This Way Lies Madness

[alliecat8]

Title: This Way Lies Madness
(Sequel to Shooting Stars and Saving Souls )
    Can (probably) be read alone
Author: alliecat8
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult situations, graphic sexuality, no one under 18, you’ve been warned
Spoilers: Through Exodus
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
A/N: HUGE thanks to hkath and arabella_hope for beta-ing, and especially to   
 eponine119 for beta-ing and loaning me her muse (and for the tampons, LOL!)
    Dedicated to halfdutch for inspiring me with her amazing series The Interview (love psychologist!Jack)
   




This way lies madness.  That’s what Jack keeps reminding himself, every time he catches himself trying to make sense of…well, just about anything, anymore. Trying to understand life on this screwed-up island is a surefire route to insanity, and Jack has traveled that road already and decided he never wants to go down it again.

First, there’s the hatch situation, and John Locke’s zealous quest to find answers. Jack is afraid they’ve added yet another psychopath to their island lunatic club, joining the ranks of Danielle and the mysterious “Others” and their latest addition, that she-devil from the tail section of the plane, Ana Lucia. Then there’s the Walt situation, all attempts to rescue him futile, Michael’s grief and the others’ frustration only heightening the already-tense atmosphere in the caves. And finally, there’s the Sawyer situation, and Jack thinks that this is the most bizarre problem of all.

Sawyer’s survival is still a mystery to Jack, and something that Jack knows he deserves no credit for whatsoever. Sawyer should by all rights have died from his shoulder wound weeks ago. Instead the man has made an almost absurdly rapid recovery, grumbling and cursing and bemoaning his plight the whole time, prowling the caves when he is well enough to walk and getting under everyone’s skin and making them wish, fervently, that the Others had taken him instead of Walt and Jack thinks that Sawyer is probably thinking the same thing, as well.

When Sawyer first regained consciousness Jack had been deeply concerned about the likelihood of severe, permanent damage from the infection and accompanying high fever. Once he’d established that Sawyer’s other internal organs were in working order, he’d begun to try to evaluate the state of Sawyer’s brain. This began an exercise in frustration that continued to this day, to the mutual ire of both men. It had started out simply enough, with Jack asking the standard questions.

“Can you tell me your name?” he’d asked on the first day that Sawyer seemed aware enough to communicate.

Sawyer fixed his pain-glazed but steady stare on Jack’s face. “No trick questions, Doc. Not in the mood.”

Jack tried again. “Do you know where you are?”

“Fuck, no. Do you?”

Jack ran down the usual list of questions in his head, beginning to realize that, as always on this insane island, normalcies no longer apply. What day is it? Who the hell knows anymore. When were you born? With no medical records, there’s no way to verify the answer. Do you know how you got here? Right, stupid question. How do you determine if someone is thinking sensibly, when nothing in the world makes sense?

Then he thought of a good one. “What’s my name?”

Sawyer grinned, then winced in pain, then grinned again. “Jack. Ass,” he added, with a deliberate nod of satisfaction. Jack decided to leave the job of analyzing the workings of Sawyer’s brain for another day.

Since then he’s tried, with maddeningly mixed results, to determine whether or not Sawyer’s mental state has changed since he was shot. “What do you remember about the plane crash?” he’d ask, and Sawyer would retort with something like, “Plane fuckin’ fell out of the sky, we all died, I’m in hell with you pesterin’ my ass all damn day, any other questions?”

And Jack would try asking him something else, something from his life before the crash, and Sawyer would bite his head off again and they’d just go round and round in circles like that, day after day after day. Finally Sawyer decides enough is enough and says, “Don’t you have somethin’ better to do than go around playin’ Twenty Questions all the damn time? ‘Cause your nosiness is really startin’ to get old.”

Jack sighs and tries to think of a way to explain, without scaring Sawyer half to death. “You were pretty sick,” he says, understating the truth considerably. “With a fever that high, sometimes there can be lingering effects. Memory loss, disorientation, clouded thinking. I’m just trying to make sure you’ve still got all your marbles.”

Sawyer has been sitting on the cave floor rolling bandages, one of the many tasks Jack has invented to occupy him and keep him from picking fights with the other survivors. Now his hands still and he looks down at the torn pieces of cloth, his hair falling into his eyes. “Brain damage?” he says softly. “You think I got brain damage, Doc?”

