SETTLING SCORES

By Jaye (Copyright March 2005)

Title: Settling Scores, 1/1 (Final Version)

Codes: LOST Sawyer/Sayid NC-17

Disclaimer: Lost and all related characters and concepts are the
property of JJ Abrams et al. No infringement is intended or profit
made. This is NC-17 for adult themes, language, and sex. If you aren't
interested (or aren't old enough), don't read it.

Archive: Not without permission, so please ask first. Please keep the
text (especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Comments both good and bad (especially suggestions for
improvement) are welcome. E-mail is reader8901@fastmail.fm

Summary: Sequel to "Taking a Shot". Sawyer keeps his promise to come
after Sayid.

Notes: Set after "Outlaws", but ignores het pairings.

***************

Sonofabitch.

His stuff was still there. *All* there.

Sawyer sat back on his heels, taking in the scene. If forced to admit
it (which, of course, he wouldn't be because there was nobody around
to threaten him with bamboo splinters or pay him for his trouble with
a little tongue action), he'd've said he was kinda surprised. Not a
cigarette lifted, not a travel shampoo snatched, not a scrap of paper
slipped into a pocket to scribble hopes dreams fears curses boat
designs grocery lists on later.

The square of beach where he'd staked his claim was still pretty much
a mess, the whole sort-of room looking like a wild boar had run
through it. But not a single human footprint disturbed the scene of
that midnight crime.

'Cept his own, of course.

"Well, well, well," Sawyer drawled to the uncaring air.

Looked like he owed Omar a visit. Or something.

***************

He found Mr. Always Gainfully Occupied Or At Least Looking Busy
chopping wood, probably for the signal fires.

Unlike JackAss, who during his own stint earlier just stood as pretty
as you please out in the middle of the goddamn jungle like some dunce
with a "Kick Me" sign plastered to his back---or a target painted on
it---GI Jamal had positioned himself so no one could sneak up on him.

Gotta love that military training, even if it only kicked in after
Sayid'd been knocked upside the head and his triangulation whatever
trashed. Since then, of course, they all knew somebody really *was*
out to get them. Probably a lot of somebodies. Or something. And that
bit of info turned mild paranoia from a kinda creepy personal quirk to
a survival instinct that just might keep a body from becoming monster
chow. Or worse.

Yeah, in this case, being cornered was a good thing. The only way
anybody'd have a chance of making Sayid disappear was to go toe to
toe, and if you were willing to take on a pissed-off Iraqi with an
axe, well, you probably weren't too bright to begin with.

Or you had a death wish.

Sawyer knew Soldier Boy had heard him approach. The dark eyes had
flashed up, IDing him with a glance that somehow also took in every
other potential danger in the area. A few seconds later Sayid finished
his swing. Glistening arc of flashing metal and sweaty bronze skin.

"Yo, Abdul," Sawyer called as he stepped closer. Too bad Paul Bunyan
had kept his shirt on. Sawyer bet all those little black chest hairs
were extra curly and slick with sweat. Nipples hard and salty and just
begging to be licked.

Shit, Sawyer was horny just thinkin'bout it, and he hadn't even
decided yet how to reward his desert sentry for keeping his stuff
safe. If he was gonna get a hard-on every time they got close, maybe
he should just stop wearing jeans around the sheik. Or at least go for
the relaxed-fit ones. He leaned against a convenient tree, casually
adjusting himself.

Captain Falafel set the axe aside before he leaned down to move the
split pieces away from the makeshift frame used to break up the bigger
logs. Brown eyes held a familiar sly gleam. "So, did you enjoy your
camping trip as much as the boar did?"

Sawyer just gave a silent snarl that flashed a neon sign of "Shut up,
you stupid fuck". At least, it'd better, 'cause he wasn't planning to
share the frame-by-frame slideshow of that whacked walkabout anytime soon.

