Categories > TV > Lost0 Reviews
After "The Long Con," the balance of power on the island has changed drastically. To what lengths is Jack willing to go to restore it? (Spoilers for "Exodus" and "The Long Con")
It was almost midnight, at least as far as Jack could figure, and almost the entire beach camp was asleep. Some distance off, he saw a flicker of light within a tent, and the sea breeze brought him a hint of melody. Charlie. Jack glanced around him cautiously and satisfied himself with the knowledge that nobody was going to see him. He slowed as he neared the large, well constructed tent and held his breath. He could hear nothing except the ocean crashing not too far away and saw no movement behind the tarps by the faint light of the moon. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into Sawyer's tent.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust, and he dropped to his knees, reaching for the tarp covered bundle closest to him. Before his hands closed upon it, however, a pair of arms reached from behind and pinned his own to his side. Swallowing his first instinct to cry out in surprise, Jack stiffened and tried to twist out of the unsurprisingly strong grip even as he realized the arms that held him had not been empty, and a thick leather belt was being tightened behind him, binding his forearms securely to his side.
"I'm impressed, Doc," Sawyer's voice chuckled softly by his head, "Not a single sound out of you. Weren't you even a little surprised I was awake?" Jack shivered involuntarily as Sawyer laughed, the soft breath of air unexpectedly tickling his ear.
Once he was satisfied that the belt secured Jack's arms to his side, Sawyer moved to the entrance of the tent and rocked back on his heels, keeping the bound doctor within arm's reach, and waited. He watched in mild amusement as Jack tried to free himself again, but finding his wrists too awkwardly pinned, stopped, and turned to face his captor.
"Give me the guns, Sawyer," he said, his voice low and confident, as if he was not bound and precariously balanced on his knees.
Sawyer watched the man in silence; even with only the dim moon to lend him light, he imagined he could make out the determined set of Jack's jaw. "Sit down, Doc, before you fall over," he said suddenly, "You and I are going to have a little chat. Something tells me you didn't come to my tent in the middle of the night to wish me good night." He smiled inwardly at the snort of irritation from Jack. "Or should I just keep you here until dawn and show everyone that their great leader is just a dirty thief?"
Jack felt his body stiffen at Sawyer's last words. "You wouldn't." Unconsciously, he leaned forwards towards Sawyer as he spoke. Already off balance, the sudden movement sent him sprawling face first into the sandy floor.
Above him, he heard the quiet chuckle. "I warned you, but I guess you don't listen to anyone but yourself and Lulu these days."
"What do you want to chat about, Sawyer?" Jack asked, forcing himself awkwardly onto his back.
Standing up, Sawyer took the half step towards the now prone Jack, hooked his arms beneath the other man's, and hauled him to a sitting position. "Don't get me wrong, Doc. I don't want to have a heart-to-heart, and I don't give a damn about your feelings. All I want to know is why do you want my guns?"
"Your guns?" Jack spat out, "Since when were they yours?"
Returning to a position between Jack and the entrance of the tent, Sawyer shrugged. "I've told you before, possession is nine-tenths of the law out here. It seems you've taken that to heart, considering I caught you coming in trying to take possession of them yourself." He paused, tilting his head slightly to scrutinize Jack. "Do you really think I'm stupid enough to keep them in my tent?" Jack opened his mouth to answer, but Sawyer threw up his hand, preempting whatever it was the doctor was about to say. "Never mind. Why do you have such a hard-on for the guns, Doc?"
Jack glared at the smug drawl in the other man's voice. "We are fighting a war against the Others, Sawyer. We need to be able to protect ourselves," he answered. Jack tried his hardest to keep his voice low; despite his best efforts, however, a good deal of heat still made it into his voice. He was somewhat surprised that no one had heard any of the commotion within the tent and come to take a look.
"You almost sound like you believe yourself, Jack," Sawyer observed, "Now let me tell you why I'm not going to give them to you."
Sawyer glanced through the tent flap before leaning closer to the indignant spinal surgeon. "You know as well as I do it's not about the guns, it's about power. Johnny Locke's been getting awfully take charge, and you're not liking it. Who is he to tell you what to do? Just because he found that hatch doesn't mean he should be the one in charge of everything in it. Am I right?" he asked softly.
