Work Text:
JJ’s pretty sure he hates Pope Heyward. Like, on God for real. 110%.
Because, like, who the fuck needs to be that effing pretty, anyway? Yeah, JJ will admit it: Pope is fucking pretty. It goes beyond cute or even hot - and damn right he’s both of those things, too - Pope is just really satisfying to look at.
Especially when JJ’s high, ‘cause when he’s high, Pope glows. There’s no other way to put it.
And he’s all into Kie, and JJ is third-wheeling, and John B. and Sarah are back, but they don’t have the gold, and they’ve still got Ward and Rafe and everything else to worry about, and Dad’s in jail, and -
JJ’s just got a lot on his plate at the moment, that’s all. But, like, when does he not, amiright?
And, like, fuck Pope, no cap, bro, because when he gets high he gets way too touchy-feely, and the last time he’d toked up, he’d kissed Kie on the mouth and basically had a panic attack, and this time he’s…
Shit, his lips are on JJ’s neck, though, and JJ is laughing and taking the J out of Sarah’s offering hands, but fuck him if Pope’s mouth doesn’t feel amazing on his skin like that, curved up in a smile and curled back in a laugh, his arm slung around JJ’s shoulders and JJ’s palm splayed out against his bare chest, and it’s just
JJ’s been attracted to a lot of people in his time, but no one quite like Pope, that’s for damn sure.
“Havin’ fun in there, Pope?” John B. asks, snorting playfully at JJ’s dumb predicament, and then, because he’s a bastard and JJ should totally fucking drop him as a friend entirely, “Don’t give JJ too many hickeys, man.”
Which are the magic. Fucking. Words. Because as soon as they’re done leaving John B.’s dumbass mouth, Pope giggles and then he starts sucking on JJ’s neck.
JJ has to excuse himself from the hot tub to go furiously take care of his imminent boner problem, and by the time he gets back, Pope has moved on to lazily braiding Sarah’s hair for her, and JJ has to remind himself to come back to reality.
But Pope didn’t leave hickeys on anyone else that night. Not even Kie.
JJ thinks about it when he goes to sleep later way more than he needs to.
And because Pope doesn’t bring it up the next morning, neither does JJ.
Fast-forward a couple days and now they’re stranded on some random island, absolutely no way of getting off or contacting anybody, dirty and disgusting and empty-handed of any treasure at all, and then - then Pope decides to mention it.
Sarah and John B. went off somewhere together, and Kie and Cleo are busy talking it up around the fire. The sun is going down and the air is hot and humid, and JJ’s hands are itching for a drink or some pot when Pope settles down next to him on his rock, joins him in staring out at the endless ocean, and says,
“Really would’ve thought those hickeys would be gone by now, if I’m being honest.”
JJ shifts, glancing over, but Pope’s eyes are stuck straight ahead on the horizon.
“Yeah,” JJ says. “Me too.”
“I’m…sorry about that,” Pope says in a low voice, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them in close to his chest. “I was stoned as hell. Again. I - I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”
JJ shrugs. “You didn’t,” he says nonchalantly. “Not the first time someone’s attacked my neck like that.”
Pope snorts softly. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
There’s a few moments of silence between them, filled with nothing but the sound of the waves breaking on the beach and Cleo and Kie’s laughter, before JJ works up the nerve to ask,
“Kie a no-go, you think?”
Pope sighs. He finally turns to JJ with tired eyes. “I really thought we had something, but…I guess not. If she doesn’t want me, then I’m not going to force her into anything.” He swallows. “She probably just felt sorry for me, anyway.”
“Hey,” JJ says immediately. “No, dude. She had to be actually into you. Who wouldn’t be?”
Pope rolls his eyes. “Uh, most people? Topper. Rafe. Sarah. You.”
JJ shifts his eyes in the other direction and drums his fingers on the rock nervously.
“Oh,” Pope says quietly.
JJ huffs, closing his eyes. “Just…don’t worry about it. It’s nothin’.”
“That’s not exactly nothing,” Pope points out, but JJ sort of doesn’t listen to him. “Is that why you took the fall for me with the boat?”
“No,” JJ says. “No, that was because you’re a Pogue, and you’re one of my best friends, and I would have done the same for any of us.” He exhales, wishing his breath could be full of smoke. “But also…yeah, a little bit. I guess.”
“Oh,” Pope repeats.
“Sorry,” JJ manages, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. “I know I’m not Kiara. Just…don’t, like, feel sorry for me, ok? I don’t exactly deserve it.”
“Bullshit.”
JJ turns to him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Bullshit,” Pope says again, shrugging one of his shoulders nonchalantly. “You deserve way more than you give yourself credit for, man.”
JJ shakes his head. “Nah, but, like - I’m such a fuck-up, dude. And I’m just really freakin’ shitty. In a fucktillion different ways.”
Suddenly, Pope is holding his hand. “JJ,” he says. “I need you to shut the hell up, because you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Dude,” JJ says, slightly annoyed as he lifts their joined palms up in the air between them. “Don’t make fun.”
“I’m not,” Pope replies, and, weirdly, JJ believes him.
Pope squeezes their hands together. “I could really go for some pot.”
“Me too,” JJ agrees. “But, also, why? It's not like you're a chronic stoner like me."
“‘Cause then I’d totally be brave enough to kiss you right now.”
JJ’s stomach churns. “Well, you know,” he says not-so-casually. “I don’t need weed for that.”
Pope smiles. Between the, their hands flex against each other.
“No,” he says, leaning closer. “I guess not.”