Title:  “Homespun Love” Author:  uberaeryn Fandom:  Lost Pairing:  Jack/Sawyer Adults Only: Language and Sexual Situations Warnings: AU, Songfic, Trailerfic and Crackfic with Extra Crack Summary: Jack and Sawyer meet in a trailer park outside of Knoxville. No island – just happy, hillbilly smut and possibly schmoop. Probably schmoop. Authors Note:  Dedicated to crazydiamondsue who actually admits to liking this song.  Huge thanks to stoney321 for the upload help and to everyone else who helped me out with that.  I highly suggest listening to the song first. It’s a fun, silly, catchy song upon which almost this entire fic is based.   Present Jack grunted with effort, planted his feet and then twisted, throwing both himself and Sawyer to the floor with a simultaneous ‘oomph!’ then he whipped around and straddled Sawyer’s ass and pinned both hands behind his back. “You give?” he asked breathlessly, grinning. It was interesting contest held every evening, one which he almost always won because he outweighed Sawyer by more than he’d ever admit to, and a contest that almost always led to things of a much more interesting nature. “Hell, no, I don’t give, you son of a bitch!” Sawyer yelled, voice muffled by the avocado-green shag carpet. He wriggled, bucking up with his hips trying to shake Jack loose. “You sure about that?” Jack asked, sliding one hand between Sawyer’s thighs from behind and stroking his crotch teasingly. He smirked when Sawyer jumped and cursed and kept trying to escape, then he gave in with a sigh and started grinding against Jack’s hand. “No fair,” Sawyer muttered. “You give or what?” Jack asked, stroking more firmly as Sawyer hardened against his hand. “Fuck,” Sawyer groaned. “Fine, asshole. I give,” he mumbled and Jack smiled and released him, only to find himself flat on his back with his hands pinned to the floor above his head and Sawyer up tight between his thighs, humping up against him roughly. “Nice,” Jack murmured, grinning up at him as he wrapped his legs around Sawyer’s waist. “Damn right,” Sawyer said, smirking and then to Jack’s disappointment Sawyer’s attention was suddenly drawn away by ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Jack sighed and waited patiently, watching as well as Vanna lit up letter after letter and he felt Sawyer tense as he watched and then Jack himself started concentrating, over the past year this had become another contest between them, and then they both yelled ‘The Red Badge of Courage!’ and then Jack sighed in frustration at being a fraction of a second too late. He always won the wrestling matches, but he also always lost at ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ “Said it first!” Sawyer said, looking down at him and smirking. “As usual.” “Whatever,” Jack muttered, scowling, and reached out with one leg to turn the TV off with his big toe. “Liked it better when she turned ‘em,” Sawyer said. “At least that required a bit of work.” Jack rolled his eyes and thrust up against Sawyer hard. “Weren’t we busy here with somethin’ else?” “Oh. Right.” Sawyer said, grinning. “Plumb forgot all about that.” “Sure you did,” Jack muttered, and strained upward in a failed attempt to capture Sawyer’s mouth. “Slow down, chief,” Sawyer whispered, smiling down at Jack with heavy-lidded eyes. “My house, my rules.” Then he frowned. “Hey. Ain’t that job in Knoxville ‘bout finished?” “Been finished,” Jack said, struggling now to get hold of some part of Sawyer somehow and now. “Been finished?” Sawyer’s eyes darkened. “That mean you’re leavin’?” Jack stilled and was quiet for a second. He’d been wondering what would happen when it came to this and here it was. He took a deep breath and answered Sawyer’s question. “Nope. Company took me on permanent, doin’ houses now, subdivisions,” Jack said and looked at Sawyer closely, waiting for his reaction. Sawyer sat back and crossed his arms and stared at Jack, eyes guarded. “So you’re stayin’?” “Yeah.” “Why in the hell would you wanna do damn fool thing like that, stay in a hellhole like this?” Sawyer asked, scowling. Jack sighed and rolled his eyes and wrapped his legs tighly around Sawyer’s waist. “Why in the hell do you think?” Sawyer frowned, and then a slow grin spread across his face and Jack found himself, as he always did, smiling back. “‘Cause I’m the prettiest thing you ever did see? Best thing that’s ever happened to your sorry ass? ‘Cause you’d die without me and all that other pathetic happy