Title: Delicate
Author: foxxcub
Fandom:  Lost AU - Jack/James 'verse
Pairing: Jack/James
Rating: NC-17
Summary: James didn’t know why it mattered so much to him, the fact that he knew Shephard was lying.
A/N: set shortly after uberaeryn’s "The Long Way Home".
 

In the dark he hears Jack moan in his sleep.

He sits up in the hotel bed without even thinking. He can hear the sheets rustling in the other bed beside his and Jack’s quiet, frantic breathing.

James clenches his fists and lays back down.

///

“What the hell happened to you?”

Jack flinched and pulled away as James reached his hand out.

“Got hit in practice last night.”

“I didn’t see you get hit. ‘Sides, you looked fine when you went home.” James swiped his thumb over the dark bruise along Jack’s left cheekbone, and he flinched again. This time it looked like it hurt.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t wanna go on about it, okay?” He slapped his hand away and started back down the hall to his class.

James didn’t know why it mattered so much to him, the fact that he knew Shephard was lying. It should’ve been enough that they were friends now, could talk to each other in the open and not feel guilty or strange about any of it.

But they never talked about themselves. And they never talked outside the boundaries of school or ball. Not since the night in Jack’s car, when he’d fallen asleep and later woken up to Jack’s cheek pressed into his shoulder and his hand fisted in his shirt. He’d let himself feel the peace, the unfamiliar wash of contentment, and had pretended he’d never woken up to begin with. Then dawn had forced them awake and Jack had driven him on home.

He’d smiled when James told him thank you.

That was two weeks ago, and he hadn’t smiled at James since.

“Hey, Shephard!”

Jack looked over his shoulder.

He smirked, wanting to be hateful but not having it in him. “That ball’s got a mean punch, don’t it?”

“Sure.”

Jack didn’t speak to him again for days.

///

Jack’s panting, gasping for air.

James turns on his side and puts his back to him.

He thinks he hears Jack whisper something like no.

But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t.

He buries his head under the spare pillow and wills his heart to stop pounding.

///

“Just fuckin’ stop it, Prep.” He shoved Jack back against the lockers and watched his eyes widen. Good, let him get scared. James was tired of being invisible again, of being ignored and avoided like they were back to the beginning when they’d stumbled around each other like nothing between them meant anything. He’d let him go on ducking his eyes and giving him the silent treatment for three days now, like he’d done something wrong.

James hated being a fucking scapegoat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack tipped his chin up, but James saw the tinge of pink in his cheeks.

“Shut up.”

He got up in his face and it was the closest they’d been in weeks, close enough to exchange air. The locker room was starting to clear out, the rest of the team going home for the night.

“I called you on your bullshit story. Admit it.”

Jack closed his eyes and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, like he did when he was nervous and a little trapped. “I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” James rubbed at the faded bruise again, and Jack still tried to turn his head away.

“I don’t have to admit shit.”

He didn’t sound defiant or angry.

He was scared, all right.

James relaxed his grip on Jack’s shoulder. “Just tell me how you got the shiner. It’s not that hard.”

Only it was, and they both knew it. James knew he didn’t trust Jack with his own secrets, and yet here he was, demanding Jack’s like it was his right. He wouldn’t let himself think too hard about how high he ranked on the pathetic loser scale.

Jack sighed, and James knew he’d lost.

“I told you. A ball, a stray shot. That’s it.”

James couldn’t tell if Jack wanted him to keep pushing. But he was done.

“Fine. Whatever.” He left him slumped against the lockers.

///

They were heading to a tournament in south San Diego. It was an overnight ordeal, with hotel rooms and everything.

James knew he should cross his name off and switch roommates. He’d made a few other friends on the team, they’d let him bunk with them.

He was on his way to find Coach that last night of practice and ask for the room assignment list when he saw Jack across the gym, rubbing at his cheek when he thought no one was looking.

James never got to the list.

///

Somehow, hearing the word please from Jack in the dark makes James move.

Maybe not that exact word, but it's close. It’s still a whimper, high-pitched and weak. Even in the dark James can hear—hell, can feel—Jack jerk violently beneath the surface of consciousness.

Just a nightmare. That’s all it is. Jack needs to be awake, to snap out of it. James will never get back to sleep with all this goddamn noise.

He’s just going to shake him awake. A little shake, nothing more.

The instant James touches Jack’s skin he’s knocked back, off the bed and onto the carpet. Jack’s yelling, telling him to go ahead, you fucking bastard, hit me again.

James is back on the bed in a flash and tries not to fight him, just lets him pound his fists into James’ chest and scream I can take it over and over again until it’s nothing more than a hoarse whisper. James holds on and digs his fingers into Jack’s shoulders, pressing him back into the headboard. He’s damp, the sweat making his bare skin cold, making Jack shiver and moan again, softly. He goes limp and James shakes him.

“Jack...”

He can’t see if Jack blinks awake or not, but he shifts under James’ hands and sighs.

“Ford?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t pause to think; he just skims his fingers over Jack’s face. “It’s me.”