Jack sits down on a rock and crosses his arms, wondering whether to be honest, or tactful. “With you it’s hard to tell,” he says, deciding on honesty. “You never react to anything the way a normal person would. Excessive irritability is one of the signs, but that’s your usual state of mind anyway, so I can’t go by that. Disorientation is just par for the course on this island, and you won’t ever give me a straightforward answer to my questions, so I really can’t tell you one way or the other.”

Sawyer looks up at him, shaking back his hair, and he has the strangest expression on his face. “Brain damage,” he says with something that sounds oddly like satisfaction. “Huh. That explains a lot.”

If Jack has any expectations that their conversation might make Sawyer open up to him more, over the next few weeks he receives no satisfaction. Instead, Sawyer virtually stops speaking to him altogether. Jack goes about his day-to-day duties and Sawyer keeps his distance, for which Jack supposes he should be grateful. But as he goes about the business of doctoring the minor wounds of the survivors, helping Sayid install a rudimentary security system around the perimeter of the caves, taking the occasional sentry duty at the beach, Sawyer is never out of his sight. Every time Jack looks up from a task his eyes are drawn to his figure in the shadows, watching him, his expression unreadable.

It bothers Jack on several levels, this subtle stalking. He wishes Sawyer would find something else to do, some way to make himself more useful, as much for Sawyer’s own mental health as for the benefit of the community. But Sawyer is clearly preoccupied with something, and Jack would feel better if Sawyer would find something constructive to do that would occupy his mind as well as his body.

Also, Sawyer’s odd behavior is making Jack feel strangely guilty. It’s not that Sawyer is watching him in an accusing way, but somehow it feels like an accusation regardless. Jack wonders if Sawyer knows – if someone has told him, or if he somehow just knows with that strange awareness that some comatose patients seem to have upon awakening – that Jack had abandoned him when he was the sickest. That had been an unforgivable act that Jack attributes to some sort of psychotic break, strain and overwork causing him to crack and run away and talk to hallucinations on the beach, for God’s sake, and then go to John Locke of all people for advice. Since then he has, by sheer force of will, glued himself back together and shouldered his burdens and definitely stopped seeing ghosts…or at least, stopped acknowledging their presence. But he won’t forgive himself for what he did, and if Sawyer somehow knows about Jack’s betrayal, Jack doesn’t expect Sawyer to forgive him, either.

Desperate for some privacy, Jack slips away one rainy afternoon to one of the outlying caves, one that is small and leaky and therefore uninhabited. Just a little nap, he thinks, and then he sleeps for hours. But even in his sleep he knows the exact moment that Sawyer finds him, and when he opens his eyes some time later he is unsurprised to see him slouched against the wall of the cave, legs sprawled on the ground in front of him, eyes closed and looking as weary and depressed as Jack has ever seen him. Jack wants to have sympathy for the man, he really does, but he’s sick to death of this game and he just wants it to end.

“Sawyer,” he barks. “Get the hell out of my cave. Now.”

“It’s a free country.” Sawyer opens his eyes and gives Jack that look again, the one that Jack can’t read but still makes him sweat. “At least I think it is, if you haven’t declared yourself almighty dictator already, king of shithole island. I’m tired, Doc, remember, I got shot. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Just like that, Jack is wide awake and as pissed off as he’s ever been. He rolls over and pushes himself up, and grabs Sawyer and hauls him to his feet, noticing as he does so how much lighter Sawyer has gotten since the shooting. Jack probably outweighs him by twenty pounds. But Jack can feel him bracing for a fight, lean muscles tensing just under the surface of his skin, breath hissing out as Jack slams him up against the wall of the cave.

“That’s enough!” he yells, nose-to-nose with Sawyer and holding him by the front of his shirt with one fist and the other one clenched and ready to strike. “This bullshit is going to stop, right now. I don’t know what this is about, this insane fixation you seem to have on me –“

“Get off me!” Sawyer bucks up and shoves with everything he has, which isn’t enough to budge Jack, who’s mad enough right now to pick Sawyer up bodily and throw him off the nearest cliff.

“I want you out! Get out of my sight. I don’t want to see your fucking face again, you understand me? Stop following me, stop goddamn looking at me, just stop, Sawyer, I mean it. Jesus!”

