halfdutch (halfdutch) wrote,

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Out of the Rain (Jack/Sawyer, NC-17)

Title: Out of the Rain
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Summary: Jack and Sawyer relive a pivotal moment (Pirate 'verse fic)
Rating: NC-17
Note: Pirate!fic for zelda_zee! Merry Christmas, hon! I hope I can repay just a small measure of the enjoyment I got from all your amazing fics this year. Many thanks to themoononastick for the beta. Using for fanfic100 prompt: Lightning. This is a sequel to the fic Shooting Star, but can probably be read on its own.

A terrific clap of thunder woke Jack.

In his dreams, he'd been busy tending to the fever-struck men of the crew, as he had all day. He was asking Charlie to hold the lamp closer when he woke. A lantern cast a warm glow on the table by the cabin's window but it was Sawyer who stood there, the sharp profile of his chin and jaw illuminated just enough that Jack could see he was soaking wet.

"Still raining?" he asked aloud, his voice rough with sleep.

"Cats and dogs." Sawyer said with a soft laugh. "Least the wind's died down." He shook his head as he doffed his hat, spraying water from the dripping ends of his hair.

"You'll catch your death of cold if you don't dry off," Jack urged but Sawyer shrugged him off. "The sickness is still raging among the men," he added, although the fever had broken in his last patient, it wouldn't do for the captain to fall sick.

The welfare of the men fell to Jack's care, while the welfare of the ship fell to Sawyer and so, even more than he was, Sawyer was responsible for all their souls. The men might survive sickness and all manner of injury, but if lightning hit the mast and crippled the ship, they'd all perish. And even if lightning didn't hit the mast, it could just as easily hit the deck and set fire to the ship. Jack had survived one ship fire; he couldn't count on being that lucky twice.

"Go back to sleep," Sawyer said, walking over to Jack's side. He laid a damp hand on Jack's forehead. "You've worked yourself ragged again. You're more apt to take sick than I am."

"No, I wont," Jack replied stubbornly. "I washed my hands until they're raw." He held them up as proof and Sawyer captured his right hand, bringing it up to his lips. Jack's hands showed nearly no trace of the terrible burns, their rough redness now only due to washing them over and over.

"Good as new, then," Sawyer smiled. He laid the hand back in Jack's lap. "Now your captain orders you to back to bed. I have some charts I promised Sayid."

Jack could use more sleep, it was true, but he'd learned long ago how to run on very little rest, a skill that came in handy even when doctoring pirates.

There had never been anything between the captain and Sayid, Jack knew, but he couldn't help that clutching hand of jealousy that took hold at the mention of his name. Sayid was the ship's first mate and it only made sense that he would spend long hours in conference with Sawyer. Sayid no longer intimidated Jack as he once had, but Jack recalled with a shudder how Sayid had held a knife to his throat, how even Sawyer had seemed dangerous and wild in Sayid's presence, the kind protector Jack had come to know since his rescue replaced by a pirate savage enough to spill blood.

Sawyer had no hint of the savage about him as he turned up the light, the better to pore over a map spread on the table, lost in contemplation of some unknown archipelago. The mysteries of ships and maps remained just that, mysteries, to Jack. Even after more than a year's time at sea, first with the navy, then aboard the Sassafras. But since Sawyer was never more handsome than when deep in concentration, watching him was always a pleasure, even if what he studied remained meaningless.

Sawyer's white shirt, now nearly transparent, clung to him in such a way that he might as well have been naked. Jack felt his cock stir, as it nearly always did at the sight of Sawyer in any state of undress. Jack had fallen into bed wearing just his breeches, not even thinking of sex, but now he wished Sawyer would come to bed.

"Is that the same white shirt?"

"Hmm?" Sawyer didn't glance up, his mind clearly still on the map. "Same as ...?"

Jack spoke low, knowing it roused Sawyer when he let his voice drop and rumble in his throat. "The same as the one you wore the night you showed me your scars. You pulled your shirt down. I remember how white the cloth was against your skin..."