horseshit?” “Maybe,” Jack said thoughtfully. “That and the pay’s really good. OW! No punching, asshole!” He scowled and rubbed at his shoulder. “Deserved it, you bastard. Jesus, you been here a year,” Sawyer murmured. “And you’re gonna stay?” “Didn’t I just say that? And yeah, a year, and longer now.” “I’ll be damned,” Sawyer said, rubbing at his chin and staring at Jack in something like wonder. “A whole fuckin’ year.” Jack grinned suddenly. “Remember that first time you came up to the house?” Sawyer glared. “Never forget it, them damn dogs of yours tried to kill me and I hated you the second I laid eyes on you, you ungrateful and unfriendly sorry son of a bitch.” Jack smiled up at him lazily. “Yeah, right.” ***  Past . . . you turned down my road and decided to stay and I took a shine to your hair and your hillbilly ways . . . The sun was finally starting to set and Jack stared out across the overgrown clearing and the mass of oaks and beeches beyond it that constituted his new backyard, the flash of lightning bugs blinking on and off here and there throughout the clearing. The crickets and cicadas and frogs were raring up for a loud night, the huge field next door had been mown and the air was scented with drying hay which would likely be baled the next day, and the mosquitoes were already after him. He smacked at one that settled on the back of his neck before grabbing the Off and spraying himself liberally with it. He then sank gratefully on the step of the redwood deck he’d just finished attaching to back of the trailer and took a long sip of Milwaukee’s Best. Thank God for pre-fab, he thought, wiping away the sweat dripping into his eyes and then patting absently at his two dogs that he still had yet to name as they rubbed up against him, demanding his attention. The dogs froze suddenly, ears up and sniffing the wind, then they darted away, barking like crazy as they rounded the corner of the trailer and disappeared out of Jack’s sight, and he sighed and downed the beer before tossing the can out into the yard with the intention of picking it up later. The ruckus out front continued. He sighed again. All that racket could only mean one thing - company. Jack hated company, that’s why he’d gone to all the effort to find some place out in the country. But he’d forgotten how friendly country folk could be, friendly and damned nosy, and this was the fifth visit in as many days from the friendly, nosy neighbors. But it had gotten him plenty of free food. Good food, too. He stood and went through the back door and was halfway to the front when the honking started, frantic and long and loud noises from what, if he were any judge, was probably a ’78 Chevy pickup. He grinned. Lots of honking. Must mean the dogs were doing their job. He peered out of the front door and at the truck parked on the patchy grass beside his own. He was close in his guess. It was a ’76 and in fairly decent condition if you ignored the fact that whoever was driving the thing had replaced the original hood with a primer-covered one from a ’79 model that didn’t sit quite flush and that one headlight was held in place with duct tape and the tailgate was shut by the copious and sloppy use of entirely too much baling wire. The dogs were drooling with excitement, wriggling and jumping up and down and barking like hell at the driver, some blonde long-haired guy who was trapped inside, glowering and cursing at them and yelling at them to ‘git on outta here!’ Again Jack grinned. “You need something?” he shouted as he stepped out on to the redwood deck that was an exact copy of the one out back. The driver looked at him and glared and Jack was surprised to note how good-looking the guy was, movie star good-looking. “Yeah, I need somethin’, I need you to get these damned dogs the hell away from me and this truck!” the guy shouted back. “Those dogs wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Jack said, smirking and leaning back against the door and crossing his arms. “They’re fuckin’ pit bulls!” the blonde yelled before returning his attention to the dogs. “You mangy things scratch this truck and I’ll whack your tails off right behind your ears!” The dogs stopped the racket for a moment and looked at him inquiringly, panting and smiling the smile that dogs smile, then started barking again, the bigger of the two hopping up and down enthusiastically before deciding it would be a good idea to try to climb in the drivers’ side window, leaving