The sun hung low over the island, casting a golden haze across the secluded lake that shimmered like a forgotten jewel amid the dense jungle. Palm fronds rustled softly in the humid breeze, carrying the faint, earthy scent of damp soil and blooming orchids. Jack Shephard trudged toward the water's edge, his white shirt clinging to his sweat-dampened skin, the weight of the day's frustrations etched into the tense lines of his shoulders. He'd come here to clear his head, away from the chaos of the beach camp, away from the endless debates and survival scraps that gnawed at his sanity. The cool promise of the lake was a small mercy, a place to wash off the grime and the ghosts of decisions he couldn't undo.

But solitude was a luxury the island rarely granted. As Jack knelt by the shore, splashing water onto his face, a rustle in the underbrush made him freeze. Emerging from the shadows of the trees was James Ford—Sawyer, with his trademark smirk half-hidden behind a day's stubble, his faded gray tank top stretched taut over his lean, sun-bronzed frame. He carried a makeshift spear, probably for fishing, but his blue eyes locked onto Jack with the precision of a predator sizing up prey. The air thickened instantly, charged with the familiar spark of rivalry that had simmered between them since the crash.

"Well, if it ain't Doc," Sawyer drawled, his voice low and laced with that Southern drawl that always managed to grate and intrigue in equal measure. He tossed the spear aside carelessly, letting it thud into the soft earth, and sauntered closer, boots sinking into the muddy bank. "Fancy meetin' you here. Thought you'd be back at camp playin' hero, patchin' up the latest fool who can't keep his mouth shut."

Jack straightened slowly, water dripping from his chin, his dark eyes narrowing as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. The proximity felt too close already, the heat radiating off Sawyer's body mingling with the steamy air, stirring something primal Jack had tried to bury under layers of responsibility. "Not in the mood for your games, Sawyer," he replied, his tone clipped, though his gaze flicked involuntarily over the other man's form—the way his muscles shifted under tanned skin, the faint scar tracing his collarbone from some old island skirmish. "What are you doing out here? Stalking me now?"

Sawyer chuckled, a rough sound that didn't reach his eyes, and closed the distance until they were mere feet apart, the lake lapping gently at their heels. The water's surface rippled, reflecting the tension coiling between them like an invisible current. "Stalkin'? Nah, just fishin' for trouble. But look at you, all broody by the water. What's eatin' ya, Jack? Still sore about that little spat we had yesterday? Or is it the way I called you out on bein' the island's favorite martyr?"

Jack's jaw tightened, the words hitting too close to the raw nerve of their last argument—the one that had erupted over leadership, trust, and the unspoken barbs of their tangled history. Frustration bubbled up, hot and insistent, but beneath it lurked something else, a pull that made his pulse quicken. He stepped forward, invading Sawyer's space, the scent of salt and sweat filling his senses. "You don't get it, do you? It's not about ego. It's about survival. And you—always pushing, always testing. What do you want from me, Sawyer? To break?"

Their breaths mingled in the humid air, heavy and uneven, as Sawyer's smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a flicker of something vulnerable—anger, desire, maybe both. He didn't back down, his chest brushing Jack's in a deliberate challenge, the warmth of his body igniting sparks along Jack's skin. "Maybe I do want to break you, Doc. Or maybe I just want you to admit you're as messed up over this as I am."

The lake seemed to hold its breath, the mist rising from the water like a veil, wrapping around them as the argument hung on the edge of something far more dangerous, their bodies drawn inexorably closer in the charged silence.

Jack's eyes narrowed, the golden light catching the stubble on his jaw as he held Sawyer's gaze, unyielding. The air hummed with the island's relentless pulse—the distant call of a bird, the whisper of leaves—but it all faded against the heat radiating from the man before him. Sawyer's smirk deepened, a challenge etched in the curve of his lips, but there was something raw beneath it, a flicker of the vulnerability Jack had glimpsed too many times and ignored.

