halfdutch (halfdutch) wrote,

  • Mood:

You Only Live Once (Part 3)

Title: You Only Live Once (3/4)
Summary: In this AU, Father Jack is led into temptation by convicts Kate and Sawyer
Rating: NC-17 for smutty, smutty priest wrongness
Warning: Non-con sex

(Part 1)(Part 2)
A shooting pain in Jack’s neck woke him up. He opened his eyes and took in the darkened motel room and the empty bed with the rumpled sheets. He didn’t see Kate and Sawyer. Had they just left him here? Relief washed over him. His ordeal was over.

And then he heard the water running in the bathroom and his heart sank. They were just taking a shower.

From the moans mixed in with the sound of running water, he guessed they might be a while. He didn’t want to waste this chance. But what were his options, even if they were in there an hour?

He listened intently for any signs of life from the neighboring room, but all he heard was the water from the shower and the thankfully muted sounds of lovemaking.

It was early, still, probably 7 a.m., he judged by the light coming through the blinds. He wouldn’t have figured his captors for early risers, but maybe they were used to getting up early in the penitentiary. If anyone was next door, they were probably still asleep.

He prayed for wisdom on what to do. If he did call out for help, Kate and Sawyer were more likely to hear him than anyone else. And what if someone did come? They might kill anyone who came to Jack’s aid. They were certainly capable of it, and the realization stopped him cold. He couldn’t put anyone else in harm’s way.

And for the first time since they had used him as a hostage to get out prison, he seriously considered the likelihood that they were going to kill him. They were on the run. They couldn’t keep him with them much longer. Especially, as Kate had said, they were looking for all of them to be together. He wondered if they were on the news right now.

He’d already tried to get out of the handcuffs, knowing it was useless, and only succeeded in causing even more pain to his wrists. He focused his energy on testing the chair, to see if he could work the back off and free his hands. His hands were numb, but as he began to maneuver, they came back to life with excruciating prickles. He bit his lip and kept at it. But he didn’t have any more success with the chair than he’d had with the cuffs.

It didn’t matter anyway. Kate and Sawyer were coming out of the bathroom. Jack dropped his head, feigning sleep. From under his eyelashes, he saw that she wore only a towel, and was using another towel to dry her hair. Sawyer strode naked to the bed, walking right past Jack. He didn’t give him a glance as he retrieved his stolen jeans from the floor and put them on. He rummaged around the battered suitcase, swearing. He finally found a T-shirt he seemed to like that read “San Diego Zoo.” He finished dressing, kissed Kate goodbye, and then walked out.

Kate turned on the tabletop radio, fiddling with the dial until she found an all-news station. They were doing the weather now, then a station break. She glanced over at Jack and caught him looking at her.

“So you’re awake,” she said. She tuned the radio to a music station, and walked over to him, regarding him as if he were a dog or child she was sitting, one that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

“Where did Sawyer go?” he asked, realizing he was afraid to be alone with her. Sawyer was definitely the more compassionate of the two.

“We need a new car,” she said. “We should have gotten one last night, but...” she shrugged, not bothering to finish her thought.

She had found a makeup bag in the suitcase and examined the contents. She leaned in close to the mirror to apply mascara, then stood back to admire the results. She opened a tube of lipstick next and regarded it dubiously. “Not really my color,” she said, but she carefully ran it over her pursed lips until they were a shocking scarlet.

As he watched her preen in front of the mirror, Jack prayed. “Lord, what would you have me do?” Escape wasn’t an option. Why had God put him here? Could he help her somehow? He had to start talking to her, to start something approaching a real conversation before he introduced anything resembling a religious overture.

“You and Sawyer seem very devoted to each other,” he began, immediately wishing he’d said something else.

She stopped and looked at him with a half-smile. “He’s a great fuck, if that’s what you mean,” she said, purposefully trying to shock him.

He reddened, but his gaze was steady, his voice calm. “I mean the way you help each other. Your loyalty is admirable.”

“I’ve got no loyalty to Sawyer,” she said with a harsh laugh. “We’re not Bonnie and fucking Clyde. It’s just convenient to be together right now, that’s all. Life’s too short for just one man.” The expression on her face changed as she seemed to be sizing Jack up.

“Are you hungry?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes I’m starving,” he admitted. He hadn’t eaten since early last evening, more than 12 hours ago.

She brought him a cookie and held it while he ate, watching him intently. She made him nervous. Crumbs from the cookie had fallen in his lap and she brushed them off with her hand. But then her hand stayed there.

“You’ve got to be the handsomest priest I’ve ever seen,” she said, wiping away a cookie crumb from his lips with her thumb. He dropped his gaze as she brushed her fingertips over the stubble on his cheek. “You know I was raised Catholic?”

