Title:  “Ownership”
Author:  uberaeryn
Fandom:  Lost
Pairing:  Jack/Sawyer
Sequel to “Knowledge”
Rating:  Adults Only: Language, Sexual Situations, Hint of Non-Con and Then It Gets Kind of . . . *puzzled look* Never Mind.
Notes: Hmmm. Not quite sure where this came from, but then again I don’t know where ANY of this stuff comes from, so there you go.

*makes appointment with therapist immediately*

Summary: Jack wanted to own Sawyer . . .

Jack expected Sawyer to avoid him.

Or maybe attack him, verbally or physically; make Jack pay for going too far and for seeing too much, seeing beyond the mask, much more deeply than Sawyer ever wanted anybody to see, ever.

Jack expected something from Sawyer. Revenge of some sort, somehow striking back at Jack after their strange and raw and painful and breathtakingly erotic collision with each other. It had been for Jack, and for Sawyer as well, Jack thought when he allowed himself to think about it, an exhilarating battle of wills and minds and bodies that neither, yet both, had won.

And it had been oddly accentuated and made that much more vivid by that which surrounded them – the myriad scents and sounds of jungle, the crash of the water over jagged cliffs into the pool beside them. And then the wind, running silken, ghost-like hands over the both of them, pushing them toward each other with a gentle but insistent touch that had played almost as much a part in what had happened as the inexplicable way in which they inevitably found themselves drawn to one another.

It was an overwhelming and unstoppable attraction and had been from the beginning; one that Jack had written off to what he knew to be his own ridiculous need for control and to Sawyer’s resistance to being controlled by anything or anyone. And both of them had fought it fiercely ever since first setting eyes on one another, fought that pull and fought each other and had come very close to killing one another in the process.

Pain had certainly happened as a result of it, Jack knew. Physical and mental pain, for them both.

Jack had thought he had hated Sawyer. He thought that he still hated Sawyer and always would. It was as if what he'd seen in Sawyer that day had receded, dimmed; and all that was left was the overwhelming physical hangover of it.

And so Jack thought now that he hated Sawyer still. On some level, at least.

But now the hatred changed course, as if it were a fast-rushing and fire-tinted river roaring through the depths of Jack’s soul. A dam had been built and that hate surged and whirled and eddied and flooded parts of him Jack hadn’t even realized existed before.

Now Jack hated Sawyer for the golden-tinted images that haunted Jack at night, resented the memory of scent and of smell and taste. And sound, Jack would think, closing his eyes and remembering the groans and muttered curses that seemed to come from deep within Sawyer, a raw, rough and melodic song composed entirely of sex and want and need and pain that still echoed in Jack’s ears and reverberated powerfully throughout his body.

Those were the moments when Jack was the weakest; when he had to fight not to seek Sawyer out, hear that song again, louder and repeatedly until neither of them could move, replete and relaxed and feeling that deep, satisfying pain of prolonged and rough invasion of body into body.

Jack hated Sawyer for the dreams that woke him each night, a hazy specter of Sawyer devouring Jack with hands and mouth and body, and then Sawyer on hands and knees and submissive; dreams that left Jack hard and trembling and aching and sweating and breathless, made it impossible to sleep.

In the depths of night, yes, at the caves and alone watching the shadows dance along the stone walls in the dim and erratic torchlight, Jack hated Sawyer. He remembered what he’d thought, briefly, during their confrontation, of wanting Sawyer to break, and the idea became almost obsession. Jack dreamt over and over of breaking him. He wanted Sawyer to break, under Jack, under his words and under his will and under his touch. Break, completely and thoroughly.

At night, when the whole of his body was rigid with desire and maddening sense of need, Jack wanted to own Sawyer.

And then the sun would rise and the encampments would awaken and work would begin and the dreams and the memories and the embarrassingly foolish idea of wanting to own anybody were ignored. Jack fought hard with that part of him that needed control and won, briefly, and the slight flush of shame and need was washed away in the chill of the sea before Jack struggled to the beach and put his back into whatever needed to be done that day.

