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alliecat8Here's the list of J/S Comment Porn I've randomly dropped all over LJ in the last three days. No, I cannot limit myself to one day. I might randomly comment-porn forever!
(Warning: Note the term "Comment Porn". Click at your own risk.)
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zelda_zee, though it's not exactly a comment and she probably doesn't know what the hell I'm doing (that's okay, neither do I ;)),
Promises, Promises
“See you around.”
That’s all he said, before he turned his back on them all and walked away. “See you around.”
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t seen a single one of them since the plane touched down in L.A. almost a year ago. Hadn’t wanted to.
Now there’s Jack, at the other end of the bar, whether Sawyer wants him to be or not. There’s Jack, getting up off his barstool and walking up to Sawyer like he has a right to. And there’s Jack, taking Sawyer’s arm and pulling him out the door like he owns him, pushing him up against a wall in the darkened alley, kissing him like he’s been lost forever.
Jack’s fingers dig into his shoulders with bruising force, until Sawyer arches his hips and lets Jack know that he isn’t going anywhere any time soon. Then Jack relaxes, lets his body mold against Sawyer’s, lets his hands slide down to cup Sawyer’s ass. They surge together, hard cock straining against hard cock, until it’s all too much and Sawyer reaches for them, making quick work of buttons and zippers, and wraps long urgent fingers around them both. They’re both wet and ready and so, so close, but Jack slides over the edge first, groaning against Sawyer’s mouth. Now there’s the added heat and slickness of Jack’s come on his cock, and that’s all it takes, he’s gone. Jack holds on tight as Sawyer bucks against him, and the moans of pleasure he hears aren’t only his own, but Jack’s as well.
After they pull apart, after they’ve adjusted their clothes, Jack turns away and says, with a glance over his shoulder and a jerk of his chin, “See you later.”
Sawyer lifts his chin in reply, and flashes a hint of a dimple. “Yeah, see you around.”
And this time, maybe he means it.
Forfosfomifira,
Watcher
It wasn’t meant for her, but it took her breath away.
Both of them, in the moonlight, so absorbed in one another that neither saw her though she made no move to hide. The clearing was silent but for their sounds, groans of impatience and whispers of need as body surged against body, mouth against mouth. Skin gleamed in the pale light as clothes were thrown aside and they collided again. Sawyer pushed Jack to the ground and they writhed there, mouths crushed together, tongues and hips thrusting.
It wasn’t meant for her. She’d known it even before the raft sailed, seen the looks and the touches, felt the heat when they were together. Not hers, but she did not turn away.
Forcrowgirl13,
Do-over
It’s not the fact that you’re in my tent that pisses me off. It’s the fact that you’re talking.
“If something happens out there –“
I know what you’re trying to do, you’re trying to justify being here. Tomorrow we might die, and that’s your excuse. Like you need an excuse. I shut you up with a kiss, and push you down on the bed.
Nothing will happen to you out there. Everything’s different, now. There’s no scared little boy under this bed. Under this bed are guns. And the man on the bed, the one who’s kissing you like there’s no tomorrow, isn’t James, the coward. It’s Sawyer, the man who shot a bear. The man who has your back. James hid under the bed. He didn’t watch her back. But under my bed are guns. This time, I’ll get it right.
Forarabella_hope,
Third Time’s a Charm
Sawyer thinks he’s going to die.
You can see it in his eyes as he lies on the jungle floor, his face contorted with pain and rage. Pain and rage, and something else, something white-hot and fierce, and you think it’s desire. Desire for death. Desire for escape.
“Let go,” he tells you in a voice that is a cross between a gasp and a growl. “I know you want to.”
You only hold on tighter. And even as he struggles against you, struggles to push you away, even as he hisses at you that if the tables were turned, he’d watch you die, you feel the pull.
***
Sawyer thinks he’s already dead.
You can hear it in his voice as he speaks to ghosts, as his body burns with fever beneath your hands. He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t fight, doesn’t ask you to let him go.
In his mind, he’s already gone.
And still you feel the pull. You hold on tight and don’t let go.
***
Sawyer thinks they’ll somehow survive.
He holds you in the dark though the long days without food, without water, without hope. You can feel it in his touch when he slides his hand down your body, when he wraps his fingers around you, when he coaxes one more burst of life from your body.
“We’ll get out of this, Doc,” he whispers in the dark, and somehow in despair you feel the pull of hope. You’ve saved him twice, but the third time’s a charm. This time he’ll save you as well.
Forelise_509,
Superstition
“Bad things happen in threes,” your granny always told you, and though you left behind the superstitions of the mountain folk long ago, somehow that one stuck.
***
You watch her from your spot on the floor, the little cave you built of sofa pillows. She taps one freshly-manicured finger against the glass and stares into the rain. You know that soon she’ll leave with the man in the fancy car, the man who put that wild reckless look in her eyes. The man who isn’t your father.
You stop watching her and turn your attention back to your Saturday morning cartoons. You’re eight years old, too young to know that you should stop her. Too young to know what happens when good girls go bad.
