Summary: Jack finds himself inexplicably drawn to Sawyer after “Confidence Man”
Rating: R. Yes, there’s smut but it’s not until the very end.
Note: From a now pretty old plot bunny from mariesg16. But a good idea is a good idea. I haven’t seen anyone else write this scenario, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Apologies if it’s been done before and for going so far back in the canon.
Feedback: Yes please! It's one of my first slash/smut fics, so bear that in mind. As much as I love filthy, sweaty smut, mine ended up being very ... sweet and even, er, cuddly.
“Sawyer!” Jack swore. Even though Jack had made that jerk promise to stay in his tent to recuperate, he was nowhere to be seen when Jack checked back in on him. Jack started combing the beach for any signs of his wandering patient, calling his name as if he were looking for a lost dog.
It was blazing hot, as usual, and Sawyer was probably still dehydrated and low on blood. Jack half expected to stumble across his prone body but he’d gone several yards with no sign of him.
Sawyer hadn’t said anything when Jack had told him to stay put for his own good, just stared straight ahead as if Jack weren’t there. His expression scared Jack. He was so subdued that Jack would have welcomed some of his usual antagonism.
“Just let go.” Jack couldn’t get Sawyer’s words out of his mind. He’d treated his share of suicidal patients in his days as an intern. But none had affected him like this.
It wasn’t just guilt, although that was there, too. Jack had authorized Sayid to do what he did, and it had nearly gotten Sawyer killed. And then he’d realized Sawyer had wanted them to do it, in some sick way. Jack didn’t know what to think. His instinct to help anyone in pain automatically kicked in but it was hard to feel sympathy for a man who was so good at getting everyone to hate him.
Sawyer had tried to goad him into letting him bleed to death and if he was honest with himself, Jack had to admit it had crossed his mind. He didn’t like Sawyer. He wouldn’t miss him if he died, but he was damned if he was going to be responsible for any man’s death. Saving someone’s life wasn’t usual personal, but holding Sawyer’s severed artery together while Sawyer muttered insults at him, well, that felt pretty personal.
Jack could still hear Sawyer’s screams as Sayid had pushed the bamboo under his nails. “What is wrong with you?” Jack had asked him, and Sawyer only looked at him like a snarling, wounded dog. He had about as much chance of understanding Sawyer as he would reading a dog’s mind.
He was like a wild animal, one who either didn’t know or didn’t care about social niceties. There was something proud and defiant about him, as if he thrived on the chaos he created, as if his life’s work was creating a wave of destruction all around him.
At last he saw Sawyer, sitting under a palm tree. At least he was in the shade. Jack sprinted closer. Sawyer was holding up a piece of paper, flicking his lighter on and off underneath it. When Jack approached, he looked up with a scowl and shoved the piece of paper away.
“What do you want?” he muttered.
“I told you to stay put,” Jack said, feeling foolishly like an angry parent. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”
“Yeah, death by nagging. How long do you think it’ll take, doc?” Sawyer smirked.
“Funny,” Jack said, although he wasn’t laughing. “Let me take a look at your arm.”
“It’s still here, no thanks to you,” Sawyer said, grudgingly holding it out for Jack to examine.
The bandage was soaked with blood again and Jack worriedly noted how pale Sawyer was, throwing the darkening bruises on his face into dramatic contrast. Jack opened his mouth to repeat his lecture about blood loss and recovery, but he knew Sawyer had heard him the first time and just didn’t care.
Jack removed the old bandage and carefully felt the edges of the wound. It wasn’t hot to the touch or unduly swollen, which was a good sign. The stitches were holding up, although he’d seen neater work in his life.
“You’re going to have a nasty scar, but I think it’s healing well,” Jack said. He might as well have been talking to the tree. Sawyer had shut down again, retreating somewhere within his dark, twisted little mind as Jack wrapped the fresh bandage around his arm.
“Come on,” Jack said, getting to his feet when he was done. “I’m going to take you back to your tent.”
“I’m fine right here,” Sawyer said, still not looking at him.
“No, you’re not, Sawyer. You need rest and you need my help. Don’t fight me on this.”
“I don’t need anything,” he snapped back, with a glare of pure hate. “Not anything from you.” He stood up slowly, using the tree for support. “Doctor.” He said the word with as much spite as he could muster. “I think you broke a few oaths when you let that sonofabitch get his hands on me. Your halo is slipping.”
