ruin it,” Jack scoffs at the very idea, looking from James to the painting and then back again. James shrugs.
“It’s already ruined, Jack. Anything you do to it is only gonna be an improvement.” Now he grabs the container of paint-dirtied water and holds it out to Jack, waiting for him to do as he instructed. Jack timidly dips his fingertip into the water, watching as the thick dab of paint thins slightly, bleeding out like an oil slick on the surface of the water before fading into the murky color completely.
“You’re sure you want me to do this?” Jack asks, just to be sure, and James laughs outright.
“It’s just a painting, Jack, it ain’t brain surgery.” He jokes and Jack smiles slightly, nodding his head.
“Yeah, I know that,” he replies, though his hands are far less steady now than when he made the most difficult cuts in the operating room. He eyes the canvas for a moment before deciding to make a mark on the right side, as close to the edge as possible, thinking perhaps when it is framed it will be out of sight.
He traces his finger in a slightly curved line downward, a bit thicker and blotchy at the top where his finger first connected and thin and faint toward the bottom as the paint ran out. The red fades and drips to pink along the edges, the water overcoming the paint with no assured hand and dry paint brush there to control it.
Jack steps back, frowning, and glances toward James.
“Sorry,” Jack mumbles, looking for something to wipe his hand on.
“I like it,” James says, taking a rag from his back pocket and moving toward Jack, taking his hand again and wiping his finger clean with a couple of rough brushes of fabric against his skin. Faint traces of red linger in the curved ridges of his fingerprints after James is done and something tells Jack that the stain will remain there for quite awhile. “It’s good - I think I needed something over there, now it seems more balanced.”
Jack doesn’t reply, knowing that James is just trying to be kind and that if he protests, James will only insist that Jack has only improved the piece with his sloppy addition.
“So, have you done that?” James asks when Jack remains quiet. Jack is confused by the question. “Brain surgery.”
“Oh…I scrubbed in on a few during my internship and residency…but mostly I just focus on my specialized area.”
“Which is spines and shit, right?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s ‘spines and shit’,” Jack has to laugh.
“Well…” James nods, for a moment looking at Jack with a mixture of admiration and envy. “Wish I could do somethin’ like that.”
“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, believe me,” Jack states and James snorts.
“Don’t sound glamorous at all to me, actually. Sounds god damn hard.”
“It is,” Jack concedes, then turns his gaze thoughtfully back to James’ painting. “But so is art, really. It’s just hard in a different way.”
“Yeah, an easier way,” James snorts. He stares at his painting again, looking annoyed with himself. “I hate doing things on commission, it never turns out right.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a guy who would take commissions,” Jack mentions and this earns him an arched eyebrow and a mischievous smirk from James.
“Yeah, what would you have pegged me as?” James challenges playfully, but Jack isn’t confident enough to match his tone, pulling back as James tries to push forward.
“Wouldn’t have pegged you as anything, really,” Jack murmurs lowly, hiding his discomfort with another sip of his wine. “I’m not very good at judging people.”
“All you have to do is sit back and watch, Jack,” James replies. “People want you to figure them out just as much as they don’t. Ain’t no point in bein’ a mystery if you don’t have an answer. Wait long enough and people will show you what they’re about.” He pauses. “Eventually.”
He steps closer to Jack, taking a sip from Jack’s wine glass since his own is now empty, and then handing the glass back to Jack. His messy blonde hair falls partially into his eyes as tilts his head downward, looking as his hand runs over Jack’s wrist. This time it’s not a simple brush of skin on skin, nothing that can be written off as innocent or accidental. He strokes the curve of Jack’s wrist with his thumb, back and forth softly but purposefully.
“You just gotta be patient, is all.” James adds.
He’s close, too close. Jack feels his skin warm and his breath quicken in anticipation, both wanting James to close the small distance left between them, and to step back and put that space between their bodies back.
“Do you have me figured out yet?” Jack inquires quietly, his eyes darting unconsciously down toward James’ pale pink lips, so dangerously near to his own. James nods his head yes and then immediately shakes his head no, a tiny smile curving the edge of his mouth.
He takes a step back from Jack, tossing his hair from his face and Jack lets out a long breath.
“Yesterday when I first saw ya, I thought you were just another rich prick with his rich princess of a girl, comin’ on down here to try and buy a sense of cool, try to get an edge. You in your designer suit with your designer girlfriend…before you even got up the stairs, I was ready for you both to leave.”
“Thanks.” Jack mutters, hurt. James just grins widely at Jack’s reaction.
“But then I realized I was wrong…about you, anyway.”
“Oh yeah?” Jack asks, a bit embarrassed by how hopeful he sounds, like a chess club nerd seeking the approval of the coolest kid in school.
“You hate them just as much as I do, except where I can turn and walk away, you…well, you can’t, can you? That’s your life and you’re trapped in it.” James doesn’t say this as a condemnation, merely an observation, but Jack hears the accusation of weakness in his words.
So he responds by nodding, just once, agreeing, and then turning away. He walks slowly across the loft toward the windows, the large room suddenly feeling very small, the walls closing in around him. He absentmindedly deposits his glass on the first flat surface he passes, the wine no longer helping to calm him down. If anything, it is making it harder for him to think clearly and making it easier to give into what he wants instead of doing what he should.
