Title:  “The Day After Tomorrow”
Author:  uberaeryn
Fandom:  Lost
Pairing:  Jack/Sawyer
Timeline:  Set immediately after “Do No Harm.”
Warning:  Full of Spoilers
Rating:  Adults Only: Language, Sexual Situations

“Time to go home, Doc.”

Jack didn’t look up from miniature bottle of rum he was holding, seemingly unsurprised that Sawyer had appeared out of the twilight to collapse across from him and stare at him over the small fire he’d built.

“No,” he said, holding the bottle upright with the tips of his fingers and rolling the bottle as he gazed at it, then tilting it, watching the alcohol glint in the light of the fire, then he downed it, tossing the bottle over his shoulder and digging for another in his pack. “So how did you draw ‘Doc’ duty?” he asked, opening the new bottle with some difficulty and speaking slowly and enunciating carefully. “I figured it’d be Sayid.”

Sawyer sighed heavily in exasperation.

“Ah,” Jack said, sighing and nodding slightly, still not looking at him, instead staring at the liquor. “Shannon. Of course.”

“Yeah, of course, you moron,” Sawyer spat. “She won’t let anybody near her but he’s watchin’ her like a fuckin’ hawk. How much of that you got?”

“All of it,” Jack mumbled.

“All of it?” Sawyer said, stunned.

“Yep. I’d share, Sawyer, but you see, I don’t drink,” Jack said, emptying the second bottle in one swallow. “At least, never on duty and never on call.”

Sawyer narrowed his eyes. “And the rest of the time?”

“Rest of the time, all the time,” Jack said, waving the bottle in the air. “Used to, anyway. Always knew I’d start again, figured now was as good a time as any. Destiny.”

“Destiny, right.” Sawyer watched him for a long time. “I get it. I’m a fuckin’ drunk, but you’re an alcoholic,” he said, watching as Jack swayed slightly as he fumbled for the third bottle.

“Exactly,” Jack said, pointing at Sawyer without really looking at him. “Smart, Sawyer, you’re really, really fucking smart.”

Sawyer flinched when a tiny bottle of Absolut hit him in the forehead with much more force than necessary, then he sighed and opened it up. “Thought you was all worried about runnin’ out.”

“We’ll run out sooner or later, anyway.”

Sawyer sighed and shoved his hair out of his face. “Look, you idiot, I don’t wanna be out here anymore than you want me to be,” he muttered. “But I was asked, ever so politely, might I add, to find your stupid ass and drag you back to camp.”

“No.” Jack’s voice was resolute, steel, in spite of the slow melt the alcohol was causing inside him.

“You’re never gonna find him. If what you think happened actually happened, he’ll disappear out here, you know how that creepy old bastard is, like he’s a damned native or somethin’,” Sawyer said.

“It fucking happened, Sawyer. And I’ll find him. Die trying.”

“The second, most likely.”

“Whatever.”

There was a rustle of movement and a click and Jack laughed. “Not yours, I know. Sayid?” he asked, staring into the fire, ignoring the gun pointed at his head.

“Yours. Left the case out and left it unlocked.”

“Well, then, this shouldn’t come as any surprise to you,” Jack said conversationally, sliding his own gun out of his pack, staring at it for a moment before sliding the tip of the barrel along his mouth, then up his cheek and to his temple. He finally looked at Sawyer full on, grinning, gun to his head and bottle to his mouth.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Sawyer said quietly. “Don’t guess I need to ask if that damn thing’s loaded.”

Jack said nothing, simply turned the gun so that Sawyer could see the clip and took another drink, still smiling, and Sawyer repressed a shudder at the look on his face.

“Don’t be so goddamned melodramatic, Doc. Somebody’s gotta pay, that it? Don’t really matter who.”

“Somebody. Somebody. Everybody.” Jack nodded.

“You ain’t foolin’ me with that,” Sawyer said, putting his own gun away and nodding at the one Jack still held to his head. “You’re stinkin’ drunk and you’re close to the edge, but you ain’t that close.” But Sawyer wondered if maybe he was, taking in Jack’s drawn face and shadowed eyes, eyes black and full of fury, crazy-making fury, Sawyer had seen it before, felt it.

Jack laughed, a bitter and empty sound. “I’m over the edge, Sawyer, and I’m not coming back.”

“Drama queen.” Sawyer wasn’t sure if he meant he wasn’t coming back to camp or coming back, period, and he wondered why he was bothering to try to provoke him out of his little pity party, if that was really what this was. “Givin’ up?”

“I don’t give up. Just doing . . . what needs to be done. We’re our own police out here, Sawyer.”

“And you’ve appointed yourself sheriff?” No answer. “Day after tomorrow, Doc, then Sayid is comin’ after us. Faster than I am, soldier, and he won’t have to hold a gun to your head to force you back, you know that, although not as well as I do, I’m thinkin’.”