Forgotten, almost, the dreams and the fantasies. And oddly enough, sometimes he forgot about Sawyer completely during the day, busy with planning and a seemingly endless string of minor injuries. Jack would forget, forget while working or during those rare moments of laughing with Charlie and Hurley or while walking alone in the jungle when his thoughts would turn to their rescue and the insane fantasy of enslaving Sawyer, of owning him, retreated completely from his waking thoughts.

And Jack had expected Sawyer to avoid him, now. But instead he found himself avoiding Sawyer, catching only fleeting glimpses of him during the day as Jack went about his work. Sawyer watched him, body still and his gaze dark and unreadable. And then Jack would turn his eyes away and ignore the catch in his breath and the rise in blood and turn his attention to the next crisis, major or minor. For days, weeks even, Jack would meet Sawyer’s eyes briefly and yet long enough to make Jack’s heart pound, and then Jack would turn away.

He saw Sawyer now only at night, in his dreams both sleeping and waking, and during those heated, breathless moments Sawyer belonged to Jack and only to Jack.

Jack owned Sawyer.

And then all that changed.

***

It was dusk and Jack was wandering aimlessly throughout the maze of paths they’d cut through the jungle by now. He was exhausted and faintly dizzy and he remembered vaguely that he hadn’t eaten that day and he cursed himself, knowing better. He was also worried about Claire and wondering at the same time how in the hell they were ever going to get back home when suddenly he was attacked from behind, strong arms around him and a hand over his mouth and he was being pulled into the cover of the jungle and he struggled, almost freed himself from the steel-like grip around him and then all started to fade to black.

That smell, he thought as the darkness overcame him. I know that smell, I know . . .

And then nothing.

***

He awoke to find himself with his hands tied behind his back and seated on the ground, back against a tree. He blinked his eyes once or twice and then the fuzzy image in front him sharpened and he saw a small fire and Sawyer lounging beside it, smoking.

Sawyer glanced at him and then sat up, that charming yet ugly grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, looky here. Somebody’s finally awake. Have a nice nap, Doc?” He inhaled deeply, his eyes on Jack the entire time, black in the light of the fire and inscrutable.

So this was it then, Jack thought as he sighed wearily and closed his eyes. Payback.

“Sawyer . . .” he began.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m callin’ the shots here, you fuckin’ got that?” Sawyer barked. “And just so you don’t go runnin’ back and tellin’ Mohammed that I knocked your ass out, you – “

Jack sighed and remembered how tired he’d been and the lack of food that day and tried again. “I know, I know, I passed out. But this . . .” Jack struggled against the rope around his wrists. “Listen, Sawyer . . .”

“I said, shut the fuck up,” Sawyer growled, and shifted position so slowly and with such self-assurance that Jack’s breath caught. He watched as Sawyer moved languidly on hands and knees toward him, the sight of it sending chills down Jack’s spine in spite of the low-grade fever of fear he felt and he shifted slightly, body remembering and then reacting fiercely to what had happened between them before and all that Jack still wanted to happen.

Sawyer watched him closely and paused, then arched his back and slowly dipped the front of his body to the ground and cocked his head, hair falling into his eyes, looking up at Jack in amusement. “What, Doc? You scared? Of little ol’ me? Why, I’m just a pussycat, once you get to know me.”

He smiled, all sexual suggestion and aggression and vaguely disguised threat and then he rose up on all fours and again began his slow, graceful crawl toward Jack.

“Fuck,” Jack muttered, watching every move Sawyer made and then he was struggling, body on fire and blood surging and not caring what Sawyer’s intention was here. He was beyond rationality and thinking only of getting his hands and his mouth on Sawyer’s body, of making Sawyer groan and come and say Jack’s name, make him beg.

Sawyer stopped, still as stone and his eyes darkened further.