"You always gotta make everything a battlefield, don't you?" Jack growled, his voice low and edged with gravel, stepping even closer until the toes of their boots nearly touched. The scent of Sawyer's skin—salt and earth and that faint, musky trace of sweat—invaded Jack's senses, stirring something primal he tried to shove down. His hands itched to grab, to shake, but he held back, fists tight at his sides.

Sawyer chuckled, a rough sound that didn't reach his eyes, tilting his head as if appraising a worthy opponent. "Me? Hell, Doc, you're the one marchin' around like you own this damn island, barkin' orders and pretendin' you got it all figured out." He leaned in, his breath warm against Jack's cheek, close enough that the fine hairs on Jack's arm stood on end. The lake's cool mist brushed their skin, a stark contrast to the fire building between them, but Sawyer's words cut deeper, slicing into the wounds they'd left open. "What're you really runnin' from out here? Afraid to face what a mess you've made?"

The accusation hit like a punch, Jack's chest tightening as memories of their last fight flooded back—Sawyer's taunts about Kate, about Jack's endless need to fix everything, even when it broke him. He surged forward, their chests brushing in a jolt of contact that sent electricity crackling through Jack's veins. "You think you're so damn clever, always twisting things to suit your con-man bullshit," Jack shot back, his tone laced with frustration, but his eyes betrayed him, dipping to the pulse throbbing in Sawyer's neck, the way his shirt gaped open just enough to reveal the rise and fall of his chest. Desire coiled low in Jack's gut, unwanted and insistent, mingling with the anger like oil and fire.

Sawyer's smirk faltered for a split second, his blue eyes darkening as he met Jack's intensity head-on. He didn't back away; instead, he planted his feet firmer on the pebbled shore, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly under his skin. "Twistin'? That's rich comin' from the guy who can't admit he's in over his head. You push everyone away, Jack—me included—then act surprised when it all blows up." His voice dropped, husky now, the drawl wrapping around the words like smoke. The proximity was intoxicating, the humid air thick with unspoken accusations, and Sawyer's fingers twitched at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach out.

Jack's breath hitched, the warmth of Sawyer's body seeping through his thin shirt, making his skin prickle with awareness. He hated how Sawyer could do this—strip him bare with a look, a word—exposing the cracks in his resolve. "Maybe I push because you pull, Sawyer. Always testing, always fighting, like you want me to lose control." The words hung heavy, laced with a truth neither had voiced before, and Jack's gaze locked on Sawyer's mouth, the full lips parted just enough to hint at the storm raging inside him. Frustration boiled over, but so did the pull, magnetic and undeniable, drawing them into a dangerous orbit.

Sawyer's eyes flashed, a mix of defiance and something softer, more vulnerable, that he quickly masked with a sharp laugh. "Lose control? Darlin', you've been dancin' on the edge since we crashed here. Question is, what happens when you finally let go?" He shifted, his hip brushing Jack's thigh in a fleeting touch that ignited sparks, the lake's gentle waves lapping at their feet like an invitation to drown in the tension. The argument simmered, words turning barbed and intimate, each jab peeling back layers until desire threaded through the anger, hot and insistent.

Jack's control snapped like a taut vine under the island's relentless humidity. His hand shot out, fingers curling into the open collar of Sawyer's shirt, yanking him forward until their bodies collided with a muffled thud. The impact sent a jolt through them both, Sawyer's chest heaving against Jack's, the rough fabric of his shirt scraping against Jack's damp skin. Heat bloomed where they touched, Sawyer's warmth seeping through the thin barriers of cloth, and Jack could feel the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath his palm, wild and unyielding.

"You drive me insane," Jack rasped, his breath hot against Sawyer's ear, the words a growl laced with fury and need. He shoved harder, backing Sawyer toward the water's edge, the pebbles shifting under their boots with a gritty crunch. Sawyer's hands came up instinctively, one gripping Jack's wrist, the other fisting the back of his shirt, but there was no real fight in it—just a fierce hold that pulled them closer, bodies aligning in a tangle of limbs and unspoken hunger.