Sawyer shoves at him again and his eyes, dark now with anger and some other unnamable expression, narrow. “You’re the one holdin’ on to me, jackass, and you’d better let the fuck go or I can promise you ain’t gonna like what happens.”

"What’s going to happen,” Jack says, almost panting now with rage and the nearly overpowering need to pound Sawyer’s head into the wall behind him, “is that I’m gonna drag your ass—“

And then the world explodes as Sawyer’s head connects with Jack’s jaw and Sawyer’s knee connects with Jack’s groin, and then he’s being shoved backwards and lifted up at the same time as Sawyer grabs hold of his shirt and turns him around and shoves him against the cave wall.

“Now you listen to me, doctor.” Sawyer spits the word out like it’s a curse, and his face is a tight with anger, his breath hot on Jack’s face. “You don’t get to make the rules, not anymore, not after what you did to me.”

Oh, Christ, Jack thinks with a groan that’s part pain and part regret, he knows. That’s what this has been about all along, he knows what I did and he hates me for it.

“Look, Sawyer,” he says, and the anger is bleeding out of his voice, he’s trying to sound reasonable, trying to apologize, but then his head slams back against the wall as his mouth is assaulted, Sawyer’s mouth colliding with his like a fist. Jack can almost taste the rage on Sawyer, as teeth cut into lips and breath wars with breath. Jack’s fury comes boiling back like a black wave and he pushes at Sawyer with all the force in his body, putting just enough distance between them to wrench his head away and he stares at Sawyer in red-hazed shock. “What the fuck—“ Jack hisses, and Sawyer shouts, “Your fault! This is all your fault, you son of a bitch, you goddamn hero, your fault, and I oughta kill you for it. Probably will, before it’s all over.”

Jack just stares at him, confusion and shock and rage combining to rob him of the power of speech. Sawyer’s eyes blaze into his for several long seconds, then he lets his head drop back and his eyes close, and he sighs a long, heavy sigh. The motion only serves to bring Sawyer’s body into closer contact with Jack’s, and when Sawyer looks up again he’s a different man. The rage is gone and his face has softened and his eyes are clouded with sadness and something else, and Jack realizes that that look, the one he hasn’t recognized until now, is need. Sawyer leans forward and he drops his head until it’s almost resting on Jack’s shoulder. “Your fault.” His breath is hot and damp against Jack’s neck, making him shiver. “You brought me back, and now my head’s all fucked up, somethin’ wrong with my brain, and the only thing I can think about, anymore, is you.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do with this man leaning against him, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He has an insane urge to reach up and stroke Sawyer’s hair, and then Sawyer rears back and slams his fists against the wall on either side of Jack, and with one last miserable glare he turns and strides out of the cave, into the rain.

***

“Somebody’s going to kill him.” Kate is taking advantage of a break in the rain to scavenge the trees for fruit, and Jack follows her partly to help her carry her harvest and partly because no one, ever, goes into the jungle alone anymore. “He’s out of control, Jack. The insults, the stealing – Ana Lucia went after him this morning with one of Locke’s knives because he stole the last of the tampons, for God’s sake.”

This news is disturbing on so many levels. “Where did Ana Lucia get Locke’s knife, and why would Sawyer steal tampons? And what the hell is wrong with everybody lately? Just when you think people couldn’t get any crazier….”

“Tampons are the most valuable commodity on this island, and Sawyer understands commodities. Ana Lucia stole one of Locke’s knives because that’s the kind of head case she is. And if monsoon season doesn’t end soon, we’re all going to turn into raving lunatics, Jack. Those caves are going to turn into a prison for the criminally insane.”

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I can’t do anything about the weather, Kate.” He realizes he’s grinding his teeth again, and makes a conscious effort to stop. “I’ll tell Sayid about the knife, and tell him to do another weapons search before there’s any more bloodshed. But if Sawyer’s hell bent on getting himself murdered, I don’t know what you think I can do about it.”

“Talk to him.” Kate spots some mangoes just out of reach, and pulls herself up into the tree. “You’re the only one he’ll listen to, and you won’t go near him anymore. Which is perfectly understandable, as spiteful as he’s been lately, but he’s a lot better-behaved around you than he is with anyone else. Talk to him and see if you can figure out what’s gotten into him lately.”

