Pairing: Jack/Kate/Sawyer. This chapter, mostly Jack/Sawyer
Summary: Captivity fic
Word count: 7,111
Spoilers: S2 only, written pre-S3
Warning: Very dark, very fucked-up. Definitely not a fun fic. This fic contains elements of non-con, although not in the strictest sense. If that is something you wish to avoid, please do not read this!
Note: Finally, finally, I've finished this damn thing. And I'm still not sure why I was compelled to write it. A huge, huge thank you to betas zelda_zee and themoononastick who did so much more than catch typos. I couldn't have finished this without you two. Thank you so much for all your input and for putting up with my endless tinkering!
They come for him at dawn.
Sawyer has grown used to starting from sleep at the slightest noise since the moment he woke to screams and sky and empty space where there used to be a nice, solid plane.
But last night, like an idiot, he'd let himself be lulled into a false sense of security by the simple comfort of holding her in his arms. A warm body against his is something he hasn't known in months -- which makes it that much worse when they throw open the door and wrench her away from him.
She cries out and he just has time to swear before they're on him.
One of them, a big brute with a beard, holds her back as two others shove him towards the door. Sawyer throws his weight backwards, breaking free from their grasp. All he has are a few seconds. He steps towards her, one hand cradling her face as he draws her into a kiss.
Her eyes flutter shut and he kisses her, hard and quick, before he's pulled away. She leans out as far as she can, brushing his lips once more. In her widened eyes, he sees the blow before it hits; she gasps as the rifle butt catches him hard in the gut and he drops to his knees.
The bag comes down over his head again and then they haul him out, kicking and cursing. The path of least resistance wasn't one he ever took of his own free will.
They don't give him the chance to get back on his feet, just drag him along by the elbows. He counts their steps, trying to get a sense of how far they're taking him. It beats thinking about where and why.
He tries not to think it's the last time he'll see her; just that she kissed him back. It doesn't mean she loves him. Just that she doesn't hate him. And right now, that's a mighty comforting thought.
They stop suddenly. The bag is removed and a hard shove between the shoulder blades sends him stumbling through the doorway of a familiar-looking hut.
Jack is crouched in the corner, frozen halfway between sitting and standing. His hands are bound in front of him. "Sawyer," he says in surprise. He almost seems glad to see him.
Sawyer picks himself up from the floor, wiping dirt off his hands. "Yeah, still in one piece. You?"
He goes to undo Jack's hands but Jack flinches, so he stops, sitting back on his haunches a few feet away.
Jack's cheek looks worse than it did yesterday -- swollen and raw -- and the cuts on his neck have started to scab over. He shrugs in answer, not meeting Sawyer's eye. "Kate?" There's a throb in his voice that makes Sawyer feel like he's been kicked.
"She's fine. Worried about you."
"Good," Jack says. Sawyer has to look away when he adds,"I'm glad you were with her."
"Yeah." He feels like he should reassure Jack that nothing else happened, but since they're both ignoring what did happen, better to just keep his mouth shut.
Sawyer inches closer. He's hesitant to touch Jack, but he wants to make sure he's okay. "Let me untie you, at least."
Jack pulls his hands in. "I'm fine." There's a warning in his tone. Leave me alone.
It's then that he sees the index finger on Jack's left hand. The finger is twice its normal size and purpling at the joint.
He sucks in a breath. "You try to break down the door again?"
"No." Jack drops his eyes.
It's what they did to make Jack scream yesterday. "Must hurt like hell."
Jack turns away, cradling his hands against his chest. "It's not so bad."
"Not so bad? Jesus, Jack. What kind of stoic bullshit is that?"
Jack reluctantly lets him take hold of his hands. He tenses as Sawyer undoes his bonds and then gently takes his left hand in his. "I'm not gonna hurt you," Sawyer says softly. "What do I need to do?"
The finger is crooked and Sawyer feels queasy just looking at it.
"I can do it," Jack huffs, trying to get his hand back.
"No, dammit. Just tell me what to do."
Jack glares at him for another minute and then finally relents. "Okay, you need to set it. Pull it back into alignment. And if you can find something for a splint, and something to wrap it with..."
Sawyer manages to pry a workable bit of wood from the walls, not damn near enough to get them out of here, but good enough for a splint. He rips off a strip of his shirt along the hem and presents them to Jack. "Okay, Doc, walk me through this."