His stomach is wound tightly around itself and he feels like he might throw up. His heart is racing a mile a minute and he can feel it pounding in his chest, his throat, the pulsing of the blood to his head and to his cock making him hurt all over in too many different ways. He takes a deep breath, trying to get a hold of himself before he acts like an idiot and does something stupid.
Jack stops in front of the thick panes of old glass and shoves his hands into his pockets, staring out at the bright blue morning sky. The azure expanse is only broken by the whites, grays and purples of the wispy clouds and quickly dissipating trails of smoke from the jet engines of planes passing overhead, on their way to destinations unknown. Jack partially wishes he was on one of them, flying away at high speed from everything and anything he could possibly leave behind.
He is trapped, and he has been for his entire life. He walked the road laid out for him and every attempt he has ever made at straying away from the beaten path had been met with enough anger and disappointment that eventually he had to give up and convince himself that he had chosen it all on his own.
He feels like one of the 3-D puzzles the young patients at the hospital love so desperately - all the pieces snapped to fit exactly together to create a pretty picture on the outside, while there is nothing but a vast void on the inside, like a model home with all the trappings of promised perfection on the exterior, yet nothing on the interior. Only emptiness waiting for someone to move in and fill it.
Jack gazes at the dirty, black tarred roof of the building across the street, a clothesline strung up between two crooked rusty poles. Billows of pale yellow checkered fabric flap and twist in the light breeze that circles the rooftops but never seems to reach the stifling street below where the pavement seems to radiate more heat than the sun itself.
He lets his eyes drift closed, blocking it all out. He wonders if James could be the breath of fresh air that upsets the stale calm of his daily life. He wonders if James is the person who could fill him if only he had the courage to let him try. But Jack doesn’t know if he can take the chance.
James knows why he’s here. Jack knows why he’s here. But he doesn’t know why James is, doesn’t know why he’s still standing there, waiting for Jack to do something.
He can’t make James the answer to his problems if all James wants is a fast, mindless fuck on the thin mattress in the darkest corner of his loft. Even if James does want more, who is to say that Jack can even give it to him? So Jack keeps his eyes shut tightly because it allows him a moment to hang in limbo, caught between action and inaction.
James watches Jack stand by the window, the harsh morning sunlight striking sharp shadows across Jack’s handsome face. Everything about Jack is dark, so opposite from himself. Jack’s hair is a rich chocolate brown, his eyelashes inky black against his face as they flutter lightly against his cheeks, his eyelids clamped down to hide his warm chestnut-colored eyes. His skin is tan but not bronzed, the kind of warm sheen of someone who is out in the sun often but never for a long period of time - just moments grabbed here and there between stressful surgeries and pointless dinner dates with the latest trust fund princess that had the nerve to ask him out.
The crisp clean black of his jacket and deep blue hue of his dress shirt sets off his tan skin and James can see the dark tangled curls of his chest hair just past the open top button of Jack’s shirt. Jack has his hands shoved into the pockets of his black pants and James wishes that he didn’t, that his hands were out in plain sight. They were so pristine, so unlike his own. Cared for, just rough enough to seem masculine but soft enough that anyone touching them knows it must feel like heaven to have them run over the length of their body.
Part of him wants Jack to open his eyes and look at him, because James knows he could read him so much easier if he does. But the other part treasures this moment wherein he can simply stare unabashedly at the other man.
Drawing, painting, sculpting…it’s all about looking. He never made apologies for gazing openly at something or someone he found beautiful and usually his openness earned him just as much honesty in return. The guise of art allowed for behavior otherwise unacceptable and James treasured the opportunity his life afforded him. Often, it was about the art, and only the art. Flirtation might come along, a welcome partner in any endeavor, but it was first and foremost about capturing beauty and translating it to the page where it could be kept there perfectly, forever.
Drawing is touching without touching. The gentle sweep of the pencil on paper caressing expanses of skin with the eyes rather than the hand. He looks at Jack now and his fingers itch for his pencils, imagining what it would be like to try and place Jack’s form down in shades of subtle gray.
But really, he doesn’t want to draw Jack, though it would be so much simpler to put up that familiar wall between himself and his own desire, a thick notepad acting as a wall to keep him from taking what he wants.
And what he wants is to separate the sharp planes of Jack’s stomach with his touch, trace the play of light and shadow on his face with his fingertips, outline the curve of his back with the palm of his hand.
He does not want to create his own representation of Jack on the canvas, to capture one singular moment and keep it forever. He wants Jack living and breathing, hard and soft underneath him, rocking and writhing against his body, his for one brief heated moment and then gone until he reclaims him once more. He wants to create something intangible that can’t be placed on display on the wall but would still be art nonetheless.
James slowly approaches Jack, not wanting to startle him but knowing he has to do something before the rebellious inkling that had made Jack telephone him this morning is again pressed into submission by his fears and insecurities, the things that had kept him in this narrow line of his life for so long.