He looked up at her again, startled. “Oh yes,” she nodded, looking amused. “My full name’s Kathleen Mary Ryan. Can’t get much more Catholic than that without a “Mac” or an “O’Something” in there. But none of my priests ever looked like you. Or I might have stuck with it a little longer.”

“I’m sorry you lost your faith,” Jack said. “It’s not too late...”

“Why did you ever become a priest?” she interrupted him, completely ignoring his words. “Such a terrible waste,” she sighed, her hand still hovering so near his crotch that he could feel himself becoming hard, despite his best efforts to ignore her.

“Did someone break your heart?” Her hand .... Dear God, her hand. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Fa.. Father Shepard,” he said, gritting his teeth as he tried to block out her distracting presence.

“I meant your first name.”

He paused, considering whether it was a good thing to encourage any kind of intimacy between them. He decided it was all he had to go with. “Jack,” he volunteered finally.

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” she said, unzipping his pants.

“What are you doing?” he gasped. “Kate!” He tried using her name, as if that would make her more likely to heed him. “Please don’t do this. Please. I’m a priest.” He asked her as nicely as he could while still holding onto his last shred of dignity.

That shred disappeared when she closed her hand around his cock. It leaped to life at her touch and his head swam as she began to stroke him.

“Kate. Kathleen, please, please don’t do this,” he said again, desperation creeping into his voice. He looked into her eyes and saw only amusement and need there. As she moved, the towel came unwrapped and fell away, revealing her body underneath.

He had imagined this and now that it was happening he felt as if he were being punished for his wicked thoughts. “Please don’t do this,” he begged her again. "You have Sawyer."

"I don't have anyone," she said, and there was sadness in her eyes. When he opened his mouth again, she whispered “Shhh,” leaning in to kiss him as she settled into his lap. She pressed her lips softly up against his. He held his lips in a thin, tight line as he refused to give into her, but it wasn’t her mouth that was the problem.

No one had touched him in so long ... he was afraid he was going to come any second and suddenly premature ejaculation seemed like the worst way for this scenario to end.

He steeled himself to hold out for a respectable amount of time, but her hand felt too good for him to last. He groaned and his mouth fell open and she hungrily seized her chance. She flicked her tongue inside his mouth as she held his cock firmly by the base. He moaned again, feeling completely helpless as she eased herself onto him.

The sensation was overwhelming, like a sudden dive into a pool of water, one that was unbelievably warm and was pressing against him in the most sinful way.

“Jack,” she whispered his name as she began to move now that he was inside her. He gasped again as her muscles contracted around him. Sawyer’s words, “God, baby, you’re amazing!” echoed though his head. She smiled wickedly, confident of the effect she was having on him.

“Mmm, you feel so good,” she purred as her hips moved, driving him nearly out of his mind.

She squeezed hard again, just in case he forgot who was in charge, and pleasure shot through him. He couldn’t feel his numb hands anymore, just his cock trapped inside her. The next time she squeezed like that, it would be all over. His masculine pride -- something he thought he’d bidden farewell to long ago -- wasn’t going to let that happen so easily.

“Just think of jogging,” he told himself. He could push himself past his endurance point when he was running, go longer and farther than his body wanted to, and this wasn’t any different. He wasn’t going to let her win, he decided grimly.

She grinned to see him responding to her and he despaired at her smile. She was winning, no matter what he did. He could only lose.

She slowed down the motions of her hips and took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately. He turned his head away abruptly and she jerked it back to face her.

“Kate, please,” he said again, but this time he could only pant the words.

“I am pleasing you, aren’t I?” she said with a wicked laugh. “Tell me how much, Jack,” she whispered in his ear, her breath warm against his cheek. “Tell me how fucking good I feel. Better than any fucking God!” On that last word, she squeezed down so hard, he had no choice but to come.

“Oh my God,” he blurted out as he came, feeling the orgasm swallow him whole and plunge him into blackness. His heart was pounding furiously, like he’d been running hard. Like he’d been running for his life.

As the intense adrenaline rush of his climax faded, he had never felt more empty. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

Usually when he would masturbate, he would do it in the shower, cleansing his body and purifying it at the same time. It would leave him feeling lighter, mercifully freed of desire. But now he felt coated in sex and sweat and sin.

She had dragged him down with her and he gone all too willingly. He could feel the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to hold them back, but fighting for his pride seemed useless now.

She hadn’t moved from his lap. Her arms were draped over his shoulders, her breasts dangerously close to his face. They both reeked of sex. She put her hand under his chin and raised it so that his eyes met hers.

“Now try to tell me you didn’t like that?” she said and he was shocked to realize she sounded as if she cared. As if she actually felt something for him.

Rage burned in his throat. He wanted to curse her, yell at her, and condemn her a thousand different ways. Instead, he bit his tongue.

“Lord, is this what you wanted to happen today?” he prayed, the tears finally falling of their own accord. “What must I do now?”

