|Guardian - Lost - Esau/Jacob
||[Mar. 21st, 2010|10:50 pm]
where the daydreams reign
Word Count: 2776
A/N: Written for entangled_now for the "aliens made them do it" prompt on the trope meme. It's not quite aliens, but it's the next best thing.
Summary: Jacob looks after the island, and the island looks after him.
There are very few forces in the world that can make a god perform an action against its will - so when Jacob's hands clutch at Esau's upper arms, holding on so tightly that he would bruise normal skin, he knows that something very strange is going on.
A white mist surrounds them, blocking out their surroundings. Jacob knows that they are on the beach - he can feel the sand beneath his bare feet even if he is distracted by the heat of Esau's skin - but he can't see the ocean or hear the waves. It's blocked out; everything is hidden.
"What have you done?" Esau growls, irritation clear in every word. Yet his actions do not fit with his tone: his hands rest on Jacob's hips and pull him closer, until their bodies brush together with no space for privacy. Jacob can feel every powerful inch of Esau against him, and it's a rush. He can't deny that. Shouldn't. "What's happening?"
"It's nothing to do with me," Jacob answers, while he nuzzles his lips along the grizzled line of Esau's jaw. Around them, the mist swirls in a pattern that is not designated by the wind. "I wouldn't cause this."
"Someone did," Esau murmurs. He twists his head in a lazy attempt to capture Jacob's lips, but Jacob avoids him - he doesn't want to kiss him yet, although resisting the desire is almost impossible. He's never felt anything this strongly; he feels as if his skin is burning whenever Esau's hands aren't on him yet. "This isn't us."
"What does 'us' even mean?" Jacob asks with a smile against the stubble on Esau's cheek. His mouth rests there a moment as he breathes in. He thinks that it is almost purely the thrill of getting to be so close to him that makes this feel so good; nothing should feel so blissful while they are both fully clothed.
"Us. We don't do this." 'This' currently involves Esau pushing up the material at the back of Jacob's shirt, his palm skimming over the heated skin at the small of his back. Jacob gives a defeated sigh and rests his forehead against Esau's shoulder; it is the touch of a palm, that is all. It shouldn't feel like completion itself, but it's more intense than anything he could have imagined. Esau's fingers curl, nails scratching lightly over his skin, and Jacob's breath shivers from the sensation: it's quietly exquisite. "We never do this."
"Maybe it's time we started," Jacob suggests. He raises his head from Esau's shoulder so that he can catch his gaze, looking into his eyes without knowing what he is searching for. He cups the side of Esau's face with his hand and they kiss: finally.
Around them, the mist swirls and turns happily, blocking everything else from their senses. It is just them now. The rest of the island is gone and all that matters, all that will ever matter, is the stubborn heat of Esau's lips. There is resistance from Esau every time that he pushes against him, both of them trying to take over. Jacob moans with relief when Esau's mouth opens for him, allowing him the freedom to invade as he wishes. Esau's hands are clinging at the material of Jacob's shirt, making distracted attempts at removing the fabric that separates them. It's a fumbling attempt; they are usually more elegant than this, both of them.
It is time, whispers the mist. We've waited so long.
They should stop: they should pause and ask what is going on, who is speaking, but for now Jacob doesn't care. He hooks a foot around the back of Esau's ankle and tugs it forward. The fall to the ground should be short and brutal, but they tumble slowly. It doesn't hurt when Esau hits the sand below, and Jacob's knees don't slam against the ground when he straddles him. The white mist protects them, cushions them, warms them.
Jacob's fingers tangle in the short, grey hair at the back of Esau's head and he holds him tightly in place as he kisses him once more, licking his mouth open to taste and suck. Esau moans, the sound crushed between their mouths, and Jacob can feel Esau's hands sliding down the side of his body. They are determined and purposeful, reaching his ass and gripping on; he guides Jacob to push down against him, hips rolling, lengths rubbing against each other through the restrictive material of their hand-made clothes. A shiver runs through Jacob's body and, beyond the mist, the island itself quakes.
Their mouths part as Jacob's attention filters downwards, latching onto Esau's neck. Next to the jugular, Esau would never allow him so close under normal circumstances - but, now, his head tilts back with no encouragement required. Jacob's lips crush against his skin, and sucks hard, knowing it will leave a mark: he wants Esau to be reminded of this, of what it feels like to be underneath him, long after the day has ended. He needs to leave solid evidence behind, needs it in a visceral way that he usually avoids. They are supposed to be above such empty, aching urges; in all other actions, they are one step removed from events, able to manipulate and observe from a distance.