deep scratches in the faded red paint of the door as he scrabbled inside and then tried to lick the long-hair all over the face. The blonde guy was suddenly plastered to the passenger side door, managing to look both furious and panicked at the same time as he kicked at him, though not very hard, cursing a blue streak. “Hey! Cut that shit out!” Jack shouted, scowling. Nobody but nobody fucked with his dogs, he thought. “They’re not goddamned pit bulls, they’re boxers, pedigreed even and they are not mangy and you so much as touch ‘em and I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” The bigger dog retreated to the driver’s seat and sat there for a second, regarding the blonde with a soulful, hurt expression, then turn and bounded out of the truck in one graceful movement. Jack watched in amusement for a moment as the dogs continued their enthusiastic greeting, then pulled out the pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve of his t-shirt, gave it a shake and pulled one out with his mouth, then lit up and inhaled deeply and slowly. “Besides, that thing’s a piece of shit, they can’t tear it up any more than it already is,” he said as he exhaled. Again the driver glared. “You gonna call ‘em off? ‘Cause I came by to be neighborly but now I’m feelin’ a lot more like kickin’ your goddamned ass!” he bellowed. Jack and the blonde exchanged dirty looks for a long moment before Jack caught the scent of something on the wind, something coming from that truck, and he damn well knew what it was and he damn well wanted it and if it meant putting up with this good-looking asshole, well, he figured, he’d just have to suffer. . . . I still remember You came by my trailer with chicken And some homemade wine . . . “That fried chicken?” Jack yelled. “Yeah, it is, with potatoes and pan gravy and muscadine wine, too, but you ain’t gettin’ jackshit if you don’t get them fuckin’ dogs away from me and start actin’ a might friendlier your own damn self!” the blonde yelled, scowling. Fuck, Jack thought, and sighed heavily. “Dogs! Here!” The dogs turned to look at him in unison and then trotted obediently to stand by his side. He opened the door and they bounded inside, taking up their regular positions on either end of the couch. “You’re safe now, Hollywood,” Jack called sweetly, smirking, and then regretted it when the long-hair’s expression darkened further. Shit, he thought. He’d hate to think he’d smartassed himself out of fried chicken and muscadine wine. But the guy flung the driver’s side door open, shot Jack the dirtiest look to ever come his way, then took in the scratches on the door and cursed, kicking uselessly at the dirt. Chicken, Jack reminded himself, chicken and potatoes and gravy. “Um. Sorry ‘bout that?” he offered feebly. “Buff it out, maybe?” Again the blonde glared, then reached back into the truck and hauled out a battered and much-used casserole dish covered in recycled tinfoil, followed by large and inviting-looking jug of wine. Jack inhaled deeply of his cigarette again and watched with interest as the guy started walking toward the trailer, wearing a dark blue snap-front shirt, untucked, and tight Levi’s with a rip high on one thigh and frayed boot-cut flares dragging in the dirt. He moved slowly toward the deck, his movements long-legged and graceful and languid despite the fact that he was still obviously pissed as hell, then he mounted the steps of the deck slowly, one deliberate and loud stomp of his motorcycle boots at a time, and then stood in front of Jack, head tilted and hair falling into his face as he regarded Jack balefully. Jack noted through the fall of hair that his eyes were blue, with more than a hint of grey. “Here,” the guy muttered, scowling and shoving the dish into Jack’s hands. Jack flicked his cigarette into the bushes and grabbed the dish before the blonde could change his mind and hurried into the house, pulling back the tinfoil as he went. Heaven, he thought, and he practically drooled as he regarded the mound of fried chicken and two Cool Whip bowls of what he assumed were potatoes and gravy, and his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since this morning when he’d grabbed a dried out biscuit and a cup of coffee at the Kum ‘n’ Go on the way to work this morning. “You gonna invite me in or what?” the blonde yelled. Jack winced, embarrassed at his bad manners and all hostility gone now in the face of all this food. He’d slammed the damn