Work Text:
The beach didn't lend itself well to stomping, but Sawyer's quick strides had a definite angry quality to them. He stopped in front of Sayid's tent and crossed his arms. “There's something I've been dying to know.”
His shadow fell right across the generator Sayid was trying to fix. Sayid looked up. ”And what would that be?”
”What is it about you?”
“Excuse me?”
“What is it about you? You're a freaking torturer for the god damned Iraqis. You're the kind of guy we were happy to bomb – twice!”
Sayid swallowed the words he wanted to say. He would not let himself be goaded by Sawyer. “Is there a point to this, or did you just feel like reminding me?”
“Somehow, people trust you. They'd be downright willing to put their heads in your lap and let you sing them to sleep even if there were Others gathering outside. Particularly if there were Others gathering outside. I'd love to know how you do it. You could run a con a mile long on that shit.”
Sayid sighed. There seemed no chance that he'd be allowed to work in peace, and he resigned himself to that fact, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it. “Perhaps my lack of a desire to 'run a con a mile long' might have something to do with it.”
“Don't give me that bullcrap. The worst I ever did to these people was cheat a few, and they've been expecting that and a hell of a lot worse. Half of the time it's like they're just waiting for me to go postal on them.”
And whenever they're not, you're doing your best to reinforce that supposition, Sayid thought. This was so typically Sawyer – desperate to push people away and miserable when he succeeded. “What is it you want me to do? Should I gather everyone together and tell them, 'I am a much worse man than Sawyer. Please, don't put your heads in my lap.'”
“Very funny.”
“Or do you want the reason?”
Sawyer stilled, looking apprehensive. “Reason?”
“Have you ever heard the saying that trust is a two-way street?”
“Sure. So what?”
“Who do you trust?”
“That's...” Sawyer stopped speaking and scowled hard, as if scowling were an answer. For him, perhaps it was. “So I'm not singing camp songs and braiding people's hair. Who cares? I'm talking about life and death sort of shit.”
“I see. It's a different kind of distrust.”
“It's a hell of a lot different!”
“And I'm sure you trust yourself to tell the difference.”
It was a deliberate provocation, and he half expected Sawyer to slug him for it. Instead, Sawyer just cursed under his breath for quite a period of time before asking, “What the hell do you want from me, Ali Baba?”
Ah, the nicknames were back. The blow had struck where intended, then. He suddenly felt annoyed with himself for participating in such a childish mindgame. “Why should I want anything at all?” he snapped. “You came to me.”
Sawyer stared at him, and then turned on his heel, stomping back.
Well, good. It meant Sayid would finally have some peace and quiet, and it certainly wasn't his fault if Sawyer had yet another falling-out with the rest of the survivors.
“Wait.” He hadn't planned to speak and wasn't sure what to say once he had. Sawyer turned and watched him in silence, that scowling face trying hard to not show any hope.
Listen, Sayid wanted to say, you can't go through life frightened of yourself. At this point, I don't even trust you – you're too unpredictable. Trust doesn't come easy to the likes of you and me; you have to face your fears, ride your demons, and I'm not sure you're ready for that. I'm sorry, because you're a brave, resourceful man, but at the end of the day you're also a fool running from his own shadow.
But really, what difference did words really make? To really be helpful, he would have to do a lot more than just talk; he'd have to jolt Sawyer out of his comfort zone, which also meant doing the same to himself... and did he really care enough to do that?
Then again, he had been asked for help, and he had a possible solution. Inaction was not an appealing option.
“Do you want to trust me?” he asked.
“What?” Sawyer asked, stepping back as if he'd been physically threatened.
“It's a simple enough question.”
Sawyer shook his head slowly. “You're fucked up, do you know that? I... I guess. Yeah. I do.”
“Good,” Sayid said, burying any thought of backing off. “There is a clearing, about half a kilometre into the jungle.” He turned and pointed. “In the middle of it, there are three trees, one of them with a V-shaped trunk. Do you know it?”
Sawyer contemplated the question, and then nodded.
“Tomorrow at noon, you will meet me there.”
“Will I now?” Sawyer asked with a sudden smirk, relaxing his posture. Sayid had never known anyone who could go from belligerence to devil-may-care so quickly.
“Yes.”
“To do what?”
“Call it an exercise in trust.”
“Uh-huh. Care to explain that further?”
“No,” he said calmly, returning his attention to the generator.
Sawyer scoffed. “You know, I never expected you to go all Locke on me.” His voice suddenly hardened. “You don't have some guy there you want me to kill, do you?”
The randomness of that question made Sayid look up in honest surprise. “Why on earth would I want you to kill a guy?”
Sawyer's scowl eased a little. “No reason.”
“I can do my own dirty work.”
That actually made Sawyer give a half-smile. “I'd say. So, why can't we go there now?”
“I have to make some preparations.”
“For...”
Sayid raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, okay,” Sawyer said, rolling his eyes. “Tomorrow at noon.”
“I'll be seeing you.”
“I'll bring a gun, you know.”
Sayid couldn't quite stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. “Bring whatever you like.”
Sawyer grumbled something and left, hands in his pockets. He looked ready to start kicking stones like a ten-year-old in a huff. Sayid returned to his generator, not satisfied until he had roughed it up in a couple of different ways to make sure it would keep working under harsh conditions. Once the job was complete, he put his tools down, thought for a moment, and then went off into the jungle to find some suitable bamboo.
Sayid didn't really expect Sawyer to show up, but he made his preparations nevertheless, taking several trip into the jungle and back to make and deliver his tools without raising suspicion. The labour permitted him to focus on what needed to be done, rather than on what any of this meant to his state of mind. By noon, he was ready and waiting, and that he still sharpened the points of the bamboo spikes was only a way to spare himself the indignity of pacing.
Sawyer did show up, stomping so loudly Sayid swore he could hear them from the time the man left the beach. Once in the clearing, though, Sawyer stopped short, his annoyed expression slowly replaced by revulsion and horror. “What the hell is this?”
Sayid sat down on his heels for a second, placing the bamboo spikes on the ground between the axe and the knife. “An exercise in trust, just as I said.”
Sawyer's gaze moved over the neat row of weapons. His wincing was near invisible unless you knew what you were looking for. “Of all the sick mind games you could have pulled...” he said, his voice gravelly.
“I'm sorry. Perhaps you had expected me to ask you to close your eyes and let yourself fall backwards.” The sarcasm was harsh, but this was no time for mollycoddling. “That's not the sort of trust we need. Not on this island. As you pointed out, this is where our distrust lies. You know what I'm capable of – what I have done, to you, and to others.”
“I'm not likely to ever forget.”
“No.” They were both serious now, which was good; it was a start. “And I'm sorry. I truly am. I swear to you that I'll never do anything like that to you again. Regardless of what happens. Not ever.”
“Then what's all this about?” Sawyer asked, jerking his head towards the row.
“A reminder that we do this completely, or not at all. We are not the men who work together, or speak together, like friends. We are the men of that day, and we need to trust each other with our lives. Can you do that?”
Sawyer swallowed. “Do what exactly?”