“Stop,” he ordered, voice rough and low and Jack closed his eyes again and shuddered at the sound of it, at the sound of Sawyer’s voice.

“Jesus,” Jack whispered, head falling back as he tried to catch his breath and he heard Sawyer move again, crawling slowly up the length of Jack’s outstretched legs and Jack groaned softly, so hungry, and then Sawyer’s breath was hot against Jack’s face and Jack bit his lip to keep from moving, talking, attacking.

“You listen to me, you son of a bitch, just so we’re clear on somethin’,” Sawyer hissed. Jack opened his eyes and stared into Sawyer’s, which were angry and stormy in a sea of black and Jack felt himself straining again against his bonds, driven by something he couldn’t even begin to describe to touch, to taste, to own.

“You listen to me,” Sawyer repeated, his hard gaze pinning Jack back against the rough surface of the tree. “Nobody, nobody touches me, looks at me the way you did, you bastard, and then just walks away. I’m not a man who likes to be ignored, Doc, you understand that?”

Jack blinked in stunned surprise. He thought he’d been cutting Sawyer a break or saving him, even, from Jack himself and the dark thoughts Jack had in the depths of the night; he’d never even considered that Sawyer might have wanted more, Jack thought if Sawyer had wanted more he’d have let Jack know that already and in no uncertain terms.

Mine. The word echoed through Jack’s mind and although it was a victory, it was a hollow one, because it wasn’t Jack’s victory. It was Sawyer’s.

“Sawyer,” he whispered, his eyes searching Sawyer’s desperately. “Listen, this isn’t . . .”

“Scared?” Sawyer interrupted, the familiar mocking smile back in place.

Jack sighed and fell back again against the tree.

“Yeah. I am. More than you’ll ever know,” he whispered, knowing full well that Sawyer had no idea exactly what Jack meant, that Jack was no longer afraid of his desire to own Sawyer, but the fact that Sawyer already owned Jack, as fully as anybody ever would.

Sawyer’s smile widened.

“Oh, don’t worry. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Much,” Sawyer murmured and then his mouth was ghosting over Jack’s face and his tongue was swiping wetly across Jack’s lips and Jack grunted in surprise and arousal and leaned forward to capture Sawyer’s mouth but Sawyer had already pulled back, just out of reach, grinning.

“What I am gonna do, though, is fuck you,” Sawyer growled, eyes black and voice full of sex and Jack’s cock, already hard, twitched and again he fidgeted, hurting, wanting, needing and watching Sawyer in aroused fascination as he continued speaking.

“Gonna fuck you hard and long and on my terms, you got that? And you’re gonna fuckin’ like it, Doc, and you’re gonna beg me to let you get off and maybe I will and maybe I won’t, all depends on if you behave, and you’re gonna say my name, say it loud and over and over again, and then the next time I wanna get off I’m gonna come find you whenever and wherever you are and whoever you’re with and you’re gonna get down on your knees and suck me off and you’re gonna be grateful for it, for me coming in your mouth.”

He smirked at Jack in self-satisfaction, obviously waiting for outrage or shouting but what Jack did instead was fling his legs around Sawyer’s waist and pulled with everything he had until Sawyer was splayed flat against him, huffing in surprise and then with something else as Jack ground against him hard, cock against hard cock through the fabric of their clothes and Jack groaned, pulling Sawyer tight against him as he could with his legs but it wasn’t enough, weeks of wanting and it wasn’t enough . . .

“Jesus, Sawyer, for God’s sake please, shit,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Untie me, fuck, Sawyer, goddammit . . .”

Sawyer planted his hands on either side of Jack’s waist and humped him hard and slow, smirking slightly as Jack moaned and panted. “Untie you? Why, so you can beat the shit outta me and then run back to your buddies . . .”

“God, no, Sawyer, so you can fuck me, you goddamned moron . . .” Jack whispered, still thrusting up against Sawyer in a manner which only served to frustrate instead of satisfy. “Please, Sawyer, Jesus, I can’t fucking stand it anymore, now, you dumb son of a bitch!”