James comes to a slow stop behind Jack and slides his hands over Jack’s broad shoulders, his fingers curling around the collar of Jack’s coat and tugging backward gently. Jack’s eyelids press closed even more tightly, but he doesn’t move away, doesn’t shrug off James’ touch.
So James pulls the coat from Jack’s shoulders, slipping it slowly down Jack’s arms, his fingers pushing down and the palms of his hands running over the newly exposed layer of cloth, soft but crisp underneath his touch the way that finely made dress shirts are supposed to be.
He steps away when he gets the jacket completely free from Jack’s body, setting it carefully over the chair he had cleaned off yesterday in a half-hearted attempt to be hospitable. Now he drapes Jack’s expensive coat over it with care, not wanting to ruin it for him, then turns back.
Jack is breathing deep and even, but not in a manner that expresses absolute calm. The breathing is forced, measured in a way that means Jack is trying to do so with specific purpose.
“Jack…” James whispers as he moves behind him once more, closer than before. He brushes his lips near to Jack’s ear, letting Jack’s name caress his skin in a hot, shallow breath. Jack winces slightly and bites his lips when James’ arms circle around him, sliding underneath his arms. His hands reach the top button on Jack’s shirt and as he slips it through the tiny hole, James takes the last step forward and presses his body fully against Jack’s back. Jack tenses and James smiles gently against the curve of his neck. “Relax…”
He works Jack’s shirt open one painstaking button at a time. The task is easy for his nimble fingers but he takes his time anyway, wanting Jack to really want it by the time he reaches the last button on his body, the button at the top of his dark pants. He doesn’t move to it yet, however, instead opting to place his hands flat on Jack’s stomach and runs his palms over his tight muscles, sliding higher over his chest first and then lower, daringly brushing his fingertips just past the waistline of Jack’s pants.
Jack lets out a small whimper that he tries to no avail to hold back, his abs quivering underneath James’ gentle but assured touch. His breathing is no longer controlled, the rise and fall of his chest growing steadily more shallow and short.
James looks down over Jack’s shoulder and watches his hands learn Jack’s body, each movement a new sensation and a new thrill. His own cock goes hard as he sees the bulge between Jack’s legs, the fabric of his pants already pulling tight across his erection.
“Jack,” He murmurs again, letting his lips connect with Jack’s ear this time, his tongue darting out to lick the lobe teasingly. He moves his left hand down past Jack’s belt and brushes lightly, just once, over Jack’s growing hardness, his touch asking permission. Jack nods, pushing his hips just slightly forward into James’ hand.
James unbuckles his belt and lets both sides hang loose as he sets to work on unbuttoning and unzipping Jack’s pants, trying hard to go slow but eager to get his hands wrapped around him. Jack leans back against him as James slides his hands through the front opening of Jack’s boxers, pushing the fabric aside and taking Jack in his palm.
“Your cock is perfect,” James whispers huskily, rocking his own hips against Jack’s ass involuntarily, his body reacting instinctively to what he sees. He’s seen so many, not in the bedroom but in the studio, carefully drawing every aspect of a model’s body with delicate detail. Jack’s dick, hard and heavy in his hand, is something he could sit and stare at for hours. He imagines it, drawing his thick length pressed up against his flat stomach, and wonders how long he would be able to manage before he had to cast his sketch pad aside and wrap his mouth around him, tasting him instead of looking at him.
He strokes Jack once, his hand sliding slowly up and down, his thumb brushing over the small opening at his tip. Jack’s body shivers and James does it again, enjoying the feeling of Jack hardening even more in his grasp.
“Oh fuck…” Jack breathes out, his voice loaded with arousal and almost relief, like he’s finally decided to give up and give in. He tilts his head back and turns his face toward James’, pressing his lips to his suddenly. Jack’s hands move from their place by his side and fist in James’ hair on either side of his head, guiding his mouth to his. James lets Jack pull him, more than happy to give Jack what he wants.
His hands temporarily abandon Jack’s dick as he is overwhelmed by the surprisingly erotic kiss, Jack’s tongue surging into his mouth with a suggestiveness James hadn’t expected from someone so straight-laced, the kiss turning him on even more than the sight of Jack’s throbbing dick had. The kiss is desperate but not needy, demanding but not harsh, striking the right balance between powerful lust and sweet desire. Their tongues duel for control one minute and the next they are simply stroking one another, the mouths working in languid harmony.
Jack’s head is swimming and he feels dizzy and he’s positive that the only thing keeping him up is the hold that James’ arms have around him. His knees feel weak and his stomach is quivering and taut, his erect dick brushing against his lower abdomen with painful insistence. It’s been so long since he’s really wanted someone this bad, since his body took charge of his mind and controlled all of his actions.
This isn’t perfunctory and it isn’t routine, and not just because he’s with a man instead of a woman. Emotions he had long since given up on feeling ever again come rushing back, the desperation of pure downright desire shocking him from his self-induced stupor. He kisses James with a sense of passionate abandon he hasn’t felt since the very first time he’d fallen in love, back when a certain girl’s smile had made him forget everything he’d ever learned and opt to spend his afternoons in bed rather than at class.
And when James kisses him, touches him, he can’t even remember her name.