Jack blinked at Sawyer’s words. Here it was. Sawyer had every right to blame him. What could he say? “I’m trying to make it right,” Jack said apologetically, but then he let his anger get the best of him. “But you could have stopped it at any point. You wanted it to happen, Sawyer, and I’m not going to pretend I know why. You want to mix things up, turn everyone against you. Fine. But don’t come crying to me when it comes back in your face.”
“Who’s crying?” Sawyer said, leaning in closer to Jack and fixing him with a stony glare. “You and that Iraqi motherfucker couldn’t break me. Not if you’d worked on me for a week.”
“Why do you do it, Sawyer?” Jack asked, frustrated. “I was wrong, OK? We were both wrong. Things got out of hand. I am sorry it happened. But it did happen and like it or not we’re all stuck here together. So try sucking it up and not milking it, all right?”
Sawyer smiled and shook his head. “Man, you just don’t get it do you?” he said. “You think you’re so good and kind, helping out the big bad wolf with the thorn in his paw. Well, you fucking put it there, doc.” He held up his bandaged fingers in front of Jack’s face. “Only instead of one thorn, I got six bamboo shoots under my nails. Six.”** His eyes burned accusingly into Jack’s.
Jack’s stomach lurched at the memory of Sawyer’s howls of pain. He could only imagine the excruciating torment Sayid had caused, and how much it must still hurt.
“Sawyer,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. He had a rush of tenderness toward him. Jack wanted to take all his hurt away, nurse his wounds, ease his bitterness. But another voice told him Sawyer was manipulating him as smoothly as his father had. “You like pain,” he said instead of whatever soothing words he’d thought he was going to say. “You’re addicted to it. You’re a sick man, Sawyer, and you were long before we ever set eyes on each other.”
Sawyer snorted. “Got yourself a headshrinkin’ degree too, huh? Well, fuck you, jackass. You don’t know me. You don’t want to know me. You don’t want to help me.”
“You don’t know me,” Jack responded coolly. “And I am going to help you, you insufferable prick. Understand? Now shut up. We’re going back to your tent now and I don’t want to hear anything about it.”
Sawyer lifted an eyebrow. “Wow, swearing. What will that do for your image, doc?”
“Shut up,” Jack said, putting his arm around Sawyer’s waist.
“Hey, hey!” Sawyer said, pulling away. “I ain’t that weak, OK?”
He walked away and Jack sighed and followed. After they had walked about half the way back, Sawyer stopped suddenly, swaying slightly. Jack was at his side instantly.
“I’m OK,” Sawyer insisted, waving Jack away, but his face was pale and covered with a sweaty sheen.
“Lean on me,” Jack said firmly, taking Sawyer’s left arm and putting it over his shoulders and putting his own arm around Sawyer’s waist. Sawyer didn’t fight him, and they carefully navigated their way back to the tent. Sawyer’s eyelids fluttered and his head drooped and Jack was sure he was going to pass out again. He mostly dragged Sawyer the rest of the distance.
Jack eased Sawyer onto his airplane seat and brought him some water. Sawyer sipped it with no argument. He laid back wearily. “Thanks,” he said quietly, with no trace of hostility. Jack muttered something noncommittal in response.
He wondered if they were back in his hospital whether Sawyer would have had someone sitting at his bedside holding his hand or if he’d be one of those blinking back tears in the middle of the night because no one cared if he lived or died.
Again that feeling of sympathy for Sawyer nagged at Jack. He was reminded of that story in “The Little Prince” when the prince tames a wild fox by sitting closer to it every day. How you would go about taming Sawyer, Jack had no idea. Or maybe Sawyer was the rose the prince kept on his home planet. Dramatically vain and self-obsessed, she had boasted she could defend herself in the prince’s absence, proudly showing off her thorns. There was something pathetic in Sawyer’s haughty loner stance, as if he were waiting for someone to call him out and tell him, “I know you need me.”
And then Jack realized he had just compared Sawyer to a flower in a children’s book and that he should get the hell out of there as soon as possible. “I will only leave if you promise me you won’t budge from that chair,” he said. “And drink some water.”
Sawyer nodded, waving his hand at the doctor as if to say, “Go already.”
