Slash Fic: "The Con" Oz/Lost x-over [Keller/Sawyer]
Title: The Con
Fandom: Lost/Oz, crossover
Pairing: Keller/Sawyer
Genre: PWP, Pure Unadulterated Smut
Rating: Mature Audiences....Definitely Mature Audiences
Summary: During a visit to New York, Sawyer must pass an unexpected test.
It wasn't the New York of his memory. Missing were the grindhouses, the prostitutes, crackheads, sidewalk barkers in front of porn shops with promises of every sin known to man. But, the brush of gentrification had been too large, too broad. It hadn't completely sealed the cracks and nooks of the seedy underbelly Sawyer had grown to love.
He wasn't a New Yorker, not by a long shot. It showed in the still incredibly thick Southern twang, and down home cowboy swagger. But, it didn't matter. He felt home here. With the crooks, the thieves, the con artists. He’d cut a swath through the South and made enemies quicker than his youthful enthusiasm could get him out of. Nickel and dime stuff, mostly. But, New York, it was the big time. Like the saying goes - if he could make it here, he could make it anywhere.
He turned a corner, walking down a stairwell leading him below street level. Deeper into the underground, so far down, if he looked up he'd actually see the underbelly.
The walls were cracked and fading. Pipes overhead dripped something dark and thick like blood sporadically onto the even darker cement floor. Rats scurried across his booted toes. Trash scrunched under his feet, and still, Sawyer walked deeper into that dark place. Of course, it wasn't like he had a choice.
The hallway lightened slightly. Illuminated by a faded yellow light twitching sporadically. At the end of the hallway, he could see an average door. In front of it, a broken bar stool placed against the wall. Sitting on that barstool, a man leisurely thumbed through a tattered girly magazine. Sawyer bristled nervously. In his world, there were only two kinds of people, those who had the capacity to kill and those with the ability. Sawyer was the former, the man sitting on the stool was the latter. He wore faded blue jeans with a hole in the right knee, a blue or black (with the dim lighting it was hard to tell) wife beater. Short black hair and intense blue eyes.
Sawyer approached cautious yet purposely. "I need to see Falcone."
The man sniffed derisively, flipping another page of his magazine. "Do you?"
"Yeah," Sawyer snapped. "I do."
"Sounds important."
"It is."
He closed the magazine, tossing it onto the dirty floor. His eyes lifted, meeting Sawyer's. A gaze that set Sawyer on edge immediately. He expected to be sized up, he was used to that. It was the look underneath. The sensation of being consumed.
"What's in it for me?" he asked. His eyes staring into Sawyer’s as if he could see through him.
"Excuse me?"
"That's what I love about you Southern boys. Always so polite with your thank you's and yes ma'am's. The way I see it, there’s two ways outta this hallway, back where you came and through this door behind me,” he began loosening his belt, Cheshire cat grin on his face. Sawyer kept his eyes forward, never breaking contact. Even as he heard the unmistakable sound of zipper moving downwards. “You ever play Russian Roulette?”
Sawyer hazarded a look downwards. He was already erect. His cock pulsing slightly. “Listen pal..”
“Why don’t you put this in your mouth and see if it’s loaded.”
“Fuck you.”
He didn‘t stir, just smiled with a wide seductive grin. As if he already knew the ending to their story. “If that’s the way you like it.”
His lips broadened wider. Sawyer felt a shiver run down his spine. No one said anything about this. That he would be tested. He took another surreptitious glance at the man in front of him. He might get a quick jab in but he knew the guy in front of him was hard. Prison hard. They were both little fish in an even bigger pond. But this guy knew how to fight his way out of it.
Sawyer turned his head slightly, taking a quick glance at the hallway behind him. He inhaled deeply saying a silent prayer to the Saint of Con men and Cons before dropping to his knees. Grimaced at the grime and filth and all the dirty grimy things found under the underbelly sticking to his brand new jeans.