But he swapped in a frown as he watched Sayid's expression shift from
playful to curious to concerned to that Great Stone Face the Iraqi
never could manage to hold for long. 'Specially when Sawyer was
pushing it, just to see how much it took before Sayid broke into a
fire-eyed glare. The kind Sawyer always figured meant Sayid wanted to
pound the shit out of him---or maybe just pound him.

Either way, Omar was one smokin' hot little piece when he got riled.

But the rest---it made Sawyer twitchy. Outside the con, he was used to
people looking at him with either lust or disgust. Anything else got
Sawyer's back up, like a tomcat off his turf.

And *that* just plain pissed him off. Why was a goddamn Republican
Guard torturer showing *him* the softer side of Sears?

He shook off the unease and slouched, hooking his thumbs in his
pockets. "Looks like nobody put their mitts on my stuff."

Black brows rose as Sayid busied himself adjusting the stack of wood.
"So you have no reason to 'come after me', correct?" He shifted to
fully face Sawyer. "Then why are you here?"

Sawyer shrugged, not yet sure how to play it. "Figured I owed you
somethin' for your trouble."

"It was no trouble at all," Sayid replied as he crossed his arms. His
very buff arms.

Sawyer licked his lips; the guy might be an uptight prick, but no
doubt about it, he looked mighty tasty in that wifebeater. And even
better out of it.

But Sawyer's little ride on the lust train derailed when Sayid
continued, "For the record, the fact that your 'stash' is still intact
is due entirely to our fellow castaways' lack of interest in your
acquisitions." The Iraqi took his turn to shrug. "If they had wanted
to clean you out, I would have done nothing to stop them."

Sawyer took a moment before replying, actually surprised. This was one
fine how-do-you-do. "And just why is that, exactly?"

The hint of a smile was back, added to a wisp of smolder as Sayid
replied, "Because I have been assured that Americans consider
'possession' to be nine-tenths of the law."

And damn if Sayid didn't delve into all the nooks and crannies of
'possession' like he was performing an ace tongue fuck in some
high-class porno.

Even as Sawyer's cock swelled some more he felt his eyes narrow and
his shoulders tense; he didn't like this unsettled feeling messing up
his lust. He wasn't sure what the hell kind of game the other man was
playing. What the rules were, or the stakes. And that was Sawyer's
signal to cash in his chips, even if he was beating a hasty retreat
for the second time that day. "Well, thanks for the 411," he drawled
as he straightened and moved to leave.

Sayid's voice followed him. "I have decided a change of tactics is in
order."

Sawyer turned around. "Wanna clue me in, Mohammed?" He settled back
against the tree, still not sure what he was in for. But perversely
kinda pleased to see a quicksilver flash of uncertainty cross the
other man's face.

He suddenly wished he'd found a deck of cards on Craphole Island. He'd
clean up big time playing this patsy. Super-Stoic Ex-Soldier, his ass.

Especially if it was strip poker. Yessiree. He'd've had this Koran Ken
Doll down to his civvies in no time flat.

Finally Sayid came back from La-La Land and got around to answering.
"I miscalculated with you, Sawyer."

Sayid paused to lean a hip against the frame. "I had forgotten...the
man who taught me about---" Full lips quirked and a wry glance slid
Sawyer's way as Sayid continued, "cock-sucking and
ass-fucking---warned me there were only three reasons men ever
bothered to fuck each other. And that if you indulged in two of them,
there was a strong likelihood you would end up being fucked over for
your trouble, as well."

Looked like someone had been expanding their vocabulary. Damn, that
accent really was made for porn. Or phone sex. Too bad that dirty
mouth wasn't wrapped around Sawyer's dick. Snorting at the image,
Sawyer got with the program. "So do I gotta play twenty questions
here, or're you gonna stop fucking around and cut to the chase?"

Ah, there was the glare. Now see, that didn't take long at all.

Of course, Mohammed took a deep breath and quenched his temper like
throwing the last cold swig of coffee on a campfire. But Sawyer could
still hear the hiss and sizzle as Sayid continued, "In English, the
reasons translate to three Rs."

