Summary: A bondage session goes wrong
Note:: For Queen gemjam, who asked for kink, preferably with Jack, Sawyer & Sayid. I took the liberty of setting this in the same 'verse as your wonderful OT3 fic "Homely." This takes a turn you might not like, and if not, I promise to write you something more to your liking! :) Huge thanks to zelda_zee for taking the time to beta! Using for the fanfic100 prompt "Colorless."
Sawyer’s arms are stretched on either side of him, leather cuffs securing each wrist to the wall. He pulls against his restraints, arms twisting slightly, just enough to flex the muscles, as if deliberately displaying them for Jack’s camera.
But he probably doesn’t even remember Jack is there, not with Sayid ghosting his fingers over the flesh of Sawyer’s back, raising goose bumps that Jack is trying to capture with each click. He’s fascinated by the contrast between their two skin tones: Sawyer, so fair and Sayid, so dark. He thinks he’s going to print these photos in black and white, already picturing how beautiful the two of them will look in the rich detail of a silver gelatin print. Sayid stands behind Sawyer; the taut curve of Sawyer’s ass is offset and duplicated in Sayid’s, slightly below.
Sawyer’s head hangs low to one side, almost resting on his left arm. His sweep of blonde hair falls forward, nearly obscuring the black eye mask. His mouth is parted, panting lightly, Jack thinks, but he can’t hear his breath over the Massive Attack on the sound system. Sayid picked the music, it’s his studio after all, and Jack likes it, only he prefers being able to hear Sawyer, hear every little gasp and moan.
But today is all about sight, not touch, not sound, for him. He’s just observing, letting the lens roam over both Sawyer’s and Sayid’s bodies. The music covers the clicking of the camera shutter, which was probably Sayid’s idea in having it so loud. It covers any self-consciousness he or Sawyer might have in posing, in performing for Jack.
Jack’s the only one who’s clothed and as he watches Sayid’s hand trail over Sawyer‘s cock, teasing him into arousal, he’s both aroused himself and, he has to admit, a little jealous. It’s not every day he watches someone else get his lover hard. But it’s Sayid, whom they both trust, whom they both like. This feels less extreme, less scary than shooting the video, where Jack was the one who was restrained, the one who had no control.
Jack doesn’t have control over what Sayid is doing to Sawyer, but the fact that neither of them have any idea what Sayid is going to do excites him. And he does have control, in a way, with the camera. Focusing on the two of them through the viewfinder makes it both more immediate and more distant, simultaneously more erotic and less personal.
Jack’s hands are busy with the camera, so even though he’s just as hard and throbbing as Sawyer is now, he can’t do anything about it. At some point, he’s going to have to put the camera down, but he’s going to keep taking pictures as long as he can, documenting every touch, every shiver, every arch of Sawyer’s back, every way this tan and that brown flesh are going to intersect.
Sayid pulls Sawyer’s head back, whispering low in Sawyer’s ear, too low for Jack to hear, but he tries to imagine what the words are, based on Sawyer’s reaction. Sawyer’s posture is stiff, resistant, even as Sayid’s hand slides down his thigh, encircling his cock. With his other hand, he tilts Sawyer’ head back even further, fingers splayed over Sawyer’s throat, in what looks like a choke hold, but Jack knows isn’t.
He’s so busy focusing on the contrast of dark against light, the way Sayid’s fingers alternately frame and caress Sawyer’s Adam’s apple, that he doesn’t immediately realize that he can hear Sawyer over the music, a low, guttural noise that sounds like an animal in pain.
Jack lowers the camera, frozen when he takes in the image of Sawyer thrashing in Sayid’s arms. Sayid tries to soothe him with repeated soft touches on his arms and back, but Sawyer continues to flail and twist, trying to get free.
Something's gone wrong. Sawyer doesn’t utter the safe word they agreed on beforehand, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps making that awful sound, half wail, half whimper.
Sayid is already undoing Sawyer’s wrist restraints, one arm still around his waist to keep Sawyer from falling as his knees buckle. Jack puts down the camera and rushes to his side. He’s there to catch Sawyer as he sags to the floor but Sawyer pushes him off. “No, no, no,” he shouts, tearing at the mask. He’s in full panic, his eyes are as wild as his hair and he just stares past them.
Jack keeps stroking his back -- Sawyer’s drenched in sweat -- and saying his name, telling him it’s okay, he’s safe.