door in the guy’s face. “Sorry, sorry. Come on in,” he mumbled over his shoulder around a mouthful of chicken. He bolted for the kitchen and grabbed a paper plate and filled it with food to the point that it started to sag and then carried it carefully over to the kitchen table, shoving bills and junk mail out of way and digging in. He noted absently that the blonde guy followed more slowly, glaring at the dogs before entering the kitchen and slamming the jug of wine on the counter. “So, big guy, you treat all your visitors this way?” he asked, twisting the cap off the wine and taking a long swig. Jack had the good sense to look abashed. “Well . . . the dogs. I get a bit overprotective.” “Right,” the blonde said, watching in a combination of wonder and disgust as Jack ate as if he’d never eaten before in his life. He grabbed the roll of paper towels off the counter and tossed them at Jack’s head. “Thanks,” Jack mumbled, snatching the roll out of the air. “You got a name? ‘Cause you know that’s how we do things around here, introduce ourselves, have a nice chat, the things that civilized folks do.” “Jack.” “Sawyer.” Jack nodded in acknowledgment. “You make this?” he asked, staring at this Sawyer guy in disbelief. Sawyer snorted and rolled his eyes. “Hell, no. My mama made that. She’d’ve brought it herself but she’s laid up with the arthritis and I get to be the goddamned welcome wagon, attacked by pit bulls and treated like shit by some big ol’ boy I ain’t even never met before.” He sighed and took another long pull of wine. “This, though, I did make. Last jug, too, muscadines are gone for the summer.” Jack sat back, taking a breath before he dug in again and wiping at his hands and mouth with a wad of paper towels. “Boxers. They’re boxers. And they’re harmless,” he said. He watched Sawyer closely as he leaned back and took another swig of wine, watched with more interest than was probably wise at the way the muscles in Sawyer’s throat worked as he swallowed and the way his hair slid back out of his face. “Can I have some of that? Glasses’re up there,” Jack said, nodding at the cabinet behind Sawyer’s head. “Great, so now I’m your fuckin’ waitress, too?” Sawyer muttered, but he turned and grabbed a jelly jar out of cabinet and filled it to the neck and then slammed it with much more force than necessary next to Jack’s plate. Jack sighed. “Listen. Can we start over? Jack Sheppard. From Oklahoma, originally,” he said, holding out his right hand after wiping it carefully with a wad of greasy paper towels. Sawyer stared at him a moment with an unreadable expression and then reached out to grab Jack’s hand in a warm, rough grip. “Sawyer Ford. Born here, raised here, still here.” “Tell your mama I said thanks,” Jack said, tucking in to the food again. “Looks like she was right.” Jack looked at him curiously. “‘Bout what?” “Said you looked like a big ol’ hoss who could eat half the chicken in the freezer, and damn if you didn’t just about do it,” Sawyer said. “What do you mean ‘big?’ I’m not that big,” Jack muttered, finally full now and trying to surreptitiously look down and see if his gut had expanded while he hadn’t noticed as he tossed the plate and paper towels into the overflowing trash can. “Yeah, you are. Big, broad. Workin’ boy, hard work?” Sawyer asked, and Jack’s eyes narrowed as he saw, almost felt, Sawyer’s gaze slide along the length of his arms and across his chest. Surely not, he thought, not out here and not with this piece of God’s work lounging against the counter, arms and legs crossed as he tilted his head and regarded Jack mockingly. “Yeah,” Jack said, standing and moving to put the meager remains of the meal in the fridge and deliberately brushing against Sawyer as he did so, something in him sparking as Sawyer smiled and his eyes brightened and his lips and tongue played around the mouth of the jug as Jack watched with interest. Jack should be so lucky, he thought, but just in case he might be so lucky he moved to stand just a little too close to Sawyer, pulled the jug out of his hands and look a drink before handing it back and then answered his question. “Workin’. Construction. Just outside of Knoxville, strip mall.” “No wonder you’re so damned thick,” Sawyer said, his eyes again ghosting across Jack’s torso, and something flared behind Jack’s eyes and down his spine and he grinned to himself. Oh, yeah, luck was with him tonight, he thought, giving Sawyer the quick once-over himself. Again, Sawyer