Now, he is emersed with all his senses. All his thoughts belong to Esau, enraptured by the way that he tastes and the quiet, muffled sounds that he can push from his mouth.
Esau's hands move to attempt to take off his shirt again, but Jacob catches his wrists before he can do anything: he pushes them down against the sand, feeling the brittle strength of bone in his hands. Esau grunts, the hint of violence threading through his voice as he gives a tug at Jacob's grip.
It's time for the fighting to stop, the mist breathes. Whispers float past their ears and, slowly, Jacob forces his grip on Esau's wrists to relax.
Esau looks up at him and there is no trust in his eyes; there is the constant anger, mixed with the new darkness of lust and need, but there is no trust, the one thing that Jacob would truly want from him. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. They never apologise to each other, ordinarily. They don't need forgiveness.
"No. You're not," Esau responds. Always assuming the worst of everyone, Esau would never accept an apology in any case. Sometimes, Jacob thinks it is pointless to ever try to reconcile with him. As much as he wishes for them to be reunited, for life to be as simple as it once was, he knows that the possibility faded away decades ago. All that remains is a fractured connection that they can't bring themselves to break, and the quiet throb of resentment from Esau.
We can fix it, says the mist. It swirls and tumbles as they work on parting material and shedding cloth, their bare skin pushing together. Jacob loses track of what happens to their clothes, but he finds himself naked with his knees pressing down against the sand on either side of Esau's thighs. Every point of contact makes Jacob burn with open need, his hands splayed across Esau's chest.
"Please," he pants. He doesn't know what he's begging for, but he knows that he needs something. The sun has made his skin slick with sweat; he feels real for the first time in years. An eternal life can leave a soul disconnected, and the island - he knows - warps the mind. Insulated and obsessive, the island has a power over all of its inhabitants. They are no exception.
Even lying passively on his back beneath him, Esau can be bossy. His hands pull and position Jacob as he wants him, eager and demanding. When he has Jacob in the right place, his hand reaches between them. The intent inherent in the movement makes Jacob's breath stutter; it intensifies when Esau's hand finds his cock, wrapping around both of them at once. Jacob tilts his head and looks down between the gap that separates their bodies. Their dicks are pressed together in the confident grip of his palm, red and hard. Jacob stares, even as Esau's hand begins to move, short jerks slickened with sweat and precome. It leaves Jacob's mouth dry, his hands clinging pointlessly to anything that he can grip onto, whether it is Esau's upper arms or the sand beneath them.
In all their centuries together, in all of eternity, they have never done this. They have talked and smiled and fought and battled, but they've never taken this final, human step - it has never occured to them to try it, to want it. After today, after this brief and fleeting encounter, Jacob doesn't know if he will ever be able to think of anything but this again.
We needed to help, the mist breathes.
He is choking for air, barely managing to remind his lungs how to work. Esau's expression is intent, watching him with the kind of single-minded focus that he usually gives only to escaping from the island. It is terrifying in its own way to have such bluntness directed at himself - but, for now, it is an excellent form of fear. Jacob grunts and whines in open desperation, his usual facade of calm shattering under the skill of Esau's hand.
"I want you," he pants, a broken confession. For him, those words are never sexual. He wants people because he sees their destiny and he knows that they are going to be important; he wants people because he knows that they are a piece in the puzzle; he wants them because they will be good for the island.
Not this time. With Esau, he wants him for himself, the one moment of selfishness that he allows himself in a long eternity as the island's guardian.
Esau smiles like the devil himself, warm and tempting and so very dangerous. "You've got me," he promises, his hand squeezing a little tighter, moving a little faster.
If Jacob had more self-control, he would ask Esau to stop before he comes - he would say that he needs more than this, that the ignited desire that burns within his chest won't be satisfied with only this. Greed pulses under his skin, combined with an unhealthy sense of possession and entitlement. He wants him: in all of his years in service of the island, he has never asked for anything in return. Why shouldn't he ask for this? Why shouldn't he want it?
Esau's hand is wicked and talented as he strokes them both, and Jacob's hips push forward in desperate, jutting movements. He stares at Esau's face, flushed with sensation, and he imagines how Esau might look when he pushed inside him. He thinks of the long flash of pain and how it would ease away; he would make himself be careful at first, so gentle. His hands would stroke across Esau's skin to soothe him, and he would press dry kisses against his jaw and neck as he waited for him to adjust.
