Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Summary: Jack, Sawyer and a peacefully drunken conversation.
Disclaimer: Don't own them (or the whiskey)
Notes: Jawyer pre-slash drabble. Anyone know Sawyer's favourite word?
LOST.LOST.LOST.
"Favourite word?" Sawyer questions, unprompted, as they sit alone beside the fire in the clearing in the jungle. Jack takes a swig from the whiskey bottle. He smirks as the glass clinks against his teeth and the liquid burns his throat, and he ponders.
"Debauchery." He says at last, rolling the word around his mouth like the drink, savouring it.
Sawyer raises an eyebrow and grins at him from across the roaring fire, the crimson shadows dancing in his eyes. "Say, Doc, I'm surprised at you." He teases, and they drift off into easy silence.
"You?" Jack asks a while later, staring at the stars illuminating the ebony sky, stars like he'd never seen before the island. Sawyer is silent for so long that Jack glances over to check he's awake.
"Horizon." The conman lies eventually, the word breathless and desperate and inspired. Jack nods, because it seems to fit, and he passes the bottle to Sawyer and tells himself he doesn't relish the slight brush of their fingertips.
Tired brown eyes soon close as the doctor drifts into contented sleep, lulled by his companion's breathing and the charcoal smell of the fire and the bright, twinkling stars.
Sawyer lies awake for hours, watching the fire burn itself out, cradling the bottle of Jack Daniel's in shaking hands and trying to convince himself that his first choice of favourite word was referring to the whiskey.
LOST.LOST.LOST.
Hundred and something hits... No reviews. Come on, guys...