smiled very slightly. “Hate them goddamned malls. Ugly,” Sawyer said. “As sin. Decent money, though. You?” “Mechanic.” Jack’s eyes widened. “Drivin’ that piece of shit? You kiddin’ me?” “You sayin’ that old Ford’s any better? I know my fuckin’ vehicles, Hoss,” Sawyer said, grinning broadly now and displaying dimples that could kill a person and looking at Jack through heavy-lidded eyes. “It’ll quit on you before summer’s out, bet you good money.” Jack glared. “You’re on,” he muttered and grabbed the wine and headed out toward the back deck, acutely aware of Sawyer following him and knowing full well that Sawyer was eyeing him up and down from behind and this time he grinned full-on, deciding right then and there that the move to Knoxville was the best damn decision he’d ever made. The dogs ignored them both, content to laze under the cool, loud rattle of the window unit. . . .The dogs go to barkin’ When we get to sparkin’ We almost set the house on fire . . . They settled on the back deck, smoking and sharing the wine and fighting off mosquitoes and apparently completely unable to engage in the usual small talk. Instead they fought, found that they disagreed about absolutely everything - sports, music, movies, cars, and then Sawyer finally sighed in frustration and flung himself on to his back. “Listen,” he said. “I think you and me might get along a whole hell of a lot better if we just quit talkin’.” “No shit,” Jack said, scowling and staring out at the display the fireflies were putting on and still pissed about the remarks Sawyer had made about the University of Oklahoma’s coaching staff. “So what’re we gonna do if we’re not gonna talk?” Sawyer murmured. Jack tensed at the change in Sawyer’s voice, low now and husky and suggestive, and Jack still stared out at the clearing but not seeing the fireflies now, seeing instead Sawyer naked and on his knees or on his back and with that mouth around . . . then suddenly he was fighting back a shudder as a work-roughened hand wrapped lightly around his bicep, fingers sliding over skin and muscle and be damned, Jack thought, knowing he was grinning like the drunken idiot he felt like, he was gonna get lucky. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Sawyer, who smiled back lazily and continued his slow, rough caress along Jack’s arm. “How do you know I’m into that?” he asked, just to make sure he wasn’t completely misunderstanding Sawyer’s intentions. “I don’t. Just hopin’ that you are. And you did give me a real sweet look earlier, could almost feel it. Made me hard,” Sawyer drawled. Jack found his own body responding to Sawyer’s words, and quite enthusiastically. “Been a long time since I seen anybody like the likes of you – big, strong, bet you look real nice without that shirt on, better even with nothin’ on, makes me wonder what it would be like to fuck you,” Sawyer murmured. Oh, boy, Jack thought, turning away from Sawyer to hide another idiotic grin and then shivered as Sawyer’s hand moved from his arm to slide underneath his shirt. “Well, Hollywood” Jack said. “Don’t have anything better to do. Guess we might as well find out.” Then he pounced, shoving up between Sawyer’s thighs and planting a hand on the deck on either side of Sawyer’s head. Fuck, he thought, good, damned good, his eyes closing briefly as Sawyer shoved up against him, cock hard and grinding lightly against his own. He opened his eyes and saw that Sawyer was grinning, and Jack knew that he was grinning back. “Guess we do have somethin’ in common after all,” Sawyer whispered before sliding his arms around Jack’s neck and tugging him down to kiss him thoroughly, tongue delving deeply into Jack’s mouth and Jack moaned softly, it had been so damn long and now he had the best looking man he’d ever seen squirming underneath him and sucking and nipping at his mouth, tasting of wine and smoke and before he could fight back the surge in his blood and make this last he was moving, frenzied and seeing red and humping Sawyer roughly, the touch of cock against cock making him crazy even through what he now was thinking was way too many clothes, and Sawyer groaned against his mouth, a sound rough and guttural and impatient and it reverberated throughout Jack’s body and he shuddered in response, and then Jack was rolling, on to his back and pulling Sawyer on top of him simply so he could thrust his hands into that hair, yank on it while he continued explore Sawyer’s mouth, bringing