Note: Written for the "write something you've never written" and "kissing" prompts at lostsquee. And OMG, I have no idea if this dynamic really works, but I'm dedicating this to demonqueen666 because about two years ago I promised her I'd write S/Sd for her birthday and I never did. And to zelda_zee for organizing Lost Riffs and helping me get a lot of my Lost enthusiasm back. YAY! I hope I didn't abuse your boys too badly! Enormous thanks to themoononastick for betaing.
Sawyer’s light blonde hair fans out around his head in a golden halo like some gorgeous, debauched, blue-eyed saint.
The halo shakes, shimmering with each slow drag of Sayid’s body in and out. It’s the only proof Sayid has that his movements are affecting Sawyer. Every time Sayid’s been inside him, Sawyer lies nearly motionless beneath him, his body absorbing each thrust like a blow, one he can’t let himself feel.
Those clear blue eyes are not focused on Sayid, but off to the side on some imaginary point. And when Sayid starts to wonder what Sawyer is imagining instead of him, he knows he is lost. What started out as simply fucking Sawyer is not enough now. Fucking Sawyer is not having him.
There’s irony in the fact that Sawyer won’t look at him during sex. It leaves Sayid free to stare unashamedly, memorizing the curves of a mouth he’s never kissed. He can savor the slow build of arousal and the flush that spreads across Sawyer’s fair skin like his own private pornographic film he can replay later.
Sawyer will let Sayid fuck him, but he won’t let Sayid touch his cock and he doesn’t reach for it himself until nearly the last moment. He waits, fisting Sayid’s blanket, as if touching himself, bringing himself to arousal, is cheating. He has to get hard from Sayid fucking him and only then does he take his cock in his left hand with the firm, familiar grip he must use when he’s alone. Only then do his eyes close and only then does he make any sound, a helpless moan of surrender.
Tonight, Sawyer is hard but he hasn’t yet given in. His hands still clenched in the blankets, his expression is somewhere between transfigurement and agony, staring, as always, past Sayid as if he’s seeing and experiencing something Sayid wouldn’t begin to understand.
Sawyer’s jaw clenches and that tiny tell forces Sayid to still. He thought he was the one suffering, that Sawyer’s stoicism is masking emotion. Not pain.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks gently, holding his breath for the answer.
Sawyer looks at him in surprise, his blank stare giving way to a frown. “Which answer is gonna make you keep goin’?”
He’s going soft already, concern overriding arousal and when he slips out, Sawyer snorts in disgust and rolls away from him. He reaches for his pants, but Sayid grabs his wrist.
He can’t help himself. He reaches out, letting his fingers brush Sawyer’s cheek. “You think I would enjoy hurting you?”
Sawyer turns his face away, eyes focusing again on the distant point. "Don’t make any diff’rence to me."
And Sayid realizes just what this has all been about. Not pleasure. Not release. All Sawyer wants from him is punishment. This has been about penance. His image of Sawyer as a saint is even more apt than he realized.
“Then I am surprised you never asked me to hurt you.” Sayid’s eyes narrows. He’s angry now. It’s easier to be angry than to show Sawyer that he thinks this means something. “Isn’t that why you chose me for these midnight visits? Because I am a torturer?” Sayid spits out the word.
Sawyer shakes his head with a low laugh. “Thought you didn’t care why I was here, Abdul, just as long as I brought my ass with me.”
Sayid wants nothing more than to slap Sawyer, but that seems to be exactly the kind of thing Sawyer wants from him and he’ll be damned if he’s going to be used like that again. “I am not so ... indiscriminate.”
Sawyer isn’t listening to him anymore. He’s pulling on his jeans and searching for his shirt. The line of his back is so tense that if Sayid touches him, the way he wants to, he’s certain that Sawyer will respond with his fists.
“Just tell me, please. Did I hurt you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sawyer snorts. “If I wanted you to get out the bamboo again, trust me, I would’ve asked.”
“So it doesn’t hurt?” Sayid is surprised to hear his own voice break.