Sawyer reared back, sitting upright on his knees and his arousal evident through his jeans as he stared at Jack in smoky-eyed shock.

“Now!” Jack spat, blinded with need and kicking at Sawyer’s thighs with the flat of one foot. “You’re going to kill me, Sawyer, you’ve been killing me, what in the hell are you waiting for . . .”

And then Sawyer was moving, reaching over Jack’s shoulder and fumbling with the ropes and Jack inhaled deeply, taking as much of Sawyer’s scent as he could possibly take in such a frenzied state, and then Jack suddenly found one hand free while Sawyer gripped the other, still not completely trusting him, and Jack immediately shoved Sawyer to his back, tearing at his jeans until Sawyer’s cock was free and then Jack had his mouth around him, groaning at the taste and the feel of it and sucking firmly and wetly and working expertly with lips and tongue.

“Fuck!” Sawyer rumbled from deep within his chest, the sound Jack had been wanting to hear for so long and he groaned again, working harder as he felt Sawyer let go of his other hand and then both Sawyer’s hands were around Jack’s neck, fingernails digging into his skin. “Jesus fuck, Jack, shit . . .” Sawyer moaned and Jack looked up at him through a filmy curtain of red, looked at Sawyer with his head flung back and his eyes closed and his hair flying and Jack reached down, aching at the sight of it, to touch himself.

“No,” Sawyer growled, noticing and capturing Jack’s hand again. “No. On your back.”

He shoved Jack backward and Jack remembered that his hands were free and he thrust both of them into Sawyer’s hair and yanked, pulled him down until their mouths were touching and then Sawyer’s tongue was deep in Jack’s mouth, sliding along his tongue wetly while he prepared Jack roughly with the fingers of one hand and then he was thrusting inside and Jack winced and moaned at the pain of it but kept his hands in Sawyer’s hair and his mouth against Sawyer’s.

“God. Oh, God, so damned good,” Sawyer muttered, eyes closing as Jack tightened around him. “That hurt?” Sawyer whispered, moving further inside Jack, but slowly, increasing the pain and the need and again Jack cried out.

“Yes,” Jack hissed and it did, a harsh burn that he knew would ease if Sawyer would just keep going. “Yes, but don’t stop, don’t dare stop, fuck me, Sawyer, Christ . . .”

“I’m gonna fuck you until you’re damn near dead, Doc, because you’re mine, now," Sawyer whispered, body trembling with restraint. “And then you’re gonna fuck me. You got a problem with that?”

“Jesus, no,” Jack mumbled, mouth again wet against Sawyer’s. “Because you’re mine, I fucking know you, Sawyer, you’re mine . . .”

Sawyer bucked hard against Jack, biting hard at his lip and then Sawyer started moving, thrusting with ease and certainty and both of them cried out, hot and sweaty and slick against one another and then Jack relaxed completely and Sawyer let go, ramming into Jack with long and hard strokes, white-hot shards of light exploding behind Jack’s eyes as Sawyer cursed and growled and whispered tangled curses and words of pleasure and claims of ownership in Jack’s ear.

“Mine,” Sawyer whispered again before biting hard on Jack’s shoulder as he came.

Jack came soon after in a blinded frenzy, hot and slick, smearing wetly between himself and Sawyer, and as his body slowly settled he finally spoke.

“Yes,” Jack whispered in agreement in Sawyer’s ear, reveling at the way Sawyer trembled under his touch and under his mouth and under his words. Not broken, and Jack finally realized he never really wanted Sawyer to be broken, he simply wanted Sawyer to be his.

The wind gusted.

There was a difference.

“Yours,” Jack said softly, running one hand roughly down the sweat-slick length of Sawyer’s back as he felt him shudder in response. Then Sawyer covered Jack fully, his body heavy and hot and melting into Jack's, and then again the wind came up, cool and dry, and then both slid quickly into sleep.

***

End