Title:  “Useless Beauty”
Author:  uberaeryn
Fandom:  ‘Lost’
Pairing:  Jack/Sawyer
Spoilers: None
Rating:  Adults Only: Language, sexual situations
Summary: The island stalks Jack and Sawyer in their dreams.
A/N:  Beta’d by crazydiamondsue
 

He’d been dreaming of it forever it seemed, during those rare hours of sleep he’d been able to catch here and there; fevered, frantic dreams of the island sinking its claws or its teeth or its roots into his chest and stripping away the flesh, breaking the bone, and no pain, no pain, no pain . . .

***

He’d wake suddenly, the urge to run into the jungle overwhelming, but he couldn’t, he knew, not into the jungle, because he knew better. He had heard the voices that whispered his name and reminded him of all he’d done and offered forgiveness, and better than forgiveness they offered forgetting. The jungle would take him, the island itself would take him and he would become it, be it, and every night he fought against it and the beauty that it offered, beauty so sublime that even God would not allow Himself to see it, and he woke, aching, wanting to see and touch and become that which was so beautiful that not even God dared cast His eyes upon it.

And he would run, but down to the surf and out into the water and the soft, safe cradle of the ocean’s warm arms.

He’d been scared before in his life, many times, but this was terror at its most brutal. If God had nightmares, then this was the stuff of which they were made.

***

He wondered, during the day as he eyed the jungle warily, if this was happening to anyone else. He would watch them all closely, trying to catch their eyes, see if any of them had their own private monsters trying to seduce them in the night, but the more he tried to connect it seemed the more distanced he became, and he decided he was alone in this.

Death was never far from his mind, hadn’t been since he was a child. He knew death well, and he didn’t think that was what this was.

This was what came after death. For everything you do there’s a price to be paid, he thought, and it was time to pony up.

He’d fight it, he decided at first. He’d give God or the devil his due at some point, but not now, not if he could help it.

And then he wondered why he should bother. The island was too strong to fight, and he didn’t hold any illusions that there was anything to go back to, nothing worth fighting a losing battle for.

He wondered, when the island won, what would happen when they all noticed he was gone. If they noticed.

Nothing, probably. A question or two here and there, maybe a search, and then he’d disappear from their minds as if he’d never existed.

Which was worse, he asked himself, being remembered as a bastard or not being remembered at all?

He knew the answer to that.

He started bribing the kid to bring him water every day. Going anywhere near the jungle was no longer an option.

***

“Sawyer.”

Sawyer groaned and winced against the light pouring into his makeshift tent and propped himself up on his elbows. His mouth was dry and the skin of his forehead was tight, like a hangover, he supposed, and he wished it were as simple as that. He scowled at Jack, who knelt down to peer in at him. “What?’ Sawyer asked hoarsely.

“You all right?”

Great, a house call, he thought bitterly. “‘Course I’m all right, Doc, thank you so kindly for askin’, now get the fuck outta here,” Sawyer muttered, falling on to his back and covering his eyes with his hands.

“No, you’re not.” He was positive. No uncertainty.

Sawyer sighed heavily. “And how the fuck would you know?”

“Because,” Jack said, sighing and rubbing his hands over shadowed eyes before falling back on his hands to rest in the sand. “I’ve been dreaming about it, too.”

***

“How did you know? About the dreams?” Sawyer asked, eyeing Jack curiously, relieved at not being alone in this but hating the idea of actually talking about it. The words, when spoken, made it even more real.

“I’ve seen how tired you’ve been. How you’ve gone from being a complete pain in the ass to being practically invisible,” Jack said, smiling slightly. “And how you’ve been avoiding the jungle. And you look like exactly how I feel, like shit.”

Sawyer huffed and tried to play his role of pain in the ass but gave up. He was too fucking tired and too fucking scared, he thought. “What is it?” he asked wearily.

Jack sighed. “I have no idea. The island, I guess? I’ve never been a believer in the supernatural, but look at everything that’s happened since we’ve been here – Ethan, Claire . . .”

“Goddamned polar bears,” Sawyer muttered.

“Right,” Jack said, sighing again. “I mean, look at this place,” he said, gesturing broadly out over the beach and the ocean. “This is paradise . . .”

“With the Tree of Life at the center and the Serpent in the vines,” Sawyer said.

Jack looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yeah. Exactly. All this . . . useless beauty, like a lure, a trap. We’re here for a reason . . .”

“I think we’re dead,” Sawyer said flatly.

Jack looked at him, startled. “What?”

“We’re dead, Doc. In a holdin’ pattern here until God decides what to do with us,” Sawyer said, watching Jack’s face closely.

