halfdutch (halfdutch) wrote,

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Warm Beer (Sawyer/Desmond) NC-17

Title: Warm Beer
Pairing: Sawyer/Desmond, some residual Sawyer/Kate
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Desmond suggests a trade for some of the Dharma beer
Spoilers: Tricia Tanaka is Dead
Note: Written for the Lost Riffs prompt, "Wash away my troubles, wash away my pain." This all started when I realized that Desmond wouldn't mind nasty warm beer if he's been drinking Dharma white wine, unrefrigerated! Dedicated to all the wonderful folks who participated in the Lost Love Meme, particularly eponine119. *group hug to flist*

Sawyer didn’t swear by a lot of things, but he firmly believed that beer was meant to be drunk. And that sex was best if everyone involved agreed it didn’t mean a damn thing.

Having lucked into an entire case of Dharma beer, he could set about washing a certain brunette out of his mind, at least for the moment.

The umpteeth beer of the day in hand, Sawyer settled in to his old airplane chair and surveyed his beachfront property, that little bit of sand and tarp he’d called home for a few months before being so rudely deprived of it. The ocean view was the same, the surf only slightly more mesmerizing with a six-pack or so of rancid, decades-old suds inside him.

Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed.

Wash away my troubles, wash away my pain. The song from the ancient van radio kept playing in his mind. Such a happy little hippy song, until you really listened to the lyrics. Wash away my sorrow, wash away my shame.

He let out a sigh, popping the top on his first solo beer. Drinking wasn’t going to solve anything but it was here and she wasn’t.

A shadow fell across his lap and he turned without bringing the can to his lips.


He had to put a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, but judging from the backlit wavy-haired silhouette, he was being visited by either the crazy Scotsman or Abdul.

“Just wonderin’ if you’d care to share some of that beer, brotha.” Definitely the Scotsman. The one who’d made so damn free with his whiskey.

“I ain’t the island liquor store,” Sawyer said, squinting into the sun. “Beat it.”

“You weren’t plannin’ on polishin’ that all off by yourself, surely?”

”As a matter of fact, I was.” Sawyer took a mighty swig, to prove the point. Even half-drunk, he couldn’t help gagging on the taste. “’Sides, it’s kinda nasty,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Think it’s definitely reached its sell-by date. And it’s warm.” He tipped the can up and made another face as he swallowed. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“Don’t see why you’re forcin’ yourself then.” Desmond had made his way, unasked, into the tent and sat down at Sawyer’s feet, like he’d come to be read a story. “I don’t mind if it’s warm.”

“’Course, you Limeys drink it room temperature, dontcha?” Sawyer shuddered. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers. Especially since my whiskey got pinched.” He cast a meaningful glance at Desmond, who merely smiled up at him, looking for all the world like Jesus, only a whole lot more sheepish.

“Sorry about that, brotha.”

Sawyer simply snorted and sucked down more of the stalest beer in all creation, ignoring the Scotsman as he kept blathering on.

“Beggars, as you say, can’t be choosers. You ever try Dharma wine? There’s only white. Chardonnay was never intended to be drunk at room temperature.” Desmond kept his eye on the beer in Sawyer’s hand, watching jealously as Sawyer swallowed another mouthful. “I don’t even like Chardonnay. Too sweet for my tastes. Gives me a headache, to tell ya the truth. But I drank it because that’s all there was.”

Sawyer regarded him shrewdly. Desmond looked cleaner than he’d ever seen him, even handsome if your taste ran to a fellow who was likely to start multiplying fishes and loaves on you. And, for perhaps the first time in their acquaintance, Desmond was stone cold sober, which clearly was not a state to which he was accustomed. Sawyer licked his lips, pleased to be denying the man the simple pleasure of one sip. “And now you want some of this nasty warm beer...”

Desmond nodded, fixing Sawyer with a winning, hopeful grin. “Aye. If you’d be so kind...”

“Kind?” Sawyer took one look at that earnest face and laughed. “That ain’t how it works. This here’s a barter system. You want somethin’, you gotta trade for it.”

Desmond’s eyes crinkled up as he smiled in response. “You must be missin’ your lady friend.”

Sawyer quirked an eyebrow at him. “Wouldn’t exactly call her a lady.”

“Your friend, then.”

“Ain’t exactly my friend, either.”

“Well, then, your girlfriend.”

Sawyer snorted. “Yeah, well, she most definitely is not that.”

Desmond shifted closer, his laughing brown eyes hinting at some private joke. “Then perhaps I can offer my services in exchange for a few of those cans.” He stroked his chin, thumb just happening to run over his lower lip in a manner that might be considered suggestive.

Sawyer choked on his beer. “Why don’t you try Short Stuff over there?” He jerked his thumb in Charlie’s direction. “Seems more your speed.”

“No, no I don’t think so. And he’s not got anything I want.”

Sawyer leaned forward, staring Desmond down. “So just what are you offerin’ here, Braveheart?”

“I think you understand me, brotha.” He wasn’t laughing anymore, but his eyes still held that kind of mad twinkle.