Sawyer's laugh was breathless, edged with a sharpness that cut through the humid air. "Good. 'Bout time you felt somethin' real, Doc." His free hand slid up Jack's arm, nails digging in just enough to sting, tracing the corded muscle tense with restraint. The lake's mist curled around their legs, cool against the fire raging between them, and Sawyer's eyes locked on Jack's, blue depths stormy with challenge and craving. He didn't yield; instead, he twisted slightly, pressing his thigh between Jack's legs in a deliberate grind that drew a low hiss from Jack's lips.

The friction ignited something feral, Jack's grip tightening as he crushed his mouth against Sawyer's. The kiss was brutal, all teeth and desperation, tasting of salt and the faint bitterness of their shared frustration. Sawyer groaned into it, his body arching, submitting to the force even as his tongue pushed back, battling for dominance in a slick, heated dance. Jack's hands roamed, one sliding down to Sawyer's hip, fingers digging into the denim, pulling him flush until the hard line of arousal pressed insistently against his own.

They stumbled together, boots splashing into the shallow water, the cool ripples lapping at their calves like teasing fingers. Jack broke the kiss with a gasp, his forehead pressing against Sawyer's, breaths mingling in ragged bursts. "You think this changes anything?" he murmured, voice rough, but his hand betrayed him, slipping under Sawyer's shirt to trace the warm, sweat-slick planes of his abdomen, thumb brushing over a nipple that hardened under the touch.

Sawyer's response was a shuddering exhale, his head tipping back to expose the line of his throat, vulnerable in the golden light. "Doesn't have to," he shot back, but the words lacked their usual bite, fraying at the edges with raw honesty. His fingers tangled in Jack's hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, guiding him down to where pulse fluttered wildly. Jack's lips followed, nipping at the skin, sucking a mark that would linger like a brand, the taste of Sawyer—earthy and alive—flooding his senses.

The water deepened around their knees now, soaking the hems of their jeans, but neither cared as Jack spun Sawyer around, pressing him against the smooth trunk of a nearby tree half-submerged at the edge. Bark bit into Sawyer's back through his shirt, a sharp contrast to the heat of Jack's body pinning him there. Jack's hands worked frantically at Sawyer's belt, the metal buckle clinking softly, then the zipper's rasp cutting through the jungle's hum. Sawyer's breath hitched, his hips bucking forward as Jack's palm cupped him through the fabric, stroking with firm, deliberate pressure that made Sawyer's eyes flutter shut.

"Jack..." The name escaped Sawyer in a broken whisper, half-protest, half-plea, his body yielding even as his mind warred with the surrender. Jack silenced him with another bruising kiss, free hand shoving Sawyer's shirt up to expose the taut lines of his torso, fingers mapping scars and muscle with possessive urgency. The air thickened with their mingled scents—sweat, water, desire—and Jack ground against him, the friction sending sparks up his spine, building the ache that had simmered for too long.

Sawyer's legs parted instinctively as Jack freed him, the cool air a shock against heated flesh before Jack's hand wrapped around him, stroking with a rhythm that was both punishing and reverent. Water sloshed around them, mirroring the building tide within, and Sawyer's hands clutched at Jack's shoulders, nails scoring skin through cloth. Jack's own need strained against his jeans, but he focused on Sawyer, on unraveling him, their argument dissolving into gasps and moans that echoed off the lake's glassy surface.

The tension crested in a haze of urgent motion, Jack yanking off his shirt with a swift, desperate tug, the sodden fabric slapping wetly against the shore. He eased Sawyer down onto the mossy bank, the earth cool and spongy beneath their weight, shallow pools of lake water gathering in the dips of Sawyer's spine and the hollows of his hips. Sawyer's jeans were dragged lower in a rough slide, baring him completely to the thick, humid air that kissed his flushed skin, and Jack stripped away his own barriers with equal haste, their bodies colliding in a searing press of bare flesh—silk-smooth heat and insistent friction igniting every nerve. He entered Sawyer with a deliberate, shuddering thrust, drawing twin groans from their throats at the exquisite grip of tight, welcoming warmth, their forms fusing in a primal tangle that unleashed the pent-up tempest—raw hate coiling into fierce desire, bottled frustration spilling free in the slick grind of hips and the hot, ragged harmony of their breaths.