Sawyer laughed his disbelief. "What, reading, writing and 'rithmetic?
Who sold you that load of camel shit, Omar?"

Before he could blink he had a hand wrapped around his throat, his
legs kicked open and the full weight of one pissed-off Iraqi pressing
into him. Mmm-hmmm...pushing extra hard against his cock, so the bite
of his zipper added just the right kick of pain to the pleasure. "You
were sayin'?" Sawyer drawled.

Loved the confused blink before furious brown eyes narrowed. Loved
even more how frustration sharpened the edges of Sayid's oh-so-precise
recitation. "Revenge---the original reason I would have confronted
you---and recompense---the reason you came out here today---are to be
avoided. Sex for such base motives is unworthy of men."

"Well, I don't know 'bout that, sounds like it could be kinda fun to
me." Sawyer tried to roll his hips, seeking sweet friction, but found
he had no room to maneuver. With a frustrated grunt he decided to go
with the flow, spreading his legs a little more, slinging his arms
over Sayid's shoulders, wrists dangling. "So what's the third R? Ritz
crackers?"

A snort accompanied another quick shift in Sayid's mood, as the hand
around Sawyer's neck went from squeezing to stroking.

Sawyer's eyes almost crossed with pleasure as the buff bod between his
legs did something between a thrust and a shimmy that hit all his hot
spots in one lazy kind of wave. He let himself slide down a few inches
so their bodies would line up just right if Sayid took it into his
head to do that again.

But Sawyer was disappointed. The other man just kept leaning against
him, their bellies and chests brushing each time either one breathed.
Then he felt Sayid back off a smidge, taking his own weight, free hand
sliding under Sawyer's shirt to run the tips of his fingers inside the
waistband of Sawyer's jeans. "The word you are looking for, Sawyer, is
'reciprocity'."

Sawyer shivered at the brush of beard against his cheek as Sayid moved
in again to murmur in his ear, "Men should only come together when
there is a bond between them too strong to deny."

Then Sayid stepped away completely, dark eyes showing some impressive
mix of annoyed, exasperated, horny, rueful and amused. "Or, as is
likely in our case, they just want to fuck each other so badly it
becomes worth the risk." He shrugged. "Either way, truthfulness is
paramount."

Sawyer couldn't've held back the smirk if he'd tried. Which he didn't.
"'Honesty is the best policy'? What, Aladdin, you camel jockeys are so
hard up you're ripping off Ben Franklin now?"

He didn't get a glare this time, or an answer. Sayid just dropped the
lashes on those bedroom eyes to half-mast and gave Sawyer the
once-over, lingering on the now *very* tight crotch of Sawyer's jeans.

And even though Sawyer's cock was now screamin' to be creamin', he
took a moment to figure out exactly what the deal was. Sometimes the
Iraqi didn't translate so well, even if he did speak irritatingly
perfect English.

"So let me get this straight," Sawyer said as he put his own spin on
the come-hither gaze, which was a
get-your-ass-over-here-so-I-can-fuck-you-right-now look that had done
the trick since he'd been sweet baby-faced James at 15, "if I asked
you to strip down right here right now so we could bump uglies on the
jungle floor---no strings, no ropes, no chains---what would you do?"

Sayid's chin tilted just a bit. "I would say yes."

Sawyer knew in that instant he was going to call the bluff. Not just
because he was horny as all get-out, or wanted another cruise on the
SS Sayid, or even because he needed proof the people he fucked
actually wanted him back.

Nah, it all came down to a pissing contest. 'Cause the last look Sayid
gave him was pure I-bet-you-ain't-really-got-the-stones-for-this
challenge, and Sawyer just couldn't resist a dare.

So he gave his best shark-sharp smile and spread his hands and said,
"Well, I'm askin'." And made sure his expression was a ballsy
so-what're-you-gonna-do-about-*that*-smartass right back.

