Butterflies - Kate/Locke - PG
Summary: Locke gives Kate butterflies. Written for cult_ships.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kate/Locke
Kate twisted her hands nervously as she stopped in front of Locke’s tent. She didn’t understand the butterflies in her stomach, nobody had made her feel this helpless since Tom, so she knew nothing good came of butterflies.
A breathy sigh escaped her lips as she desperately forced the butterflies away, but as much as she tried to keep a level head about Locke, she simply couldn’t. She hated feeling this way, hated feeling helpless, hated that he had some small level of control over her. She closed her eyes, trying to relax, but a moment later a hand on her bare shoulder startled her.
“Kate?”
Locke’s husky voice made Kate shudder as she turned to face him. A small smile turned his lips upwards and caused the butterflies to jump and leap like perky acrobatics. Kate swallowed deeply, and she knew he could tell what effect he had on her.
“Kate, is there something you wanted?” Locke asked suddenly, leading her into his tent. Kate shifted on her feet before settling down on the offered chair.
“I, uh, just wanted to check how you were doing,” Kate offered lamely, feeling terribly out of place. Locke’s smile seemed to widen as he handed her a bottle of water, which she took gratefully, her hand shaking.
“Well as you can tell Kate, I’m doing just fine,” he replied.
Kate loved the way he said her name. It wasn’t like Jack’s puppy-dog adoration and it wasn’t like Sawyer’s bitter, rough tone. It was simple, simple yet pleasant, like he enjoyed her company purely because he did. If that made any sense at all.
Kate coughed awkwardly as she got to her feet, “I should probably just leave then.” But as she turned to leave, a rough hand clasped around her wrist. She gasped harshly, as she was turned back to face Locke.
“I didn’t think that this was appropriate, but maybe I was wrong,” Locke whispered hotly against Kate’s cheek as he raked a hand through her long curls. The next thing Kate knew, his lips were on hers and her body was pressed hard against his.
Kate moaned as Locke’s tongue pressed against her lips, forcing them open. She grasped at his shirt with a desperation unlike anything she’d ever felt, before sliding her hands under the hem of his shirt and rubbing his warm flesh.
“John,” she gasped as they broke apart, leaving Kate wanting.
“Yes, I was definitely wrong,” Locke teased softly. Kate smiled slowly, and the butterflies fizzled away.