Jack's thrusts were deliberate at first, each one a measured claim that sent ripples skimming across the lake's surface, mirroring the tremor in Sawyer's frame. The mossy bank cradled their bodies, cool and damp beneath Sawyer's back, a stark counterpoint to the feverish slide of skin against skin. Water lapped at their sides, teasing the edges of their union, as Jack braced one hand on the earth, fingers sinking into the soft, yielding ground. Sawyer's legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the taut muscles of Jack's lower back, urging him deeper with a desperation that bordered on violence. The air hummed with their ragged breaths, the jungle's distant chorus fading into irrelevance against the wet, rhythmic sounds of their joining.

Sweat beaded on Jack's brow, trickling down to mingle with the lake's mist on Sawyer's chest, where Jack's free hand roamed possessively—tracing the ridge of a rib, the dip of a hipbone, the faint scars that told stories Jack had never asked to hear. Sawyer arched beneath him, his body clenching in response, a low moan escaping his lips that vibrated through Jack's core. The friction built like a gathering storm, hot and unrelenting, Jack's hips snapping forward with increasing urgency, chasing the release that hovered just out of reach. But beneath the haze of lust, the argument's embers still smoldered, twisting pleasure with the sharp edge of their unresolved pain.

"Damn you, Sawyer," Jack growled against his neck, teeth grazing the pulse point that fluttered wildly under his lips. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the confession bubbling up amid the haze. He slowed his pace just enough to feel Sawyer's inner walls grip him tighter, a punishing tease that drew a frustrated whimper from the man beneath him. "I can't... I can't stop caring about you. Even when you push me away, even when you make me want to hate you." The words slipped out unbidden, raw and aching, as Jack's hand slid up to cup Sawyer's jaw, forcing their eyes to meet—dark brown locked on stormy blue, the vulnerability stark in the golden light filtering through the palms.

Sawyer's breath hitched, his body tensing as if the admission were a physical blow, hips faltering in their instinctive roll. The water sloshed higher now, cool tendrils climbing their thighs, but it did nothing to quench the fire. His fingers dug into Jack's shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks on sweat-slicked skin, a mix of hold and plea. "Caring? That's your problem, Doc—always playin' the hero, thinkin' you can fix what's broken." His voice was husky, strained, the drawl thickening with emotion he couldn't quite mask. He bucked up sharply, reclaiming some control, but the movement only deepened their connection, sending sparks racing through them both. Fear flickered in his eyes, unguarded for a heartbeat—fear of letting Jack in, of baring the scars that ran deeper than the ones on his skin.

Jack's response was a deeper thrust, one that bordered on brutal, as if to silence the doubt, but it only heightened the intimacy, their bodies locked in a dance of push and pull. The lake's surface danced with their motion, droplets scattering like stars, and Jack leaned down, capturing Sawyer's mouth in a kiss that was less conquest and more confession—tongues tangling with a tenderness that clashed against the frustration. Sawyer yielded for a moment, his hands sliding into Jack's damp hair, tugging with a need that spoke of longing long denied. But the angst lingered, a shadow over their passion, making every touch feel like a battle they weren't sure they wanted to win.

"You think I don't see it?" Sawyer murmured against Jack's lips, breaking the kiss with a gasp as another wave of pleasure crested. His chest heaved, nipples pebbled from the cool air and Jack's earlier attentions, and he arched again, chasing the building pressure low in his belly. "This vulnerability crap... it scares the hell outta me. Lettin' you close means gettin' hurt, Jack. And I ain't built for that no more." The admission hung between them, fragile and exposed, his blue eyes searching Jack's face for judgment or rejection. Water pooled in the hollows of their collarbones, a cool kiss against the heat, but it couldn't wash away the tension coiling tighter, romantic and fraught, pulling them deeper into the unresolved storm.