“The name’s Keller,” he smiled down at Sawyer. Jutted his hips forward slightly. With his right hand, pressed the tip of his cock against Sawyer’s lips. “Open wide.”
Some other day, he’d try to explain why he didn’t turn and walk away. Why he didn’t find some other way to get to Falcone. Some other day, he could chalk it up to desperation, or fear, or that things like this happen in New York, that sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Anything other than the simple fact that tasting this man’s cock had been the best offer he‘d had since setting foot in New York.
Sawyer ignored the grunt of pleasure, the hand that thread into his hair, the hips thrusting into his face forcing the hot turgid flesh deeper into his mouth than Sawyer intended. He ignored the increasing need between his own legs, straining against his jeans, aching for release. Or the spit that dribbled from his inexperienced mouth down his chin.
The hand in his hair was joined by the other. And he could feel the grip between them tightening, almost menacingly as Keller’s hips began thrusting faster. It took Sawyer everything he had not to gag, or choke. Continued with his ministrations, worked his mouth with lips, tongue and teeth. Enjoyed the feel if him in his mouth, the taste of him. He knew Keller was getting closer, could feel it in the hard, spastic thrusts of his hips. In the hands that gripped his skull to the point where he could feel his hair lifting painfully from his scalp. As if Sawyer were nothing more than a warm, wet hole to be used and abused at Keller’s convenience.
One final thrust and Sawyer’s face was buried in Keller’s crotch. And then, he tasted it. It’s not like he wanted to but, at the moment, choice wasn’t really an option. The plan had been to get his mouth around it, suck it for a few strokes and back out. He hadn’t intended to enjoy it. He hadn’t planned on the visceral rush, the repressed desire breaking free, keeping him on his knees, keeping his lips wrapped tightly around Keller’s hard flesh. Kept him sucking until Keller came. Felt it filling his mouth, thick, hot and salty, splashing the back of his throat. Gushed from the man like a hose that had been stepped on and he thought he’d choke to death.
It snapped him from his reverie. Placed him back in the man, the persona, that wasn’t into cruising, or cock, or heated moments in dingy dirty bathrooms.
Keller maintained his grip on Sawyer’s head, kept his face buried. Even as he felt the contractions of Sawyer’s throat, the gurgling choking sound emitting from his throat. His hands on Keller’s thighs, his jeans pulled down as they balled into fists. Content he’d released all of his seed, Keller released his grip.
Sawyer jerked his head away, breaking the man’s hold. His eyes stung as he coughed and spat, wiping a hand across his mouth. Keller stood over him, laughing, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Bang!”
“You coulda at least warned me.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” He smirked. Finished zipping his jeans, running a hand over his crotch to get the fit just right.
Sawyer rose to his feet, spitting one last time. He took a glance down Keller’s frame, going back up to end at his mouth. Returned Keller‘s gaze with his own seductive smirk. “You gonna return the favor?”
“Do I look like a fag to you?” Keller picked the magazine from the floor. Returned to flipping through the magazine, bored and disinterested.
“Asshole,” Sawyer grumbled. Knowing enough to know now was not the time to push his luck. He stepped around Keller. As he walked by, Sawyer felt Keller’s hands on him, gripping tightly. Instantly, he was slammed against the wall. Hard. Keller was against him. A hand hurriedly against Sawyer’s crotch, pressing, rubbing, squeezing his need. His lips just as hungrily on Sawyer‘s. Hard. Wet. Sloppily. And Sawyer found he couldn’t get enough. He placed his hand on the back of Keller’s head, pulling him in. Accepted the tongue battering against his lips. Felt the strong fingers yanking open his pants so hard his hips jerked back and forth, so hard he was almost feared they‘d rip open. Those same fingers wrapping around his now fully erect cock. Grunting at the hand now inside his jeans, jerking him off wildly.
