Pairing: Sawyer/Jack, hint of Kate
Summary: Futurefic: Finding it hard to cope with being back in civilization, Jack and Sawyer head for the nearest bar
Feedback: Yes please!
They both blinked as they walked out into the harsh, hazy L.A. sunshine, bounced back at them in angles by metal and glass and concrete.
“Can’t get used to the time change,” Sawyer said, shielding his eyes as he squinted up into the light.
Jack nodded, eyes suddenly down on the pavement. Neither said anything.
The entrance to the federal building was busy, a hive of people hurrying this way and that. A man in a suit ran into Jack, stopping only to fix him with glare, and then was off again without apologizing.
He recoiled, wanting to run, to fight, to get away from the rush of strangers, still punchy from jet lag. He turned back around, not sure if Sawyer would still be standing there or if he’d been swept away with the crowd.
All he saw was a sea of suits and he felt himself slumping. It wasn’t like they’d made any promises. Or any plans. He didn’t even know where he could find Sawyer again.
Then he felt an arm at his elbow. He looked up, blue eyes smiling into his. “C’mon, doc,” Sawyer said with a tilt of his head. “There’s gotta be a bar near here.”
“Cheers’” Sawyer raised his shot glass and clinked it against Jack’s, sloshing the whiskey onto his hand.
He watched and the second Jack tipped the glass back, he did too. He ran his tongue over his lips, catching any stray drop, and then he licked the back of hand. Then he smiled and leaned in, waving down the bartender for another round.
They were the only two people in the place. It was just barely 11 a.m. Daylight feebly trailed in through the dusty windows, but faltered before hitting the bar itself. The air conditioning was a novelty, still. So were the cold beer chasers Jack ordered.
The second shot of whiskey disappeared, and they were both getting buzzed, not used to the kick of the alcohol.
“You know what we need?” Sawyer said suddenly, his voice sounding a little too loud. “Music!” He zeroed in on the jukebox in the corner.
He took his time scanning the list. “God, I can’t decide,” he muttered. “You got some ones, doc? This thing’s expensive.”
Jack strolled over, leaning over Sawyer’s shoulder. Finally, Sawyer grinned and pressed a series of buttons decisively. The opening bars of “Smoke on the Water” blared out and he nodded his head in satisfaction.
They fed the thing about $10 in ones, so busy punching song titles they barely listened to the music itself once it came out.
“Fool in the Rain!” Jack yelled, trying to edge Sawyer aside to make his choice.
“Hold your horses,” Sawyer said, elbowing him. “I already picked ‘Kashmir. OK?”
They hovered around the jukebox, getting progressively drunker as they bobbed their heads appreciatively at each new selection.
A slower song came on, and Jack paused, confused. “I know this ... wait...”
“Wild Horses,” Sawyer said and Jack nodded in recognition. They both grew quiet as the song played.
Wild horses couldn’t drag me away. Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day.
“Yeah, someday, huh?” Sawyer said, and took a swig of his beer.
“Yeah.” Jack gave one of his quick, tight smiles.
Sawyer nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “Never liked that song much. I thought I picked “Honky Tonk Women.”
“You can’t always get what you want.” Jack’s face was serious, but a smile played around his mouth.
Sawyer groaned, but then a smile caught and held. “But you get what you need? Right?”
Jack nodded and clinked his beer bottle with Sawyer’s. “How about something a little less depressing?”
They bent their heads back over the jukebox.
Jack downed his beer and put the empty bottle on top of the machine. “Be right back,” he told Sawyer. “Seriously, would you play one song I tell you?”
“You got shitty taste, doc,” Sawyer laughed. “But since you’re payin,’ I’ll see what I can do.”
Jack gave him a look of “you better,” and headed for the men’s room. Indoor plumbing was supposed to be a convenience, he reminded himself as he surveyed the dark, dirty little room, lit from above by a naked bulb. He unzipped and found himself hitting that zen state of drunkenness as he peed. The room spun sharply once and he rocked on the balls of his feet, and then everything righted itself and he was left with a pleasant buzz again.
He looked up when the door swung open and Sawyer walked in. He unbuttoned his fly and stood at the urinal next to Jack, holding a hand up against the wall to steady himself.
After the loud music in the bar, the silence in the bathroom felt heavy and awkward. Jack’s mind began to wander ahead, still too used to anticipating the next problem, the next crisis. But now there was no emergency, just the question of what they’d do after they finished their drinks and called it a night. Day. He reminded himself. It was still morning.
He washed his hands and wiped his face, feeling groggy now. The jet lag was starting to kick in again. He bent over, putting his hands over his face.
It felt weird, like the others should be here. Like she should be here.
“You OK, doc?” He felt hands on his shoulder, bringing him back to here and now.
“Yeah, just tired,” Jack said. He dropped his hands and found Sawyer’s face just inches from his. His eyes were in shadow and Jack couldn’t read his expression.
Sawyer leaned in, as if he were testing Jack. His breath was hot on Jack’s cheek and he felt a shiver run down his spine. It had never been just the two of them before. Not without her.
Neither moved for a second. And then Sawyer shoved Jack up against the wall. Jack blinked at the sudden move. Before he had time to react, Sawyer was pressed against him, his lips hot and wet on his, his tongue sliding roughly into his mouth while his hands moved to Jack’s crotch.
“Sawyer ...” Jack’s protest was drowned out by his kiss, tasting of whiskey and just a hint of toothpaste -- he almost didn’t taste like Sawyer. Not at first. But as his tongue pushed deeper, there, underneath was the Sawyer he knew. Still there. Still the same.
Jack’s body went slack, groaning into Sawyer’s mouth as his hands pressed hard against him, cupping him through his jeans and moving so agonizingly rough he thought he’d come right then.
