![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alliecat8Title: Keeper of Light and Life (part 1 of 4)
Characters: Jack/Sawyer (actually, Jack/James, with a mysterious other)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
A/N: This AU lighthouse fic was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
siluria, who wanted a fic about storms way back during the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lostsquee luau. It took me quite a while! Although it’s complete, it lends itself best to 4 parts.
Much gratitude toeponine119 for beta-ing, and for the in-depth underwear discussion. ;)
Oregon, 1839
Day 1
When he saw the body of a man washed up on shore, Jack cursed. He slammed down his tin coffee mug so hard that the hot liquid splattered over the keys of his newfangled telegraph machine. He cursed again as he began his swift flight down the tight spiral staircase that carried him to the bottom of his lighthouse. It occurred to him as he stuffed his arms into his heavy oilskin jacket and his feet into rubber boots that irritation was not a normal reaction – he should be distressed, with adrenaline flooding his body as he prepared himself to handle an emergency. But Jack didn’t crave excitement. Jack liked his days sunny and quiet, his nights peaceful under the moon and stars. He guarded his privacy jealously. Jack wasn’t the hero type. Not anymore.
The wind was blowing so hard that he had to struggle to open the ground-floor door. Thunder crashed and rain and sea-spray stung his skin as he slipped and slid down the rocky slope to the shore. Just before he reached the sand-and-shell beach, both of his feet slipped out from under him. He grabbed for a handhold and came away with nothing but weeds. It didn’t stop his fall, and he landed almost on top of the crumpled, lifeless body. He was cut and bruised but not seriously injured, and as he reached out mechanically to check the man’s pulse he realized that he was still clutching the stuff he’d grabbed during his fall, a handful of wildflowers and lacy weeds. He nearly jumped a mile when the man’s colorless eyes opened and he said, “Those for me? Awww, you didn’t have to,” through blue lips.
He was alive? Jack hadn’t found a pulse, only abraded and frozen skin. But he blinked at Jack before he slipped back into unconsciousness, and Jack realized that, dead or alive, this person was his responsibility. He’d never before had a crisis like this to contend with, but he dutifully began to drag him toward the only shelter there was on this rock, his lighthouse.
The man was likely a whaler, Jack thought as he laid him on the bed in the downstairs living quarters and began to peel off his clothes. He had dressed for warmth and dryness but now he was soaked through the many layers. They had probably hampered him when he somehow lost his boat. The outcropping on which the lighthouse was built was surrounded by shallow reefs and sharp rocks, and Jack wondered how the man had managed to get here at all…and how he’d gotten separated from his boat. Had it sunk, had it crashed; had someone pushed him overboard, or had he jumped? And the biggest question of all: was he still alive? Jack still couldn’t find a pulse, so he didn’t know what to think.
He knew that the cold water could slow a man’s lifeblood, and so he heated warm water and carried it in a bucket to pour into the large tin container that served as a bathtub. Not too hot, or he might go into shock. He’d stripped the man down to his long underwear, and now he had a dilemma. Should he soak him, clothes and all, in the tub while he transferred heated coals wrapped in blankets to warm the bed, and tuck him in wet? That seemed wrong, but Jack liked the other alternative even less. Should he dispose of the underwear and attempt to deal with a naked body? It was too much for Jack to contemplate, considering what had happened the last time, when it had been he himself who was shipwrecked. That carried too many disturbing, unwanted memories, so he lifted the man into the tub, woolens and all.
After he’d dealt with warming the bed he poured more water into the tub and rearranged the man’s limbs, bending his knees and elbows so that his hands and feet could soak for a while. They were blue, and Jack thought he’d probably lose them to frostbite, but he would try to warm them anyway. It didn’t seem to be doing any good. The man was gray from head to toe, except where he was blue – gray hair, gray face, knobby gray wrists and ankles – the picture of death. And yet there was a sense of life about him, something Jack couldn’t quite quantify. And so, after his bath, Jack carried him to bed and waited, for in this storm the telegraph machine was worthless and a distress flag couldn’t be seen. He couldn’t leave someone so sick alone while he went for help, so there was nothing else he could do.
