Limbo - Jack/Sawyer/Claire
Jul. 4th, 2007 03:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kricketsTitle: Limbo
Fandom, Pairing: LOST, Jack/Claire/Sawyer
Rating, Warnings: NC-17, Graphic Sex, Slash, Incest
Summary: This time it’s Las Vegas, but nobody’s phones even ring. Prequel to Throwaways & Tourniquets.
Prompt: Stoned
Author's Notes: This is dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dayln03, without whom this fic would have never happened cause she forced me to write it. At gunpoint! I apologize for the length, but I think it'll be worth it. And thank you once again to the always-helpful kmousie.
Nobody’s rewarded just for being alive. Cool air in the lungs and warm blood through the veins, like always – but most times there are no parades or television spots, no benefits or celebrity parties for such mundane biological facts. But like Baby Jessica down her well or those stranded soccer players turned cannibal, the survivors of Oceanic flight 815 are different in that regard.
They wake up every morning, just like every other poor son of a bitch on the planet, and somehow that’s special.
Those first days, cameras flash, but nobody calls them by name. They’re clumped together, known only as the survivors, and the scuffle dies down after a few months.
Still, every so often an invite will surface in the mail, the thick high-priced card stock an ironic reminder of their triumph over certain death. Each of them will phone the others in turn. “You going to this thing?” they’ll ask, and a not even a year later, the answer is almost always no.
This time it’s Las Vegas, but nobody’s phones even ring.
He doesn’t dress up, a sports jacket over a printed t-shirt and dark blue denim is all, arrives late, gets past security, and goes straight to the bar.
“Didn’t think you’d show,” Sawyer says when he finds Jack sucking on some pink pansy-ass watered-down cocktail in a dark corner, pulls him to an empty hallway, presses him against the wall. “Thought you were over this shit.”
Jack kisses him first, hard and clumsy, ‘cause it’s been a while, his hands going to Sawyer’s waist, hidden in the heat trapped between jacket and t-shirt. Sawyer grabs at Jack’s dark dress collar, thick fingers landing on his neck. Jack’s hands slide up the thin material of Sawyer’s t-shirt, traversing over taut, lean muscle. This is how it is between them now, wordlessness and desperate contact. They can hear approaching noises on the other side of the door, laughter and footsteps, and Jack pushes hard on Sawyer’s chest, separating them. The door swings open, and Claire follows a group of loud and drunken celebrities who barrel past them.
“Hey you,” Jack says, and his hand slips naturally into the hollow at the small of her back. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing a sleek black dress that makes her look taller than she really is. “Look who showed up,” he says to her as if it were the last thing he expected.
Claire smiles brightly and kisses Sawyer’s cheek, soft lips to rough stubble, pretends like she doesn’t know the truth. Sawyer kisses her back, pulls her into a hug, and does the same.
+
Poker is Jack’s game, and watching him clean house at the table now reminds Sawyer of another one, makeshift and piled high with mangoes. Back then, the stakes were so much higher. Now they seem too low. It makes him laugh – the memory of it, the push and pull dynamic between them, even then, all resistance and attraction.
Nothing’s changed.
Claire leans back into the bar, eyeing the game, eyeing something, and Sawyer makes his way over to her, weaving through the crowd. “Careful little sister, you keep staring at big brother like that and people might start to talk,” he drawls, brushing his arm against hers as he mirrors her pose against the counter.
“Let them talk,” she says plainly, her eyes never moving from Jack, not bothering to deny what Sawyer insinuates. It’s only half a confession, another hazy layer added to the unspoken understanding they’ve long kept. “I’m going back to Sydney, you know.”
The admission is abrupt, and she’s not sure why she tells him. Maybe she hopes he’ll take care of Jack, knows he’s going to need someone when she’s gone. Or maybe she just wants someone to tell her she can’t go. Sawyer always does that, says the things that need to be said. But when she flashes her blue eyes up to him this time, he doesn’t, just slings his long arm over her and pulls her close.
“Let’s get a drink,” he offers instead, turning around and calling for the bartender.
+
They can only take so much more of the noise, the crowds, the cling-clinging of the slot machines, the rehearsed small talk and mild recognitions of Hey don’t I know you? and Aren’t you that guy? That plane crash guy? before Sawyer leads them back to his suite.
Jack’s footsteps are heavy, not quite drunken, but Claire has proven to be a lightweight, and she leans on Sawyer as they make their way onto his oversized balcony. He disentangles himself from her as they step into the desert air and she stumbles. He steadies her, an arm around her waist, and helps her down into a cushioned deckchair. “Easy, sweetheart,” he says, glancing through the sliding door at Jack, who’s rummaging through the bar, “fresh air ought to do you some good.”
Claire smiles lazily at him, the corners of her pink mouth curling up slightly. “I miss the island,” she says absently, closing her eyes, and it catches Sawyer by surprise.
He stands, leans against the cool railing, glances down at her and then towards the sky. She can’t possibly mean what she’s just said, not truly. But in a way, he understands. Trapped inside with all those people, the booze and the blackjack and the pretense, air conditioning and carpeting, wallpaper and fancy desserts, he hadn’t allowed himself to really breathe until just now.
It’s still Las Vegas, and the lights from below are blinding, but he’s never the same as when he’s in the open air, lungs never quite full enough. Out here, he feels connected to the earth and with himself, a connection he never felt before the island.
As complicated as things were, they were also simple. A man needs to dig a hole; he builds a shovel – easy. And maybe that’s what Claire means – the simplicity of it, knowing up from down and appreciating all the shit they take for granted in the real world.
But he knows that’s not entirely it. It’s all of them together, leaning on each other, needing each other. They were never prepared for that separation, never expected how much it would fucking hurt to say goodbye.
“Nice room,” Jack calls, lifting a bottle and yanking Sawyer from his thoughts. “What are you drinking?”
“Whatever you are, Doc.”
+
It’s quiet as the night slips past, the kind of comfortable silence that can only be experienced between people who know each other very well, people who might have, say, spent several months together on a not-so-deserted island. The two men share a joint, passing it back and forth between them on the balcony. And each time Jack’s brown eyes meet Sawyer’s, big and soft around the edges from the combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and marijuana, Sawyer has to remind himself that Claire’s sitting right next to them, her hand on his thigh, the alcohol making her a bit more gregarious than he might have thought of her, and has to fight the urge to cross from his chair to Jack’s, take his mouth in his, and pull him back inside the bedroom.
She notices the shared glances between the two, the way their lips curl into shapes that spell sex. She shifts her weight and slips into Sawyer’s lap, positioning her body between him and Jack, blocking his view.
“Well, that was subtle,” he says to her, and his hands go immediately to her waist to stop her squirming.
She laughs, feeling him hard against her thigh, leans in to whisper into his ear, “I won’t tell if you won’t.” She brings her small hands to his stubble-covered jaw, presses her lips clumsily to his, and pushes her tongue inside. Sawyer can’t hide his surprise, a muffled, strangled sound coming from the back of his throat, but he kisses her back, hands sliding up the soft black dress and connecting with the open flesh between her shoulder blades.
Jack stares at them both, unsure of how to react, simultaneously feeling a tightening of his balls and a surge of red heat going to his ears, arousal and resentment as he watches his lovers forsake him for each other.