forth a muffled curse as Sawyer tore his mouth away. “Jesus fuck, you sure know what you’re doin’, don’t you?” Sawyer whispered, staring at Jack with eyes that seemed black in the dim light coming from the living room. Jack shoved up against him, so hard and now impatient, more and now, he thought, and again Sawyer grinned and lifted his hips up slightly, again kissing Jack and more roughly this time as Jack fumbled frantically with two sets of button fly jeans and then finally Jack’s hands were wrapped around them both and he was moving against Sawyer as much as he could. “Fuck, Hoss, nice, big hands you got there, Jesus!” Sawyer muttered and began thrusting into Jack’s hands and along his cock, eyes closing and hair falling into his face and brushing silkily along Jack’s face and neck. “God,” Jack muttered against Sawyer’s throat before nipping at him sharply. “Just don’t stop, just don’t fuckin’ stop, God . . .” “No way in hell I’m stoppin’ now,” Sawyer whispered and his pace quickened and all coherent thought left and it was just groans and curses and hot and heavy breathing and Jack was quickly being swept along with bright and blinding wave of desire, arousal like he’d never felt before centering low and hard in his belly and then he came hard, mind wiped clean as his body jerked in pleasure and Sawyer growled low in the back of his throat as Jack grasped him tightly with one hand, now hot and slick, stroking him expertly and watching Sawyer’s face in amazement as he thrust quickly and more erratically into Jack’s hand. Then Sawyer’s back bowed and he groaned loudly and bit down hard at the base of Jack’s neck as he came, hot and wet over Jack’s hand, and when his body finally eased he settled on top of Jack heavily, catching his breath. Then he lifted his head and looked down at Jack, his expression unreadable, and Jack wiped his hands on jeans and then thrust them again into Sawyer’s hair, shoving it out of his face and staring at him. This man wasn’t just good-looking, Jack thought, dazed, he was more than that, he was beautiful, if you could call a man beautiful, and if you could then this man certainly was that. Beautiful. He must have given something away with his eyes because Sawyer suddenly smiled at him sleepily. Yep, Jack thought, smiling back. Beautiful. Then Sawyer scowled and glared at the back door of the trailer. “What in the hell is all that barkin’ about?” Jack was suddenly aware of the racket the dogs were making. “Oh,” he said, trying not to yawn. “They always do that. Hush!” The dogs subsided immediately and Jack knew they were both headed back for the couch and he returned his attention to Sawyer. “You’re stayin’,” he ordered. “You bet your sweet ass I am. Ain’t done with you yet, you bossy son of a bitch,” Sawyer said, grinning. Jack found himself grinning back. . . . I like the flamingoes you stuck in your yard And I like the notions you stick in my head and heart Yeah, and how you fix on my car . . . Jack made the walk to Sawyer’s trailer a slow one, enjoying the evening air and waving at Sawyer’s mother when she grinned at him as he passed her driveway. To his surprise she’d come to adore Jack and thought he was the best thing to ever happen to her baby boy. Wonders never ceased, he thought, and kept walking, and found himself breaking into a jog as he started up Sawyer’s drive, briefly taking in the new tableau in the front yard. “Flamingoes?” he asked as he walked into Sawyer’s trailer without knocking. Sawyer looked up at him from his seat on the couch and glared. “Yeah, flamingoes, you got a problem with that?” he grumbled defensively. Jack grinned. “Yeah, I do. They’re ugly. I tossed ‘em in the dumpster.” Sawyer was suddenly on his feet, bellowing. “My mama put those flamingoes in my yard! You tossed my mama’s flamingoes, you asshole?” And then he was flying across the living room, knocking Jack to his back and pinning him to the floor. “You don’t fuckin’ touch my mama’s flamingoes!” he yelled and then punched Jack hard on the shoulder when Jack started giggling. “Ow! Jesus! No, I didn’t touch your damned flamingoes, it’s just that you fuck better when you’re pissed,” Jack said, still grinning. “That right?” Sawyer spat. “Then you’d best get ready, boy, ‘cause I’m about to fuck you harder than you ever been fucked in your life.” *** And boy, did he, Jack thought the next morning, finding it hard to crawl out of Sawyer’s bed, especially since Sawyer seemed determined