Summary: After Jack’s massage, Sawyer can’t stop thinking about him.
All the way back to his tent, Sawyer marveled at how fantastic it was to not have to squint at the light. He was feeling good for the first time in a long time.
He felt like celebrating, but what would that mean here? Backgammon with the kid? A game of golf with the fat guy? Or hitting more of his booze stash alone in his tent? The last one was the only real possibility, but he wasn’t anxious to give himself a hangover and bring those pounding headaches back.
So he just sat on the beach and looked out to sea, happy to not be hating everyone and everything under the sun for once. He sat there until the sun set and then he thought he’d catch some sleep now that there was no headache to keep him awake all night.
He’d fallen asleep easily enough, glad to find the ground not quite so stiff tonight. But then he woke up again, feeling strangely alone. He couldn’t forget the sensation from Jack’s hands. If he tried hard enough, he could still feel their warmth. As he conjured up the memory of Jack’s touch, he realized he was getting hard.
He could either fight it or go with it, and he didn’t feel like fighting it. His hand stole to his fly and he thought of Jack’s hands instead of his own. He thought of that smile and those dark eyes ... and after just a few quick strokes, he came -- much harder than when he'd jacked off to thoughts of Freckles. Even after that kiss. And that just wasn’t right.
He needed to clear his head -- and get the doc out of it. He walked out to the beach, desperate for a soothing swim. The moon was out and he could clearly see someone standing some distance off, just looking out into the ocean.
Sawyer didn’t have to get closer to know who it was. He could tell from here by the shape of his head and the cut of his shoulders. He sighed. There was just no getting away from the doc tonight.
He walked slowly towards him, not sure if he was going to get any closer or whether he would let Jack come to him. He stopped when only a few yards separated them and he saw that Jack was closing the distance. Jack didn’t stop walking until he was standing right in front of him.
Neither one spoke. He saw the moon reflected in Jack’s eyes, so he knew his own must be in shadow. The air between them was charged, like it had been in the cave, only now Sawyer knew that one of them would make a move. He waited, not sure if it was supposed to be him.
Jack reached out then, putting his hand on Sawyer’s cheek, and he felt the heat of it spreading down his neck and chest, down to his groin. He shivered, wanting more of that warmth.
Jack’s hand moved to Sawyer’s bare chest, resting just over his heart. And then Sawyer turned and walked back to his tent, not sure if Jack was going to follow.
He laid back down and waited for him to come in. But he didn’t.
The morning dawned bright -- so wickedly bright that Sawyer realized another headache was on the way. “Dammit,” he swore. He didn’t want to have to go crawling back to the doc. Not after last night -- and whatever didn’t happen.
Except now that he lay there, recalling the moonlit strangeness of it, he wasn’t sure it had happened.
It had seemed real enough. But then again, the whole thinking-about-Jack thing was more like a bad dream. It was too hard to tell what was real from what was his overheated imagination these days.
Part of him wanted to march right over to the caves and demand to know if Jack had been on the beach last night. But what if Jack had been -- what did he want to happen next?
No, the best solution was to avoid the doc and avoid stirring up troubling thoughts about those fantastic hands of his.
Sawyer hunkered down in his tent, reluctant to go out. He felt like anyone could look at him and know he'd been thinking impure thoughts about the good ol' doc.
He wondered again just how Jack had replaced Freckles in his fevered imaginings. He tried to tell himself the massage hadn’t been that great, but that wasn’t true. It was the best damn rubdown he’d ever had.
This thing with Jack -- except that it wasn't a thing, it wasn't anything at all -- it was just boredom, Sawyer figured. But why couldn't he stop thinking about him, about how his hands felt on his body, and how he'd looked at him and that strange connection they'd seemed to have?
He'd gotten under his skin and made him feel something he hadn't felt in ... well, he couldn't remember how long. He couldn't even put a name to it.
He didn’t want that low throbbing in his head to become another migraine, so he laid low. Maybe a little too low, because Kate took it on herself to poke her head in and see how he was doing.
"Another headache?" she asked, sounding concerned.
"Yeah," he barked, hoping she'd just leave him alone.
He grunted at her. He considered asking her to stay, to try to start something with her, but he honestly didn’t feel like it.
When he looked up again, she was gone, thank God.
So when had he stopped fantasizing about Kate? It was just too much trouble to keep chasing after her. That wasn't Sawyer's style, to wait around for a woman. Either she wanted him, or she didn't. Simple as that. He could keep trying, sure. But he had his pride, and most days that was worth more than a quick fuck. Other days, he wasn't so sure. He could use a quick fuck -- or a nice slow one. Somehow he knew Kate wanted to keep playing the game, but he had lost the taste for it.