Sayid cocked his head slightly in acknowledgement. “It's a simple thing, really. You will stand by that tree I'll tie you to it and beat you ten times with this.” He nodded towards a thin bamboo rod. “Then I'll let you go.”
Sawyer's eyebrows shot up. “That's it?”
“That's all for today, yes. Ten strokes to keep time – how hard or light is up to you.”
“All this 'cause you want to kink it up with me?”
He should have known that the wiseass in Sawyer would rise to the occasion. “Whatever you wish to call it. Feel free to take your position any time.”
“Sorry, Moo-hammed,” Sawyer said, shaking his head. “I don't see myself as the porn star type.”
“You're still here,” Sayid pointed out. “Regardless of what you say, I know that you understand my purpose. Stalling won't work. If you don't agree, I will simply go back to the beach, and we need never talk about this again.”
“Oh, I dunno about that. Would make for a hell of a campfire tale.”
“Yes. I will have to trust you to keep quiet.”
Sawyer stared at him and then abruptly walked up to the tree, laying his wrists against the trunks. “So do it already.”
“Lean a bit further in,” Sayid instructed him, picking up the lengths of rope. He tied each of Sawyer's arms to the tree, hard enough to keep them still, but not enough to hurt, and finished by wrapping the ends around the bottom of the trunk and around Sawyer's ankles.
“How hard will you have the first blow?”
“Oh, I don't know, chef. What's the house's choice?”
“Medium light,” Sayid decided, picking up the rod and rapping Sawyer across the pockets of his jeans. “One.”
Sawyer tensed, and then relaxed. “That wasn't so bad.”
“Same again?”
“Sure, why not?” Sawyer shook his head slightly, muttering, “I gotta be crazy, agreeing to this.”
Ignoring the comment, Sayid simply asked, “Same place or different?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes. Shall I demonstrate?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Different place,” Sayid said, aiming a bit lower. “”Two. Same place. Three.”
“That stroke was harder,” Sawyer said, turning his head across his shoulder.
“Not really. It felt harder, because the skin was already sore. It's still a medium light.”
“So what's hard stroke like?”
“Do you want one?”
“Yeah, what the hell.”
Sayid leaned back and gave Sawyer the full force of a blow, deliberately aiming at the gap between shirt and jeans. “Four.”
Sawyer hissed. “Jesus!”
“I should warn you,” Sayid said, “that if we continue at this strength, I should probably remove your clothes. Otherwise they might be damaged.”
“You'd just love that, wouldn't you?” Sawyer asked. He turned again and gave Sayid a long look. The tension of his jaw revealed the false note in his light tone. “Come on, tell me you're not getting horny off this.”
Sayid met his gaze, trying to remain impassive. “Another hard one?”
Sawyer grinned, and Sayid rolled his eyes. “Stroke, Sawyer.”
“How about a plain old medium?”
“Very well. Same spot?”
Sawyer shifted a little and muttered, “Different.”
All things considered, he was certainly taking well to this. Sayid deliberately went a bit higher up the back for the next stroke. “Five.”
“Do I get to tell you where to strike?”
“I'm listening.” The back would hurt more than the buttocks, since the shirt was thinner than the jeans, but on the other hand, it was not particularly dignified to be spanked like a child. Of course, the strength of strokes would matter too. Sayid waited for a response and for the answers that would give him about Sawyer.
At long last, Sawyer said, his voice shivering now, “Keep doing what you're doing, I guess.”
Sayid struck and counted at a regular pace. “Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.” After nine, he stopped, walking up to Sawyer and laying his hand on one of the tied-up wrists.
Sawyer blinked. Sweat was running down his face, more than the humid air warranted, but that wasn't the reason. “You're letting me go?”
“What do you think?” Sayid asked, hand still resting lightly on the rope.
Sawyer licked his lips. “No,” he said quietly. “You're not.”
“Why not?”
“Because that's not what you said.”
“Do you want me to let you go?” Sayid asked, leaning in closer. It was painful, being this close and yet maintaining control.
“I'm fine.”
Sayid suspected that was a truth with modification. The strokes wouldn't hurt much – they weren't meant to. The situation, on the other hand... “Do you want to keep going after ten?”
“Whatever you want, Ali.” Sawyer sounded tired, his voice darker than usual, and he closed his eyes.
“If you permitted me to keep going – if you asked me to keep going – would I?”
“No.” Sawyer opened his eyes again. “You wouldn't.”
“That's right.” Sayid forced himself to draw back his hand, clenching it around the remaining echo of body heat. He returned to his position and raised the rod. “Medium?”
“Yeah.”
His body shivered, but his arm was steady as it made the blow. “Ten.”
For a few seconds, he remained, breathing slowly. Then he walked back up to Sawyer and undid the knots.
“So,” Sawyer asked, massaging his wrists. “Is this where we declare our trust of each other?”
Sayid halted, and it occurred to him that for all his preparations, he had conveniently forgotten an important detail. All those months ago, Sawyer could have professed his innocence at any time, yet he'd endured the torture without even once saying, Please, it wasn't me.
Which led to the burning question, did this exercise make things better, or worse? In either case, they were far from finished with each other.
“Tomorrow,” Sayid said, “you will meet me here again.”
Sawyer snorted. “Are you making some sort of ritual of this?”
“I haven't decided yet,” Sayid answered honestly. “Tomorrow, though, we will repeat this. Ten strokes, just like today.”
“Because you've decided that.”
“Yes.”
“What if I decide differently?”
“I won't force you.” He deliberately avoided the word “can't”. They both knew very well he could.
“Whatever,” Sawyer muttered, stretching his shoulders before starting to walk off.
Sayid wanted to stop him. Not to ask about tomorrow – he was confident both that Sawyer would show up and that Sawyer as of yet would not be able to say that he would. What he wanted to ask was, What does it feel like? Do you resent being tied up by me, and endure it to prove that you can? Do you cherish it? Would you like me to strike harder, to draw blood, to hurt and break you?
He clenched his jaw, turned his back on Sawyer, and started picking up the weapons.
On the second day, Sayid still brought the weapons, though he didn't foresee having any use for them, nor Sawyer thinking for a minute that he might. It was to all intents and purposes a repeated performance of the first time around, though with increasing frustration since it seemed to lead nowhere. By the end of the session, Sayid had the sinking feeling that it had all been a waste of time, and it was only a niggling suspicion that he had missed something vital that made him demand that Sawyer return a third time.
On the third day, he left the weapons behind altogether and kept only the rod.
“Take off your shirt,” he said as Sawyer stepped up to the tree.
Sawyer pursed his lips and wiggled his eyebrows. “I knew you'd get fresh with me sooner or later.”
“I thought it best if you went without,” Sayid said mildly. “Today we will have twenty strokes. I will determine the force of them, and I don't wish to ruin your shirt.”
Sawyer stiffened. “You will, huh? Does this mean I can look forward to twenty hard strokes?”
“Of course not. That would eliminate the element of surprise.”
“Eliminate the element? Where did you get that from? Doctor Seuss's Book of Big Words?”
“Hm. Doctor Seuss wrote children's books, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” Sawyer threw Sayid an odd look. “You didn't know that?”
