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Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Season one through “The Moth”
Warnings: Gratuitous sap.
N.B.: Set between “The Moth” and “Confidence Man” sometime after Jack starts using his
dislocated arm again. Plot-bunny courtesy of Louise, for whom this fic was written.
~RB
Charlie woke to darkness. His head throbbed, and he was painfully reminded of the
mornings-after some particularly wild nights-before. He had no idea what time it was, nor
where he was, though he guessed that it must be night and that he was in one of the deeper
caverns, judging from the utter lack of illumination.
“How are you feeling, Charlie? You cracked your head pretty hard on that rock when
you fell.”
“Like a spike’s been driven through my skull. Where are we? Why is it so dark in
here?”
Silence stretched between them for several long moments before Jack finally responded.
“We’re in the valley, Charlie, not a mile from the caves. It’s about three in the afternoon.
It’s not dark.”
“Easy there.” Jack let go with one hand and reached up to probe at the centre of the
throbbing pain at his forehead. “You’re concussed; it’s affecting your vision and your
coordination. Tell me, can you see anything at all?”
“No.” His voice was small, and he suddenly felt as though he were lost in a great
space.
“Not even contrast?”
“No, everything is black. This ... this isn’t permanent is it, Jack?”
“Probably not.”
“Probably not?” Charlie hated the note of panic that crept into his voice, but
he couldn’t help it. He was frightened.
“Most likely not. I’m not going to lie to you, Charlie. You suffered a head trauma,
and I don’t have the equipment to make sure it’s not more serious than it looks, but in all
likelihood your vision will come back as the concussion fades. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Now, let’s get you on your feet. I want you back in the caves where you can
rest and stay hydrated.” Jack took Charlie’s hands and placed them on his own shoulders,
resting his hands above Charlie’s hips. Judging by the height of the other man’s shoulders,
Charlie guessed that Jack must have already been kneeling. “On the count of three we’ll
stand. One. Two. Three.”
Charlie lurched to his feet, pushing down on Jack even as he rose under his hands.
Once upright, Jack’s hands at his waist helped to steady him as he swayed, and his own gripped
tightly at the fabric of the doctor’s shirt. Jack released him to try and pry his hands
loose, but he just gripped tighter, not wanting to relinquish his one connection with
reality.
“Charlie, come on, you have to let go. I need to turn around so we’re both facing the
right direction. I promise I won’t let you fall. Now, let go with this hand, at least.”
Jack tugged at his right hand, and Charlie obeyed provisionally, simply transferring his grip
from Jack’s shoulder to his hand.
He was trembling, whether from fear or fatigue he wasn’t certain, and he briefly
wondered what he looked like at that moment. Probably like a frightened little boy, dirty and
pale, not to mention battered and bruised. Charlie silently cursed the fate that always
seemed to cast him in the worst light when he was around Jack. First, he came off as a
useless tag-along. Then, he showed off his idiotic terror of bees, ending up with injury to
add to insult in the form of seemingly hundreds of sting-welts. That day he’d also been an
obnoxiously snarky little fuck, if he did say so himself, thanks to the provocation of Jack
and Kate’s blatant flirtation. Soon after, Jack had nursed him through the worst of his
heroin withdrawal, and now he’d somehow managed to give himself a concussion so bad that not
only could he not recall what had happened, but he couldn’t see. He shuddered to think how
things could get any worse.
Charlie could feel Jack pivot next to him, and the other man slid his arm around his
waist. Their hands were still joined together, forcing each to cross his arm in front of his
torso. Jack worked his hand loose from Charlie’s, saying, “I think I’m going to need this.
Here,” he set Charlie’s hand atop the one resting on his waist, “you can hold that one.”
“Thanks.” Charlie worked his fingers in between Jack’s and tried not to feel
ashamed.
“Dude! Where have you guys been? It’s been like hours since you were supposed
to be back.” There was a change in air pressure as he and Jack stopped walking, and Hurley’s
voice sounded much nearer. “Whoa, Charlie, what the hell happened to your head, man?”
“Hit it on a rock.”
There was the sound of Hurley shifting his stance, and the large Californian said,
“Why’re you looking over my shoulder, dude?”
Charlie turned his head toward Jack and squeezed his hand. Jack took the hint and
replied for him, “He has a concussion that’s affecting his vision. He can’t see you,
Hurley.”
“Oh, man... This really isn’t your month, is it? Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah, get some water, will you? Then I’ll have you sit with him for a while.”
Charlie meekly let Jack settle him somewhere with a blanket around his shoulders and
drank the water Hurley brought for him. The other two talked about him over his head, which
made him feel more isolated than before, but he was too tired and sore to care very much. All
he wanted was to escape his pain through sleep and hopefully wake with his eyesight restored.
“Hey, you’re awake.”