Sawyer met his eye this time, dimples dawning as he realized what was on Jack's mind. "Guess I made an impression..." he drawled, putting the map aside as he walked slowly to stand by the side of the bed.

Jack inched towards the edge of the bed, shoving back the sheet that covered him. He was fully hard now and if Sawyer wasn't, Jack was going to get him hard with just his words. "I didn't know what to think," Jack admitted, licking his lower lip. "I was scared of you and yet, in that moment... I wanted to touch you so badly. It was like you were daring me to, like you wanted me to...."

Sawyer's eyes glinted, the light from the lantern mirrored there most wickedly. "What did you want to do...?"

He stood, as he had then, seeming to tower over Jack. He pulled his shirt down to one side, showing first the scar a bullet had left on his shoulder, and then pulling down the other side to bare the scar on his arm where he had been stabbed. Jack could see how Sawyer's heart raced, as fast as his own, by the pulse in his neck.

"I didn't dare," Jack continued, staring up into Sawyer's eyes. "I couldn't begin to put a name to what I felt ...." He rose up on his knees, until he was nearly the same height as Sawyer. He leaned forward, checking his balance, and lowered his mouth to the bullet wound first, slowly tasting the salt of Sawyer's damp skin, memorizing the pattern of the marred flesh, as if it were the first time. Sawyer swayed slightly, his breath coming faster, and Jack moved to his other side, to the knife wound on his arm, licking at its edges, encouraged by Sawyer's low moan. He reached for the laces of Sawyer's breeches, but Sawyer's hand stayed his.

"Your hands were bandaged, remember?" Sawyer's voice was husky, his eyes almost hazy with desire. Jack nodded, eager to continue this game of pretending it was that night long past, that he and Sawyer were all but strangers. He felt the same thrill of nervousness and fear he had then, but this time, there was no confusion, no hesitation.

Sawyer laid a hand on Jack's shoulder to signal him to wait, and then fumbled with his own breeches. Sawyer drew out his own cock -- hard and wet at the tip -- running his hand down its length once, twice. He held it with his left, his right reaching out to brush Jack's cheek. Jack let his head fall heavy against Sawyer's palm, let Sawyer guide him as he wished.

With both hands, Sawyer pulled Jack to his feet and then bade him kneel down on the floor before him as Sawyer sat on the bed and spread his legs. Jack wanted more than anything to use his hands, but he was determined to keep up this game and so he let them hang still at his sides. He bent forward, letting Sawyer feed him his cock, first just a kiss, a taste of the moisture glistening at the tip, then just a fraction past his lips, enough for the kiss to turn into a sucking, wet caress.

He tried to imagine that he was little more than a prisoner, than his fate might depend on pleasing this strange man and the thought added urgency to his efforts. Sawyer cupped Jack's head firmly in one hand, just below his jaw, the other hand curling into his hair, guiding him, urging himself deeper into Jack's mouth, and just now beginning to thrust. Jack felt a rush of panic: They'd never done it like this before and he felt utterly out of control, certain he would gag. But he found he could handle Sawyer's thrusts, that as Sawyer's moans grew louder, more like some maddened, rutting beast, than he'd ever heard before, he felt the wildness of it in himself, felt Sawyer's own pleasure almost as his own. From the hitch in Sawyer's breath, Jack knew he had brought him nearly to the verge; he opened his mouth wider, welcoming Sawyer in deeper, eager for him to lose control.

Jack wanted desperately to stroke himself, but he steeled himself to wait, to keep up the pretense. Sawyer came with a drawn-out groan; as he emptied himself into Jack's mouth, nearly bent double over Jack, until Jack's cheeks were pressed up against his thighs. Jack was overwhelmed in the damp smell of sea and sweat and sex that meant Sawyer, the bitter tang of Sawyer on his tongue.

"God, Jack, that was fucking amazing," Sawyer gasped in his ear. He fell back onto the bed, pulling Jack down on top of him. He administered soft kisses to Jack's ears, and his nose and chin in turn, forgetting, it seemed, that they were playing a game, that Jack was supposed to still be a stranger to him.