He breathed his name as he came up for air. “Someone could come,” he gasped out, an eye on the door.
“That’s the idea,” Sawyer purred in his ear. “Relax. It’s just us.”
Jack was beyond arguing anyway when Sawyer finally unzipped his jeans and his cock spilled out into his waiting palm. “Jesus, Sawyer,” he moaned, as Sawyer’s hand, now slick with spit, found an urgent, familiar rhythm.
Sawyer ran one hand up under Jack’s shirt, teasing a nipple, as he speeded up the pistoning movement of his hand.
His tongue ran over Jack’s jawline, sliding over the day-old stubble. His voice was a low growl in Jack’s ear. “Always liked ... maybe gettin’ caught.” His drawl, slurred by drink, had almost as much of an effect on Jack as his hands and his mouth did, making his knees give way and his breath catch in his throat.
Sawyer was biting his neck now, one hand pinching his nipple hard, and the hand on his cock moving with a growing frenzy. Sawyer’s hips thrust against his, and Jack was buffeted against the wall, caught between hot flesh and unyielding concrete.
The booze made every sensation sharper and fuzzier at the same time. The pleasure spread through him, building in his thighs and his stomach, until he came with a helpless groan, the world telescoping down into this moment, this hand, this breath, this blinding sensation. Sawyer pressed him against the wall, holding his still trembling body up with his until he stopped shaking.
Jack reached out, taking Sawyer’s head between his hands and holding him there for a long, slow kiss.
One hand stole to Sawyer’s fly, but Sawyer moved it away. Jack tried again, with the same result. Jack drew back, puzzled.
Sawyer’s chin was down, and when Jack brought it back up, he was surprised to see how sad he looked suddenly.
“What? What is it?”
Sawyer looked away and shrugged. “Nothin.’” He paused, screwing his mouth up as if deciding what else to say. “It’s just ... hittin’ me all at once.”
“The alcohol?” Jack asked, confused.
“Just ... everything.” Sawyer sighed. “Just give me a minute, OK?”
“OK,” Jack said slowly, his stomach twisting at Sawyer’s sudden mood change.
“Hey, we’re missing all our songs we paid for.” He smiled, hoping Sawyer would too.
“Yeah, I’ll be along in a minute,” Sawyer replied, still looking downcast.
Jack bit his lip and turned back to the sink to get cleaned up, checking in the clouded mirror to see if he looked presentable. Sawyer was still just standing there, staring down at the floor. Jack watched him for a second or two, and then clapped him lightly on the shoulder and walked back out into the bar.
Aerosmith was blaring from the jukebox. I’m back in the saddle again. I’m baaaaack. Jack ordered another beer and started to pick at the label.
Mercurial mood swings were a given with Sawyer, but she had always been the one to even him out. Jack didn’t know what he should do. Had he done something wrong? He rested his head in his hands, trying to sort it out.
Or maybe Sawyer was just feeling what he was, bone tired and oddly out of place now that they were back. He didn’t know how long that feeling of not even being in his own body would last.
Sawyer strode out suddenly, still a dark cloud over him, and threw a $100 bill on the bar counter, ignoring the bartender’s raised eyebrow. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“I thought you didn't have any money," Jack frowned, following him to the door.
“I didn't have any ones. Got bankrolled by a millionaire."
The sunshine was now even more unwelcome to their bleary eyes and Sawyer swore. “I need some serious sleep,” he said. He looked exhausted, but suddenly sober.
“Yeah, me too,” Jack said, thrusting his hands into his pockets. They were standing a few feet apart and there was that weird awkwardness again. So had that just been a goodbye fuck? He instinctively felt himself drawing back, afraid to push, afraid to ... to what?
As his mind swirled, Sawyer stepped off the curb, trying to hail an approaching taxi. “Damn hard to get a cab in L.A.,” he muttered, but to his surprise, the cab stopped.
“Where to?” asked the driver with a heavy Indian accent as Sawyer opened the door.
“Well, my hotel’s back over there, but I feel like going to the beach.”
Jack’s head jerked up. “I thought you needed some sleep.”
“They got hotels at the beach, don’t they, genius?”
“Santa Monica?” the cab driver asked, looking from one to the other for direction.
“Yeah,” Jack said, “The Hotel Casa Del Mar’s nice. Assuming you didn't leave your whole bankroll back there.”
“I’m good,” Sawyer nodded.
A few more seconds ticked past and Jack made to turn back to his own hotel.
“Well, you coming or what?” Sawyer asked impatiently.
A slow smile spread over Jack’s face as he fought to keep the surprise from showing. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
Sawyer held the door open for him and he stepped inside.
“What is this crap you're listening to?” Sawyer groaned at the tinny dance music emanating from the cab’s radio. Jack tried to shush him but the cab driver was already rapidly scanning through stations.
“Wait. Wait. Go back,” Sawyer yelled as he heard a snippet of Jim Morrison. “Yeah, that’s it,” he said, nodding madly.
He leaned back against the seat cushion, closing his eyes with a weary sigh. Jack leaned back too, his hand dropping casually onto Sawyer’s knee.
“I guess it's not so bad being back,” Sawyer said, squinting at Jack, flashing him a grin so broad it made the sun a little less bright.
Note: This fic was inspired by The Rolling Stones' "Wild Horses." So in the spirit of things, I've uploaded all the songs via YSI that the boys listen to here. ;-D Enjoy!
Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple (.mp3)
Kashmir by Led Zeppelin (.m4a)
Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones (.m4a)
You Can't Always Get What You Want by The Rolling Stones (.m4a)
Back in the Saddle by Aerosmith (.m4a)
L.A. Woman by The Doors (.m4a)