After several hours it seemed his efforts had succeeded, for the man opened his eyes. He kept them fixed on the ceiling as he muttered, “It was a long fall. A long, long, long fall.”
Jack assumed he was delirious. “You’re safe now,” he said reassuringly. “You made it to land. You’re in a lighthouse and I’m its keeper, Jack Shephard. Can you tell me your name?”
The man’s lips moved but Jack couldn’t hear a sound. “Tell me again,” he said.
This time his words were clear. “My name is Raphael. Rafe. I come from...the Black Rock.”
********
Jack had a rudimentary knowledge of how to treat an injured body, but he had no idea how to deal with a deluded mind. His new guest seemed to believe that he’d fallen from the Black Rock – Jack’s lighthouse. Of course this was impossible. Even if someone had insanely decided to scale the white-brick walls – even if such a thing were remotely possible – he would’ve been blown away by the near-hurricane-force winds. Unless…unless that’s what he’d tried to do. Was Jack dealing with an unlucky whaler, or was he harboring a lunatic?
There was no way to find out that day, since the man closed his eyes and slept the rest of the afternoon. Jack kept him warm, tried to feed him some soup, and thought about what to do with him when night fell. It was part of Jack’s duties to light the lamp at sunset and check the level of whale oil that fueled the lens, to add more if needed and trim the wick so that it would stay lit. In weather like this he kept the lamp lit all day. He had made many trips up the stairs, in between sitting with his visitor, to do his main duty. Most nights Jack slept on a small cot in the keeping room at the top of the lighthouse so he could get up and check the lamp every few hours. But how was he to check on both the lamp and Rafe? He didn’t relish the idea of trudging up and down 174 narrow, dizzying stairs at night, but that was what he’d have to do, unless….
After much thought Jack came to the unwanted conclusion that he’d have to choose the second option, difficult as it may be. He pulled back the bedclothes, unwrapped the blankets he’d swaddled the man in, and looked him over to see if his color had improved. It hadn’t, and even worse, his skin beneath his underwear was wet and puckered and beginning to smell of rot. Jack reluctantly admitted to himself that he needed to be dry, and he went about stripping off the rest of his clothes.
When he was naked, Jack could see how emaciated he was. Rafe was a tall man, about Jack’s height, and he looked as if he’d had a strong and healthy body like Jack’s not so long ago. Now, though, he weighed a good thirty pounds less than Jack, making it possible for Jack to throw him over his shoulders and begin an endless-seeming journey up the stairs. He had to stop on every landing and lay the inert body down while he caught his breath and stretched his strained muscles, and he wished he could simply drag him up the iron staircase. He knew better than that, of course, and with a great inhalation of air he slung the man back over his shoulders and trudged on. Through it all Rafe never awakened.
Somehow they made it to the top. The wind and rain wrapped around the dark windows like a living thing, like a great monster trying to get in. Jack ignored it as he settled Rafe into his own bed in the keeping room. He dressed him in a set of his own long underwear, wrapped him in his own warm blankets, and made several trips down and back up the stairs carrying more blankets full of heated coals. By the time he was through he was too exhausted to worry about the storm. He checked the lamp, added some whale oil, and collapsed under a single blanket in the keeping room, on the floor below Rafe’s bed. He lay there, in that frustrating state where a man is too tired to sleep, and thoughts came unbidden to his mind. Soon, without him knowing it at all, his memories turned into dreams.
********
He remembered a time when there was no lighthouse on the rocky, forbidding peninsula known only as “the black rocks.” As boys, he and the others had dared one another to climb its steep banks. When they were a bit older and stronger and the banks weren’t such a challenge, they’d played games in the grassy meadow that incongruously existed at its top. Sometimes ships wrecked on the reefs that surrounded it, and while the men looked for bodies, the boys hoped and searched for lost treasure. They never found it. Jack didn’t need it, since his father was a wealthy merchant and also the town’s only banker. But his best friend, James, wanted it desperately. He wanted to get out of their seaside town and “see the world,” but his parents were dead and his grandparents were poor, and his chances of ever getting out were slim.
