Chapter Text
Sawyer sat in his tent, legs sprawled, staring, still holding one of the sharpened bamboo shafts Sayid had tossed onto his lap.
He didn't know what to do.
It was an unusual---and uncomfortable---feeling.
Since he'd taken the name Sawyer, he'd always had a plan, an agenda. And yeah, opening a can of whup-ass on that sadistic Iraqi/psycho/bastard had definitely been at the top of the list.
But before he got a chance, Captain Falafel had done a rabbit and bolted from the camp.
Leaving Sawyer stuck with a shitload of smug self-righteous victimhood and nowhere to unload it. Fuck knew the doc wasn't batting an eye over Sawyer almost losing one. Jackshit probably figured saving Sawyer's sorry hide settled things between them.
And for once Sawyer didn't push. Hell, he didn't even bother poking at the doc's XXXL-size ego anymore---it wasn't worth it.
He snorted to himself. Yeah, there was just no fun in crossing verbal swords with a guy whose weapon was about as sharp as a salami.
So Sawyer spent his time filching stuff, teasing Freckles, annoying his fellow castaways---and tending Sayid's signal fire.
He didn't even know why he did it. Of course, he was a self-serving jerk, not an idiot, so he wasn't about to let their best chance of rescue die out just 'cause Soldier Boy went off in a sulk.
But he could have manipulated somebody else into doing it without breaking a sweat. There were plenty of people still on the beach who could've chopped and hauled the wood and saved Sawyer the trouble.
But instead he'd done it himself. And if he were really honest, when he would stare up the beach, it wasn't Freckles he was hoping to see.
Then Sayid came back.
Once that creepy kid had given him the 411, Sawyer had left skid marks on the jungle floor dashing to the mouth of the cave Sayid was resting in. He'd had to forcibly stop himself at the entrance, loosening shoulders, setting hips and legs to an easy stroll and his smirk to its snarkiest.
Still, he'd almost frozen at the first step inside. Hiding the shock he'd felt at how...diminished Sayid seemed. If someone didn't look too closely, Sayid probably just seemed tired. But Sawyer knew better.
He'd watched Sayid from the start, on the plane. Partly from automatic suspicion---anybody who claimed they didn't keep a wary eye on Arabs traveling in airplanes was either a liar or a fool. But also for the simple reason that the man was beautiful to watch.
Solid and muscled, even at rest there'd been a coiled energy about the black-haired stranger in the last row, an awareness. Like a cheetah about to strike, fast and deadly.
But in the shadows of the cave, Sayid's demeanor was no longer defined by wariness, but a weariness that went deeper than flesh and bone. In their short conversation, Sawyer realized his former sparring partner was missing his spark, his temper, his fire. Even the desert-dry sense of humor had been lost somewhere in the jungle of mystery.
Even Sawyer's threat of retribution hadn't been enough to jar the Iraqi out of his stupor. Sawyer had the uneasy feeling he could've beat the living shit out of Sayid at that moment and the man wouldn't have bothered to raise an eyebrow, much less a defense.
Yet more unsettling was the fact that Sawyer was unsettled by Sayid's uncharacteristic docility. He didn't like to think about why it---why *Sayid*---mattered to him. He was *not* interested in the stiff-necked, hard-assed prick. Not. Interested. At. All.
Sawyer had strict rules about that sort of thing. Always had. He fucked women for business, men for pleasure. Because despite the redneck/he-man/no-faggots-allowed posturing of the good ol' boys below the Mason-Dixon, Sawyer had discovered that more than a few fine fellas whistled quite a different tune behind closed doors.
But while he had a definite preference for hard angles over soft curves, Sawyer was always careful to choose companions who were disease-free, discreet, and easily dumped.
And, yeah, maybe once in a while he'd lay awake in the middle of the night wondering what would happen when he grew too old to attract the boy toys and the fuck buddies. The ones who didn't want anything more than a hot, sweaty roll in the sheets with the closest thing they'd ever see to the Sundance Kid.