“I did know that,” Sayid pointed out. He didn't bother to discuss differences in American and Iraqi children's literature. “Take off your shirt.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes, but unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside before placing himself by the tree. There was a practiced ease to his movements that made Sayid want to beat him bloody, frighten him, have him beg for mercy just to give him cause for fear.
But that would rather undercut the purpose of trust, and so he restrained his wish and stuck to twenty blows, the softer ones all centered around the same area by the kidneys with the occasional hard one higher up to the sides. Sawyer's shoulders tensed in a way that showed very clearly that this time, the pain bothered him, if not to the point where he would actually ask for reprieve.
When the twenty blows had been given, Sayid tossed the rod aside and quickly undid Sawyer's restraints. Sawyer leaned his chin on the trunk, looking pensive. “Do I get to decide something now?”
“By all means.”
Sawyer remained still for a brief moment, and then his muscles tensed. Sayid braced himself, but didn't have time to react further before Sawyer spun around, closing the distance between them and
running his hands down Sayid's arms. His mouth moved so close Sayid felt the breath tickle his lips, though they never quite touched in a kiss.
Oh. That certainly wasn't entirely surprising. Nor, he must admit, unwelcome. He licked his lips, tasting the warmth.
Sawyer withdrew slightly and grinned. “How many hints do I have to drop, huh?”
He deserved that – he had taken Sawyer's ribbing to jokes and nothing more. The truth was, he'd been afraid to entertain any other possibility. To a certain extent, he still was. You never knew with Sawyer.
“What now?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his voice level.
Sawyer pursed his lips, his hands sliding down the back of Sayid's legs. “Well, that's the question, isn't it? What can I do to you? How far can I go before you run screaming for the hills?”
He flicked his eyes down, and Sayid followed the gaze, knowing that his arousal was evident. As was – Sayid's eyebrow twitched – Sawyer's own.
“Pretty far, it seems,” Sawyer continued. “Well, well. Tell me, Mohammad, have you ever blown a man?”
“Yes.”
Sawyer blinked. “Say what?”
He had to smile. “Yes. I have.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“No. You asked a question, and I answered truthfully.”
“I thought your kind executed fags.”
He sighed, having little desire to discuss Iraq's judicial system or the fury he had felt, even thousands of miles away, when he'd read that homosexual acts had been made punishable by death. Not that his behaviour had been safe even back when he still lived there, but at least the official statements had claimed the right of a secular country to ignore that which it did not want to see.
His superiors had been good at cultivating that blindness. If he'd dealt with his guilt and shame by learning how to turn pain into pleasure, if he'd tried his lusts and limits with anyone who'd let him, man or woman – what was it to them, as long as he returned the next time to be their weapon once again?
None of this were things he was willing to share with Sawyer.
“As opposed to your kind?” he asked instead. “What state are you from again?”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. Then that's what I decide. You're gonna get down on your knees, and blow me.”
“Very well,” Sayid said slowly. He wasn't very keen on the idea of kneeling down before Sawyer for any reason, but he could hardly set up rules for Sawyer that he refused to follow himself. He unbuttoned Sawyer's pants, and as he knelt he pulled the pants further down, gently caressing the skin below. “Not wearing any underwear?”
“Not for you.”
“I see. How thoughtful.” Sawyer's zoob was slender but long. Sayid had dealt with much bigger men, but it had been a long while, and so he started slowly, with tiny licks at the tip while his nails lightly teased the base. After a while, he took longer licks and started moving his hand up and down the shaft in rhythm with his mouth.
“Holy shit!”
Sawyer grabbed his shoulders so hard he almost lost balance, but he regained his equilibrium quickly and kept moving, taking more and more into his mouth while his hands attended to the balls. Sawyer's grip on his shoulders became harder still, pushing him one way while the grinding hips pushed him another.
The orgasm was quick – Sawyer was too far gone from the start for anything else. Sayid swallowed and started to pull back, slowly, still moving his tongue and lips, slower and slower, smaller and smaller, until finally he let go.
“Well, how about that,” Sawyer said hoarsely. “What are you, a pro?”
Sayid licked his lips and started to stand up. “I choose to take that as a compliment.”
“Hell, take it any way you want.” The smile on Sawyer's face was different from his usual ones, less of a smirk and more a sign of genuine contentment. He moved in closer, hands settling on Sayid's hips. “You know, I won't do what you did, but I can always jerk you off or something.”
“No,” Sayid said. He didn't step back, or try to remove Sawyer's hands, he just looked him in the eyes and waited.
Uncertainty flickered in Sawyer's eyes, and he let go. “What the hell?”
“You asked for a blow job, and you got it. We are done for today.”
“Yeah, right. Can you even walk straight at the moment?”
“Tomorrow at the same time, we will meet here again...”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”
“...for a variation of our usual exercise. After that, we can do whatever you please.”
“Whatever I please?”
“Yes.”
Sawyer laughed quietly and shook his head. Sayid half expected him to say 'screw it' and stalk off. Part of him wanted that. They had crossed a line, and he had no idea how to handle that, not with Sawyer. But he couldn't let go either – the thought of declaring the exercise finished and without result felt impossible.
“Oh, I get it,” Sawyer said. “You get off on this shit. Yanking my chain, that's where it's at for you. You know, I don't remember you being this much of a dick with Shannon.”
Sayid flinched, and immediately cursed his weakness. “You're not Shannon.” Shannon had been good for him, and he found himself missing her fiercely. His time with her had been soothing and rejuvenating. Sawyer meant balancing on the edge, always in control of himself lest he fall.
“Thank God for small favors,” Sawyer muttered. “All right, have it your way, blue balls.” He buttoned up his pants and picked up his shirt from the grass. “Tomorrow it is.”
The next day, Sawyer came striding up to the clearing with a cockier gait, though when he saw the blanket spread out on the ground he stopped and stared. “What the hell? We're going for plain old blanket sex? Or are we having a picnic?”
“Neither,” Sayid said, taking the candle from his bag and lighting it. “Though if you want to bring a snack next time, I will not object. Lie down.”
Sawyer took a few steps forward, but seemed wary. “You're not gonna tie me to the tree?”
“No. This works better if you lie down.”
Sawyer shrugged and sat down on the blanket, legs crossed in front of him as if he was relaxing at a picnic. “And am I allowed to know what 'this' is?”
Sayid held his hand protectively around the flame. “I will drip wax from the candle on your skin.”
Sawyer's eyebrows shot up and he gave a surprised snort of laughter. “You want to wax my back?”
He should have known that of all possible angles, Sawyer would choose the most immature one. “The purpose isn't to remove hair. Nor would you need that, which I'm sure you already know.”
“So what is the purpose? No – don't tell me. Trust, right?”
Sayid stretched out his own arm and tilted the candle, letting a drop of wax fall onto the tender skin on the inside of his elbow. The initial sting of the burn was soon replaced by an arousing heat. “The purpose is to experience the sensation of pain becoming pleasure.”
Sawyer watched him in silence for a moment, tongue against his teeth, and then lay down slowly, his gaze steady on Sayid's face right up to the point where he turned over on his stomach.