“Purgatory,” Jack stated, rubbing at his chin.

“Whatever you wanna call it. But as our fates are decided I think that one by one we’re all gonna go into that jungle and never come back.” As he finally said the words aloud the more convinced he became that they were true.

Jack stared at him. “And?”

“And,” Sawyer said, sighing. “You and I are next, is what I’m guessin’.”

“You’re just going to give in?” Jack said in surprise.

“Got any better ideas?” Sawyer asked, flopping back down into the sand.

“Yeah, we fight it,” Jack said, head jerking in the affirmative, full of determination.

Sawyer rolled his eyes. Can’t fight power, not power like this. “How, exactly?” he asked, hoping against hope that Jack might actually have an answer.

“That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet,” Jack said quietly.

They were silent for a long while, thinking. “Make you wanna run?” Sawyer finally asked. “The dreams?”

“Yeah,” Jack murmured, running his thumb along his lower lip. “And . . . they’re beautiful, in a weird way. Like the promise of beauty or peace. I think that’s what makes them so scary.”

“And so fuckin’ dangerous. That’s how it tries to get you, sweet promises.”

“Guess so,” Jack said.

“Mine . . . mine are always about animals, rippin’ me to shreds. Yours?”

Jack looked away and stared out across the water. “My father,” he said softly. “Ripping me to shreds.”

Sawyer had nothing to say to that. There was nothing to be said.

***

Sawyer was fighting sleep that night, exhaustion like a warm blanket heavy around him, when he heard someone outside the tent.

“What in the hell are you doin’?” he asked, looking at Jack blearily.

“Camping out here,” Jack said, setting up kindling for small fire outside Sawyer’s tent and placing his bedroll opposite it. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this. They’ll think we’re crazy, tie us down, watch us like hawks. Morale is low enough already without everybody becoming paranoid about the island sneaking into their dreams and trying to kill them. We’ll sleep in shifts, right? Three on, three off, that okay with you?”

Sawyer sighed heavily, amazed at the tremendous sense of relief he felt at Jack’s presence. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered. “What’d you tell ‘em about runnin’ away from home?”

“That I was claustrophobic, needed some time away from the caves,” Jack said, working on the fire.

“They buy it?”

“I have no idea,” Jack muttered. “I doubt it.”

“And if they find out you’re here with me? They’re bound to wonder. We ain’t exactly best buds.”

Jack shrugged. “I’ll worry about that when it happens.”

Sawyer sighed heavily. “Fine,” he said, falling back on to his bed roll.

Jack snorted. “Guess that means I get first watch?”

“Yep,” Sawyer murmured, already half asleep. “Thanks, bud.”

***

Again it came, quietly this time, a long-limbed and delicately moving bird of the water, a crane, white with feathers that flowed softly in long curling tendrils from the tips of its wings, feathers that dragged softly in the blood of the wounds to Sawyer’s chest, painting pictures in crimson as they trailed across his skin and he shivered at her touch and at the beauty of the way in which she stripped the skin from his body and the beauty of the promises she made . . .

***

And again he ran, before he was fully awake, past Jack and the fire and out into the surf and into the ocean where the current was gentle and he rested there and pretended he was unbound, unfettered, free.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind and he went under, up again almost immediately, spluttering and cursing and fighting.

“Sawyer!”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sawyer yelled, trying to break free of Jack’s firm grip around his chest.

“Are you all right?” Jack asked, breathless.

“Yeah, I’m all right, unless you end up drownin’ me!” Sawyer shouted and suddenly he was free, dog paddling and gasping for air.

“Sorry,” Jack gasped. “I thought you were . . . fuck, I didn’t know what you were doing, you just started running.”

“It’s where I come, Doc, when it happens. Feel it? Safe out here,” Sawyer said, and Jack paused, listening, feeling, and their arms and legs and bodies brushed up against one another underneath the warm water, and Jack turned to stare at Sawyer, eyes black in the night.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I feel it.”

Something flickered along Sawyer’s spine, and he wondered briefly what it was exactly Jack felt.

“Stay out here for hours, sometimes,” Sawyer murmured, closing his eyes and shifting to float on his back, legs brushing along the length of Jack’s body as he did so.

“I’d like to, but I can’t,” Jack said, still breathless. “Too tired. Heading back.” He took off with a strong stroke back to the beach, and Sawyer watched him go, and watched the island from a distance and wondered how something so alive could seem so harmless when viewed from far away.

He turned his gaze up to the sky and stared, beauty to be found everywhere, he thought, all useless or evil, and he lay floating for a long while, and then turned and started heading back to the island, stomach clenching in dread as he did so.