Though they were opposites, Jack and James had shared a feeling of familiarity since birth, a similar energy and way of looking at things that bonded them, they assumed in the trusting way of children, for life. When James talked about seeing the world, Jack would talk about going with him. He didn’t care if he stayed in the town where he was born or not, just so long as he and James remained friends.
When they were barely grown, one of the town’s whalers hired them and a few other boys to join him on a whaling voyage. They were too young and naïve to know that the older, more experienced crewmen had refused to go because there were signs and rumors of dangerous storms on the way. They were restless youths, primed for adventure. Jack had to sneak away from his house, but there was no way he would let James go without him.
Because of the whaler’s stubbornness and greed, they found themselves caught up in a fierce storm, not knowing what to do. They were really just boys, after all. Ironically, the captain was the first to be washed overboard. He was soon followed by the rest.
Jack had never been so terrified. First he was under the dark, freezing water, then every time he surfaced and tried to draw a breath another wave crashed over him, pulling him down. There were bodies all around him and he tried to save them, tried to save them all, knowing that one of them was James. But in the end he saved no one, and he felt himself begin to sink, and to die.
It was still storming when he came to on a shell-littered shore. Coughing, gasping, exhausted and barely able to walk, he stumbled through the maelstrom, looking for shelter. Eventually he found a small cave in one of the cliffs that surrounded the beach. There he collapsed, wet and freezing, and lost consciousness again.
He woke to firelight and warmth on his frozen limbs. Slowly his eyes focused, and there, watching him intently, was James. In that moment he thought James must be his guardian angel, but his euphoria faded when he asked how James had found him.
“I swam to shore,” he said simply. “The others – I think they gave up as soon as they went into the water. They thought it was all over, but I just kept swimming. Then I found the shore, and now I’ve found you. I knew you wouldn’t give up either.”
Jack was ashamed because he had given up; he’d only been saved by luck. And it was luck that he didn’t deserve, because he’d failed to save anyone else. He kept his eyes lowered in shame until he felt James’ hands on him, pulling off his wet clothes. James was wearing nothing but the bottom of his undergarments. His bare skin was only slightly damp, and it glowed in the firelight. It looked so warm that Jack wanted to touch it. “Let’s get you dry,” James said, pulling him closer to the fire. James had always been the practical one. He was adaptable; he could find himself in trouble and resiliently find a way out, whereas Jack panicked and froze. Things happened to him, while they happened because of James. Opposites.
As the storm continued to rage Jack couldn’t tell if it was night or day, but the freezing water had made him sleepy. “Can I lie down with you?” he asked James, feeling awkward and embarrassed but also wanting so badly to be warm that he cast his inhibitions aside, even though he expected a rejection. But James wanted to warm him. They lay down, both facing the fire. James lay behind Jack with his arms around his waist, pulling him into his body heat. They slept.
Sometime later Jack was startled awake by the feel of James’ hands moving on his body, and James’ warm wet mouth on the back of his neck. It made him shiver, that contact, and James murmured, “Let it happen, Jack. Just let it happen.”
Jack tried to pull away. "What're you -"
"It's what you want." James' voice was husky with some emotion that Jack couldn't identify.
"But -"
"It's what I want." James’ mouth grew hot as he sucked and licked at Jack’s neck, and his hands grew bold. Soon one hand slipped down and found, to Jack’s mortification, that he was hard and full beneath his underclothes. "It's what we want."