“Tell me something, Sawyer,” she says when she pulls out of the kiss, throaty and suggestive and loud enough for Jack to hear, “what’s it like to be fucked by my brother? Or is it the other way around?”
Before Sawyer even knows how to react, Jack is already standing, gripping her arm and twisting her up and out of his lap.
“We’re going,” he growls, and his fingers grip more tightly around her bicep than he means to, digging into the soft white flesh. “You’re drunk.”
“You’re hurting me,” she says through gritted teeth and tries to pull away.
“Whoa, Doc,” Sawyer stands then, his hand covering Jack’s on her arm. His muscles immediately relax under Sawyer’s touch, but he doesn’t move his grip. “Take it easy on the girl. She’s just had a few too many.”
Jack turns to him, lowers his voice, almost as if Claire isn’t standing right there, can’t hear what he’s saying. “She’s out of control. I’m taking her back to her room.”
“Our room, don’t you mean?” Claire says with a scoff. “And besides, it’s not like you’ll be getting any tonight. I can walk myself.” Claire pulls her arm out of Jack’s now loosened grip and disappears into the darkness of Sawyer’s suite. Jack stares, wide-eyed, at Sawyer, whose brows are knitted, mouth slightly hinged open, not sure what to say or whether or not there’s anything to say. It’s not as though he didn’t suspect, but confirmation is something else.
All thought is put to an end, however, when they hear an anguished cry coming from inside the room. They both react, hurrying inside to find Claire curled on the bed, knees pulled to her stomach, shoes kicked off.
“Claire,” Jack kneels beside her, his voice soft and even. He lays a gentle hand on her arm, the same one he had a stranglehold on just moments ago. He can see light pink marks on her skin there, left behind by his grip, and he cringes at the sight.
“I don’t have the key,” she whimpers and then steadily, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Alright, I’ll take her from here, Doc,” Sawyer pushes between them, and pulls Claire into his arms, one arm wrapped under her back and the other under her knees. She clings to him, practically swallowed by his large frame.
“Sawyer, what do you think you’re—?”
“No offense, Jack, but you’ve got shitty bedside manner,” Sawyer says plainly, before carrying Claire into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him.
+
“Put me down. I’m gonna throw up.” These are the first words that Claire manages to say to him when they get inside. The white light in the bathroom is sterile and far too bright, and Sawyer takes a few uneasy steps on the smooth tile as his eyes adjust.
“Let’s get you to the goddamn toilet first, shall we?” he says.
“Bedside manner,” she laughs, and then it’s too late.
“Son of a bitch,” Sawyer groans, she’s managed to cover both the front of her dress and his t-shirt. “Just what the fuck I wanted to do tonight,” he grumbles and changes course, padding toward the shower. Once he has her inside, he fumbles with the nozzle momentarily until the hard spray beats down, soaking them both.
Claire gasps, coughing up air as the frigid water hits her. “Can you stand?” he asks after a moment, and after she nods, lowers both of her bare feet to the shower floor, and holds onto her until she steadies herself. Once she’s found her footing, he lets go of her, and lifts his t-shirt, the wet cotton sticking to his skin as he struggles to pull it off, and drops it to the floor beside the tub where it lands with a smack.
“Feeling better?” he asks and Claire only nods. “It’s always better after you puke. Let’s get this off you,” he says, tugging at the material at her waist.
Claire narrows her eyes at him, suddenly feels the cold chill of the water down through her bones, enhanced by the sensation of his hot hands through wet fabric, her nipples hardening under the cool spray and his touch.
“Hell darlin’, you lost your right to modesty during that lap dance,” he jokes. And off her look, “Come, on, it ain’t that bad,” he says, his voice lowered, soothing now, barely audible over the sounds of the shower. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Claire lifts her arms and Sawyer yanks at the soaking garment rather clumsily, eventually managing to pull it over her head. He grins, those dimples flashing, when he notices she isn’t wearing a bra, her pert breasts in full view, tiny hardened nipples, aching to be licked. She doesn’t move to cover up, or chastise him for his smirk, for licking his lips, eyes traveling to her dark underwear and back to her tits. She only drops her hands to her side, and stares at him hard. Her boldness strikes him, and his face falls. He stares back, a wordless exchange between them. Her eyes, like Jack’s, are soft around the edges, and he suddenly feels the urge to kiss her again, but figures the taste wouldn’t be worth the trouble.
“Why hasn’t he asked me to stay?” she asks after a moment, drops her head, down, sucks in her bottom lip, starts to shiver. It’s at this moment that Sawyer realizes that none of this has been about him at all.
“Who, Jack?” Sawyer chuckles, places his hands on her shoulders, draws her to him, the water making their bodies slick against each other. “You know Jack,” he says. “Ain’t exactly Captain Forthcoming when it comes to talking about his feelings.”
She doesn’t respond, just lets Sawyer hold her, his skin warming hers as the temperature of the water coming from the shower head slowly begins to rise. “Anyway,” he continues, “Would you stay? I mean, if he asked?”
Claire looks up at these words, stares into his eyes, a realization coming over her as if she had never thought about what her answer might be to that question. “No,” she says, a revelation, but without an ounce of reservation, her blonde hair sticking to her face as she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t.”
“Well, there you go,” Sawyer says, dropping his hands and stepping out of the shower onto the wet tile. “There’s towels and robes and shit in here, toothpaste and all that. You can handle yourself?”
Claire only nods, her arms crossing in front of her with a sudden sense of indecency. He turns to leave, and she watches him walk to the door. “Sawyer,” she says when he grips the silver handle.
“Yeah?” He turns back to her.
“Thanks.”
“No problem, Mamacita.”
+
Sawyer finds Jack back out on the balcony, eyes scanning the city below, and he slips in behind him, pulling him against his chest. Jack leans back into the embrace, notes that Sawyer is wet and shirtless, doesn’t need to ask why. There are times when he’s convinced himself that he only allowed any of this to happen because they connect him to that place, because if he loses touch with it, he loses touch with himself. But standing with Sawyer now, it feels like more than that, and he knows the same is true with Claire.
“She okay?” Jack finally asks after a few minutes.
“Yeah,” Sawyer answers, “sobering up already.”
“It’s–,” Jack doesn’t know how to say this. He’s so used to saying nothing, pretending that it doesn’t exist. “It is what you think it is. It is what it is. But, it’s not. It’s more.”
“You don’t gotta explain nothing to me, Jack,” Sawyer begins. “I kind of always suspected as much anyway.” And then he adds, somewhat provocatively, “Besides, it’s kind of a turn on.”
Jack turns at these words, and this time Sawyer kisses him first, capturing Jack’s mouth with his, his hands closing around Jack’s neck. Jack opens for him, allowing his tongue to plunge inside, and leans his head back, his hands going to Sawyer’s bare waist, gripping at the taut flesh there. He tastes like whiskey, marijuana, and Claire, and the combination makes Jack instantly hard. He brings one hand up, seizing a fistful of wet blonde locks, pulling Sawyer tighter, closer, and shoves his hips into him.