But that was no reason to go all soft in the head mooning after some Omar Sharif wannabe. Especially since he knew that while Sayid was probably disease-free and very discreet, Sawyer suspected that the Iraqi would be impossible to dump. And not just because Sayid was one stubborn SOB.
So the smart thing to do (and Sawyer always did the smart thing, well nearly always) was to go back to sniffing around Freckles. A gal with a heart as hard as her hot bod.
And just not think about how or why Aladdin's lamp had gone out.
*That* plan had lasted all of four days. Sawyer had kept his trips to CaveTown as short as possible. If he would catch a glimpse of Sayid limping around the camp out of the corner of his eye, well, that was just coincidence.
And then Sayid had gone and shot everything to hell.
Sawyer'd been a bit surprised when Sayid entered his tent without permission, but recovered fast enough to drawl, "And now just what can I do for you this fine afternoon, Omar?"
He'd smirked when he saw the other man's lips tighten, but otherwise Sayid showed no reaction. "As I told you, Sawyer, I had no intention of returning. But since I have, I must address my...crime. The only way to remove my dishonor...to recompense...you are owed..." He made a sound of frustration and flung down some very familiar-looking pieces of bamboo.
It took a moment for Sawyer's brain to kick back into gear, but only a moment. "What, so you're giving me official permission to give you a ride on the pain train?" Sawyer's eyes narrowed. "Do I get to knock you upside the head first, too?"
"If you wish." Sayid's words were bitten off, but Sawyer sensed uneasiness in the nervous shifting of the man before him.
"Sort of like the old 'eye for an eye', right?" Sawyer picked up a shaft, idly running the tip along the edge of one bruised nail. He held Sayid's gaze, suddenly serious. "Would you have done it? Gone and made me a cyclops just to get Malibu Barbie's meds?"
Brown eyes dropped, dark brows drew together. Then Sayid lifted his head to answer, and Sawyer could see uncertainty writ plain on his face. "I don't know."
"Fair enough." Sawyer gestured grandly, waving the bamboo like a scepter. "I guess this calls for a bit of privacy. A little afternoon rendezvous. I bet you can guess the perfect spot."
Sayid grimaced, turned, and left. Sawyer had been sitting here ever since, trying to decide what to do. He deserved his chance to even the score, but somehow he'd lost control of this tricky/sticky situation, assuming he'd ever had it. It seemed like he was being forced into a corner, and Sawyer *hated* feeling trapped. Still, if Hammurabi wasn't going to be happy until Sawyer had gotten some satisfaction, who was he to argue?
Finally he muttered, "Fuck it," shoved the bamboo into his backpack and headed out.
It was time to stop thinking and get him some payback.
***************
Sayid sat with his back against the 'torture tree', knees drawn up, wrists dangling. He stared at his fingertips, wondering if this would hurt more than Danielle's application of electroshock. His body instinctively tightened at the memory in some vain attempt to protect itself.
A muttered expletive crossed his lips as he deliberately unclenched his fingers, shuddering at the quick rush of adrenaline. He pressed his head back, breathing deeply and evenly, calming himself.
This wouldn't be like that encounter. Because *this* torture was deserved.
He had never actually been on the receiving end of an interrogator's talents before the island. The Republican Guard leaders were canny enough to realize that most men required a great effort of will to cold-bloodedly hurt another. Any possibility of empathy---especially the connection of shared experience---was to be avoided at all costs.
That was also why Sayid was never told what happened to the people he worked on. Worked over, more precisely. He did his part and departed, leaving someone else to clean up the mess. Which was how he always had to think of it. If he pictured the wounds he inflicted being bandaged up, healed, it horribly brought home to him what his purpose in life was. What he was.
Not that he had had any choice in the matter. Saddam Hussein ruled with an iron fist. Even his most trusted lieutenants lived in fear of their lives, of the safety of their loved ones. How much more tenuous was the standing of a nondescript soldier who showed signs of squeamishness when performing his master's bloody work?