He could almost feel Jack's righteous anger before Jack spoke. "Just because it turns out you're the one who kidnapped Sun and terrified her and the rest of the camp doesn't mean we have any less need to protect ourselves. I'm not going to--"
Surprised by the sudden pressure of Sawyer's hands on his shoulder, Jack stopped in mid-sentence. "Get one thing straight, Doc," Sawyer said carefully, bringing Jack's face close to his own, "I was not the one who did that to Sun."
Maybe some part of him knew that Sawyer spoke the truth about the struggle for the guns being a struggle for power, or maybe he was simply tired of Sawyer's act, but something within made Jack reckless. "Oh yeah?" he snarled, letting the frustration that he had been tamping down to the surface. "You think just because you talked someone else into kidnapping Sun, it makes you a good person? This is about the guns, Sawyer, just the guns."
There was a brief moment in which Jack imagined his words had wounded Sawyer, but the moment passed, and the man with his face next to his spoke again. "That's why I'm not giving you the guns, Jack. You can't even owe up to yourself the real reason why you want them. You want the guns because you don't take kindly to Button Pushing John calling the shots. Neither you nor Locke care who is being dragged away into the jungle of mystery, you just don't like someone else telling you what to do. Seems we're alike--"
Jack wasn't sure what possessed him to do what he did, but he knew he had to stop Sawyer from speaking. Positioned as awkwardly as he was, he did the only thing he could think of in his present bound state and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Sawyer's.
The gambit worked flawlessly, the sudden move shocked Sawyer to silence, but before Jack could take advantage of the moment, he found Sawyer kissing him skillfully, and, feeling as though some internal dam had been breached, Jack found himself reciprocating, channeling the frustrations and hurts he'd been containing within into the feel of Sawyer's lips and tongue against his own.
Sawyer found his skill swiftly overcome as Jack's lips became simultaneously needy and demanding against his own and focused only on keeping up. His hands moved from grasping Jack's shoulders to sliding down the other man's arms, feeling the tension taut muscles beneath the skin. Jack's response to his touch was to press his body closer, and Sawyer could feel his arms and hands straining against their bonds towards him.
Without pausing to contemplate the wisdom of undoing said bonds, Sawyer's hands moved behind Jack's back, to the buckle that held the leather belt in place. Jack seemed unaware of what he was doing, his tongue thrusting demandingly into Sawyer's mouth even as his body arched against Sawyer's, begging for the touch of skin.
Fumbling blindly, Sawyer felt for the belt buckle and finally managed to undo it, letting the ends of the belt fall free even though part of it was still pressed between their bodies.
It eventually permeated through the fog in Jack's mind that his hands were no longer bound firmly to his side. For a brief moment, he contemplated leaving Sawyer's tent, but the thought flew from his head as he registered the sensation of his shirt being tugged upwards and felt the coolness of Sawyer's hands on his heated skin.
He tore himself away from Sawyer's lips for a moment to pull the shirt over his head and felt the belt fall to the sandy ground between them. At the abrupt loss of contact, he heard his name breathlessly ripped from Sawyer's lips. The sound of his name, full of need and completely devoid of Sawyer's usual bitter sarcasm, spread through him like liquid fire. With clumsy, eager hands, he sought out the row of buttons fastening Sawyer's shirt even as Sawyer's hands began exploring his bared chest. "Damn it, Sawyer, why does your shirt have so many buttons?" Jack gasped as the other man's lips descended to the tender flesh at his throat.
"Well, I wasn't expecting this." Sawyer's reply quickly became a strangled moan as Jack finally managed to undo all the buttons of his shirt and raked a skilled hand across his chest.
Jack chuckled in agreement as he eased the shirt off Sawyer's wounded shoulder and continued running his hands across the other man's torso, wandering ever lower until his fingertips grazed the waist of his pants. Despite the sensations Sawyer's lips and hands were arousing within him, Jack allowed his hands to continue wandering downwards.
