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janie_tangerineI swear this is the last for today and I'll stop spamming you. IT'S NOT MY FAULT I can't do comment fic.
Title: I need an easy friend
Pairing: Jack/Castiel (-> Nirvana!Jack/future!Castiel strikes again)
Rating: light NC17
Words: 1900
Spoilers: for 5x04 for SPN, S3/S4 (the O6 storyline) for Lost.
Warnings: drinking, drugs, sex between two not exactly sober people.
Summary: “Don’t you have any self-respect?” Jack asks, inching closer, but the tone isn’t really reproachful. It’s just, he knows who he’s dealing with. “Not really,” Castiel agrees, “that disappeared along with my wings a long time ago.” Or, where the O6 still didn't go back to the island, Jack always ends up at Camp Chitaqua and he and Castiel still like to indulge in the same vices, except that here they're also regretting losing someone else.
A/N: written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
invisiblelove (again!) at the comment fic meme! at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnlost_otp (again!) because her prompts are awesome. The prompt was angsty sex with Jack longing for Sawyer back on the island and Castiel mourning what Dean has become, except that they went where they wanted to go so idk if there's enough pining. ;) Also uh, I wouldn't put it in the same verse as the other f!Cas/nirvana!Jack I wrote because that one implied that they weren't pining, but the backstory would be pretty much the same. Also using for my hc_bingo fallen angels square. Title from Nirvana.
“He doesn’t care anymore,” Castiel says as he hands Jack the bottle.
“I left him behind,” Jack says as he takes it, and then he brings it to his lips.
(That’s how it started.)
“He’s not even himself,” Castiel keeps on, and there’s a white round tablet on his tongue before he swallows it down.
“I failed him. More than I failed everyone else,” Jack sighs, and grabs the bottle from Castiel’s hand and downs two pills dry.
(It’s a habit by now. They meet in Jack’s cabin, or Castiel’s cabin, and they share. Whatever it is. It works for them. There’s no bullshit or baggage hanging between them. It feels as good as something feels during a zombie apocalypse.)
Jack’s hand moves, shaking (but it always shakes) and covers Castiel’s wrist. They look at each other, taking everything in. Ripped clothes, red-rimmed eyes, two days’ worth of stubble for the both of them, and they don’t really smell great. Then again, life is what it is.
“How was he? Before… well. Before he became a fearless leader.”
Castiel snorts and grabs the bottle again. “He was… he cared. He would have done anything for you, if he cared about you. He was righteous. And he used to treat me like a friend, not like... like some kind of nuisance. How was Sawyer?”
“He was… the kind of person who will never admit to needing someone else, I guess. But if he cared, he cared. We argued. But it was good arguing. And he kept on pretending that he hated everyone but… he really didn’t. And he just didn’t deserve to be left there.”
There’s silence for a second.
“I miss him,” Castiel admits, quietly. He never admits these kinds of things to anyone.
“Me, too, though not your fearless leader,” Jack agrees, and then they look at each other again.
(They usually get each other. It happens now, too.)
“If… if you want…” Castiel starts, licking his lips once, not really knowing why he’s saying it. Maybe because he’s aching too much, this evening, and the downside to no bullshit is that you’re doomed to suffer. “We could… if you wanted to pretend, it’s…”
(He knows that if it happens they’ll both be thinking about someone else. It doesn’t make sense to put it in any other way.)
“Don’t you have any self-respect?” Jack asks, inching closer, but the tone isn’t really reproachful. It’s just, he knows who he’s dealing with.
“Not really,” Castiel agrees, “that disappeared along with my wings a long time ago.”
“I… listen, I can’t pretend to be him because I just can’t see him as anything else than what he’s now, and sorry but if you lack self-respect then your impression wouldn’t be that great. It’s just… I know you’d think about Dean and you know I’d think about Sawyer. Let’s just… if we just accept that and don’t go farther?”
“Fine,” Castiel says, because really, pretending might’ve been easier but he thinks he’s tired of it, and he needs something which isn’t a girl whose name he’ll forget in the span of a night.
(It’s the first time since it ended with Dean that he gives a damn about the person he’s about to have sex with. It’s almost frightening.)
