Summary: He's not sure which of Sawyer's confessions is playing with his mind more
Spoilers: Three Minutes
Note: So, um, yeah, I watched the ep and then I couldn't sleep and voilå, fic! Unbetaed (since it's 4 a.m. and all). There will be much better fics about this scene but here, in the meantime, is this offering from my sleep-deprived brain.
He should be thinking about the plan to get Walt back. He should be thinking about whether they really can trust Michael. He should be thinking about ways to keep them all safe.
But instead, he's pacing outside Sawyer's tent, looking for an excuse to march back in. His mind keeps going back to what he said, those words uttered not to Jack's face, but to the rifle in his hands as they load their weapons. Sawyer's hair is in his eyes and he's looking down as he speaks and Jack pauses, bullets in his hand, wondering why Sawyer chose now to say these things. Why he's saying them at all.
He was just glad that, for once, Sawyer was cooperating. And that maybe, finally, he could trust him. Just when he thinks he finally has Sawyer figured out, he realizes he's completely out of his depth. Again.
He's not sure which of Sawyer's confessions is playing with his mind more, that he fucked Ana Lucia or that he considers Jack his only friend here.
Because Sawyer was born to fuck with people's minds. Since they'd crashed here, a good mental fuck was the only kind any of them had had. Or so Jack thought. He hadn't wanted to admit that twist in his stomach when he saw Kate with Sawyer was jealousy, that the two of them had to be doing more than just exercising Sawyer's injured shoulder. It's the same feeling deep in his gut right now. Like he wants to throw up or hit someone. Or both.
But he's not the only one. Sawyer thinks he and Kate fucked out in the jungle, thinks “caught up in a net" is some kind of euphemism. When Jack doesn't bother to deny it, he blurts out the bit about Ana. Because he's hurt.
Jack's seen that look in his eyes before, seen Sawyer warring against himself over how close to let anyone get. Too close, and he'd snap and snarl, like a chained dog. But left entirely alone, he all but whimpered for attention. And if there was a hurt Jack could fix, well, he was going to fix it or be damned. But he learned the hard way, get too near Sawyer, and you get bit.
So Sawyer and the other feral creature on the island had found each other. And now she was dead and Jack felt nothing. Maybe later, it'll hit him, but for now, all he can think of is that Sawyer fucked her and the thought makes him sick. Like he's been blindsided.
“Need something, doc?" By that amused smile on Sawyer's face, he figures he's been watching him for some time.
“Yeah, I do, actually," Jack says abruptly. Sawyer opens up the tent flap and Jack strides in, not at all sure what he's going to say next.
“Why did you tell me about Ana?"
Sawyer regards him shrewdly, then shrugs. “Dunno, doc. Don't know for sure why I let it happen."
“Because she was there?" It's pathetic that Jack is asking for this kind of reassurance. He's pathetic.
“Yeah. Pretty much."
“Didn't think she was your type," Jack says now, like he's just pointed out something so obvious as the ocean being wet.
“Yeah, well, you get anyone under the right circumstance, and I guess ‘types' don't matter so much." He steps toward Jack, head dropping and that silky hair falling into his eyes again. “Guess just about anyone could be my type."
“Wouldn't say no," Sawyer's voice is lower now, almost raspy, and he's grinning. “And you didn't either, did you?"
Jack has to laugh, but his throat is tight and this really isn't funny. “Sawyer, nothing happened. OK? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
“You don't say." Sawyer lets out a low chuckle, his grin broadening. “Doc, you were out with Freckles in the jungle all night and you still couldn't get laid? You are just too damn uptight for your own good."
“Maybe I'm not the type to just jump someone at the drop of a hat." This was a bad idea, because now Sawyer is laughing even harder and whatever advantage Jack had in this endless back and forth between them is gone for good now.
“Oh, I think you're the type, doc, “ Sawyer leans forward, his lips brushing Jack's ear. “I know your type."
“I am not a type," Jack protests. “I am not your type." But he doesn't move away as Sawyer's hands skim over the waistband of his jeans.
“That's where you're wrong." Sawyer's just inches away from him and he tosses his head, that protective fringe of hair swept back for once and those clear blue eyes looking right through him like he knows exactly how much Jack is lying, has been lying.
“Don't," he starts to say, but Sawyer's already taking Jack's head in his hands and parting his lips with his tongue and Jack is pressing into him as the blood rushes in his ears and he thinks he might actually fucking faint.
He kind of stops breathing as Sawyer's thumb rubs over his jaw and then traces over his swollen lips. He opens his mouth again to take Sawyer's thumb in, and he can see Sawyer's pupils dilate with arousal as he sucks.
“C'mere," Sawyer says in that soft, husky voice that is turning Jack's knees to water and then he's tugging at Jack's belt buckle and they can't get each other's clothes off fast enough.
Sawyer slides down Jack's body, hands and mouth trailing over every inch, and then he looks up at him with that hungry expression Jack's seen him give Kate so many times.
“Been so long," Jack says, and it doesn't seem to make any sense out loud, but this moment has been so long in coming is what he thinks as Sawyer's mouth slides over him, insanely wet and hot and God, so intense as his tongue presses along the underside of his cock, Jack knows he can't last, not when it's this good and so fucking overdue and Sawyer's using his teeth and it's almost too rough, but not quite.
“Slow down," he gasps, fingers knitted into Sawyer's hair, stroking his hair in a rhythm that Sawyer picks up. Sawyer's hands dig into his thighs in a kind of ecstasy and that, along with the little noise Sawyer makes in the back of his throat sends him over the edge, body jerking as his mind goes blissfully blank.
He's on his knees too now, without quite knowing how he got there and he's tasting himself on Sawyer's lips and Sawyer's still making that noise in his throat that Jack knows he will never get tired of hearing. “For me," he breathes in Sawyer's ear. “Come for me," and he takes Sawyer's cock in hand, watching Sawyer's chest rise and fall and how his eyes go wide and how his tongue darts out to wet his lips that he keeps biting between little moans. “Look at me," he orders when Sawyer closes his eyes, and Sawyer does. He keeps his eyes locked on Jack as the orgasm builds under his hand and finally it's too much and Sawyer has to close them, shuddering through wave after wave of pleasure and he collapses wetly against Jack.
Jack memorizes the way the pulse is going crazy in Sawyer's throat, and how his damp hair is plastered to his face and neck, and how his scent of sex and sweat makes Jack want to lick every inch of him.
He lifts his head, wearing the sexiest fucking smile Jack's ever seen and he kisses Jack again, thumbs rubbing over the base of Jack's neck like there are buttons there he can push to get Jack to do what he wants.
Except there's no need for that, Jack could tell him. Whether this happpened because someone else is dead or because they might all be dead tomorrow, or because it's been building this whole time, Jack's done keeping his distance.
Sawyer pulls back, still wearing that gorgeous, freshly fucked smile.
“Yeah, I'm glad we're friends," Jack says, the words coming out in an undignified giggle.
Sawyer falls against his chest, laughing and they both pitch over onto the sand, tangled up and not really caring to get untangled anytime soon.
Tomorrow, he'll be that much stronger with Sawyer by his side. Tomorrow is life and death. But it's not tomorrow yet.