With his right hand, Jack shows Sawyer just where to hold his hand, and mimes how to pull the broken finger.
"Want somethin' to bite on?" Sawyer offers, half-serious, and Jack snorts out a laugh, but shakes his head.
"No. Just do it," he says with a quick jerk of his head. He braces himself against the wall of the hut with his good hand, forehead pressed against the rough wood.
So Sawyer takes in a deep breath, same as Jack, and then he pulls, hard. There's a short, shocked gasp of pain from Jack, but then it's over. Sawyer readies the splint and the cloth and he's surprised when Jack doesn't walk him through it step by step. He just leans against the wall, eyes shut and finally Sawyer has to ask. "Bad?"
He grimaces as he talks. "Just ... nauseous. Feel like I might throw up." He looks paler than before and there's a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip. He rubs one leg with his right hand.
"Well, we sure as hell don't want that. Anything I can do?"
"Just ...touch me, somewhere else. It's called gate control. It'll reduce the perception of pain ... it's a distraction."
"Okay." Sawyer finishes wrapping the finger and moves around to take Jack's other hand in his. He rubs it between his hands, gently at first, and then he flips it palm up and starts to dig in with his thumb. The line from the leather strap is still visible on his wrists.
Jack is quiet, so Sawyer starts talking, just the first safe topic he can think of.
"So, betcha you think I didn't know a fancy word like ‘stoic.'" He tells Jack how he learned it reading "Julius Caesar" in junior high. Jack isn't really listening but that doesn't matter. If nonstop rambling helped get an infant to sleep, it might help distract Jack. His voice and his hands are about the only things Sawyer has to offer.
"Mr. Wilkins, that was his name," Sawyer continues, "had us act out the stabbing scene in the Senate. I was ..." he tries to recall, "Cassius, I think, ‘cause I had a 'lean, hungry look,' he said."
That gets him a half smile. "Good casting."
"So these stoics, they would just fall on their swords rather than be cap--" Shit. "Well anyway, they always sounded more like pessimists to me."
"There's being a pessimist and then there's being a realist," Jack sighs, taking his hand back.
Seeing Jack so resigned is scaring him. He'd rather Jack lashed out at him, rather have him be furious, call him every name in the book. Coddling Jack is doing no damn good. Time for a little Plan B.
"Don't you dare give up," Sawyer yells, shoving him against the wall. "You selfish sonofabitch. You do not get to feel sorry for yourself."
Jack blinks, too shocked to react.
"I been shot, stabbed, clubbed over the head more times ‘n' I care to count. What's this, a broken finger? And you're just going to curl up and cry, ‘Poor me?'"
It's working. Jack's lost that dazed look and there's a glint of life in his eyes again and a flush on his cheeks.
This is like waving a red flag in front of a sedated bull; Sawyer's got a few buttons left to push before the bull charges.
"It's tough, sure, and they're going after you more ‘n' either of us. Bet they never thought you'd be this easy. A few scrapes and they've got you cowerin' in the corner."
Jack's mouth turns down and his jaw clenches. He tries to get up, but Sawyer pushes him back.
"Yeah, they're fuckin' with your head. They're fuckin' with all of us." Jack winces at the word. "But the Jack I know doesn't let anyone do that. I've been fuckin' with you since Day One and you never paid me no mind. And this ain't any different."
"Sawyer..." Jack's voice is low, almost a rumble. His eyes flutter shut, and then open again. "You have no idea ..."
Sawyer hesitates. There's always the chance they've done something else to Jack in the meantime, another systematic turn of the screw, but he doesn't want to know and he needs Jack to get mad.
"Fuck you, Jack." Sawyer digs his fingers into Jack's shoulders. "What's it gonna take to make you mad?" They're so close, their noses are practically touching. He can feel Jack's breath on his cheek.
Jack leans closer as he cocks his head to the side, a crazy light in his eyes. "You want me to be mad at you? You want me to hate you? Is that what you want?" He shoves Sawyer hard with his good hand.
Sawyer absorbs the hit; he doesn't budge. "Couldn't blame you," is all he says, tensed for the next blow.
Jack blows out a breath, his anger leaking out like so much air. He looks past Sawyer, at something only he sees. "I don't blame you. It's my fault, Sawyer. All of it."
It's moments like this that scare Sawyer, because he needs Jack to be Jack. And right now he's sounding an awful lot like that fool who nearly got himself killed over some inhalers he didn't even have.
