Title:  “A Call to Prayer 3 – Baptism”
Author:  uberaeryn
Fandom:  Lost
Pairing:  Jack/Sawyer
Warnings:  Spoiler for S1
Rating:  Adults Only, Language and Sexual Situations
Previous parts:  Part 1, Part 2
 

Running

Sawyer was running, to no where and to no one, just away, when a flash of light in the distance caught his eye and he pulled up suddenly, breathing hard.

A thunderstorm, out across the water and moving away from the island, he noticed, and for that he felt relief. Tomorrow they would need the sun for the job that what would have to be done.

He watched as the lightning danced from cloud to cloud, sometimes snapping down to sting the surface of the ocean before retreating back to the sky, and as the muted rumble of thunder rolled across the water and over him Sawyer remembered another storm, in another place and another time.

It seemed like so long ago, he thought, but in reality not nearly long enough and then he was fighting it, not wanting to remember but it came upon him anyway and with such force that it hurt.

***

Remembering

He’d asked Jack much later why he had seemed so determined to get to Sawyer, the reasons for the interrogations, why Jack had been so persistent with the endless questions and the demands for answers.

Jack had sighed and settled back on his elbows and had stared into the flames of the small fire they’d started well down the length of the beach and out of sight of the others.

“You talked a lot, when you were hurt, and with the fever you were delirious, hallucinating,” Jack had said and then paused, staring into the fire. “You kept asking for your mother. And you kept apologizing, saying you were so sorry, for all of it.”

Jack had looked at Sawyer over the golden flicker of the fire. “And you mentioned your father.”

Sawyer had shifted uncomfortably, defenses rising even now, even after all that had happened, and Jack had held up a hand.

“Don’t,” he had said. “I haven’t asked you about it since that night and I’m not going to again. If you ever decide you’re ready to tell me, you’ll tell me, and I’ll listen.”

Sawyer had sighed and settled back, still ill at ease despite the fact that things between them had changed so drastically.

“I guess it was just that . . . I was finally starting to understand that there was a lot going on behind that front you were putting up. And then, after what you had done for me with my father, telling me about seeing him in Sydney and all that he had said . . .” Jack had paused and turned away, running one hand over his face and the muscles of his jaw and throat working as he swallowed hard and Sawyer could tell by the Jack’s posture that he was again struggling with a myriad of emotion, the same way he had when Sawyer had first told him them story, and a combination of sympathy and envy surged through him as he had waited until Jack had regained control and had turned again to face him.

“It was . . . a gift, I guess, for lack of a better term. You’d given him back to me. And I felt like I owed you. And I had no idea how to pay you back so when you started to recover I just kind of winged it,” Jack said. “I knew you were hurting and I knew you were hiding and I-“

“Wanted to fuckin’ fix it,” Sawyer had finished for him with a slight note of exasperation in his voice.

Jack had sighed and then smiled slightly. “Yeah. Apparently, that’s a problem of mine, trying to fix people, or so I’ve been told. Again and again and again and again . . .”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sawyer had said, smirking. “Glad to see I’ve made my point.”

“But it wasn’t just that,” Jack had said, again looking away. “You talked about me, too. You’d grab my hand and say that you knew I’d find you, that you’d been waiting for me and asking why it had taken me so damn long to do it.”

Sawyer had waited, feeling as if there were something more coming.

“And then, during those few moments when you were lucid and realized where you were . . . I finally figured out that you had given up, completely, that despite the fact you had always fought for survival, no matter how dirty it got, you were done. With everything. I’d always wondered why you’d signed on to go out on that damned raft. At first I thought it had everything to do with saving your own ass but then . . . then I finally knew,” Jack said, finally turning to face him and Sawyer had winced at the look on his face, pale and tense and hollow-eyed, looking very much like he had when the kid had died and the searches for Walt had proven fruitless.

“Knew what?” Sawyer had whispered.

“That you were going to find some other way to die,” Jack had said, his voice tight with emotion. “And I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

Sawyer had sighed and shoved his hair out of his eyes and stared into the fire. “Why?” he had asked.