The scope of Sawyer's entire awareness had narrowed to the faintly salty taste of Jack on his lips and the feel of skin beneath his hands. A guttural cry ripped from his throat as he felt Jack's hand cup him firmly through his thick denim jeans. "You want to wake the camp, Doc?" he ground out, breathing hard.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their collective labored breathing. With his free hand, Jack pushed firmly on Sawyer's shoulder, forcing the man backwards into the sand. Instinctively, Sawyer threw his hands backwards, supporting himself as the doctor reached for his waistband again. "Do you really want me to stop?" Jack asked as he deftly unzipped Sawyer's jeans and pulled both pants and boxers away.
Sawyer opened his mouth to reply, but whatever words he had in mind left him in a low groan of pleasure as he felt a single stroke up the entire length of him. Before he could say anything else, Jack's long, knowing fingers wrapped around him and began moving in slow, steady strokes. His hips bucked violently up to meet Jack's strokes, and his breathing grew sharper and more ragged as he neared the edge.
Suddenly the firm, steady strokes slowed, and Sawyer growled in frustration. "You know this won't happen again," Jack said in a resigned voice, staring down at him.
Sawyer exhaled in exasperation and pulled the other man towards him. "'Course I know. Despite what you may believe, I'm not stupid," he replied, silencing Jack with a bruising kiss, "Just once."
Despite the fact that he had pulled Jack forward, half fallen onto himself, Sawyer was surprised to notice that the doctor still retained his grip and began stroking him again. It took mere seconds before Sawyer's hips jerked upwards, slamming his body against Jack's, and a half gasp/half moan of pleasure bubbled from his lips.
Jack closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment without thought. Sawyer's body shuddered still beneath him, and the only sound he could hear was their labored breathing. He reluctantly shifted off Sawyer and only then noticed the feel of sticky warmth on his abdomen. "Think Lulu's going to wonder where that came from when she does your laundry?" Sawyer asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, as he pulled himself into a sitting position.
"What? I do my own laundry," Jack replied. He knew he should stand up, should leave, should immediately make good on his earlier statement of never again. And yet, he could not, not with Sawyer so close he could feel the heat radiating off the other man's unclothed form.
He felt the chuckling exhale as Sawyer leaned close and realized he had once again fallen into the man's verbal snare. "I know, Jack, I know," came the reply even as he felt Sawyer's hand, still overwarm from exertion, slide down his bare chest and against his pants. "But this is definitely something I don't plan on letting you do yourself."
Jack drew in a long breath to keep from crying out as Sawyer quickly undid his pants and slid both pants and boxers off him in one fluid motion. He shivered, his lower body suddenly exposed to the night chill of the tent, until he felt lips encircling him and the cool air suddenly replaced by liquid warmth.
As Sawyer moved against him, the part of Jack's consciousness not utterly lost to rational thought railed that he had thoroughly lost his mind, but was immediately drowned out by a helpless moan as his hips thrust upwards of their own volition. His sounds of pleasure seemed to spur the other man on as the sensations around him quickened. It took but a moment for Sawyer to have him reeling, and he heard as if from far away the wordless cry of ecstasy ripped from his throat.
Spent, Jack could only stare as Sawyer rose, wiping his lips, and pressed a deep kiss to his mouth. He tasted himself on Sawyer's tongue and bitterly regretted their mutual promise. "Never again, Jack," Sawyer whispered against him, echoing his own thoughts. He nodded in acknowledgment, but allowed himself to linger against Sawyer's lips.
Finally unable to prolong the moment any further, Jack pulled away and stood up. Sawyer reached behind himself and retrieved Jack's shirt from the sand. With a nod of thanks, Jack took it and began to dress, knowing without sight that Sawyer was watching his every move. In silence, he zipped up his pants and turned to the tent's exit. As soon as he stepped outside, Jack was relieved to see that the camp was still blissfully asleep, unaware of what had transpired.
"Jack, wait." Sawyer's voice suddenly came from within the tent and Jack turned in surprise. "Catch." He felt something heavy hit his chest and fall to the sand. Bending down, he picked up the object, more than a little perplexed at the idea that Sawyer had thrown what seemed to be an unloaded handgun at him.
"I dropped the one you gave me overboard on the raft but not before I used up the ammo," Sawyer explained, "Consider this one payment."