Sayid sat down on his heels and let his hand run down that lithe back. The shoulders were too sloped, the sides had hints of love handles, but the back was perfect. When his fingertips touched a spot between shoulderblade and spine the muscle jumped under his hand, and he let a circle of tiny droplets fall, one at a time, onto that very spot.
Sawyer made a muffled sound and turned his head to the side, brushing away the hair that fell into his eyes.
Further down his back, there were faint bruises from their previous sessions. Sayid moved the candle down and marked each bruise with drops of wax. Goosebumps were starting to form, and Sayid caressed them as he had done so many times before, in different countries, with men and women, most of them nothing like Sawyer. With some of them, he would have used his mouth at this point, but this wasn't a lover's meeting. For all his tough talk, Sawyer could be as skittish as a roe, and Sayid wanted him very much to avoid drawing certain conclusions: that he wanted to leave, and that he could.
Slowly, between caresses, Sayid started scraping off the dried droplets with his nails, while with his right hand he still administered more of them. Sawyer went tense, and his muscles started quivering. Along with the occasional grunts, that told Sayid clearer than words that depending on what Sawyer had in mind for later, he had to be very careful about how long he allowed this exercise to continue.
He slowed his pace, and eventually halted completely. “Shall I continue?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to take over from this point?”
Sawyer took a deep breath. “I'll take over.”
Sayid drew back, and to his surprise the shivers down Sawyer's back ceased almost instantly, and Sawyer moved to stand up – slowly, but still. Either Sayid had badly misinterpreted the other man's reactions, or Sawyer had a truly unexpected strength of will. Sayid involuntary glanced down. Well. If Sawyer wanted to keep their meetings a secret, he should probably get his pants undone right away.
“So what now?” Sayid asked.
Sawyer produced a tiny pink bottle from his back pocket. “I guess I should be grateful you guys didn't manage to find all the stuff I hoarded. Or maybe beauty products weren't in demand?”
“Lip salve.” Sayid had to bite his lip not to smile.
“Smelly stuff, unfortunately. It'll have your ass smelling like roses while I fuck you into next Sunday.”
“Highly optimistic of you.” Truth be told, he doubted Sawyer would last long enough to even push inside. Thus it was with some fascination that he watched Sawyer preparing himself himself, looking as if he weren't bothered one bit.
“On your face,” Sawyer ordered, “and wait for me to undress you.”
“Very well.” Sayid lay down on the blanket and hid his smirk by leaning his head on his forearms.
After a beat, Sawyer asked, “Are you sure you're okay with this?”
“Believe me, if I weren't, I would say so.”
“Yeah.” Sawyer knelt down across Sayid's ankles and started undoing Sayid's pants. Sayid obligingly heaved up on his elbows to make it easier. “I don't know why I'm even surprised. Never knew a guy who played 'em closer to the chest.”
“Thank you.” His pants were down now, and he lowered himself back down, enjoying Sawyer's hands on his skin. He was surprised at how deftly they moved, and when a couple of fingers slipped inside him, he moved against them, letting all thoughts go to fully experience the sensation.
“Got no time to treat you with kid gloves,” Sawyer murmured in his ear. “Your own fault.”
“Yes,” Sayid agreed, and then, as Sawyer pushed inside, “Yes!”
“Sounds like... you liked that,” Sawyer gasped, and then there was no more banter for a while, just the two of them moving together.
It was rough, it was quick, but it was good, Sayid had to admit, and even though Sawyer finished quickly he remained inside, cupping his hand around Sayid's balls and massaging gently until Sayid came as well, quiet but shuddering.
“You're such a slut!” Sawyer whispered.
“What?” Sayid asked, unable to keep the laughter entirely out of his voice.
Sawyer slipped out and drew back a little. “Too much, huh? It usually works with people who like a rough lay, but I should have known you were too chilly for pillow talk.”
He sat up, slowly, and Sayid rolled over on his side to watch him. He was smiling, but the wrinkle between his eyebrows was deep.
“Hell, for all I know,” Sawyer continued, “maybe you had this whole thing figured out from the start.”
“No,” Sayid said. He thought back at his original goals and the plans he had made to execute them, and gave a brief laugh. “Not remotely. Believe me, there was nothing planned about this.”
“Well, not from your end.”
Something in Sawyer's voice made Sayid give him a long, hard look. Was it possible that Sawyer had foreseen this from the start? He had been making suggestive remarks, sure, but to actually have this working as some kind of extremely intricate con required a level of cunning Sayid was almost certain Sawyer didn't possess. Almost.
“You...” he said.
Sawyer stared at him with a blank expression for a while, before breaking out in a wide, boyish grin. “Gotcha.”
Sayid closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a strange mix of relief, amusement, and disappointment. “Sawyer.”
“Can't let you get too cocky, can I?” Sawyer stood up and grabbed his shirt, shaking the dirt off it. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Yes. Can I...” It occurred to him that he was about to ask Sawyer's permission to do something. That would definitely mark another step away from his method of control, and not one he was particularly prepared to take. “There will be a new variation,” he said instead.
“Isn't there always?” Sawyer shook his head. “As for my bit, I'm content doing just this once again. A good hard fuck is too nice to throw out after just once, you know?”
“Of course.”
“Well. See you down at the beach, then.”
Sayid watched him leave, and only when he was alone did he get dressed and gather the props together, burying them in a tarp as he'd done the days before. He thought about how to proceed from here. It wasn't impossible – there were certainly new angles to be explored, where the sexual elements and the elements of trust and fear could work together to create some interesting results. But he also had to admit, that after yesterday and today, an already difficult mission was becoming far more complicated.
That day was the first Sayid noticed that Sawyer was acting extra belligerent to everyone who encountered him. He had the sense not to take his bad mood out on Sayid in particular, but he was still to all intents and purposes carrying around a sign saying, 'Something is troubling me.'
Sayid rather wondered if no one had shared with Sawyer the simple wisdom that if you don't want anyone to find out your secret, the first step is not letting on that you have one.
Perhaps he should say as much himself, but as much as his role in this deal had changed, he drew the line at playing fortune cookie. If Sawyer was bothered, that was his own business, and if their activities were revealed because of it – well. There would be no long-lasting effects beyond maybe a certain awkwardness that was of no consequence. He knew their little group well enough, and they were nothing if not forgiving. It would most likely prove an end to the whole thing, but then, if Sawyer was foolish enough to raise suspicions, he wasn't worth the trouble anyway.
Even so, Sayid found himself watching Sawyer, after a verbal attack that had half the camp staring. The fact that the man was this uncomfortable already ruled out most of their options. There was, at this point, a serious risk that the sex would become its own reason. Then again, why not? For all his flaws, there was no denying that Sawyer was... appealing.
“Dude, someone woke up at the wrong side of the bedroll,” Hurley said right behind him. “What's up with that?”
“I don't even dare to guess,” Sayid said, half-turning to face Hurley. He was struck by an evil thought. “Perhaps you should cheer him up. Ask him to build a gazebo or something. Tell him to show you the ropes.”
“A gazebo!?”
