Title:  “Knowledge”
Author:  uberaeryn
Fandom:  Lost
Pairing:  Jack/Sawyer
Rating:  Adults Only, Language and Sexual Situations
Set Early Season One, No Spoilers
Summary: And then Jack knew . . .

This one goes out to lillyjk, with mucho appreciation for her mucho feedback and with the hope that *SOOPER SEKRIT MESSAGE* this will do until I get back to that other thing. ;)
 

Jack, nearly blind with rage, found Sawyer near one of the pools, leaning back against one of the rocks with one bare foot braced on the damp grit of the stone behind him; his posture completely relaxed as he smoked what Jack knew had to be the last of his cigarettes.

Or maybe it wasn’t the last, Jack thought, his body rigid with fury in light of what he’d just found out about Sawyer’s secret stashes, a cache of supplies Sawyer had long since insisted were gone, completely depleted, at least until what had happened late this afternoon.

Sawyer noticed him and grinned. “Evenin’, Doc,” he said amiably. Amiable, yet still mocking, somehow managing to convey through the friendly smile and the wink and the nod that he still thought Jack was the biggest asshole ever to walk the face of the earth and that he always would think so.

The blood pounded in Jack’s ears and behind his eyes and he found himself beyond fury and well into that black, nameless area of rage that he knew, by now, meant he was dangerously close to doing something ridiculously stupid. He stalked toward Sawyer, every bit of him intent on hurting him somehow and then, oddly, the wind came up, shifted, a cool caress against his forehead and along the back of his neck.

Inexplicably, and this had never happened before when Jack was raging like this, and it had happened more often in his lifetime than he cared to admit, reason returned and he stopped in his tracks and sighed. He stood stock-still, closed his eyes and breathed as deeply as he could.

“You all right? Lookin’ a little flushed there, Doc. Heat gettin’ to you?” Fake concern, more mockery. More entertainment at Jack’s expense and again the idea of beating the hell out of Sawyer crossed his mind and wasn’t as easily brushed away this time.

Jack sighed again, gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. “I was talking to you, Sawyer,” he bit out. “You don’t just run off in the middle . . .”

“You weren’t talkin’, you were screamin’,” Sawyer said, exhaling smoke slowly and deliberately in Jack’s direction and Jack had to force himself to unclench his fists. “There’s a difference, you know. And I don’t take kindly to screamin’.”

Sawyer paused and concentrated on his cigarette and then the expression on his face changed and a slow, deliberately suggestive smile spread across his face. “Not that kinda screamin’, anyway.” He regarded Jack with darkened eyes, a look that meant a thousand things and every one of them sexual and intended to provoke and again Jack found himself with his fists clenched.

He moved suddenly and without really thinking about it, enraged again almost beyond coherent thought and he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was overreacting but reason had been abandoned and this was personal, now. He found himself with his feet planted firmly on the ground in front of Sawyer and hands flat against the rock behind Sawyer on either side of his head, trapping him and leaning into him, his entire body conveying threat, his face shoved into Sawyer’s and their bodies, just barely, brushing against one another.

Sawyer didn’t move, didn’t shift position, and the insolent expression never left his face, but Jack was gratified to feel him tense and to see the look in his eyes change from suggestive to angry and wary and to feel the heat of whatever mindless, senseless out-of-control emotions that now rendered Sawyer brittle and, Jack thought, about to break.

Some part of Jack hoped that Sawyer would. Break. Finally. Break, under Jack, under his words and under his will and under his touch. Break, completely and thoroughly.

“Back off, Doc,” Sawyer growled, not backing down. “You touch me, you so much as fuckin’ look at me funny and I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

His eyes were ablaze now, waiting for Jack to say something, to move, and Jack started to, almost, almost brought one arm down with the thought of bringing it back up, fist tight and hard and making a satisfying sound as it connected with Sawyer’s jaw and then he was aware again, vaguely, of the soft touch of the wind and suddenly he decided to ignore the threat, even though he wanted nothing more right now than to beat Sawyer into submission, had never wanted anything more in his life.

The breeze danced around them, swirled between them, lifted Sawyer’s hair from his face and Jack felt something liquid and cool spill down his spine and he shivered and then watched Sawyer, puzzled as he saw the reflection of his own confusion mirrored in Sawyer’s eyes. Then the wind died down and their eyes were locked, a battle almost as painful as a physical one would most likely be.

Jack stared at him for a long time, anger warring with common sense. “You fucked up,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper and tight with rage.

“Not goin’ over this again,” Sawyer spat, and the remnants of cigarette smoke ghosted across Jack’s face. “I didn’t fuck up shit. You got what you needed, when you needed it and that’s the goddamned end of it as far as I’m concerned, you uptight son of a bitch.”

Sawyer shifted suddenly, both feet flat on the ground as he leaned in even closer to Jack, faces almost touching. “Unless you’re wantin’ to take this a little bit further, finally have it out, let me kick your ass eight ways from Sunday, settle this shit once and for all,” he snarled.