Sayid had often wished he could simply turn off his emotions, shut out the screams. To become a good soldier, one who never doubted, who never questioned orders.
But it had never worked. He always remembered. Saw the faces in his dreams, heard the deceptively gentle sounds of flesh striking flesh, the screams and pleas for mercy.
He still did.
That was why he was giving Sawyer this chance for redress. Because as horrible the ghosts of the past were to live with, Sayid knew as a member of the Guard he had had no choice. Although the threat had never been overt, the lives of his family had depended on his obedience.
But Sawyer...that had been not only Sayid's hand, but also his own free will. His choice, even his suggestion, to taint the island with barbaric methods of "persuasion".
And he couldn't live with the guilt.
He had tried to outrun it, by leaving the camp. Hoping against hope that if he did not have to look Sawyer in the eye every day, that he could forget the blood welling from Sawyer's hands.
The blood on Sayid's hands. All the more damning because Sayid had been driven by more than the need to get the asthma medicine.
What he had been doing, though he had refused to admit it to himself at the time, was punishing Sawyer for stirring Sayid's desires.
Sayid dropped his head forward, pressing his forehead to his knees, trying to push away the secret, and all the pain it had wrought.
Since the first moment they clashed, he had been intensely aware of Sawyer as a man. The obnoxious American had somehow imprinted himself on Sayid's imagination, on the very fiber of his being.
The blond was brash and aggressive, hard-boiled and sharp-edged. And yet...Sayid could not help being reminded of his homeland. Sawyer's eyes shifted from the blue of desert skies to the green of oasis waters, his skin evoked the bronze of the sand, and his hair the shade of the pitiless sun.
Dangerous, as the desert, always lying in wait to snare the unwary. But compelling all the same. Even beautiful, in the sleek slide of muscle over bone, in the impenetrable air of confidence, the boast of dimple-flashing cockiness.
Sayid had been at a loss, unable to shake thoughts of the annoying yet attractive enigma. And unable to come to terms with the way he had lost control, almost becoming his worst nightmare. A torturer without pity or restraint.
At least he still felt remorse. In a way, it comforted him, that he was still feeling so awful about what he had done.
But he also could not shake the need to flee, to hide his face away from his fellow survivors. To slink away in shame.
Ironically, Danielle had shown him the solution. For all his fear and pain at her hands, he had also felt freed in a way. As if, as Sawyer had put it, the cosmos itself was paying Sayid back for all the wrongs he had done his countrymen and women as a soldier of Saddam Hussein.
So when he felt strong enough, he had gathered his courage and offered Sawyer the chance to claim his revenge.
And, in so doing, allow Sayid to reclaim some small measure of peace.
***************
Sawyer stopped at Sayid's feet and dropped his pack. He hunkered down and rummaged a moment, watching his soon-to-be victim out of the corner of his eye. "You sure that conk on the head you got on your little trip didn't scramble your brains? 'Cause this is about the most fucked-up thing I ever heard of, outside a BDSM club." He smirked. "I'd have pegged the doc as the one signing up for sessions with Donna Dominatrix."
He caught a quick quirk of full lips as Sayid snorted. "I am sure Jack will be glad to hear you have been thinking about him." Then the other man's expression smoothed out, dark eyes somber. "I assure you, I am in full possession of all of my faculties."
Sayid fell silent and swallowed nervously, watching Sawyer's fingers---some still stained with blood blisters---emerge from the bag clutching several lengths of bamboo.
Sawyer swiveled, reached out and lifted one of Sayid's hands, meeting no resistance. He stared at it---elegant, rather delicate for a man, with clever, sensitive fingers.
And a circlet of fading bruises around the wrist.
Sawyer's jaw tightened. He knew Sayid had been captured by the Frenchwoman, but Sayid had been pretty tight-lipped about the experience.
A sneaking suspicion and a sinking feeling in his stomach convinced Sawyer that this wouldn't be the first time Sayid had been tortured on the island.
