|cat and mouse for fosfomifira
||[Dec. 23rd, 2011|03:11 pm]
Title: Cat and Mouse
Summary: Sawyer knows he should not do this. (Sawyer/Kevin)
Author notes: I took liberties in the interpretation of fosfomifira's request, and I sure hope she likes the fic anyway. Merry Christmas! Many thank yous to my dear friend for reading it over for me and to the lostsquee mods for organizing this wonderful fest ♥
Sawyer knows he should not do this. That it's a very very bad idea.
But he wants to. Playing with a cop is fun.
He's got a feeling that playing with Kevin? Will be exhilarating.
Kevin had almost caught him with a hand in the metaphorical cookie jar when they had first met. Sawyer had been questioned as a person of interest in an embezzlement case, but fortunately the cops didn't have much of a lead at the time and were just nosing around. It was adrenaline-filled moments like that which that made his life so exciting, and Sawyer had managed to dodge suspicion, taking Kevin's business card with a smile and a promise to call if he had more information.
Sawyer had left Miami that night, before being officially linked to the case, and that should have been it. But for some reason he'd kept the card, forgotten behind a picture of kids cut from a catalog just in case he had to play the part of a doting dad.
Sneaking out of a one night stand's bed when they're still asleep, sated, is - in Sawyer’s opinion - doing everyone a favor. It's less trouble, and there's no disappointment if one person would have liked for things to turn into something more. Sawyer doesn't know why he leaves a note on the nightstand; it feels right with this guy, somehow.
It's not you - you were fantastic - it's me, you know the drill.
Take care OK?
(trust me, it's better this way)
Leaving without turning back is surprisingly difficult.
Sawyer's eating a sandwich when his spidey sense starts tingling. After a quick look around the sandwich shack he spots a man watching him from two tables away, brows furrowed, his own lunch all but forgotten for the moment.
He never forgets a pretty face, especially not a cop, so Sawyer immediately recognizes the detective that interrogated him on his last job here in Miami, ten months ago at least. Caught staring, the cop - his name is Kevin, Sawyer remembers - surprisingly ducks his head before throwing him a little smile. It's adorable and Sawyer cannot help a smile back, to which the guy actually blushes. Oh, but this could be all kinds of interesting. Sawyer should leave it at that, cut ties and run again since he's not been recognized back, but he's never been good at impulse control.
He’s looking for a stray twenty in his wallet to pay for his hour of self-service internet when he spots Kevin’s card. It’s like a conspiracy, these days: Sawyer keeps noticing little things that make him go back to Miami, at least in thoughts. Being distracted by uniforms would be bad enough, but it’s gentle smiles and sparkly blue eyes, too.
The business card states Kevin’s status and coordinates at the police station, including his email, and it proves too hard to resist. Sawyer finds a free e-card provider, selects the ugliest one he can find because it’s hilarious in a blinding kind of way, and he sends it before reason gets a hold of him.
Wish you were here. J.
Stopping by Kevin's table, Sawyer takes a smoke out before tapping it on the pack. He won't lie, the adrenaline is high. He looks sideways at Kevin and smiles when their eyes meet.
"Hey," he says as an opening, and it works like a charm.
"Hi," Kevin answers with a disarming smile.
"I'm new 'round these parts and I was wondering if you could help me out?" Sawyer asks.
"Sure," Kevin says, eager to please. "What are you looking for?"
Sawyer itches to light his cigarette, but a crotchety little lady is glaring at him from one table over, as if daring him to try while still in a no smoking zone. He puts the stick behind his ear instead.
"Is there a nice night club around here?"
Kevin nods. "Sure, yes, most big hotels have their own club and there's Washington and Collins Avenue among other spots. Looking for anything in particular?"
"Nothing too big, you know? I'd like something more intimate," Sawyer says, posing with as much flirty body language as he can.
"The Luna is pretty nice," Kevin says. "They often have live music, too."
"Great!'' Sawyer says and starts to walk backwards, making his exit. It's time for the bait: "I'll go check it out tonight. Thanks for the tip!"
"My pleasure," Kevin says and Sawyer turns, feeling eyes drilling in his back until he gets to the street and out of sight. Oh yeah, he's got a bite, of that he's pretty sure.
It’s easy enough to find out Kevin’s work schedule by calling the station; Diane, the lovely receptionist, is helpful that way. It takes a couple more days before Sawyer finally caves and actually calls him.
“Detective Callis speaking.”
“Hi Kev,” Sawyer says, and he doesn’t understand why he’s so nervous.
“So, how’s Miami?” Sawyer asks.
Sure enough, Kevin sounds confused next. “I’m sorry, who is this?”