Jack's rhythm faltered, his own arousal throbbing insistently, buried to the hilt in Sawyer's welcoming heat, but the words pierced him, stirring a frustration that mirrored Sawyer's fear. He ground down harder, angling to hit that spot inside that made Sawyer cry out—a sharp, broken sound that echoed off the encircling trees. Their bodies glistened, intertwined and slick, the scent of earth and arousal thick in the humid air. Jack's hand wrapped around Sawyer's length, stroking in time with his thrusts, building him toward the edge with firm, unrelenting pulls that had Sawyer's thighs quivering. Yet even as the peak loomed, Jack held back something intangible—a full surrender, the connection they both craved but couldn't grasp, leaving the air charged with aching possibility.

Sawyer's head fell back against the moss, throat exposed and bobbing with each labored breath, his body a live wire under Jack's command. The confessions had stripped them raw, heightening every sensation—the slide of muscle, the clutch of fingers, the shared heat that threatened to consume them. But doubt lingered in Sawyer's gaze, a frustrated shadow that made his submission feel like a temporary truce, not a bridge to healing.As the intensity swelled, Jack's movements grew more erratic, driving them both toward a shattering release, but in the haze of near-climax, he sensed the fragility, the need to draw it out, to deny the easy end and force them to confront what simmered beneath.

Jack's hand tightened around Sawyer's shaft, the velvety heat pulsing under his fingers as he pumped with a rhythm that matched the relentless drive of his hips. Each stroke was deliberate, slick with the mix of lake water and their shared sweat, drawing out gasps from Sawyer's parted lips that mingled with the soft splash of ripples against the bank. The moss beneath them yielded like a lover's sigh, cradling Sawyer's back as his body arched, muscles coiling tight, every inch of him trembling on the precipice. Jack could feel it—the way Sawyer's inner walls clenched around him, hot and insistent, pulling him deeper into the vortex of their union. The air hung heavy with the musky tang of arousal, the humid breeze teasing across their exposed skin like a whispered taunt, heightening the electric charge that arced between them.

Sawyer's fingers clawed at Jack's back, nails raking down the sweat-slicked planes of muscle, leaving trails of fire that only fueled the frenzy. "Jack... God, don't stop," he rasped, voice breaking on the plea, his blue eyes half-lidded and stormy, locked on Jack's face with a desperation that bordered on anguish. The confession from moments before lingered like a ghost, twisting the pleasure into something sharper, more poignant—the fear of vulnerability clashing against the raw need to let go. Jack's thrusts deepened, angling to graze that sensitive spot inside, sending shockwaves through Sawyer's frame that made his thighs quake and his breath hitch in ragged bursts. Water lapped higher now, cool fingers tracing the curve of Sawyer's hip where it met Jack's, a sensual contrast to the scorching friction building between them.

Heat coiled low in Jack's belly, his own release hovering like a thunderhead, but he pushed it back, focusing on the man beneath him—the way Sawyer's chest heaved, nipples taut and begging for attention, the faint tremor in his jaw as he fought to hold onto control. Jack leaned down, capturing one in his mouth, tongue swirling with a teasing flick that elicited a choked moan, vibrations humming through Sawyer's body straight to Jack's core. The texture was intoxicating—smooth skin over rigid peaks, salty from the mist—and Jack sucked harder, his free hand pinning Sawyer's wrist to the moss, dominating the moment even as his heart ached with the unspoken weight of their words. Their bodies moved in sync, slick slides and grinding presses, the lake's surface mirroring the chaos with ever-widening ripples that carried echoes of their passion into the jungle.

Sawyer's hips bucked wildly now, chasing the peak with frantic urgency, his length throbbing in Jack's grip, pre-come beading at the tip like dew on a leaf. The tension wound tighter, a spring ready to snap, Sawyer's breaths coming in short, desperate pants that fogged the air between them. "I'm—Jack, please," he whispered, the drawl frayed and vulnerable, his free hand fisting in Jack's damp hair, pulling him into a messy kiss that tasted of salt and longing. Jack returned it fiercely, tongue delving deep, mirroring the thrust that buried him to the hilt, their bodies locked in a heated embrace that blurred the line between hate and need. The world narrowed to sensations—the wet slap of skin, the earthy scent of moss and man, the insistent pulse of arousal demanding release.