“Then somebody will have to pay before he gets here, I guess,” Jack mumbled, setting the gun aside, staring now into the fire. “Somebody will have to pay before the day after tomorrow.”

Sawyer sighed as another bottle was tossed into his lap. He knew better than to try to talk down a drunk, especially one so close to breaking as this, so he relaxed back against a tree and watched Jack closely.

“Yeah,” Sawyer mumbled. “I suppose somebody will.” He wondered which of them it would be.

***

“You’re golden.”

Sawyer looked up. “What?”

“Golden.”

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just . . . golden,” Jack said, gesturing vaguely before falling silent again, and Sawyer shifted uncomfortably and watched him closely through the curtain of his hair, his eyes wandering down the length of Jack’s body and wondering, something he’d found himself doing more and more often.

***

“I hung on too long.”

“To what?”

“To Boone. I hung on too long.”

“You still are,” Sawyer said, trying to ignore Jack's tears.

***

“You’re right,” Jack said suddenly after a long period of silence, startling Sawyer out of his reverie. “You’re right. This is fucked up.” He began digging the remaining bottles of alcohol out of his pack and lining them up on the ground.

“I didn’t say anything about anything bein’ fucked up,” Sawyer said, tilting his head and watching.

“You thought it, though,” Jack mumbled, and when he was done lining up the bottles he counted. “Twenty-three.”

“And? You gonna drink ‘em all?”

“No,” Jack said, grabbing one tiny bottle of Absolut and setting it aside. “You keep them.” He began tossing them one by one at Sawyer, who rolled his eyes, catching them carefully and stashing them in his pack.

“Back on the wagon?”

“I was never on the wagon, I just don’t drink,” Jack said, downing the last bottle of Absolut and chasing it with a liter of water. “It’s fucked up. Long story.”

“Everything’s fucked up,” Sawyer muttered. “And we all got our stories.”

“Still going after him, though.”

“Good luck, sherriff. You might as well’ve left a trail of breadcrumbs as easy as it was to find you. If he is a killer, and I ain’t sayin’ he ain’t, ‘cause I don’t know what in the hell happened, he’ll sneak up and slit your throat while you’re sleepin’, end of story.”

“Maybe.”

“That what you want?”

“What I want, Sawyer, is not to have had to watch Boone die like that,” Jack barked.

“So this is all about you, then. Power of life ripped out of your hands so now you’re takin’ hold of death?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sawyer,” Jack snarled, the black in his eyes flaring in the firelight, and Sawyer knew he’d finally hit a little too close to home.

“Quit fuckin’ feelin’ sorry for yourself, Doc.” Again Jack snarled and Sawyer leaned forward. “And gimme that goddamned gun.”

Jack lay back on his elbows and grinned suddenly. “Come get it.”

“I had a feelin’ it’d come down to this,” Sawyer muttered and launched himself across the fire, knocking Jack flat on his back, one hand whipping out to grab the gun and fling it back to where Sawyer had been sitting, and then he held Jack pinned, staring down at him. “What? Just givin’ in like that?”

Jack stared up at him. “Exactly,” he whispered. “Giving in. Finally.” And then he fought, struggling to free his hands, and then when he did so he fisted them into Sawyer’s hair and yanked, pulling him close so that they were face to face, nudging one thigh up between Sawyer’s.

“What the hell is this, Doc?” Sawyer muttered, flinching when Jack started thrusting up against him.

“You know what it is,” Jack whispered, and his tongue started a slow slide across Sawyer’s mouth. “You’ve been watching me, Sawyer, you know . . .”

“Know what?” Sawyer whispered, shivering, tongue darting out to swipe along Jack’s and shifting position so that he was up tight between Jack’s thighs, and Jack groaned, a sound so full of need that it made Sawyer’s entire body vibrate. “Tell me what I know . . .”

“Want you,” Jack panted, hands grabbing Sawyer’s ass and pulling him tight. “Have wanted you, don’t know why, but I dream, Sawyer, of you, the way you smell and taste, dream of sucking you and fucking you and God, Sawyer, I want you . . .”

“Fuck,” Sawyer muttered through clenched teeth, writhing, having had no idea before that whispers in the night could set his very blood on fire, lifting up his hips as Jack reached down between them, unfastening Sawyer’s jeans and grabbing his cock, jerking him slowly and firmly.

“Jesus, stop it, you’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re fuckin’ doin’,” Sawyer hissed, not meaning one word of it but feeling he had to say it anyway, his head falling forward against Jack’s shoulder, eyes closing as Jack planted his mouth against Sawyer’s neck, sucking wetly before licking his way up to Sawyer’s ear.