Jack’s heart sinks at the thought of having to seek Sawyer out, to talk to him one-on-one. I’m not Sawyer’s keeper, he wants to tell Kate, but that would be childish and besides, these days with the unstable atmosphere amongst the cave dwellers, he’s feeling more and more as if he’s everybody’s keeper. But he hasn’t spoken to Sawyer since that day in the cave, and Sawyer has kept his distance from Jack as well.

Jack still doesn’t know what to make of what happened in the cave, Sawyer seemingly convinced that he has brain damage and that it’s all Jack’s fault, Sawyer’s newfound obsession with Jack, that kiss, for God’s sake…. Jack knows that, at the very least, he ought to give Sawyer a thorough mental evaluation, try to figure out if there’s a medical or a psychological basis for his altered state of mind. Sawyer seems able-minded enough, brilliant as ever with his schemes and scams, bordering on genius with the insults and snappy comebacks, still an avid reader, still fiercely independent and capable of taking care of himself. But Jack knows, from the psych rotation he did in medical school, that any change in thought patterns after a serious illness warrants a full psychological workup. He’s just been too rattled by the whole situation to bring himself to do it. And Sawyer has made it easy for Jack to avoid him lately, pointedly turning his back and walking away whenever Jack comes too close. Now, though, Jack knows that it’s time to stop putting off the inevitable and deal with this, somehow.

It’s probably his preoccupation with these thoughts that keeps him from noticing the commotion until Kate suddenly drops her pack and starts running toward the caves. With a sinking feeling, Jack goes after her. He can hear the shouts and curses and muffled thuds before the caves come into view. As he rounds the corner he sees what appears to be the entire male population of the caves brawling like wild animals, and in the center of it all, of course, is Sawyer. Michael is screaming and cursing, trying to wrap his hands around Sawyer’s neck, and Sawyer is shouting obscenities and doing his best to strangle Michael as well. Sayid’s in the middle of it, trying to pry the men apart, and he takes an elbow in the gut for his efforts. Jack pushes through the crowd and tackles Sawyer from behind, dragging him backward, and Sawyer twists in his grip and his fist shoots out, and then everything goes black.

When Jack struggles back to consciousness he is flat on his back and lying in a cave that, logically, should be his infirmary but isn’t. As he begins to orient himself he realizes that the walls swimming into view belong to the small cave where he and Sawyer had their last run-in, and like before, Sawyer is sitting on the ground with his head back and his eyes closed, looking exhausted. He looks up when he hears Jack start to move. “Hey, Doc.”

Jack puts his hand to the side of his head, finding a lump there the size of a golf ball. “You hit me?” he says in surprise.

Sawyer blinks at him. “Yeah.”

“Huh.” Jack prods his head some more, checking the damage. “You never hit me before.”

“Pretty good at it, ain’t I?” Sawyer scoots forward and gets on his knees beside Jack, pushing Jack’s hand away and replacing it with his own. “Didn’t give you a shiner, though. You’re still pretty as ever.” His fingers hit a particularly painful spot and Jack curses, making Sawyer scowl. “You think anything’s busted?”

“Probably.” Jack glares at him. “You probably gave me a goddamn concussion. How long was I unconscious?”

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I dragged your ass out of there before you got trampled. They’ve probably all killed each other by now.”

Jack tries to sit up, fighting back a wave of dizziness. “What the hell happened?”

Sawyer shrugs. “Michael went batshit. Howlin’ at me like a damn rabid dog, sayin’ he’s been wantin’ to kill me ever since the raft blew up, sayin’ they should’ve shot me in the head—“

“What did you do?” Jack interrupts.

“What’d’ya mean, what did I do? I tried to kill him back, tried to defend myself—“

“No, Sawyer, what did you do to set him off? Don’t try to tell me you didn’t provoke it.”

“Told the truth.” Evidently deciding he’s poked at Jack’s head enough, Sawyer sits back, looking disgusted. “Man was a jackass for takin’ his kid on that raft. Didn’t have any business buildin’ the goddamn thing in the first place, damn fool idea if I ever heard one, hindsight ‘n all that, but puttin’ his own kid on it and takin’ off without knowin’ where we were goin’ or who we’d run into out there, if we ever ran into anybody, what in hell did he think was gonna happen? He knows what this fucked-up place is like, monsters in the jungle and whacked-out psychopaths behind every tree, ‘course we’re bound to run into more out there in the ocean. Idiot takes his kid out there like that, he’s just askin’ for somethin’ bad to happen.”

