Summary: Sawyer knows no one gives a damn about him
Rating: NC-17 for smut and language
Spoilers: Up through "... And Found" and (very non-canon) spec for the next ep
Note: I know, I know, yet another Hurt!Sawyer fic but I'd promised a sequel to Ache, so here 'tis. Also a follow up to Failed. Written for the fanfic100 prompt "Smell."
Word count: 3,534
Just put one foot in front of the other. Sawyer had no idea how long they’d been walking, except that it seemed endless. He had no sense of time. He just kept his eye on the orange shirt in front of him, too tired to even be mad at Michael anymore.
He couldn’t stop, because if he did, they really might leave him behind. His only chance was in making it back to civilization, as he was starting to think of their camp. He even missed the Doc. He’d give his left arm to get some kind attention right now, and having it to give was so close to being a reality, he didn’t like to think about it.
Lifting each foot and putting it back down seemed like the hardest work he’d ever done in his life. More and more, he put the bulk of his weight on that enormous machete they’d given him -- as if trusting him with it made up for treating him like their own personal piñata this whole time. He used it as a cane as he struggled over terrain that kept changing; earth and grass and roots and rocks all passed under his feet as he fought to keep the ground a healthy distance below him, instead of falling to meet it as his body kept threatening to do.
It’s not just that he was tired. His shoulder had been throbbing since, well, it hadn’t ever stopped. Now his whole arm was numb. And his vision had started to blur. The whole world around him, everything besides that orange shirt, was starting to blur together, just like this heat that was fogging his brain. He didn't think the jungle could get any hotter.
No point in telling anyone because it would fall on the deafest of ears. No one here cared if he lived or died.
He had no illusions, he’d told himself, but he had started to think of these men as friends, that they were in this together. He could have kicked himself, except that everyone else had been lining up to do it for him.
But he didn’t even have the energy to feel sorry for himself now, as they pushed their way through tall grass. It was like wading through waist-high water, water that was rushing around him, pulling at him, pulling him under. He heard the water rushing in his ears and then it closed over him.
He was back out on the raft again, bobbing helplessly in the dark. There were voices around him, vague and menacing, like those whispers that night in the jungle. He tried to catch at the sense of them, but they were too muffled. If they meant him any harm, they’d have to come find him, here under the waves.
Light and dark chased each other and there was only that voice talking to him and those sure hands that held him, kept him safe. He didn’t know if he was dry or wet, hot or cold, alive or dead. Instead of the orange shirt, he focused on the voice, clinging to it like a drowning man to a rope. When he reached out for it, his fingers brushed cloth and flesh, a man’s arm. He hung on for dear life and then the hand was on his forehead and the voice was in his ear, soft and sure.
A woman was crying nearby and he wanted to tell her everything was OK but damned if he knew where she was. She kept going away, but not before those soft hands ran over his cheek. “Don’t you die on me,” she said over and over, her voice husky.
He was dimly aware where he was now, back at camp, with Jack. He wanted to cry from relief. Jack’s face, though blurry, hovered over him. His touch was gentle, as Sawyer somehow knew it would be. He sighed and let himself slip back under, knowing he was safe, at last.
Jack was part of his dreams now, except he didn’t know waking from dreaming. He only knew that when he woke, Jack was there, giving him water or something for the pain. And when the chills came and wracked his body so hard he thought he would die from it, Jack was there, holding him still. His body was pressed up against him and he ran his arms briskly up and down his back and sides.
It was like having the sun make a personal visit. Jack was the sun, he thought, and even through his fever realizing it didn’t make sense. Jack wrapped him in his arms and spoke softly to him and he stopped shivering.
He had no idea how long it went on, only that he couldn’t remember before it started. He felt insubstantial, unreal, weightless, but Jack was undeniably real and warm and solid as his body molded into his. His voice wrapped around him as sure as his body, strong and reassuring, until he felt he couldn’t breathe without it.
There was a moment where Jack’s breath caught and the spell was broken. Jack’s body was hard against his and a tremor ran through Jack, not him. He didn’t understand, thought Jack had caught his sickness, and he moved closer to him, wanting to share the warmth, to give back what Jack had given him. His thigh brushed against the hardness of Jack and then he understood.
