New Fic: Kate Doesn't Cuss
Genre: Angst
Rating: R (sex, language)
Pairing: Sawyer/Kate, implied Jack/Kate
Summary: Her words aren’t always clear, but they’re always loud, because Kate is a very loud lover, and unexpectedly so.
Dated: January 1, 2005
Notes: Written in a fit of inspiration. What’s up with me and angsty Sawyer/Kate? This story may be revised after next week’s episode…who knows? I hate that they can’t cuss on TV. I feel like Sawyer at least would be a pretty big potty mouth, and it seems silly for him to not cuss sometimes. I almost wish he’d just cuss and they’d bleep it out. “I don’t know. Bear village?” What the heck was that?
Kate Doesn’t Cuss
By Ada Farrow
Kate doesn’t cuss. He’s never heard her utter any obscenity worse than “damn.” He wonders if it’s her upbringing, remembers her saying something about how she knew some-outdoors-skill-or-another from when she was on an army base with her father in some-foreign-country-with-unpronounceable-name. Military brat, huh, Katie? Tough breaks. He'd bet she'd even had to say, “May I please be excused, sir?” to him after every meal. It was probably one of those long oak table affairs, with him at the head and her tiny feet dangling from an ornate carved oak chair to match all the way at the other end. Is he dead like Jack’s father? That what you two like to cry to each other about? Well I got two dead parents, so that makes me the better man, don’t it?
He’d pulled out a handgun and shot a polar bear on an island, for Christ’s sake. But all she’d said was, “Where’d that come from?” What, no “what the fuck,” Freckles? No. No cussing. And she’s had a lot of opportunities. He used to wonder what she’d sound like going off on someone who really pissed her off. So he tried to do just that. But Kate showed remarkable patience. So then he switched to thinking about what she’d sound like shrieking, “FUCK!” at climax. Until he found out.
Kate doesn’t cuss. Except when they’re screwing. When she’s lying on her back in the sand, breasts rising and falling with her willing breath, she can’t control it. If he stands just above her, his bare chest just a little bit sandy, hands placed on his fully-clothed hips, head cocked to the side-grinning, admiring…If he does that, then she’ll do it.
It’s quiet pleading at first. “Oh, fuck, Sawyer…” she exhales. “Please…I…shit…” Then she just stares at him with that sad and desperate face, and he knows that he’s tormenting her. And he almost enjoys that, making Kate sting like he does every time she and Jack go off together, sitting quietly on the beach. Her arms would coil around her folded legs as they stare into each other’s eyes. They talk. Late at night, for hours, while Sawyer watches from a distance. Then Jack walks back to the caves. Sawyer muses that there were other things they probably did late at night for hours, but no, they weren’t fucking, he knew. Still, he always feels the jealousy creeping up on him when Kate stands, brushes herself off, and offers Jack a hand to stand up. Jack smiles and accepts, probably feeling comfort at being able to rely on someone else, if even for a brief moment. Sawyer tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care about that “intimate” shit. Sometimes it works.
The two of them rock with intense fierceness; he’s seen the little purple bruises along her knobby spine to prove it. When he’s shoving himself into her, she’s not that girl who gives a doctor quiet smiles on the shore. She screams and babbles and gasps and makes little “ump” sounds from her diaphragm that drive him insane. Intermingled with all of this is cussing. She cusses like it’s a mantra. Her words aren’t always clear, but they’re always loud, because Kate is a very loud lover, and unexpectedly so. Either it’s slow, protracted words, her vowels moving up and down in tone to match their pace: “Oh, ssssshiIiIii-t.” Or sometimes it’s faster mumbling that slips into and out of perfect clarity, always repeating the same word: “Maa-ddafr--matafaa--motherf--MOTHERFUCKER--motherFUCKER…” Other times its complete, coherent sentences: “Sawyer, you goddamn little bitch!-ump-Act like you fucking mean it!” She grinds the words out as he’s gripping her shoulders and grinding into her.
Their sex is utilitarian, which makes sense. His pants are around his ankles, and he pulls her upwards, using a rough tree as leverage to fuck her. So it’s good she’s wearing a shirt, or she’d be cut in visible places along her forearms. No kissing or biting to leave marks, either, that was understood. Neither of them wants to be bothered with having to make up excuses. When they even bother to be topless, which isn’t that often, Sawyer touches her breasts as much as he can. But he doesn’t caress them, he just touches them. He wants to caress, but he doesn’t want this to mean more than it is.
He knows all too well what it is. The first time they’d had sex with each other, as he was pushing his pants down, she’d stated, “Sawyer. I don’t…” And that was their first kiss, too. Only kiss. Because he didn’t want her to continue, he’d kissed her. Don’t what, Kate? Don’t wanna tell me that I’m your release? Sexual tension between you and Jack getting too high, but there’s just too many little emotional barriers in the way, huh? Here, lemme fix that. And he did. Like a hard nail into a soft board. Just call me handyman.