It felt so good that Jack pushed involuntarily into James' hand, and James moaned and turned Jack to face him, pulled him in so that he could feel that James, too, was hard. His hot mouth sucked and licked at Jack’s lips, planting tiny wet kisses in between. His hands roved between their bodies until need overtook them and the roving hands found their destination. He boldly began to stroke them both. A part of Jack was horrified by what was happening – hadn’t they been taught in church that this was a mortal sin? – but most of him had stopped caring about that because it felt so good. He clung to James, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other one tangled in his hair. He pushed his hips against James’ hand and James wantonly thrust back, and their cocks rubbed together through their underclothes. Jack had never been touched there by another person and it was too much for him. He let out a cry as he came, long and hard, his hand clutching James’ hair as if his life depended on it. He soaked them both, and after all James’ efforts to get them dry, Jack’s bliss was tinged with remorse. James didn’t seem to mind, though, it seemed to excite him more and soon afterward he cried out against Jack’s mouth and his warm wetness mingled with Jack’s. They lay together in tired, sticky rapture, holding onto one another as if they would never part.
In that moment, Jack had never felt more alive.
********
He awoke with his whole body tingling, energized, the way he always felt after he had this dream. Then the sadness came, and the loneliness, and he took up his duties with resignation and told himself that it was peace.
TBC
Link to Part 2
Characters: Jack/Sawyer (actually, Jack/James, with a mysterious other)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
A/N: This AU lighthouse fic was written for
siluria, who wanted a fic about storms way back during the lostsquee luau. It took me quite a while! Although it’s complete, it lends itself best to 4 parts. Much gratitude to
eponine119 for beta-ing, and for the in-depth underwear discussion. ;) Oregon, 1839
Day 1
When he saw the body of a man washed up on shore, Jack cursed. He slammed down his tin coffee mug so hard that the hot liquid splattered over the keys of his newfangled telegraph machine. He cursed again as he began his swift flight down the tight spiral staircase that carried him to the bottom of his lighthouse. It occurred to him as he stuffed his arms into his heavy oilskin jacket and his feet into rubber boots that irritation was not a normal reaction – he should be distressed, with adrenaline flooding his body as he prepared himself to handle an emergency. But Jack didn’t crave excitement. Jack liked his days sunny and quiet, his nights peaceful under the moon and stars. He guarded his privacy jealously. Jack wasn’t the hero type. Not anymore.
The wind was blowing so hard that he had to struggle to open the ground-floor door. Thunder crashed and rain and sea-spray stung his skin as he slipped and slid down the rocky slope to the shore. Just before he reached the sand-and-shell beach, both of his feet slipped out from under him. He grabbed for a handhold and came away with nothing but weeds. It didn’t stop his fall, and he landed almost on top of the crumpled, lifeless body. He was cut and bruised but not seriously injured, and as he reached out mechanically to check the man’s pulse he realized that he was still clutching the stuff he’d grabbed during his fall, a handful of wildflowers and lacy weeds. He nearly jumped a mile when the man’s colorless eyes opened and he said, “Those for me? Awww, you didn’t have to,” through blue lips.
He was alive? Jack hadn’t found a pulse, only abraded and frozen skin. But he blinked at Jack before he slipped back into unconsciousness, and Jack realized that, dead or alive, this person was his responsibility. He’d never before had a crisis like this to contend with, but he dutifully began to drag him toward the only shelter there was on this rock, his lighthouse.
The man was likely a whaler, Jack thought as he laid him on the bed in the downstairs living quarters and began to peel off his clothes. He had dressed for warmth and dryness but now he was soaked through the many layers. They had probably hampered him when he somehow lost his boat. The outcropping on which the lighthouse was built was surrounded by shallow reefs and sharp rocks, and Jack wondered how the man had managed to get here at all…and how he’d gotten separated from his boat. Had it sunk, had it crashed; had someone pushed him overboard, or had he jumped? And the biggest question of all: was he still alive? Jack still couldn’t find a pulse, so he didn’t know what to think.