James’ hands find Jack’s rock hard cock again and James doesn’t hesitate this time, stroking down his length with a firm hold, pumping him fiercely. Jack surprises himself by groaning loudly into James’ mouth and is even more surprised when James groans as well, as if Jack’s moan aroused him. Jack groans again and is met with the same response, James’ hand moving faster over him, gripping his base hard, twisting his wrist as he ends at his sensitive tip, brushing his fingers and palm over the slit.
His cock is growing warm and slick and he breaks away from James’ kiss to look down, finding himself leaking all over James’ hand, his pre-come joining the colorful paint stains on James’ deeply tanned skin. His fingers are sliding easily now and he moves even faster, breathing hard in Jack’s ear.
“Oh my fucking god…” Jack gasps, his cock shuddering, so very close to coming all over the crystal clean window in front of him. He bites his bottom lip hard, holding it back, throwing his head against James’ shoulder and then dropping his chin down against his chest, frantically trying to last, cursing under his breath. His hands fly out and make contact with the thick glass, his sweaty palms leaving streaks as he quickly loses his grip.
“I wanted to do this to you the second you smiled,” James mumbles almost unintelligibly, but Jack understands him.
“James…oh, fuck…I’m gonna come like this…”
“No you’re not.” James’ voice rolls through him like thunder, lightning striking him hard when James spins him around with no warning, sending his back crashing against the windows with a heavy thud. James drops to his knees and takes Jack's clothes with him, pooling his jeans and boxers around his ankles.
Jack freezes, more than aware that he’s now standing half naked in front of a huge window. He gasps, trying to push James away and move from the window.
“You ain’t in your neighborhood, Doc,” James says, pumping Jack with his hand. “No one ‘round here fuckin’ cares.”
“James-” Jack’s protests are halted by James taking him in, swallowing him down with such ease that Jack can’t help but gasp when he feels his entire length surrounded by the wet heat of James’ mouth. His hips buck toward James before he can stop himself and he swears loudly, quickly trying to regain control of his own body. But James just moans around his cock, the sound reverberating up and down his length, and James’ hands take possession of Jack’s hips, pulling him closer.
James’ eyes are closed tightly and his lips move on Jack’s dick with a kind of impassioned reverence, as if this act between them is a privilege he’s nothing if not grateful for. He looks just as open now as he was closed when they first met, giving himself over completely to this sexual act. He wants Jack to fuck his mouth, to feel him thrusting down his throat. He wants it hard and fast, soft and slow, he want to be inside Jack and he wants Jack to be inside him. Most of all he wants Jack to come, to explode violently and scream his name when he does.
He slides one of his hands between Jack’s legs, guessing that he’s about to do something to Jack that no one has ever done before. James sucks harder, distracting Jack as his hand moves back and finds Jack’s entrance. Predictably he feels Jack tense up but he circles around the tight muscle, trying to make Jack realize quickly how good it feels.
When James finally slips a finger inside, Jack cries out, his fingers grabbing a fistful of James’ hair and tugging hard. He whimpers and moans when James begins stroking, dirty thoughts escaping his lips that James would have never guessed a guy like him was capable of speaking, yesterday. Today, with his mouth around Jack’s cock, he doesn’t have the mental coherency to wonder at assumptions - all he can do is use his tongue to silently beg Jack to keep talking.
But Jack falls silent the moment before he comes, no noise in the room besides his low grunt as he pumps four times down James’ throat, coating him with hot sticky warmth. James keeps his mouth working, swallowing down every last bit of Jack’s come and holding him inside as he comes back down, his body trembling from the force of his orgasm.
Jack’s fingers move through his hair now with delicacy, soothing the strands he had just very nearly pulled from James’ head in the midst of his ecstasy. James loves it, Jack’s hand running lightly and carefully from root to tip, letting each soft strand slip through his fingers. He pulls off of Jack’s wasted cock and rests his head against Jack’s thigh, drawing in deep breaths and trying to regain control of himself. His own erection is pressing insistently against the zipper of his jeans, begging for attention, so hard it almost hurts.
James slowly stands up, pulling Jack’s clothes back around his hips and zipping him up. Jack looks dazed, his eyes glassy and his skin flushed, his lips swollen and freshly kissed. James can’t resist kissing them again, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before sliding his tongue inside, letting Jack taste himself in his mouth.
“I think I need to lie down,” Jack whispers, his fingers playing with the top button on James’ red shirt, pushing it in and out of the hole. He rests his forehead against James’, closing his eyes, and James can’t help but run his hands over his strong jaw line, his clean-shaven cheeks soft under his fingertips. He kisses him one more time and then pulls back, wrapping his hand around Jack’s and tugging him toward his bed.
Jack shrugs off his shirt and toes off his shoes before collapsing bonelessly onto James’ mattress. James lies down next to him, trying to wait a moment to see if Jack plans on reciprocating or if he’s not ready for that yet.
Jack rolls onto his side, resting on one elbow and propping his head up with his hand, and fixes James with a look that could have possibly undone him if he had held it longer. But he glances downward toward James’ obvious excitement and slips one hand over James’ hip, his thumb rubbing softly against the worn denim.