“We already have a golf course,” he said dryly. “Why not a gazebo?”
Hurley pondered the idea, and then guffawed. “Make him feel useful, huh? Sure, why not?”
Sayid watched Hurley amble over to Sawyer. At first, Sawyer shook his head, but then he was apparently drawn in by whatever Hurley was saying. He glowered in Sayid's direction, and Sayid did his best to keep his face impassive, but unfortunately he could not entirely subdue his smile.
The next day Sawyer started by growling, “Why the hell did you sic Hurley on me?”
“I thought you might enjoy yourself,” Sayid said.
“No, you didn't.”
“No,” he admitted. “I really didn't.”
“He had me activated.” Sawyer made it sound like a bad word. “The whole day, one pointless thing after another. Like a freaking scout leader.”
“You had scout leaders?”
“I watch movies. Why? That's all I want to know.”
“You needed the distraction.”
Sawyer stared at him. “You're a sadist. Forget the kinky shit, you're the real deal.”
“Yes,” Sayid admitted simply.
Sawyer blinked. As far as Sayid was concerned, they might as well have the word out there, gain some perspective on what was happening – and what could have been happening instead.
And so he let the silence stretch out before adding, “But I promise, scout leader Hurley is the worst I'll ever subject you to.” He patted the tree trunk. “Get over here. And take off your shirt.”
Sawyer shook his head, but he did as told, leaning his arms on the wood. As Sayid started tying him up, he asked, “That 'show me the ropes' thing was you too, wasn't it?”
“Yes.”
“Jerk.”
Sayid secured the knots and took the blindfold from his pocket. “I want you to wear this.”
“Okay,” Sawyer said, eyeing the blindfold tentatively. “While you do what?”
“Beating, burning, touching, and so on. The specifics will be a surprise.”
“That's it?”
“Like I said...”
“Yeah, yeah, nothing worse that scout leader Hurley.” Sawyer's expression changed into one of comical horror. “You didn't invite him to watch, did you?”
Sayid closed his eyes and grinned at the thought. “No. But since you reminded me...” He went to pick up the rod, and when he returned caressed Sawyer's cheek with it. “You come here, or you don't. It's your decision. No more sulking.”
“Yes, sir,” Sawyer said, plastering on a fake smile.
Sayid brought the rod back a foot and struck Sawyer across the face, though not hard enough to leave a mark. “Good. That's settled, then.”
He tied the blindfold in place and gave Sawyer a couple of quick strikes across the arms and shoulders, hard enough for red streaks if not for proper bruises. Resting the rod for a minute, he ran his fingers over the red and tender skin, caressing it gently.
“I want you to relax,” he said in Sawyer's ear. “Feel the pain and the pleasure. Celebrate the sensation. You can feel. You're alive. You're awake.”
He fondled Sawyer's hair, and Sawyer leaned his head back, into the touch.
“Very good.” Sayid regripped the rod, moving further downward and making sure to intersperse the beatings with caresses and praise. He could feel Sawyer responding to his every touch, and he revelled in the experience. If he had known this was what it took, he would have brought the blindfold in earlier. No wisecracks, no holding back, just a body to be molded and an mind working on instinct. For the first time, he felt that Sawyer really, properly, belonged to this moment and to him.
He reached in under the waistband of Sawyer's jeans and moved towards the crack.
Sawyer immediately stiffened. “No.”
Sayid pulled back, stunned for a moment to face rejection when he had thought Sawyer far beyond that point. “Okay.”
Sawyer remained tense, so Sayid tried to reassure him: “Really, it's okay. I won't do anything you don't want me to do.”
Still no change, and he sighed, removing the blindfold. There was clearly no chance of making Sawyer reach that level of compliance again until they had resolved this.
“What are you doing?” Sawyer asked.
“I thought this was the kind of conversation it's better to have eye to eye.”
“What kind of conversation?”
“You're always free to say no. You're always free to leave – just ask me, and I'll untie you. I'm sorry if I've given a different impression.”
“Just like that?” Sawyer seemed suspicious, almost hostile. “I'll say no, and you'll untie me?”
“Unless you'd rather have a safeword.”
That got him a throaty laugh. “Safeword!?”
“In these situations, it's common to use a safeword instead of 'no'. If the person wants to struggle... beg... and not have it taken seriously...” He could hear the voices begging him for mercy while still shivering with delight, and he closed his eyes, lost in thought.
“Yeah, I know what a safeword is. Okay. Let's have one.”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“Hey, no, you're the one who's all into this stuff. You choose one.”
It was a challenge, and Sayid accepted it without further discussion. “Polar bear.”
“What!? Why polar bear?”
“It's easy for both of us to remember, but we're unlikely to say it by accident.”
“What if there's an actual polar bear?”
“Then we should probably leave anyway, don't you think?”
Sawyer laughed heartily and shook his head. “Bring on the damn blindfold. I'll let you know if the polar bear shows up.”
“It's a deal,” Sayid said, doing as he was told. “All right, time for stage two: burns.”
“Now you're talking.”
Using a candle was different when the skin was already tender. He created new patterns on top of the old ones, painfully fast-paced sometimes and more slowly at other points, and now and again broke off with a trickle down a previously untouched area. And all the while using his other hand to caress and comfort.
Content with his work, he blew out the candle and proceeded to kiss the marks – a gentle tease of lips, or sucking and biting in a way he knew made the hurt worse. He scraped away the wax with his teeth, spit it out, and knew with satisfaction that Sawyer would have to keep his shirt on at the beach for a few days.
Sawyer shifted his head slightly, looking uncertain. Although his eyes were still covered, he gave the impression of trying to watch. He licked his lips.
Sayid's eyes focused on that red mouth, and he straightened, grabbing Sawyer's hair to turn his face around. He drew nearer, close enough to feel the other man's breath on his face –
“Don't. I mean, polar bear.”
Lip brushed against lip before he could halt the motion, but then he jerked back, as if stung. Polar bear for this?
And then he understood. It was quite obvious when he thought about it, enough that he should have figured it out long ago. He'd met men like this before, after all. The previous ones had laid down the rules very quickly: you could blow them, and they could take you, but never the other way around. Certain ways of touching were out of the question. Certain ways of speaking were mandatory. And of course they would not kiss you. That would quite ruin their delusion that everything they did, they would rather be doing with a woman.
Sayid had never cared much for men like that. If given a warning, he'd just as often bow out as step in, and even when he accepted the terms, it was only for one night. He had always known that it was foolishness to enter into anything long-term with such men, even in the rare instances when they let you. Secrecy was one thing, set rules could be a thrilling affair, but why degrade yourself by spending time with someone who refused to admit what they were doing, even to himself?
But he'd be here tomorrow, and the day after, and it was faint comfort that Sawyer would be too.
“As you wish,” he said, untying the blindfold, and then the ropes. “That concludes my part, then.”
Sawyer took his arms slowly off the tree. “What happened to 'no pouting'?”
“I'm not pouting.”
“Good. On your face.”
Sayid had to admit, as he lay down on his ground with his head resting on his forearms, that he was glad not to have to face Sawyer. He had some severe difficulty keeping himself in check.