Sawyer seems to come back to himself and when he does, he pushes Jack away. “I need a cigarette,” he mumbles. He looks around, distracted, and finds his jeans. He pulls them on and storms out of the room. Jack follows him all the way out into the alley, where he finds him leaning against the brick wall, taking in deep, shuddering breaths.
“Sawyer, are you okay?”
He stays with him, not talking, not daring to touch him, until Sawyer’s breathing returns to normal.
“Do you want to go home?”
Sawyer nods mutely, not looking at him. “Okay, come back in and let’s get the rest of your clothes.” But Sawyer refuses to go back inside, so Jack goes in without him.
Sayid is waiting just inside the door. He’s only thrown on his pants, like Sawyer. “Is he all right?” he asks softly. He looks as shaken as Jack feels. “We should never have done this, not with him in restraints, not with me...”
“It’s not your fault, Sayid. Jack runs his hand over his forehead. “He’ll be fine,” he says, although he’s not at all sure of that statement. “I’m just going to take him home. I’m sorry about...”
“No, no, I am the one who’s sorry,” Sayid says, words rushed.
“It’ll be okay,” Jack assures him, giving him a quick kiss and squeezing his arm because right now Sayid needs reassurance almost as much as Sawyer does. They don’t talk as they gather Sawyer’s clothes, merely exchanging a loaded glance as Jack walks out to rejoin Sawyer.
Sawyer seems himself again, but he won’t meet Jack’s eye, just awkwardly puts on his shoes, one by one, without Jack’s help.
The drive home is tense, with Jack driving entirely too fast and Sawyer chain smoking in the passenger seat. At home, Sawyer disappears into the shower and doesn’t join Jack for dinner, not that Jack has an appetite anyway. He replays the whole scenario in his mind, trying to figure out what went wrong. He keeps going back to that day in the grove, where Sayid and he tied Sawyer to a tree. When they tortured him. That must be what Sawyer was reliving. He was an idiot to think they could recreate the scene for fun, to get off. All the guilt from that day comes flooding back, tenfold.
Sawyer is sitting out on the deck, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He glances up as Jack takes the deck chair next to him.
“I’m sorry,” Jack begins. “I can’t believe we’d put you in a position like that. It was just ... unthinkable. No wonder you...”
“...freaked the fuck out?” Sawyer actually laughs. “Let me guess, you’re blamin’ yourself, thinkin’ it’s about that whole inhaler thing. Well, it ain’t that.”
”So what was it?”
Sawyer takes a long drag on his cigarette, then slowly exhales before he answers. “I don’t exactly know. Something just kinda snapped and I just had to get out of there, get free. I guess I forgot who you were and where I was.”
“Where were you?” Jack asks quietly, afraid to move, afraid to spook Sawyer again.
Sawyer shifts in his seat, takes his time responding. “One of the times ... those bastards had us ... they strapped me down and I thought for sure they were gonna kill me. My heart was racin’ and they were all crowdin’ around me and I couldn’t breathe and they came at me with this huge needle and ... anyway, suddenly, I guess I was kinda relivin’ that.” He sounds both sheepish and angry, like he’s disappointed in himself for giving in to an old memory.
Jack is quiet for a moment, stunned by the revelation, wondering what else Sawyer has kept from him. ”Did they hurt you?” he asks softly.
Sawyer gestures at the now-faded scar over his heart. “Just that. Mostly, they were tryin’ to scare me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Jack begins to say, kicking himself for not having known. “It can’t have helped that it was me and Sayid ... and you were tied up...”
“Naw, that’s hot,” Sawyer chuckled. “Even at the time, I kinda thought, well, under slightly different circumstances...”
”You’re sure? Because I’ve been thinking what a complete ass I am to have put you right back in that same position, after everything...”
“Look, I’m not some complete pussy,” Sawyer snaps, emphasizing his point as he jabs with his lit cigarette. “I knew what I was gettin’ into ... at least, I thought I did.”
”Okay. We won’t ever do it again.”
Sawyer lets out a deep sigh. “See, that’s what I was worried you’d say. Here I go and ruin everythin’ when that’s not what I want at all. I better call Sayid and let him know I’m not scarred for life or anythin.’ We should have him over for dinner at least.”
Jack nods, allowing himself to laugh at the idea of what kind of dinner that’s going to be, and suddenly everything seems okay again. Whatever it was, it was temporary and Sawyer is Sawyer again. No harm done.