“I’ve…I’ve never done this before,” Jack admits what they both know, putting it out in the open so neither of them have to dance around it. James nods, biting back the natural urge to tease. Instead he slowly reaches and takes Jack’s hand, knitting his fingers through his and then using the grip to push Jack onto his back as he climbs on top of him.
He straddles Jack’s hips, sinking down and resting his weight on his thighs carefully. Jack looks up at him, confused.
“You don’t have to do anything…just watch me,” James tells him, giving him a sly smile as he unzips his jeans pushes the denim apart. He sighs in sweet relief as he draws his cock out. He holds it still in his hand for a moment, finding himself staring down at his own arousal and wondering what it looks like to Jack. Does he want it as badly as James had wanted him? Does he want to slide him deep into his mouth and taste him as he comes?
James pushes the thoughts from his head, reminding himself that he’d known going into this that Jack was inexperienced. It had practically been written all over his face, the surprise of attraction mixed with shocked dismay when Jack’s eyes had connected with his.
He slides his hand down his own length once, twice, before tilting his head upward to find Jack looking at him fixatedly. There is such heat and desire in his gaze, his light brown eyes dark with arousal, that James cock twitches in his grasp.
James keeps his eyes locked on Jack’s face as he pumps himself, his hips rocking in time with his movement of his hand, just slight jerks forward that force his thrust harder into his own grip. Jack looks so good, so overwhelmingly fuckable, laying there before him and just waiting, watching….staring with this dazed expression of desire over his gorgeous face. His cock grows slick underneath his palm the longer he holds Jack’s gaze, wanting so desperately for Jack to touch him, taste him and barely able to keep himself from asking for it. Instead he fists himself harder, letting out a groan and closing his eyes as he lets his head fall forward and his hair fall over his face.
And then Jack is trying to sit up, propping himself up with one elbow behind him while his other hand finds the back of James’ neck, pulling James’ head down toward his. His kiss his hot and insistent, filled with an assuredness that surprises James. Jack seems to be harboring no reservations any longer, his tongue thrusting into James’ mouth in a purposeful match with the slide of James’ hand.
Jack continues kissing him while his hand slides down the front of James’ shirt, unbuttoning it one button at a time but quickly nonetheless. He works his way down and then retraces the path he just took back upward, now running his palm over James’ newly exposed skin, feeling his flat stomach and muscled chest, tan and hairless, so different from his own.
His hand slides to the nape of James’ neck once more, his fingertips tugging on the strands of James’ hair as he groans into James’ mouth, pushing his hips toward his, the soft fabric of his pants brushing teasingly against James’ knuckles as James continues to touch himself. James has no choice but to answer with a moan of his own, swirling his tongue around Jack’s as the sound reverberates in his mouth.
Jack breaks away then, breathless and wild-eyed, and for a moment James thinks that he’s having second thoughts. But then he puts his hand on James’ cock, beginning to move with him, matching his strokes.
“Let me…” he whispers, forcing his fingers underneath James’, touching the warm taut skin of James’ cock for the first time. James sucks in a sharp breath and then exhales just as fiercely when Jack tightens his grip, biting his lip and swearing under his breath.
“Fuck Jack, that feels good,” he says, pulling his own hand away and placing it on Jack’s shoulder. James sighs, the pleasure intense as Jack begins making his first timid movements. He moves his fingers slowly, experimentally, as if he’s completely unsure what to do. James wants to tell him that it’s simple, that he can just touch him exactly how he touches himself, but something about Jack’s uncertain hesitance is arousing. Something about watching the discovery, feeling Jack take in his every response and learning what to do, how to move…his attentiveness and his eagerness to please are endearing as well as incredibly erotic. Jack’s face is at once open and vulnerable as he plunges into unexplored territory, his eyes flickering with both fear and desire.
James digs his fingers into Jack’s shoulder and lets out a noise from the back of his throat as Jack finally finds exactly the right way to touch him, unable to stop himself from tilting his head back in exquisite agony. Jack’s grip loosens and he hesitates, thinking perhaps he had hurt James, not sure what his reaction meant.
“Just like that, Jack, god, just like that,” James whispers, swallowing hard as Jack starts again, every muscle in his stomach tightening as he tries to hold it back. He forces his eyes open and looks down, finding Jack staring openly at him almost as if he’s in wonder at James’ body, at feeling him swell and strain against his palm, at the slick sensation of sliding his fingertips through the leaking liquid gathering on James’ tip. He stares like he can’t believe James is reacting this way, to him.
Suddenly Jack is leaning forward, dipping his head awkwardly and his tongue darting out and sweeping across his opening, tasting the drops of come gathered there. James hisses and then gasps, his hips bucking toward Jack’s face. Jack pulls back, the angle too forced and strange with James still straddling his hips. He wants all of him and there’s no way it’s possible like this.
Jack lays back and drops his head onto James’ pillows, unconsciously licking his lips as he takes in the sight of James fully once again, his perfect body glistening with sweat in the morning light, every aspect of him sharp and chiseled like a beautiful statue come to life. He reaches out, running his hands over James’ hips, his thumbs brushing through the dark curls around the base of his cock.
