Summary: They have nowhere else to be, except here, with each other
Note: This is a companion fic to this lovely fic by gemjam, which she wrote for inthekeyofd, so it's a Christmas present for you both! *snuggles* (And yes, more Christmas and bday fics to come, soon!) Using for the fanfic100 prompt, "Winter."
Sawyer’s bare skin is warm against his, his body deliciously heavy and languid. Jack watches the firelight play over the features he knows so well, now slack with sleep. Jack pulls the blanket up over both of them and lets his head settle onto the sofa cushion, on the verge of sleep himself. One hand plays idly in Sawyer’s hair, still slightly damp and smelling of sweat and sex.
The snow is still falling outside, he guesses. The windows are so heavily fogged that he can just barely make out the snow piling up on the window ledge.
He lowers his face to take in the more subtle scent of smoke from the fire that’s twined its way into Sawyer’s hair. It takes him back to the island, to the image of Sawyer sprawled by the fire on the beach, his eyes reflecting the bright sparks that flew up from the blaze. They’d come together so many times, rough and hot, and never ever enough, in tents, in the cave, in the middle of the jungle, but never out here, in the open.
He remembers deciding, then, that moment, that he was done hiding. Remembers the butterflies in his stomach as he sank down next to Sawyer on the sand and took his head in his hands. Sawyer stiffened, but just for a second before yielding without question to Jack’s touch. Jack climbed onto Sawyer’s lap, forcing him down onto the sand, kissing him hard, like he was settling some unspoken argument. If anyone came along, they’d know that this was what Jack wanted, that he didn’t care who knew that that Sawyer was his.
He’d fucked him right there, under the stars, by the flickering light of the flames, Sawyer’s groans mingling with the snap of the flames and the roar of the ocean, until the island and the night was inside him, inside Sawyer, the way they were part of each other and always would be. When he collapsed on top of Sawyer, his head buried against Sawyer’s neck, the smoke and heat of the fire was all mixed up with Sawyer, in his hair, on his skin.
Jack inhales deeply, savoring the smoky dampness of Sawyer’s body against his, the scent that says mine.
A log crumbles apart with a hiss behind the grate and Sawyer stirs, not quite waking. Jack smoothes Sawyer’s hair back, knowing the gesture will quiet him. His own eyes close, fluttering for one last, contented look at Sawyer.
They have nowhere else to be except here, with each other, where they belong.