“You can help me come, now,” she said, oddly as if answer to his prayer. She placed her right hand on her pussy, which was still slick with his cum, he noticed with an absurd sense of the surreal.

“Just pretend this is your hand,” she said as she began moving it in circular strokes. “Fuck, that feels so good, Jack,” she said, tilting her head back. With her other hand, she began to play with her left breast. “God, Jack, just like that,” she moaned as he looked on, aghast. He realized this must have been the form of sex she and Sawyer had in prison, when they could watch each other, but not touch.

“You’re disgusting,” he said, without knowing he had spoken the words out loud. Her head snapped back and her eyes focused on him through narrow slits. They were hard and full of hate. She slapped him hard across the face. Then she grabbed the nearest thing she could find and struck him as hard as she could in the temple.

The pain was incredible. He heard something crack and was sure it was his skull. When he could see straight, he saw a glass ashtray laying in pieces on the floor. His head was sticky and he knew he was bleeding. And then he didn’t know anything else until a hand lifted his head up again.

“Jesus, Kate, what did you do to the priest?” Jack blinked to see Sawyer staring down at him with concern. He dropped his head in shame when he realized his fly was still unzipped and his pants stained with dried cum.

Sawyer wiped his thumb across Jack’s mouth, and examined the smear of red lipstick that had rubbed off on it. “You fucked him?!” he bellowed. “Jesus, you are one twisted bitch.”

Jack was sure that Sawyer was going to kill him now. “The Lord is my Shepherd,” he began to recite, but then he got stuck. His head hurt too much. His stomach threatened to escape through his throat. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he said, to anyone who happened to be listening.

“Fuck!” Sawyer said, running his hands through his hair. He glared at Kate, who shrugged and went back to tuning the radio as she lay idly on the bed. She had dressed in the meantime, Jack noted, his brain seizing on the oddest details like the song on the radio being “I Want You to Want Me.”

Sawyer freed Jack from the chair and helped him over to the bathroom, reminding Jack oddly of his father. Would he get hit now or would the rage just be there, simmering under the surface, waiting for the next time?

Sawyer led Jack to the toilet and pushed the seat up for him. “Just ... be sick if you have to,” he said awkwardly, helping Jack to his knees.

Jack’s head throbbed and spun, but the need to vomit had passed. He could feel himself breaking out into a sickly sweat. He swayed and Sawyer caught him.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, realizing he was even more embarrassed than he’d been when Sawyer had left him alone in the bathroom last night. “She ...”

“How’s that head?” Sawyer asked, not letting him finish. “That looks pretty nasty.”

Jack shook his head slightly. Surely Sawyer was a better judge of what kind of shape he was in.

Sawyer propped Jack up against the wall and was back with a dripping wet wash cloth. He dabbed gently at the cut, frowning. Then he left, and Jack heard angry words between Sawyer and Kate, but he couldn’t make them out. Sawyer was back soon with the first aid kit, and he carefully applied a bandage to Jack’s temple.

“You’re good at this,” Jack observed, still feeling curiously detached, as if he were floating above this scene.

“Had a lot of practice. Used to help my mother,” Sawyer said as he neatly returned the bandages back to the kit.

“Was she a nurse?” Jack asked, picturing a young Sawyer helping out at the hospital.

“No. She was just married to a real mean bastard,” came the terse reply.

“Huh. Sounds like my dad,” Jack said, almost dreamily. He felt packed in cotton. Everything seemed so far away. He didn’t notice the sidelong look of disbelief Sawyer gave him.

“You just sit there and rest,” Sawyer said, and Jack nodded, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he didn’t recognize the man standing over him. Of course it was Sawyer, but he had shaved off his beard and trimmed his hair. He looked almost respectable now. And his hair looked darker, like he’d dyed it. Jack wouldn’t have recognized him.

He saw Jack’s look of surprise and grinned. “I clean up good, huh?” Sawyer said, rubbing his now smooth chin. “Let’s go see what she has to say about it. She’s probably cooled down by now.”

Jack’s stomach clenched at the thought of her, but he didn’t say anything when Sawyer helped him up and led him out of the bathroom.

“Hey, Kate, guess who!” Sawyer called. He looked around the room. The suitcase was gone. The keys he’d left on the dresser were gone. He looked up at the mirror over the dresser and saw she’d written on it with her red lipstick. “Sorry, Lover. Had to go. Took the car. XXOO, Kate.” Underneath her scrawled name was a red lip print.

Sawyer turned ashen, then crimson.

“That fucking bitch!” he yelled. He punched the mirror, shattering it into a dozen or more pieces. He swore again, shaking his cut hand that was now dripping blood.

He ran to the door and looked out, to double-check that she really had taken the car. He closed the door quickly. “Jesus Fucking Christ,” he said, tonelessly. Flashing red lights shone through the motel room blinds. “She called the cops.”

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened