Addiction and Distraction

Author; Trojanhorse

Rating; R-15

Pairing; Charlie/Sawyer, non-graphic.

Disclaimer; LOST and all characters belong to J.J. Abrams, and to all the wonderful writers. I'm making no money off this. But then, if I was, wouldn't I be in Hawaii or wherever they're filming, actually writing scripts? That's the only way I can figure out of making money by writing LOST stories. Wouldn't it be a wonderful way to live?

Sawyer thinks he can take Charlie's mind off things . . .

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Charlie's ring is drumming nervously on the rock he's sitting on. He can't keep his hands still. Just like on the plane, he's making this horrible, arrhythmic noise that irritates the hell out of the musician in him. And just like on the plane, he leaps up and makes to stride off down the beach –

'Charlie? Where're you going?' asks Claire, looking up at him over her swollen belly. He smiles at the sight of her, and gestures into the jungle.

'Gotta take a leak,' he says, managing a little grin, as if he's embarrassed. She smiles back – and the smile makes him so warm inside – and waves him off grandly.

He doesn't need a leak. His bladder's empty, but his head's as full and as buzzing as a hive of really, really pissed off bees. He needs the heroin. He wants the heroin, but Locke took it, and then Charlie himself burnt it to ashes, and it's gone, and he thinks he's going mad.

Was it like this for Liam? Charlie wonders how the hell his brother went through this and came out sane on the other side. He flops to the ground, curling up against a tree, shaking himself. You're going mad, man. How did it get like this? How did you get like this?

The crack of a twig.

Charlie whips his head around, all jumpy, only to see Sawyer coming towards him. The last person he wants to see.

'Don't you have someone else to annoy?' he asks pointedly as the blond man comes closer. His faint hope that it's coincidence, that Sawyer just wanted a quiet pee and happened to follow him, is dashed when Sawyer sits down.

'Hey man," he drawls. 'You don't look so good.'

'Really?' says Charlie caustically, his hands still fluttering. 'Thanks for stating the blatantly bloody obvious.' Bugger, bugger, bugger. Should not have let that slip.

'I know how hard it is . . .' Sawyer's voice trails off. Charlie has to think fast here.

'What? The flu?' Oh, that was convincing, Charlie.

'Stop fucking around,' says Sawyer amiably. 'I'm not blind, and neither are the others. They'll all figure it out sooner or later, you know. Doc probably knows already.'

'Knows what?'

'You're a junkie, man.'

'Hah.'

'So, what is it?' Sawyer shifts closer, gets that acquisitive gleam in his eye, the cocky grin, and Charlie wonders if maybe the blond man's got a habit of his own, wants to know if Charlie could help him out, maybe. Shit. If Sawyer's going through withdrawal too, then he's a bloody sight better at acting than Charlie is. Hardly a shake out of the guy. Anyway, no point denying it anymore.

'Heroin,' says Charlie, a little defensively.

'Whoa.'

'Yeah. Well. Now you know. And I don't have any, so if that's what you're after, I'm not exactly your man.' Charlie's hand is tapping on the tree trunk now, agitatedly. 'Do you think I'd be like this if I had any left?'

'Do you think I'd be like this if I had any left?' asks Charlie. He's really twitchy now, and Sawyer's uncharacteristically starting to worry. He shifts even further forward, and stills the musician with his hands.

'I'm not after drugs, man,' Sawyer says. 'You looked bad, so I followed you.'

'Piss off. I'm fine.' Charlie's belligerent, and Sawyer's seeing his chance. Anger's a way in; get 'em angry, they'll play right into your hands. Anger's easy to steer. Feed it, his brain says.

'Fuck that,' he says, 'you're about as fine as the Pope is Protestant.'

'So what do you want?'

'Nothing.' Sawyer feigns innocence.

'You never want nothing. Ever.'

So, innocence not working so well. Charlie isn't falling for 'concerned Samaritan'. Let's try something else. Maybe 'understanding'.

'Look, I know what you're going through-'

'Bollocks,' says Charlie, and Sawyer has to agree. He's never done drugs. But he's seen people going through withdrawal. They need something to take their mind off it.

Sawyer thinks he knows what that something could be. Besides, he'll be damned if he'll be brushed off by someone who looks about half a step away from total meltdown.