Claire stands, scrubbed clean, at the open doorway, wrapped in a white terrycloth bathrobe, watching the two men kiss. She could turn around, grab the key from where Jack left it on the bar, go back to their room alone and try to put the events of the night out of her mind, but when Jack grabs at Sawyer’s hair, she feels a sudden familiar ache and instead finds herself taking a few silent steps forward and closing the distance between them.
She reaches out, places a hand on Jack’s where it rests at Sawyer’s waist. At the sensation of her small fingers, Jack pulls himself from Sawyer’s lips. They both turn to her, and before they can verbalize any shock or embarrassment, Claire reaches for Jack’s face, pressing her lips to his in a slow sensual kiss, her tongue exploring the depths of his warm mouth, tasting Sawyer on his lips.
Sawyer stares in awe as brother and sister kiss, watches their tongues slipping past each others with definitive purpose and familiarity, like they’ve done it a thousand times before, and he knows they probably have, just not with him standing inches away. He knows he’s the only person they’ve allowed to see them like this, and his cock strains a little more tightly against his jeans at the thought.
Claire slips her hand between them, where their hips are still connected, and rubs her fingers up and down at the spot where their bulges meet. She nips at Jack’s bottom lip as she pulls back, and he sighs audibly as she squeezes the length of him through his trousers. “I want to see you,” she says breathlessly, “I want to see you together.”
Jack’s eyes snap open at her words, and he doesn’t have to ask to know that she’s serious, and only has to feel Sawyer’s slight nudge against him to know that he’s turned on by the idea as well. Jack looks at Claire, searches her blue eyes, and knows he can’t say no, even if he wanted to. He doesn’t speak, too afraid he’ll break the spell, and he nods, licking his lips. Claire pulls at his arm, leading him into the darkened room through the open doorway, and Sawyer follows without hesitation.
She pulls Jack in for a kiss as she crawls onto the bed, sitting up on her knees, Jack standing before her. “Take this off,” she demands, yanking at the hem of Jack’s dress shirt. Jack begins unbuttoning, and Claire turns her attention to Sawyer, who stands beside him, watching the exchange.
“Come here,” she says and inches back on the bed, making room for both him and Jack. Sawyer edges onto the bed on his knees and grabs Claire around the waist. He looks at her lips, puckered and red from kissing Jack, and licks his own.
“You sure about this, Mamacita? Ain’t no goin’ back,” he says before he traps her mouth in a hard, unforgiving kiss, crushing her lips and plunging his tongue into her mouth.
Jack slithers onto the bed beside them, wearing just his dress pants, and leans back against the headboard. He watches as Claire leans into the kiss, grabbing one of Sawyer’s large hands and bringing it inside the soft material of her robe, an answer to his previous question.
Sawyer thumbs over her hardened nipple, groans as his painfully hard cock strains against his still-wet jeans and Claire nibbles her way to his ear. “Do what he likes,” she whispers into his ear, her hot breath dancing across the skin of his neck.
Sawyer dips his head, attaching his lips to the sensitive flesh of her neck below her jaw, tonguing at the skin there and trailing a slick line down to her cleavage. She moans, grabs his head, and he looks up at her. “Whatever you say,” he smirks and turns toward Jack, leaving Claire to watch.
Sawyer lifts one knee up and over Jack, straddling him, and leans forward to kiss his mouth, soft and deliberate, not like the desperate kiss in the hall downstairs or the one out on the balcony. Claire wants a show, and he’s going to be damned if he isn’t going to give her exactly what she wants. The feel of her eyes on them and Jack’s hands at his abdomen makes him so horny he could shoot his load right there in his pants. But he’s determined to make this worth their while.
He leans up, and begins unbuttoning Jack’s pants, yanking the material down along with his underwear. Jack’s now-free cock is erect and curls up over his stomach, and Sawyer has to stop himself from taking it into his mouth immediately. He watches Claire’s reaction, as she bites her bottom lip and moves closer to them, scooting down beside Jack to get a better view and untying her robe. He can feel the anticipation rising off of the both of them, filling the room.
He’s in control.
Sawyer positions himself over Jack, leans down to place open-mouthed kisses on the soft flesh below his belly button, one slow hand wrapping firmly around Jack’s cock and the other gripping his thigh.
Jack sucks in a breath and throws his head back at the sensation, bucking his hips and thrusting into Sawyer’s hand. “Fuck,” he hisses.
Sawyer grins from his spot at Jack’s abdomen and dips his head, kisses trailing ever lower before taking Jack in completely, the hard flesh sliding easily into his wet, hot mouth. Jack whines and squirms in reflex, but the sound is muffled. Sawyer glances up as he brings his lips back to the head of Jack’s cock, and sees Claire with her tongue down his throat.
This wasn’t the idea, not really, but Claire can’t exactly help herself. She sucks on Jack’s tongue, mirroring Sawyer’s movements over his cock, and lowers one hand, smoothing it down her abdomen. Her robe falls open, revealing more of her naked body, and when she slips her fingers down to her clit, she’s already wet.
Sawyer uses both of his large hands to hold onto Jack’s hips as he licks up and down his length, teasing the head and then bringing his lips back to the base. He can tell Jack is getting close by the strangled sounds coming from the back of his throat, and – by her soft whimpers, her quick hand fingering herself – that Claire too is enjoying the display.
Sawyer pulls his mouth from Jack’s cock, and Jack’s hips instantly rise at the loss of contact. Sawyer turns his attention to Claire, moving his body over hers now. She leans up, taking Sawyer’s mouth in hers, and she can taste Jack’s pre-come on his lips.
Jack watches them kiss, watches Sawyer’s hand slide up her smooth abdomen and take hold of one of her breasts. She moans into Sawyer’s mouth, her legs falling open further and Jack is struck by an immediate urge to fuck her, to have her slick and tight around him, to make her come. He waits for them to part, as he kicks his slacks off the rest of the way and pulls himself back to his knees. Sawyer must sense what he is thinking, because he moves briskly out of the way, allowing Jack to position himself between Claire’s open legs as she slips completely out of the robe.
First, he kisses her, bracing himself above her, his hands pressed flat into the mattress on either side of her. “Oh, god. Jack. Fuck me,” she sighs.
“What?” he asks, and captures his mouth with hers again, his tongue skimming over the roof of her mouth lightly, tormenting her.
“Fuckmefuckme,” she repeats.
He smiles against her cheek and she gasps when she feels him reach down to guide himself into her, bringing the head of his cock to her clit, rubbing over her swollen bud as his lips travel over her neck. She leans her head back, waiting for the inevitable entry, enjoying the feel of pressure over her sensitive flesh, but when he continues to tease, she loses her patience. “Now, goddamnit,” she commands, her hands reaching up to grasp his buttocks.
Sawyer’s hand joins hers, and Jack is overcome with the feel of them working in harmony and he can’t quite control himself anymore. Using his hand, he guides his cock into her, slowly at first, and then thrusts in roughly, her firm, damp walls completely enveloping him. She moans.
Sawyer’s hand still on Jack’s ass, he squeezes the round flesh under his fingers, causing Jack to thrust once again inside of her in response. She gasps grabbing at Jack’s back and Sawyer watches Jack’s cock pumping in and out of his sister, hears the slapping of skin against skin, the quickening of their breathing, and feels his own cock aching to be free of his jeans and inside Jack.