“I want you in my mouth.” The words seem to shock James for a moment and he stares down at Jack not in disbelief but something close. He waits, as if giving Jack a chance to change his mind and take it back, but Jack just nods his head. “Please, James.” His palms slide over the curve of James’ lower back down to his ass and he urges him forward.
“You sure?” James asks anyway, though he inches up Jack’s body, slowly moving so that he’s straddling his shoulders now. Jack nods again, quickly, desperate for James to comply with his request. James feels his body tremble with anticipation and he lets out a long shaky breath before taking himself in hand, feeling the blood pulsing through him as he leans forward, Jack raising his head and meeting him halfway as he guides his dick past Jack’s lips.
The sensation is immediately too much, just the hesitant movement of Jack’s lips closing around his head and he swears violently and wraps his hand harshly around his base, squeezing hard, keeping himself from coming right then. He holds tight until he has control of himself again, slowly letting go as Jack takes more of him in.
His tongue slides leisurely along his underside, just a little bit at a time, moving so tentatively that if James didn’t know this slowness was merely because it is his first time, he’d swear that Jack was the worst - or best - possible tease he’d ever encountered.
Jack continues on like this, his mouth working slowly, lightly, each suck gentle and his swipe of his tongue soft, bathing James’ cock with incredible attention. James tries to keep himself from thrusting into Jack’s mouth, knowing he won’t be able to take it, but the longer Jack keeps going on, the harder it becomes not to grab Jack’s head and plunge into the wet heat and fuck his mouth.
Resisting the urge, he runs his fingers over Jack’s short hair, feeling the short brush cut bristle under his fingertips, both soft and sharp at the same time. Jack pushes himself up farther, lifting his head up from the pillows and through his daze, James somehow manages to slide another pillow underneath, giving his head some more support.
Jack holds him in his mouth, half of his length inside, and apparently realizing he can’t take much more, he begins sucking harder, his cheeks beginning to hollow as he increases the pressure around James’ cock. He slides a hand from James’ hip and places it between James’ legs, feeling the weight of his balls in the palm of his hand, feels them pull up and tighten, knowing that James is going to come a second before James gasps the words in warning, trying to push him away.
Jack didn’t realize it until just then, but he wants it, wants James to fill his mouth, to taste him completely. So he doesn’t let James push him away, instead holding him firm and pushing James’ hips back toward his face as James lets go.
James pumps hard, unintentionally forcing himself deeper as he empties himself over Jack’s tongue, his come invading Jack’s mouth. Jack takes it, knowing he asked for it, swallowing over and over again, the taste both unpleasant and erotic, bitter but the kind of bitter that one perversely likes, like the sour candy he ate as a child that he swore he hated but always bought anyway.
Jack pulls off of James slowly, letting his lips linger over the tip, his tongue licking away the last of his come. James shudders, his eyes falling closed for a split second before he opens them again, pulling back and then leaning down to crush his lips against Jack’s. Somehow his kiss is more ravenous and needy than it had been before, as if he’s more turned on now that he has come than he was beforehand.
James tastes himself in Jack’s mouth, lingering there over his tongue, and he knows right then that he’s gotten himself into something that isn’t going to be a simple one time thing. He likes this way too much, the feel of this man pliable yet hard underneath his touch, likes Jack’s insecure movements, the sweet delicacy of their first time slipping into promises of what could happen in future meetings between them.
“Jack, tell me you’re hard again…please tell me you’re hard,” James hears himself and can scarcely believe how close to begging it sounds, but he doesn’t care. He inches back further, hoping, longing to feel Jack’s erection pressed up against his ass.
“Fuck, yes, I’m…” Jack trails off, wincing as James reaches behind and puts his hand against Jack’s groin, unable to wait for Jack to tell him, needing to find out.
“God, you’re so hard,” James whispers, rubbing him roughly. Jack groans, every nerve in his body wired and ready to go. Everything feels much more sensitive than the first time, anticipating James’ every move, knowing how good it will be. James manages to slide his zipper back down without taking his eyes off of Jack’s face, working blindly behind him. He takes Jack in hand, holding him tightly. He wants to fuck Jack, to get himself ready and plunge into him, but he knows it will be easier for Jack the other way around. “I want you to fuck me, Jack…you want to fuck me?” James asks, his voice low and husky, breathless.
“But you just…” Jack replies, confused, the taste of James still in his mouth. James shakes his head rapidly, climbing down Jack’s body and taking Jack’s pants and boxers with him.
“God, I don’t care.” James murmurs, standing and shoving his own jeans off, reaching into a box beside his bed, looking for something. Jack’s body jolts when James kneels down at the end of the mattress and he sees the small tube that he is holding in his hand. He’s never used it, but he knows what it is. “You fuck me, I’ll get hard again, it doesn’t matter. I want you inside me - question is…” He reaches out and strokes Jack’s dick, causing Jack’s hips to hitch upward.
Jack knows the question and he knows the answer, though he’s not sure he should let himself have it. He has already done so much that he never thought he would ever do, and all because of James’ heated gaze, the roughness of his face, the beauty of his body, the feel of his hands connecting with his skin…
“Yeah, I want to,” Jack says, nodding adamantly, sitting up a little to get a better look at James. “Just tell me what to do.”