Turned out Sayid wasn't bluffing. With another quick glance around, he
pulled off his shirt and draped it over the frame.

And yeah, sweaty looked good on Sayid. He stood glistening and
relaxed, hands in his pockets, looking like he was ready to wait all day.

Wait for Sawyer to make a move, of course. And Sawyer was planning to,
but he got distracted by a quick glimpse of the cuts on the other
man's side. The slashes were healing well enough, but it looked an
awful lot like Omar'd gotten on the wrong side of one of the resident
polar bears.

Or a pissed-off tomcat. Which, in a way, he had.

Sawyer thought maybe it was kinda perverted to get all puffed-up about
seeing his marks. But hell, he still had his own souvenir of their
first steel-edged samba, so it was all good. 'Reciprocity' up the wazoo.

He had his own shirt tossed to the ground by now, and he pushed off
his shoes before crossing his arms. "Your turn, Abdul."

With just a hint of a flush the Iraqi shucked the rest of his duds.
And he was lean and hard and honey-brown all over.

Dusky cock bobbing like porno poetry in motion, Sayid strolled over to
Sawyer and slid both hands into the waistband of Sawyer's jeans this time.

"Careful with the goods," Sawyer muttered as he felt the zipper
sliding down, the metal teeth nipping at his cock as it lifted free.
Funny how Sayid was the ex-soldier but *he* was the one going commando.

He felt his jeans drop and stepped out of them without looking down.
Just grabbed himself a handful of wild black hair and that clawmarked
hip and dove in for the kill.

Into a clash of teeth and tongues and open mouths, all heat and wet
and the burn of beards.

No pretty little kisses here, just some kind of alpha-male swallowing
each other down and coming back for extra helpings. And damn, it was
slick and hot and fun as hell not havin' to worry about some little
filly squawking and squalling he was too rough 'cause lips caught on
teeth with the sudden taste of blood.

Sawyer grunted as hands landed low on his back and jerked him forward
so his cock slid against a taut belly. Fingers spread on his asscheeks
like they were getting the lay of the land for future travels. And
shit, were they ever thorough.

He pulled on dark curls, making Sayid arch his neck so Sawyer could do
some exploring of his own. He sucked mouthful after mouthful of salty
skin, teeth marking his trail.

Sawyer didn't quite recollect when or how they hit the ground. He just
knew that suddenly the smell of their rut was mixed with loam and
wood, and he didn't care about the bugs or the leaves or the splinters
or the dirt because he felt so damn fine. Grinding against hard
muscles and soft skin with the prickle of hair in all the right places
rubbing against him, legs and arms a hopeless tangle as they grunted
and thrust and rolled.

And then he was on his back and groaning deep because Sayid's mouth
was open on his chest, teeth grazing their way to pulling on one
nipple, then the other. Nails biting into his shoulders where the
other man clutched him for leverage. His cock nestled close to its
darker twin, hot and full and pounding and slippery with precum.

So Sawyer bucked up, his fingers tracing the flow of muscles down
Sayid's back onto that mighty fine ass. Sliding one hand lower still
to grab a bronze thigh and haul it across his own hip.

He might have ended up on the bottom, but he wasn't gonna be the only
one spreading his legs for this fuck.

And his message must've been loud and clear because Sayid lifted his
head up for a smirk before sliding a hand into Sawyer's hair to hold
him still as Sayid leaned in to shove his tongue back into Sawyer's mouth.

Which Sawyer obligingly opened wider on another moan as Sayid did that
goddamn hot-as-hell move that was even better with no clothes in the
way. And kept doing it.

Sawyer's eyes tried to roll into the back of his head as he got the
ride of his life. Sayid was making those low sounds in his throat,
something between a purr and a growl that vibrated into Sawyer's own
skin and made him push harder to meet each thrust.

And after fuck knew how long Sayid shuddered with a quiet groan and
Sawyer felt cum splash onto his own belly and groin, hot and slick.