Keller jerked Sawyer off like he fucked, hard, long, forceful strokes of his hand. Sawyer felt his knees going rubbery, thankful for the wall behind him, thankful for the leverage. He thrust his hips into Keller’s palm. A panted grunting sound escaped his throat between the sloppy kisses exchanged between the two of them. He’d already been close. Sucking off Keller had aroused a need in him he’d never experienced before. Moments later, he was groaning in Keller’s mouth, body trembling spastically as he came hard.
They continued kissing. Keller’s free hand thread into Sawyer’s hair as his other languidly stroked Sawyer. Milked him for every shudder, every spasm his body could give. As if this were the last fuck Sawyer would ever have. And, for one infinitesimally small moment, it almost was. Instead, he quelled the urge within him to wrap strong hands around Sawyer’s neck because there was the chance he might see him again. And he didn’t want to destroy the opportunity to have Sawyer’s mouth wrapped around him one more time.
He stepped back. Wiped his hand on Sawyer’s shirt. “Now, get outta here before I kill you.”
Just like that, it was over. Almost as if it had never happened to begin with. Sawyer stood there, panting, gaping at Keller. Shirt wrinkled, jeans still open down around his hips. Cock hanging out, still throbbing and tender. Still aching to feel Keller wrapped around him, still desiring to feel himself in Keller’s mouth.
“Fuck you,” Sawyer grumbled petulantly, like the not quite a man he pretended not to be. He zipped up his jeans. Stomped passed Keller.
**
He slumped in the empty chair across from Falcone. The man looked up at him, at his slightly disheveled appearance. Gazed at him with disapproving eyes. “You’re late.”
“I woulda been on time if it hadn’t been for your guard dog out there,” Sawyer cocked a thumb over his shoulder. Towards the door behind them in the background.
Falcone squinted slightly, tried to hide the slight confusion on his face. “What guard dog?”
END
A/N: Suffering from a bit of nano writer's block at the moment and decided to finish this fic which had been sitting on my hard drive for a couple months now. Yeah, I know it's m/m instead of f/f, and me not writing f/f is contributing to the femmeslash drought, but I have vacation coming up and should finish a whole bunch of stuff then. Really!! I mean it!
Fandom: Lost/Oz, crossover
Pairing: Keller/Sawyer
Genre: PWP, Pure Unadulterated Smut
Rating: Mature Audiences....Definitely Mature Audiences
Summary: During a visit to New York, Sawyer must pass an unexpected test.
It wasn't the New York of his memory. Missing were the grindhouses, the prostitutes, crackheads, sidewalk barkers in front of porn shops with promises of every sin known to man. But, the brush of gentrification had been too large, too broad. It hadn't completely sealed the cracks and nooks of the seedy underbelly Sawyer had grown to love.
He wasn't a New Yorker, not by a long shot. It showed in the still incredibly thick Southern twang, and down home cowboy swagger. But, it didn't matter. He felt home here. With the crooks, the thieves, the con artists. He’d cut a swath through the South and made enemies quicker than his youthful enthusiasm could get him out of. Nickel and dime stuff, mostly. But, New York, it was the big time. Like the saying goes - if he could make it here, he could make it anywhere.
He turned a corner, walking down a stairwell leading him below street level. Deeper into the underground, so far down, if he looked up he'd actually see the underbelly.
The walls were cracked and fading. Pipes overhead dripped something dark and thick like blood sporadically onto the even darker cement floor. Rats scurried across his booted toes. Trash scrunched under his feet, and still, Sawyer walked deeper into that dark place. Of course, it wasn't like he had a choice.
The hallway lightened slightly. Illuminated by a faded yellow light twitching sporadically. At the end of the hallway, he could see an average door. In front of it, a broken bar stool placed against the wall. Sitting on that barstool, a man leisurely thumbed through a tattered girly magazine. Sawyer bristled nervously. In his world, there were only two kinds of people, those who had the capacity to kill and those with the ability. Sawyer was the former, the man sitting on the stool was the latter. He wore faded blue jeans with a hole in the right knee, a blue or black (with the dim lighting it was hard to tell) wife beater. Short black hair and intense blue eyes.