But as Sawyer teetered on the edge, body tensing like a bowstring, Jack felt the surge of power—and the stab of frustration that this couldn't end so simply. Not yet. With a deliberate cruelty born of his own unresolved turmoil, he slowed his strokes, loosening his grip just enough to withhold the final push. Sawyer whimpered into his mouth, hips jerking futilely, the denied friction a torment that made his eyes snap open wide, confusion and ache swirling in their depths. Jack pulled back slightly, still buried deep but motionless, his hand hovering teasingly over Sawyer's straining cock, breath hot against his ear. "Not like this," Jack murmured, voice rough with restraint, his own body screaming for completion but held in check by the need to make them feel it all—the anger, the care, the fear that bound them.

Sawyer's face contorted, a mix of fury and pleading, his chest rising and falling in heaving waves as the peak slipped away, leaving him aching and exposed. "Bastard," he growled, but there was no real venom, only the raw edge of frustration that mirrored Jack's own, their connection thrumming with strained electricity. Jack's fingers traced lightly over Sawyer's length now, a feather-touch that kept the fire smoldering without igniting, drawing out a shuddering gasp that rippled through them both. The lake's mist thickened around them, cool veils obscuring the golden light, as if the island itself conspired to draw out their torment. Jack finally withdrew, the loss eliciting twin groans of protest, their bodies slick and trembling, hearts pounding in the humid silence.

They lay there for a suspended moment, breaths syncing in the aftermath's haze, Sawyer's hand still tangled in Jack's hair, neither willing to fully let go. The water lapped at their sides, a gentle reminder of the world beyond their bubble of tension, but the ache lingered, physical and emotional, a hook that promised no easy resolution. Jack's eyes met Sawyer's, dark with unspoken promises and lingering frustration, the air between them crackling with what they'd left unfinished.Sawyer pushed himself up on elbows slick with moss and water, his body still humming with unspent energy, blue eyes narrowing at Jack in a glare that held more heat than hate. "You son of a bitch," he muttered, voice low and gravelly, but he didn't move away, his thigh brushing Jack's in a deliberate press that reignited sparks. Jack sat back on his heels, chest heaving, the cool air raising gooseflesh on his damp skin as he fought the urge to pull Sawyer close again. The frustration etched lines around his mouth, the romantic pull warring with the angst that kept them tethered yet apart.

Without another word, Sawyer rolled to his feet, jeans tugged haphazardly back into place, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his unsatisfied arousal. He shot Jack a lingering glance over his shoulder, stormy eyes promising retribution or reconciliation—maybe both—as he waded deeper into the shallows, the mist swirling around his legs like a shroud. Jack watched, heart twisting, the unresolved tension coiling tighter in his gut, knowing this lake, this island, would draw them back together soon enough.

Jack remained on the mossy bank, his body still thrumming with the denied release, muscles taut and skin prickled by the cooling mist that rolled off the lake like a lover's sigh. The water's edge lapped insistently at his bare feet, cold and teasing, a pale echo of the heat that had consumed them moments before. He watched Sawyer's retreating form through the haze, the man's broad shoulders cutting a silhouette against the fading gold of the sun, jeans slung low and damp, clinging to the curve of his ass in a way that stirred Jack's frustration anew. His own arousal ached, heavy and unfulfilled between his thighs, but it was the emotional void that gnawed deeper—the confessions hanging unfinished, raw edges exposed without balm.

Sawyer paused in the shallows, water swirling around his calves, the ripples distorting his reflection into fractured pieces that mirrored the mess between them. He turned halfway, profile sharp in the dimming light, blue eyes catching Jack's with a intensity that pinned him in place. No smirk this time, just a weary furrow between his brows, the vulnerability from earlier peeking through like sunlight through storm clouds. "You gonna sit there all night, Doc? Or you plannin' to finish what you started?" His voice carried across the water, drawl thick with challenge, but undercut by a husky tremor that betrayed the ache Sawyer wouldn't admit.