"I don't recall you holding a gun to my head. Or a knife to your own throat."
Jack turns to look at him again and his eyes are pure black, unreadable. "Sawyer, it's no use."
"Don't. Don't you fuckin' dare." He shoves Jack again because he doesn't know what else to do.
Jack tenses, pressing back into the wall, but he's not looking at Sawyer.
A familiar singsong voice chirps, "Now, now, boys. Fighting?"
Sawyer swivels to face Henry, who's quietly entered their hut. He holds his hands together, like he's about to ask them to join him in a prayer.
Sawyer would love nothing better than to knock that creepy little smile off his face, but the two men with guns backing him up might take exception to that.
"On your feet, gentlemen," smiles Henry, or whatever the fuck the psychotic bastard's name is, and it's that false note of politeness that most makes Sawyer want to wring his neck.
He turns to face Jack as he slowly stands up. Don't let them get to you, he mouths to Jack, and Jack nods, almost imperceptibly.
Henry produces two burlap bags and hands one to each of them. "If you please."
Sawyer snorts. "Not my color, Igor." He tosses it on the ground, and then slowly, deliberately grinds it underfoot. Henry just crooks an eyebrow and gestures to the man on his right, who steps forward, brandishing a knife to rival anything in Locke's collection.
"The bag or your eyes. Your choice." There's no question he means it.
"There's no need for that," Jack says with quiet authority. Jack grips Sawyer's arm and squeezes. No one moves for a few breaths, and then, as Jack's fingers dig in deeper, Sawyer shakes his head in disgust, eyes never leaving that weasel's face.
"Well, when you put it like that, guess I'll take the bag." Sawyer makes a little bow, and grimaces, mirroring Henry's fucked-up grin. He bends down to pick it up and then he turns to look at Jack, who's fingering his own cloth hood.
Jack looks like he's holding his breath until Sawyer puts the damn thing on. He pulls it down over his face -- Jack must be doing likewise -- and then he's escorted outside, the hands on his arm digging deep enough to leave a fresh set of bruises.
He silently curses himself. If it were just him, he'd never go quietly. Never. But Jack's passivity is having a weird effect on him. He thinks there must be something Jack knows that he doesn't. Jack's not leading, but he's following him anyway. For now.
As they walk, he listens to the footfalls and takes comfort that their little party is staying together, best he can tell. Being split up means one of them might just never come back. But they're being led, together, and since it's probably back to that damn arena, it won't be for their health.
The bags are jerked off their heads and Sawyer's heart sinks to see he was right. The same damn place, the same damn crowd of unsmiling faces staring down at them as they file in and take their places. Jack and Sawyer's handlers step back, blocking the door, as before.
"Great." Sawyer glances at Jack, who's scanning the crowd, probably for Kate. He leans closer to Jack, his voice low, "You take the 30 on the right, I'll take the 30 on the left."
Jack's gaze flickers over him in surprise and he almost smiles. But there isn't anything to smile about.
Looking around the arena, Sawyer's mind leaps to lions and tigers. If that's next on the bill, they better be handed some goddamn weapons, at least.
But the men who led them in are still standing on the floor of the arena with them, so that can't be it. At this point, Sawyer would almost rather deal with wild animals. At least he knows what they want: Just to fucking tear him limb from limb.
He shifts on his feet, tries to control his breathing. Waiting to find out why they've been brought here this time is all part of the game, all part of this elaborate mindfuck.
The last of the audience is seated.
If it weren't for Jack's broken finger, he'd probably be standing there with his hands on his hips, like always. Instead, his arms are folded, the one with the broken finger resting lightly on top of the other. He's tense, as tense as Sawyer feels. Sawyer doesn't know how much more of this suspense he can stand.
"Jack, if you'd be so good as to come over this way." Henry indicates a spot a few feet from where they're standing.
Jack hesitates just long enough for the crowd to murmur and then walks to the spot where Henry is pointing and waits. He may be following Henry's orders, but he stands defiant -- shoulders back, head up -- as if standing there were his own idea.
"Very good. On your knees, please." It takes Jack longer to obey this new command, but one of the men with guns takes a step closer and at last he does just as Henry asks. He kneels.
"Now, James, come here."
Sawyer approaches slowly, hair prickling on the back of his neck as everyone now turns to look at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the men at the door follow his every step with their rifles. The two goons behind Henry are there to make sure Sawyer doesn't just grab Henry and use him as a shield or take the opportunity to snap his neck. Because those are the very things going through Sawyer's mind right now.