***

“Anybody ask what you’re doin’ down here every night?” Sawyer asked, shoving his hair out of his face when Jack fell down on the ground beside him.

“No. I think they’re too embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why in the hell would they be embarrassed?”

“Because,” Jack said, grinning. “I’m getting the idea they think we’re a couple.”

“What? Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Sawyer groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

Jack snorted. “Listen, long as it keeps them off my back until we figure this out, right? Then I’ll tell everyone the truth.”

“You damned well better!” Sawyer barked.

“Don’t worry, I will, honey,” Jack said sweetly, still grinning.

“Thanks, asshole,” Sawyer grumbled, scowling and kicking hard at Jack’s bare foot when he laughed.

***

Sawyer sat by the fire, legs crossed and one elbow propped against one knee, chin resting in his hand, listening to the water and its endless, ancient rhythm, seeming to move in time to the rise and fall of Jack’s chest as he slept.

Fight it, he thought. Fight it how? How do you stop dreams that were more than dreams from ripping you apart? He’d been fighting nightmares his entire life, and in his considerable experience they couldn’t be fought, they had to be suffered or drank or drugged away. And these nightmares were of an entirely different nature than the ones that usually invaded his sleep. These weren’t things from the past returning to haunt you, these were living things, for lack of a better term, he thought, living things determined to kill you.

His head whipped around at a sound from Jack, an inarticulate sound of protest, and he watched carefully as Jack moved restlessly for a moment, then subsided, apparently deep in sleep again. Sawyer returned his gaze out to the black ink of the ocean at night, sighing, when suddenly Jack was on his feet and running, toward the jungle.

“Shit,” Sawyer hissed, leaping to his feet and catching up with long, quick strides, tackling Jack low and from behind, wincing at the way Jack kicked at him, catching him in the stomach, and Sawyer yelled, rolling Jack on to his back and sliding astride him and slapping him hard, and Jack stared at up him with eyes that glinted silver in the dark and Sawyer’s own eyes widened in fear.

“Wake up, Doc!” he yelled, slapping him again even as Jack still struggled, and Sawyer watched, fascinated and frightened, as Jack’s eyes changed, the silver bleeding out as they returned to almost normal except for the wild fear that filled them now, fear so palpable that Sawyer was surprised to find himself fighting the urge to reach out in comfort, to touch, to soothe.

“You awake? You with me, now?” Sawyer asked, shaking him roughly, and Jack nodded wearily, gasping for air, and Sawyer stood and hauled him to his feet and back over to the fire, forcing Jack down on his bedroll.

“Jesus Christ, Doc,” Sawyer muttered. “No wonder you need a fuckin’ babysitter. I run away from it, but you run to it.”

“Yeah,” Jack whispered, scrubbing at his eyes.

Sawyer stared at him. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What you see.”

Jack sighed and fell on to his back and closed his eyes. “It’s . . . I’m in the operating room, on the table, and my father . . . my father is operating on me but I’m wide awake, and he’s sawing open my ribcage and taking out my heart and there’s blood everywhere, my blood, and no anesthesia and it hurts like hell and I keep asking him to stop, it hurts, and he keeps smiling at me, my blood all over his face, and he’s smiling and telling me how much he loves me and how proud he is of me and that once it’s all over with I’ll never hurt again, because he’s going to fix me, make it right. My father, covered in my blood.” Jack’s hand covered his mouth and Sawyer could tell from the pale cast of his face and the hitch of his shoulders that he was fighting back the urge to vomit.

Sawyer winced. “And?”

“And . . . I believe him. I always believe him. Used to, anyway,” Jack murmured, his voice so loaded with rage and guilt and regret and grief that Sawyer decided quickly not to follow that path, even though he was curious.

“You ever run like that before?” Sawyer asked.

“A couple of times,” Jack said, rubbing his hands over his face.

“What stopped you?”

“I have no idea. I just woke up flat on my back on the path out to the clearing east of the caves,” Jack whispered.

Sawyer watched him closely and saw the exhaustion in the lines of his body and in the shadows of his eyes. “Go back to sleep,” Sawyer muttered.

“You’ll watch?” Jack asked, the barest hint of a plea in his voice, and Sawyer frowned at the unwelcome rush of sympathy this brought.

“That’s the deal, ain’t it?” Sawyer grumbled.

***

For a week they watched one another, and each night it was inevitably the same; Sawyer would dream and head for the water and Jack would follow and the both of them would stay out in ocean for a while, where it was safe, sometimes talking and sometimes not but always close to each other, touching constantly, physical contact necessary to anchor them, though neither one of them spoke of it. Eventually, and regretfully, they would return to the beach and then Jack would dream and try to run for the jungle and Sawyer would stop him, but not after an exhausting struggle.