Too young to know that you can save her.
***
You watch her walk away, and the slope of her shoulders tells you that she knows. There is no Sage Flower Motel off of Highway 29.
You tell yourself that you’re saving her. Saving her from herself. You’ve seen that wild reckless look before. You know what happens when good girls go bad.
You tell yourself that you’re saving her, and you let her walk away. It isn’t until the next day, when you read in the paper that they found her with a bullet in her head, that you know you couldn’t save her after all.
***
You watch Jack raise the gun and point it at your left shoulder, right at the spot he’d mended, the same spot he’d nipped at with his teeth and laved with his tongue the night before. “Take us to the guns, now,” he demands. He’s going into the jungle, looking for revenge, looking for blood. You reach for your own gun, determined to stop him. Determined to save him. You’ve seen that wild reckless look before. You know what happens when good boys go bad.
You hand finds only warm skin and rough denim. The gun isn’t there.
***
You look down at the body of the woman who’d once been a cop, the woman who would do anything to protect “her” people, and you know you could have saved her. She’d hunted you down in the jungle and asked for your gun, looking for revenge, looking for blood. You’d seen that wild reckless look before. You know what happens when good girls go bad. You could have saved her, but bad things happen in threes, and you know you’ve saved Jack instead.
You lead him to the guns.
Foreponine119,
I seem to be hung up on threes
Everything happens in threes.
You lie on the sand under the stars, listening to the sound of the waves, and Jack’s bare skin glows in the light of the flames. You lower your mouth to his arm and trace the patterns there with your tongue. Stars. Waves. Flames.
Jack shifts against you, impatient. His fingers twist in your hair, and he pulls your mouth to his. You surge against him, chest to chest and cock to cock. His hands slide along your body, over straining muscle and sensitized flesh, not stopping until they reach their goal, and with a groan he wraps them around you both. One final wave and one bright burst of flame, and stars explode behind your eyes.
Everything happens in threes.
And finally, THIS IS THE ONE I POSTED IN MY JOURNAL AS FIC, SKIP IF YOU READ IT ALREADY, foreponine119, Sleight of Hand
(Warning: Note the term "Comment Porn". Click at your own risk.)
For
zelda_zee, though it's not exactly a comment and she probably doesn't know what the hell I'm doing (that's okay, neither do I ;)), Promises, Promises
“See you around.”
That’s all he said, before he turned his back on them all and walked away. “See you around.”
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t seen a single one of them since the plane touched down in L.A. almost a year ago. Hadn’t wanted to.
Now there’s Jack, at the other end of the bar, whether Sawyer wants him to be or not. There’s Jack, getting up off his barstool and walking up to Sawyer like he has a right to. And there’s Jack, taking Sawyer’s arm and pulling him out the door like he owns him, pushing him up against a wall in the darkened alley, kissing him like he’s been lost forever.
Jack’s fingers dig into his shoulders with bruising force, until Sawyer arches his hips and lets Jack know that he isn’t going anywhere any time soon. Then Jack relaxes, lets his body mold against Sawyer’s, lets his hands slide down to cup Sawyer’s ass. They surge together, hard cock straining against hard cock, until it’s all too much and Sawyer reaches for them, making quick work of buttons and zippers, and wraps long urgent fingers around them both. They’re both wet and ready and so, so close, but Jack slides over the edge first, groaning against Sawyer’s mouth. Now there’s the added heat and slickness of Jack’s come on his cock, and that’s all it takes, he’s gone. Jack holds on tight as Sawyer bucks against him, and the moans of pleasure he hears aren’t only his own, but Jack’s as well.
After they pull apart, after they’ve adjusted their clothes, Jack turns away and says, with a glance over his shoulder and a jerk of his chin, “See you later.”
Sawyer lifts his chin in reply, and flashes a hint of a dimple. “Yeah, see you around.”
And this time, maybe he means it.
For
fosfomifira, Watcher
It wasn’t meant for her, but it took her breath away.
Both of them, in the moonlight, so absorbed in one another that neither saw her though she made no move to hide. The clearing was silent but for their sounds, groans of impatience and whispers of need as body surged against body, mouth against mouth. Skin gleamed in the pale light as clothes were thrown aside and they collided again. Sawyer pushed Jack to the ground and they writhed there, mouths crushed together, tongues and hips thrusting.
It wasn’t meant for her. She’d known it even before the raft sailed, seen the looks and the touches, felt the heat when they were together. Not hers, but she did not turn away.
For
crowgirl13, Do-over
It’s not the fact that you’re in my tent that pisses me off. It’s the fact that you’re talking.
“If something happens out there –“
I know what you’re trying to do, you’re trying to justify being here. Tomorrow we might die, and that’s your excuse. Like you need an excuse. I shut you up with a kiss, and push you down on the bed.