“And you told him that?” Jack thinks this is outrageous, even for Sawyer. “That was really low, Sawyer. No wonder he tried to kill you.”

 “Hope Omar’s locked his crazy ass up by now.”

“Right. I’d better get out there and see if anybody else got hurt.” Jack moves to stand up, and the cave starts to spin wildly around him.

“Whoa, Doc.” Sawyer puts his hands on Jack’s shoulders, pushing him back down on the ground. “Let ‘em take care of themselves for a change.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, Sawyer, but somebody’s bound to come looking for me soon. Let me up.”

“Hold on, Doc.” Sawyer gets to his feet, still holding on to Jack’s shoulders. “You stay put. I’ll go, tell ‘em you’re okay and you need some time to rest. I’ll bring back food and, you need any kind of medicine? Painkillers, maybe?”

“A Tylenol would be nice.” Jack rubs his forehead, trying to ease the escalating headache. “Just one, though. And a lot of water.”

“Right. Don’t go anywhere.” Sawyer makes his way out of the cave, and Jack lies back down on the ground with a sigh. He’s exhausted, his head throbs, and he knows he’s going to have to deal with Sawyer when he comes back with supplies. Can’t put it off any longer, he thinks and closes his eyes, sinking into sleep in spite of himself.

***

“Yo, Doc.” Sawyer’s foot jostles Jack’s thigh, interrupting a sleep filled with anxious dreams. “Don’t think I’m supposed to let you sleep, with a concussion and all. Wake up, I’ve got food.”

Jack opens his eyes and realizes it’s grown dark, the only light now coming from a torch that Sawyer has wedged in the corner. The pain in his head has receded somewhat, and he waves away the pill that Sawyer holds out to him. “I’m all right,” he says, sitting up and happy to note that the cave isn’t spinning anymore. “Just needed a nap, I guess.”

“Food. Water.” Sawyer sprawls on the ground beside him, laying out supplies. “The head’s okay?”

“Yeah.”

Sawyer shoves his hand toward Jack’s face. “How many fingers?”

“One, and that’s really funny, Sawyer.” Sawyer flashes a grin, lowering his middle finger and reaching for the water. “Who’d have pegged you for the Florence Nightingale type?” Jack reaches for the bottle Sawyer holds out.

“Figured I owed you somethin’, seein’ as how I was the one who cracked your head open.” Sawyer busies himself, laying out food and digging in his pack for more water. “Didn’t really mean to hurt you that much.”

Jack draws in a breath. No more procrastinating. “So we’re even now, right?”

“Even for what?” Sawyer looks away, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “You fucked up my head, I fucked up yours? No hard feelings?”

“Yeah, no hard feelings. Let’s just try to get things back to normal now, okay?”

Sawyer’s silent, staring off toward the mouth of the cave, biting into an apple. Jack looks at him, watching the motion of Sawyer’s beard-stubbled jaw, the way his tongue swipes across his upper lip, his two slightly crooked bottom teeth flashing in the torchlight as he takes another bite. This isn’t the first time Jack has watched Sawyer like this; before the shooting it had been one of Jack’s guilty pleasures, especially in the firelight. Jack appreciates Sawyer’s beauty in the same way that he admires it in anything, be it an ocean sunset or a sleek sportscar or a piece of fine art. Male or female, human being or non, beauty is beauty and Sawyer is beautiful. Even the marks of his ordeal, the weight loss, the little lines around his eyes and mouth left by days in the water with no protection from the sun, only serve to call attention to his chiseled bone structure, the distinctive blue-green color of his eyes, and that mouth with the two crooked teeth that, for some reason, fascinate Jack most of all.

“Normal, huh,” Sawyer says finally, giving Jack a sidelong glance. “What the hell’s that?”

“Who knows, anymore.” Jack doesn’t take his eyes off of Sawyer. “Not enemies? Maybe even…friends?”

Sawyer’s lip quirks up in a rueful half-smile and his throat works a little before he says, “Ain’t friendship I’m interested in with you, Doc.”