“What I did earlier…” James whispers, unscrewing the top of the lube, taking Jack’s right hand and squeezing a liberal amount over his fingers. Then he crawls back up Jack’s body and gently rests his weight on top of him. Jack nods, knowing what he means. “You think you can do that?” Jack nods, not sure that he can, but knowing he wants to find out.
He lets his hands slide down James’ back and over his ass, working up the courage to slide his fingers where they need to be. James pulls his head back, urging his body just slightly down against Jack’s, trying to get him to relax. A whimper escapes him as Jack finally finds his entrance, brushing his fingertips around it for a few moments before sliding a finger inside, a little too sharply.
“Sorry, I…” Jack eases off, feeling James’ entire body tense on top of his, but then he moves his finger more slowly, perfectly, in the way that makes James groan with pleasure.
“There…that’s it,” James whispers, forcing his eyes open, knowing Jack needs to see his reaction and know that what he’s doing is right. “Just keep…just like that…oh god, that’s fuckin’…” He rocks down against Jack again, feeling his cock beginning to stir. “That’s…you can go harder…get me…open, need to be…”
Jack pushes a second finger in and James can’t help but press his lips against Jack’s, muffling his cry in his kiss, a surge of desire coursing through his veins. He should probably let Jack continue what he’s doing, more for his own sake than for Jack’s, but he doesn’t care anymore. He needs him inside.
He grabs the tube again and coats his palm as he slides back down Jack’s body. Jack watches him intently, hissing as James smoothes the cold liquid over his cock, slicking his entire length with it.
Jack lies still as James straddles his waist again, reaching behind and taking hold of his hardness, guiding him inside, pushing him in slowly.
“Oh god…” Jack gasps, groaning as James’ encircles him, tight and hot, clenching around him and then relaxing, letting him in. He tries not to move, to let James make all the decisions, do what needs to be done and when. James sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his head back and to the side as he sinks down, taking Jack in completely.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, remaining still on top of him, breathing lightly but fast.
“You okay?” Jack asks, worried. James smiles, his eyes fluttering open. He looks down at Jack, hunger in his gaze.
“You feel so fuckin’ amazing,” he says, relishing the feel of Jack hard and pulsing inside of his body, the simple connection so exhilarating that he can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like when he finally moves. “You okay?”
Jack nods, moving his hips just enough to show James that he means it.
“It feel good?”
Jack only nods again, concentrating so intensely on not coming that he doesn’t trust himself to be able to speak.
“Tell me,” James whispers, leaning down, sliding his hand over Jack’s jaw line. Jack turns his face into James’ palm, pressing his cheek into his touch.
“Please…god, please move, James…I can’t…” He whispers back, his eyes closing as he tries to fight the sensations threatening to overwhelm him. James does what Jack asks, beginning to ride him slowly, drawing his body forward and then back, almost all the way off of Jack and then taking him back in.
Jack groans, his hands clenching around James’ hips tightly. James kisses him one but then abandons his lips, concentrating solely on rocking against Jack’s body. Jack may be the one inside, stretching him, filling him, but James is the one doing the fucking, controlling it, making Jack come.
James watches Jack’s face as he thrusts down, meeting Jack’s thrusts upward. His skin is flushed and his lips are parted, heavenly sounds pushing past his lips and sending shivers down James’ spine.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” James murmurs as he begins to harden, the sight of Jack lost to it, so completely in the moment, turning him on more than he ever thought imaginable. He never wants this to end and he wishes he could take a picture of this precise moment, just a perfect still of Jack’s perfect face to have forever, always his to have no matter what. “Fuck, Jack, fuck…oh fuck…beautiful, so beautiful.”
Jack opens his eyes, watching as James pumps himself at a frantic pace, beginning to ride him fast and hard. Jack just lets him set the pace, lets him decide, lets the entire experience just wash over him, knowing he’d let James do pretty much anything to him he wanted at this moment.
James’ body rocks hard against his, his back arching as he fists himself, his cock hard again and pressing upward insistently. His golden hair falls into his face until he lets his head fall back, allowing Jack to see the expression gracing his face. He looks so utterly lost in ecstasy that Jack can’t stop himself this time, holding James’ hips down and pounding hard into him as he comes, James tightening his body around him and pumping him dry.
James continues to move on top of him long after Jack is finished. Each thrust downward sends an aftershock rolling through Jack’s entire body and he feels himself try to give more, but he can’t. It doesn’t matter, though, because James is coming moments later, white hot all over Jack’s chest. The sight of James erupting all over, the feel of the sticky liquid coating his skin, is more erotic than anything Jack has ever seen or imagined and he can scarcely believe how loud is groan is, echoing James’ as he finishes.
James doesn’t stop moving, sliding his fingers through the mess he’s created on Jack’s broad chest. He slides and swirls his fingertips in it as if it’s paint and Jack is his canvas, creating a splattered picture of lust and desire on his heated skin, one that only he will ever be able to see.