“OK,” Jack said, trying for a note of authority. “I’ll be back tomorrow. And if you’re not in that chair, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“You and what army?” Sawyer said, his eyelids closing.
The next day, Jack was only mildly surprised to find Sawyer lying in his chair, as directed.
“You happy now, doc?” Sawyer said, as Jack changed his bandage. He seemed better today and he wasn’t openly hostile, both of which Jack was glad to see.
“Under the circumstances, yes.” Jack smiled. “This is much easier when you don’t resist.”
“I bet that’s what you say to all the nurses,” Sawyer said with a smirk.
“Ha ha,” Jack said, but he did smile. Sawyer was one mercurial cat. Today he was, for Sawyer, actually being civil, friendly even. But there was still a tenseness there, the sense that one wrong word, one misstep, and the other Sawyer would be back with a snarl.
“So, you’re feeling stronger?” Jack asked.
“I guess,” Sawyer shrugged, as if embarrassed about his show of weakness the day before.
They both fell quiet and Jack felt pressure to make some kind of small talk. Holy hell, what did he have to talk to Sawyer about? He’d never been that good at this side of being a doctor. As a surgeon, he didn’t have to talk to patients much at all, which he’d really preferred.
“Wait until you get my bill,” Jack said, relying on the oldest joke in doctoring.
Sawyer groaned. “Oh, doc, anyone ever tell you you need to work on your bedside manner? That’s just ... sad.”
“Yeah, I’ve had a few complaints,” Jack admitted, grinning. Wow, this felt easy, Jack thought. There were times when he almost liked Sawyer.
“Uh oh,” Sawyer said, looking at Jack guardedly.
“What?” Jack said guiltily.
“You’ve got that look like you’ve decided I’m not Satan Incarnate anymore.” Sawyer looked both amused and disdainful.
“You can be nice when you want to be,” Jack said brusquely, feeling caught. “Are you going to get mad if someone thinks something good about you for once?”
“Well, I’d be slipping if I didn’t, right?” Sawyer replied, evidently deciding to hang onto his good humor. “After all, I have a reputation to keep up, don’t I?”
“Why?” Jack said earnestly, aware he was going to shatter their brief peace. “Why do you work so hard at being hated?”
Sawyer looked away. “You tell me, doc. You’re the one with the fancy medical degree. I’m just a no-account ... what was it you called me? Insufferable prick.” He glared at Jack, throwing his words back at him. “Right. I’m just an insufferable prick who steals little girls’ asthma medicine.”
“Yeah, well I could repeat all the names you’ve called me,” Jack snapped back. “But you know what? I’m bigger than that. And you are too. Can we just call a truce?” His words hung there, like a rope thrown to a man drowning in quicksand. Would Sawyer grab hold or keep sinking? Jack held his breath, waiting for Sawyer’s response.
“You want me to forget about this,” Sawyer said, his eyes glittering and his mouth set in hard lines as he indicated his wounded arm.
“Not forget. Move on,” Jack said. “You don’t have to keep playing the angry loner. ‘Sawyer against the world.’ It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“You want to kiss it and make it all better?” Sawyer said, holding out his arm. “It’s going to take a lot more than that to make it up to me.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jack began to say when Sawyer interrupted him.
“You know what might be a good start? How about you give me a blowjob?” Sawyer leaned back with an enigmatic smile on his stubbled face.
“What?” Jack sputtered, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “Very funny,” he said, shaking his head once he could think what to say.
“You think I’m jokin’,” Sawyer said. “Well, how ‘bout it, doc? I got a kiss out of Freckles and I’d say you owe me a lot more.”
“You want me to give you a blowjob,” Jack repeated in disbelief. “You never stop, do you?”
“I don’t know, you wanna try me?” Sawyer said with a devilish grin.
“No. No, I don’t,” Jack said. He felt himself blushing. Why was he suddenly thinking of kissing Sawyer? The tent felt very claustrophobic.
“OK, make it a handjob,” Sawyer said, shrugging. “You probably give lousy head anyway.”
Jack sat there, shaking his head and wondering why he hadn’t left already.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Jack said, getting up finally.
“Doc,” Sawyer said, his voice low and urgent. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Are you telling me you haven’t thought about it?”
“No, I haven’t,” Jack said, but he didn’t meet Sawyer’s stare. His stomach was fluttering.