Jack sighs, fighting back a wave of disappointment. Sawyer isn’t going to make this easy. “Why are you so goddamned determined to hate me?”

“Because you’re a moron,” Sawyer snaps in disgust. He turns his head and regards Jack fully, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “I don’t hate you, asshole. Do I have to kiss you again, to prove it?”

“Jesus, Sawyer!” Jack flinches back, half-afraid Sawyer will decide to do exactly that. “Are we back to that again?”

“I told you!” Sawyer plants his hands on the ground and thrusts himself forward so he’s facing Jack on his hands and knees, his face inches from Jack’s. “I told you already. You did it to me, brought me back when I should’ve been dead, and now my head’s all fucked up and I’ve got you on the goddamn brain.”

All at once the absurdity of this hits Jack, and he bellows, “So I pulled you out of the ocean and what, now you’re my bitch for life?”

Startled, Sawyer sits back and rubs his chin, and there’s a glint in his eyes that tells Jack he wants to laugh but won’t let himself. “Fuck off, Doc.”

Feeling somewhat calmer now that there’s a little distance between them, Jack reins in a smile, too. “Sayid helped, you know.”

“What, you tryin’ to palm me off on Abdul? He’s got real pretty hair, lots prettier’n yours, but I just ain’t into the whole bondage and torture scene.” Sawyer does grin then, a big wicked smile that transforms his whole face and again Jack finds himself staring at those two crooked teeth, mesmerized.

And this time Sawyer notices. His grin slides from impudence into something warier, and he tilts his head and asks, “Somethin’ wrong, Doc?”

“Yeah.” Jack shifts his gaze with an effort, and meets Sawyer’s eyes with a level stare. “I think we’ve got a problem here. You think you’ve got brain damage and I know I’m stressed out of my mind, and I’m just afraid…. I really don’t think either one of us is in full control of our, uh, faculties.”

“You’re afraid?” Something smoky enters Sawyer’s eyes and he leans forward, almost imperceptibly. “Of what? Of me?”

Jack holds himself perfectly still, even though it feels as if, without even moving, Sawyer has somehow migrated into Jack’s personal space, crawled beneath his skin. “Yeah,” he says, and then Sawyer does move, or at least he thinks it's Sawyer because he, Jack, would not have made the first move, and Sawyer’s knees are on either side of Jack’s and Sawyer’s mouth is on his, and for just an instant thinking stops altogether and Jack can’t do anything but feel.

Sawyer’s mouth is hot and wet and somehow not at all strange-feeling against Jack’s, and before he knows what he’s doing he opens his mouth and lets Sawyer’s tongue inside, thrusting, meeting it with his own. Jack can taste apples and he sucks, hard, on Sawyer’s tongue and Sawyer groans and leans into Jack, their bodies flush against one another. Jack can feel Sawyer’s erection straining against his own crotch, and suddenly he registers what’s happening and he shoves away, pushing himself to his feet and staring at Sawyer in shock.

“This is crazy,” he says, and he’s unnerved to hear that he’s panting. “I know crazy’s par for the course these days but this is beyond crazy. This is insane.”

“Told ya.” Sawyer looks up at him, shaking back his hair, and something about him on his knees, supplicant in the firelight, steals Jack’s breath away. Beauty.

“Transference,” he says when he’s finally able to speak. “Doctor-patient transference, that’s what this is. It’s a textbook case. Patient unconsciously transfers his need for attachment onto his physician –“

Sawyer is on his feet and in Jack’s face all at once, pressing against him and kissing him and laughing at the same time. “Doctor talk is so fuckin’ hot,” he growls and shoves his tongue into Jack’s mouth, and after an instant of stiff resistance Jack starts to laugh too and suddenly they’re clutching at each other, leaning against one another for support, bodies on fire.

Sawyer’s hands slide down Jack’s sides and around, so he’s clutching Jack’s hips and pulling Jack tighter against him, humping him, and he’s hard and now Jack’s hard, too, he’s suddenly so hard it hurts. “Fuck, Sawyer,” he groans and Sawyer says, “Yeah,” and abruptly pulls away. This time Jack’s groan is one of frustration.

“’S okay, Doc,” Sawyer mutters, his hands going to the button of Jack’s jeans, “just have to take care of a couple details, then get back to business.”

