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janie_tangerineTitle: At Dusk The Stars All Appear
Rating: light R
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Words: 670
Summary: Jack never asked him what was in his letter, and Sawyer won’t ask him why he inks stars on his biceps.
Spoilers: meh, none really. It's supposed to be set either in S1 or S2, so spoiler-free.
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, duh. We would have seen this happening.
A/N: originally written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gemjam for the five acts meme; the prompts were tattoos and stars (plus foreplay, but there really isn't much of it here). Title from Bruce Springsteen.
Sometimes Sawyer thinks he should ask Jack why the hell would he get stars tattooed on his arm.
Well, why would he get anything tattooed at all because before Jack got out of that suit, he wouldn’t have pegged him for one who put ink under his skin permanently. Maybe it’s because Sawyer himself doesn’t get it or can’t see the appeal of it (it means marking yourself, it means wanting to remember something by etching it into your body, it means keeping something with you where you can’t lose it, and if you ask Sawyer, then the only things he could ink into his back would be his letter; and it’s already in his head enough), but then again tattoos don’t scream respectable position, respectable life, well-paid job and the white picket fence that Sawyer is pretty sure that Jack either has or must have had at some point.
Still, he doesn’t ask. It’s private. Jack never asked him what was in his letter, and Sawyer won’t ask him why he inks stars on his biceps.
He has to say they’re hot, though.
And strangely appropriate.
He might not be someone to admit this kind of things, hell, he usually never even thinks this kind of things, but there’s something surreal and out of this world in lying on some small piece of beach where no one usually goes nosing and for once let Jack have the upper hand.
They bring a towel and nothing else and then they’ll lose their clothes and most times Jack is a sadistic bastard. He likes to make things longer, he likes to place his mouth on Sawyer’s naked skin for minutes before even opening the fly of his jeans, and Sawyer needs to give him props; he manages to do it without making Sawyer feel like a goddamn schoolgirl. It’s not like he just lets Jack have his way. He thrusts back, he kisses him without much finesse when Jack tries to do it slow, he might let Jack bite him but then bites him next, and if by the time Jack finally pulls his jeans down he’s usually hard as a rock, well, it’s just the natural consequences.
(Also, another thing he wouldn’t have imagined is that Jack gives some pretty fucking nice head. Definitely better than any man that tried before. Sawyer really, really likes it when Jack takes his time there, too.)
But what sometimes makes the two of them fucking on a beach at two AM or close to it not just fucking but something sort of ethereal and definitely unique, is that the stars’ light is so different. It’s enough to make him see every expression on Jack’s face, every hollow or scar on his body, and they’re so huge that sometimes he wonders if they’re even real. And then he’ll see one of them just next to Jack’s tattoos as he turns his head to the right while Jack fucks him into the towel, and who cares if the sand gets everywhere, and there’s something about the two things one next to the other (which is also kind of stupid because the shapes don’t even resemble) unclenching in his stomach and usually makes him close his eyes and jerk his hips up to meet Jack’s thrusts more easily. Sometimes, not always but quite often, he motions for Jack to bring his arm down so that he can trace those stars with his tongue, and Jack usually shudders as he keeps on pushing inside him.
And, he always thinks as he comes and Jack comes inside him mostly more or less at the same time, as his frame shivers from the force of it, as he takes notice of how much more open and relaxed and different Jack’s face looks when he’s not being the fucking resident hysterical doctor but just lets himself go, there’s never been quite nothing like this in his life until now.
The thought would usually scare him.
The more time passes, the less it does.
End.
Rating: light R
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Words: 670
Summary: Jack never asked him what was in his letter, and Sawyer won’t ask him why he inks stars on his biceps.
Spoilers: meh, none really. It's supposed to be set either in S1 or S2, so spoiler-free.
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, duh. We would have seen this happening.
A/N: originally written for
gemjam for the five acts meme; the prompts were tattoos and stars (plus foreplay, but there really isn't much of it here). Title from Bruce Springsteen.Sometimes Sawyer thinks he should ask Jack why the hell would he get stars tattooed on his arm.
Well, why would he get anything tattooed at all because before Jack got out of that suit, he wouldn’t have pegged him for one who put ink under his skin permanently. Maybe it’s because Sawyer himself doesn’t get it or can’t see the appeal of it (it means marking yourself, it means wanting to remember something by etching it into your body, it means keeping something with you where you can’t lose it, and if you ask Sawyer, then the only things he could ink into his back would be his letter; and it’s already in his head enough), but then again tattoos don’t scream respectable position, respectable life, well-paid job and the white picket fence that Sawyer is pretty sure that Jack either has or must have had at some point.
Still, he doesn’t ask. It’s private. Jack never asked him what was in his letter, and Sawyer won’t ask him why he inks stars on his biceps.
He has to say they’re hot, though.
And strangely appropriate.
He might not be someone to admit this kind of things, hell, he usually never even thinks this kind of things, but there’s something surreal and out of this world in lying on some small piece of beach where no one usually goes nosing and for once let Jack have the upper hand.
They bring a towel and nothing else and then they’ll lose their clothes and most times Jack is a sadistic bastard. He likes to make things longer, he likes to place his mouth on Sawyer’s naked skin for minutes before even opening the fly of his jeans, and Sawyer needs to give him props; he manages to do it without making Sawyer feel like a goddamn schoolgirl. It’s not like he just lets Jack have his way. He thrusts back, he kisses him without much finesse when Jack tries to do it slow, he might let Jack bite him but then bites him next, and if by the time Jack finally pulls his jeans down he’s usually hard as a rock, well, it’s just the natural consequences.
(Also, another thing he wouldn’t have imagined is that Jack gives some pretty fucking nice head. Definitely better than any man that tried before. Sawyer really, really likes it when Jack takes his time there, too.)
But what sometimes makes the two of them fucking on a beach at two AM or close to it not just fucking but something sort of ethereal and definitely unique, is that the stars’ light is so different. It’s enough to make him see every expression on Jack’s face, every hollow or scar on his body, and they’re so huge that sometimes he wonders if they’re even real. And then he’ll see one of them just next to Jack’s tattoos as he turns his head to the right while Jack fucks him into the towel, and who cares if the sand gets everywhere, and there’s something about the two things one next to the other (which is also kind of stupid because the shapes don’t even resemble) unclenching in his stomach and usually makes him close his eyes and jerk his hips up to meet Jack’s thrusts more easily. Sometimes, not always but quite often, he motions for Jack to bring his arm down so that he can trace those stars with his tongue, and Jack usually shudders as he keeps on pushing inside him.
And, he always thinks as he comes and Jack comes inside him mostly more or less at the same time, as his frame shivers from the force of it, as he takes notice of how much more open and relaxed and different Jack’s face looks when he’s not being the fucking resident hysterical doctor but just lets himself go, there’s never been quite nothing like this in his life until now.
The thought would usually scare him.
The more time passes, the less it does.
End.