Sawyer shifted in his chair. “You want a drink that bad?” He picked up a can and considered it for a second. "Here, what the hell? On the house.”

Desmond took it eagerly, nodding his thanks as he opened it with little effort. “Much obliged.” He drained the beer in nearly one swallow, the liquid trickling down both sides of his mouth, leaving little foamy streaks in his beard. “But I didn’t offer just for this. Did ya not think I might crave something besides a drink?”

He inched closer, those dark brown eyes widening as they focused just on Sawyer. His voice was hushed when he spoke again. “I’ve got someone I’m missin’, same as you. Doesn’t mean I don't get lonely.” He reached out a hand, laying it on Sawyer’s knee. “I’d be lyin’ if I said my thoughts never turned this way.” His palm moved up Sawyer’s thigh, kneading the worn denim of Sawyer’s jeans.

“Shit!” Sawyer jumped, shoving Desmond’s hand away. “It’s fuckin’ broad daylight, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He looked around to see if anyone had seen Desmond’s blatant come-on, but no one was looking their way.

“I had, actually.” Desmond’s beatific smile never faltered. “I could come back, maybe?”

Sawyer just glared at him darkly. “I ain’t that desperate. Brotha.” He got to his feet, brushing off his jeans where Desmond had touched him. “Seems like high time you were leavin’.”

“All right then,” Desmond sighed, standing up as well. “But if you change your mind....” He pointed vaguely up the shoreline, squinting into the late afternoon sunshine “There’s no shame in needin’ some company.”

And with a wink, he turned and headed up the beach, whistling an annoyingly jaunty tune.

Sawyer scowled and opened another beer, settling back into his chair, legs sprawled out as he pretended to enjoy sucking down the putrid stuff. He deliberately did not watch Desmond walk away.

Had to be a first for everything, he sniffed. Still, could be worse. Could’ve been Jabba trying to trade his hefty ass for a candy bar, in which case Sawyer would have just laughed at him and send him on his way. But Desmond’s dark stare, the way he’d rubbed his thumb across his own mouth lingered a bit too vividly in Sawyer’s mind to just laugh the whole thing off.

By the time he’d finished the can, and two more besides, the sun was setting, dramatic orange streaks already beginning to fade as the sky darkened. It was his first night alone since they’d all been captured. He’d had her right next door this whole time. He could just look up and see her, talk to her, even when he hadn’t been able to touch her.

She was probably off by herself, brooding about Jack. Or even worse, trying to go get him back all by her lonesome, the idiot. He’d never met anyone as stubborn as Kate, except maybe Jack.

Well, they deserved each other. He replayed that last conversation with her, just before they’d reached camp. Wiping the slate clean. He knew now what she’d meant: pretending like nothing had ever happened between them. He had no idea what the hell she had wanted from him and turns out it wasn’t him she wanted at all.

Shit. He wasn’t going to sit here and feel sorry for himself. If he wasn’t drunk before, he definitely was now, and it was time he ended this little pity party.

He counted his last few remaining cans of beer. He could spare a six-pack, he decided. He stood up, a little woozy from a full day of drinking the stuff. But he managed to make his way, however unsteadily, in the direction Desmond had indicated earlier.

A few people called out, “Hey,” to him as he passed and he nodded back, even though it had gotten too dark to see who was who. Why everyone was suddenly so friendly to him, he had no idea, but he was sure in a day or two, things would be back to normal.

His foot caught on something solid and he stumbled heavily, sending the cans flying. “Shit!” He’d landed hard on his ass, too drunk to have caught himself on his hands and knees.

“You all right, brotha?”

“Never better,” Sawyer grunted, sitting up gingerly, trying to determine if anything had been permanently damaged.

“Looks like you found me.” Desmond gripped his shoulder in greeting.

“Yeah. If you were a snake...”

“I’d’ve bitten you.” Desmond’s voice sounded unexpectedly close, his breath hot against Sawyer’s cheek. He echoed his words with a playful nip to Sawyer’s neck. Sawyer jumped at the touch, but Desmond had a firm hold of his arm. Not like Sawyer was planning on going anywhere, not with Desmond’s tongue deliciously ticklish and warm on his ear. The man seemed to know just the spot that Sawyer liked, the precise geography where ear met jaw that sent an electric pulse through Sawyer, every hair standing up on his body in anticipation.

He hadn’t really thought about how this was going to go, but the complete lack of preliminaries was just fine by him. Desmond didn’t even bother to collect on his beer payment first, just started slowly working Sawyer’s T-shirt up, hands and mouth exploring the exposed skin as he inched up the cloth. Sawyer had to gasp as Desmond’s mouth centered on his right nipple, teasing it into hardness with his tongue. Desmond seemed happy to just keep sucking on that damn nipple, but Sawyer was more than ready to get on to the main event. He pushed Desmond away and impatiently pulled the T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

“You’re an eager lad,” Desmond chuckled, a ridiculously low, throaty laugh. He found Sawyer again in the dark, hands running down his bare chest until he reached the buckle of Sawyer’s belt.