“Why? You wanna try it?” Sawyer throws the answer out sarcastically, not even looking at Sayid. He’s still looking for his shirt.
Someone else seems to say the word.
Sawyer stops and turns to look at Sayid, really look at him. His eyes take in not just Sayid’s face, but all of him, naked, sprawled on his side, his skin starting to warm simply from Sawyer’s gaze.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” A flicker of something that’s nearly a smile flashes across his face. “You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” Sayid says again. There’s that a spike of fear in his chest but he means it. The alternative is that Sawyer walks out of his tent and this thing between them will be over before it really began. But now, Sawyer is staring at him, a glint in his eye Sayid’s only seen there when someone doesn’t let Sawyer have his way. And he’s just now learning that Sawyer likes a challenge.
Sawyer crawls on all fours toward Sayid, eyes dark and intent on his target, and Sayid suppresses a shiver of anticipation. If he’d known that this was the way to capture Sawyer’s attention, he would have suggested it long ago.
Sawyer reaches for the lubricant. He hasn’t even touched him yet, but already Sayid’s breath is coming faster. And he’s aching. His cock literally jumps when Sawyer touches him and they both let out a breath at the same time.
Sawyer slowly, luxuriously runs his hand over Sayid’s cock, spreading the lubricant up and down his length, his gaze intent as he watches Sayid’s cock swell to hardness.
This is an entirely different creature than his distant saint. Sawyer is here for the first time and the thrill of knowing that takes away some of the anxiety about what he’s about to let Sawyer to do him.
Sawyer pushes gently against Sayid’s chest and Sayid dutifully lies back. He can see Sawyer is delighting in being the one in charge. But of course, he always was. It was Sawyer who first came to Sayid’s tent. He’d woken up to see Sawyer, naked and kneeling at his bedside, wordlessly offering himself to him. He hadn’t spoken then, afraid to chase Sawyer away, and he feels the same sense of caution now. Words are dangerous. And so they both say nothing as Sawyer runs a finger down Sayid’s thighs.
Sayid can see his own chest start to rise and fall more rapidly. Sawyer is either being tender or the biggest tease he’s ever met. He can’t help biting his lip when Sawyer’s finger slides up the line where his thigh joins his body, keeps moving until he’s tracing circles around his opening. Sawyer is still watching him, waiting for him to betray himself somehow in word or movement and Sayid vows -- like Sawyer, he realizes to his shock -- to keep still, to say nothing. But he can’t stop staring at Sawyer, can’t break this strange new connection between them. It would be easier if he could look away, if this were something he were merely going to endure. But this is something he wants to experience.
“Relax,” Sawyer says softly as his finger pushes inside. It’s an odd sensation, not exactly unpleasant to have something inside of him, but Sayid’s first instinct is to tell Sawyer to stop. Instead, he grips the blanket and nods for him to continue. “No,” Sawyer scolds him. “Hands flat.”
It’s simply not fair that Sawyer is denying Sayid this reaction, one he himself has, but he finds himself obeying. He stretches out his hands and then he feels the need to stretch his entire body, like a cat that's just woken. First he stretches his legs, and then he lets his arms fall behind his head and he can’t help but arch his pelvis up and just like that, he’s delivered himself to Sawyer.
Sawyer eases in another slick finger, watching Sayid keenly for his reaction. Sayid orders his body to relax as the first wave of arousal hits him. He’s letting go, letting this happen. His arms are still stretched overhead and he’s never felt more exposed in his life. His heart quickens as Sawyer slips his jeans off and rubs the lube over his stiffening cock. He’s never really thought about the size of it until now -- Sawyer seems to be growing by the second --- and he forces himself to breathe slowly.
Sawyer kneels before him, his engorged cock in his left hand. He presses the head against Sayid’s ass, pushing inside before Sayid can prepare himself. Except nothing can prepare him for this. Sawyer’s flesh is hot, insistent, spreading him open. It feels wrong. There’s nothing but pain and burning and he realizes his entire body is clenched, protesting this intrusion, except for his cock, which goes distressingly limp.
