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The Mark of Power

Title: The Mark of Power
Fandom: LOST
Pairing: Sayid/Sawyer
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Vague Season One


Summary: For the prompt "Sawyer/Sayid, season one-type antipathy turns to something hot".
Free-for-all Lost finale anniversary comment fic meme!
at lostsquee







It felt like a compulsion, this hatred. Every time his eyes caught all American blues, he felt an anger bristle up his spine and stick in his throat. It was irrational, Sayid was well aware, but he couldn't stop this strange feeling overtake him. He also knew that the feeling was completely mutual; he could almost feel the rage seething through the other man's skin every time they were near one another.

Things were worse after their recent fight on the beach, tensions rose dramatically rather than being relieved by the violence and Sayid had a sneaking suspicion why this was so, not that he would dare put it into a coherent thought. Instead, Sayid did his best to stay well away from Sawyer, directing his anger with much more useful pastimes such as chopping fire wood.

The burning of his limbs felt good, felt useful, each time his axe collided with a log it helped mask the worry and helplessness that had set in since the crash. But he wouldn’t dwell on that, couldn’t dwell on that. These people needed someone practical and reasoned, perhaps not to lead; Jack had already taken that role after all, but to be steady and prepared for the worst.

But Sawyer was messing with this plan, the blonde was making him irrational and that unnerved him. And just as he let his axe swing once more, it was as if he had summoned the devil himself and Sawyer was stood on the other side of the clearing, arms folded with a curious expression on his face that Sayid couldn’t quite read.

“Keepin’ yourself busy there, Mohammed?” Sayid noted the fire burning in blue eyes that wasn’t quite anger, and snorted disdainfully as he continued to chop fire wood.

“What do you want, Sawyer?” Sayid kept his tone clipped and refused to meet the other man’s eyes again, not wanting to feel that anger again. That lack of control.

Sayid could feel the smirk without even needing to see it, “There ‘aint much to do on this damn island, annoying you is just about the only hobby I have these days”. Sayid put the axe down and looked up, glaring daggers at the other man and doing his best to restrain himself. He noticed that Sawyer had sauntered forwards, edging closer and closer as if daring him to do something.

“Well then you should find yourself a new hobby before this one gets you injured” Sayid’s voice was dangerously calm; he knew that it intimidated most people quite effectively, that is, most people except Sawyer it seemed.

Sawyer chuckled and leaned against the tree stump Sayid had been chopping firewood on, “That a threat?” his eyes burning into his own, they were locked now in this compulsive taunting and hatred.

“No, you’ll know when it is a threat” Sayid took a step forward, his words coated in acid but Sawyer’s eyes only sharpened and his eyebrows raised. He too took a step forward so that now they were so very close that both men were quivering in equal parts anger and anticipation, eyeing each other as one would an enemy.

Sawyer leant down a little until their noses were almost touching, “Show me” he breathed.

And that was it. Like a tightly coiled spring being released, Sayid leapt and smashed their lips together; burning, until Sawyer fell backwards and Sayid landed straddling his waist. Sawyer groaned in both pain and arousal, bucking instinctively into the movement in which Sayid took great pleasure in grinding down harder to illicit deeper groans that sounded like silk to his ears.

This was beyond Sayid and Sawyer, both men acting on pure instinct, some deep attraction either masquerading has hatred or fuelled by it. Neither men knew, nor even cared at this point, all Sayid knew was that he wanted to press so deeply into this man that pain would become pleasure.

Sayid’s tongue was winding its way down Sawyer’s chest and stopped at his left nipple to bite and suck in ways that Sawyer had no idea Sayid could do and wished that he would use on other parts of his anatomy. After giving the right nipple the same treatment, Sayid paused with his hand on Sawyer’s crotch, and looked at him almost cruelly as if to say ‘not just yet’.

Sayid’s hands and lips were everywhere, making Sawyer feel frantic and harder than he had been in his life. He used this moment to bite into Sayid’s neck and almost came at the sound that escaped from Sayid’s dark red lips, he made a mental note to destroy Sayid’s self control.

Teeth and lips and tongues clashed once again as one man tried to claim the other, both fighting for dominance over one another but too equally matched to win. Sawyer used his larger bulk to grasp Sayid’s wandering hands, roll the dark haired man until he was underneath and then pin his hands into the sand. Eyes burning with overflowing desire, he smirked down at the Iraqi, who glared and writhed underneath him. “That’s some threat, you better be willing to carry it out”.

Still with his arms pinned to the floor, Sayid pulled his head and chest up towards Sawyer, with impressive strength that Sawyer guessed was most definitely army gained, until their forehead’s were touching. And with a grin that was almost terrifying, Sayid pressed his lips almost gently to Sawyer’s but seemed to burn even more violently, “Always”.

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David Mitchell
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