Jack nods and moves closer and raises a hand to Castiel’s cheek, and then his fingers tangle in the hair on the back of Castiel’s head and Castiel breathes out. It already feels good, Dean used to do it, too, and if he closes his eyes, maybe it really won’t feel different.
Would it?
He breathes out and moves forward and kisses Jack slowly, carefully.
(He told me I was the closest thing to a friend he had, Jack had said once. Sometimes, Castiel thinks that Jack is the closest thing he has to a friend, too, these days. It isn’t hard to kiss him like he is.)
Jack sighs into the kiss and a shaking hand closes around Castiel’s hip. Castiel kind of really likes how Jack’s fingers feel. They’re like a pianist’s, he thinks, and they’re rough but not as much as Dean’s, and they used to feel good also when he was fixing that broken foot of Cas’s a while ago. But now, skin against skin, as Jack’s hand moves up and down his hip, it almost feels like his first time, when Dean did exactly the same thing.
Castiel tries not to be as gentle. He tries to reciprocate and push it all back, because from what he heard, this Sawyer person would have been sure and confident and not really the mess that he is now (he can look confident with girls, but this is not the same thing), but it doesn’t last much. Jack keeps his eyes mostly closed and Castiel knows that his head is on an island, but he still touches Castiel like no one has done since Dean and everything he wants to do is melt under those shaking hands and stop worrying.
(If you’re wondering, Jack has been thinking about Sawyer. For the first handful of minutes, he just touched and kissed Castiel like he’d have touched and kissed Sawyer if they ever met again, but then… then not really. Right, Castiel is mostly nuts and he’s a self-destructive idiot who will die for their dick of a leader if he only asks. But Jack hasn’t met anyone else, since he had his first Oxy pill, who understood why he did it so completely, and if Castiel is utterly fucked up, it’s not even his fault. No one bothered to explain him how to do humanity, anyway. And he might not have self-respect, but Jack respects him too much to keep on thinking about someone else while Castiel turns to melted butter under his hands.)
He stops trying to pretend in a short while. It’s not for lack of trying, but Dean’s hands never shook and he never had two days’ worth of stubble.
It’s fine, though, because it’s just that much easier to bring his head behind Jack’s neck as they fall down on the mattress in his cabin and to place a slow, thorough kiss on his lips. The kind of kiss he never gives anymore. Maybe it’s also a thank-you kiss, but he’ll never say that out loud. They don’t have that many layers on and they lose clothes quickly, and if Jack’s body wasn’t on the thin side and covered in scars , he might be feel slightly self-conscious. He has scars, too, and some are in the crook of his arm, and he’s pretty sure there were times in which he looked healthier, but no one looks healthy now, so what the fuck.
He lies down and lets Jack touch him everywhere he wants to, and neither of them is thinking that this will make everything better.
But maybe, he thinks as Jack grabs some oil which he knows Castiel keeps on the side of the mattress, maybe it will make something better for the time it lasts.
So he spreads his legs and presses open-mouthed kisses over Jack’s tattoos while Jack slides inside him, easily, without much of an effort, and Castiel’s hips move up and match Jack’s thrusting. On one side it’s like with Dean, because it’s easy and comfortable and it’s the two of them moving in unison, but on the other side it’s not because when he was with Dean he had thought it’d last forever and it hadn’t. Now he really isn’t expecting anything.
(Jack thinks that Sawyer wouldn’t have been as agreeable, but that’s the reason why he quit thinking about him in the first place. He thinks that Sawyer would be pretty pissed at him, anyway, if he had sex with someone while imagining to be with him. Because no one would match up, Doc, he’d say, and Jack doesn’t really think that it’d have worked, if he had kept on trying. Now he just wants to give Castiel a good time because neither of them have much of one, lately.)
Jack tastes of disinfectant and whiskey and Castiel thinks he probably tastes just like whiskey, but he likes it. It fits. It’s a real taste. He steals kisses while Jack still fucks him into the mattress without the roughness he had been expecting for some reason, and he can’t help moaning when Jack’s hand closes around his cock and then it’s there, it’s done, he’s over his limit even if he usually can last a lot longer. He comes against Jack’s hand and a beat after Jack stills and comes inside him after giving a last, deep thrust, and for a second he feels some kind of connection that he hasn’t felt while having sex in… way too much time. It’s long and hard and when it’s done their stomachs are a mess and he feels stickiness running down his thighs as soon as Jack moves out, but when Jack moves to grab some kind of rag to clean them with, he shakes his head and they just fall down on the bed.