“Sawyer, look, I...” Jack started to say, and then he got up abruptly and left.
Sawyer had never felt so cold. He couldn’t stop shivering.
He sat up, the fever broken for now. The whole ordeal came back to him as he took stock of his surroundings and he just closed his eyes and rejoiced that he was alive and whole and at long last in the hands of someone who gave a damn about him. He experimentally moved his arm and the sharp, shooting pain made him stop.
But Jack, choosing that moment to come back to the cave, had already seen him and yelled at him to lay back down and quit moving already.
“Whatever you say, doc,” he mumbled as Jack draped an extra blanket over him but he didn’t warm him with his own body again. Sawyer had forgotten why Jack had left so suddenly, until he caught the scent of sweat. And sex.
Kate. Unbidden memories of her presence came to him, how she’d hovered behind Jack, urging him to take a rest, hands on his shoulders. Life went on without him. What did he expect?
He kept his eyes closed tight and didn’t look at Jack.
He pictured them together, his body moving on top of hers, her head thrown back, soft throat exposed in ecstasy. He imagined the sounds she’d make, their voices overlapping with all the the soft, barely heard things both of them had been saying in the dark of the cave to him.
For the first time, he wished they’d never brought him back.
Jack never mentioned the incident and neither did he.
Kate came to see him often now that he was finally alert and while she smiled and talked and even smoothed his hair out of his face, he watched to see how Jack’s eyes lingered on her, and how she said goodbye to him when she left.
“I’m bored, doc,” he grumbled, fingering a hole in his worn jeans, and Jack just laughed.
“That’s a good sign, then. Means you’re getting better.”
“Yeah, not soon enough,” Sawyer grumbled. He hated being this passive. Hated having to watch the two of them together. As soon as he could, he’d be up and out of here.
“Hey.” A new voice. He raised his head to see who it was.
“What is it Michael?” Jack instantly snapped to attention, anticipating some new crisis.
“Just thought I’d see how he was doing,” Michael said. He glanced at Sawyer, who returned his look with a glare.
“What, now you care?” he snapped. “A little late, don’t you think?” He noted with satisfaction how the words hit home, how Michael stepped back as if he’d struck him.
“Sawyer,” Jack said, embarrassed on his behalf. “Michael brought you back here. Without him...”
“So I owe him my life, is that what you’re sayin’?” Sawyer got to his feet now, needing to stand to share his full fury. “Then I guess we’re even and you can just go fuck off now. We ain’t friends. You made that real clear.”
Michael made apologetic noises and Sawyer lunged at him, leaving the safety of the cave wall and launching himself at the air. Jack caught him and held him in place.
“Sawyer, save it,” he yelled. “You’re in no shape to start a fight.” Holding Sawyer back wasn’t much of a struggle. He turned to Michael. “You better go.”
“Uh, yeah, sorry,” Michael said, ducking his head. “Hey, I’m sorry man, for everything. I ... was out of my head, you know.”
“It’s too fucking late to be sorry, you asshole,” Sawyer shouted at his retreating back, voice breaking in rage. He strained to follow him but finally gave up, unable to free himself from Jack’s iron-hard grip.
“What happened between you?” Jack asked softly and Sawyer slumped against him, drained by anger and the effort of standing.
“Guess he didn’t tell you,” he grunted, hands aching to get at the other man. “It don’t matter. Just now I know who my friends are. And I ain’t got a single one here.”
“No?” Jack asked, something like hurt vibrating in his voice.
Sawyer laughed, not meeting his eyes. “Nah. You’d do this for anyone, wouldn’t you. Noble doctor. Must save everyone.”
“Why do you do that, Sawyer?” Jack said, tipping Sawyer’s head back so he had to look at him. He licked his lips before continuing, his Adam’s apple bobbing while he chose his words. “Of course you have friends here, people who care what happens to you. What about Kate? She’s here to see you everyday.”
“Yeah. She’s...” Sawyer stopped. His throat was too tight and he was too tired. All his hard-won new strength was just gone.
Jack lowered him back to his bedroll and he was fighting back tears of frustration now. “Fuck doc, if you knew what I been through. I got shot and no one cared and ...”
