This contains SLASH. Avoid it if this offends you.
Secret Bruises
Sawyer's rough with him, but Charlie doesn't mind. He doesn't complain as his mouth is assaulted, Sawyer's tongue thrusting in possessively. The hands on his arms are too tight, painfully so, but he gives into it. He won't be able to explain the bruises to Jack or Hurley, but they won't ask, and he won't volunteer an answer.
One of the hands moves into his hair and grabs the short strands, tugging. His mouth is pulled from Sawyer's, jerked back to expose his neck. Split seconds later he gasps as blunt teeth and burning stubble work on his skin. The bite marks will be harder for everyone to ignore, but there still won't be any questions. They don't want to know.
"' Seen the way he looks at you." Sawyer's southern drawl murmurs as he lifts his mouth from Charlie's neck. The accent seems to get even stronger when he's aroused, the same way it does when he's angry. Charlie wants to push him away when he bites and sucks on his neck again; he wants to remind Sawyer that he was hung three days ago, that his neck hurts and that biting at it really isn't helping.
But then Sawyer's tongue swirls over a pulse point and it's a moan instead of a protest that leaves his mouth. It's a sound that's copied by Sawyer against his skin, though Charlie can't help but notice that Sawyer's sounds more like a growl.
He's pushed back, stumbling, against a tree, and for a few seconds Sawyer doesn't move forwards. He stays on the spot and stares, and there's something angry in his gaze that scares Charlie.
He knows he shouldn't be here, with him, when Claire was out in the jungle was a bloody psycho. It feels like he's betrayed her, even though this thing with Sawyer's been happening since a few days after the crash. Daily fucks. Afterwards, Charlie always feels used but at least used is useful. He has a purpose on the island, even if it is just to help Sawyer get his rocks off.
Sawyer stalks forwards. This time angry looks hungry, and Charlie isn't sure which expression scares him more. Sawyer reaches him and pins him against the tree, a predatory grin on his face. "Bet he'd love to see you right now, rock star. Bet our doc would get himself all hot under the collar if he walked out here now."
Charlie doesn't speak, because he's not expected to. Sawyer prefers the sound of his own voice to the sound of anyone else's. Every time they fuck, Charlie has to put up with a soliloquy about Jack. He doesn't mind too much – it's worth it, worth everything.
"He wants to fuck you, y'know. Wants to drag you out here one day and just take you – but he can't." The words are whispered against his bruised neck, lips brushing skin. Two of Sawyer's fingers find their way into Charlie's mouth; he sucks and tongues them leisurely. They taste salt, of the sea and the sand and the island. "He can't 'cause I did it first, and I'm not too keen on sharing."
Charlie's lucky that Sawyer's fingers are in his mouth, because they stop him from asking about Claire; Claire with her pretty eyes, pretty smile, pretty soul. Sawyer doesn't see her as a threat. He doesn't seem to think of any of the women as a threat.
The men, though? Charlie gets lectured if he talks too long to Locke, laughs too loud with Hurley, or listens too much to Jack. It's during these lectures that Charlie begins to realise that he's in too deep; Sawyer's a dangerous (and probably mentally unstable) man. On the island, there's nowhere to run if things get messy.
Things will get messy, that's inevitable. It's inevitable but irrelevant as Sawyer's free hands moves to undo his trousers, the button from his jeans giving way easily. The sea breeze chills his skin, causing him to shiver. Charlie moves to repay the favour, because he needs things to go faster, but Sawyer's hand quickly grabs his wrist and presses it back by his side.
When it's clear that Charlie's got the message and won't try moving his hangs again, Sawyer quickly slips his trousers down. The fresh air hits Charlie's bare skin, but it's not cold. Nothing on this island is cold, nothing but the man in front of him.
He's not thinking about Sawyer's cold sharp edges as the fingers are removed from his mouth and trailed down his body. He shifted forwards so that he's no longer leaning against the tree. He still gasps and it's still a shock as Sawyer's fingers enter him. The gasp just makes Sawyer grin again, dimples forming. How can a man so cruel look so innocent?
The fingers are exploring inside, prepping and stretching him. It's not too painful, not yet, and every so often sawyer hits just the right spot to make Charlie shiver, breath trembling. This just makes Sawyer's grin widen, and Sawyer's watching his face so intently that Charlie almost feels uncomfortable, like a zoo animal or a museum specimen on display.
"Jack couldn't make you feel this." Sawyer states in a hissed whisper. "He wouldn't know how." Sawyer's fingers move in just the right way to make Charlie's knees give out on him. He would have fallen, but pushes him lightly forwards, into his chest. There's a hand now at his lower back that helps him stay upright.
He can feel Sawyer rock-hard against him, and can't understand why he's drawing it out like this. Usually, they don't waste any time; it's quick, and they're never missing for more than half an hour. They'd already been out here longer than that and they haven't even moved onto the real sex yet. Sawyer's taking his time, and Charlie just can't understand why.
"I know how." Sawyer's words are smug, but Charlie's rapidly losing track of what Sawyer's saying. He closes his eyes, without paying any attention. Instead he just listens to that lazy accent and the greedy tone that it holds. "I'm the only one on this goddamn island that knows how."
It's getting frustrating now, and Charlie's beginning to wish that Sawyer would just hurry up. He's not a patient man – he never has been, and it's unlikely that he ever will be. He wants to come now, and Sawyer's holding him back.