Sawyer turns, opening the bedside drawer and pulls out a small tube of lubricant. He sets it aside as he pulls his jeans and boxers off, forgotten by them both for the time being, though he can’t really blame them. His erect cock, however, yearns to be remembered.
He positions himself behind Jack, splays his hand across his ass, spreading him wide. Jack moans, tensing when he feels Sawyer’s hot tongue on his puckered ass.
“Sawyer,” he moans, and goes very still, burying his face in Claire’s neck. She can see Sawyer over Jack’s shoulder and he makes eye contact with her, as though asking permission.
“Yes,” Claire pleads, “yes.” She holds onto Jack, a light sheen of sweat over the both of them, as Sawyer slips one wet finger, thick with saliva, inside of Jack, who tenses in Claire’s arms.
“Easy, Doc,” Sawyer coaxes, slipping in another finger, loosening him up even more. He feels the tension leaving Jack, and he’s finally able to pay attention to his own throbbing cock, slicking it up with a small amount of lube. Claire contracts her muscles around Jack involuntarily, anxious to have him moving inside of her again and a high, hitching sound escapes from his lips as she does.
Sawyer places the head of his cock at Jack’s entrance, spreading the lubricant around liberally. Jack lifts up in anticipation, pulling himself slightly from Claire and hovering over her. Sawyer, makes no show of this, and pushes inside, roughly and fully, causing Jack to thrust back into Claire again, who captures his lips in the motion, stifling her own moan.
Sawyer settles a moment, kissing the beads of sweat rolling down Jack’s back, nipping at his shoulder blade, before beginning his steady motion. Every time he thrusts into Jack, Jack thrusts into Claire. Each time he pulls himself from Jack, Claire can feel his absence, and the sensation of having Sawyer essentially fucking them both at the same time is almost more than she can handle.
Jack reaches around, grabbing at whatever of Sawyer’s flesh he can reach, and ends up bridging the small space between their thighs, his hand riding with the motion of Sawyer’s thrusts.
Claire moans below him, calling his name, her breathing, quick and fervent, telling him she’s close and he’s amazed he’s lasted this long, feeling the tightening sensation in his balls begin to rise. Sawyer’s thrusts behind him become shorter and more urgent, panting more fervently in Jack’s ear, whispering his name.
The sensation of being wedged between them both, sweaty and slick and ready to come, his name on their lips, brings Jack over the edge. He captures Claire’s lips in his, swallowing her mouth as he comes inside of her. His kiss stifles her cry when she comes, whimpering into his mouth and rocking her hips as the tremors move over her entire body. Sawyer shoves in one last time, and it’s enough to propel him to his own climax, collapsing against Jack’s back with a strangled cry, sticky fluid rushing out of him.
Sawyer rolls off them both and lies beside them, catching his breath. “Well, damn,” he sighs next to Claire as Jack rolls onto her other side, leaving her naked, exposed, and sated.
She reaches over to Sawyer, kisses his lips drunkenly, and curls into his arms, pulling Jack around her from behind. He kisses the back of her neck, and Sawyer reaches across them, stroking Jack’s hair, as their breathing slowly returns to normal, even if everything else just got very fucked up.
+
She finds him in the bathroom in the morning, freshly showered, a loose towel around his waist. The steam from the water hasn’t even cleared the room when she pushes the door open, not bothering to knock.
“Hey,” she says shyly.
“Hey there,” Sawyer says, pulling her against him, covering her mouth with his, his tongue seeking entrance. Suddenly her modesty seems entirely ridiculous to her, and she opens her mouth, tilting her head back and allowing him inside.
“I wanted to tell you,” she says when they part. “I wanted to say thank you.”
Sawyer’s face breaks into a proud grin. “You’re welcome,” he says, sounding very pleased with himself, and leans in to kiss her jaw.
“No,” Claire shakes her head, trying to ignore his hands pulling the fabric of her robe open at the neck, his tongue tracing kisses behind her ear, down to her jugular. “I mean, yes, very much,” she corrects, letting out a small sigh. “But no, that’s not what I’m thanking you for.”
She glances back into the room at Jack, still sleeping soundly in the bed, and shuts the door quietly before Sawyer hoists her onto the counter and his hands dip below cotton material, pulling open the loosely tied garment.
“What are you doing?” she asks him, trying unsuccessfully to sound stern.
“I’m giving you something to thank me for,” he answers, kneeling before her, pushing her legs apart, exposing her fully to him.
“What I meant to say was that I wanted to thank you for taking care of me last night,” she says, throwing her head back, those last few words never quite making it past her lips when he buries his face between her legs, tongue flicking out, connecting with her clit.
“Okay,” Sawyer agrees absently, pulling his mouth from her, “what’s the catch?”
Claire grabs his head holding him steady, “Just…” she moans, “just keep doing that.”
Sawyer grins, leans forward, and proceeds to fuck her with his mouth, tongue lapping at her hole, thumb encircling her clit, before he slides his other hand over her thigh and inserts two fingers gingerly into her. “Oh, god,” she keens, bucking her hips.
Sawyer pulls himself from her, and Claire groans in protest. “Wait,” she begs breathlessly as he stands.
“I wanted you so bad last night,” he growls into her ear, bringing her hand down to his length, still hidden behind his towel. She instantly rids him of the offending garment and wraps her fingers around his hard cock. He thrusts into her hand, and she slowly begins moving it up and down his length.
“Watching you, fucking the Doc, your brother,” he sighs as she continues to fist him, wrapping her legs tightly around him.
“Half,” she corrects.
“Whatever,” he groans, leans down to engulf her mouth, allows her to guide him into her, thrusting in sharply. She cries his name, wraps her arms around him tightly, clutching the back of his head.
“Come on,” she breathes, begging him to fuck her harder, and her urgency propels him forward. He sucks on her neck, thrusting in clumsily, surprised at how close he is already. He never comes this fast, not even with Jack, but now he finds himself struggling to hang on. He slips a hand between them, once again finding her clit with his thumb in order to bring her over with him.
“God, yes!” she cries, as their fucking sends her backward onto the deep vanity counter, knocking over toiletries and glasses in their wake. Sawyer struggles not to fall off the counter, but his pace never slows. Claire begins to contract around him in orgasm, her legs shuddering as she comes. He lets out a quiet groan, his hips bucking erratically against her when he comes, hot and sticky inside of her.
They lie like that for a while, a precarious balance on the countertop, him still buried deep inside of her, her head resting uncomfortably against the mirror.
“So,” Sawyer says finally, pulling himself from her and holding her steady as she manages to sit up. “The catch?”
“I want you to take care of him,” she says plainly, “after I’ve gone.”
Sawyer smiles, kisses her chastely as he pulls the robe back around to cover her. “Who, Jack?” he asks, echoing his words of last night in the shower.
“I worry,” she says, “I do. He doesn’t think I see how he tortures himself. But I do.”
“You think he’s actually gonna let me take care of him?” Sawyer asks, and like before in the shower, Claire’s eyes snap up, the truth hitting her hard.
“No,” she says, and the word feels like the inside of a jail cell, finite and boxed-in and so very, very grey. No escape. “No, I don’t.”