“I care,” Jack said firmly and he took his face in his hands, wrestling his head up. “Shhhh,” he said softly and he lowered his head until his mouth hovered over Sawyer’s. “It’s OK now.”
A warm rush surged through him in anticipation of being kissed. Jack’s breath was hot and rapid on his lips and he could feel him holding back. And then the moment was gone and Jack let go of his head and tucked him back into bed.
He seemed on the verge of saying something and then he just walked out.
Sawyer watched him go and then he closed his eyes. Doc’s losing it, he told himself before he gave into his fatigue.
There’s no one there when he opens his eyes again and he seizes his chance. He stands up slowly and pulls on his shirt, carefully easing it over his shoulder. The wound is nearly closed now and he’s past danger, Jack said.
He can’t take more of this being in the way, more of this weird tension, so he’s heading out.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Kate is standing, watching him with disapproval, hands on hips in a fair imitation of Jack.
“Out of everyone’s hair,” Sawyer says, turning his back on her as he looks for his boots. “Had enough of this patient routine.”
“You’re the least patient patient I’ve seen,” Kate says and he knows she means for him to laugh, but he just shrugs -- carefully.
“I heard about you and Michael,” she says, coming closer. “I’m sorry he upset you.”
“I’m sure the doc was glad to tell you all about it,” he says, eyes flicking over her face, wondering if the doc tells her everything. He looks away. Probably not. “Look, it’s a big island. I’ll just go find a new corner and leave you all be and then none of you have to trouble yourself with me again.”
“What?” Kate almost chokes. “Sawyer, you’re still recovering. You can’t just go off by yourself.”
“Yeah, well, watch me,” he snarls. He’s found his boots at last and starts to tug on the right one.
He grunts in surprise as Kate knocks him backwards. She’s straddling him now and he can’t help but grin. “Ain’t this awful familiar?” he says and he feels almost like his old self.
“You are not going anywhere, you idiot,” she says sternly. “Can’t you get it through your head that people care about you?”
His smile fades. “Well, that message has been a little slow in coming, what with people shooting me and telling me everything is my fault and tying me up and hitting me with rocks and threatening to leave me to die.”
“Sawyer.” Her face softens in concern. “I didn’t know about all that.”
“Yeah, thanks to that jackass and that fucking cunt...”
“Who? Ana-Lucia? You used that, um, phrase, a lot when you were sick.”
“I did?” He can’t help laughing now. “Fuck, wish that bitch had really gone down with the plane.”
“At least I don’t have cause to be jealous,” she says softly now and shifts ever so slightly in a way that makes him draw in his breath.
He was going to laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea but having Kate’s crotch so achingly near his is kind of short-circuiting his brain. He just shakes his head.
He focuses instead on the jade green of her eyes, on how there’s a flush spreading over her cheeks, on how her breath is starting to come faster. He runs his right hand, his good one, over her thigh and she doesn’t stop him, just keeps those brilliant jade eyes locked on his. Her tongue darts out over her lips and he thinks it’s just nerves and not a come on.
His hand roams higher. She closes her eyes now and starts to move.
He watches her between half-lidded eyes, just enjoying the feel of her and the delicious friction she’s starting. But he can't help asking. “What about Jack?” His question stops her cold.
“What about him?”
“Look, I’m not blind,” he sighs. “I know you two are together now.”
“Oh, that,” she says and god, he’s so hard already, he almost screams for her to move those hips again. “That’s just ... it’s, well, it’s not a definite thing.“ Her cheeks are bright pink now and he never thought Kate would be embarrassed about anything.
“So you and he ..”
“Both needed someone,” she whispers and then she’s kissing him, warm and slow and he can feel the heat from her body coursing through him and his jealousy melts away. Almost.
He can’t help but think if this is how she is with Jack as she’s unzipping his jeans and easing them down his hips. She stands up and pulls down her jeans and panties in one motion and he still can’t believe this is happening as she guides him inside her.
Her head goes back as her body arches, pulling him deeper inside, and she’s just as he pictured her, neck long and pale, hair trailing down her back, lips wet and parted. Only it’s how he pictured her with Jack. It feels so fucking good to be inside her that he just wants to focus on the pure sensation of her, this crazy fever dream come true. The rest doesn’t matter.