It's the thought of leaving Jack alone, what they'll do to him and Kate if he tries anything, that stops him, that forces him to stand placidly in front of that spooky-eyed weasel and just wait there patiently, like a kid called in front of the class.
Henry produces a small metal tube from his pocket and hands it to Sawyer. "Here you are, James. I think you'll need this."
The brand is Dharma. No surprise there. It's what the tiny lettering spells out that make Sawyer want to throw up.
"No way. No fuckin' way." He tosses the tube as far away from him as he can. He might have the wrong idea, but from that creepy glint in Henry's eye, he's sure he doesn't.
Henry sighs. "I had a feeling that might be your reaction. It really is in your best interest if you cooperate. In all of your best interests."
"You can fuck off, and fuck off while you're doin' it," Sawyer spits. "You're all fuckin' twisted." He turns to shout at the crowd, his arms raised. "You sadistic fucks might as well just fuckin' kill us now because the show's over. Got it?"
Jack rushes to his side, trying to calm him down. He jerks Sawyer around so they're face to face. "Sawyer, what the hell are you doing? Look, whatever they want..."
Jack's angrier at him than he is at them and that only makes Sawyer want to hit him.
"Whatever they want? Whatever they want?" Sawyer shoves Jack. "They fuckin' brainwashed you? I'm done dancin' to their tune. I'm done, okay? This is fucked up."
Henry is looking on and the bastard is amused.
"Look, I don't care anymore, Renfield. Just fuckin' shoot us both and then you can do whatever you want with our corpses. Okay? ‘Cause that sounds right up your perverted little alley."
"Ahh. Renfield. Dracula's loathsome henchman. Yes, very clever," Henry smiles. "You're a very clever boy, aren't you, James? But have you forgotten about pretty little Kate?"
"Leave her out of this." Sawyer swallows hard.
"I'm afraid you leave me no choice," Henry smirks and waves to someone behind them.
Jack cries out her name.
He whirls to see Zeke -- of course, he should have realized that bastard was missing -- lead Kate out. Her hands are tied behind her back and she's gagged. She looks scared, but otherwise safe and sound.
Jack's face is a study in controlled fury. "What is this?"
"Just a bit of leverage, Jack. Threatening to break one of her fingers isn't really much use here. Bones heal. But we're on a remote island, with limited medical resources. There are other wounds that would prove much more problematic. Wounds such as the poor marshall suffered."
Sawyer's stomach twists. Kate's eyes meet his -- wild, desperate -- and then she squeezes them shut tight. He thinks he can see a tear from here. There is no getting out of this. Not for any of them. Kate is too high a price to pay.
Jack is yelling, has been yelling. "You're not going to touch her. You promised me." So much tension is emanating from him, from those powerful arms and shoulders, that he looks like Samson or something, about to bring down the temple on all the fucking Philistines.
Sawyer's throat tightens as he realizes what kind of deal Jack must be talking about. That fuckin' idiot.
"When you were hurt, I helped you," Jack points at Henry with his broken finger, his voice shaking with emotion. "I protected you when everyone wanted to torture the truth out of you. I wouldn't let them. I've kept my word. Now you fucking let my friends go. Do whatever you want with me, but you let them go and you don't touch them."
"I'm afraid that's not how it works," Henry replies smoothly. "You don't call the shots here. You have absolutely no authority. And that is why you are going to remove your pants and get down on your hands and knees and you are going to let James here fuck you in front of everyone."
Jack's mouth falls open. He blinks as he finally registers what Sawyer has been refusing to do. He shoots a glance at Sawyer, who's just hovering uselessly. And then he turns to look at Kate. Sawyer knows he's picturing the marshall's agony, reliving the days and nights he took to die. And there won't be any mercy here, not for any of them.
Jack's head falls forward. He rubs the back of his neck in tight little circles, like maybe it's a magic lantern that will grant him his wish. He paces for a minute or two, while Sawyer watches Henry, watches the crowd. Watches Kate shake her head.
Jack stops. "Okay," he says. He draws up to his full height, shoulders back. Like this won't break him. Like it's no big deal.
He moves toward Sawyer with a confident stride, stopping when he's practically nose to nose with him. Only they can hear what the other has to say. "Sawyer." He doesn't speak for a moment, just looks at Sawyer with a sad half-smile, eyes a little bright; it might be the same smile Sawyer himself wore yesterday when he decided that Jack's life was worth more than his.