He feels decent, all things considered. He wonders how long it’ll take for the good feeling to disappear, but then Jack’s hand is in the crook of his neck, his fingertips scraping at his scalp, and he has to look at him.
He kind of dreaded it, but nothing in Jack’s face changed since last time they looked at each other before kissing.
“I… I wasn’t really thinking about Dean,” he blurts, feeling strangely exposed, but like he owes it to Jack to say it.
“I wasn’t really thinking about Sawyer either,” Jack mumbles back, and Castiel gasps because he hadn’t really expected it.
He doesn’t know he started breathing faster until Jack moves closer as he shakes his head.
“Hey, quit it. Your heart rate will end up killing you if it matches your breath.”
Right. It wouldn’t be a conversation with Jack if he didn’t remind you in medical terms that you’re doing something stupid.
“And seriously, I’m not drunk enough for this. You know, you aren’t good just to be someone’s substitute. And after this, I need a drink.”
He grabs another half-empty bottle lying against the wall near his side of the mattress, but his hand stays on Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel wishes he was like he used to be four years ago, because he’d have had an answer for that. When Jack is done, he leans up and snatches the bottle. He needs to be drunker to ask what he’s about to ask.
He finishes it, and fuck if it didn’t taste like nothing, and then he turns towards Jack again.
“Are you serious?”
“I like to think that I respect myself enough not to make fun of people, thanks. Including you.”
Castiel takes a breath. “Good. Then if I said friends with benefits what would you say?”
They look at each other for a second, again, and Castiel thinks it’s a very long second.
“I’d say why not,” Jack answers, and if he’s swallowing another pill he fished from his jeans’s pocket, Castiel doesn’t care and nods as he falls back down on the mattress.
(Why not is more than he expected to get and friends with benefits more than Jack had expected to hear.)
He lets out a breath of relief when he wakes up in the morning and he realizes that Jack is still there.
End.
Title: I need an easy friend
Pairing: Jack/Castiel (-> Nirvana!Jack/future!Castiel strikes again)
Rating: light NC17
Words: 1900
Spoilers: for 5x04 for SPN, S3/S4 (the O6 storyline) for Lost.
Warnings: drinking, drugs, sex between two not exactly sober people.
Summary: “Don’t you have any self-respect?” Jack asks, inching closer, but the tone isn’t really reproachful. It’s just, he knows who he’s dealing with. “Not really,” Castiel agrees, “that disappeared along with my wings a long time ago.” Or, where the O6 still didn't go back to the island, Jack always ends up at Camp Chitaqua and he and Castiel still like to indulge in the same vices, except that here they're also regretting losing someone else.
A/N: written for
invisiblelove (again!) at the comment fic meme! at spnlost_otp (again!) because her prompts are awesome. The prompt was angsty sex with Jack longing for Sawyer back on the island and Castiel mourning what Dean has become, except that they went where they wanted to go so idk if there's enough pining. ;) Also uh, I wouldn't put it in the same verse as the other f!Cas/nirvana!Jack I wrote because that one implied that they weren't pining, but the backstory would be pretty much the same. Also using for my hc_bingo fallen angels square. Title from Nirvana.“He doesn’t care anymore,” Castiel says as he hands Jack the bottle.
“I left him behind,” Jack says as he takes it, and then he brings it to his lips.
(That’s how it started.)
“He’s not even himself,” Castiel keeps on, and there’s a white round tablet on his tongue before he swallows it down.
“I failed him. More than I failed everyone else,” Jack sighs, and grabs the bottle from Castiel’s hand and downs two pills dry.
(It’s a habit by now. They meet in Jack’s cabin, or Castiel’s cabin, and they share. Whatever it is. It works for them. There’s no bullshit or baggage hanging between them. It feels as good as something feels during a zombie apocalypse.)
Jack’s hand moves, shaking (but it always shakes) and covers Castiel’s wrist. They look at each other, taking everything in. Ripped clothes, red-rimmed eyes, two days’ worth of stubble for the both of them, and they don’t really smell great. Then again, life is what it is.