During the hours they were awake at the same time they would talk about what was happening, how they could possibly break the hold the island seemed to have on them, and it would all come back to how eerily beautiful the dreams were, seductive, and they would sit in silence, troubled and weary.

Other times they moved on to normal topics, island gossip or sports or television, anything to distract them from whatever it was the island put forth that crawled into their heads every night, fighting over the most idiotic of issues just so they wouldn’t have to think of the looming presence of the island underneath them, behind them, in their heads.

The warm, lingering, semi-accidental touches that occurred underneath the water seemed content to stay there.

***

It was night and Sawyer ran again, seeking comfort in the water and Jack followed, needing the same, and they floated in the waves in silence, drowsy and relaxed, the only time relaxation ever came, when the demons were left behind on dry land.

“I wonder what it is,” Jack whispered, wiping the water out of his eyes. “Why out here it’s so different.”

“Don’t know,” Sawyer said, diving deep and then surfacing behind Jack. “But look at it,” he whispered over Jack’s shoulder as the movement of the waves gently brushed them against each other before pulling them apart, his hand ghosting lightly along Jack’s side in the manner that had become almost habit over the past several nights. “It don’t seem nearly as scary from here.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jack whispered and turned suddenly so that they were face to face, the motion of the water still bringing their bodies together and then apart in a slow, irregular rhythm. “Sawyer,” he said. “Tonight, if it happens again tonight, bring me back out here.”

Sawyer stared at him, eyes dark, and then the push of the water placed his body flush against Jack’s and their faces a breath apart and impulsively he reached up to grab Jack’s shoulders and hold him close. “Yeah,” he whispered, his eyes on Jack’s mouth, tilting his head slightly. “I will.”

Jack stared at him, eyes searching his face, and then his arm slid slowly around Sawyer’s waist and held their bodies together tightly and Sawyer tensed, his mouth hovering near Jack’s and he waited, heart pounding, having gone as far as he was going to go and waiting now for Jack to take it the rest of the way.

“Sawyer,” Jack whispered and Sawyer felt the brush of Jack’s breath against his lips.

“Yes,” Sawyer whispered, still waiting, and then Jack moved, leaning in to kiss him and something inside Sawyer flared in anticipation, and then a rougher wave hit them, submerging them and breaking them apart, and when Sawyer surfaced Jack had struck out for the beach and Sawyer watched him go, cursing himself for the odd, cold sense of loss he felt.

***

Sawyer was ready this time, pinning Jack down before he could get to his feet, and when he was sure the island had loosened its grip enough he dragged Jack down to the surf and out into the water, and as soon as Jack felt the caress of the ocean he swam, hard, out to the safe place, Sawyer right behind him.

“I can’t do this too much longer,” Jack murmured wearily. “We’ve got to figure something out, I can’t do this . . .”

“I know,” Sawyer said, dog paddling and staring at the island. “It’s gonna get us, sooner or later, if we don’t do somethin’.”

Suddenly Jack was plastered against him from behind, arm again around his waist and his mouth hot against Sawyer’s neck, and Sawyer flung his head back and gasped as Jack’s lips and tongue played along his neck and up to his ear, the fire flaring again inside him as he felt Jack’s hard-on nudging at his ass, and then Sawyer tore himself away, remembering the earlier rejection and the unreasonable hurt it had caused.

“Quit screwin’ around, Doc,” he muttered, and struck out for the beach, pretending to be asleep when Jack finally followed.

***

Sawyer was cold and taciturn when Jack arrived the next night, and after a few half-hearted attempts at conversation Jack finally gave up, sighing, and they sat in silence for a long time before Sawyer finally spoke, grudgingly.

“I’ve heard,” Sawyer said shortly. “Best way to beat nightmares is . . . face it. Right? Face the fear?”

“Yeah. That’s the theory, anyway,” Jack said, not looking at him. “But face it how?”

“Kill it in this instance, I’m thinkin’.”

Jack stared at him. “Kill it. What we see in our dreams, kill it?”

“Yeah,” Sawyer said, staring at Jack through narrowed eyes, knowing what it meant for him and feeling again the unwelcome surge of sympathy which he brushed away coldly.

Jack sighed and buried his face in his hands and again Sawyer fought the urge to reach out and touch in comfort.

***

There were no nightmares for Sawyer this night, since sleep was elusive, and finally he gave up and struck out across the water, knowing that Jack was behind him, which left him irritated and confused and wanting, and he dove and surfaced and dove again, staying under as long as he could, and when he surfaced again Jack was waiting, hauling him into his arms as Sawyer struggled and cursed.