Jack started to move, all action and no thought. He moved, to do what exactly he wasn’t sure, and he noted that Sawyer also shifted slightly in response, wary and ready and, by the look on his face, eager for it. But Jack pulled up again, as if from somewhere deep down something urged him to ignore the baiting. He forced himself to remain still, to not resort to using his fists, no matter how dense the red haze through which he saw Sawyer now became.

“You fucked up,” he repeated, his voice a little louder this time and his eyes locked onto Sawyer’s, and Sawyer laughed, a bitter and hollow sound.

“I’m only gonna say this one more time. Back off, Doc, or I swear to God . . .” He stopped in mid-sentence and the mocking smile returned. “Jesus Christ,” he said, still grinning. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that you were startin’ to trust me.”

Jack stared at him a moment, the reddish hint of rage tinting his vision lessening as he searched Sawyer’s eyes and saw something there, hidden behind the bluster and the bravado. Something, if Jack didn’t know better, that hinted at hope and fear and self-hate combined with a desperate sense of self-preservation.

The wind was back, soft and powdery cool against his skin and unexpectedly he felt a painful flash of recognition, something deep twisting in his gut as he realized, out of nowhere, who Sawyer really was. Or could be, if . . .

He stepped back suddenly, arms dropping to his sides as he backed away. Sawyer’s grin widened.

“That it?” Sawyer asked, crossing his arms and tilting his head, gazing at Jack through the silken curtain of his hair. “Best you can do? Not gonna try to beat the shit outta me, find out what else I’ve got hidden away? Or torture me, maybe, because you know, that worked out so fuckin’ well the last time. For a second there, anyway, that girl knows her way around a man’s mouth, that’s for damned sure, makes you wonder what else she can do with it.” He smiled lewdly and again he shifted lightly on his feet, clearly expecting a reaction, a violent one and fuck, Jack thought in amazement, he was practically begging for it.

Jack ignored the taunts about Kate, as difficult as it was. He also shrugged off the reminder that he’d played a part in torturing a man, this man standing in front of him, which was much more difficult to do and was something he’d been struggling with ever since it had happened. But bringing these things up now was just Sawyer playing the cards he had been dealt, Jack thought, fighting with the only weapons he had, at least far as Jack was concerned.

There was something more going on here, he thought. It was as if, he thought as he watched Sawyer closely, the hoarded supplies and the torture and Kate were reduced almost to footnotes in Sawyer’s story, a story that Jack was finally starting to realize, here and now, was much bigger and probably much uglier than Jack had ever imagined.

He watched Sawyer carefully as Sawyer uncrossed his arms and straightened, obviously expecting Jack to move, to attack, to say something more.

“Yeah,” Jack said quietly, his eyes still on Sawyer’s face.

A hint of confusion flickered across Sawyer’s face before being replaced almost immediately with a smirk. “Yeah? Yeah, what, that’s it? Never took you for bein’ such a pussy, Doc. Took you for a lotta things, but not a fuckin’ coward-“

“Yeah,” Jack interrupted, his voice more forceful this time and Sawyer stopped his tirade and stared at him. “Yeah,” Jack said again, more quietly this time. “I was starting to trust you.”

The confusion returned for a moment and Jack watched, fascinated, as Sawyer fought, with himself. He fought, struggling with something or someone internally, and then the confusion was quickly replaced with a defiant glower. “Your goddamned mistake, then,” Sawyer hissed.

“Guess so,” Jack said, shrugging. He backed away, still watching Sawyer curiously and then he turned to leave. He took about twelve steps and then, feeling some odd, silent call from Sawyer behind him and he felt forced to stop and turn. Sawyer’s head lifted expectantly, and to Jack it seemed as if he were waiting for something, although he was unsure what it was Sawyer seemed to need from him.

So he asked.

“Why did you tell us, Sawyer? About the first-aid kit, the antibiotics? Hurley is hurt, yeah, but not seriously. Nothing I couldn’t have taken care of with the supplies I already have, you know that, I said as much when Charlie and Michael brought him up to the caves. You could have kept your little secret, used it later to get whatever you wanted, when we really needed them.” He studied Sawyer carefully. “So why now?”

It was subtle, so subtle that Jack would never have seen it if he hadn’t been looking for it, but something like regret darkened Sawyer’s eyes even as he again crossed his arms and leaned back against the rock, the languid and graceful movement of his body expertly camouflaging a posture so raw and tight that it was painful just to watch, and Jack couldn’t imagine what it must be like living that way all the time. He wondered who and what Sawyer had been before, that he had lived with this false front for so long that it had long since become who he was, or who he thought he was, how he saw himself.

He found himself in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable position of feeling sympathy for Sawyer and he found himself growing restless beneath it. This was Sawyer, for God’s sake, Jack thought, sympathy was the last thing he should be feeling.