“How was he? Before… well. Before he became a fearless leader.”
Castiel snorts and grabs the bottle again. “He was… he cared. He would have done anything for you, if he cared about you. He was righteous. And he used to treat me like a friend, not like... like some kind of nuisance. How was Sawyer?”
“He was… the kind of person who will never admit to needing someone else, I guess. But if he cared, he cared. We argued. But it was good arguing. And he kept on pretending that he hated everyone but… he really didn’t. And he just didn’t deserve to be left there.”
There’s silence for a second.
“I miss him,” Castiel admits, quietly. He never admits these kinds of things to anyone.
“Me, too, though not your fearless leader,” Jack agrees, and then they look at each other again.
(They usually get each other. It happens now, too.)
“If… if you want…” Castiel starts, licking his lips once, not really knowing why he’s saying it. Maybe because he’s aching too much, this evening, and the downside to no bullshit is that you’re doomed to suffer. “We could… if you wanted to pretend, it’s…”
(He knows that if it happens they’ll both be thinking about someone else. It doesn’t make sense to put it in any other way.)
“Don’t you have any self-respect?” Jack asks, inching closer, but the tone isn’t really reproachful. It’s just, he knows who he’s dealing with.
“Not really,” Castiel agrees, “that disappeared along with my wings a long time ago.”
“I… listen, I can’t pretend to be him because I just can’t see him as anything else than what he’s now, and sorry but if you lack self-respect then your impression wouldn’t be that great. It’s just… I know you’d think about Dean and you know I’d think about Sawyer. Let’s just… if we just accept that and don’t go farther?”
“Fine,” Castiel says, because really, pretending might’ve been easier but he thinks he’s tired of it, and he needs something which isn’t a girl whose name he’ll forget in the span of a night.
(It’s the first time since it ended with Dean that he gives a damn about the person he’s about to have sex with. It’s almost frightening.)
Jack nods and moves closer and raises a hand to Castiel’s cheek, and then his fingers tangle in the hair on the back of Castiel’s head and Castiel breathes out. It already feels good, Dean used to do it, too, and if he closes his eyes, maybe it really won’t feel different.
Would it?
He breathes out and moves forward and kisses Jack slowly, carefully.
(He told me I was the closest thing to a friend he had, Jack had said once. Sometimes, Castiel thinks that Jack is the closest thing he has to a friend, too, these days. It isn’t hard to kiss him like he is.)
Jack sighs into the kiss and a shaking hand closes around Castiel’s hip. Castiel kind of really likes how Jack’s fingers feel. They’re like a pianist’s, he thinks, and they’re rough but not as much as Dean’s, and they used to feel good also when he was fixing that broken foot of Cas’s a while ago. But now, skin against skin, as Jack’s hand moves up and down his hip, it almost feels like his first time, when Dean did exactly the same thing.
Castiel tries not to be as gentle. He tries to reciprocate and push it all back, because from what he heard, this Sawyer person would have been sure and confident and not really the mess that he is now (he can look confident with girls, but this is not the same thing), but it doesn’t last much. Jack keeps his eyes mostly closed and Castiel knows that his head is on an island, but he still touches Castiel like no one has done since Dean and everything he wants to do is melt under those shaking hands and stop worrying.
(If you’re wondering, Jack has been thinking about Sawyer. For the first handful of minutes, he just touched and kissed Castiel like he’d have touched and kissed Sawyer if they ever met again, but then… then not really. Right, Castiel is mostly nuts and he’s a self-destructive idiot who will die for their dick of a leader if he only asks. But Jack hasn’t met anyone else, since he had his first Oxy pill, who understood why he did it so completely, and if Castiel is utterly fucked up, it’s not even his fault. No one bothered to explain him how to do humanity, anyway. And he might not have self-respect, but Jack respects him too much to keep on thinking about someone else while Castiel turns to melted butter under his hands.)
He stops trying to pretend in a short while. It’s not for lack of trying, but Dean’s hands never shook and he never had two days’ worth of stubble.