“You know why,” Jack had said, and something about the tone in his voice had caused Sawyer’s chest to tighten and his blood to roar and he had found himself nodding.

“Yeah,” he had mumbled. “I know.”

“Is that a problem?” Jack had asked and Sawyer had found himself laughing suddenly while Jack had glared at him, angry and hurt.

“Doc,” he had said finally, rubbing at his eyes. “You are the biggest problem I have ever run into, and that sayin’ quite a lot, considerin’. You’re a complete pain in the ass, you never let me rest, you’re pushin’ at me constantly and there’s never a moment’s peace with you.”

Then he had looked at Jack, who was glaring at him balefully, and Sawyer had grinned.

“Best problem I’ve come across in a while,” he had whispered finally and then suddenly Jack was on his hands and knees and crawling toward Sawyer with that look in his eyes, a look that had become quite familiar in the past few weeks and Sawyer had lain back in the sand and waited, smirking.

Huge problem, he had thought as he had watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Jack had slowly covered the distance between them. But some problems were best left unsolved, Sawyer thought, sighing in anticipation as Jack had crawled up the length of Sawyer’s body, and this one would remain so if Sawyer had anything to say about it.

***

Baptism

Even though the clouds were gathering as the sun started to set, huge, towering thunderheads that took on a pinkish tone the lower the sun sank, threatening the island with lightning and rain, Sawyer made it a point to be gone by the time the doc made his nightly house call.

No more, he thought, angry and tired and panicked and still in pain from the wound in his shoulder. He wasn’t about to be hounded anymore, he was done, and he made his escape, struggling up a newly-hewn path to a ridge to the south of the beach, a secluded spot with a natural clearing that backed up to an immense, sheer wall of rock and a view that spanned the greater part of island.

He would stay here, he thought, and watch the storm and wait for the rain and he would stay as long as he had to, whatever it took to avoid Jack and his endless fucking questions.

He sighed and leaned against a tree, tilting his head back and rubbing against the bark with the palm of his hands as he watched the sun lower and the clouds heighten. Just one night, just one fucking night, he thought, a night where he could finally sleep, deeply and all the way through until morning and then maybe he could finally figure out just how in the hell to get the doc off his ass and on to other things.

“Hiding?”

Sawyer’s head dropped into his hands at the sound of that voice and he sighed, frustrated and furious.

“Not tonight, Doc, ain’t in the mood. Got a headache,” he snapped, and turned his gaze out toward the sheltering sky, wishing that he were anywhere but here, anywhere but here with this man and in this place.

“Not in the mood for what?” Jack asked, stepping closer and Sawyer’s head whipped around and he glowered.

“For what?” he asked, incredulous. “For another round of twenty questions, that’s what, or in your case fifty fuckin’ questions, you asshole. Get outta here, I ain’t doin’ this tonight.”

“Sawyer . . .”

“No,” Sawyer barked. “No! I am not doin’ this! You don’t know me, you don’t know what I’ve seen or what I’ve done or why I am the way I am . . .”

Jack interrupted him, his tone slightly mocking. “Oh, so this is the part where we talk about terrible childhoods? The part where you blame your father for all the awful things that have happened to you since-"

And at those words Sawyer’s last bit of self-control slipped, yanked out of his hands by a rage so fierce that his vision tunneled, blurred at the edges with Jack sharply in focus in the center of it and Sawyer was moving, covering the distance between them with one long stride and his right fist came up and connected with Jack’s jaw, hard, but not nearly as hard as he would have liked or as satisfying as he had hoped, and he watched with a sense of disjointed disconnection as Jack hit the ground and then Sawyer himself was falling, off-balance and weak from the lack of sleep and the seemingly endless interrogations and the dredging up of unwanted memories and he landed heavily on top of Jack, fighting to prop himself up with one arm.

“You listen to me, you son of a bitch!” he shouted, poking hard at Jack’s chest with one finger and shoving his face into Jack’s. “You don’t talk to me about goddamned childhoods, you got that? You don’t talk to me about shit! At least you know, because I’m the one that fuckin’ told you, that in the end your old man gave a damn!”