He sighed and rolled over, trying not to think about sex with her. Or anyone. It was too frustrating to think of something you couldn’t have. The more you thought about it, the worse it got and he couldn’t afford to be at the mercy of his dick. Not here.
He managed to doze off, and Jack was in his dreams again. This time, Jack took his face in his hands and Sawyer waited forever for him to kiss him and just as their lips met, he heard someone calling his name.
"Sawyer?" That wasn't Freckles this time. Sawyer sat up with a start when he recognized Jack's voice. Before he could answer, Jack had entered his tent and was bending over him. He looked concerned, too.
"Guess that was just a temporary fix yesterday," he said, his dark eyes searching Sawyer's face.
Sawyer blinked and nodded. He could probably wrangle another massage from the doc, if he wanted, but maybe that wasn't the best idea right now, seeing as how that dream had given him a noticeable hard-on.
"I don't need any more doctorin'," Sawyer said, turning away from Jack, mostly to keep the state of his pants a little more private.
But Jack wasn't so easily dissuaded. He put his hand on Sawyer's shoulder. “I can help, if you want,” he said and Sawyer was tempted, so very tempted to give in, just to feel his touch again.
“Ain’t no use,” Sawyer said gruffly, shrugging him off, but Jack had already started rubbing his shoulders.
He felt like he was suffocating with Jack here in the tent, his hands on his bare skin.
“Breathe,” Jack said softly and Sawyer choked out something like laughter.
“You make me kinda tense,” Sawyer finally said, as he eased into a sitting position, his back still to the doc.
“Yeah?” Jack continued to rub his shoulders, and damn if it didn’t have him nearly moaning.
Sawyer was harder than ever by now and getting past caring whether Jack noticed. Or maybe he wanted him to notice. Maybe he wanted to stand up and turn around and ask him if he could help with that too.
Instead he just bit his lip and gave into the luxury of having Jack touch him.
“You weren’t ... out on the beach last night, were you?” Sawyer asked, the words tumbling out in a rush.
“Why?” Jack sounded merely curious and, sadly, not the least bit guilty.
“Uh, no reason. I just thought I saw someone out there. Kinda looked like you.”
“No, wasn’t me.”
“Oh.” Sawyer hated how disappointed his own voice sounded. He winced as Jack’s hands dug into a sore spot.
“Did you want it to be me?” Jack’s voice was so husky, it sent a shiver down Sawyer’s spine.
“What? No!” He stiffened and turned to glare at Jack. “What the hell are you gettin’ at?”
The look Jack gave him was having a strange effect on his breathing. “Sawyer,” he said, so low the name vibrated in his throat.
He put his hand on Sawyer’s cheek and he drew in his breath sharply at the gesture. Sawyer saw Jack moving closer as if in slow motion. If he just stayed still, Jack’s mouth would be on his and he thought he had never wanted anything more in his life.
Instead, he jerked his head away. His heart was racing. He just stared straight ahead as Jack instead kissed the back of his neck. Then Jack’s hands moved to his front, his right hand rested on his heart and Sawyer was frozen with the déjà vu from his dream. He didn’t know what to do do, so he did nothing.
Jack moved his hands to Sawyer’s stomach next, fingers gently tracing his abs. And then they slid into his jeans and he stopped thinking of what he should do. Sawyer‘s head fell back against Jack’s shoulder as Jack’s hand wrapped around his cock. His breathing came fast now, and still neither of them spoke.
Jack’s thighs gripped him hard and Sawyer dug his hands into them, moaning helplessly as Jack applied his expert touch to Sawyer’s cock.
He hadn’t even noticed how his jeans had somehow ended up down around his knees. “Oh, Jesus,” Sawyer choked back the words as Jack’s other hand moved to his balls with a teasing touch that had him biting the inside of his cheek.
He was completely at Jack’s mercy, just a bit of flesh that existed only for Jack, only to feel Jack’s touch, only to come for him and moan his name. And he did. He came in a hot rush that left him dizzy with pleasure. He lay back against Jack’s chest, gasping and sweaty and a little scared at the intensity of what he’d just felt.
He didn’t turn around, partly under the guise of getting his breath back. But he didn’t want to face Jack. He knew if he looked at him now, Jack could see how much he’d wanted this. How much he still wanted him. He ached to turn around and kiss him and make him moan his name.
But he couldn’t do it. His heart was still pounding and he was almost dizzier than before. Jack rested his chin on his shoulder and his breath was hot against his cheek.