Rating: R (sex, language)
Pairing: Sawyer/Kate, implied Jack/Kate
Summary: Her words aren’t always clear, but they’re always loud, because Kate is a very loud lover, and unexpectedly so.
Dated: January 1, 2005
Notes: Written in a fit of inspiration. What’s up with me and angsty Sawyer/Kate? This story may be revised after next week’s episode…who knows? I hate that they can’t cuss on TV. I feel like Sawyer at least would be a pretty big potty mouth, and it seems silly for him to not cuss sometimes. I almost wish he’d just cuss and they’d bleep it out. “I don’t know. Bear village?” What the heck was that?
Kate Doesn’t Cuss
By Ada Farrow
Kate doesn’t cuss. He’s never heard her utter any obscenity worse than “damn.” He wonders if it’s her upbringing, remembers her saying something about how she knew some-outdoors-skill-or-another from when she was on an army base with her father in some-foreign-country-with-unpronounceable-name. Military brat, huh, Katie? Tough breaks. He'd bet she'd even had to say, “May I please be excused, sir?” to him after every meal. It was probably one of those long oak table affairs, with him at the head and her tiny feet dangling from an ornate carved oak chair to match all the way at the other end. Is he dead like Jack’s father? That what you two like to cry to each other about? Well I got two dead parents, so that makes me the better man, don’t it?
He’d pulled out a handgun and shot a polar bear on an island, for Christ’s sake. But all she’d said was, “Where’d that come from?” What, no “what the fuck,” Freckles? No. No cussing. And she’s had a lot of opportunities. He used to wonder what she’d sound like going off on someone who really pissed her off. So he tried to do just that. But Kate showed remarkable patience. So then he switched to thinking about what she’d sound like shrieking, “FUCK!” at climax. Until he found out.
Kate doesn’t cuss. Except when they’re screwing. When she’s lying on her back in the sand, breasts rising and falling with her willing breath, she can’t control it. If he stands just above her, his bare chest just a little bit sandy, hands placed on his fully-clothed hips, head cocked to the side-grinning, admiring…If he does that, then she’ll do it.
It’s quiet pleading at first. “Oh, fuck, Sawyer…” she exhales. “Please…I…shit…” Then she just stares at him with that sad and desperate face, and he knows that he’s tormenting her. And he almost enjoys that, making Kate sting like he does every time she and Jack go off together, sitting quietly on the beach. Her arms would coil around her folded legs as they stare into each other’s eyes. They talk. Late at night, for hours, while Sawyer watches from a distance. Then Jack walks back to the caves. Sawyer muses that there were other things they probably did late at night for hours, but no, they weren’t fucking, he knew. Still, he always feels the jealousy creeping up on him when Kate stands, brushes herself off, and offers Jack a hand to stand up. Jack smiles and accepts, probably feeling comfort at being able to rely on someone else, if even for a brief moment. Sawyer tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care about that “intimate” shit. Sometimes it works.
The two of them rock with intense fierceness; he’s seen the little purple bruises along her knobby spine to prove it. When he’s shoving himself into her, she’s not that girl who gives a doctor quiet smiles on the shore. She screams and babbles and gasps and makes little “ump” sounds from her diaphragm that drive him insane. Intermingled with all of this is cussing. She cusses like it’s a mantra. Her words aren’t always clear, but they’re always loud, because Kate is a very loud lover, and unexpectedly so. Either it’s slow, protracted words, her vowels moving up and down in tone to match their pace: “Oh, ssssshiIiIii-t.” Or sometimes it’s faster mumbling that slips into and out of perfect clarity, always repeating the same word: “Maa-ddafr--matafaa--motherf--MOTHERFUCKER--motherFUCKER…” Other times its complete, coherent sentences: “Sawyer, you goddamn little bitch!-ump-Act like you fucking mean it!” She grinds the words out as he’s gripping her shoulders and grinding into her.
Their sex is utilitarian, which makes sense. His pants are around his ankles, and he pulls her upwards, using a rough tree as leverage to fuck her. So it’s good she’s wearing a shirt, or she’d be cut in visible places along her forearms. No kissing or biting to leave marks, either, that was understood. Neither of them wants to be bothered with having to make up excuses. When they even bother to be topless, which isn’t that often, Sawyer touches her breasts as much as he can. But he doesn’t caress them, he just touches them. He wants to caress, but he doesn’t want this to mean more than it is.
He knows all too well what it is. The first time they’d had sex with each other, as he was pushing his pants down, she’d stated, “Sawyer. I don’t…” And that was their first kiss, too. Only kiss. Because he didn’t want her to continue, he’d kissed her. Don’t what, Kate? Don’t wanna tell me that I’m your release? Sexual tension between you and Jack getting too high, but there’s just too many little emotional barriers in the way, huh? Here, lemme fix that. And he did. Like a hard nail into a soft board. Just call me handyman.