Jack propped himself up on his elbows -- mindful that he shouldn't be using his hands -- even as he allowed himself to indulge in kissing Sawyer back, in the kind of long, breathless kiss -- a slow delicious slide of tongues -- that would get him hard, if he wasn't already.

Sawyer arched up into him. "You've been so good, Doctor," he said with a wicked grin. "Think I need to show you my gratitude."

Jack rolled to his side and Sawyer stripped off his shirt and breeches that had somehow stayed on, if only because Jack hadn't taken them off himself. Jack laid back, not sure what to do with his hands if he wasn't twining them in Sawyer's hair or running them down his chest or all the million other ways he longed to touch him.

Sawyer picked up his shirt and wound it around Jack's wrists. "Don't exactly trust you," he said and Jack wasn't sure if he meant that Jack was sure to slip and use his hands, or if he meant that he were playing the game again, that he didn't know Jack at all. Sawyer knotted the shirt tightly around his wrists, then pushed Jack's arms above his head so that his whole body was stretched out defenseless before Sawyer.

It was only then Sawyer undid Jack's pants and slipped them down his hips. Jack wondered if he would have fought Sawyer or pleaded to be left alone, but after having serviced Sawyer, it made no sense to pretend he wasn't anxious to have the favor returned. Sawyer must have sensed the illusion, at least, of resistance. As he straddled Jack, gripping him tightly with his thighs, he grinned. "You'll thank me for this, seeing as you haven't got the use of your hands."

With a flash of those devilish dimples, Sawyer ducked his head between Jack's legs, spreading his knees wide. His assault was slow and deliberate, hot breath and soft lips and only one or two teasing strokes. Jack's legs started to shake. He needed Sawyer's mouth on him now, but the Jack of old would hardly beg for that. And so he kept silent, writhing in desperation as Sawyer teased a hand up one thigh and then the other. Only when he'd wrung a cry of frustration from Jack did Sawyer take him into his mouth. Jack couldn't help himself: he arched up, thrusting in concert with the sinful seduction of Sawyer's tongue and lips.

Sawyer slipped one slickened finger inside Jack, sending a spike of intense pleasure through him. He moaned Sawyer's name in a thoroughly unseemly way and then he was past pretending that he didn't want this, didn't want Sawyer, madly, every minute of every day. His hips jerked and he came, hot and helpless, into Sawyer's mouth, his surrender complete.

He'd felt an overwhelming attraction to Sawyer from the first moment, but it was so slow in building between them. To experience it like this, in a rush, made him a little lightheaded.

Sawyer undid the knotted shirt around his wrists, then laid beside him, kissing his neck and he turned, his body molding to fit Sawyer's. "Glad I happened to wear that shirt tonight," Sawyer mumbled, pressing more kisses along Jack's shoulder, his head falling just so against the curve of his arm.

Jack wanted to say he was glad for so many things, even for the fire that had nearly maimed him, that had taken so many lives, if it meant it had brought him here, but Sawyer was already asleep. Free to use his hands at last, Jack reached out to smooth a strand of damp hair back from Sawyer's face.

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky through the window, followed by the rolling boom of thunder that sounded dangerously close, but Sawyer didn't stir, nor did he wake as Jack tucked the bedclothes around them both, gazing down fondly on Sawyer's sleeping form. He snuck out of bed and blew out the lamp, casting a quick glance out the window.

He should fear the lightning, should lie awake, praying that it didn't strike the ship, that they'd be spared. But surely they'd both had enough misfortune for one lifetime.

He shivered, feeling the rain's chill even inside. He couldn't crawl back into bed quick enough, where Sawyer slept so invitingly.

Outside, the weather may rage, but Sawyer's body was heavy and warm against him. Jack pulled the blankets up high, already half asleep himself. He was safe here, and here he'd stay.

Tags: jack/sawyer, lost_fic

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