Jack doesn’t allow himself time to think about it before he’s tugging at Sawyer’s shirt and pulling off his own, bucking up against Sawyer’s hand as Sawyer tugs down the zipper of his jeans. Then Sawyer’s pushing the jeans off altogether and he pauses, still half-dressed, breathing heavily and leaning into Jack and staring, hard, into his eyes. “We gonna do this, Jack?” he says, and his voice is low and hoarse with need. “Everything’s gonna change, afterward.”

A reprieve, Jack thinks, Sawyer’s offering him a reprieve and he should be grateful, should take it and turn away and go back to the way things were before, because even though that way didn’t make any sense it made more sense than this, and where this might lead is something that Jack can’t even begin to imagine. But Sawyer’s body is so close that Jack can feel the heat coming off of him, can feel the need pouring off of him in waves, and instead of saying no he groans, “Yes, touch me Sawyer, do it, need to do this, God,” and then Sawyer’s hand is on his cock and it’s so hot it burns. Jack tries to concentrate, tries to think about the other thing that needs doing, and he reaches for Sawyer and starts tugging at his jeans, clumsily, all the while thrusting into Sawyer’s hand and thinking, vaguely, that he’s undressing Sawyer with less finesse than he’s ever done anything in his life. Finally Sawyer knocks his fumbling fingers away, grumbling, “Damn, Jack, I thought doctors were supposed to be good with their hands,” and with one quick motion he slides his jeans down and kicks them off and then they’re both naked, cocks jutting out toward each other, chests heaving.

This time it is Jack who makes the first move, reaching and tugging Sawyer against his body, shoving his fingers through Sawyer’s hair, pulling his face in to kiss him, his tongue thrusting into Sawyer’s mouth. With a guttural moan Sawyer reaches down between them and wraps his hand around both of their cocks, pumping. There’s a white hot light behind Jack’s eyes and he’s close already, just from the feel of the silken fullness of Sawyer’s cock against his, the slick slide of Sawyer’s palm over their swollen tips, the glorious friction of Jack’s balls rubbing against Sawyer’s. He moans into Sawyer’s mouth, biting at his lips, his tongue sliding against Sawyer’s, and he thinks again about those two crooked teeth and he can almost feel them scraping over his dick and with an effort more painful than anything he’s ever done in his life, he pulls Sawyer away from him and gasps, “Stop.”

Sawyer stares at him, shock and outrage filtering through the haze of lust in his eyes. “Fuck, no, I won’t stop, you had your chance. Too late.”

Sawyer tries to pounce on him again but Jack’s hand is still clutching Sawyer’s hair and he tightens it, holding him back. “Wait.” He’s so undone that he can barely think, let alone speak, and forget about forming sentences. “Your mouth. I need to…God, Sawyer. Suck me. Please.”

Sawyer gives a little start of surprise, and then lets out a low, throaty laugh. “I can’t believe you just said that.” He looks at Jack for a long moment, and nods almost imperceptibly, and then he’s moving that mouth down Jack’s body and Jack wants to come just at the thought of what’s about to happen.

Sawyer drops to his knees and runs his lips and his tongue over Jack, teasing him, making him writhe and curse and – dammit, he doesn’t care anymore – beg. Finally Sawyer wraps his mouth around Jack’s cock and Jack can feel him graze his teeth over the head, not too hard and not too soft, just the right amount of friction, fuck, oh God, and Jack almost doubles over in pleasure. He looks down and the sight of Sawyer’s head bent over Jack’s cock, his hair falling into his face and his mouth working, lips and tongue and teeth, causes a sharp shudder to run down Jack’s spine and he cries out in need. One of Sawyer’s hands is on Jack’s hip, pulling him further into Sawyer’s mouth, and as Jack’s eyes travel lower Sawyer shifts so he can see that Sawyer’s other hand is on his own cock, pumping hard. “Stop,” Jack orders him, “stop touching yourself. I want to do it. Uh…in a minute….”

Sawyer’s eyes flick up briefly and he stops, moving his hand to the base of Jack’s cock instead. Jack throws his head back and thrusts his hips forward, fucking Sawyer’s mouth, and Sawyer’s hand leaves his ass and moves to replace the one that’s pumping his dick. Jack glances down and sees that Sawyer is working his own cock again, sliding his thumb over the head, making himself slick with his own precome. Jack starts to say something, to remind him to wait, but then Sawyer’s tongue starts to work that sensitive ridge just beneath the head and Jack forgets how to form words entirely. He loses himself to the pleasure of it, watching Sawyer all the while, and Sawyer moans against his cock and Jack makes a desperate effort at control and gasps, “Stop. Sawyer, stop, I have to come now, stop, fuck….”