“I said, don’t screw around, Doc,” Sawyer muttered, flinging his head back to get the wet hair out of his eyes, kicking to stay afloat as Jack pulled him tight against him, warm, wet skin against skin.

“I watch you, you know,” Jack whispered, words heavy with meaning, and Sawyer stilled and stared at him, not understanding the way mere words could set his blood pounding. “All the time, but when you’re sleeping . . .” One wet hand reached up and fingers trailed lightly along Sawyer’s brow, his cheek, before coming to rest on his mouth, brushing back and forth, and Sawyer closed his eyes and shuddered, tongue darting out to lick at Jack’s fingertips, tasting saltwater, and Jack gasped. “When you’re sleeping,” Jack murmured, voice hoarse, “You’re like nothing I’ve ever seen . . .”

Sawyer opened his eyes and they stared at one another, and Sawyer could feel Jack’s heart pounding, his skin warming, saw the way Jack’s eyes became black as Sawyer’s hand wandered roughly across Jack’s chest and suddenly it was hard to breathe, and still they stared at one another and before Sawyer could move Jack was kissing him, licking at his lips, forcing his mouth open with his tongue and Sawyer drew him inside, sucking and nipping at his tongue and Jack gave a muffled groan of appreciation, the vibration of it echoing through Sawyer’s body and he tilted his head and opened wider, wanting more, begging for more, and Jack delved deeper, tongue hot, and Sawyer reached down to grasp Jack’s crotch and again Jack groaned and then tore himself away.

“Beach,” he ordered, the look on his face fierce, demanding, and Sawyer knew it mirrored his own, and they swam, stumbling down the beach to a spot more secluded and then Sawyer pushed Jack on to his back and fell on top of him, planting a hand on either side of his head and shoving up hard between his thighs, his mouth hard and merciless against Jack’s, who responded in kind, and Sawyer’s body and mind were spiraling quickly out of control as Jack’s hands ran roughly down the length of his body, and Sawyer was thrusting, humping frantically against the hardness of Jack’s cock even though they were both still clothed from the waist down, unable to wait, fire fully raging now, unstoppable.

“Fuck, Sawyer,” Jack bit out through clenched teeth and forced his hands between, nudging Sawyer’s hips up so he could unfasten Sawyer’s jeans, and Sawyer trembled, waiting, leaning down to bite at Jack’s shoulder, and then Jack had him in his hand, warm and rough and jerking hard, and Sawyer groaned loudly and his head flew back and the blood and the surf roared in his ears and he looked down to see Jack watching him.

“Good?” Jack whispered.

“Fuck yes,” Sawyer hissed, his hips now moving of their own accord. “Don’t stop, don’t you ever fuckin’ stop . . .”

“Jack! Jack!” came the call from some distance away.

Jack froze and Sawyer groaned in frustration, collapsing on top of him. “Goddammit,” he muttered, pinching Jack hard on the thigh in irritation when he felt him laugh.

“Jack! Jack? Jack!”

“Sorry,” Jack whispered, sliding his hand into Sawyer’s hair and tugging at his hair so he could see his face. “It’s Charlie, something must’ve happened.”

“Not nearly enough happened, you ask me,” Sawyer muttered, rolling off Jack to collapse in the sand.

Jack kissed him hard. “Be back when I can,” he whispered. “Don’t go to sleep until I get back.” He leapt to his feet and ran, and Sawyer watched him go, wondering what in the hell this all meant, if it meant anything at all.

***

Jack was back a few hours later, exhausted, Sawyer thought, from the look of him, and he collapsed facedown on his bedroll.

“What happened?” Sawyer asked.

“Hurley,” Jack said, sighing heavily, his face buried in his crossed arms. “Broke his arm. Fell. Clean break, though, should heal fine, but nothing for the pain . . .”

Sawyer winced in sympathy and then sighed. “Go on and sleep, then.” He paused, looking at Jack carefully. “This time, I’ll watch you.”

Jack turned and they stared at one another for a long time, a heavy and unguarded look laden with meaning that Sawyer couldn’t fully puzzle out, but they watched one another until Jack’s eyes finally fluttered shut in sleep, and Sawyer was both surprised and relieved that there was no flight into the jungle that night.

***

The next night Sawyer waited, standing in the surf, and when he felt Jack warm behind he turned and began walking down the beach, to privacy, where the cliffs sheared sharply from the sand to the jungle up above, far away, safer, and when he found the spot he wanted he turned abruptly, shoving Jack up against the face of the cliff, body singing in both relief and desire at the way Jack’s hands immediately fisted into his hair and pulled him close, kissing him again, tongue and lips demanding, and Sawyer groaned and grabbed Jack’s ass, tugging at him until they were tight together, crotch to crotch, both already hard, both frantic, grunting in need as they struggled against one another for touch and feel and taste, for more, for everything.