Charlie turned his face toward the source of the voice. “Jack?”
Startled, Charlie sat up a little too quickly, and his head wailed in protest. He was
saved from pitching forward on to his face in a most undignified manner by strong hands
grasping his shoulders and steadying him.
Jack later told him that the walk back to the caves only took them about twenty
minutes, but to Charlie it seemed as though it were hours. Being steered first one way and
then another, being told when to pick up his feet a little higher to step over things, the
sharp scent of Jack’s sweat... It was all very disorienting, and his relief was intense when
the sound of people chatting over the trickle of the caves’ small waterfall was finally
audible. He actually thought he might cry from it when he heard Hurley’s voice cutting
through the darkness.
It had been two days since Charlie lost his sight and he was still blinder than a bat. Unfortunately, musical skill could not substitute for sonar, which left him at the mercy of either Jack or whomever the doctor could con into looking after him. Charlie was frankly getting tired of having to be baby-sat, and the latest sitter had to be the worst possible candidate for the job.
For reasons Charlie still couldn’t quite fathom, but which seemed to involve “a change of scenery” (as if he could see what was around him) and shelter, Jack had placed him in the tender, loving care of Sawyer. At least he knew why Sawyer had agreed: Kate had humiliated him into acquiescing. It didn’t stop Sawyer from being galled by the duty, however, and the Southerner had been keeping up a steady patter of insults since Kate and Jack had left.
“Would you just shut the fuck up already, Sawyer? I know you don’t want me here, but you
didn’t have to agree to let me stay.”
“Now, now. I’m j’st tryin’ to make conversation, little man.”
Charlie could see Sawyer’s smirk in his mind. He suppressed the urge to flip him the bird and settled for a disbelieving snort.
“So, what exactly is it that you do for Saint Jack that’s got him treatin’ you like you were spun-glass? Useless little limey runt like you ... it ain’t because of your music, that’s for sure.”
He could feel heat rising in his ears and cheeks and he wished he could see just so he could plant his fist in Sawyer’s face. Charlie almost thought he’d have his chance anyway; Sawyer’s breath puffed warm and moist across his ear, but it was gone as soon as it came. Sawyer must have seen his hatred and backed away.
“You ain’t pretty enough to substitute for a girl, and Jack-ass has Freckles eatin’ outta his hand anyway. Is it gratitude for the cave-in rescue? Though, the way I hear it, it was practically your fault to begin with.”
It was true. Charlie had been shouting at Jack when the cave-in began. He knew that he’d probably set it off. Certainly, if he hadn’t been between Jack and the exit, the other man could have escaped unscathed. Still, he didn’t need to be reproached for it by the likes of Sawyer.
“Sod off, Sawyer.”
“It’s my tent, little man.”
Charlie grit his teeth and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Sawyer’s laughter was like a slap in the face. “You do that, but I ain’t pickin’ you up when you fall on your face.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he spat. His exit lacked the angry motion he would have liked it to have, but Charlie figured that it was better to move cautiously and actually get away, than to stalk off and be humiliated when he tripped or ran into something.
The sound of Sawyer’s voice faded, and Charlie managed a little pride in the fact that
he’d made it so far on his own. Of course, he had no idea where he was. He didn’t really
care, though, so long as he was alone with his misery.
The desire to be alone and miserable lasted until Charlie realised that he’d wandered far enough that he could hear neither beach nor people and that Jack was going to freak out when he discovered he was missing. Fear began to set in then, and he debated whether he should try to turn around and wander back the way he’d come, or just plant himself where he was and wait for someone to find him. As slow as he was moving, he doubted he’d made it very far and he knew that it’d be safer to wait than to keep up his aimless wandering.
Hands stretched out in front of him, Charlie found the nearest tree and leaned his back up against it. He slid down the trunk until he was safely on the ground, knees tucked up under his chin. The longer he sat there, the more he regretted haring off on his own. Noises from the jungle were making him nervous, and he knew he had to find a way to keep calm or he’d be a gibbering wreck by the time someone found him.
What do rock-gods do to pass the time? Easy, Charlie thought, they sing. The sound of his voice drowned out the noises of the jungle, and the songs themselves provided a way to mark the time. After three of his own songs, he switched to the Beatles. Hey Jude, unfortunately, depressed him – he didn’t like to think of his situation as a hopeless cause – and he moved on, needing something upbeat.
“Jeremiah was a bullfrog. Was a good friend of mine...”
It seemed to be helping until he heard a twig snap somewhere off to his left. Charlie
pressed his back harder against the tree and kept singing, notching up his volume. If it was
an animal, maybe it would be frightened away.
“If I were the king of the world, tell you what I’d do. I’d throw away the cars and
the bars and the war, make sweet love to you...”
“That’s very sweet, Charlie. Would you really?”