Every second he didn’t turn to kiss him was like an eternity. Jack finally took his head in his hands and turned it towards him and then Jack’s mouth was on his and Sawyer gave in to his kiss, so hungry for him, so desperate to feel that connection. He lost himself in the sensation of Jack’s tongue, in the hands that ran through his hair and pulled him closer.
He had turned around without realizing it and they were now face to face, chest to chest, hands roaming over each other wildly. Jack groaned -- a low, male noise that suddenly woke Sawyer up to who he was kissing.
He had to stop. He had to stop this now. He drew back, putting his hand to his mouth. He wiped the back of his hand across it and he saw Jack’s expression change as he did it.
He didn’t know who it was who spoke next, but he realized it had to be said. “Guess you got what you came for, doc.” The voice he heard was sneering.
Jack’s face closed down, as if someone had lowered a gate. He gave a tight little smile and stood up to leave. Then he turned back around. He looked angry now.
“Dammit, Sawyer, I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work. You can’t chase me away. You wanted this too.”
“The hell I did,” Sawyer said, hearing himself get even angrier than Jack. “Yeah, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but what are you really after?” It was hard to be as indignant as he wanted while pulling up his jeans.
Jack hovered -- torn between wanting to storm out and wanting to shake him, Sawyer guessed.
Sawyer’s eye darted to his stash of booze. “You just wanted some of this, didn’t you?” he asked, grabbing a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “Well, take it, you’ve earned it.”
Jack just stared at him, confused. “That’s not why I came and you know it,” he said, shaking his head, hands on hips in that familiar stance.
“Admit it. You’re just an alkie like your old man.” The words were out before Sawyer realized what he was saying, but the effect on Jack was instantaneous. He went pale. He looked as wounded as if Sawyer had punched him in the gut.
“What did you say?” Jack’s voice was low and dangerous.
It was too late to turn back now. “Yeah, your old man. Silver hair, right? Loved his booze. And his Red Sox. Last seen somewhere in Sydney, I figure.”
“How did you know that?” Jack looked like he wanted to cry and hit him at the same time.
Sawyer thought maybe he should step back, out of Jack’s reach, but instead he stepped closer, getting in Jack’s face. “Bought him a bottle of whiskey at some shitty dive. He’d uh, mislaid his wallet and I didn’t want to drink alone.”
Jack’s face contorted, but he didn’t say anything. His hands clenched at his side and Sawyer waited for the blow that didn’t come.
“Musta been right before he died, right?” Sawyer continued, feeling reckless, almost eager to see what Jack would do as he kept talking. “Maybe he went out and blew his brains out that night.”
Sawyer was disappointed. Jack didn’t react the way he thought he would. He just got more quiet, like he was shutting down. He took a long time to say anything.
“He ... didn’t shoot himself,” Jack said, his voice and face so cold and dead that it gave Sawyer a chill. “He just drank himself to death.” He said it so quietly, Sawyer wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. He looked up and away and Sawyer saw the tears coming and the naked hurt on Jack’s face.
And then he knew he’d gone too far. He wanted to take it back, to take him in his arms and tell him he didn’t mean it. And he could tell him the rest now, tell him how his father loved him. He could make it better. He’d always meant to tell him anyway.
“Jack,” Sawyer began, holding out his hands, as sorry as sorry could be, “He said he loved you.”
Jack just shook his head, the tears starting to spill down his cheeks. “He wouldn’t say that.” His chest started to heave and it looked like he was really going to lose it. He shot Sawyer a look of complete contempt and grabbed the bottle out of his hand.
“I earned it, right?” he said bitterly and he stared at him for another interminable few seconds in which Sawyer wished he hadn’t been born and then Jack was gone.
Sawyer collapsed onto his bedroll, trying to sort out what had happened. Jack had come to him and he had wanted him and it had been fucking fantastic. And now he’d driven him away, probably for good. Definitely for good.
There was only one thing to do. Sawyer dove for the rest of the liquor and started downing all the bottles he could find. Jack had the only big one; he was stuck with the tiny airline bottles. But pouring them down his throat didn’t make him feel any better.
He’d fucked things up royally. He’d expected it to sting a little, but not as much as this. He’d needed a slap to wake up to reality, to see how fucked up this thing with Jack was, and to stop it before it went any farther. But now he just wanted to crawl under the sand and disappear. He couldn’t ever look at Jack again. And the idea of that killed him.
He had to find him and make it right. And then he started to worry what Jack would do with all that JD in him and he didn’t like to think of it. Because if anything happened to Jack ...