It’s fine, though, because it’s just that much easier to bring his head behind Jack’s neck as they fall down on the mattress in his cabin and to place a slow, thorough kiss on his lips. The kind of kiss he never gives anymore. Maybe it’s also a thank-you kiss, but he’ll never say that out loud. They don’t have that many layers on and they lose clothes quickly, and if Jack’s body wasn’t on the thin side and covered in scars , he might be feel slightly self-conscious. He has scars, too, and some are in the crook of his arm, and he’s pretty sure there were times in which he looked healthier, but no one looks healthy now, so what the fuck.
He lies down and lets Jack touch him everywhere he wants to, and neither of them is thinking that this will make everything better.
But maybe, he thinks as Jack grabs some oil which he knows Castiel keeps on the side of the mattress, maybe it will make something better for the time it lasts.
So he spreads his legs and presses open-mouthed kisses over Jack’s tattoos while Jack slides inside him, easily, without much of an effort, and Castiel’s hips move up and match Jack’s thrusting. On one side it’s like with Dean, because it’s easy and comfortable and it’s the two of them moving in unison, but on the other side it’s not because when he was with Dean he had thought it’d last forever and it hadn’t. Now he really isn’t expecting anything.
(Jack thinks that Sawyer wouldn’t have been as agreeable, but that’s the reason why he quit thinking about him in the first place. He thinks that Sawyer would be pretty pissed at him, anyway, if he had sex with someone while imagining to be with him. Because no one would match up, Doc, he’d say, and Jack doesn’t really think that it’d have worked, if he had kept on trying. Now he just wants to give Castiel a good time because neither of them have much of one, lately.)
Jack tastes of disinfectant and whiskey and Castiel thinks he probably tastes just like whiskey, but he likes it. It fits. It’s a real taste. He steals kisses while Jack still fucks him into the mattress without the roughness he had been expecting for some reason, and he can’t help moaning when Jack’s hand closes around his cock and then it’s there, it’s done, he’s over his limit even if he usually can last a lot longer. He comes against Jack’s hand and a beat after Jack stills and comes inside him after giving a last, deep thrust, and for a second he feels some kind of connection that he hasn’t felt while having sex in… way too much time. It’s long and hard and when it’s done their stomachs are a mess and he feels stickiness running down his thighs as soon as Jack moves out, but when Jack moves to grab some kind of rag to clean them with, he shakes his head and they just fall down on the bed.
He feels decent, all things considered. He wonders how long it’ll take for the good feeling to disappear, but then Jack’s hand is in the crook of his neck, his fingertips scraping at his scalp, and he has to look at him.
He kind of dreaded it, but nothing in Jack’s face changed since last time they looked at each other before kissing.
“I… I wasn’t really thinking about Dean,” he blurts, feeling strangely exposed, but like he owes it to Jack to say it.
“I wasn’t really thinking about Sawyer either,” Jack mumbles back, and Castiel gasps because he hadn’t really expected it.
He doesn’t know he started breathing faster until Jack moves closer as he shakes his head.
“Hey, quit it. Your heart rate will end up killing you if it matches your breath.”
Right. It wouldn’t be a conversation with Jack if he didn’t remind you in medical terms that you’re doing something stupid.
“And seriously, I’m not drunk enough for this. You know, you aren’t good just to be someone’s substitute. And after this, I need a drink.”
He grabs another half-empty bottle lying against the wall near his side of the mattress, but his hand stays on Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel wishes he was like he used to be four years ago, because he’d have had an answer for that. When Jack is done, he leans up and snatches the bottle. He needs to be drunker to ask what he’s about to ask.
He finishes it, and fuck if it didn’t taste like nothing, and then he turns towards Jack again.
“Are you serious?”
“I like to think that I respect myself enough not to make fun of people, thanks. Including you.”
Castiel takes a breath. “Good. Then if I said friends with benefits what would you say?”
They look at each other for a second, again, and Castiel thinks it’s a very long second.
“I’d say why not,” Jack answers, and if he’s swallowing another pill he fished from his jeans’s pocket, Castiel doesn’t care and nods as he falls back down on the mattress.
(Why not is more than he expected to get and friends with benefits more than Jack had expected to hear.)
He lets out a breath of relief when he wakes up in the morning and he realizes that Jack is still there.
End.