Sawyer broke the liplock and set his mouth where Sayid's neck joined
his left shoulder, Sawyer's teeth clenching as he muffled his own
shouts against sweat-salty skin. He held Sayid's hips tight against
him as he pushed up, up, until the dam broke and his release surged
through him to coat Sayid's skin and his own.

He collapsed onto the ground and Sayid just did a kind of boneless
oozing over him like syrup poured over hotcakes. They just stayed
stuck together for a while, panting as the sweat and semen cooled.

Then Sayid rolled off him with a grunt and sat up, reaching for his
boxers. Sawyer just gave him the skunk eye for being in such an
all-fired hurry, 'til he figured out Abdul was just givin' himself a
wipedown before he got too crusty.

Sawyer cocked a surprised eyebrow when he got the same courtesy, Sayid
matter-of-factly giving him a quick rubdown like they'd been getting
each other off since always.

Hell, he could get used to this. He put his hands behind his head and
stretched, just feeling the buzz and savoring the slight stings and
aches that came part and parcel with the best sex. "So, how 'bout
another round of jungle jack-off sometime?"

Sayid gave him a sultry-sly sleepy-eyed glance. "Perhaps...under the
right circumstances."

"Let me guess, 'reciprocity' is the magic word." Sawyer lowered his
arms and pushed himself onto his elbows. He watched Sayid turn to
chuck the soiled cloth near the rest of his clothes. "So...did your
Obi-Wan Shish Kabobi teach you that sweet little shimmy?"

Sayid hadn't turned around, so Sawyer couldn't see his expression. But
it didn't matter, since it'd take a blind man to miss the sudden
stiffening of the Iraqi's back. Eventually Sayid answered, "No. And I
would prefer not to discuss it."

Oooh, this was interesting. "I'm kinda surprised. After all, somebody
who goes to all the trouble of makin' up rules for sucking and fucking
sounds like one of them soulful swami types. Don't tell me he gave you
the heave-ho out in Sand Land."

Hmph. Didn't figure those muscles could tense up any tighter. Now it
looked like it'd take a steamroller to smooth Sayid out again. Soldier
Boy really should learn how to relax.

"No." Sayid turned a little so Sawyer could see his profile, and just
a glimpse of the glare. "Sawyer, you are ruining this. Stop now."

Fuck that. Sawyer sat up all the way to try to see more of the other
man's face. He smirked, sensing a serious chink in Abdul's armor.
"What, you told him to go fuck a camel 'cause he forgot his own
half-assed rules about your precious three Rs?"

This time Sayid took so long with an answer Sawyer started to feel a
little antsy. In a way that held just a mite of anxiety in it. Maybe
this hadn't been such a bright idea.

Sawyer couldn't stop the shiver at the sudden coldness in the dark
gaze that finally turned full on him. Well shit, wasn't *that*
expression one hell of a mood-killer. He almost couldn't believe
they'd been rolling around in the dirt rubbing all over each other
five minutes ago. Fuck, he'd almost forgotten this guy once made
people scream for a living. And not in a good way.

Sayid's voice got that extra-sharp edge to it as he replied, "No. When
I was still an interrogator in the Republican Guard, he came upon me
trying to help a prisoner---a woman whom I had known in
childhood---escape. So I shot and killed him."

That thousand-yard stare held Sawyer pinned to the dirt better than
tent stakes as Sayid said, "His name was Omar. I did not appreciate
you associating him with 'camel shit' earlier. And I would recommend
you not use that particular name again when you choose to forget my own."

"So what's in it for me?" Sawyer drawled, trying to find his footing
as the situation shifted again. He knew he was skippin' through the
briar patch here, still pushing when Sayid had gone all desert danger
man, but he couldn't resist. Just plain didn't want to. "You know, for
'reciprocity' and all."

"You will get to keep breathing, as I will be less likely to lose my
temper and decide to wring your pretty neck," Sayid murmured tightly
as his hands curled into fists.