He pushed himself away and staggered to his feet, staring down at Jack and breathing hard and infuriated by the fact that Jack seemed unfazed by either Sawyer’s words or his fist.

“I don’t even have that much, you spoiled fuckin’ brat! All I’ve got is what you’re lookin’ at, just me, all I’ve ever had and all I’ll ever have and I’m doin’ just fine, thank you so very much, so take this goddamned naggin’ and your fuckin’ head games and leave me the hell alone! Quit tryin’ to fuckin’ fix me, there ain’t nothin’ left to fix, don’t you fuckin’ get that?” he yelled and then he spun on his heel, away from Jack, right hand tight in his hair as he shoved it out of his face and held it there, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath, angry with himself now that he’d revealed even that much and left himself wide open to more of these infuriating and puzzling and painful encounters.

“I don’t believe that,” Jack said quietly and then Sawyer was laughing, the sound ringing hollow even to his own ears and he turned to stare at Jack, who still lay on the ground where he’d fallen and was watching Sawyer closely through the cloud-filtered light of the moon.

“Well, believe it,” Sawyer said, voice low and brittle. “You’ve fixed the body, all right? Done your job and I think that’s just about all the doctorin’ I can take. We’re done, you understand that? I’m up, I’m walkin’, just like Lazarus from the grave and that should be plenty enough for your fucked-up Jesus complex! So, just so we’re clear, this is the part where you get the fuck away from me and leave me the hell alone. I don’t know why you’ve decided that I’m your goddamned psychological pet project and I don’t want to know. What I want is for you to find some other headcase, and God knows you’ve got plenty of those to choose from, and play doctor with them, okay? I’m done, we’re done, nothin’ left to say, so just stay the fuck away from me, for Christ’s sake!”

Sawyer watched as Jack slowly hauled himself to his feet and he hoped against hope that Jack would leave, just leave.

“What happened? With your father?” Jack asked quietly.

Sawyer stared, stunned. He knew, some part of Sawyer roared, somehow he fucking knew and the rage flared again and although all he wanted to do was to attack and to hurt and to dam up this endless river of painful words with violence his body would not cooperate, and Sawyer closed his eyes and sighed, tired body and soul and he leaned heavily against a tree for support.

“Get outta here,” he mumbled, running his hand over his face. “Get outta here or I swear to God I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

“I’m not leaving. Tell me,” Jack ordered, standing firm with arms crossed over his chest.

Sawyer’s head was pounding now, with rage and fear and frustration and he knew he was backed into a corner, helpless, and that Jack was never going to give up and never leave him alone and he groaned, both hands fisting in his hair as he bent over at the waist, rocking slightly.

“What in the hell is it gonna take to get you off my back? What do you fuckin’ want, Doc?”

“I don’t want anything, Sawyer, I just – " Jack stopped suddenly and regarded Sawyer in silence, arms still crossed as he studied Sawyer closely. “No. That’s not true. There is something I want.”

Sawyer waited but Jack remained silent and stoic.

“Well?” Sawyer prompted, arms out wide. “Tell me what I have to do to get you to leave me the hell alone. What do you want?”

“You. I want you.”

It was said so quietly and seemed to slip out of Jack’s mouth so easily that it took a long moment for Sawyer to really hear it, comprehend it, and suddenly he understood all the tension, the reasons he’d been running, and why he’d been finding it hard to sleep at night and the words echoed in his ears and suddenly he was afraid, more afraid than he could ever remember having been at hearing those words.

Because although he’d heard them often enough in his life this was the first time he’d ever been trapped by them, the first time he’d ever found himself with nowhere to hide from them, and the first time he’d ever wanted to hear them and the first time he’d felt compelled to say them back and the first time he’d ever been afraid of what might happen if he did.

You. I want you.

And then the whole of him was screaming ‘no,’ the rage and the fear now white hot and searing and he moved without thinking, shoving Jack back against the cliff face and pressing himself up against him tightly, hands flat against the rock on either side of Jack’s head.