Sawyer ripped his mouth away, shivering as Jack took this opportunity to suck wetly at his neck, mouth hot.

“Fuck,” Sawyer muttered hoarsely, jaw clenched. “One of these nights,” he whispered, struggling with his jeans and then with Jack’s shorts. “I’m gonna fuck you, Jack, be inside you, do it right.”

Jack’s head whipped up and he stared, taking hold of Sawyer and stroking him slowly as his other hand slid around the back of Sawyer’s neck and his eyes searched Sawyer’s face. “Yes,” Jack whispered and Sawyer bucked against his hand, groaning, images of Jack on his knees, his, flooding his mind. “I want you to fuck me, Sawyer, hard.”

Sawyer’s blood surged, his breath coming in quick, short pants. “God, yes,” he muttered. “But for tonight all we got is this, can’t wait anymore, Jack, can’t . . .” He grasped Jack and started jerking him roughly, and Jack fell back against the face of the cliff, gasping, now moving his hand in time to Sawyer’s and Sawyer moved closer, sucking and biting hard at Jack’s neck, feeling the blood rise hot to the surface of the skin as he sucked.

“Jesus Christ, Sawyer,” Jack panted and Sawyer bit down harder. “God,” Jack moaned, head falling back and eyes closing and hand moving faster on Sawyer’s cock.

“That hurt?” Sawyer whispered against wet, bruised skin, struggling to fight back the rising tide of need.

“Yes,” Jack hissed, wincing and tilting his head, giving Sawyer easier access. “Don’t stop. More.”

Sawyer growled and bit down harder, shoving up against Jack as tightly as he could, tasting him, smelling him, owning him, listening to his guttural demands for more, and he stroked and was stroked until all that was left was blinding white surge of need, and the world fell away.

***

“Hell of hickey there, Doc,” Sawyer said, smirking.

Jack fell back on to the bed roll. “Hurts like hell, too,” he said, touching it gingerly. He looked up at Sawyer. “Not that that’s a bad thing, necessarily,” he said, smiling slightly and Sawyer grinned.

“There’s gonna be questions,” Sawyer said, watching closely for Jack’s reaction.

“So?” Jack murmured, half asleep.

“Don’t bother you?”

“No,” Jack said, drifting quickly off to sleep, and Sawyer wondered at the relief that answer brought, and by the fact that he wasn’t bothered by it, either.

***

“Jack! Jack! For fuck’s sake, wake up!” Sawyer yelled, near exhaustion, having struggled with Jack for almost half an hour and Jack was still fighting to get the jungle, eyes wide open but opaque with silver, and Sawyer gritted his teeth and punched him hard, and Jack went limp in his arms. Sawyer cursed and dragged him down toward the surf, as far out as he dared, dunking him under and slapping him lightly until finally the light in Jack’s changed, shifted, and he clutched at Sawyer, shaking.

“You almost didn’t come back that time, Doc!” Sawyer shouted. “What the fuck happened? What was different?”

“Out,” Jack said weakly. “Take me further out, to the place we always go.”

Sawyer sighed and swam for it, dragging Jack with him, then he floated, his chest against Jack’s back, Jack heavy in his arms. “What the hell happened?” he whispered against Jack’s ear.

“Tried to . . . oh, God, to kill him, like you said,” Jack whispered.

“Jesus fuck,” Sawyer muttered, resting his face against the back of Jack’s neck. “What happened?”

“Couldn’t . . . it was him, Sawyer, I swear to God it was . . .”

“It wasn’t, you know that, it’s this goddamned island!”

“But I’ve seen him, before, here . . . maybe . . . it was him . . .”

“It wasn’t him, you dumbass! Your father is dead, you’re not seein’ your fuckin’ father! He might’ve been an asshole but would he really do the shit that he’s doin’ to you in your dreams?”

Jack was quiet for a long time, treading water weakly. “No,” he whispered finally.

“You listen to me. You gotta go back, and you gotta finish it, right? Kill it, not your father, but it, you gotta remember that when you’re in the fuckin’ middle of it, I almost fuckin’ lost you, you son of a bitch,” Sawyer said, shaking himself now that the adrenaline had dropped.

“Yeah,” Jack sighed, one hand sliding back to pull Sawyer’s head forward to rest on Jack’s shoulder. “But not tonight,” Jack whispered, leaning his head heavily against Sawyer’s. “Can’t sleep anymore tonight. I’ll watch you.”

Sawyer sighed deeply and started dragging them both slowly back to shore.