Sawyer chuckles. “You can’t place my voice? I don’t blame ya, we didn’t talk all that much last time.”
“James? Kevin asks and Sawyer is honestly surprised. The man must have a great auditory memory or Sawyer’s accent betrayed him. Being recognized is also very flattering, in a way. It means he made an impression, even if maybe not the greatest one.
“Yeah. Sorry about the slipping out and the note, I’m a dick sometimes,” he apologizes.
“Pretty much. Where are you?” Kevin asks.
“Detroit,” Sawyer says, shifting from the pay phone a bit to look at the flight departure board; the answer will be true for another 45 minutes or so. “So, you never answered. How’s Miami?”
After a moment of hesitation where Sawyer thinks there are eighty percent chances the line will cut, Kevin starts talking as if they’re long lost friends getting back in touch. The tension in Sawyer’s neck inexplicably eases.
The crowd at The Luna is an eclectic mix of jeans, mini skirts and five thousand dollars suits. Frat bros drink next to businessmen with their ties loosened, but everyone seems to be having a good time. Sawyer whistles loudly when the current song ends, amused by the fact that the classic blues covers the band is playing are older than they are. Maybe older than all their ages combined.
A cold beer presses on his arm and stays there; Sawyer turns to scowl but it's Kevin, who offers him the beer with a raised eyebrow. Sawyer takes it with a smile and they clink the glass necks together.
"Hi there! Thanks!" Sawyer says. "Great suggestion by the way."
Kevin practically beams. "My pleasure, I'm glad you like it. Name's Kevin," he says, offering his hand to shake.
"James," he answers and it's only practice that prevents Sawyer from freezing at saying his real name. He never uses it and has no idea what got into him to say it now.
"Nice to meet you, James. So, are you in town for long?"
Postcards are fun to send, too. He likes mix-matching the places they represent with the town he's in when he mails them at Kevin’s attention. Nothing complements Anchorage quite like a postal stamp from New Orleans.
When Sawyer finds half a dozen unwritten European postcards tucked in a secondhand book, it feels like Christmas.
You know what really stayed with me from Prague? The frigging doors, man. They have really great doors. That and the beer.
It’s true, too. It turns out that he has yet to tell Kevin a lie since he left.
"I'm going for a smoke," Sawyer tells Kevin.
They’ve talked for an hour or so, with their head bowed together and constant almost-accidental touches, and his new favorite cop had turned out to be earnest and surprisingly funny, in a self-derisive sort of way. To counterbalance the sweetness, he's not shying away from the flirting at all and they both know where this is heading.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Kevin asks.
"Not at all," Sawyer says with a grin and then leads the way to the door.
The cooler evening air and the relative silence, save from a little group of laughing girls, is a welcome contrast to the stifling and extremely loud night club. Sawyer leans against the building and lights up a cigarette before turning to Kevin and extending his pack. Kevin makes a face.
"No, thanks, I don't smoke."
Sawyer shrugs and winks. "Good for you."
He takes a long drag, relishing the hit of nicotine, and blows it out slowly. Kevin is observing him so intently that Sawyer feels like prey for the first time in forever. He likes it. When the three girls who were taking a break next to them go back in the club and leave them alone in the alley, the air between them crackles with anticipation. His cigarette is only half smoked, but Sawyer stubs it out anyway.
"You wanna go back in?" he asks, but Kevin's closing in on him. He stops six inches away.
"Not really, no."
Some nights when he feels particularly melancholic, Sawyer longs for a meaningful human connection, if only for once in his life. The irony that he could probably build it with a cop with a heart of gold doesn't escape him.
Sawyer's leaving San Francisco tomorrow, job done and his pockets full. He doesn't plan on coming back to California for a little while, so he decides to use the complimentary hotel stationary this time. It's classy, ivory and embossed, and even if Kevin has the place investigated when he gets the letter, Sawyer will be long gone.
Have I ever told you I used to be pretty good at skateboarding? I was driving around Frisco today and I saw kids on those wicked long boards, it looked cool as hell..."
The kiss is forceful, hungry, and Sawyer loves the breadth of Kevin’s shoulders, solid under his hands. This very afternoon he'd have expected shy kisses but Kevin goes all in, kissing him dirtily. Sawyer loves being wrong sometimes.
"God, your mouth," Kevin pants as he breaks the kiss for air. "I've wanted to do this since the restaurant."
Sawyer chuckles. "Open invitation anytime, hoss," he says.
Speaking of mouth, there are other things Sawyer could get on board with. He scopes the surroundings and pushes Kevin away. He looks confused and disappointed, as if Sawyer’s planning to stop now.
"Come on," he encourages, as he slithers out of between Kevin and the wall, grabbing Kevin’s belt loop.