When he was ready, though... Then Jacob would be able to let go. He could stop holding back, he could forget about keeping himself under control. He'd fuck into him with enough verocity to make Esau cry out; he'd make it good for him, so that he could feel his fingernails digging into the skin of his back, scratching cuts and sweet reminders for the next day.
Next time, the mist promises. Next time.
For now, the confident grasp of Esau's hand is enough, and the twist of his smirk is arrogant and smug. Jacob leans down, spine bowed, so that he can press their mouths together and chase that expression away. Esau moans against him and the sound rumbles throughout Jacob's entire body; it makes him press harder, greed growing. He needs to make Esau sound like that again; he needs to make it impossible for him to stop.
When they climax, one shortly after the other, it doesn't change a thing. Esau grunts and pushes up into the grip of his hand, and with his eyes closed like that, the skin of his face flushed and red, Jacob can look down at an enemy defeated. He can imagine that this satisfaction is what it would feel like if he ever won the endless tug of war between the pair of them: he could have Esau pliant and peaceful beneath him, willing to listen and do what he was told.
It will never be like that; Esau will never be like that, and Jacob wouldn't recognise him if he was.
They pant, watching each other with the sweet tickle of arousal still pulsing through their spent bodies. The careful defences that usually guard Esau's eyes are down, for now. He's open: content. As they pant for air, their breathing aligns. They are like one being, one person, one consciousness.
Please, the mist whispers: it is starting to fade, now. Jacob can see their surroundings again, hazy at first but becoming clearer and clearer as the whispers grow quieter and quieter. Make it count.
Jacob climbs off of Esau, rolling to a position by his side. They both watch the blue sky above them and the far-away clouds that roll, white, fluffy and innocent. With the mist gone, the overwhelming, pounding need that had settled within his chest has silenced as well. Jacob can think again; he can see the rest of the island, not Esau alone. His foggy thoughts have become clear once more.
"What was that?" Esau asks, the first to break the silence. Jacob isn't surprised by that; Esau has never been afraid to take the first leap.
His head tilts to the side so that he can look at Esau, taking in the sight of his profile. That old stubbornness is back already, his jaw set, anger at the world brewing away inside his mind.
"The island," Jacob answers, with a confident nod. His eyes are narrowed to protect his vision from the fiery sun above them.
Esau catches his gaze now, calm anger on his face. "Your island," he corrects - an accusation that Jacob should have been able to see coming.
"I had nothing to do with this," he swears. He doubts if Esau believes a single word he says any more; this isn't a lie. Not quite. He looks after the island and the island looks after him. If he hadn't been so lonely, it would never have been forced to act. If this longing hadn't settled for so long within his heart, this would never have happened.
"It doesn't change anything," Esau says, with that bitter, defeated tang in his voice. "I still want off this rock."
"I won't let you go," Jacob replies, calm certainty weighing down his words. Esau has been confined in this paradise for centuries: he won't escape now, not while Jacob lives. "I'm sorry."
"You will be," Esau assures him. He reaches for his clothes, wriggling inside of them and hiding sandy skin away. Trousers first, followed by his loose-fitting shirt. He will be sticky and scratchy inside the material; they both need a good wash. Jacob isn't surprised that Esau won't stay to bathe with him - it is no shock to find Esau in a rush to turn his back. "Tell your island to stay out of my mind, Jacob."
The island doesn't understand how people work, and it never will. If Esau thinks that Jacob has any control over it, he's mistaken. He is a care-taker, not a mentor.
"It won't happen again," he promises, an oath he can't be sure he can keep. The island will see he's still unhappy: he doesn't know what its next move will be.
"I don't believe you," Esau says. He's too wise for his own good.
Jacob offers a wry smile, sitting naked under the afternoon sun. "Didn't think you would," he responds.
Esau stands for a moment, looking at him with an expression that Jacob can't read: all he knows is that there is something dangerous there, wounded pride and stunted honour. "See you around," Esau says. He has no difficulty with meeting Jacob's eyes, quiet fury fuelling him on.
"See you," Jacob returns, barely above a whisper.
The sand shifts and the waves roar as Esau walks away. Wind whistles unhappy, and soon the sky will darken. The island prepares for a tantrum, nature itself rising up in disgust, and Jacob sinks his fingers into the fine sand, ready to soothe it again.
We wanted to help, the winds sigh sadly.
Jacob lets out a long breath: he has long since accepted that they are far beyond repair, Esau, the island and himself.