Fandom, Pairing: LOST, Jack/Claire/Sawyer
Rating, Warnings: NC-17, Graphic Sex, Slash, Incest
Summary: This time it’s Las Vegas, but nobody’s phones even ring. Prequel to Throwaways & Tourniquets.
Prompt: Stoned
Author's Notes: This is dedicated to
dayln03, without whom this fic would have never happened cause she forced me to write it. At gunpoint! I apologize for the length, but I think it'll be worth it. And thank you once again to the always-helpful kmousie. Nobody’s rewarded just for being alive. Cool air in the lungs and warm blood through the veins, like always – but most times there are no parades or television spots, no benefits or celebrity parties for such mundane biological facts. But like Baby Jessica down her well or those stranded soccer players turned cannibal, the survivors of Oceanic flight 815 are different in that regard.
They wake up every morning, just like every other poor son of a bitch on the planet, and somehow that’s special.
Those first days, cameras flash, but nobody calls them by name. They’re clumped together, known only as the survivors, and the scuffle dies down after a few months.
Still, every so often an invite will surface in the mail, the thick high-priced card stock an ironic reminder of their triumph over certain death. Each of them will phone the others in turn. “You going to this thing?” they’ll ask, and a not even a year later, the answer is almost always no.
This time it’s Las Vegas, but nobody’s phones even ring.
He doesn’t dress up, a sports jacket over a printed t-shirt and dark blue denim is all, arrives late, gets past security, and goes straight to the bar.
“Didn’t think you’d show,” Sawyer says when he finds Jack sucking on some pink pansy-ass watered-down cocktail in a dark corner, pulls him to an empty hallway, presses him against the wall. “Thought you were over this shit.”
Jack kisses him first, hard and clumsy, ‘cause it’s been a while, his hands going to Sawyer’s waist, hidden in the heat trapped between jacket and t-shirt. Sawyer grabs at Jack’s dark dress collar, thick fingers landing on his neck. Jack’s hands slide up the thin material of Sawyer’s t-shirt, traversing over taut, lean muscle. This is how it is between them now, wordlessness and desperate contact. They can hear approaching noises on the other side of the door, laughter and footsteps, and Jack pushes hard on Sawyer’s chest, separating them. The door swings open, and Claire follows a group of loud and drunken celebrities who barrel past them.
“Hey you,” Jack says, and his hand slips naturally into the hollow at the small of her back. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing a sleek black dress that makes her look taller than she really is. “Look who showed up,” he says to her as if it were the last thing he expected.
Claire smiles brightly and kisses Sawyer’s cheek, soft lips to rough stubble, pretends like she doesn’t know the truth. Sawyer kisses her back, pulls her into a hug, and does the same.
Poker is Jack’s game, and watching him clean house at the table now reminds Sawyer of another one, makeshift and piled high with mangoes. Back then, the stakes were so much higher. Now they seem too low. It makes him laugh – the memory of it, the push and pull dynamic between them, even then, all resistance and attraction.
Nothing’s changed.
Claire leans back into the bar, eyeing the game, eyeing something, and Sawyer makes his way over to her, weaving through the crowd. “Careful little sister, you keep staring at big brother like that and people might start to talk,” he drawls, brushing his arm against hers as he mirrors her pose against the counter.
“Let them talk,” she says plainly, her eyes never moving from Jack, not bothering to deny what Sawyer insinuates. It’s only half a confession, another hazy layer added to the unspoken understanding they’ve long kept. “I’m going back to Sydney, you know.”
The admission is abrupt, and she’s not sure why she tells him. Maybe she hopes he’ll take care of Jack, knows he’s going to need someone when she’s gone. Or maybe she just wants someone to tell her she can’t go. Sawyer always does that, says the things that need to be said. But when she flashes her blue eyes up to him this time, he doesn’t, just slings his long arm over her and pulls her close.
“Let’s get a drink,” he offers instead, turning around and calling for the bartender.
They can only take so much more of the noise, the crowds, the cling-clinging of the slot machines, the rehearsed small talk and mild recognitions of Hey don’t I know you? and Aren’t you that guy? That plane crash guy? before Sawyer leads them back to his suite.
Jack’s footsteps are heavy, not quite drunken, but Claire has proven to be a lightweight, and she leans on Sawyer as they make their way onto his oversized balcony. He disentangles himself from her as they step into the desert air and she stumbles. He steadies her, an arm around her waist, and helps her down into a cushioned deckchair. “Easy, sweetheart,” he says, glancing through the sliding door at Jack, who’s rummaging through the bar, “fresh air ought to do you some good.”
Claire smiles lazily at him, the corners of her pink mouth curling up slightly. “I miss the island,” she says absently, closing her eyes, and it catches Sawyer by surprise.
He stands, leans against the cool railing, glances down at her and then towards the sky. She can’t possibly mean what she’s just said, not truly. But in a way, he understands. Trapped inside with all those people, the booze and the blackjack and the pretense, air conditioning and carpeting, wallpaper and fancy desserts, he hadn’t allowed himself to really breathe until just now.
It’s still Las Vegas, and the lights from below are blinding, but he’s never the same as when he’s in the open air, lungs never quite full enough. Out here, he feels connected to the earth and with himself, a connection he never felt before the island.
As complicated as things were, they were also simple. A man needs to dig a hole; he builds a shovel – easy. And maybe that’s what Claire means – the simplicity of it, knowing up from down and appreciating all the shit they take for granted in the real world.
But he knows that’s not entirely it. It’s all of them together, leaning on each other, needing each other. They were never prepared for that separation, never expected how much it would fucking hurt to say goodbye.
“Nice room,” Jack calls, lifting a bottle and yanking Sawyer from his thoughts. “What are you drinking?”
“Whatever you are, Doc.”
It’s quiet as the night slips past, the kind of comfortable silence that can only be experienced between people who know each other very well, people who might have, say, spent several months together on a not-so-deserted island. The two men share a joint, passing it back and forth between them on the balcony. And each time Jack’s brown eyes meet Sawyer’s, big and soft around the edges from the combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and marijuana, Sawyer has to remind himself that Claire’s sitting right next to them, her hand on his thigh, the alcohol making her a bit more gregarious than he might have thought of her, and has to fight the urge to cross from his chair to Jack’s, take his mouth in his, and pull him back inside the bedroom.
She notices the shared glances between the two, the way their lips curl into shapes that spell sex. She shifts her weight and slips into Sawyer’s lap, positioning her body between him and Jack, blocking his view.
“Well, that was subtle,” he says to her, and his hands go immediately to her waist to stop her squirming.
She laughs, feeling him hard against her thigh, leans in to whisper into his ear, “I won’t tell if you won’t.” She brings her small hands to his stubble-covered jaw, presses her lips clumsily to his, and pushes her tongue inside. Sawyer can’t hide his surprise, a muffled, strangled sound coming from the back of his throat, but he kisses her back, hands sliding up the soft black dress and connecting with the open flesh between her shoulder blades.
Jack stares at them both, unsure of how to react, simultaneously feeling a tightening of his balls and a surge of red heat going to his ears, arousal and resentment as he watches his lovers forsake him for each other.