He dropped the other man's hand, suddenly loath to do any more damage. He glanced away, and his gaze landed on something else in the bag. A small bottle of hand lotion.
A wicked idea popped into his head. Of what he *really* wanted to do to Sayid. If nothing else, the suggestion should shake things up---and maybe even shock some life back into his sadsack companion.
"You know, Ali, I don't think I *can* give you the bamboo manicure you were hoping for. I don't wanna let you off the hook that easy." Sawyer settled back on his heels.
"Then what, exactly, do you have in mind?" Sayid instinctively shifted into a crouch. He did not even know why he was getting into position to strike. It was not as though he was going to spring on Sawyer. He doubted he could ever hurt the man again, even in self-defense.
"Well, it involves sticking, if no actual sticks." Sawyer grinned, anticipating the reaction to his bombshell. "I thought I'd stick my cock in your pretty mouth, and then up your tight ass."
Sayid blinked, terror and glee a heady rush in his veins. Sawyer wanted to---with him? He certainly had not imagined this turn of events. He had thought Sawyer fit the Ugly American stereotype to a T. Complete with rampant---and ofttimes rabid---homophobia. Apparently not.
He was unsure how to feel about Sawyer's challenge. His own sexual encounters had been few and far between, and always with members of the opposite sex. The religion he had grown up with, though less rigid than some sects, had still viewed relations between men as abomination. And even after he had left those beliefs behind with every other part of his former life, he had never brought himself to break that ingrained taboo.
Which was part of the reason he had had such a problem with Sawyer in the first place. Sayid sighed, appreciating the irony. He did not think it wise to experience his first homosexual encounter as a punishment at the hands of an almost-enemy, but so be it. If this was the price to ease his conscience, he would pay it.
Suddenly the humor of the situation broke through the complicated melange of Sayid's emotions. He slanted a look at Sawyer. "Aren't my people supposed to be the ones rewarded with virgins?"
Sawyer fell back on his ass with a startled guffaw. He was absurdly pleased at the glimmer of humor in the dark eyes across from him. And he decided to just ignore the way his cock leapt to life at the idea of being Sayid's first man. "Well, who can blame me for horning in on the action." He shrugged. "if they got virgins who look like you?" Whoops, he hadn't *actually* meant to say that.
Sayid relaxed a little at the indication that Sawyer may be less indifferent than he appeared. "If I agree, will this satisfy the debt between us?"
"Satisfy? I certainly hope so," Sawyer drawled, regaining a bit of his own confidence at Sayid's embarrassed flush. Sawyer's stomach was doing flip-flops and his brain was chattering about how this was really *not* a good idea, that he would be smart to walk away now, right now, right this second before he got in too deep.
And *that* thought just made his cock press against his suddenly way-too-tight jeans and his brain shut down entirely, but not without one final warning to stay in control. Or else.
Sawyer decided not to think about the answer to "Or else what?". Instead, he pulled the inspirational bottle of lotion from his bag and stood with a lazy stretch, strolled a few paces and leaned against another tree. "OK, let's get this show on the road."
***************
Sayid was taken aback when Sawyer started stripping, as casually as if the American were alone in a private hotel room, not in a jungle grove under the surprised gaze of a near-stranger.
He thought Sawyer certainly had nothing to be ashamed of. The blond's torso was solid, fit, tanned, with a sprinkling of darker-gold curls. Like the people Sayid used to see on shows like "Baywatch" or "Miami Vice" on contraband TV stations when he was still in Iraq. The epitome of the American male. And, Sayid was willing to admit to himself this once, a very attractive package indeed.
Sawyer had tossed aside his shirt and shoes and was pushing off his jeans when he realized Sayid was still just sitting there. Staring at him with those wide eyes, so deep and dark and liquid you could probably drown in them before you ever hit bottom.