Jack remains silent, trying to catch his breath and regain his ability to focus clearly as James moves, letting him slip out of his body. But the process is inhibited by James leaning down, using the flat of his tongue to lick Jack’s chest clean.
Jack jumps when the telephone rings, a shrill reminder that there is still a world out there besides James’ studio, even if he had temporarily forgotten it. James ignores it, ignores how Jack’s body stiffens underneath his ministrations, and just keeps moving his mouth over Jack’s stomach.
“Aren’t you gonna…?” Jack asks and James laughs against his body.
“Nope,” James shakes his head, and moves up, capturing Jack’s lips with his. Letting their tongues tangle slowly, James smiles as the phone stops ringing, the machine clicking on.
Jack freezes entirely before James is able to realize why. It takes him a second to realize that the voice coming through the machine is Jack’s girlfriend, her voice now far more annoying than it had been yesterday.
They don’t move as she rambles on about coming down with her sister to meet with him that afternoon, leaving her name and number and requesting a call back.
James forces a chuckle, knowing that this ill-timed phone call has just ruined the moment entirely and he has to try and salvage what he can.
“Well, that sure killed the mood.” He states, dipping his head to kiss Jack’s neck since Jack’s lips are now unresponsive. Jack sits up, pushing James away, the look on his face one of complete shame and confusion.
“Fuck…” he mumbles, bringing his hands up over his face and then running them over the back of his head. “What the hell am I doing…”
“I ain’t gonna tell her,” James assures him, reaching out and grabbing Jack’s left hand, pulling his arm toward him, placing his lips to the pulse point on Jack’s wrist and kissing it gently. “Every artist needs secrets. They help the image. Bein’ mysterious and all that.”
“James…”
“Jack…”
Jack frowns, trying to pull his hand away from James but James holds tight.
“I’ve never cheated on anyone before.”
James kisses Jack’s fingers, one by one, trying to show him both that he cares and that he doesn’t care. Jack looks at him, anguish written plainly in his brown eyes.
“I should go.”
James nods and leans in, brushing his lips against Jack’s once lightly before backing away, climbing off of Jack’s body and letting Jack get up. Jack hesitates before doing so, not really sure that he wants to leave.
But he does climb up from the mattress, finding his clothes and pulling them on, looking far more rumpled and less together than he had when he arrived. James rolls onto his side and watches Jack get dressed appreciatively, not bothering to get dressed himself.
“I have to go to work,” he says as he picks up his coat, feeling like he needs an explanation for his quick departure other than his incredible guilt. James nods, reaching for his jeans and tugging them on as he sits up. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” James asks as he stands, zipping up with a hard tug. He looks around for his shirt and finds it on the floor.
“For leaving like this. I just…”
“Don’t worry about it,” James waves him off. He slips his red shirt over his shoulders but doesn’t button it up, leaving it to hang loose and open. He walks over to Jack, stopping close beside him but not reaching out to touch him. “C’mon. I’ll walk you out.”
He heads for the door, leaving Jack to follow him. He doesn’t look back to see Jack hang his head, but he knows that he is doing so. James opens the heavy door and leans against the door frame, eying Jack as he slowly walks past him into the hallway, stopping just past him and turning back.
"James-"
“I want to see you again,” James says honestly, knowing if he plays it cool Jack will all too easily slip away and that will be that. “I need to see you again.”
“I…” Jack starts and the look on his face speaks well enough for him, assuring James that even if he can’t say it, this won’t be the last time Jack Shephard graces his doorway. They step toward one another, both of them suddenly timid, wanting to kiss but neither sure that the other one does.
James slides his hand gently around Jack’s waist, the other finding Jack’s face as Jack moves closer. Jack reaches out and tucks James’ hair behind his ear, smiling crookedly and shyly like he had at the very beginning.
When they kiss, it doesn’t feel like a good-bye or an apology, but a promise.
When they break apart, James grins and Jack blushes, coloring faint pink in a way that makes James want to pull him back inside.
Instead he pushes him away with a joking shove.
“Okay, now get. You ain’t the only person who has to work around here, ya know. I got some shit to work on.”
Jack chuckles, looking slightly relieved that James is making this incredibly confusing moment in his life just a little bit easier.
“I’ll call you later?” Jack asks as he heads toward the stairs, his voice cracking. James nods.
“Damn well better.” He winks and gives Jack a lax wave good-bye, watching as he disappears down the stairs. For a split second he wonders if Jack will actually call, but it’s quickly silenced by the definite feeling that he knows the next time his phone rings, it’s going to be Jack.
He goes back inside and closes the door, heading back toward his bed. The smell of their sex and of Jack’s cologne still lingers in the air, mingling with the familiar smells of his studio. He breathes it in, the memory of Jack’s body underneath his flooding back.
He changes course and crosses toward the painting Jack had looked at earlier, stopping in front of it and looking at it intently.
Jack’s wavering line is proof that he was here, a permanent addition to James’ life that could possibly be painted over, but could never be erased.
Looking at it, James decides that he was right. He quite likes the painting now that Jack has touched it. Smiling to himself, he quickly sets up his palette and goes to work, feeling inspired in a way he had almost forgotten existed.
TBC
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