Jack blows out a breath. "It's not worth anyone dying over."
But this isn't just Jack's decision. "Yeah? It's not going to stop with this. Who knows what they'll have one of us do to each other next? Saw off each other's arms? Count me out. I'm not the go-to guy for public fucks, okay?"
"You'd really put Kate's life, her life on the line for this? Hell, Sawyer, it's my ass, after all. I'll live. And that's all that matters, just staying alive."
"No. NO. Just fuckin' no. They're going to kill us all anyway."
He's relieved now that he's made his choice. This stupid business of looking out for everyone else is going to get them all killed anyway. It's what that jackass Henry is counting on, that they won't risk it. Well, he's going to prove them all wrong.
He starts to walk away, expecting a gunshot any second. Jack grabs him by the arm and jerks him backward. He spins Sawyer so that they're facing and before can Sawyer can say a word, Jacks pulls him into a crushing kiss.
Sawyer stops breathing but somehow his mouth opens to Jack and the dust of the arena and the murmur of the crowd all die away. There's nothing but Jack's dizzying heat and the insistent pressure of his tongue. His body is pressing into Sawyer's so hard that he almost loses his balance. He takes a step backward and Jack moves with him.
Both of them are breathing hard when Jack draws back. Looking straight into Sawyer's eyes, he cups him through his jeans. Sawyer sucks in a breath, unable to move, unable to look away as Jack's hand plays over him. Jack doesn't stop until he's hard, until he's aching.
No, he mouths, trying to pull away, but Jack covers his protest with another kiss. This one draws blood as Jack sinks his teeth into Sawyer's lip. He's giving Sawyer permission to hurt him. He's demanding it.
Jack's eyes are almost black as he slowly licks Sawyer's blood off his lip. If Sawyer didn't already hate himself right now, he'd hate himself for the way the sight of it makes his cock throb even harder. He has to close his eyes as Jack thumbs the head of his cock through his jeans. "Do or die, Sawyer," he says quietly, voice rumbling deep in his throat.
He remembers Kate's mantra. They're not there. There's no one there.
Jack takes Sawyer's hand and brings it to his fly and they undo the buttons together. His dark gaze is intent; as if they're two high-wire artists who'll fall to their death if either one of them looks away for even a second. Sawyer's breathing matches Jack's, nervous and shallow as he helps Jack shrug his jeans past his hips. He steps out of them and then he starts to inch off his boxers. There's the slightest hesitation and then he yanks them down.
Sawyer follows suit, not looking anywhere but at Jack, into Jack's eyes.
Jack flashes Sawyer a pained smile, the only thing that betrays his nervousness, and then he gets down on all fours.
Henry magically appears at his elbow to personally hand him the damn tube of Dharma lube, and then mercifully steps back a few yards. He has to give them points for the lube, at least.
It's one more fucked-up detail that they're requiring Jack to brace himself on his hands and knees. That hand's got to hurt like hell when he puts any weight on it. But Jack probably won't be thinking of his hand.
He squirts the lube into his palm and applies it to himself first because it's his very last stalling tactic.
Do or die. Jack is poised, bare and exposed, and Sawyer runs his hand once lightly over Jack's backside before he can bring himself to really touch him. He delicately dabs the lubricant over the pucker of Jack's ass, queasy from the tingling sensation he gets when Jack shivers.
Sawyer slides his lubed finger inside and Jack gasps and stiffens, his whole body reacting. He has to do this. He has to. There's an appreciative murmur from the crowd that Sawyer really wishes he couldn't hear. Sawyer takes his hand back and takes a deep breath.
"Okay, Jack," Sawyer says as he readies himself. "Just remember, you fuckin' started this."
Jack lets out a choked laugh, a small convulsion just as Sawyer thrusts into him. He's going as slowly as he can, to spare Jack, but Jack can't suppress a pained grunt. Sawyer's not going to make any noise. He's not going to give them that satisfaction, even though he has to bite his lip. As he moves within Jack, still trying his damnedest to be gentle, his teeth worry the tear Jack made when he kissed him. He's trying to hold everything in, deny that he doesn't feel the intense pleasure of being buried deep inside Jack, but he has to breathe.