And then again the wind ghosted through the trees, cool and unaccountably dry and the smell of it, mystifyingly, that of the desert, and the sound of the fall of the water into the pool became sharp-edged and crystalline and Jack noticed that Sawyer felt it as well, hunching his shoulders as he lifted his head to the breeze, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Jack watched him and promptly stopped thinking about what he should be feeling or should be saying or should be doing and simply waited and watched, without judgment and felt no small sense of wonder at how freeing it was to do so.

“Just feelin’ generous, I suppose,” Sawyer drawled, his voice slow and lazy to the ear but with a taut undercurrent of emotion Jack couldn’t even begin to identify. Again those eyes, sea grey and tumultuous and dark underneath some violent inner storm and Jack felt his breath catch, pinned under Sawyer’s gaze, by those eyes. “You can pay me back later.”

“How?” Jack asked softly and feeling now as if he were in an almost dreamlike state of being, soft and surreal but oddly sharp around the edges.

“I’ll think of somethin’,” Sawyer said, tone again defiant and mocking but the look in those eyes frightened and lonely and needing something, and Jack felt if he could just figure out what that something was . . .

Then he knew.

He moved, so quickly that Sawyer had no time to put up false fronts or bluster or posture and Jack’s hands again were splayed flat against the rock behind Sawyer as he pressed the length of his body against Sawyer, his mouth just a breath away from Sawyer’s own.

“What in the hell are you doin’?” Sawyer hissed in shock and moved to shove Jack away but Jack was already attacking, physically, but not with fists, instead with his mouth and his body, lips and tongue planted wetly against the skin of Sawyer’s neck and straddling one of Sawyer’s thighs with both of his own and rocking up against him slightly, feeling the hard nudge of Sawyer’s cock against his leg.

“Jesus,” Jack whispered, body desperate suddenly, raging at the way Sawyer tasted, smelled.

Sawyer cursed, struggled, tried to get both hands between them to push Jack away, a movement that shifted suddenly from awkward angles to smooth curves as his hands slid down to Jack’s ass to pull him tighter, grinding so hard against Jack that each movement sent a blinding thrill of white light up his spine to explode behind Jack’s eyes and caused him to moan loudly, the sound of it raw and carried away by that cool wind.

“Fuck,” Sawyer muttered, and Jack watched with a feeling almost beyond arousal as Sawyer’s eyes closed against the rhythm of their movements against each other, mouth open slightly as he panted and cursed and groaned and then all sound was muffled as Jack claimed Sawyer’s mouth, Sawyer resisting at first and then opening, accepting, then demanding, sucking and biting at Jack’s mouth as they continued to grind frantically against one another.

Sawyer pulled his mouth away and stared at Jack with eyes now completely black and completely full of fire and Jack shoved even harder against him, unable to stop himself now. Sawyer’s head fell back and his eyes closed as he ran his tongue along his lower lip. “Touch me,” he ordered. “Fuckin’ touch me, Christ, please . . .”

Through the insane pounding of desire in his blood Jack found the button to Sawyer’s jeans and then Sawyer’s cock was hot and hard in his hand and he moved, stroking Sawyer the way Jack himself liked to be stroked and he watched Sawyer and he listened to the sounds Sawyer was making, so full of longing and desperation and need, a stunning need for Jack himself that Jack moved his hand more roughly, now wanting nothing more than to give Sawyer what he needed, and the look on Sawyer’s face that of a man aroused beyond comprehension and so open and so vulnerable that he looked years younger, lost and lonely, heartbreaking, and it made Jack ache; he hurt, mind and heart and soul and body, and he was so hard that when Sawyer finally touched him, struggled with his shorts and finally took Jack in hand, groaning gruffly into Jack’s mouth the entire time, that Jack came, hard, back bowing and eyes closing as he bit roughly against Sawyer’s lips and tasted blood, never letting up on his rough, warm strokes around Sawyer’s cock and then Sawyer flung himself backward, against the rock, head back and hair damp and tangled and eyes closed and Jack watched in breathless wonder at the way Sawyer’s face changed, a different man when he came with a muffled cry, maybe Jack’s name, he couldn’t tell, and he watched as Sawyer came and felt it as Sawyer came, hot and wet against Jack’s hand.

***

The wind was gusty again, still cool and the touch of it still with an odd, silken, powdery feel, and Jack sighed and let the air draw the water from slowly from his skin.

Sawyer had left immediately, shoving Jack away and straightening his clothes and was gone without another word.

Jack dove into the water, thinking about nothing much at all before climbing on to the bank to dry off. He wondered absently if he should be worried, if he had done something wrong, if he should care what Sawyer might be thinking right now.

No, he thought. It would work itself out in the end, because he knew Sawyer now, somehow. And, somehow, Sawyer knew him.

He closed his eyes and listened to the wind.

***

End