He's guiding him further in the alley, where a minivan is parked. It will be enough cover for what he has in mind.
"Where..." Kevin starts but Sawyer positions him against the wall at his turn, and he’s mostly hidden from the bar and the street beyond.
"Right here," Sawyer says as he starts to open Kevin's belt.
"Whoa," Kevin says, his eyes huge. "Come on, James, maybe we should take this..."
But Sawyer doesn't want to hear about it. He's got Kevin's slacks opened and a hand in his boxers: Kevin’s hard already, and he groans at Sawyer’s touch.
"Right here, right now," Sawyer whispers in his ear. "D’you think you can keep quiet?"
With that, Sawyer drops to his knees.
He’s trying not to call or to write in a predictable pattern. For one, he likes surprising Kevin, but Sawyer also needs to pace himself because he’s enjoying this way too much. The kicker is that it’s not about baiting a cop anymore, if it ever was since that night in Miami.
“’Lo?” Kevin sounds more than half asleep and Sawyer would feel bad if it wasn’t so cute. He forgot to consider the difference in time zones.
“Did I wake you?” Sawyer asks.
There’s a moment of silence. “James? How... of course you have my home phone number.”
Sawyer smirks. Of course he does. “Yeah, it’s me, your friendly stalker.”
“Speaking of, let me tell you something, okay?” Kevin says. “It’s not fair. There, I said it.”
“What’s not fair?” Sawyer asks, confused.
“I can’t write you back. I can’t call you because you use those darn untraceable phones and go though them as if they’re for single use only. And it’s not fair,” Kevin declares.
“You’d want that?” Sawyer is honestly surprised. Kevin never hung up on him and mostly sounds amused when they talk, but to want to contact him back means he likes it...
“And it’s not to arrest you, I swear.”
Sawyer freezes. He had a feeling this would happen sooner or later.
“Arrest me, huh?” he jokes, playing it cool.
“James ‘Sawyer’ Ford, right? It took me a while, but I knew I’d seen you somewhere before,” Kevin says. The silence stretches. “I prefer the longer hair, as a FYI,” he adds.
It’s unexpected and Sawyer laughs as the tension breaks. “Okay, true, you’ve got me. You’re good.”
“Look, I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t give a fuck what you did or what you do. Which makes me really pathetic and my boss better never hear about it. But sometimes I’d like to, you know, contact you too.”
The worst thing is that Sawyer really wants to believe Kevin and it makes something warm up in his chest. He should cut all ties and run.
“I’ll think about it,” he hears himself saying.
"Oh, god, James!" Kevin whispers. "Anyone could see!"
It figures that this kind of detail could bother an officer of the law. On the other hand, there’s no denying that the thrill of maybe getting caught adds a little something, too.
"Yeah they could. Want to give them a show?" Sawyer asks with a wink.
Without further preamble, he licks the head of Kevin's cock before sucking it into his mouth. Kevin makes a strangled sound and bites down on his own hand to avoid making more.
Sawyer always had an exhibitionist streak, and frankly this is not the most public place he's had sex. Nonetheless, there’s something special for him in this, too. Maybe it's because he’s thought about it all day. Maybe it's because he's sucking a policeman’s dick. Maybe it's because, from the little he just learned, Kevin is a good guy and he sort of likes him. Also maybe it’s because he wants to rock Kevin's world and have his rocked in return.
Kevin's grandma left him a small but well kept house in a neighborhood that has seen better days. There are no flower beds but some well-trimmed hedges, and Sawyer sees that Kevin did repaint the door blue as he'd been thinking about. He always fills his emails with weird little normal things like that.
There's a garage in the back and Sawyer can hear clanking from under a mid-sized blue car. The sight of Kevin's strong thighs in dirty jeans derails Sawyer’s thoughts to the gutter and it's a shock to realize that over the months they've been communicating, Sawyer has kept it clean, no innuendo. What are they to each other, anyway? Friends? Maybe Sawyer should not have come back. Maybe he should have come back sooner.
Once by the car, Sawyer nudges Kevin's shin with the tip of his cowboy boot. There's a surprised yelp and a clang that make Sawyer wince in sympathy.
"Ow, dammit!" comes from under the car and Sawyer wonders if there’s still time to run. "I could have had a heart attack -" Kevin is saying while rolling from under the car on one of those thingies on wheels mechanics use.
Right about now, Sawyer has the worst case of nerves ever. It lasts until Kevin is able to see his face and grins so wide that his joy can’t be fake. Sawyer smiles back, a bit helpless.
"Hi. I was in the neighborhood," he says with a casual shrug.
"It's about time," Kevin replies.