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(no subject)
looking back all i did was look away
108108
title: electric carving knife
pairing/characters: ben/jack


There's a large cheeseburger that looms over his feet when Jack wakes and the sky has turned a deep red. It looks as beautiful as a photograph, every component placed painstakingly onto its giant bun and a strange light seems to shine on it like a halo. Jack shut his eyes tight in an attempt to dispel the hallucination but when he opens his eyes, that fucking cheeseburger is still there. Staring him down. Threatening to crush him.

"Hello," Jack says. He decides it's best to first greet the cheeseburger politely before he attempts to reason with it.

"i'm lovin it," the cheeseburger says. Actually, it's the yellow text set into the sky beside it that responds.

"You stay the hell out of it," Jack says to the interloping text, "This is between me and that guy." He points to the burger.

"You're pathetic," the yellow text says. It says it with a voice this time. It's nasally and wormy. It sounds like that bastard Ben Linus. Fucking Ben Linus. Everything was going great before that guy got here and locked him up in some shitty motel to puke his guts out while he ran around town doing god knows what.

"That's a fair observation, but it's sort of hindered by the fact that you hang out with a goddamned mute cheeseburger. Speak for yourself, asshole!" Jack shouts, jabbing his finger towards the burger again.

"What?" The yellow text asks. Fuck, it even does that H sound before the "W" thing that Ben does.

It's then that a car rushes by a little too close to the guard rail and Jack turns his head to see the highway. He turns his head back and realizes he's been yelling at a billboard and Ben Linus is standing over him.

"You've been missing for hours. I told you to stay in the hotel room. You smell like whiskey."

Jack has learned to hate when Ben speaks curtly like this.

"I was thirsty."

Ben rolls his eyes and leans town to pull Jack up and drag him over to the car.

--

It's 3:15 in the goddamn morning and Ben's awake, listening to the distinctive dry sound of Jack scratching. Jack blames it on coming down from the oxys, explaining it with some biology jargon about nerve endings. Ben just nods and figures it's for the best that he's off the drugs before the flight home. The scratching, though, violently turns his stomach.

"Do you have to do that?" he asks, turning to face Jack. The other man's face is just barely illuminated by the neon sign outside.

"My skin is crawling."

"I wonder why. Stop doing that."

"I can't."

Ben sighs and leaves his bed for Jack's, the click and whirr of the ice machine outside masking the sound. Jack looks surprised when Ben climbs into his bed with him, but then it quickly phases into mild indifference. Ben cups his face and waits for a long moment before leaning in and cautiously kissing him and surprisingly, Jack accepts the kiss. When Ben pulls back, there's a long silence between them.

"You're in my bed," Jack says. He looks bored. Tired.

Ben huffs a little at the obvious statement. "I am."

"Okay."

"I'm going to help you, Jack," Ben murmurs, his hand slipping into Jack's pants, "You need to sleep."

"Okay."

Jack knows the vicious little games Ben plays at. He slaughters his enemies mercilessly. He drinks their blood for vitality and repeat, repeat, repeats the process. Jack never even began to think he was safe from the massacre, but here Ben is, lying in his bed beside him and trying to comfort him.

Despite everything that Ben has done, it's fucking unbelievable that he hasn't lost any of his innocence. His hand's around Jack's cock, it's moving and fuck is it amazing, but it's like his arm has never taken on this sort of motion before, not even on himself. He watches Jack's face, his eyes wide with what looks like a child's curiousity. Jack smiles back at him, the thought of corrupting someone so impossibly pure sending a wave of electricity through his bones. The itching begins to subside into heat that curls deliciously within his stomach and bubbles up and out of his throat as a strangled, pleading sob.

It takes forever for Jack to come, but when it does, it looks and sounds more like an epiphany than an orgasm. His head tilts back, his pupils blown despite the opiates still coursing through his blood. The cry that erupts from him is like a wounded animal and he buries it into the curve of Ben's neck.

"Thank you." Jack murmurs against Ben's skin.

Ben doesn't answer. He pulls himself away from Jack and retreats to his bed, more interested in sleep than Jack's gratitude.

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