Sawyer hastily broke eye contact and called, "Did you want me to whistle a tune for you to strip-tease to?" At the other man's startled jerk, he continued, "Get the clothes off, sunshine, I want to see what I'm getting here."
He figured Sayid was a little irritated, from the less-than-graceful way the Iraqi leapt to his feet and whipped the gray tank over his head. Sawyer's lips pursed in a silent wolf whistle as Sayid kicked off his sandals and quickly shucked the remainder of his clothing.
The Iraqi's body was leaner than he expected. Definitely a cheetah. No layabout lions or bulky tigers here. Sayid's arms were a good indicator of the rest of him: sinewy strength under supple bronze skin that glowed against the jungle green backdrop. Dusting of black curls adding just the right amount of texture.
Hands conveniently placed to cover what had looked to be a very nice dusky cock.
Sawyer almost grinned at the determined set to the black-bearded jaw as Sayid marched over to where Sawyer leaned. With a glance too quick for Sawyer to read, Sayid knelt. Then Sawyer felt tentative lips encircle the head of his cock. Sawyer gasped and moved his hands to the tree behind him. Those glossy black ringlets were just a bit too tempting for handholds.
Sayid found the scent...interesting. Definitely different from a woman, but also not exactly like his own musk. And it almost seemed as though he was taking of Sawyer, rather than giving to him. It offered him a small feeling of control amid the uncertainty.
Sayid set his lips around the tip once more, tongue flicking out to taste the clear fluid starting to seep from the slit. It was all very strange, yet familiar somehow. He sucked in a little more of the shaft and raised his hands to explore. The wiry thatch of Sawyer's pubic hair, the crepe-skinned sac, the hips that seemed to be a perfect fit for his own hands. He was actually enjoying the sense of connection, the pulse-beat of the vein against his bottom lip, the brush of the glans against his palate. He closed his mouth slightly. He had always wondered what it would feel like if during oral sex someone would...
"Holy *Fuck*!" Sawyer gasped and buried his hands in Sayid's hair, grabbing two fistfuls and shoving his cock further into its newfound haven. Teeth were *not* supposed to feel that good. And the brush of a beard against his balls made him want to hump Sayid's face even more than he was. So OK, the tongue work was more than a little clumsy, but sweet Jesus...talk about natural talent. Sawyer'd probably had better, but never without it costing at least a Benjamin.
And he couldn't help thinking that for somebody from a country that probably chopped queers' balls off, the guy could really suck cock.
Sawyer glanced down as he grunted and came, watching Sayid's nostrils flare as the other man tried to breathe around the spurting shaft blocking his mouth and throat. Sawyer was ready to pull out if the guy started gagging, but instead he felt the muscles encasing his cock move with Sayid's instinctive swallow. Only when his cock got too sensitive to be touched did he finally remember to unclench his fingers and slide back.
Sayid fell back on his heels, gratefully gasping air into his oxygen-starved lungs. His tongue flicked out, wiping the salt-bitter residue of cum from his lips. He supposed that in some sense, he had absorbed Sawyer's essence. He snickered to himself, wondering if he should watch for signs of incipient sarcasm and the tendency to hoard things that did not necessarily belong to him.
But all in all, he had actually, well, not minded pleasuring the other man. He was even surprised to note, from his own half-hard shaft, that it had been arousing on some level. Although whether that was simply from his first real exposure to another man, or to Sawyer specifically, he could not say.
Several minutes passed. The silence grew awkward between them, but neither man broke it. Sayid couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound foolish in his own head, and he had no idea what was going through Sawyer's mind. He looked at the trees, the ground, anything but the man across from him.
When Sawyer eventually asked, "Ready to prep for Round Two?", Sayid felt his heart skip, then begin to thump. True, he was already naked in the jungle with a man he neither liked nor trusted, yet was strangely drawn to. But that simple fact, and what had already passed between them, had been easy compared to what lay ahead.
Truly uncharted territory. At least for Sayid. Still, this was what he had agreed to. Unsurprisingly, he felt his arousal wilt under the increasing load of uncertainty. "All right."