“Come here,” Sawyer ordered, and to his surprise, Jack did. He leaned over Sawyer, his heart racing. They stared at each other for what seemed like ages, until Sawyer reached up and pulled Jack’s head toward his.
Their mouths met fiercely, with Sawyer wincing as Jack pressed on his split lip. “I’m sorry,” Jack breathed, trying to pull away, but Sawyer wasn’t letting him go. They kissed an agonizingly long time, enough time for Jack to feel lightheaded. And to realize that he didn’t want to stop.
He had climbed in the chair with Sawyer before he knew what he was doing. He realized he was trembling as he pressed his body up against the wounded man’s. “What am I doing?” Jack thought as he put his hand to Sawyer’s face, but when Sawyer rolled against him, he stopped thinking. He gave into the sensations of Sawyer’s tongue, Sawyer’s stubble scratching his neck, Sawyer’s crotch rubbing up against his.
He carefully removed Sawyer’s shirt, heedful of his arm injury as Sawyer lifted his arms up. The motion was like helping a child undress, and it made Jack’s heart jump at the level of trust Sawyer was granting him. And then the shirt was tossed aside and any fleeting thought of Sawyer as a child was also tossed away.
Sawyer was all man, a warm bodied, red blooded man who wanted, him, Jack. He ran his hands over Sawyer’s chest, gripping his back, as their kisses grew deeper. The heat coming off Sawyer’s body was intoxicating. Sawyer took Jack’s hand and drew it down to the bulge in his jeans. As Jack’s hand closed on it, Sawyer inhaled sharply, his head settling in the hollow of Jack’s shoulder.
Sawyer struggled with the fly of his jeans, swearing as his injured fingers failed to get the buttons open. Jack took over, holding his breath until Sawyer’s cock was in his hand. Sawyer’s breath came faster at Jack’s touch and Jack thrilled at the effect he was having on him. He spit on his hand and went back to work, trying to find the right grip. Sawyer had no complaints, only put his hand on Jack’s to guide him.
He started moaning, a noise that went through Jack like an electric shock. Seeing Sawyer so vulnerable, so naked, in his arms made him humble. He felt almost unbearably close to him as he sent Sawyer trembling into ecstasy. As Sawyer uttered his final, drawn-out orgasmic moan and collapsed wetly against him, Jack kissed him on the forehead. He felt fiercely protective of him, as if he could keep him safe from any more harm and heal all the hurts of his past.
[KEEP READING FOR ORIGINAL, SUPER SNUGGLY ENDING] -- OR --
[CLICK HERE FOR MORE REALISTIC, NON-SNUGGLY NEW ENDING]
They lay entangled for several minutes until Sawyer’s heart slowed back down to its regular pace. “Your turn, Jack?” Sawyer said, propping himself up with a wicked smile.
Jack shook his head. “You don’t have to, Sawyer. Your hands...”
“I don’t have to use my hands,” Sawyer said, winking at him, a huge grin showing off those devilish dimples.
Jack returned his smile, laughing. “Next time, OK? You’re still my patient, and I don’t want you to tax yourself.”
“Yours, huh?” Sawyer said, his grin deepening. “OK, next time it is, doc. Just want you to know I’m a fair man.”
“I knew that,” Jack said, growing serious again. They shifted positions, with Sawyer lying on Jack’s chest. Sawyer’s eyelids were closing. Jack grabbed a blanket off the floor and put it over them both.
“Won’t they be missing you if you don’t get back?” Sawyer said drowsily.
“No. Everyone knows how dedicated I am,” Jack said with a smile as he ran his hand through Sawyer’s hair.
Sawyer had fallen asleep, looking impossibly innocent in repose. Jack wondered at what had just happened. He was afraid to shift Sawyer, afraid the slightest movement would shatter this idyll. Once he left, would Sawyer act like it had never happened? Would there really be a next time?
He may have tamed the fox for today, but he knew deep down Sawyer was still a wild thing. Tomorrow, he’d have to start trying to tame him all over again.
** OK, I checked some episode pics from "All the Best Cowboys" and it seems Sawyer only has three bandaged fingers. But that's not as impressive as six, is it?
I know, I know, the snuggling is way OOC for Sawyer, but you can think he goes back to being a complete jerk the next day if you're getting a toothache. :-) Or you can read the new alternate ending I was compelled to write