He knew that the cold water could slow a man’s lifeblood, and so he heated warm water and carried it in a bucket to pour into the large tin container that served as a bathtub. Not too hot, or he might go into shock. He’d stripped the man down to his long underwear, and now he had a dilemma. Should he soak him, clothes and all, in the tub while he transferred heated coals wrapped in blankets to warm the bed, and tuck him in wet? That seemed wrong, but Jack liked the other alternative even less. Should he dispose of the underwear and attempt to deal with a naked body? It was too much for Jack to contemplate, considering what had happened the last time, when it had been he himself who was shipwrecked. That carried too many disturbing, unwanted memories, so he lifted the man into the tub, woolens and all.
After he’d dealt with warming the bed he poured more water into the tub and rearranged the man’s limbs, bending his knees and elbows so that his hands and feet could soak for a while. They were blue, and Jack thought he’d probably lose them to frostbite, but he would try to warm them anyway. It didn’t seem to be doing any good. The man was gray from head to toe, except where he was blue – gray hair, gray face, knobby gray wrists and ankles – the picture of death. And yet there was a sense of life about him, something Jack couldn’t quite quantify. And so, after his bath, Jack carried him to bed and waited, for in this storm the telegraph machine was worthless and a distress flag couldn’t be seen. He couldn’t leave someone so sick alone while he went for help, so there was nothing else he could do.
After several hours it seemed his efforts had succeeded, for the man opened his eyes. He kept them fixed on the ceiling as he muttered, “It was a long fall. A long, long, long fall.”
Jack assumed he was delirious. “You’re safe now,” he said reassuringly. “You made it to land. You’re in a lighthouse and I’m its keeper, Jack Shephard. Can you tell me your name?”
The man’s lips moved but Jack couldn’t hear a sound. “Tell me again,” he said.
This time his words were clear. “My name is Raphael. Rafe. I come from...the Black Rock.”
********
Jack had a rudimentary knowledge of how to treat an injured body, but he had no idea how to deal with a deluded mind. His new guest seemed to believe that he’d fallen from the Black Rock – Jack’s lighthouse. Of course this was impossible. Even if someone had insanely decided to scale the white-brick walls – even if such a thing were remotely possible – he would’ve been blown away by the near-hurricane-force winds. Unless…unless that’s what he’d tried to do. Was Jack dealing with an unlucky whaler, or was he harboring a lunatic?
There was no way to find out that day, since the man closed his eyes and slept the rest of the afternoon. Jack kept him warm, tried to feed him some soup, and thought about what to do with him when night fell. It was part of Jack’s duties to light the lamp at sunset and check the level of whale oil that fueled the lens, to add more if needed and trim the wick so that it would stay lit. In weather like this he kept the lamp lit all day. He had made many trips up the stairs, in between sitting with his visitor, to do his main duty. Most nights Jack slept on a small cot in the keeping room at the top of the lighthouse so he could get up and check the lamp every few hours. But how was he to check on both the lamp and Rafe? He didn’t relish the idea of trudging up and down 174 narrow, dizzying stairs at night, but that was what he’d have to do, unless….
After much thought Jack came to the unwanted conclusion that he’d have to choose the second option, difficult as it may be. He pulled back the bedclothes, unwrapped the blankets he’d swaddled the man in, and looked him over to see if his color had improved. It hadn’t, and even worse, his skin beneath his underwear was wet and puckered and beginning to smell of rot. Jack reluctantly admitted to himself that he needed to be dry, and he went about stripping off the rest of his clothes.
When he was naked, Jack could see how emaciated he was. Rafe was a tall man, about Jack’s height, and he looked as if he’d had a strong and healthy body like Jack’s not so long ago. Now, though, he weighed a good thirty pounds less than Jack, making it possible for Jack to throw him over his shoulders and begin an endless-seeming journey up the stairs. He had to stop on every landing and lay the inert body down while he caught his breath and stretched his strained muscles, and he wished he could simply drag him up the iron staircase. He knew better than that, of course, and with a great inhalation of air he slung the man back over his shoulders and trudged on. Through it all Rafe never awakened.