Nothing will happen to you out there. Everything’s different, now. There’s no scared little boy under this bed. Under this bed are guns. And the man on the bed, the one who’s kissing you like there’s no tomorrow, isn’t James, the coward. It’s Sawyer, the man who shot a bear. The man who has your back. James hid under the bed. He didn’t watch her back. But under my bed are guns. This time, I’ll get it right.
For
arabella_hope, Third Time’s a Charm
Sawyer thinks he’s going to die.
You can see it in his eyes as he lies on the jungle floor, his face contorted with pain and rage. Pain and rage, and something else, something white-hot and fierce, and you think it’s desire. Desire for death. Desire for escape.
“Let go,” he tells you in a voice that is a cross between a gasp and a growl. “I know you want to.”
You only hold on tighter. And even as he struggles against you, struggles to push you away, even as he hisses at you that if the tables were turned, he’d watch you die, you feel the pull.
***
Sawyer thinks he’s already dead.
You can hear it in his voice as he speaks to ghosts, as his body burns with fever beneath your hands. He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t fight, doesn’t ask you to let him go.
In his mind, he’s already gone.
And still you feel the pull. You hold on tight and don’t let go.
***
Sawyer thinks they’ll somehow survive.
He holds you in the dark though the long days without food, without water, without hope. You can feel it in his touch when he slides his hand down your body, when he wraps his fingers around you, when he coaxes one more burst of life from your body.
“We’ll get out of this, Doc,” he whispers in the dark, and somehow in despair you feel the pull of hope. You’ve saved him twice, but the third time’s a charm. This time he’ll save you as well.
For
elise_509, Superstition
“Bad things happen in threes,” your granny always told you, and though you left behind the superstitions of the mountain folk long ago, somehow that one stuck.
***
You watch her from your spot on the floor, the little cave you built of sofa pillows. She taps one freshly-manicured finger against the glass and stares into the rain. You know that soon she’ll leave with the man in the fancy car, the man who put that wild reckless look in her eyes. The man who isn’t your father.
You stop watching her and turn your attention back to your Saturday morning cartoons. You’re eight years old, too young to know that you should stop her. Too young to know what happens when good girls go bad.
Too young to know that you can save her.
***
You watch her walk away, and the slope of her shoulders tells you that she knows. There is no Sage Flower Motel off of Highway 29.
You tell yourself that you’re saving her. Saving her from herself. You’ve seen that wild reckless look before. You know what happens when good girls go bad.
You tell yourself that you’re saving her, and you let her walk away. It isn’t until the next day, when you read in the paper that they found her with a bullet in her head, that you know you couldn’t save her after all.
***
You watch Jack raise the gun and point it at your left shoulder, right at the spot he’d mended, the same spot he’d nipped at with his teeth and laved with his tongue the night before. “Take us to the guns, now,” he demands. He’s going into the jungle, looking for revenge, looking for blood. You reach for your own gun, determined to stop him. Determined to save him. You’ve seen that wild reckless look before. You know what happens when good boys go bad.
You hand finds only warm skin and rough denim. The gun isn’t there.
***
You look down at the body of the woman who’d once been a cop, the woman who would do anything to protect “her” people, and you know you could have saved her. She’d hunted you down in the jungle and asked for your gun, looking for revenge, looking for blood. You’d seen that wild reckless look before. You know what happens when good girls go bad. You could have saved her, but bad things happen in threes, and you know you’ve saved Jack instead.
You lead him to the guns.
For
eponine119, I seem to be hung up on threes
Everything happens in threes.
You lie on the sand under the stars, listening to the sound of the waves, and Jack’s bare skin glows in the light of the flames. You lower your mouth to his arm and trace the patterns there with your tongue. Stars. Waves. Flames.
Jack shifts against you, impatient. His fingers twist in your hair, and he pulls your mouth to his. You surge against him, chest to chest and cock to cock. His hands slide along your body, over straining muscle and sensitized flesh, not stopping until they reach their goal, and with a groan he wraps them around you both. One final wave and one bright burst of flame, and stars explode behind your eyes.
Everything happens in threes.
And finally, THIS IS THE ONE I POSTED IN MY JOURNAL AS FIC, SKIP IF YOU READ IT ALREADY, for
eponine119, Sleight of Hand
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 03:26 am (UTC)Too young to know that you can save her.
This entire tale was very powerful, but that line just stood out for me. Absolutely brilliant.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 04:00 am (UTC)I like my comment porn. Thank you!
And this is a great, great line:
One final wave and one bright burst of flame, and stars explode behind your eyes.
Brilliant.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 05:12 am (UTC)yay for comment porn! :)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 05:48 am (UTC)Round up posts are the best thing ever ... after comment porn.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 07:22 pm (UTC)Thanks for posting these,every "porny comment" is a pearl!And "The Watcher" one killed me ded.
*smooch*
no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 01:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-12 04:03 pm (UTC)And don't be surprised it you get random-porn-bombed soon. BWAHAHAHAHA!!!
I'll be thrilled!I couldn't participate in all porny comments exchange-not a writer:)
no subject
Date: 2006-08-04 10:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-05 06:08 pm (UTC)