Sawyer approached cautious yet purposely. "I need to see Falcone."
The man sniffed derisively, flipping another page of his magazine. "Do you?"
"Yeah," Sawyer snapped. "I do."
"Sounds important."
"It is."
He closed the magazine, tossing it onto the dirty floor. His eyes lifted, meeting Sawyer's. A gaze that set Sawyer on edge immediately. He expected to be sized up, he was used to that. It was the look underneath. The sensation of being consumed.
"What's in it for me?" he asked. His eyes staring into Sawyer’s as if he could see through him.
"Excuse me?"
"That's what I love about you Southern boys. Always so polite with your thank you's and yes ma'am's. The way I see it, there’s two ways outta this hallway, back where you came and through this door behind me,” he began loosening his belt, Cheshire cat grin on his face. Sawyer kept his eyes forward, never breaking contact. Even as he heard the unmistakable sound of zipper moving downwards. “You ever play Russian Roulette?”
Sawyer hazarded a look downwards. He was already erect. His cock pulsing slightly. “Listen pal..”
“Why don’t you put this in your mouth and see if it’s loaded.”
“Fuck you.”
He didn‘t stir, just smiled with a wide seductive grin. As if he already knew the ending to their story. “If that’s the way you like it.”
His lips broadened wider. Sawyer felt a shiver run down his spine. No one said anything about this. That he would be tested. He took another surreptitious glance at the man in front of him. He might get a quick jab in but he knew the guy in front of him was hard. Prison hard. They were both little fish in an even bigger pond. But this guy knew how to fight his way out of it.
Sawyer turned his head slightly, taking a quick glance at the hallway behind him. He inhaled deeply saying a silent prayer to the Saint of Con men and Cons before dropping to his knees. Grimaced at the grime and filth and all the dirty grimy things found under the underbelly sticking to his brand new jeans.
“The name’s Keller,” he smiled down at Sawyer. Jutted his hips forward slightly. With his right hand, pressed the tip of his cock against Sawyer’s lips. “Open wide.”
Some other day, he’d try to explain why he didn’t turn and walk away. Why he didn’t find some other way to get to Falcone. Some other day, he could chalk it up to desperation, or fear, or that things like this happen in New York, that sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Anything other than the simple fact that tasting this man’s cock had been the best offer he‘d had since setting foot in New York.
Sawyer ignored the grunt of pleasure, the hand that thread into his hair, the hips thrusting into his face forcing the hot turgid flesh deeper into his mouth than Sawyer intended. He ignored the increasing need between his own legs, straining against his jeans, aching for release. Or the spit that dribbled from his inexperienced mouth down his chin.
The hand in his hair was joined by the other. And he could feel the grip between them tightening, almost menacingly as Keller’s hips began thrusting faster. It took Sawyer everything he had not to gag, or choke. Continued with his ministrations, worked his mouth with lips, tongue and teeth. Enjoyed the feel if him in his mouth, the taste of him. He knew Keller was getting closer, could feel it in the hard, spastic thrusts of his hips. In the hands that gripped his skull to the point where he could feel his hair lifting painfully from his scalp. As if Sawyer were nothing more than a warm, wet hole to be used and abused at Keller’s convenience.
One final thrust and Sawyer’s face was buried in Keller’s crotch. And then, he tasted it. It’s not like he wanted to but, at the moment, choice wasn’t really an option. The plan had been to get his mouth around it, suck it for a few strokes and back out. He hadn’t intended to enjoy it. He hadn’t planned on the visceral rush, the repressed desire breaking free, keeping him on his knees, keeping his lips wrapped tightly around Keller’s hard flesh. Kept him sucking until Keller came. Felt it filling his mouth, thick, hot and salty, splashing the back of his throat. Gushed from the man like a hose that had been stepped on and he thought he’d choke to death.
It snapped him from his reverie. Placed him back in the man, the persona, that wasn’t into cruising, or cock, or heated moments in dingy dirty bathrooms.