He worries about what to say, about the awkwardness that’s bound to come. He should go back to bed, it’s the simplest thing to do. Jack’s awake, mission accomplished, there’s nothing—

Jack’s tongue is in his mouth and he’s lost for the moment, taking in the hot taste of sadness and longing and everything else that reminds him of Jack. He’s needed this, god, it’s been so long, a fucking eternity, especially when all he thinks about sometimes is simply this and only this; wet lips coming together to push and pull and slide, his jaw going slack to let Jack deeper inside, tilting his head just so, his throat vibrating as he moans, Jack’s teeth sinking into James’ bottom lip.

James jerks away for the moment, panting and disoriented in the darkness. He’s suddenly aware that he’s straddling Jack’s hips, the thin cotton of their boxers the only barrier between them, and god, they’re both already hard and hot against each other, just like that. All he has to do is reach down and part the slit in the front and he’d be free, they’d both be free, naked skin to skin.

He shudders. “You…you were havin’ a nightmare.” His voice cracks as he tries to whisper and he swallows hard.

“I know.” Jack thrusts up, once, and it’s so good, fuck—

No, goddamn it. He had to know.

“Tell me.”

Jack’s heat suddenly engulfs him as he sits up, presses against James, licks his jaw.

“Nothing to tell.”

“You were yellin’ things. Fightin’.”

He’s tugging James’ t-shirt off and now they’re naked save their shorts. Jack runs his fingertips up James’ chest, but they’re cold, very cold. James shivers and breaks out in goosebumps.

“Your daddy pick fights with you a lot, Prep?”

Jack’s hand freezes at the base of James’ throat.

“No.”

“Just sometimes?”

Silence. Then, “Why does it matter?”

“I wanna know.” James finds both of Jack’s wrists in the dark and grips them tight as he shoves him violently back on the bed, pinning his arms above his head. Jack gives a little grunt and struggles.

“Was he drunk?”

Jack continues to struggle, trying to jerk his arms from James’ grasp, and doesn’t answer.

James doesn’t know what else to do, so he leans in and trails the tip of his nose along Jack’s cheek to his ear.

His voice is hard as he whispers, “Was he?”

Jack’s shoulders slump in defeat. “He’s always drunk.” He hisses when James lets his hips shift upward.

“And you fought back.”

“I…yeah. I tried. Fuck.” Jack groans as James grinds a little harder, relaxing his hold on his wrists.

“So you got a shiner for your troubles, huh?” The truth makes James burn inside and long to punch something.

“Yeah.”

“Ain’t so bad. Did you give him one to match?” He sighs when Jack pulls a hand free and fumbles between them, finding James’ crotch and the front opening of his shorts. His fingers push the slit open and James is in Jack’s hand, which is so much hotter now.

“No. Gave him a bloody nose, though. Ruined his best shirt.” Jack gives him a tight squeeze and James bucks up against his palm.

“Good for…you, Prep,” he pants, burying his face in Jack’s neck and ignoring the way his heart swells with something like pride.

“Just stop talking.”

“Yeah.”

James sinks his teeth into a smooth patch of skin at Jack’s collarbone, thrusting hard into his hand, slightly amazed that he can still make Jack say his name in that deep breathless tone of his. But it’s not enough, he wants more contact, he needs it, they’ve been apart for too long, circling around and never quite connecting. As Jack pumps him, twisting his fist up to thumb the head, James wonders how he’s gone this long without his touch. Without going insane.

In the thick dark he can concentrate more on the way Jack’s breathing grows more frantic, on the tiny, sharp groans that rumble in his chest, on the way his dick twitches whenever Jack growls fuck me like he can’t help it. He splays his hand against the headboard, bracing himself above Jack. He wants to feel Jack’s cock in his hand, wants his hips thrusting fast like James’ are doing now, but he can’t…think…Christ, so fucking good…

James bites his lip to keep from moaning like a girl and instead shoves his hand down, finding that Jack’s already broken free, the slick tip already rubbing against James as Jack grips him tighter, the rhythm picking up speed. For a second James wishes it was Jack’s mouth surrounding him instead of his fingers, but it’s gone the second Jack pushes James own hand away and takes their cocks in with both hands—like James had done that night in Jack’s car.

He grits his teeth and nearly passes out.

“God…Jack…”

“I know, fuck, I know…”

They’re grinding, heat and sweat and friction coming together again and again as the bed shakes. James hand slips and he’s falling against Jack, maybe even into him, and he’s barely aware that they’re coming, simultaneously, coating each other’s stomach with their scent and cum.

His arm finally gives, and James collapses against Jack, stars still flashing across his eyes.

They lie there, a tangle of limbs and sheets. James eventually sits up slowly and yawns.

“At least we know we’ve got a change of shorts this time.”

Jack actually laughs. It makes James smile.

“No shit.”

James wanders to the bathroom, leaving Jack sprawled on the bed. He runs his fingers along the wall to guide him to the door, and once inside he searches blindly for the light switch.

He’s momentarily blinded by the glare of fluorescent bulbs. He blinks a few times and shucks his boxers, then shoves his hair back and stares at his reflection.

His cheeks are dark pink and match the flush across his chest that’s beginning to fade. He rubs at it absently as dark blonde hair falls back in his eyes and he wonders if Jack’s chest is the same color.

He wonders how many other scars Jack’s hidden.

James cleans up and flicks the light off. For a moment he stands beside the bed, completely naked, and listens.

Jack’s breathing drifts through the dark, deep and even. Calm.

Asleep.