***

She came tonight as a lioness, haughty and graceful and elegant, but she was angry with him, he could tell, and there was pain this time as she raked her claws down the length of his torso, and he suffered and begged and pleaded but she ignored him, feeding noisily on his entrails, and then that useless beauty, beyond God, came back, the promise of it, and then suddenly something was different, she paused and looked at him warily, and without even thinking he went for her throat, his hand elongating and developing sharp claws of its own, and once he began sinking them into her throat he was amazed by how easy it was, by the way she sat and let him do it, and when he’d ripped her throat out she toppled over, and then, there was screaming, the scream of hell itself . . .

***

“Sawyer? Sawyer!”

He blinked blearily. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough. “Quit screamin’.”

“Jesus,” Jack muttered. “It seems like that went on for hours, you were talking and laughing and crying . . .”

“I killed it,” Sawyer whispered, staring down at his hand, still expecting to see blood and fur and claws of his own.

“You what?” Jack said.

“Killed it. Ripped its throat out.”

“Fuck,” Jack whispered. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“But is it still there?”

Sawyer sat up suddenly, resting his hands on Jack’s knees when he was hit by a sudden wave of dizziness.

“Sawyer, come on. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah . . . it’s just . . . ,” he paused, thinking. “Yeah, it’s gone. It’s outta my head, but . . .”

“But what?” Jack said quietly.

Sawyer looked up to meet Jack’s eyes. “It’s pissed.”

***

The next night Jack arrived earlier than usual, jaw set, determined, and Sawyer knew he was going to fight it no matter what the cost. Jack’s eyes were hard, and after listening to Sawyer’s story in detail the night before he’d sworn that the fucking island would never own him, it could get as pissed as it wanted, kill him however it wanted, but it would never fucking own him.

Sawyer found himself dreading this evening until Jack leapt to his feet, tossing something in his lap and stalking off down the beach, and Sawyer’s dread had changed immediately to arousal and anticipation and he caught up with Jack quickly and they collided against each other on the beach, hands and mouths all over one another, hungry, aching and hard, and almost before he could draw another breath they were both naked, Jack on all fours in front of him, and Sawyer groaned at the sight of him, raking his fingernails down the length of Jack’s back with one hand and preparing him with the other.

“Jesus,” Sawyer whispered. “God . . . you ready?”

“Hell yes, Sawyer,” Jack hissed, aroused beyond all measure by the magic Sawyer seemed to hold over him, reveling in it. “Fuck me,” he whispered.

At those words all thought was gone and all Sawyer felt and saw was red, and he lunged forward, deeply and completely, collapsing along the length of Jack’s back at the pleasure of it, and instinctively he bit down hard on the inside of Jack’s shoulder.

“Fuck, Sawyer, yes,” Jack groaned, ramming back against him, and Sawyer reared back, fingers digging painfully into Jack’s hips because he knew now that Jack would like it, to be hurt and marked, claimed, and Sawyer wanted nothing more than to claim Jack as his own and he did so, and then he let go, long, hard thrusts, his body quaking.

“God, Jack, fuck!” he bit out through clenched teeth, head flung back and eyes closed, nothing but sensation, so intense, like nothing he’d ever felt before.

“Yes,” Jack whispered. “Jesus Christ, Sawyer, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me . . .”

Sawyer moaned, body raging, everything happening too quickly for his liking but it was too late, white out, and as soon as he’d gotten his breath back he flipped Jack on to his back and took his cock into his mouth, sucking him off, Jack’s hands in Sawyer’s hair as Jack groaned and cursed.

“Goddammit, Sawyer, fuck, so good . . .” he groaned and then he arched up high off the beach, spilling into Sawyer’s mouth, and Sawyer moaned softly at the taste of it, and then he licked his way up the length of Jack’s body and kissed him.

“You’re fuckin’ mine now, we clear on that?” he whispered before biting at the side of Jack’s neck that was unmarked.

“Yeah,” Jack whispered, and then rolled them over so that he was on top. “And you’re mine,” he said, voice low and hard, before planting his mouth on Sawyer’s neck and sucking hard and then biting sharply.

“Just as long as we’re in agreement,” Sawyer whispered, wincing in pain and tilting his head to give Jack better access to his neck.

***

For three nights Jack tried to kill his father in his dreams, and for three nights he failed, and for three nights Sawyer fought with him to keep him from stumbling into the jungle, to keep him from giving himself over to all that useless beauty.

On the fourth night Jack returned and collapsed between Sawyer’s legs, his back against Sawyer’s chest. “Tonight,” he whispered, sounding convinced.

“How?” Sawyer asked, exhausted and frightened.