Jack pushed to his feet, the spongy moss sucking at his soles as he yanked up his jeans, the rough denim scraping against sensitive skin, a frustrating barrier to the intimacy they'd shattered. His shirt lay discarded nearby, sodden and useless, so he left it, chest bare to the humid air that raised fresh goosebumps along his arms. He took a step toward the water, pebbles shifting underfoot with a gritty whisper, closing the distance but not bridging it. The mist thickened, veiling Sawyer's features in soft gray, making his eyes seem darker, more haunted. "This isn't over," Jack said, the words rough, laced with the angst that twisted his gut. He wanted to reach out, to pull Sawyer back into the shallows and drown them both in what they'd left hanging, but the fear of pushing too far—of breaking what fragile thread held them—kept him rooted.

Sawyer's laugh was low, bitter, echoing faintly off the encircling trees as he splashed a hand through the water, sending droplets arcing like scattered diamonds. They caught the light before pattering back, some landing on Jack's chest, cool trails tracing down to his navel and lower, teasing the unresolved heat. "Ain't nothin' ever over with you, Jack. You drag it out till it bleeds." He lingered there, hip cocked, one hand raking through his damp hair, fingers lingering at the nape where Jack's breath had ghosted earlier. The gesture was casual, but the way his gaze dropped to Jack's mouth spoke volumes—unspoken promises of retaliation, of nights when the tension would snap again, harder, deeper.

The air between them hummed with frustration, the kind that simmered without boiling over, leaving them both raw and yearning. Jack felt the pull, magnetic and insistent, drawing his eyes over Sawyer's form—the rise and fall of his chest, the faint red marks blooming where Jack's teeth had grazed, the subtle shift of muscle under tanned skin as he balanced against the current. He took another step into the shallows, water soaking his jeans anew, cold shock climbing his legs, but Sawyer mirrored him, backing away just enough to maintain the chasm. Their eyes locked in a prolonged stare, stormy blue meeting determined brown, the mist curling between like a barrier they both resented and needed.

Sawyer broke first, turning fully now, wading deeper until the water lapped at his thighs, the mist swallowing the lower half of his body in swirling veils. He shot one last glance over his shoulder, lips parting as if to say more, but the words died unspoken, replaced by a nod that carried the weight of their shared ache. Jack stood frozen, heart pounding against his ribs, watching as Sawyer's figure blurred into the haze, the lake's surface rippling with his passage like a promise etched in waves. The jungle loomed darker now, shadows lengthening, but the tension lingered in the air, thick as the humidity, hinting at the confrontations to come—the kind that might finally forge reconciliation from the ruins of their fight.

Jack lingered in the shallows, the water's chill seeping through the denim of his jeans, a relentless reminder of the heat they'd abandoned too soon. His skin still tingled where Sawyer's nails had scored his back, faint red lines pulsing with each heartbeat, a map of their unfinished battle etched into his flesh. The mist clung to him like a second skin, damp and cool against his bare chest, carrying the faint, earthy scent of the lake mixed with the lingering musk of their arousal. He could still feel the ghost of Sawyer inside him—the tight, welcoming heat that had gripped him so fiercely, now replaced by an aching void that twisted deeper than any physical denial. His breath came in slow, measured pulls, fighting the urge to plunge after the fading silhouette, to drag Sawyer back and finish what frustration had interrupted.

The jungle's chorus swelled around him, a cacophony of insect hums and distant bird calls that seemed to mock the silence between them, amplifying the echo of Sawyer's parting words in his mind. Jack's fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening against the pull of the current tugging at his legs, as if the island itself conspired to keep them apart. He stared into the mist, willing Sawyer's form to sharpen, to turn back with that infuriating smirk and challenge him anew. But the haze only thickened, veiling the world in soft grays, until all that remained was the subtle disturbance of ripples fading into stillness. The sun dipped lower, painting the treetops in fiery oranges, but the warmth did nothing to thaw the knot of angst in Jack's chest—the care he'd confessed, now hanging like an exposed nerve, raw and untended.