Charlie nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. He did topple over, sprawling, undignified, on the ground. “Fuck, Jack, you scared the hell out of me!”
“Turnabout is fair play.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved one hand in the air and pushed himself upright with the other, “spare me the lecture, Jack. I’ve already given it to myself.”
“Care to tell me why you went wandering off even though you can’t see and were sure to get lost?”
“Had to get away from Sawyer.”
Jack’s fingers probed at the scabbing wound on his head and at a couple of scratches he’d managed to acquire on his walk, then gripped his chin to tilt his face up. “What’d Sawyer do?” Jack’s voice was calm, but Charlie could hear the tightness of anger in it.
“Nothing. He was just being his usual, charming self. I couldn’t see to hit him and shut him up, so I left. Not the brightest move, I admit, but it seemed like the better option at the time.”
Charlie could feel the air in front of his face being disturbed and he guessed that Jack was moving a finger back and forth to see if his eyes would track the movement. The contact disappeared, then, and he felt a moment of panic.
“Jack, don’t go.” He made a grab for the other man and was rewarded with a hand clasping his own.
“I’m not going anywhere, Charlie.”
“Sorry. I just...” He paused for a long moment, struggling with his words. “I’m scared, Jack. Nothing seems quite real if I can’t touch it, and the things I can only hear...” He shuddered.
Jack’s other hand touched at his left bicep, the fingers tracing the area around his tattoo. “It’s not easy, is it: living with your eyes closed?”
Charlie’s laugh was part strangled sob, and he shook his head. “Not literally, no.” He felt Jack begin to lean in towards him and then suddenly shy away and he tightened his grip on the other man’s hand. “What is it, Jack?”
“I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me.”
“What was inappropriate?” Charlie had no idea what Jack was on about, and it frustrated him.
“This.”
Jack’s body was suddenly in his space, and he was being pressed back against the tree while gentle lips pressed against his own. He felt the other man begin to pull away again, and he released his grip on his hand in order to wrap both arms around Jack’s broad shoulders.
With Jack held tightly against him, Charlie kissed back for all he was worth. The scrape of his own beard against Jack’s stubble, the warm, wet sensation of his mouth, and the heady male scent of him were all intensely pleasurable. Charlie wanted nothing more in that moment than to submerge himself in the strong reality of Jack. It was proof that he wasn’t the shade he sometimes felt himself to be and the fulfilling of several fantasies all in one act.
He should have known that it was too much for Jack to just give in without protest.
“Charlie, I can’t do this. I can’t take advantage of you like this.” Jack’s words were panted out, and Charlie could taste them on his own lips, they were still so close.
“It’s not taking advantage, Jack. Not when I want this, have wanted this, need this so badly.”
“Have wanted?”
“Yes, you great blind wanker. I’ve been lusting after you for weeks but I never thought you’d want me.”
Jack caressed Charlie’s face, and Charlie wished he could see the tender look he knew the other man must be giving him. “I do want you.”
“Then make sweet love to me, or fuck me through the bloody forest floor, I don’t care which. Just do something, Jack; you’re the only one who makes me feel real. I need that now, more than ever.”
Jack groaned and resumed trying to devour Charlie. His hands roamed more freely this time, sliding up under Charlie’s t-shirt and dipping down just past the waist of his jeans. Charlie kept one arm locked around Jack’s shoulders while his other hand investigated the front of Jack’s shirt. He found buttons there and he undid each as he came to it, exposing the other man’s chest to his inquisitive fingers.
Charlie combed his fingers through chest hair he could remember admiring from afar, delighting in the texture of it and the hard planes of muscle below. He found a nipple and elicited another moan from Jack as he rolled it experimentally between his fingers. Jack’s kisses moved along his jaw, and he jerked forward when the man sucked his earlobe into his mouth, tugging lightly at it with his teeth.
Between one breath and the next, Charlie found himself laid out on the ground, shirt rucked up under his arms, Jack’s mouth trailing down his neck, nips interspersed with licks and kisses. The speed and intensity of Jack’s movements were dizzying, and all he could do for a long while was to lay there panting as Jack worshipped his body with his lips. Eventually, though, he managed to pull Jack back up for a kiss, one hand on either side of the other man’s head so that he could find the delectable mouth.
Jack pulled back after the kiss long enough to finish divesting Charlie of his shirt and himself of his own, if the sounds of fabric sliding across skin were anything to judge from. Charlie didn’t get the chance to test that theory immediately. Jack slid all the way down his body, making quick work of removing the rest of Charlie’s clothing.
