Fic: Even Exchange (1/1)
Title: Even Exchange
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Word Count: 1,005
Summary: She wants to ask him something. For the 50scenes Prompt #37 - Half. Spoilers through 5.08 - LaFleur.
Prompt Table: Here
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: I think what I love about this pairing is that Juliet is one of the few people who can legitimately challenge, and in doing so complement, James. Inasmuch, I don’t see her letting this particular occurrence go without at least inquiring after it, even if it is some time later.
Even Exchange
“I want to ask you something.”
Her hands slide along the sweat-slick flesh pulled taut against his shoulders, slipping around to rest with practiced ease against either side of his chest.
“Mmmm,” his groan seeps into the soft sounds of the night, the hum of the generators and the whisper of the breeze and the faraway noises of the jungle; the imaginary echo of the surf against the shore.
“It’s about Richard.” Her lips leave wet circles of moisture to bead against his back, and he doesn’t speak - it’s only the pause in the motion of her hands that lets her know he’s awake, the way they still against him before his chest heaves silently, lifting her wrists as he lets out a hot, musky breath. She nestles into him just a little bit closer, pressing his back into her chest and clasping her hands around him; he drops his chin just above where her threaded fingers dig between his pecs, the matted strands of his hair falling clump by clump against her cuticles and brushing past her knuckles as he breathes, just breathes - a little faster, a little harder than before - each smooth inhale catching before he lets it out again in a rush.
“When we first came here,” she finally breaks the still, her mouth so tight against his skin that her consonants sound muffled, her tongue drags past her lips and gathers the salt right off of him with each taste, “and you spoke with him, about the Truce. When he took Paul’s body.” She feels him shudder as the vibration of her voice sparks wildly against his nerves. “What else did he want?”
“He didn’t want anything.”
She’s learned to notice when he’s lying to protect her. She can’t help but feel conflicted when he does - the frustration mingling with the satisfaction of knowing that he cares.
“Richard always wants something. Always has.”
“He only wants one thing.” The words get stuck in his throat, dragging against the underside of his tongue before wrenching free, rough from the struggle. She winces at the sound of them, at the way they vibrate in his chest, harsh under her palms. “All he asked for that night was proof of it.”
“And a corpse was proof enough?”
“The corpse was half of the deal.” There’s a snarl in his voice as he replies, but she knows it’s not for her. She pities whoever it does belong to, though.
“Half?”
He rolls slowly to face her, her right hand trapped beneath his bicep while her left falls limply across the line of muscle between his neck and shoulder - a half-hearted, lackadaisical sort of embrace from either side. Her eyes meet his, bright in the gentle moonlight that highlights the harsh set of his jaw, the gravity of their conversation belied by the way the shadows fall upon his face. “The Hippie Brigade got themselves two bodies for the price of one, Jules,” he whispers, his breath leaving an echo of warmth on her chin, leaving her longing to close the distance between them, to let his heat seep into her, “and that don’t quite add up.”
“So, what was the other half?” Sometimes, he needs coaxing. Sometimes, he needs to be asked straight out.
“Nothing that needs worrin’ over,” he reaches up to stroke the soft skin of her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on teased flesh in his wake. “Not yet.”
She stares into him, aching to read the volumes hidden behind his eyes, and she tries not to be hurt that he still feels the need to conceal things from her, even now. Her lips are pressed tight in distress when he leans forward, eyes trained on her mouth. “Go back to sleep, darlin’,” he murmurs, turning at the last second to catch her cheek with his lips; the hesitation, the subtleties of the gesture not lost on her. “Gotta be up early. Need you to service my Jeep before I sweep the perimeter.” She closes her eyes as his fingers dance in the hair that hangs near her ears, knowing that sometimes, he hides behind trivialities because he’s not ready to put his cards on the table; he doesn’t yet realize that showing his hand doesn’t have to mean he’s folded, but instead can mean he’s won.
Sometimes, she knows that he needs her to let it go; that he needs to hide just a little bit longer, and that she needs to call his bet for now, until he knows that she won’t run with the pot at the end of the round.
To her great surprise, she finds that - for him - she can do these things. She can yield, and play along, and put him at ease even when her own heart is heavy with the first inklings of dread.