Jack wobbles underneath him; his head is down and from this awkward angle, Sawyer thinks he might be trying to hold up some of his weight with his head. Bad idea. Jack's shoulders are drawing up near his ears, every tense line of his back silently screaming Stop.
Sawyer gasps, draws in air. "It's okay," he leans in close to Jack, as close as he can manage. "Breathe, just breathe through it." He rubs his hand over the small of Jack's back.
Jack nods. He gulps in a breath, and then blows it all out. And then another, until his breathing matches Sawyer's again. He unexpectedly shifts his hips backward, maybe to favor his left hand, but the movement takes Sawyer by surprise. He lets out a startled gasp that's half moan. Because now Jack is not just breathing with him, he's moving with him, rocking back into him. Sawyer's mouth falls open. So good is followed immediately by No.
His brain shut off the second Jack kissed him, so he's really not thinking when he reaches for Jack's cock. Jack practically rears up when Sawyer's fingers wrap around him. He's already hard and Sawyer can't decide what that means.
"What are you doing?" he gasps.
"Easy," Sawyer whispers. It felt wrong to do this to Kate, but it's even more wrong to bring Jack only pain. "Quicker you come, quicker I come."
It doesn't last much longer. Jack's arms start to shake and his body clenches around Sawyer like a vise. But it's the sound Jack makes when he comes, a long, low, helpless moan that sends Sawyer over the edge. Jack's elbows give out and Sawyer falls with him, both of them crashing down to earth from what feels like miles above.
There's a roaring in Sawyer's ears that drowns out any noise that isn't inside his own head. He literally can't move; Jack's lying on top of him and he's out of breath and his legs are useless, but he can't just lay there. Thankfully, he slipped out of Jack when they fell over. He awkwardly pats Jack's arm and Jack rolls to the side. He wants to ask if he's okay, but Jack gets to his feet before he does, and quietly goes to retrieve his clothes. Jack dresses and then hands him his jeans without making eye contact.
Sawyer tugs on his pants and smoothes his hair back. It's no big deal. It's not the first time he's fucked someone for the worst possible reasons.
There's a sick, satisfied smile on Henry's face and that's the only thing that registers before Sawyer kneels and violently throws up.
He's dimly aware of Jack, still in full outraged hero cry, demanding to see Kate, who've they've apparently removed from the building.
There's more shouting and then a short, sharp cry of pain but they're pulling the mask back over his face before he can even wipe his mouth.
He turns his face to the wall of their wretched hut and for once, he's sorry for Jack's company. Solitude would seem like a fucking vacation right about now. Because throwing them back in the same prison after what just went down is worse than cruel.
But it's all part of their psychotic game to break them, to turn him and Jack against each other. Or maybe the end game was just to break Jack, to use Sawyer and Kate against him. He's the top dog, so they had to humiliate him, bring him so far down he'll never get up again. Except Jack isn't down. Not yet.
Jack's still running on rage against Them, still worrying about Kate. He's pacing back and forth and talking a mile a minute, which is not a trait Sawyer's ever seen him display before.
"Jesus Christ. Will you shut up for five fucking seconds?" he finally snaps and Jack, looking like he's been slapped, sits down and falls silent.
The silence isn't any better. Jack's going to turn in on himself again, going to brood until he's practically inside-out and that is not something Sawyer wants to see.
Because maybe they have broken Jack. Maybe focusing on Kate was the last thread keeping him from coming apart and now Sawyer's gone and snipped it.
Jack drops his head onto his knees and idly fingers the cuffs of his jeans. He looks about eight years old, like he needs someone to come rock him and Jack is fucking nuts if he thinks Sawyer is going to do that. It's not like it doesn't occur to him. But Jack is not Kate. A fucking line has been crossed and hugs are not going to do a goddamn thing but make it worse.
When he thinks about Kate, all he can think is that neither one of them can ever look her in the eye again. Somehow, with Kate, it was awful, it was humiliating, it was just as wrong, but it was something that might have happened between them anyway. He'd wanted to fuck her, just not like that.
He'd never wanted to fuck Jack. Not literally fuck him. He starts feeling queasy again. There is just no way this can ever be made right. Jack must hate him. He digs his thumbs into his eye sockets, under the ridge of his brow bone, as if pressing hard enough will erase those images -- those thoughts, every fuckin' noise Jack made and how insanely good he felt -- from his brain.
"Sawyer?" Jack sounds alarmed. "Stop that."