***************
Sawyer felt an odd internal lurch at the quickly hidden unease in Sayid's eyes. He shrugged it off. The way he figured it, the blowjob only covered the bamboo underneath his fingernails. He was still owed something for the knife in his arm. The terror of the moment when his life hung in the balance shuddered through him once more. Hardening his resolve, and as an unexpected bonus, giving an adrenaline kick that went straight to his recovering cock. "Hands and knees, Sunshine," he drawled, sliding his back down the tree so he could kneel and pick up the bottle of lotion.
Sayid could not seem to stop shivering as he moved into position. He felt way too exposed. Vulnerable, unable to gauge the other man's expression or see what he was going to do.
He had often used the tactic himself: Standing behind his victims, racheting up their terror. How many times had someone jumped when he laid the lightest of hands on their shoulders, or merely leaned in to whisper in their ears?
For a moment his body tensed, ready to spring up and---what? Flee? Turn and attack Sawyer? What good would it do? In the end, they would return to this same moment.
This was the price Sayid had agreed to. He was not going to compound his dishonor by breaking his word.
Breathing slowly and deeply, he relaxed once more, shuffling his knees to spread his legs wider. Waiting for whatever came next.
Sawyer had watched the muscles ripple under the smooth skin of Sayid's back, clear preparation for fight or flight. He just waited---he wasn't all that sure Sayid wouldn't bolt, naked as a jaybird or not.
He couldn't help the fierce surge of satisfaction when Sayid shifted, bronze thighs parting. He silently opened the bottle of lotion, slicking his cock first, lazily stroking the stiffening length as he admired the Iraqi's back view. Then he coated one finger with lotion and trailed it teasingly down the cleft between muscular bronze cheeks.
Sayid lurched; he couldn't help it. No one had ever touched him there, and his first instinct was to move away from the intrusion into his space, the invasion of his privacy. Then a hand clamped tight on his hip, holding him in place. "Easy," he heard Sawyer murmur somewhere behind him. He acquiesced, held as still as he could, but easy it certainly was not.
Sawyer loosened his grip on Sayid's hip, frowning a little at the way the mark of his possession lingered a moment, white against bronze. He hadn't meant to grab Sayid hard enough to bruise. He unconsciously returned his hand to the same spot, stroking a silent apology, feeling the uncontrollable shivers running through Sayid's frame.
The jungle around them seemed strangely silent as he slid further into the vee of Sayid's legs, their thighs brushing. He bent to his task once more, his fingertip breaching the tight ring. He then moved quickly, spreading as much lube as he could. He leaned against Sayid as he slicked up again---whether he was keeping the skin-to-skin connection for Sayid's sake or his own he didn't know.
Sayid's head dropped forward as he felt Sawyer's fingers enter him once more. It was bizarre, to have another person touching the inside of his body. The sting faded eventually, but Sayid honestly could not figure out why anyone would find this activity particularly stimulating, sexually speaking---
The answer to his confusion came like a bolt of lightning sizzling up his spine. He made some sound, incoherent, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. So *that* was what it felt like to have your prostate poked.
Somehow, Sawyer found Sayid's quiet sound of discovery more satisfying than the hundred screams of ecstasy he'd heard from others. He warmed to his task, fingers working within the tight channel. Eager to be sheathed in its heat.
He shifted, pulled his fingers out, moved his hands to Sayid's hips. Set his cock against the gleaming entrance. Getting ready to plunge, his eyes traveled up the graceful length of Sayid's spine.
And suddenly, Sawyer stopped. He didn't want it this way. A faceless fuck in the jungle. He wanted more. "Turn over."
Sayid felt the pressure against his buttocks lift. He rolled over, landing on his back, searching Sawyer's expression for some explanation.
But the blond's brows were drawn together and his gaze unfocused, as if he were having some kind of internal argument. Sayid's own eyes widened as he was jerked forward by a sudden pull on his hips, his own thighs spreading automatically to accommodate Sawyer's body between them.