Now Sawyer, while he's not a druggie, will admit to being a bit of an addict for something else. He doesn't think he's gone a week in his adult life without sex. He's never had trouble getting what – or who – he wants. It's a bit different here on the island though. The list of people he'd go after is a bit short; Kate's got Jack, and Jack's got Kate. Shannon's asthma is bad, really bad, and bastard though he might be, Sawyer doesn't want to mess around with her, not unstable as she is. After the beating Boone won't even look at Sawyer. And Sayid's Iraqi. Probably cuts off people's balls for thinking like this. But Charlie. Charlie needs a distraction.

Sawyer reckons he's pretty distracting.

'Man, you're shaking bad,' says Sawyer, holding Charlie steady again. Charlie's eyes are dilating, but that could just be the lack of light under the trees. Their gazes lock, and Sawyer throws any semblance of caution to the winds, and leans forward, kissing Charlie fiercely.

This was the last thing Charlie expected. Sitting pressed up against a tree trunk with Sawyer in his lap. Kissing him. Charlie shoves the blond man away, and stands up.

'What the hell was that?'

'Something to take your mind off things.' Sawyer steps forward again, searches Charlie's face for something. 'Don't tell me you've never kissed a guy before,' he says finally, noting the other man's still-shocked expression.

Charlie sags. He has kissed men before. Men, women, whoever. When he was . . . you

know. The silence from the other side of the confessional had been terrible, whenever he'd remembered to go.

Sawyer grins when he sees the uncertainty – when he realizes there will be not be a negative response. He steps forward, right up against Charlie's chest, and slides an arm down around the shorter man's waist to hold him steady. Charlie looks up into Sawyer's eyes.

'You're trembling,' Sawyer says, and leans in to kiss Charlie again.

This is just too good. Admittedly, Sawyer hadn't had the foggiest whether or not Charlie was straight, gay, hermaphrodite or neuter, so he would have been surprised whatever the outcome. But this outcome is definitely a good one. He pulls Charlie to the ground and stretches out over him, easing his tongue into the bass player's mouth, revelling in the moans he elicits. Charlie is muscled and fit, and Sawyer drags his hand down the other man's torso, down until he can cup the growing bulge in Charlie's pants.

Charlie arches into the caress, into Sawyer, aching for him. Then memory takes over, another place, another man, and the buzz of heroin – that's what he needs to make this perfect –

'No!' Charlie sits up, dislodging Sawyer. 'No,' he says again, in a steadier voice, drawing his legs out from under the surprised American.

'What's going on?' asks Sawyer, looking very disappointed. 'Teasing's not nice, y'know.'

Charlie stands up, still shaky as hell, and leans against the tree. No explanation seems forthcoming. Sawyer stands up as well, and puts his hand on Charlie's shoulder.

'Bugger off, Sawyer,' comes Charlie's muffled voice. 'Bugger off and leave me alone.'

'What the hell?'

Charlie takes a deep breath, and turns to look Sawyer in the eye. 'I can't,' he says, and his voice cracks.

'Like hell you can't. You want me,' says Sawyer with the assurance of someone who's been wanted all his life, and knows it too.

'And I want my heroin,' says Charlie. 'But I can't have it.'

'You can have me,' says Sawyer, easing closer. Charlie isn't having any of it.

'I can't,' he says, stepping away. 'You . . . remind me. I need to forget.' Charlie turns away, starts walking back to the camp on the beach. 'I don't want to be a junkie any more.'

A/N; In case you're wondering, yes, I ship Claire/Charlie, which is why Sawyer never quite got into Charlie's pants. But, you know how some bunnies bite, and bite, and then finally maul you to get your attention? This was one of those; despite the fact that I've only seen a few episodes of LOST, it would not let go.

Much appreciation and lembas (from my Lothlorien suppliers) to the Fuselage Linear Board members Queen Mab, Spiffy and Slice, who all gave me comments/beta-read for me, and to Bridget, my beloved Official!Beta-Reader, who despite not knowing LOST at all, checked this out for mechanical errors. She knows I love her. And maybe I'll have that Aziraphale/Crowley ready for her birthday, who knows?