“No time like the present.” Sawyer’s own voice sounded strangely husky and hoped it was having the same effect on Desmond that those hands were having him. But Desmond seemed to find something amusing in that phrase and a fit of laughter came over him.

Sawyer paused, not sure whether to be offended, but Desmond regained his composure and -- finally -- began fumbling with Sawyer’s belt buckle in earnest. Sawyer propped himself up on his elbows while Desmond eased his jeans down, grateful not to have to bother with any cumbersome underwear. His legs free, Sawyer sank back onto the sand, hand going to his own cock in readiness. He’d been hard since he’d first felt Desmond’s mouth on him, that’s how sad and needy and drunk he was.

Desmond’s knuckles brushed his softly. His dick strained, waiting for the other man’s touch, eager to be swallowed up by his mouth, but Desmond didn’t make a move yet.

“You ever had a man suck your cock before?”

“Jesus, what is this, 20 questions?” Sawyer had a sneaking suspicion he was going to have to get himself off after all but when he moved his hand, Desmond blocked him.

“I spent some time in prison, you know?”

“Yeah, so did I.” Sawyer nearly groaned in frustration as Desmond held him by the wrist, refusing to touch him or let him touch himself. “What the fuck does that matter?”

“I just wanted to know if I’m gonna be the first man to make you come.”

Those words shouldn’t have the effect on him they did but it was more the way Desmond’s voice rumbled low in his throat as he said it, that made the promise of that mouth on his cock made his mouth go dry.

“Yeah, yeah, you're the first,” Sawyer lied. “Jesus Christ, man, just fuckin’ do it already.”

Again came that throaty chuckle and Desmond released his hold on Sawyer’s wrist. Desmond gripped him like he knew exactly what he was doing and Sawyer gave up control, content to just lie back. Desmond’s beard brushed his thigh and then he felt Desmond’s breath as he hovered, warm and so very welcome; it sent shivers through him.

The moment when Desmond’s tongue flicked out to touch him at last, tasting him, was better than he could have imagined. He buried his hands in that mass of brown hair, tugging him closer, trying to force Desmond to hurry, but that damned Scotsman still took his own sweet time, like the two of them had all the time in the world.

He took Sawyer into his mouth, just briefly, just enough to roll his tongue around the head, like he was memorizing it for later, and then he pulled away. “It’s good, yeah?”

“Yes, goddamn you, it’s good,” Sawyer cried, arching up in desperate need to have Desmond’s mouth on him again. “Really, fuckin’ gooooood...”

That low laugh sounded again and Desmond drew him all the way in this time, past his lips, down the slick slide of his tongue, until Sawyer’s cock hit the back of his throat. Sawyer dug his feet into the sand, toes curling as wave after wave of arousal hit him. Desmond’s mouth was just about the sweetest place he had ever been, intensely hot and wet and that tongue of his, sweeping along the underside of his cock in a slow tease that turned into a divine suck and pull as strong as a rip tide. Sawyer groaned, sure he couldn’t hold out for much longer. With his right hand, he dug deep into the sand, not caring if he was tearing his poor fingernails off, and with his left he gripped Desmond’s head like it was a bowling ball he was trying to find the damn holes in.

Another low laugh rumbled in Desmond’s throat and the vibration of it was all it took to send Sawyer over the edge. “Oh Christ,” Sawyer managed to cry out and then he couldn’t stop. It hit him like a rogue wave, pulling him under, gasping and struggling for breath, body jerking helplessly, too deep in the throes of it to fight it.

Desmond rode it out with him, taking all of him in, swallowing each drop with a greedy moan, not letting up until Sawyer lay back, spent and gasping. He was dimly aware of Desmond’s body going completely stiff on top of him, and then a deep groan and the hot splash of come spattering his thighs. Desmond collapsed onto his chest, panting weakly and Sawyer patted his head, idly smoothing the damp strands of hair off Desmond’s face.

“So you want that beer now?” Sawyer finally said and was met with another of those warm, rich laughs.

”Thought I might save it for later.”

“Well, it ain't like it’s gonna go any more bad.”

“Aye. I figure it’ll keep a wee bit longer.”

“That mean you don’t want it?”

Desmond sat up, stretching and yawning until he had Sawyer yawning too. “’Course I want it. I wouldn’t ever say no.”

“I’ll just hold onto it for ya, then. Keep it safe and sound in my tent.” Sawyer yawned again. Sleep was surely just a few moments away and he only had the energy to feel around for his T-shirt and make a pillow out of it. ‘You can come get it whenever you like.”

“Suits me fine,” Desmond said, curling up next to Sawyer on the sand, head falling comfortably onto Sawyer’s stomach. “How’s tomorrow night for you?”

“I’ll check my calendar.”

He was going to have a helluva hangover in the morning but it would take a lot more than bad beer to make Sawyer change his stance on drinking. Beer was beer and sex was sex and in an uncertain world, a wise man always took whatever he could get. It sure as hell beat going without.
Tags: lost_fic, lost_fic_s3, sawyer/desmond

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