"Sawyer?" He's hardly surprised by how ragged and breathless his voice is.
He's definitely not surprised by the warm chuckle that sounds by his ear. "I could stand to hear you say that again."
Sawyer's hand moves from where it was propping Charlie up to begin working on unbuttoning his jeans, and the fingers in Charlie's ass still for a few seconds. His pulse is racing in his ears, constantly chanting nownownow. He couldn't wait much longer. He doesn't want to.
He wants to come and feel good for a few minutes before he had to go back to the beach, back to reality. Reality isn't a nice place to be at the moment. Claire's gone, and that thought weights heavily on his mind. She's gone and it's his fault. He should have protected her, should have saved her, should have taken care of her. But he hadn't, and every day the guilt tightens like a noose around his throat.
Sawyer's hands and mouth and dick help to loosen that noose.
Jack's pity and concern and understand help to tighten it again.
Sawyer's free hand moves up and covers his mouth. Charlie licks the palm, tasting the island again, and is rewarded when Sawyer's eyes flutter closed for a few seconds. That makes him grin behind the palm, and his tongue moves again.
"Quit distracting me, kid." Charlie wonders for a few seconds if Sawyer even knows his name. The thought explodes and disappears as Sawyer's fingers brush over his prostate. "Spit."
There's no moisture in his mouth, but what little there is he gives to the hand over his mouth. It moves away from him mouth and down to Sawyer's cock. Charlie can't watch, eyes closed and wondering how long he can hold on for.
Sawyer turns him around, and he braces his hands against the tree. It hurts when Sawyer enters him, a slow stretching burn, but it's alright. It's what he deserves. Pain and punishment, a harsh fuck from a man who doesn't care. A druggie, a junkie, an addict. Useless, pathetic, invisible.
Sawyer stops once he's inside, giving Charlie seconds to adjust. Charlie counts his sin in the pause, able to see the disapproving eyes of a dozen priests staring at him from the black behind his closed eyes. Sodomite. "Christ, get on with it." Blasphemer.
Seven sins and he's guilty of them all.
Thrust. Envy.
Thrust. Sloth.
Thrust. Greed.
Thrust. Anger.
Thrust. Gluttony.
Thrust. Pride.
Thrust. Lust.
So many sins; Charlie knows that there are special places in hell reserved just for people like him. Being with Sawyer throws the state of his battered soul into a harsh light, and Charlie doesn't like what he sees. Sawyer inside him feels so good, but the thoughts it invokes hurt too much. This is some strange torture – a mix of reward and punishment, but Charlie knows that he doesn't deserve the pleasure it gives him.
Sawyer's moaning, groaning, grunting behind him, his hands tight on Charlie's hips. There'll be finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow, adding to the fading marks from previous sessions. They'll hurt, but Charlie won't mind. The marks will be Charlie's secret, hidden by his clothes. He's already had to give up his drugs, his biggest secret; it scares him to think that he'll probably have to give up this too, sometime soon.
Stars begin gathering by his eyes when Sawyer strokes him, whispering something into his ear. The words stretch and distort, which makes Charlie wonder if Sawyer's still talking in English. He never works it out – Sawyer's teeth tug at his ear lobe, then Charlie's yelling and falling into a void of pleasure, a natural high.
When he comes down, Sawyer's pulled out and laid down on the ground, tugging Charlie against his clothed chest. His breath is ragged, causing Charlie's head to rise and fall erratically, but there's a smug self-satisfied smile on his face. His hand strokes absently over Charlie's arm, tracing the tattoo on his bicep.
This is odd. They don't cuddle – Sawyer's not the type. They fuck, they come, they lave. There's no acknowledgement of this when they're out of the jungle. It's yet another secret. Charlie gives himself a few moments to catch his breath. There's spunk and sweat drying on his body; he'll have to go and get washed up soon.
Sawyer's arm tightens around him as he tries to sit up, pulling him back down. Charlie raises an eyebrow. "People are going to start noticing we're missing."
Sawyer frowns, but he doesn't move. "Like who? Hate to break it to, hot shot, but no one's all that concerned with your comings and goings these days."
The words hurt – the truth always does. Charlie shifts and places his head against Sawyer's check. His orgasm-induced high is fading quickly. "Yeah, but…. Kate notices you. And Jack, he'll notice." Sawyer'll care about those two's opinions. He pretends he doesn't, but Charlie knows better. "Unless you want them figuring it out…"
"No. They can't know." Sawyer's arm has tightened around him almost painfully, aggressively. "They can't find out."
Charlie tells himself not to feel jealous – that's Sawyer's territory, not his. He doesn't have any right. Sawyer wants Kate; Charlie's just a filler. He knows this, but he has to ask: "Why?"
There's sudden movement, and Sawyer's kissing him. It's hard and harsh and relentless, but Charlie pushes back and gives in. He moans against Sawyer's mouth, and allows the other to roll him over onto his back. Sawyer straddles his hips, before pulling back from the kiss.
"Because – they can't know I've got something to lose." One more brief kiss, before Sawyer pulls back, stands up and walks over to where his jeans had been abandoned. Charlie's left lying on the ground, confused, as Sawyer gets changed and walks off. Eventually, he tugs his trousers up, feeling a little less useless for once in his life. The noose relaxes, for now.