Keller maintained his grip on Sawyer’s head, kept his face buried. Even as he felt the contractions of Sawyer’s throat, the gurgling choking sound emitting from his throat. His hands on Keller’s thighs, his jeans pulled down as they balled into fists. Content he’d released all of his seed, Keller released his grip.
Sawyer jerked his head away, breaking the man’s hold. His eyes stung as he coughed and spat, wiping a hand across his mouth. Keller stood over him, laughing, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Bang!”
“You coulda at least warned me.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” He smirked. Finished zipping his jeans, running a hand over his crotch to get the fit just right.
Sawyer rose to his feet, spitting one last time. He took a glance down Keller’s frame, going back up to end at his mouth. Returned Keller‘s gaze with his own seductive smirk. “You gonna return the favor?”
“Do I look like a fag to you?” Keller picked the magazine from the floor. Returned to flipping through the magazine, bored and disinterested.
“Asshole,” Sawyer grumbled. Knowing enough to know now was not the time to push his luck. He stepped around Keller. As he walked by, Sawyer felt Keller’s hands on him, gripping tightly. Instantly, he was slammed against the wall. Hard. Keller was against him. A hand hurriedly against Sawyer’s crotch, pressing, rubbing, squeezing his need. His lips just as hungrily on Sawyer‘s. Hard. Wet. Sloppily. And Sawyer found he couldn’t get enough. He placed his hand on the back of Keller’s head, pulling him in. Accepted the tongue battering against his lips. Felt the strong fingers yanking open his pants so hard his hips jerked back and forth, so hard he was almost feared they‘d rip open. Those same fingers wrapping around his now fully erect cock. Grunting at the hand now inside his jeans, jerking him off wildly.
Keller jerked Sawyer off like he fucked, hard, long, forceful strokes of his hand. Sawyer felt his knees going rubbery, thankful for the wall behind him, thankful for the leverage. He thrust his hips into Keller’s palm. A panted grunting sound escaped his throat between the sloppy kisses exchanged between the two of them. He’d already been close. Sucking off Keller had aroused a need in him he’d never experienced before. Moments later, he was groaning in Keller’s mouth, body trembling spastically as he came hard.
They continued kissing. Keller’s free hand thread into Sawyer’s hair as his other languidly stroked Sawyer. Milked him for every shudder, every spasm his body could give. As if this were the last fuck Sawyer would ever have. And, for one infinitesimally small moment, it almost was. Instead, he quelled the urge within him to wrap strong hands around Sawyer’s neck because there was the chance he might see him again. And he didn’t want to destroy the opportunity to have Sawyer’s mouth wrapped around him one more time.
He stepped back. Wiped his hand on Sawyer’s shirt. “Now, get outta here before I kill you.”
Just like that, it was over. Almost as if it had never happened to begin with. Sawyer stood there, panting, gaping at Keller. Shirt wrinkled, jeans still open down around his hips. Cock hanging out, still throbbing and tender. Still aching to feel Keller wrapped around him, still desiring to feel himself in Keller’s mouth.
“Fuck you,” Sawyer grumbled petulantly, like the not quite a man he pretended not to be. He zipped up his jeans. Stomped passed Keller.
**
He slumped in the empty chair across from Falcone. The man looked up at him, at his slightly disheveled appearance. Gazed at him with disapproving eyes. “You’re late.”
“I woulda been on time if it hadn’t been for your guard dog out there,” Sawyer cocked a thumb over his shoulder. Towards the door behind them in the background.
Falcone squinted slightly, tried to hide the slight confusion on his face. “What guard dog?”
END
A/N: Suffering from a bit of nano writer's block at the moment and decided to finish this fic which had been sitting on my hard drive for a couple months now. Yeah, I know it's m/m instead of f/f, and me not writing f/f is contributing to the femmeslash drought, but I have vacation coming up and should finish a whole bunch of stuff then. Really!! I mean it!