Somehow they made it to the top. The wind and rain wrapped around the dark windows like a living thing, like a great monster trying to get in. Jack ignored it as he settled Rafe into his own bed in the keeping room. He dressed him in a set of his own long underwear, wrapped him in his own warm blankets, and made several trips down and back up the stairs carrying more blankets full of heated coals. By the time he was through he was too exhausted to worry about the storm. He checked the lamp, added some whale oil, and collapsed under a single blanket in the keeping room, on the floor below Rafe’s bed. He lay there, in that frustrating state where a man is too tired to sleep, and thoughts came unbidden to his mind. Soon, without him knowing it at all, his memories turned into dreams.
********
He remembered a time when there was no lighthouse on the rocky, forbidding peninsula known only as “the black rocks.” As boys, he and the others had dared one another to climb its steep banks. When they were a bit older and stronger and the banks weren’t such a challenge, they’d played games in the grassy meadow that incongruously existed at its top. Sometimes ships wrecked on the reefs that surrounded it, and while the men looked for bodies, the boys hoped and searched for lost treasure. They never found it. Jack didn’t need it, since his father was a wealthy merchant and also the town’s only banker. But his best friend, James, wanted it desperately. He wanted to get out of their seaside town and “see the world,” but his parents were dead and his grandparents were poor, and his chances of ever getting out were slim.
Though they were opposites, Jack and James had shared a feeling of familiarity since birth, a similar energy and way of looking at things that bonded them, they assumed in the trusting way of children, for life. When James talked about seeing the world, Jack would talk about going with him. He didn’t care if he stayed in the town where he was born or not, just so long as he and James remained friends.
When they were barely grown, one of the town’s whalers hired them and a few other boys to join him on a whaling voyage. They were too young and naïve to know that the older, more experienced crewmen had refused to go because there were signs and rumors of dangerous storms on the way. They were restless youths, primed for adventure. Jack had to sneak away from his house, but there was no way he would let James go without him.
Because of the whaler’s stubbornness and greed, they found themselves caught up in a fierce storm, not knowing what to do. They were really just boys, after all. Ironically, the captain was the first to be washed overboard. He was soon followed by the rest.
Jack had never been so terrified. First he was under the dark, freezing water, then every time he surfaced and tried to draw a breath another wave crashed over him, pulling him down. There were bodies all around him and he tried to save them, tried to save them all, knowing that one of them was James. But in the end he saved no one, and he felt himself begin to sink, and to die.
It was still storming when he came to on a shell-littered shore. Coughing, gasping, exhausted and barely able to walk, he stumbled through the maelstrom, looking for shelter. Eventually he found a small cave in one of the cliffs that surrounded the beach. There he collapsed, wet and freezing, and lost consciousness again.
He woke to firelight and warmth on his frozen limbs. Slowly his eyes focused, and there, watching him intently, was James. In that moment he thought James must be his guardian angel, but his euphoria faded when he asked how James had found him.
“I swam to shore,” he said simply. “The others – I think they gave up as soon as they went into the water. They thought it was all over, but I just kept swimming. Then I found the shore, and now I’ve found you. I knew you wouldn’t give up either.”
Jack was ashamed because he had given up; he’d only been saved by luck. And it was luck that he didn’t deserve, because he’d failed to save anyone else. He kept his eyes lowered in shame until he felt James’ hands on him, pulling off his wet clothes. James was wearing nothing but the bottom of his undergarments. His bare skin was only slightly damp, and it glowed in the firelight. It looked so warm that Jack wanted to touch it. “Let’s get you dry,” James said, pulling him closer to the fire. James had always been the practical one. He was adaptable; he could find himself in trouble and resiliently find a way out, whereas Jack panicked and froze. Things happened to him, while they happened because of James. Opposites.