“You,” Jack whispered. “I’m yours, not the fucking island’s.”

“Yeah,” Sawyer whispered, lips ghosting across the marks on Jack’s neck, the sense of possessiveness coming back hard. “Mine.”

“Yours,” Jack whispered in agreement, his fingers digging hard into Sawyer’s thighs. “Talk to me. When it starts, talk to me, anything. Tell me what to do, think, act, just don’t let it get me,” Jack said tiredly.

“You really think that’ll work?”

“What else is there?” Jack said wearily, and Sawyer could feel he was close to giving up, the battles he was having with the father who was not his father wearing him down.

“Right,” Sawyer said, rubbing one face over his eyes tiredly. “That’s what we’ll do, then.”

***

Jack fell asleep almost immediately, slumping heavily against Sawyer’s chest, and Sawyer waited, ignoring the sticky sweat gluing them together in the hot damp of the night, just waiting, arms wrapped around Jack to keep him from bolting off into the jungle and nodding off once or twice before jerking awake and resuming his vigil.

Finally, hours later it seemed, it started, with Jack mumbling incoherently and wriggling in his arms and Sawyer set his jaw and started talking, a constant stream of words whispered into Jack’s ear, telling him to fight, telling him he was not seeing his father, telling him he belonged to Sawyer now, not the island, they’d agreed, they belonged to each other, the marks on their bodies were testament. Sawyer talked and talked and talked and Jack’s struggles increased, and Sawyer wrapped both arms and legs around him and held him down, still talking even as Jack’s head flung back and bloodied his nose, Sawyer held firm and talked, more focused now on keeping Jack still than on what he was actually saying. And then, oddly, it felt like a trance, Sawyer wide-eyed and staring out into the dark, still speaking softly, Jack lax now in his arms, and all Sawyer could see was the glint of silver out there in the dark, and he locked eyes with it and kept talking, no longer aware of the words he was speaking, he just kept speaking, and eventually the silver shining in the dark blinked out and Sawyer shook his head, dazed.

Then he realized that Jack was weeping in his sleep, and it was then that he knew Jack had won, painful as it must have been.

He shifted Jack to the side, laying him down gently, and then collapsed in relief, his hand wrapped around Jack’s arm, and fell asleep instantly.

***

“Sawyer?”

Sawyer was awake at once. “Yeah? You okay?”

Jack didn’t answer directly. “Let’s go out in the water.”

“Yeah, sure.”

***

Sawyer floated, watching at Jack dove time and time again before finally stopping, automatically, by now, coming to rest in Sawyer’s arms.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Sawyer said, a statement of fact, not a question, because he already knew the answer.

“No,” Jack sighed. “It’s gone now, that’s all that matters.”

“Thank God,” Sawyer whispered wearily, burying his face in the back of Jack’s neck.

“But you’re right,” Jack said, staring at the island. “It’s pissed.”

Sawyer ignored the frisson of fear that skittered down his spine. “We’ll deal with that later,” he muttered. “What now?”

Jack spun around in Sawyer’s arms and grinned, to Sawyer’s surprise, and he found himself smiling back.

“Now,” Jack whispered, hands wandering over Sawyer’s body. “We go back, and I fuck you stupid.”

Sawyer grinned. “Whatever you say, Doc,” he said, and dove deep, heading back to shore, Jack hot on his heels.

***

For some reason he was surprised when Jack showed up again the next night. Dreams were over, and he supposed that in the back of his mind that meant that they were over, as well.

But Jack took his usual seat across from him, and they talked like they had been for the past two weeks, and everything seemed normal, considering, and Sawyer sighed and sat back contentedly, looking around, at the beach, at Jack, at the surf, and he thought that not all this beauty was useless.

As darkness fell they stood, making their way to their spot on the beach, laughing and shoving at each other and pausing occasionally to run their hands and mouths over one another, then suddenly the island roared, the ground quaking under their feet. Jack ran back and waited, straining to see and hear if anyone needed his help and Sawyer stood behind him, arms crossed, and waited as well.

Jack turned to look at Sawyer. “This isn’t over,” he said.

“No, it ain’t,” Sawyer said, looking around with narrowed eyes.

“I’m going to go check on everyone, all right? I’ll meet you back here, we’ll go out in the water,” Jack said and Sawyer nodded and watched him go.

No, Sawyer thought, sighing deeply and shoving his hair out of his eyes. Not over. Never would be, he supposed, unless hell froze over and they managed to get home somehow.

But as his eyes followed Jack up into the jungle he smiled slightly. Stranger things had happened, he thought.

He bent his head and made his way after Jack, ready to help if he was needed.

***

End