After his discovery, Sayid expected Sawyer's sexual technique to hold very little variation, and he assumed that if he wanted anything of the kind he would have to arrange for it himself. To his surprise, though, after a few days he realized that even small variations held their very own interest when executed by someone who truly knew what he was doing.
Yes, Sawyer's part of the agreement almost always started with Sayid on his face on the ground, but he had talented hands and made good use of them. He explored every inch of skin and discovered erogenous zones even Sayid had had no idea he possessed. Oh, he had found it pleasant before to be caressed on the inside of his upper arms, but this was the first time it had brought him to the point of climax.
And unlike some of the men Sayid had known, Sawyer wasn't afraid to use his hands on the more intimate parts of his partner's body. His handjobs were, Sayid had to admit, quite expert, and as for the times where he angled them both so that he could thrust into Sayid and keep working with his hands at the same time, they were more than enough to make you lose track of time and space.
He never attempted to make use of the ropes, candles, or anything else hidden in the tarp, beyond the coconut oil Sayid brought in after the tube of lip balm ran out. On the other hand, his calls of polar bear were rare and far between, now that Sayid had grasped the basic boundaries.
The challenge, then, was to keep Sawyer out of his comfort zone without taking it too far, and Sayid found it an addictive thrill. He loving knowing that he could tell Sawyer, as he did one day, “Drop your clothes and stand with your back to the tree,” and Sawyer did as told – maybe with a joke, but even so.
That particular day, Sayid bound both Sawyer's arms and legs to the tree, blindfolded him, and told him, “As always, I assure you, I won't harm you beyond what you will find pleasureable.”
“Yeah,” Sawyer said slowly, showing off his dimples. “How come when you say stuff like that, I get more worried instead of less?”
“I haven't got the first idea,” Sayid said, taking a length of rope from the tarp. He wrapped the end around his hand, swung back, and struck Sawyer across the lower thighs, then higher, then the stomach. Always far enough from the genitals to be quite safe, but only because his precision was impeccable. Sawyer's mouth opened, and Sayid imagined his eyes behind the blindfold, wide and frightened.
The thought was so arousing that his breath slowed, matching Sawyer's, and after another series of blows he let the rope drop and stepped in close. By now, Sawyer's body was covered in sweat, and how Sayid loved being the reason for it. He started licking the drops off, circling Sawyer's nipples with his tongue, and grinned to himself as he felt Sawyer's erection against his body, as he imagined Sawyer could feel his.
“You're a smug bastard,” Sawyer said, his voice low and his accent unusually thick. “I can feel you smiling.”
“I'm enjoying myself,” Sayid replied. “That is all.”
He worked his way further down and finally took Sawyer in his mouth, enjoying the experience so much more now that the other man was entirely at his mercy. He let his nails dig into flesh, and made sure to stay a little bit on the rough side with his mouth too, just to remind Sawyer who was in charge.
“Oh God.” Sawyer bucked hard against him, the only form of movement he could manage. “Oh God.”
Sayid couldn't stop the blasphemous thought: he's talking to me. Desire welled over him, and he closed his eyes, for a moment stopping his actions to let himself become body only. When Sawyer climaxed soon thereafter, Sayid swallowed, unwilling to let go any sooner than necessary. Very, very slowly afterwards he pulled back, kissing and caressing his way back up to the bonds, which he undid with utmost reluctance. Only then did he realize that he would have to change his trousers. Such an accident hadn't happened in a very long time.
Sawyer grabbed hold of Sayid's hair, entangled his fingers in the locks and tugged, hard enough to hurt. “You're a piece of work,” he said huskily.
“I suppose I am,” Sayid removed the blindfold and enjoyed the naked, yearning expression that remained for a moment before Sawyer's ordinary cynical mien slid back into place.
“Pretty much spoiled my plans for today – I ain't up to much after this.” He glanced down. “Looks like you're not either.”
“I'm sorry to have spoiled things.”
“Got nothing to be sorry for.” Sawyer ran the back of his hand down Sayid's cheek. “But tomorrow you're all mine.” He suddenly gave a sparkling, boyish grin. “Then again, what else is new?”
That was, in Sayid's opinion, entirely too perceptive, and so he didn't reply.
“We got to start changing the hours,” Sawyer said. “People are gonna find out, otherwise. We should have done it from the start, but better late then never. How about an hour later tomorrow and every day after?”
“What happens when we reach sunset?” Sayid asked automatically, the majority of his mind far away from such practical questions.
“Shit, I don't know. Start over? No – move back.”
“An hour earlier each day.”
“Until we reach sunrise, yeah. And we go back and forth like that. Sounds good?”
“Sounds perfect,” Sayid said.
Sawyer put his clothes on and peered at Sayid between half-closed eyelids. “I got you all starry-eyed today, didn't I? And I didn't even do nothing.”
He had done everything, but Sayid didn't mention that, just watched him in silence.
Sawyer chuffed. “I guess that's the way you like it. Perv.” He did up his last button and reminded Sayid before heading out of the clearing: “Don't forget, an hour later tomorrow, and you're all mine.”
Sayid watched him leave, feeling a strange sort of sadness.
Sayid's superiors had lauded him, often, on his patience, and he took pride in knowing that they were correct. He never would have thought that a day could seem so long, much less an hour. His every move was guarded, cautious to watch Sawyer only when it would be more conspicuous not to. Yet he remained constantly aware of the other man. Why now? They had been meeting like this for weeks, so he should be used to the idea. But there was something about the way Sawyer had been so absolutely at his mercy, and had given in, willing and... well, trusting.
He didn't wait quite the full hour before going to the clearing – they were supposed to arrive separately, after all, and he couldn't bear the thought of Sawyer waiting there for him, time that could be better spent. So instead, he paced the clearing over and over.
When Sawyer arrived, he grinned at the sight, but he seemed genuinely pleased as well as amused. “Well, well, well. Somebody's eager. Didn't forget the time, did you?”
“No. I'd rather wait here than at the camp.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Sawyer said. He stepped up close and started pulling Sayid's wifebeater over his head, very slowly. “Good. Unlike you, I like it when I don't have to use ropes to get my way.”
“Do I have to use ropes?” Sayid asked, confident enough by now at the answer to keep the question mild.
Sawyer removed the wifebeater entirely and tossed it aside. “Heh,” he said, burying his hands in Sayid's hair and rubbing the back of his scalp in rhythmic motion. “Cocky bastard.”
Sayid lift his hands up to Sawyer's face, enjoying the touch of stubble against his skin. “So, what now?”
“Now we take it slow. Real slow.” True to his word, Sawyer moved his hands in patterns that shifted only slightly for each turn, gradually moving towards the face. Sayid closed his eyes and was rewarded with butterfly light touches on his eyelids, and then his lips. He opened his mouth a little, and the fingertip slipped inside, moving over his tongue and palate. From the touch, he suspected that Sawyer could be a very good kisser – if he ever allowed it.
“Very good,” Sawyer murmured, his other hand moving down Sayid's neck, then chest, until it reached a nipple. “I'll get you hot and ready. Begging for it.”