“Tell me something, Sawyer,” she says when she pulls out of the kiss, throaty and suggestive and loud enough for Jack to hear, “what’s it like to be fucked by my brother? Or is it the other way around?”
Before Sawyer even knows how to react, Jack is already standing, gripping her arm and twisting her up and out of his lap.
“We’re going,” he growls, and his fingers grip more tightly around her bicep than he means to, digging into the soft white flesh. “You’re drunk.”
“You’re hurting me,” she says through gritted teeth and tries to pull away.
“Whoa, Doc,” Sawyer stands then, his hand covering Jack’s on her arm. His muscles immediately relax under Sawyer’s touch, but he doesn’t move his grip. “Take it easy on the girl. She’s just had a few too many.”
Jack turns to him, lowers his voice, almost as if Claire isn’t standing right there, can’t hear what he’s saying. “She’s out of control. I’m taking her back to her room.”
“Our room, don’t you mean?” Claire says with a scoff. “And besides, it’s not like you’ll be getting any tonight. I can walk myself.” Claire pulls her arm out of Jack’s now loosened grip and disappears into the darkness of Sawyer’s suite. Jack stares, wide-eyed, at Sawyer, whose brows are knitted, mouth slightly hinged open, not sure what to say or whether or not there’s anything to say. It’s not as though he didn’t suspect, but confirmation is something else.
All thought is put to an end, however, when they hear an anguished cry coming from inside the room. They both react, hurrying inside to find Claire curled on the bed, knees pulled to her stomach, shoes kicked off.
“Claire,” Jack kneels beside her, his voice soft and even. He lays a gentle hand on her arm, the same one he had a stranglehold on just moments ago. He can see light pink marks on her skin there, left behind by his grip, and he cringes at the sight.
“I don’t have the key,” she whimpers and then steadily, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Alright, I’ll take her from here, Doc,” Sawyer pushes between them, and pulls Claire into his arms, one arm wrapped under her back and the other under her knees. She clings to him, practically swallowed by his large frame.
“Sawyer, what do you think you’re—?”
“No offense, Jack, but you’ve got shitty bedside manner,” Sawyer says plainly, before carrying Claire into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him.
“Put me down. I’m gonna throw up.” These are the first words that Claire manages to say to him when they get inside. The white light in the bathroom is sterile and far too bright, and Sawyer takes a few uneasy steps on the smooth tile as his eyes adjust.
“Let’s get you to the goddamn toilet first, shall we?” he says.
“Bedside manner,” she laughs, and then it’s too late.
“Son of a bitch,” Sawyer groans, she’s managed to cover both the front of her dress and his t-shirt. “Just what the fuck I wanted to do tonight,” he grumbles and changes course, padding toward the shower. Once he has her inside, he fumbles with the nozzle momentarily until the hard spray beats down, soaking them both.
Claire gasps, coughing up air as the frigid water hits her. “Can you stand?” he asks after a moment, and after she nods, lowers both of her bare feet to the shower floor, and holds onto her until she steadies herself. Once she’s found her footing, he lets go of her, and lifts his t-shirt, the wet cotton sticking to his skin as he struggles to pull it off, and drops it to the floor beside the tub where it lands with a smack.
“Feeling better?” he asks and Claire only nods. “It’s always better after you puke. Let’s get this off you,” he says, tugging at the material at her waist.
Claire narrows her eyes at him, suddenly feels the cold chill of the water down through her bones, enhanced by the sensation of his hot hands through wet fabric, her nipples hardening under the cool spray and his touch.
“Hell darlin’, you lost your right to modesty during that lap dance,” he jokes. And off her look, “Come, on, it ain’t that bad,” he says, his voice lowered, soothing now, barely audible over the sounds of the shower. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Claire lifts her arms and Sawyer yanks at the soaking garment rather clumsily, eventually managing to pull it over her head. He grins, those dimples flashing, when he notices she isn’t wearing a bra, her pert breasts in full view, tiny hardened nipples, aching to be licked. She doesn’t move to cover up, or chastise him for his smirk, for licking his lips, eyes traveling to her dark underwear and back to her tits. She only drops her hands to her side, and stares at him hard. Her boldness strikes him, and his face falls. He stares back, a wordless exchange between them. Her eyes, like Jack’s, are soft around the edges, and he suddenly feels the urge to kiss her again, but figures the taste wouldn’t be worth the trouble.
“Why hasn’t he asked me to stay?” she asks after a moment, drops her head, down, sucks in her bottom lip, starts to shiver. It’s at this moment that Sawyer realizes that none of this has been about him at all.
“Who, Jack?” Sawyer chuckles, places his hands on her shoulders, draws her to him, the water making their bodies slick against each other. “You know Jack,” he says. “Ain’t exactly Captain Forthcoming when it comes to talking about his feelings.”
She doesn’t respond, just lets Sawyer hold her, his skin warming hers as the temperature of the water coming from the shower head slowly begins to rise. “Anyway,” he continues, “Would you stay? I mean, if he asked?”
Claire looks up at these words, stares into his eyes, a realization coming over her as if she had never thought about what her answer might be to that question. “No,” she says, a revelation, but without an ounce of reservation, her blonde hair sticking to her face as she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t.”
“Well, there you go,” Sawyer says, dropping his hands and stepping out of the shower onto the wet tile. “There’s towels and robes and shit in here, toothpaste and all that. You can handle yourself?”
Claire only nods, her arms crossing in front of her with a sudden sense of indecency. He turns to leave, and she watches him walk to the door. “Sawyer,” she says when he grips the silver handle.
“Yeah?” He turns back to her.
“Thanks.”
“No problem, Mamacita.”
Sawyer finds Jack back out on the balcony, eyes scanning the city below, and he slips in behind him, pulling him against his chest. Jack leans back into the embrace, notes that Sawyer is wet and shirtless, doesn’t need to ask why. There are times when he’s convinced himself that he only allowed any of this to happen because they connect him to that place, because if he loses touch with it, he loses touch with himself. But standing with Sawyer now, it feels like more than that, and he knows the same is true with Claire.
“She okay?” Jack finally asks after a few minutes.
“Yeah,” Sawyer answers, “sobering up already.”
“It’s–,” Jack doesn’t know how to say this. He’s so used to saying nothing, pretending that it doesn’t exist. “It is what you think it is. It is what it is. But, it’s not. It’s more.”
“You don’t gotta explain nothing to me, Jack,” Sawyer begins. “I kind of always suspected as much anyway.” And then he adds, somewhat provocatively, “Besides, it’s kind of a turn on.”
Jack turns at these words, and this time Sawyer kisses him first, capturing Jack’s mouth with his, his hands closing around Jack’s neck. Jack opens for him, allowing his tongue to plunge inside, and leans his head back, his hands going to Sawyer’s bare waist, gripping at the taut flesh there. He tastes like whiskey, marijuana, and Claire, and the combination makes Jack instantly hard. He brings one hand up, seizing a fistful of wet blonde locks, pulling Sawyer tighter, closer, and shoves his hips into him.