The Iraqi stood up abruptly and moved to his clothes. "This was a
mistake. It is obvious provoking me gives you more pleasure than any
other activity, and I seem unable to resist rising to the bait." He
shook his head. "Under the circumstances, it seems pointless to
consider any further...encounters of this nature."

Sawyer's eyes narrowed. He was getting that uneasy feeling again, and
he wasn't sure how much of it was because that precise little speech
was just a fancied-up brush-off. He preferred to be the one handing
out those. And it got his back up 'cause the thought of dumping the
sheik hadn't even crossed his mind.

Which should've warned him there was something weird going on, and he
didn't mean the freakin' jungle of mystery.

And another thing: he'd learned more about Sayid in the last half-hour
than he had in the whole time they'd been on Craphole Island. Since
when did Sayid go all A&E Biography? "You're an awfully chatty Cathy
today. A suspicious sorta fella'd wonder why you're suddenly tossing
out all your secrets like they were moon pies at Mardi Gras."

"It is a calculated risk." Sayid shook out his trousers, keeping his
gaze elsewhere, face and tone bland. "If I confirm my weaknesses, I
acknowledge them, and I will not be surprised if you again try to use
them against me."

And didn't *that* put the final kibosh on Sawyer's afterglow good
mood. Somehow all the air got sucked out of their little patch of
jungle paradise. Sawyer could feel his lips stretching into a snarl.
The implied insult on top of
running-hot-and-cold-post-coital-prick-tease Sayid had definitely got
him riled now. "And I suppose I should thank you kindly for saying
'if' and not 'when', huh?"

Sayid didn't respond, just slipped back into his pants and shoes,
balled up the soiled boxers and shoved them into a pocket. Pulled on
his shirt and then picked up the axe and slung it over his shoulder,
moving to leave without a glance back.

And despite Sawyer's best intentions not to give a flying fuck, that
goddamn silent treatment got to him, crawling up his spine and
tightening his eyes and clenching his hands. But why the hell should
it matter that some hot-looking piece of ass sweet-talked him one
minute and cold-cocked him the next? It wasn't like it'd never
happened before.

But Sawyer had actually been stupid enough to think Sayid was on the
up-and-up since that last time in the jungle. That there was
something...ah fuck, he didn't even know what kinda pipe he'd been
smokin' to start thinking that way. But it made him mad as hell just
the same. Least that's the story he was sticking with.

"Tell me something, was this all just some kinda mind fuck for you,
*Omar*?" Sawyer snapped.

Then Sawyer got that dreaded back-of-the-neck prickle as Sayid froze,
then slowly turned back. He looked Sawyer straight in the eye and
answered, "No." Then the Great Stone Face broke again but this time to
confused, as if Sayid was still trying to figure out himself what the
hell happened to turn their spot of Afternoon Delight to such a pile
of horseshit. "No, this was not part of my plan---" humorless twist of
the lips "---as if I even had a plan."

"Yeah, well, newsflash: you're not the only one winging it here." If
Sawyer'd taken even a second to think about it, he'd've put the brakes
on *that* before it flew out of his mouth. Ah, fuck it. "So is that
any goddamn reason to go crashing the whole 747?"

It was almost worth it to watch Sayid go all startled. You could
practically see the guinea pig inside that curly black head put down
his coffee and get back on his little wheel. "Are you attempting to
persuade me to try this again, Sawyer?"

Sawyer shrugged. "Beats spankin' the monkey yourself." He ran a hand
through his hair, then glanced over to see the other man still staring
at him. And Sawyer figured it had nothing to do with him still being
sprawled bare-assed and sticky on the ground. "Shit, Sayid, what the
hell do you expect?"

"Honestly? I do not think I know anymore." Sayid's brows drew together
in consideration. "I suppose I only expect you to be yourself,
Sawyer." His features softened, ever so slightly. "But the longer I
know you, the less I understand what that means."

Sawyer waited until Sayid had moved out of earshot before muttering,
"Well fuck if I know, either."

THE END
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