not to let him go. “C’mon, I gotta get to work,” Jack mumbled, struggling against Sawyer’s warm grip around his waist. “And . . . um, can I borrow your truck?” Sawyer’s head shot up and he grinned, and Jack flushed. “Told you that piece of shit would conk out on you. You owe me,” Sawyer said, smirking in triumph. Jack sighed. “Yeah, I owe you. How much?” “Stop at the store on your way home. We need some stuff, pay me with supplies,” Sawyer mumbled, burrowing back underneath the covers. “What do you need?” Jack asked, finally on his feet and headed for the shower. “Beer.” Jack rolled his eyes. “I figured that much. Anything else?” “More beer. And cigarettes. And one of them smelly pine tree thingies for my truck. And lube.” Jack flushed again. “I am not buyin’ lube at the Kum ‘n’ Go! I doubt they even sell lube at the Kum ‘n’ Go!” Sawyer snorted from somewhere underneath the covers. The name Kum ‘n’ Go never ceased to amuse him. “Sure they do,” he said, and although Jack couldn’t see him he could hear the grin in his voice. “‘Round here they call it ‘Vaseline.’” Again Jack rolled his eyes and hurried to get ready for work and returned to his own trailer that evening to find Sawyer, tanned and shirtless and sweaty, bent over the engine of Jack’s truck, worn and greasy Levi’s tight against his ass as he worked and cursed under his breath about 'fuckin’ worthless piece of shit Fords.' Jack suddenly found himself awful glad he’d bought that Vaseline. ***  Present “A year,” Sawyer said again, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully and staring into space and ignoring Jack’s impatient squirming. Jack sighed impatiently. “Yes, already! A year, a whole fuckin’ year!” “And you’re stayin’,” Sawyer said, looking down at him and grinning broadly. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!” Jack hissed, and then again found himself grinning back helplessly. Suddenly Sawyer’s face was shoved into his own. “Well, then. This must actually be some kinda relationship or some such. So I think you got somethin’ you got to say to me.” Jack’s eyes widened and his chest tightened. “No way! No sayin’ it, we agreed!” “Changed my mind. Say it!” Sawyer yelled. “You fuckin’ say it!” Jack yelled back, scared shitless now of how he would feel if Sawyer actually said it. “Fine, you bastard, I will,” Sawyer said defiantly, sitting back and crossing his arms. He glared down at Jack and cleared his throat several times, and Jack closed his eyes in terror and waited. And waited and waited and waited. “Love you,” Sawyer whispered, finally. Jack’s eyes flew open and he did a quick internal check. That hadn’t been nearly so hard to hear as he thought it would be. In fact, it had been rather nice. He looked at Sawyer, whose expression was serious and open and vulnerable and Jack smiled. “Love you, too,” he whispered back and then Sawyer attacked him enthusiastically with both body and words and kept them both quite happily occupied for the remainder of the night and for a very long time afterward. But Jack never did win at ‘Wheel of Fortune,’ no matter how hard he tried. . . . I get a big heapin’ helpin’ Of the stuff I get a hankerin’ for Honey your homespun love Just keeps me comin’ back for more . . . *** The End Song: Homespun Love Album: The Ranch Songwriters: Keith Urban and Vernon Rust You spun your web back a Sunday or two I ain't never met nobody Like the likes of you You got me preachin' the news You turned down my road and decided to stay And I took a shine to your hair And your hillbillly ways And how you kiss on my face I got a bone deep feelin' You're the start of the good ole days Well I still remember You came by my trailer With chicken and some homemade wine The dogs go to barkin' When we get to sparkin' We almost set the house on fire Well I got a big heapin' helpin' Of the stuff I get a hankerin' for But honey your homespun love Just keeps me comin' back for more I like the flamingos you stuck in your yard And I like the notions you stick in my head and my heart Yeah and how you fix on my car Well I reckon I'm lucky you're everything I need so far Well I still remember You came by my trailer With chicken and some homemade wine The dogs go to barkin' When we get to sparkin' We almost set the house on fire Well I got a big heapin' helpin' Of the stuff I get a hankerin' for But honey your homespun love Just keeps me comin' back for more and more Honey your homespun love just keep me comin' back for more