“This it?” he said, shoving his crotch hard against Jack’s. “Is this what you want? Is this what it’s gonna take to get you to leave me the fuck alone?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed but otherwise his expression didn’t change, and for some reason Sawyer couldn’t fathom this made him even angrier, he wanted Jack to react, to weaken, to run or to beg or to fight or to fuck but he simply stood there, arms still crossed, a barrier between them and his eyes unreadable in the deepening gloom as the clouds continued to gather, shrouding the moon and the stars and making the air thick with the damp warmth of the coming storm and they stared at one another for a long, tense moment, neither one speaking.

And then Sawyer thrust up against Jack again, slowly and deliberately this time, a languid roll of his hips that resulted in a slow, firm slide of cock against cock that even through layers of denim caused Sawyer’s blood to surge but he noted in triumph that now Jack did react, a barely perceptible hitch of his breath, and so Sawyer did it again, and again, and again, and with each touch he felt Jack harden, watched as his eyes slowly closed and his mouth parted slightly as his breath came faster.

“You want me?” Sawyer whispered, breath hot against Jack’s mouth as he pressed himself tighter against Jack, his own body raging now as the movement of his hips quickened slightly, each thrust, every touch making him harder, making him ache, and he hated Jack, hated that even like this Jack still somehow managed to maintain some kind of control over Sawyer’s body, that he still found himself helpless in the face of whatever hold it was Jack had on him.

“You want me? Because it sure as hell feels like you do,” he hissed, suddenly grinding fast and hard and causing them both to gasp and then he paused, kicking Jack’s feet wide and wedging himself tightly between Jack’s thighs, the rhythm of his hips becoming faster and the pressure of his thrusts becoming harder and Sawyer gritted his teeth at the feel Jack’s cock hot and hard against his own and he fought back a shudder and glared when Jack open his eyes and stared at him. “You want me, then you damn well got me, one-time offer, Doc, I fuckin’ give you what you want and then you leave me the hell alone.”

He thrust once more and almost groaned at the feel of it and then struggled to force himself to stop, angry that his control was slipping again and that all he wanted now was Jack’s hands on his body and Jack’s mouth open to his own and he waited, watching Jack closely as he stared at Sawyer with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah,” Jack whispered and then suddenly his hands were moving, sliding down to Sawyer’s ass to pull him closer and then he started his own rhythm, a slight but forceful jerk of his hips and Sawyer cursed, the pressure and friction against his cock threatening to overwhelm him.

“I want you, Sawyer. I want all of you but if this is all you’ve got, then I’ll take what I can get,” Jack muttered and then he moved, so quickly that Sawyer didn’t have time to fight it and then their positions were reversed and Sawyer was pinned against the rock and Jack was grinding against him roughly, his breath hot and fast against Sawyer’s neck.

“God,” Jack groaned and then he bit Sawyer sharply at the point where neck met shoulder, his movements becoming harder and more frantic and then his hands were sliding under Sawyer’s shirt, work-roughened fingers roaming across his chest and down his stomach before dipping teasingly below the waist of his jeans and Sawyer’s head fell back as he gasped, eyes closed, fighting to breathe, the need for release building, a pulsing ache gathering low and hard in his belly and then in spite of himself he was moving, hips canting and jerking to meet Jack’s thrusts, so long, he thought, too long since anyone had touched him like this, if anybody ever had, and fuck, so goddamned good . . .

“No. No. No,” Jack mumbled against the skin of Sawyer’s neck and then as quickly as it had started it stopped, all the heat and sensation gone as Jack shoved himself away and Sawyer sagged back against the rock, weak but fighting the urge to reach out and yank Jack back hard against him.

They stared at each other, both breathing hard and there was an odd vibration in the air that was more than the electricity of the building storm and then Sawyer knew, as well as he’d ever known anything, that if they finished this he’d be lost completely.

Jack would take everything he had, would own him and not just his body but all of him, and he closed his eyes against it, against the need and the fear and the pain and tried to gather the strength to walk away, to pretend this never happened, to take up his old position in the new tribe as he tried to find some other way to die.

“All of you, Sawyer,” Jack whispered and his words were like fists, they were hard and they hurt and Sawyer opened his eyes and lightning flashed and in that briefest of moments where the entire world was brilliantly illuminated he saw everything he needed to see but didn’t want to see on Jack’s face and in his eyes.