She’s moving faster, her body even closer now, and his hand is at the small of her back, easing up under the shirt she didn’t bother to take off.
He’s not sure how long Jack’s been standing there, not saying anything, just watching them both. Sawyer freezes and Kate turns to look over her shoulder. She stops moving too and no one says anything. Jack’s face is impossible to read.
Sawyer starts to push her away, but she puts a hand on his chest and shakes her head slightly. “It’s OK,” she says as Jack walks over to them.
He drops to his knees and Sawyer waits, not breathing. Those dark eyes rake over Sawyer’s face and he can’t look away. Jack breaks the gaze, turning to kiss Kate. His hands are at her shirt, undoing the buttons and she starts to rock her hips in that maddening rhythm again.
Sawyer’s heart is pounding as Jack eases her shirt off now and takes a breast in his mouth. Kate twines one hand in his hair and the other in Sawyer’s. She’s watching Sawyer, eyes bright. She’s panting and her mouth falls open and she’s never looked more beautiful. Now he can see the flushed, exposed skin, so pale against Jack’s hands and face.
He’s still comparing this to the mental image he had of the two of them when Jack turns to him. He leans in, hand on Sawyer’s shoulder now and his eyes close as his lips brush Sawyer’s. He inches nearer, pulse pounding in anticipation as Jack’s tongue parts his lips and then god, Jack is moaning into his mouth.
Kate makes the most delightful little “Oh,” noise and speeds up the movements of her hips.
Sawyer gives in to the hot, wet pleasure of Jack’s mouth and Kate’s body sheathed around him and he forgets all the pain and the mistreatment. He’s here, he’s back with them both and he doesn’t begin to understand this but goddamn, he can’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive or so fucking good. Jack’s tongue delves deeper, awaking prickles up and down his back.
Jack’s got both their shirts off now, mindful of Sawyer’s bad shoulder, and Sawyer’s running his good hand over his chest, tugging gently at the curls of hair. Jack guides his hand down to his cock and his eyes fly open.
“You know I’m lefthanded,” he laughs and Jack just smiles and keeps moving his hand in slow strokes.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says and his voice is so low, it’s more air than sound. His eyes close tight as Sawyer’s fingers start to explore him on their own. The way he’s biting his lower lip and making those helpless sounds give Sawyer a jolt to his own cock.
Kate has nearly stopped now, as Sawyer is preoccupied with Jack and the intense reaction his touch is causing. Kate bends her head closer to both of them. She presses her head against Jack’s, panting through an enormous smile, her mouth not quite touching his. He pulls her to him hard and she sighs into the kiss and starts to move again.
And then she turns to Sawyer. She’s trailing kisses over his face as she lightly runs a finger over the hand wrapped around Jack’s cock.
Fuck, he gasps and then her mouth slides over his and the sound of her moans blended with Jack’s almost undoes him. He can feel Jack’s body stiffening and both their hands are still on him, Sawyer’s on his cock and Kate’s now gripping his thigh tight, keeping time with her thrusts into Sawyer.
Jack moans loud enough to wake everyone in the caves and then he’s coming with a violent jerk of his head and a hot splash against Sawyer’s thigh. His head falls heavily onto Sawyer’s chest but he’s still braced on his own arms, careful not to put too much weight on him, and that’s so Jack it makes him smile.
Kate’s echoing his grin and now she leans over to kiss him, her head brushing the top of Jack’s head. She’s moaning into Sawyer’s mouth and then her whole body clenches hard around him and god, he’s so close. He starts to shake like he’s in the clutches of the sickness again. There’s a white flash that seems to go on forever as the orgasm takes him and when he comes back to himself, Kate’s mouth is buried on one side of his neck and Jack’s mouth is on the other.
“Welcome home,” Kate says with a tired smile as she rests her head on his chest. He runs his hand through her tangled hair, taking in the feel of her flushed skin against his and the mingled scent of sweat and sex of all three of them.
Jack gets up and brings the pillow and blanket over and then he eases them back down, Kate still contentedly clinging to Sawyer. “Get some rest,” he says, yawning, and curls up next to Sawyer, arms around them both.
Tomorrow, they’ll have to talk about this, except that words might spoil it. It’s good to be back, he thinks as he drifts off. Nice to know he’s been missed.