"Fuck you." The word falls harshly from his tongue. For a word he's thrown around several times a day since he was about 10, it sounds, for once, truly obscene. Jack is at his side, trying to pull his hands away from his face but Sawyer bats him away. "You can drop the concerned doctor act anytime, Bub. Gettin' old."
"It's not an act." Jack hovers between shocked and angry. He takes hold of Sawyer's wrists and gently lowers his hands. Jack sitting there, staring at him with weighted concern and holding his hands, is exactly the wrong thing to be happening right now.
"I said, Fuck. Off." Sawyer kicks out at Jack and when Jack swings back, fist splitting his lip wide open, Sawyer feels an intense joy he hasn't felt since the last time he destroyed something highly valuable in a fit of rage.
They're flailing at each other with their fists, too closely locked to do more than pummel each other's chests. Jack cries out and pulls back; he holds his injured hand to his chest like a wounded bird and Sawyer seizes his chance. He launches himself at Jack, bringing him to the ground hard and continuing to rain blows to his abdomen.
He doesn't know how Jack manages it, but suddenly Sawyer is on his back and Jack is the one straddling him, breathless from exertion. "Enough," he pants. "Enough, all right?"
"No!" Sawyer hates that his voice is a whine. He tries to shift Jack off of him, but he can't budge him. "Hit me," he orders Jack. "Just fuckin' hit me, you pansy. Fuckin' pussy. HIT ME."
"No." Jack rubs his hand over his face. He slumps, proud hero posture having been left somewhere back on that arena floor. "NO."
"I know you hate me. What the fuck are you waiting for?" He can talk anyone into anything but for some fucking reason, he cannot make Jack understand that the only way to fix this, the only way to even come close, is with blood and pain and fucking fighting it out like men.
"I don't hate you." To Sawyer's dismay, the fight goes out of Jack. He moves off of Sawyer, lying down in the dirt next to him. He covers his face with his hands and Sawyer hopes to God he's not going to start crying.
"You have to hate me now." Sawyer is genuinely confused.
"It's not your fault," Jack sighs from underneath his hands.
"Don't you get it?" Sawyer pulls Jack's hands away. "I'm the bad guy. I'm the guy you hate. I'm the bad guy. I'm the bad guy." He says the words over and over while Jack just stares at him with those wounded brown eyes. He hits Jack's chest for emphasis, trying to get a reaction, any reaction. Finally, Jack seizes his wrists, fingers digging in until he can feel the nails biting into his skin.
"STOP IT. You are not a bad guy, you fucking hear me?"
Jack has a firm hold on him, but he has one move left, and he makes it. He's already straddling Jack and now he starts a slow grind. "This what you want? You liked me fucking you? You fuckin' liked it, you sick freak?"
"Sawyer." Jack looks about as sick as he feels. "Don't."
"Or maybe you wanna fuck me? That the only way you can feel like a man again?" Jack sits up, desperately trying to push Sawyer off of him, and Sawyer manages to get his hands free. He starts undoing the fly of his own jeans. He's yelling now. "Here, you know you fuckin' want to."
Jack's hands cover his, stopping him from going any farther. He wraps his arms around Sawyer, pinning him against the wall. Sawyer continues to fight him, but it's like fighting to get free from a grizzly. He's almost crying from frustration. "Jack, you have to ... you have to...."
Jack rests his forehead against Sawyer's and that simple gesture finally forces him to be still. "Why? Why do I?"
"Because I deserve it," he says it so quietly he's not sure Jack can hear him. "I'm bad. I've done bad things. Jack, you don't know..."
"Shhh, no you're not." He can feel Jack's eyelashes as they brush his cheek. "You didn't want to hurt me. You just didn't have a choice."
"No, I've always been bad."
"Sawyer," Jack's whole body sighs against him. "There's nothing you could have done that's so bad..."
"I killed a man."
Jack stiffens, but he doesn't say anything.
"Thought he was someone else. Doesn't make it right. Can't make anything right."
Here he was so worried about Jack turning on the waterworks and now he's the one who's choking back tears. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand but they're filthy and it just makes everything worse.
Jack sits back and stares, like Sawyer's some bizarre medical condition he's got to diagnose.
"Not a pretty picture, is it, Doc? But you know, I'm real fuckin' tired of being stared at today. If it's all the same to you..."