He lay there for several moments, feeling vulnerable as the moist jungle air caressed his heated body, before he was slowly covered by Jack’s larger form. Jack nuzzled gently along the terminus line of beard on his neck, and he tilted his head back to fully expose himself to Jack’s attentions, stroking the broad shoulders in return. The movement of their bodies brought their erect cocks into contact. Jack’s hips bucked forward against him, and Charlie groaned. He was tempted to reach between them and measure Jack’s member with a few skilful strokes, but the desire for friction won out and he wrapped his legs around the other man to hold him in place as he ground up against him.
“Jack, please...”
“Please what?” Jack nipped at one nipple, making Charlie gasp and his whole body vibrate with need.
“Fuck me. Now.”
“Charlie, I don’t...”
“Use spit.”
“That doesn’t provide very much lubrication, Charlie.” The concern was evident in Jack’s voice, but Charlie overrode it with one pleading whisper.
“Jack.”
A quick kiss, and his legs were shifted to hook over Jack’s shoulders. Saliva
drenched digits breached and stretched out his entrance, one brushed across his prostate in
the process, leaving him breathless and aching for more. The fingers withdrew, then, and he
could hear Jack preparing himself. It wasn’t soon enough that he finally felt the blunt tip
of the other man’s cock bump against and then begin to breach him.
Jack had been correct: saliva wasn’t much of a lubricant, and the penetration burned. His partner was moving slowly, however, trying to be as gentle as possible, and the pain was combated by the feeling of warmth that spread out from his chest and pooled in his belly. Charlie relaxed, and Jack slid home, leaning down to place a tender kiss on Charlie’s lips as his legs fell back to their earlier place around his waist.
They began rocking together and suckling at one another’s mouths, sharing breath along with pleasure. Charlie cried out as Jack’s thrusts raked across his prostate, and Jack swallowed the sound. Nothing could be heard in the jungle save for the muffled sounds of their bodies moving against each other.
When Charlie came it was with the silence roaring in his ears and a flash of light
behind his eyes.
Charlie shifted and stretched. His body rubbed against a warm, comforting bulk that shifted as well, drawing him closer. A quick inventory revealed that Jack had cleaned him up and dressed him sometime after he’d fallen asleep and that one of the doctor’s hands was clutching possessively at his back. Eyes still shut against both the disappointing darkness he knew would greet him and the admission of consciousness, Charlie burrowed against Jack.
“Hey, I know you’re awake.”
“Mmmm... Jack.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful, you?”
“Oh, not too bad.”
Charlie pulled back, shoving at Jack’s chest, eyes popping open in surprise. He loomed over Jack, ready to make a biting rejoinder, and froze.
Jack was smiling. He could see Jack smile. And what a beautiful smile it
was.
“Charlie, what’s wrong?” The smile was replaced with an expression of concern, and
Charlie moved to restore it.
“No, Jack, don’t stop smiling,” he said, reaching out to brush his fingers across Jack’s lips.
Concern gave way to a mixture of disbelief and amazement. “You saw that?”
“Yeah. Everything is a bit on the dark and fuzzy side, but I saw it.” He grinned down at Jack as the other man’s smile returned ten-fold. When Jack sat up and kissed him, Charlie didn’t close his eyes. Jack didn’t either, and he found himself happily drowning in the chocolate-dark depths.
The kiss ended, and Jack rested his forehead against Charlie’s, petting the side of his face with one hand. “I think this is where I’m supposed to confess that I didn’t fuck you earlier, I made sweet love to you, and then hope you don’t break my heart.”
It shook and gratified Charlie to see Jack make himself so vulnerable to him. He responded by bumping their noses together playfully and saying, “I know, Jack. Didn’t need eyes to see what you were showing me then.”
Colour rose in Jack’s face, but still he smiled. He gave Charlie another small kiss and then drew back. “That sounds like something from a song, Charlie.”
“As far as I know, it’s not. I could write one for you, though; then it would be.”
“I’d be honoured. Let’s get back to the caves first, hmm? It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry.”
“I wouldn’t say no to a candle-lit dinner,” said Charlie as he let Jack haul him to his feet. “Maybe sea bass in a potato crust with a light salad and a bottle of white wine.”
“Fish, I can get you. You’ll have to settle for a campfire instead of candlelight and fruit salad. No potatoes and no wine, I’m afraid.”
“Ah well,” he hooked an arm through Jack’s with a cheeky grin and began walking with him down the return path, “it was worth a try.”
They had agreed to be discrete about their relationship, but Charlie didn’t think it had done much good. He was quite enamoured of his newly returned eyesight and had a tendency to stare shamelessly at Jack, memorising what his lover looked like, just in case. Once Jack would realise that Charlie was staring at him, he would smile and blush. People noticed.
The others gave them looks and whispered to each other about them, but so far only a few well-wishers had confronted them about the relationship, so Charlie had decided not to borrow trouble and didn’t give it much thought. For once, events seemed to be unfolding in his favour, and he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.
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