Sayid had no doubt whatsoever about the truth of that statement, considering that his skin already felt like it was on fire, and they were just getting started. The sensation only intensified as they proceeded, and it occurred to him, right after Sawyer had eased him out of his pants and put him on the ground, that perhaps he should give Sawyer control over the whole session more often.
He hadn't expected this. He certainly hadn't expected the phrases that floated up in his mind, expressions of love and devotion that, at the time of climax, he simply could no longer hold back: “Ya habibi!”
“What's that?” Sawyer gasped, cradling him closely.
“Anta 'aziz wa-jamil...” He no longer knew what he was saying, just that he had to say it.
Sawyer clearly appreciated it; his grip became tighter, and he grunted: “More!”
By now, Sayid couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. “Ana uHibbuka... ana uHibbuka, habibi...”
“Yeah, that's it,” Sawyer said, pushing harder. “That's it... oh yeah.”
And then Sayid lost all words, all thoughts, and only called out his pleasure.
When it was over, Sawyer trailed his hands down Sayid's arms and said, “First time I got a guy talking in tongues for me.”
That was an incredibly offensive way of putting it, even if the tender warmth in his voice and touch undercut his words. Sayid was too pleased and tired to get offended, and far too grateful that Sawyer hadn't understood his ramblings. It was bad enough, knowing that he had said them – that he meant them.
“I never meant for this to happen,” he mumbled. “It was supposed to be... not this.”
“If it's any consolation,” Sawyer drawled in his ear, “I trust you. With my life.”
Sayid felt a thrill at the words, but it was followed by dread, because after all, that had been their purpose. In a sense, they were done now. No need to carry on.
He felt Sawyer starting to sit up, and quickly grasped his hands. “Not yet.”
“We've been here for quite some time. I'm beat. Save some strength for tomorrow.”
Sayid let go, slowly. “Two o'clock.”
“I remember.”
The next day, Sayid purposefully waited a smidgeon too long before heading down to the clearing, and was vindicated to see Sawyer's face light up when he arrived.
As time went by, Sayid started taking the agreement for granted. If he thought about what might jeopardise it, he would have said, at least at first, “someone finding out.” But no one did. It surprised him a little, until he realized that the ignorance was deliberate. Living close together like they did, the only way to keep your secrets was to make sure others kept theirs. Sayid had cultivated the same polite disinterest in things of no consequence for him, so once he realized what was in play, he accepted it with ease. Most likely, some of their friends did suspect something, even if they could hardly imagine the full extent of the truth.
Having reached that conclusion, he separated in his mind the time spent with Sawyer and the rest of the day, making it two separate lives. In doing so, however, he had forgotten one most important fact: The island was dangerous.
There were a bunch of them trekking the jungle for good timber when they crossed some sort of invisible line and found themselves at a standoff with some Others. Afterwards, Sayid could not have said what it was about – everything and nothing, every unpleasant encounter since Ethan Rom first sidled his way into their camp, but nothing new save the fact that they were all at the same place at once and obviously this couldn't be.
At first, Sayid thought it would all result in another tie, everyone going back to their own. Sure, the Others made smiling threats, Sawyer made growling ones, and Jack shouted, but the situation was more or less manageable.
Until one of the Others grabbed Jin, who stood closest, and put a gun to his head. “All right, maybe now I can get some attention? This is non-negotiable, I will kill him if you...”
Sayid watched the man intently even while listening. It was clear from his body language that he meant it; if put in a position to fulfil his threat, he wouldn't hesitate. His hold was good too, not a chance for Jin to escape, but he was a bit sloppy with the gun. Not quite enough, though, for Sayid to have a chance to force it out of his hands. They would need some sort of distraction for that to work.
Apparently, Sawyer reached a different conclusion, because during one of those sloppy moments, he lunged forward.
“Don't!” Sayid warned, but of course it was already too late, Sawyer had grasped the man's arm, and there was a moment of intense three-person wrestling before the shot went off.
For a second, Sayid thought, Sawyer, but no, the shock in Sawyer's eyes was not related to any injury. Sayid felt the relief flush over him, followed by sadness: Not Sawyer. Jin. Still alive, but Sayid had very little hope that the wound wasn't fatal.
The gun had fallen to the ground, and Sawyer picked it up, firing his first shot into the man's face from the ground. Standing up, he added another, and another...
The Other closest to Sayid made a move to attack, but Sayid quickly disarmed him and shot him, while Sawyer was still busy emptying his clip.
“You will leave now,” Sayid told the remaining Others, “and so will we.”
The one he faced glanced down at their leader on the ground, and so did he, but only for a split second. “There's nothing you can do for him. Bury him later. Now go.”
The Others started to retreat, and Jack hurried over to Jin.
“Jack?” Sayid called, still watching the Others – he didn't trust them for a second, and truth be told, he didn't entirely trust his own legs either.
“It's bad,” Jack said, his voice tight. “We have to get him back to the camp.”
Sawyer made a choked sound, but didn't move.
“Kate,” Jack said, and Kate walked over to help with Jin. On her way, she let her hand hover over Sawyer's shoulder, but she didn't touch him. Her gaze slid over to Sayid in a silent request for help.
Sayid lowered his gun, and though he remained aware of his surroundings, he gave ground and joined Sawyer, who was still staring at the man on the ground. This, in Sayid's opinion, was a mistake. The man had been dead after one shot, after five, all that was left of his head was a mess of blood and gore. It mattered little, really; if Sawyer was going to lose control in a fit of rage, this seemed a quite acceptable outcome. But Sayid knew that it mattered a great deal to Sawyer, and God help him, if anyone said something...
But no one did. They looked as little at the man as possible, and Jack finished binding up Jin's wound, barking out orders for the rest to make a stretcher.
When they were ready to leave, Sawyer still hadn't moved.
“Sawyer,” Sayid said, using his most level yet commanding voice. “We're going back to the camp now. You are to step away, and come with us.”
Sawyer drew a long, shaky breath, and obliged.
That night, they both sat outside Jack's tent, waiting for any news, until they heard Sun's desperate crying inside.
“Fuck,” Sawyer said, speaking for the first time since it had happened.
Sayid said nothing. He wanted to say, “It's not your fault,” but didn't know that he could. Of course it was primarily the shooter's fault, it would be madness to claim otherwise, but secondarily, Sawyer's actions had affected the outcome. It was an easy mistake, but one that had caused a life.
He wanted to say, “I'm sorry,” but the full sentiment behind those words couldn't be expressed here, because their relationship had left no room for it. He couldn't even show the kind of sympathy and comfort he would have shown a friend.
Beyond that, he heard the sound of weeping and mourned another comrade lost, as well as the memory of those who had gone before. He remembered his ashen grief when Shannon had died and hated the thought that it might be what Sun was feeling now.
They remained seated all through the night until the hour before dawn, when Sawyer got up with a grunt and stalked off to his own tent. Sayid remained where he was, drifting in and out of sleep. He doubted he'd get any more rest lying down anyway.
They buried Jin later that morning. Sun gave the eulogy in English, and then switched to Korean, pleading things none of them understood, but that echoed deep in Sayid's heart never the less.