Claire stands, scrubbed clean, at the open doorway, wrapped in a white terrycloth bathrobe, watching the two men kiss. She could turn around, grab the key from where Jack left it on the bar, go back to their room alone and try to put the events of the night out of her mind, but when Jack grabs at Sawyer’s hair, she feels a sudden familiar ache and instead finds herself taking a few silent steps forward and closing the distance between them.
She reaches out, places a hand on Jack’s where it rests at Sawyer’s waist. At the sensation of her small fingers, Jack pulls himself from Sawyer’s lips. They both turn to her, and before they can verbalize any shock or embarrassment, Claire reaches for Jack’s face, pressing her lips to his in a slow sensual kiss, her tongue exploring the depths of his warm mouth, tasting Sawyer on his lips.
Sawyer stares in awe as brother and sister kiss, watches their tongues slipping past each others with definitive purpose and familiarity, like they’ve done it a thousand times before, and he knows they probably have, just not with him standing inches away. He knows he’s the only person they’ve allowed to see them like this, and his cock strains a little more tightly against his jeans at the thought.
Claire slips her hand between them, where their hips are still connected, and rubs her fingers up and down at the spot where their bulges meet. She nips at Jack’s bottom lip as she pulls back, and he sighs audibly as she squeezes the length of him through his trousers. “I want to see you,” she says breathlessly, “I want to see you together.”
Jack’s eyes snap open at her words, and he doesn’t have to ask to know that she’s serious, and only has to feel Sawyer’s slight nudge against him to know that he’s turned on by the idea as well. Jack looks at Claire, searches her blue eyes, and knows he can’t say no, even if he wanted to. He doesn’t speak, too afraid he’ll break the spell, and he nods, licking his lips. Claire pulls at his arm, leading him into the darkened room through the open doorway, and Sawyer follows without hesitation.
She pulls Jack in for a kiss as she crawls onto the bed, sitting up on her knees, Jack standing before her. “Take this off,” she demands, yanking at the hem of Jack’s dress shirt. Jack begins unbuttoning, and Claire turns her attention to Sawyer, who stands beside him, watching the exchange.
“Come here,” she says and inches back on the bed, making room for both him and Jack. Sawyer edges onto the bed on his knees and grabs Claire around the waist. He looks at her lips, puckered and red from kissing Jack, and licks his own.
“You sure about this, Mamacita? Ain’t no goin’ back,” he says before he traps her mouth in a hard, unforgiving kiss, crushing her lips and plunging his tongue into her mouth.
Jack slithers onto the bed beside them, wearing just his dress pants, and leans back against the headboard. He watches as Claire leans into the kiss, grabbing one of Sawyer’s large hands and bringing it inside the soft material of her robe, an answer to his previous question.
Sawyer thumbs over her hardened nipple, groans as his painfully hard cock strains against his still-wet jeans and Claire nibbles her way to his ear. “Do what he likes,” she whispers into his ear, her hot breath dancing across the skin of his neck.
Sawyer dips his head, attaching his lips to the sensitive flesh of her neck below her jaw, tonguing at the skin there and trailing a slick line down to her cleavage. She moans, grabs his head, and he looks up at her. “Whatever you say,” he smirks and turns toward Jack, leaving Claire to watch.
Sawyer lifts one knee up and over Jack, straddling him, and leans forward to kiss his mouth, soft and deliberate, not like the desperate kiss in the hall downstairs or the one out on the balcony. Claire wants a show, and he’s going to be damned if he isn’t going to give her exactly what she wants. The feel of her eyes on them and Jack’s hands at his abdomen makes him so horny he could shoot his load right there in his pants. But he’s determined to make this worth their while.
He leans up, and begins unbuttoning Jack’s pants, yanking the material down along with his underwear. Jack’s now-free cock is erect and curls up over his stomach, and Sawyer has to stop himself from taking it into his mouth immediately. He watches Claire’s reaction, as she bites her bottom lip and moves closer to them, scooting down beside Jack to get a better view and untying her robe. He can feel the anticipation rising off of the both of them, filling the room.
He’s in control.
Sawyer positions himself over Jack, leans down to place open-mouthed kisses on the soft flesh below his belly button, one slow hand wrapping firmly around Jack’s cock and the other gripping his thigh.
Jack sucks in a breath and throws his head back at the sensation, bucking his hips and thrusting into Sawyer’s hand. “Fuck,” he hisses.
Sawyer grins from his spot at Jack’s abdomen and dips his head, kisses trailing ever lower before taking Jack in completely, the hard flesh sliding easily into his wet, hot mouth. Jack whines and squirms in reflex, but the sound is muffled. Sawyer glances up as he brings his lips back to the head of Jack’s cock, and sees Claire with her tongue down his throat.
This wasn’t the idea, not really, but Claire can’t exactly help herself. She sucks on Jack’s tongue, mirroring Sawyer’s movements over his cock, and lowers one hand, smoothing it down her abdomen. Her robe falls open, revealing more of her naked body, and when she slips her fingers down to her clit, she’s already wet.
Sawyer uses both of his large hands to hold onto Jack’s hips as he licks up and down his length, teasing the head and then bringing his lips back to the base. He can tell Jack is getting close by the strangled sounds coming from the back of his throat, and – by her soft whimpers, her quick hand fingering herself – that Claire too is enjoying the display.
Sawyer pulls his mouth from Jack’s cock, and Jack’s hips instantly rise at the loss of contact. Sawyer turns his attention to Claire, moving his body over hers now. She leans up, taking Sawyer’s mouth in hers, and she can taste Jack’s pre-come on his lips.
Jack watches them kiss, watches Sawyer’s hand slide up her smooth abdomen and take hold of one of her breasts. She moans into Sawyer’s mouth, her legs falling open further and Jack is struck by an immediate urge to fuck her, to have her slick and tight around him, to make her come. He waits for them to part, as he kicks his slacks off the rest of the way and pulls himself back to his knees. Sawyer must sense what he is thinking, because he moves briskly out of the way, allowing Jack to position himself between Claire’s open legs as she slips completely out of the robe.
First, he kisses her, bracing himself above her, his hands pressed flat into the mattress on either side of her. “Oh, god. Jack. Fuck me,” she sighs.
“What?” he asks, and captures his mouth with hers again, his tongue skimming over the roof of her mouth lightly, tormenting her.
“Fuckmefuckme,” she repeats.
He smiles against her cheek and she gasps when she feels him reach down to guide himself into her, bringing the head of his cock to her clit, rubbing over her swollen bud as his lips travel over her neck. She leans her head back, waiting for the inevitable entry, enjoying the feel of pressure over her sensitive flesh, but when he continues to tease, she loses her patience. “Now, goddamnit,” she commands, her hands reaching up to grasp his buttocks.
Sawyer’s hand joins hers, and Jack is overcome with the feel of them working in harmony and he can’t quite control himself anymore. Using his hand, he guides his cock into her, slowly at first, and then thrusts in roughly, her firm, damp walls completely enveloping him. She moans.
Sawyer’s hand still on Jack’s ass, he squeezes the round flesh under his fingers, causing Jack to thrust once again inside of her in response. She gasps grabbing at Jack’s back and Sawyer watches Jack’s cock pumping in and out of his sister, hears the slapping of skin against skin, the quickening of their breathing, and feels his own cock aching to be free of his jeans and inside Jack.