“God damn you,” Sawyer whispered and with that he surrendered.

He had nothing left with which to fight.

And then the rain started.

The skies opened with a startlingly loud crack of thunder, a heavy, cold downpour that drenched them both as they moved as one, meeting halfway, mouths colliding in a bruising, demanding kiss that tasted to Sawyer of blood and sweat and sea and rain and it wasn’t enough, would never be enough and he was falling back against the cliff face and dragging Jack with him, wet hair falling into his face as he tugged at the hem of Jack’s t-shirt, and they parted just long enough for Jack to yank the shirt over his head and then again he was seeking Sawyer’s mouth, his hands framing Sawyer’s face as he kissed Sawyer long and hard, the warmth of his mouth a stark contrast to the chill of the water that continued to fall, and Sawyer groaned as he licked and sucked and bit at Jack’s tongue and his hands slid around to grab Jack’s ass and pull him closer, resuming the frenzied grind of earlier and Jack made a harsh noise of need and want against Sawyer’s mouth that Sawyer echoed as he slid one hand between them to stroke Jack through the fabric of his jeans .

“Fuck,” Jack muttered breathlessly as tore his mouth away, his forehead resting against Sawyer’s and he panted as his hands went to the buttons of Sawyer’s shirt even as he continued to thrust against Sawyer’s hand and then he pulled away slightly and shoved Sawyer’s shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, careful of the gunshot wound, and Sawyer shrugged out of it and tossed it aside, his mouth on Jack’s again before the shirt hit the ground and his tongue sliding inside eagerly, hungry, and then he flinched at the cold caress of the rain but then all of Jack was pressed against him, his skin warm and wet and slick against Sawyer’s own as his arms encircled Sawyer’s waist and his hands slid up and down the length of Sawyer’s back.

Sawyer shuddered hard from both the chill of the rain and the heat of Jack’s hands and his mouth and Sawyer shoved up against Jack, groaning, body aching and demanding release and Jack’s hands worked quickly, undoing both pairs of jeans and then he was grasping Sawyer firmly and stroking him hard, just right, and Sawyer’s back arched at the intensity of it.

“Jesus,” he hissed, head flying back and the rain falling on to his face and then his hand was around Jack, and he felt the stark contrast of overheated skin against skin and cool water sluicing down their backs and shoulders and then his hand was moving, a quick, tight slide up and down the length of Jack’s cock as he wrapped one arm around Jack’s neck to pull him closer, to taste him, to hear him moan and curse and call Sawyer beautiful, and that one word was like touch and it sent shockwaves through him just as fiercely as Jack’s hands on him and something inside him broke apart and fell to pieces to be washed away by the rain and suddenly he was free, the heaviness in his chest gone and he touched as much of Jack as he could, with abandon, hungry, and Jack responded eagerly and then both were lost, mindless in a storm of sensation as they both fell over the edge, first one and then the other.

***

As Sawyer’s body quieted and his mind cleared he realized he was sinking, knees giving way as exhaustion as heavy and as clean as and as pure as he’d ever felt started to overcome him, but Jack steadied him, held him upright with a murmured “I’ve got you, Sawyer. I’ve got you.”

Sawyer sighed deeply and leaned back, the rough stone of the cliff face digging into his the skin of his back and he closed his eyes, noting now that the rain had stopped, and he wondered briefly if Jack had any idea how true those words were.

I’ve got you, Sawyer.

And then Jack was pressed against him again, warm, an idle caress of hands down Sawyer’s arms, touching just for the sake of touch and whispering, words that soothed and comforted, and Sawyer was suddenly too tired, too safe, too clean and too free to care.

I’ve got you, too, he thought, understanding, finally, by the touch of Jack’s hands and the words that he spoke that he owned Jack just as completely as Jack owned him, and that it had been so from the beginning and now the pieces of that puzzle that constituted the two of them together were finally in place, and what had been fragmented and disjointed was now whole and complete.

His mouth brushed lightly against the skin of Jack’s shoulder and then Sawyer tilted his head to stare at the sky, praying for rain.

***

End