That night, he imagines the last thing Sawyer will want is sex. But when Jack gets into bed beside him, expecting nothing more than a goodnight kiss, Sawyer clearly has other ideas, turning the kiss into something slow and simmering, and Jack is hard before Sawyer even reaches for him.
“Lay on your back,” Sawyer whispers and Jack complies, willing to do whatever Sawyer wants, whatever he needs. Sawyer whips the sheets back, baring them both, as he straddles him. He has the lube ready and Jack arches up as Sawyer spreads it over his cock, but he doesn’t touch Sawyer, just lets him have complete control as Sawyer works his way slowly down onto him, eyes never leaving Jack’s face. He doesn’t move immediately and then he closes his eyes and starts to rock back, beginning a slow slide up and down, bringing Jack deeper inside. Sawyer has complete control. Jack doesn’t grab hold of his hips until Sawyer says to, doesn’t touch Sawyer’s dick as he normally would, he just lets Sawyer dictate the rhythm and tries to match it.
It seems like Sawyer is in a world of his own, fucking himself on Jack’s cock, stroking himself, almost as if Jack isn’t there. He’s beautiful, his head thrown back, throat exposed and vulnerable as he comes, a soft moan dying on his lips, and then he falls forward, into Jack as Jack sits up to catch him, kissing Sawyer breathlessly as his own orgasm hits. Their bodies slide together, slick with sweat as the climax shakes Jack and he keeps pulling Sawyer closer, needing that contact, that connection.
After he comes, it’s Sawyer who cradles Jack’s head and tells him everything’s going to be okay. Sawyer falls asleep in his arms and Jack is awed by his trust, his forgiveness. He doesn’t feel worthy of it just now.
Jack still feels terrible about today, not least because it means the inevitable end of things with Sayid, but as he falls into dreamless sleep he vows that he won’t ever put Sawyer through that again.
They don’t talk about the incident again, not until Sayid comes over for dinner. He wordlessly hands the camera to Jack and wraps Sawyer in a tight embrace that lasts long enough for Sawyer to cough and tell him to back the fuck off, he’s fine, thanks very much.
Sayid holds his hand to Sawyer’s cheek, as if needing to check the truth of that statement for himself, and then, satisfied, smiles broadly. “Well, that is a relief,” he says. “You had me very worried, James Ford.”
”Yeah, I know,” Sawyer says, rolling his eyes. “Party pooper, that’s me.”
“I brought something you might want to see,” he says, producing a large manila envelope. He looks meaningfully at Jack and then hands the envelope to Sawyer. “Or perhaps not, you tell me.”
Sawyer opens the envelope and draws out several photographs. His breath hitches when he sees them. They’re the photos Jack took that day in the studio, before Sawyer started to panic. They’re black and white, just the way Jack had envisioned them, only even more beautiful, even more sensual. Sayid and Jack gather around Sawyer as he examines them one by one, images of dark hands on fair skin, black leather and fair hair.
“The contrast is beautiful,” Jack murmurs and Sawyer nods. “You look amazing,” he says to Sawyer. “Both of you.”
”You’d get that same contrast with the two of you.” Sawyer glances from him back to Sayid.
“True...” Jack answers with a smile, already anticipating where this is going.
“Those tats of yours, they’d look great in black and white,” Sawyer says, tracing them from memory through Jack’s shirtsleeve. “And your hair is so short and Sayid’s is so nice and long and curly...”
”That is a very nice contrast,” Sayid nods, stripping his coat off. “You know, there is film in the camera.”
Sawyer smiles as he takes it from Jack’s hands. “You read my mind. Well, can dinner wait?”
”Yes,” Jack grins, lifting his shirt over his head. “Definitely.” Sayid has stepped behind Jack and starts to run his hands over the ink on his inner arm, tracing the stars and flames there.
“Perfect.” Sawyer’s dimples are visible beneath the camera. “Now Sayid, why don’t you kiss him...? Yeah, like that.”
Jack turns to find Sayid’s mouth warm and inviting. As sensual as it was photographing Sawyer, this is far more intense. He’s mindful of Sawyer’s eyes on him as Sayid’s kiss starts to heat his skin, as Sayid’s hands stroke his throat, tipping his head back ever so gently. He pictures how the photographs will look and where they might hang them in the house. He pictures the three of them together, always.