Sawyer pulls his head back, letting Jack’s cock slide out of his mouth but not raising his head, and his dimples flash for just an instant as he says, “Doc, that’s the whole damn point.” His tongue flicks out and hits that spot again and then he’s sucking in earnest and pumping himself at the same time, and he lets out a series of harsh moans and his hips jerk up, hard, and Jack can feel the hot spurts against his leg as Sawyer comes, and that’s all Jack can take. His cock spasms against the roof of Sawyer’s mouth and he grabs Sawyer’s hair, forcing him to take him even deeper, and Jack howls in need and then, God, that blinding burst, and he’s shooting jet after jet after jet into Sawyer’s warm, wet throat.

Sawyer begins to suck more gently as Jack stills. He licks at that ridge again, tongues the head, taking every drop, and then he wraps his arms around Jack’s thighs and buries his face in Jack’s stomach. Jack sways on his feet, his knees weak, and then he collapses onto the ground beside Sawyer, leaning against him heavily. He reaches down and takes Sawyer’s cock, softening now but still swollen and slick with his own come, in his hand. When his breath starts to come back to him he says, “Didn’t I tell you to wait? Do you ever do what you’re told?”

Sawyer chuckles, the vibration sending fresh shivers through Jack’s body. “Nah,” he says. “That’s just part of my charm.”

Jack grins and pushes him backward, collapsing on top of him in the dirt. Sawyer grunts in protest. “Ow, Doc, you’re on my shoulder, fuck.” Wrapping one leg around Jack’s thighs he rolls them, pinning Jack underneath him, resting his forehead against the top of Jack’s skull.

“Yeah, well, now I’m suffocating. You don’t plan on sleeping there, do you?”

“Don’t plan on sleepin’ at all.” Sawyer relaxes fully against Jack, pressing him deeper into the ground. “Can’t let you sleep, concussion and all, we’re just gonna have to find somethin’ else to do all night.”

A tingle of pleasure goes through Jack’s body, and he realizes that this thing between them, this thing that started tonight, is just the beginning of something that has no end in sight. “One of these days, Sawyer,” Jack mumbles, mouth against the scar on Sawyer’s shoulder, “you’re going to drive me stark, raving mad. Maybe already have.”

Sawyer sighs, contentedly. “Payback,” he drawls, and that idea doesn’t appear to concern him at all.

“Yeah, payback, whatever. That’s awfully damned insulting, you know.”

Sawyer raises himself up on his arms and looks down at Jack through the curtain of his hair. “That hurt your feelings, Doc? How come?”

Jack snorts. “Pisses me off to think that you only want me because you’ve got brain damage.”

“It ain’t exactly flattering to think you just want me ‘cause you’re so stressed out you’ve lost your mind, either.”  Sawyer regards him sternly, scowling, but down below his hips begin a slow, teasing grind.

“Denial,” Jack tells him and then groans, finding it damned difficult to be analytical with Sawyer humping him like that. “Do you think maybe we’re in denial?”

“You’re the doctor,” Sawyer says, grinding harder, “but keep talkin’, it turns me on.”

“Can’t concentrate, with you doing that. We’ll have to save playing doctor for later.”

Sawyer stops for a minute, evidently thinking something through. “Y’know, maybe we could cure each other,” he says finally. “If we do this a lot it’s bound to improve my disposition considerably, and I hear it’s real good for relievin’ stress, too, so that’ll help you out. That sound like a plan to you, Doc?”

“Shut up.” Jack shifts his legs, trying to wrap them around Sawyer, trying to make him start moving again.

“Might take a while, though.” Sawyer bucks against Jack’s stomach, making him gasp. “You and me are both pretty tough cases.”

Jack arches up against Sawyer and nips at his scar with his teeth, lightly, and then swipes his tongue along the puckered skin, wanting to both mark him and soothe him at the same time, and he thinks, yeah, a lengthy course of intensive therapy is probably just what the doctor ordered.




End