Sawyer turns, opening the bedside drawer and pulls out a small tube of lubricant. He sets it aside as he pulls his jeans and boxers off, forgotten by them both for the time being, though he can’t really blame them. His erect cock, however, yearns to be remembered.
He positions himself behind Jack, splays his hand across his ass, spreading him wide. Jack moans, tensing when he feels Sawyer’s hot tongue on his puckered ass.
“Sawyer,” he moans, and goes very still, burying his face in Claire’s neck. She can see Sawyer over Jack’s shoulder and he makes eye contact with her, as though asking permission.
“Yes,” Claire pleads, “yes.” She holds onto Jack, a light sheen of sweat over the both of them, as Sawyer slips one wet finger, thick with saliva, inside of Jack, who tenses in Claire’s arms.
“Easy, Doc,” Sawyer coaxes, slipping in another finger, loosening him up even more. He feels the tension leaving Jack, and he’s finally able to pay attention to his own throbbing cock, slicking it up with a small amount of lube. Claire contracts her muscles around Jack involuntarily, anxious to have him moving inside of her again and a high, hitching sound escapes from his lips as she does.
Sawyer places the head of his cock at Jack’s entrance, spreading the lubricant around liberally. Jack lifts up in anticipation, pulling himself slightly from Claire and hovering over her. Sawyer, makes no show of this, and pushes inside, roughly and fully, causing Jack to thrust back into Claire again, who captures his lips in the motion, stifling her own moan.
Sawyer settles a moment, kissing the beads of sweat rolling down Jack’s back, nipping at his shoulder blade, before beginning his steady motion. Every time he thrusts into Jack, Jack thrusts into Claire. Each time he pulls himself from Jack, Claire can feel his absence, and the sensation of having Sawyer essentially fucking them both at the same time is almost more than she can handle.
Jack reaches around, grabbing at whatever of Sawyer’s flesh he can reach, and ends up bridging the small space between their thighs, his hand riding with the motion of Sawyer’s thrusts.
Claire moans below him, calling his name, her breathing, quick and fervent, telling him she’s close and he’s amazed he’s lasted this long, feeling the tightening sensation in his balls begin to rise. Sawyer’s thrusts behind him become shorter and more urgent, panting more fervently in Jack’s ear, whispering his name.
The sensation of being wedged between them both, sweaty and slick and ready to come, his name on their lips, brings Jack over the edge. He captures Claire’s lips in his, swallowing her mouth as he comes inside of her. His kiss stifles her cry when she comes, whimpering into his mouth and rocking her hips as the tremors move over her entire body. Sawyer shoves in one last time, and it’s enough to propel him to his own climax, collapsing against Jack’s back with a strangled cry, sticky fluid rushing out of him.
Sawyer rolls off them both and lies beside them, catching his breath. “Well, damn,” he sighs next to Claire as Jack rolls onto her other side, leaving her naked, exposed, and sated.
She reaches over to Sawyer, kisses his lips drunkenly, and curls into his arms, pulling Jack around her from behind. He kisses the back of her neck, and Sawyer reaches across them, stroking Jack’s hair, as their breathing slowly returns to normal, even if everything else just got very fucked up.
She finds him in the bathroom in the morning, freshly showered, a loose towel around his waist. The steam from the water hasn’t even cleared the room when she pushes the door open, not bothering to knock.
“Hey,” she says shyly.
“Hey there,” Sawyer says, pulling her against him, covering her mouth with his, his tongue seeking entrance. Suddenly her modesty seems entirely ridiculous to her, and she opens her mouth, tilting her head back and allowing him inside.
“I wanted to tell you,” she says when they part. “I wanted to say thank you.”
Sawyer’s face breaks into a proud grin. “You’re welcome,” he says, sounding very pleased with himself, and leans in to kiss her jaw.
“No,” Claire shakes her head, trying to ignore his hands pulling the fabric of her robe open at the neck, his tongue tracing kisses behind her ear, down to her jugular. “I mean, yes, very much,” she corrects, letting out a small sigh. “But no, that’s not what I’m thanking you for.”
She glances back into the room at Jack, still sleeping soundly in the bed, and shuts the door quietly before Sawyer hoists her onto the counter and his hands dip below cotton material, pulling open the loosely tied garment.
“What are you doing?” she asks him, trying unsuccessfully to sound stern.
“I’m giving you something to thank me for,” he answers, kneeling before her, pushing her legs apart, exposing her fully to him.
“What I meant to say was that I wanted to thank you for taking care of me last night,” she says, throwing her head back, those last few words never quite making it past her lips when he buries his face between her legs, tongue flicking out, connecting with her clit.
“Okay,” Sawyer agrees absently, pulling his mouth from her, “what’s the catch?”
Claire grabs his head holding him steady, “Just…” she moans, “just keep doing that.”
Sawyer grins, leans forward, and proceeds to fuck her with his mouth, tongue lapping at her hole, thumb encircling her clit, before he slides his other hand over her thigh and inserts two fingers gingerly into her. “Oh, god,” she keens, bucking her hips.
Sawyer pulls himself from her, and Claire groans in protest. “Wait,” she begs breathlessly as he stands.
“I wanted you so bad last night,” he growls into her ear, bringing her hand down to his length, still hidden behind his towel. She instantly rids him of the offending garment and wraps her fingers around his hard cock. He thrusts into her hand, and she slowly begins moving it up and down his length.
“Watching you, fucking the Doc, your brother,” he sighs as she continues to fist him, wrapping her legs tightly around him.
“Half,” she corrects.
“Whatever,” he groans, leans down to engulf her mouth, allows her to guide him into her, thrusting in sharply. She cries his name, wraps her arms around him tightly, clutching the back of his head.
“Come on,” she breathes, begging him to fuck her harder, and her urgency propels him forward. He sucks on her neck, thrusting in clumsily, surprised at how close he is already. He never comes this fast, not even with Jack, but now he finds himself struggling to hang on. He slips a hand between them, once again finding her clit with his thumb in order to bring her over with him.
“God, yes!” she cries, as their fucking sends her backward onto the deep vanity counter, knocking over toiletries and glasses in their wake. Sawyer struggles not to fall off the counter, but his pace never slows. Claire begins to contract around him in orgasm, her legs shuddering as she comes. He lets out a quiet groan, his hips bucking erratically against her when he comes, hot and sticky inside of her.
They lie like that for a while, a precarious balance on the countertop, him still buried deep inside of her, her head resting uncomfortably against the mirror.
“So,” Sawyer says finally, pulling himself from her and holding her steady as she manages to sit up. “The catch?”
“I want you to take care of him,” she says plainly, “after I’ve gone.”
Sawyer smiles, kisses her chastely as he pulls the robe back around to cover her. “Who, Jack?” he asks, echoing his words of last night in the shower.
“I worry,” she says, “I do. He doesn’t think I see how he tortures himself. But I do.”
“You think he’s actually gonna let me take care of him?” Sawyer asks, and like before in the shower, Claire’s eyes snap up, the truth hitting her hard.
“No,” she says, and the word feels like the inside of a jail cell, finite and boxed-in and so very, very grey. No escape. “No, I don’t.”
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Date: 2010-05-28 02:52 am (UTC)