He drew a quick breath as he felt the head of Sawyer's cock once more against his entrance. Then he was pinned by a fierce and hungry gaze. He felt a burning within as his body stretched around Sawyer's invasion, surprisingly gentle as it was.
*This* was vulnerability. Sayid couldn't look away, no matter how exposed he felt, as if Sawyer was seeing into his murky soul. He felt...possessed, and he was shaken to the core.
Sawyer was drowning in dark eyes, felt like he was being drawn into Sayid through more than the connection between their bodies. He'd known the danger. As soon as the other man had rolled over, Sawyer knew this was going to be too intimate, too raw, too real.
Part of him wanted to pull out and run away, but it felt too good. It had been too damn long since he'd felt the clasp of a man's body, the rough brush of hair on a firm chest. The solid warmth of another cock against his belly. He sank down, pushing his way in until his balls were nestled tight against Sayid.
The strangled groan that Sayid gave made Sawyer grin suddenly, breaking their too-intense stare. He was going to have to encourage his newly deflowered virgin to be a little more vocal. He slid halfway out, then back in, shifting his hips. He moved carefully, ignoring the hot/tight/so damn good sensations coming from his cock, looking for one spot in particular...
And knew he'd hit it when Sayid bucked, lurching up to bring their lower bodies closer together, a muttered curse falling from his lips.
Sawyer let one hand roam Sayid's body, sliding over the silky skin, tugging at dark curls, still keeping his steady pace. He leaned over and set his mouth against beaded nipples that begged to be licked and sucked, his tongue swiping at salty bronze skin.
"Sawyer, *please*." Sayid was not even sure what he was begging for. But he knew the blond was trying to drive him insane. He arched into Sawyer's every thrust, completely uncaring that there was *a man's cock in his ass* as each stroke brought a jolt of pleasure so great it was almost pain. Sayid's fingers tangled in Sawyer's silky hair as the blond's devilish mouth and hand roamed his body, tormenting at will.
Sayid felt hyper-aware of the man cradled between his thighs: Sawyer's scent, his weight, the rasp of his stubble against Sayid's sensitized skin. A moan was wrenched from him, low and raspy, as Sawyer's fingers closed around his engorged shaft.
Sawyer slid his mouth to Sayid's throat, lapping at the sweat pooled in the hollow. He continued working the cock in his hand, sliding down, then up to swipe his thumb over the head. He was losing control of his rhythm as instinct took over, his body pounding into the welcoming one below. The slap of their flesh was all Sawyer could hear above the roar of blood in his ears.
He lifted his head and locked eyes once more with Sayid. And in that moment, he felt the warm flood signaling Sayid's release, heard him gasp, dark eyes wide and stunned.
The look, the sound, the scent, the feel pushed Sawyer over the edge. His vision whitened, his mind buzzed with the lightning-flickers of orgasm as he felt his body clench and jerk, spilling his seed and draining his strength.
Sayid grunted as Sawyer's weight landed on him, pushing his own legs into an awkward angle. They were both panting, as if they had just finished some sort of race. He idly wondered who won.
His hand lifted instinctively to stroke Sawyer's back, but he hesitated before making contact.
Better not to delude himself. Despite the illusion of intimacy, this was hardly a lovers' tryst. He let his arm flop to the jungle floor, feeling the scratch of sharp bamboo against his elbow. He stared at the play of light and shadow in the canopy, pondering what patterns it revealed.
***************
Sawyer sensed Sayid shift underneath him, and stifled his own sigh as he levered himself up on his forearms. Drying semen made a slight ripping sound as he shifted their lower bodies.
He looked down. Sayid's gaze was elsewhere, unfocused. It would be easy enough to get up, get dressed, and get going. He was already on shaky ground here, so a smart man would pull out before he got himself any more entangled with stubborn, brown-eyed SOBs.