“Shhh,” Sawyer says, laying a warm palm on his abdomen soothingly. “Just wait.”
Sawyer isn’t even all the way inside, he knows, and he cries out when Sawyer starts to move. This isn’t what I wanted, he thinks, desperately. Sawyer pushes deeper and Sayid grips one wrist hard with the other, fingernails digging into the soft flesh. He understands now that this is penance and he’s going to take it, just as Sawyer does. It doesn’t occur to him to stroke his own cock into hardness, even though that is certainly what it will take for him to become erect. How Sawyer can be aroused just by this, he can’t fathom.
Sawyer’s eyes are closed now as he starts to move faster, finding his rhythm. He’s emitting soft, ecstatic grunts and Sayid wills himself to find his own pleasure in Sawyer’s.
But he’s wholly unprepared for the friction, the slide of each thrust warming his skin, heating him from the inside out, a growing circle of arousal that spreads across his loins, suddenly, inexplicably, transforming from pain to pleasure.
Of its own, his hand moves to his cock and the jolt he delivers with the touch of his own hand wrings a groan from him. Now he’s moving with Sawyer, urging him on, breathless. He grips Sawyer’s ass, goading him to go faster, drive into him harder.
Sawyer angles Sayid’s leg behind him, until he’s as deep as he can go. He can’t see Sawyer’s eyes behind that fringe of hair but by his ragged breath, he knows he’s close to coming and Sayid knows just how to bring him over the edge.
He wants to watch himself come, keep watching Sawyer’s cock slide in and out of him, but as he gives himself that last, hard pump, his eyes snap shut as his head jerks back. It feels like an electric current is running through him. White light explodes in his head and shoots out from every pore. He’s drenched with heat and sensation and he thinks he might just have turned inside out.
Words, a forbidden endearment, spill from Sayid’s lips but he’s safe; the words are Arabic. For all Sawyer knows, he’s swearing, blaspheming as Sawyer does when he comes.
Sawyer might not have heard him anyway. He’s lying, spent, on top of him, fair hair darkened with sweat and plastered to his face, lips curved in a satisfied smile. It’s with wonder that he realizes Sawyer came too and that he’s still inside him.
He feels wetness trickling out of himself and fears for a second that he’s bleeding. He frantically goes to check and half sits up, dislodging Sawyer, who protests at being disturbed. Sawyer’s softening cock slides out and he can see for himself, there’s no blood.
“I thought I was bleeding,” Sayid says apologetically. He regrets panicking. It felt very nice to lie there with Sawyer on top of him. Inside him.
“Well, I did pop your cherry,” Sawyer says with a that familiar smirk. “But it’s usually only the girls who bleed. Damn mother nature, huh?”
”Uh, indeed...” If it’s a joke, Sayid doesn’t feel like laughing. This is the part where Sawyer grabs his clothes and leaves without a goodbye and the illusion of this being anything more than a meaningless fuck disappears until the next time.
But Sawyer is still sitting there, regarding him with some interest. And then he leans in and brushes his lips over Sayid’s. He takes Sayid’s lower lip between his teeth and pulls gently. Their kiss is ridiculously chaste, after what they’ve just done, merely lips and closed mouths, but Sayid lets Sawyer lead here too. He doesn’t open his mouth until Sawyer’s runs his thumb over his jaw and then he takes him in, eager sigh and warm, wet tongue.
Sawyer moves his mouth to Sayid’s ear, taking one lobe between his teeth. "So?” he whispers. “Didn’t hurt too much, did it?”
“No,” Sayid admits. “Just at first.” He might be ruining the moment, but he has to ask. “Tell me, Sawyer. Why did you never look at me before this?”
Sawyer sits back, regarding him with those clear blue eyes that, for the first time, aren’t looking at something imaginary. “I’m looking at you now,” Sawyer says softly. But his eyes close when Sayid kisses him.