Jack had woken Sawyer up. Judging by his bleary eyes and slow movements, he had been sleeping heavily. Perhaps it would have been better for him to remain asleep, but Sayid thought Jack had made the right call – Sawyer would never have forgiven himself for missing the funeral. Once the ceremony was over and people started dropping off, Sawyer caught Sayid's eyes and made a head-jerk towards the jungle, mouthing, “Now.”
Sayid blinked. They had naturally enough missed yesterday's meeting, and he had assumed that this would be the case for quite some time, but he supposed it should have occurred to him that Sawyer might welcome the diversion. Even so, he didn't feel ready to take on sex right after a funeral, and so he shook his head, tapping his watch and then raising one finger. “One hour,” he mouthed. It should be long enough for him to regain his state of mind a bit.
Sawyer scowled, but nodded, reluctantly.
Sayid spent the first part of the hour thinking over what had happened, trying to reach some peace, but the thoughts chased themselves and he couldn't catch them to make a whole. After a while, he gave up and headed down to the ocean. Though he hadn't prayed in fifteen years and had no intention of doing it now, he performed the ghusl, hoping that cleansing himself would help. Even as he washed, he knew what an empty gesture it was, performing a rite designed to please a deity he no longer believed in, while preparing for actions that in the eyes of that same deity would be a grievous sin. But the actions reminded him of home, of praying with his family as a child, and so despite their futility they gave him comfort.
Sawyer was waiting for him when he reached the clearing, and looked so gruff that Sayid instinctively paused, waiting for him to initiate.
“Took your time,” Sawyer said.
Sayid was right on the hour, but he said, “I'm sorry.”
“Yeah, well.” Sawyer drew a shaky breath. “You've been holding out on me, haven't you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You're into some real kinky shit, aren't you? Ball gags, cutting, strangling. Well, I'm up for it. Anything you want, just bring it on.”
What Sayid wanted after that speech was to leave, but he knew that wouldn't solve anything. He watched Sawyer, who was pacing like a caged beast. Yes, he could do what he was asked – he could bend and break Sawyer into a glorious mess. He tasted the desire to do so, and closed his eyes for a second before meeting Sawyer's.
“No.”
“What? Oh, come on –”
“I could cut you,” Sayid interrupted, “and gag you, and make it the most beautiful experience of your life, but that's not what you're asking. You're asking me to punish you for yesterday, to torture you, and I will not do that.”
“Like you don't want it,” Sawyer goaded.
“What I want is beside the point. This is my polar bear. No.”
Sawyer let out air through his nose. “So what's it gonna be, then?”
That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? If Sawyer was looking for sheer torture, there was very little Sayid could do that wouldn't either feed into that or leave him dissatisfied...
Suddenly, he got an idea. Thinking it over for a moment, he decided to try it, and he headed over to the tarp, digging out the ropes and rod.
“Ten strokes,” he said, handing them over to Sawyer. “Hard enough to bruise. And make sure the knots are tight.”
He started taking off his wifebeater and kicked off his shoes.
Sawyer stared at him for a second and then recoiled, though he still held on to the props. “You want me to...”
“We've done it enough times by now that you know how,” Sayid said, stepping out of the rest of his clothes.
“Yeah, but... I can't.”
“Are you saying polar bear?”
“I... no.” Sawyer rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Damn it. Go stand by the tree.”
Sayid went over and leaned his arms on the split trunk. It was rougher than the crosses and stocks of his pre-island years, but the position was still familiar.
Sawyer took a long while to join him, and his movements were jerky as he tied the knots.
“I'm sorry,” Sayid said.
Sawyer scoffed. “Fuck you.”
“I'm sorry I didn't stop you.”
Sawyer's fingers slipped on the knot. “What?”
“I made you trust me, and then I let you down.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I saw what was going to happen. I should have stopped it.”
“There wasn't any time!”
“No,” Sayid acknowledged. “But there should have been.”
Sawyer's jaw twitched. “Yeah.”
He stepped back, and Sayid reminded him: “That knot's not tight enough.”
“Damn you, Sayid!”
Sawyer re-tied the knot, and Sayid could feel the anger in his touch. Good. If the rage was external rather than internal, practicing control through these means was so much easier.
“Ten strokes,” he said, closing his eyes.
Sawyer struck, but it was a weak stroke, barely more than a tickle.
“Doesn't count unless they're hard enough to bruise,” Sayid reminded him.
Sawyer cursed again, a long, half-choked string of phrases in such a heavy drawl they were hard to understand, but his next stroke was harder.
“Better, but not quite enough.”
A third stroke, that sent a jolt through Sayid's body.
“There you have it,” he gasped. “That's one.”
Sawyer kept striking, harder, and at the sixth of the real strokes, Sayid felt the rod cut through skin, drawing blood. He hissed in pain and pleasure and bit his lip.
“Shit,” Sawyer said, halting his hand. “I'm sorry.”
“You're doing good. Go on.”
Sawyer pulled back his arm, and the last four strokes were so hard Sayid found himself just a little bit impressed.
Sayid had kept count only to himself, not out loud, but Sawyer stopped at ten, taking several deep breaths before he started untying the knots. By now, his hands were shaking so badly he could hardly grip the ropes, and as soon as Sayid was free, he put his hands on Sawyer's shoulders and started soothing him like an animal.
“You did well,” Sayid assured Sawyer. “You let it out, then took control. I'm proud of you.”
“I hurt you.”
“You were supposed to – and I liked it.”
“What if... when it's real. What if I can't...” Sawyer choked on the words.
“It gets easier.” Sayid caressed Sawyer's arms and face, wanting desperately to kiss him, but this was not the time to try. “Never easy, not for us, but easier.”
“You...” Sawyer shook his head, his eyes wet and dilated under his knitted brows. “You're a piece of work.” He ran his thumb down Sayid's cheek, and then leaned in, kissing him gently.
“I thought this was a polar bear,” Sayid murmured against Sawyer's lips.
“Yeah, well, nothing's the same with you, is it? Ordinary rules need not apply.”
Sayid laughed breathlessly. “I know the feeling, habibi.”
“What's that word even mean?” Sawyer asked, and despite the thickness in his voice, he was smirking.
Sayid replied by kissing him again, deeper, trying to mold his body against Sawyer's, and oh, he had been right when he deducted that Sawyer was a good kisser. He was faintly surprised when he felt the first trail of salt, but the taste of Sawyer's tears only heightened the sensation, and he held him tighter, wishing for the texture of Sawyer's clothes to be imprinted on his naked skin.
“That's what I figured,” Sawyer gasped when he got his mouth to himself. “God, I love you.”
“You're mine,” Sayid said, kissing his tear-streaked face, his mouth, his neck, every kiss marking the truth of his words.
“Yes,” Sawyer said, returning the kisses as he fumbled to get rid of his shirt. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Sayid helped him with the buttons, his frantic movements stilling only for a moment when, skin to skin, he could feel the beat of Sawyer's heart.
Mine.
Neither of them said it, but their old agreement ended right then and there, and was transformed into something else entirely – where they left together, returned together, stayed as long as they liked, and killed several polar bears.