Maybe it was just Sawyer's need to be the center of attention, maybe some imp of mischief, maybe something else. Something more.
For whatever reason, Sawyer didn't do the smart thing. Instead, he lifted one hand to cradle a corner of Sayid's jaw, lazily stroking his thumb over the other man's bottom lip.
When a startled dark gaze met his, Sawyer just grinned and leaned down quick. But he paused, their mouths a breath away from contact. Then he closed the distance with a delicate brush of lips. Just once, then pulled back.
Sayid stared up at Sawyer, unsure what to make of the kiss. Absolution? Benediction? Communion? Confirmation?
It was all too complicated. He decided not to think. He just reached up, yanked Sawyer's head back down and returned the gesture. With interest. And enjoyed the kiss while it lasted.
Sawyer felt as though they were wrestling, rolling over and over in a playful dance of domination, but the only things moving were lips and tongues and roving hands.
Apparently, Sayid also knew how to use his mouth for more conventional purposes. And showed quite a bit of talent at that, as well.
But Sawyer also felt a trickle of apprehension. It was *too* good, too natural, to be in this man's arms. Sawyer reacted instinctively, to pretend he wasn't affected, to keep his soft underbelly from being exposed.
A smirk landed on Sawyer's face as he came up for air. He separated himself from their embrace, literally and figuratively. "Nothing personal, Ali, but I don't want to get caught out in the middle of the jungle with my britches down. Or, like this, a foot away."
Sayid blinked, and sat up abruptly, taking the opportunity to stretch his cramped legs. He had completely forgotten the danger of their surroundings. He quickly got up and moved toward his own clothes. Silently berating himself for letting down his guard.
A call from Sawyer got his attention, and he turned in time to catch a bottle of water and a hand towel tossed his way. He nodded his thanks and cleaned up as best he could before donning his clothes, wincing a little at unaccustomed soreness. He glanced at his companion from time to time, but remained silent. He waited until Sawyer was also clean and dressed before asking quietly, "The debt is paid, then?"
Sawyer frowned, surprised at how sharp his reaction was to the reminder that this had been, in fact, for business and not pleasure. "Sure, slate's clean as a whistle, Sweetcheeks." He tensed as Sayid winced at the painfully apropos nickname. He dropped his gaze, feeling guilty even though it was an innocent slip of the tongue. He hastily squatted down, pretending to arrange things in his backpack.
Sayid was surprised to catch the quick flash of remorse in Sawyer's eyes. He felt a little better knowing that the man wasn't planning to taunt him about their encounter.
But he should be feeling a lot better. Relieved. After all, he had done what Sawyer asked in retribution. But Sayid couldn't shake the feeling that things still were not right.
That as a man, he owed something more to Sawyer. And as a man, Sawyer deserved to receive it. He took a step forward, drawing the blond's attention. "You should know...I am sorry for what I did to you."
Sawyer stilled, his breath leaving him. No one *ever* apologized. Well sure, he'd tossed "Sorry, suckers" into the rear-view as he drove away from his victims, but he never meant it. And people like Freckles and Jackshit felt sorry *for* him, maybe. But never sorry for what they'd done *to* him.
He swallowed, feeling lightheaded, some nebulous memory trying to surface that was too far in the past to ever fully recall.
But he also felt a strange sense of rightness settle over him.
His attention jerked back to the present with the rustle of plants as Sayid moved to leave. "Stay," Sawyer said simply.
Sayid looked at him, *really* looked at him, and for once Sawyer didn't feel the need to smirk or turn away. After a long moment, Sayid asked, "Why?"
Sawyer had his answer ready. "Because you don't have to." It wasn't exactly encouraging, but it was the best that he could do.
Sayid was torn. Sawyer was a liar and a thief. But at this moment, he was also a man taking a chance. On Sayid.
And Sayid decided that, though time may prove him to be a fool, he wanted to see what happened next. "I cannot. I must get back to the beach...but I would not mind some company." He reached out a hand.
Sawyer took it.
THE END