As the storm continued to rage Jack couldn’t tell if it was night or day, but the freezing water had made him sleepy. “Can I lie down with you?” he asked James, feeling awkward and embarrassed but also wanting so badly to be warm that he cast his inhibitions aside, even though he expected a rejection. But James wanted to warm him. They lay down, both facing the fire. James lay behind Jack with his arms around his waist, pulling him into his body heat. They slept.
Sometime later Jack was startled awake by the feel of James’ hands moving on his body, and James’ warm wet mouth on the back of his neck. It made him shiver, that contact, and James murmured, “Let it happen, Jack. Just let it happen.”
Jack tried to pull away. "What're you -"
"It's what you want." James' voice was husky with some emotion that Jack couldn't identify.
"But -"
"It's what I want." James’ mouth grew hot as he sucked and licked at Jack’s neck, and his hands grew bold. Soon one hand slipped down and found, to Jack’s mortification, that he was hard and full beneath his underclothes. "It's what we want."
It felt so good that Jack pushed involuntarily into James' hand, and James moaned and turned Jack to face him, pulled him in so that he could feel that James, too, was hard. His hot mouth sucked and licked at Jack’s lips, planting tiny wet kisses in between. His hands roved between their bodies until need overtook them and the roving hands found their destination. He boldly began to stroke them both. A part of Jack was horrified by what was happening – hadn’t they been taught in church that this was a mortal sin? – but most of him had stopped caring about that because it felt so good. He clung to James, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other one tangled in his hair. He pushed his hips against James’ hand and James wantonly thrust back, and their cocks rubbed together through their underclothes. Jack had never been touched there by another person and it was too much for him. He let out a cry as he came, long and hard, his hand clutching James’ hair as if his life depended on it. He soaked them both, and after all James’ efforts to get them dry, Jack’s bliss was tinged with remorse. James didn’t seem to mind, though, it seemed to excite him more and soon afterward he cried out against Jack’s mouth and his warm wetness mingled with Jack’s. They lay together in tired, sticky rapture, holding onto one another as if they would never part.
In that moment, Jack had never felt more alive.
********
He awoke with his whole body tingling, energized, the way he always felt after he had this dream. Then the sadness came, and the loneliness, and he took up his duties with resignation and told himself that it was peace.
TBC
Link to Part 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 12:56 am (UTC)I could not resist...sorry
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 01:36 am (UTC)You can rest assured that we will see their long handles before, well, long. ;)
Sorry, I'm editing the last part and it's made me giddy. I'll just shut myself up now and say THANK YOU! ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 05:20 pm (UTC)Will we sing it at Phantom in Vegas? ;)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 06:08 pm (UTC)And no, because we're not going to Phantom to the best of my knowledge. (You really gotta get over to the comm more!)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 07:14 pm (UTC)I stand falsely accused! ;p I have been going to the comm (when you remind me to) but the way I understood it was that we'll go to Zumanity on Saturday, get tattoos on Sunday, and then the ones who want to go to Phantom can go.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 03:10 am (UTC)This is just what I needed! Thanks, hon.
(This is my "jack is a sea captain" icon, btw. ;D)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 05:15 pm (UTC)THANK YOU for reading and feedbacking. ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-10-02 08:38 pm (UTC)BTW: I keep checking back for the second part. I thought you said this was all done, missy! *stamps foot* ;)
no subject
Date: 2009-10-04 08:29 pm (UTC)drawingre-writing board! It'll be out tonight or tomorrow with a brand new J/J sex scene...and you have no idea how happy it makes me to know you're checking back! :Dno subject
Date: 2009-09-30 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 05:18 pm (UTC)You might be surprised at who Rafe turns out to be. There are hints in the second part if you look very closely.
I'm so glad you're reading and liking. Thank you so much! *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 10:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 03:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 06:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 08:34 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading! ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 08:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-03 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-04 08:33 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading, and for the feedback! ♥
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Date: 2009-12-03 12:06 am (UTC)Can't wait to read further and see where you take this!
no subject
Date: 2009-12-05 01:57 am (UTC)