“Drunk, yeah, but I know, Sawyer and so do you,” he whispered. “Golden.” He began jerking harder and Sawyer grunted and bucked up against his hand, Jack’s hand so warm and Sawyer so hard and this was not enough, Sawyer thought, panting, not enough, biting at his lower lip.

“Help me, Sawyer.”

Sawyer froze. It was a whisper so broken it was frightening, a request Sawyer could never fulfill, so he ignored it and instead offered what he could, knowing he’d get what he wanted in return, and that was something he knew he could do, a game he knew how to play. Help, well, that was something else entirely, but this . . .

Sawyer stared at Jack, searching those eyes with his own, stunned by the open look of hard look of want and desire and desperation on Jack’s face, a look mirrored on his own, he knew. “Dreams, huh?” he whispered, voice hoarse from the things Jack was doing to him.

“Yeah,” Jack whispered, staring at Sawyer’s mouth, his own open slightly.

“Asleep? Or awake?”

“Both,” Jack said, eyes hard.

“Me, too,” Sawyer sighed and then they were kissing, Jack sucking and biting at Sawyer’s lips before thrusting his tongue inside to tangle wetly with Sawyer’s, and then Jack rolled them, mouth sliding wetly across Sawyer’s chest, teasing at nipples and moving ever lower while Sawyer squirmed and panted in anticipation..

“Look at me, Sawyer,” he whispered, tongue teasing the tip of Sawyer’s cock. “Watch me . . .”

Sawyer did, aroused beyond belief at the sight of Jack on his knees, Sawyer’s cock in his mouth, looking up at Sawyer as he stroked with lips and tongue, a hot, wet pull on his cock, Sawyer fighting hard to hold back but that white hot flood of need surged through him and his head fell back and he cried out, hands sliding around the back of Jack’s head and hips pumping, and it was like everything within him drew up tight and he tried to pull Jack away but he just sucked harder, pinning Sawyer’s hips to the ground as his head moved, and Sawyer thought faintly that he was about to come in Jack’s mouth and that was what Jack wanted, and the minute the thought drifted through the red haze curtaining his mind he came, hard, body arching up high and stiffening at the intensity of it, and it seemed to last forever, it had been so damn long, and then finally the grip of pleasure released him and he fell back to ground, breathless.

“Jesus, Doc,” Sawyer whispered.

“My name,” Jack ordered.

“Jack,” Sawyer mumbled and then jumped when one slick finger slid inside him and he opened his eyes to stare at Jack.

“Always prepared, for anything” Jack said, reaching up to kiss Sawyer again, slowly, fucking him with one finger, then two and then three, and then suddenly, to his disbelief, Sawyer heard Jack begging.

“Please, Sawyer, God, let me fuck you . . .” he whispered against Sawyer’s mouth.

“God, yes,” Sawyer murmured and then Sawyer was on his knees and Jack was ramming into him with little fanfare and a lot of need, arms wrapped tight around Sawyer’s waist, whispering, biting and sucking at the skin of Sawyer’s back as Sawyer moaned Jack’s name and clawed at the earth..

“Fuck, Sawyer, so fucking good, Christ,” Jack muttered through clenched teeth, thrusting harder and more erratically and then he came, whispering Sawyer’s name, and they fell into a sweaty, exhausted heap on Jack’s bedroll and slept.

***

“How many days?” Jack said the next morning when his head had cleared and the two of them had eaten and cleaned up.

“How many days what?” Sawyer asked, kicked back on Jack’s bedroll, staring at the canopy of the jungle.

“Before Sayid comes after us.”

“Be here tomorrow, he said.”

“Good,” Jack muttered, pulling Sawyer on top of him, mouth and body still hungry and Sawyer meeting him touch for touch.

“What about Locke?” Sawyer whispered, rolling Jack on to his knees.

“Later,” Jack whispered, and then groaned loudly when Sawyer thrust inside him.

***

That night Sawyer gasped at the mouth wet against his throat and a voice soft and hot in his ear, whispering, the filthiest and most beautiful things he’d heard, about him, large hands running the length of his body, and he ached, cock hard, silently urging those hands lower, to take him, and he shuddered, arching up against the tug of teeth against his nipple and then groaned when one of those hands made contact with his crotch, stroking expertly, and a tide of desire so fierce rose through him that he cried out, and looked up to see Jack staring down at him, the black in his eyes now black fire.

“What is this?” he whispered.

“What does it feel like?” Jack murmured, brushing Sawyer’s hair out of his eyes.

“Fire.”

“And help,” Jack whispered and Sawyer closed his eyes and sighed.

“And when we get back? What then?” He hated that he sounded so uncertain, that he even needed to ask, that within the space of two days this had become much more than he’d ever wanted it to be and that now he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost it.

Jack stared at him for a long time.

“We’ll always need help. And fire,” Jack whispered finally, and Sawyer gazed at him for a long time, and then the two of them collided yet again, sparks flying.

***

End