A rustle from the underbrush snapped him from his reverie, but it was only the wind teasing the palms, leaves whispering secrets he couldn't decipher. Jack waded out of the water, the pebbles gritty under his soles, each step a jolt that grounded him in the frustration simmering low in his gut. He snatched up his discarded shirt from the bank, the fabric heavy and sodden in his grip, water dripping from it like unshed tears. As he shook it out, the scent of Sawyer clung to the threads—sweat and skin and the faint trace of lake water—stirring a fresh wave of need that made his cock twitch against the confines of his jeans. He pulled the shirt on anyway, the wet cloth clinging coldly to his torso, outlining every ridge of muscle in a way that felt vulnerably exposed, as if Sawyer's gaze still lingered on him from the mist.

Deeper in the jungle, Sawyer pushed through the thickening foliage, vines snagging at his damp jeans like insistent fingers, the fabric chafing against his still-sensitive skin with every stride. His arousal throbbed unmet, a dull ache that radiated through his thighs, syncing with the frustrated pound of his heart. The mist followed him, cool tendrils curling around his ankles, brushing against the places Jack's hands had claimed—his hips, his inner thighs—teasing without satisfaction, heightening the torment of denial. He raked a hand through his hair again, fingers tangling in the damp strands, pulling just hard enough to sting, a poor substitute for the grip he'd craved from Jack moments ago. The confession he'd let slip echoed in his ears, vulnerable and foolish, stirring a fear that coiled tighter than the heat they'd shared, making him quicken his pace toward camp as if distance could bury it.

But the island had other plans; the path curved unexpectedly, leading Sawyer back toward a narrower inlet of the lake he'd skirted earlier, the water's edge hidden by overhanging ferns that dripped condensation onto his shoulders. He paused there, leaning against a smooth boulder worn slick by years of tides, the stone cool and unyielding against his palm. His breath steadied, but his body didn't—nipples pebbling under the damp shirt from the evening chill, skin flushing with memories of Jack's mouth on him, hot and demanding. Sawyer closed his eyes, letting the lake's soft lap against the rocks lull the storm inside, but the angst persisted, a frustrated whisper questioning why he couldn't just walk away for good. Jack's words—"I can't stop caring"—hung heavy, pulling at him like the current, tempting him to turn back despite the walls he'd built so carefully.

Jack followed the faint trail Sawyer must have taken, his boots sinking into the soft earth, each step deliberate despite the uncertainty gnawing at him. The jungle closed in, humid air thick with the scent of blooming orchids and decaying leaves, a sensory overload that mirrored the chaos in his mind. He could almost feel Sawyer's presence ahead—the subtle snap of a twig, the rustle of fabric against foliage—drawing him forward like an invisible thread. His chest tightened with romantic tension, the kind that blurred hate into longing, frustration into a need to reconnect that he wasn't sure either of them could handle. As he rounded a bend, the inlet came into view, and there was Sawyer, silhouetted against the boulder, head bowed as if wrestling his own demons. The sight hit Jack like a wave, stirring the embers of their encounter, his pulse quickening with the promise of another clash—or perhaps, finally, a step toward mending the rift.

Sawyer sensed him before he looked up, the air shifting with Jack's approach, carrying the faint scent of moss and man that made his skin prickle anew. He straightened slowly, turning with a guarded expression, blue eyes narrowing through the dimming light, but the frustration in them softened at the edges, laced with that undeniable pull. "Couldn't stay away, huh?" Sawyer drawled, voice low and edged with weariness, but he didn't move from the boulder, his body language an invitation wrapped in challenge—shoulders squared, yet hips shifting subtly, as if bracing for touch.

Jack stopped a few feet away, the space between them charged with the humid evening air, water from the inlet lapping softly at the bank like a heartbeat. His eyes traced Sawyer's form—the damp shirt clinging to his chest, outlining the rapid rise and fall, the faint flush creeping up his neck from unresolved heat. "Neither could you," Jack replied, his tone rough, stepping closer until the heat of their bodies mingled again, the mist parting just enough to reveal the spark in Sawyer's gaze. The angst hung thick, frustrating their every impulse, but the romantic undercurrent tugged harder, hinting at the deeper waters they might yet navigate together.