He doesn't finish the sentence because Jack is leaning in to kiss him. He cradles Sawyer's head in his hands and softly presses his lips against his. It starts as a simple brushing of lips but then Sawyer opens his mouth to him, taking him in with noisy gulps, like water. He digs his fingers into the flesh of Jack's upper arms, holding on like a drowning man.
Jack breaks the kiss, drawing back to look at Sawyer. He's breathing fast, eyes dark and soft. "Is this okay?"
"Yes." Sawyer pulls him into another kiss. It's like diving into a dark pool where you can't see the bottom. Jack's hands are twined in his hair and he keeps going under and under, until he thinks he'll never come up and he doesn't care.
He has to surface for air, finally, shooting to the surface like a cork. He feels dizzy. He couldn't say which way is up, but when Jack starts to unbutton his shirt, he breathes the word again. "Yes," he manages to say. He wants to tell Jack he doesn't need permission but Jack keeps asking.
"Is this okay?"
Jack's hand traces the bulge in his crotch and Sawyer sighs his answer. "Yes."
Jack clutches him tight to his chest as he draws Sawyer's cock out of his jeans. He slicks his palm with spit and Sawyer melts against him. "Wanted to tell you ... couldn't tell you ... you felt so good..." Sawyer whispers.
He doesn't fight the pleasure of it this time, just arches his hips up as Jack's hand teases him closer to the edge. His hand tightens convulsively on the hem of Jack's shirt. He pulls at it until Jack bends down to kiss him again. He takes Jack's lower lip in his teeth, gently worrying it between gasps.
He's fumbling with the fly of Jack's jeans, needing to touch Jack. He needs to wipe away the pain and replace it with the same helpless pleasure Jack is giving him. "Here, Jack, with me," he says, wrapping his hand around them both. He thrusts up and Jack gasps, mouth hanging open over his. Jack thrusts with him, his hand warm and rough over Sawyer's and he finally stops asking if this is okay.
He watches himself in Jack's eyes, sees how each little movement, each shudder of pleasure, is reflected there. It's okay, it's okay. This is so good, and it's okay.
Jack's breath catches in his throat and Sawyer tightens his grip. His thumb circles the head of Jack's cock and then Jack's whole body tenses. He comes with a cry, soaking Sawyer's thighs and hands with slick heat, eyes squeezed shut, as his body shudders through his climax. Sawyer pumps himself once more and then he's coming, his whole body seizing. The rush is so intense he has to struggle to breathe through it or do without air.
Jack collapses onto Sawyer's chest, his heart thudding so hard Sawyer can feel it. His arm is somehow around Jack's shoulder, his fingertips brushing over the damp hair at the nape of Jack's neck.
Jack's nose is pressed under Sawyer's chin, his words muffled as he speaks. "I don't hate you, Sawyer. Not now. Never."
Sawyer's hand keeps moving of its own accord, tracing circles at the base of Jack's skull. He doesn't answer. There's nothing he can say.
This didn't happen with Kate, afterward. In all honesty, didn't even cross his mind. But this, with Jack, needed to happen, had been building this whole time. Not just since they were captured, but before that, right from the beginning. He just hadn't seen it until it was forced on him. Sawyer doesn't want to put a name to this fierce feeling he has for Jack, how he was willing to lay down his life for him, but he can't deny it. It's so strong, it scares him.
Jack lets out a sigh and settles closer, his head tucked under Sawyer's chin, his right hand splayed possessively over Sawyer's hip. Something deep in Sawyer untwists when he realizes Jack's fallen asleep in his arms.
They did everything they could to make Jack hate him and they failed. Because Jack is stronger than they can imagine. He's a better man than they've ever met. Sawyer is the one who's weak.
None of them are safe, as long as they're at the mercy of these bastards. But whatever it is that's between him and Jack now is more dangerous than hate. It makes them both more vulnerable, tools to use against each other.
He aches to leave Jack be, let him find what comfort he can in sleep.
But They can't find the two of them like this.
At the risk of waking Jack, he carefully hitches up both their jeans. Fumbling in the semi-darkness, he refastens every button. He hates to do it, and Jack is so heavy in sleep, but he slowly edges Jack off of him and onto the dirt floor. Jack makes a small complaining noise, but doesn't wake.
Sawyer plants himself between Jack and the door, curling up as close to him as he dares. He rests his head on his own arm and stretches out his hand until his fingers just brush Jack's.
In sleep, Jack looks so defenseless. Sawyer won't let himself give in again. He has to be strong, because Jack is going to need him to be.