“That all you need serviced?” she asks in a husky purr as she nuzzles against the stubble of his sideburns, and she can feel the tension drain from him even as it grips her her tighter, his relief at her willingness to drop the conversation settling as a tangible presence between them.
“Mmmm...” he growls, hands on her shoulders as he presses her gently into the mattress, slinking an arm around her sheet-clad stomach and balancing on her opposite side as he smirks down at her, wanton desire shining in his grin. “Now that you mention it...”
The apprehension strangling the beat of her heart melts to lusty anticipation in an instant as his leg slides past her thigh, his knee hooking behind her own as he hovers above her, dark passion in his eyes shining fierce - eternal and undeniable and uninhibited by fear. She sucks in a gasp, deep and halting and dry in her lungs, and it leaves her breathless and lightheaded, but it doesn’t matter - nothing matters, as his arms wrap around her and gather her to his chest.
There’s no need to worry, not right now.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Word Count: 1,005
Summary: She wants to ask him something. For the 50scenes Prompt #37 - Half. Spoilers through 5.08 - LaFleur.
Prompt Table: Here
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: I think what I love about this pairing is that Juliet is one of the few people who can legitimately challenge, and in doing so complement, James. Inasmuch, I don’t see her letting this particular occurrence go without at least inquiring after it, even if it is some time later.
Even Exchange
“I want to ask you something.”
Her hands slide along the sweat-slick flesh pulled taut against his shoulders, slipping around to rest with practiced ease against either side of his chest.
“Mmmm,” his groan seeps into the soft sounds of the night, the hum of the generators and the whisper of the breeze and the faraway noises of the jungle; the imaginary echo of the surf against the shore.
“It’s about Richard.” Her lips leave wet circles of moisture to bead against his back, and he doesn’t speak - it’s only the pause in the motion of her hands that lets her know he’s awake, the way they still against him before his chest heaves silently, lifting her wrists as he lets out a hot, musky breath. She nestles into him just a little bit closer, pressing his back into her chest and clasping her hands around him; he drops his chin just above where her threaded fingers dig between his pecs, the matted strands of his hair falling clump by clump against her cuticles and brushing past her knuckles as he breathes, just breathes - a little faster, a little harder than before - each smooth inhale catching before he lets it out again in a rush.
“When we first came here,” she finally breaks the still, her mouth so tight against his skin that her consonants sound muffled, her tongue drags past her lips and gathers the salt right off of him with each taste, “and you spoke with him, about the Truce. When he took Paul’s body.” She feels him shudder as the vibration of her voice sparks wildly against his nerves. “What else did he want?”
“He didn’t want anything.”
She’s learned to notice when he’s lying to protect her. She can’t help but feel conflicted when he does - the frustration mingling with the satisfaction of knowing that he cares.
“Richard always wants something. Always has.”
“He only wants one thing.” The words get stuck in his throat, dragging against the underside of his tongue before wrenching free, rough from the struggle. She winces at the sound of them, at the way they vibrate in his chest, harsh under her palms. “All he asked for that night was proof of it.”
“And a corpse was proof enough?”
“The corpse was half of the deal.” There’s a snarl in his voice as he replies, but she knows it’s not for her. She pities whoever it does belong to, though.
“Half?”
He rolls slowly to face her, her right hand trapped beneath his bicep while her left falls limply across the line of muscle between his neck and shoulder - a half-hearted, lackadaisical sort of embrace from either side. Her eyes meet his, bright in the gentle moonlight that highlights the harsh set of his jaw, the gravity of their conversation belied by the way the shadows fall upon his face. “The Hippie Brigade got themselves two bodies for the price of one, Jules,” he whispers, his breath leaving an echo of warmth on her chin, leaving her longing to close the distance between them, to let his heat seep into her, “and that don’t quite add up.”
“So, what was the other half?” Sometimes, he needs coaxing. Sometimes, he needs to be asked straight out.
“Nothing that needs worrin’ over,” he reaches up to stroke the soft skin of her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on teased flesh in his wake. “Not yet.”
She stares into him, aching to read the volumes hidden behind his eyes, and she tries not to be hurt that he still feels the need to conceal things from her, even now. Her lips are pressed tight in distress when he leans forward, eyes trained on her mouth. “Go back to sleep, darlin’,” he murmurs, turning at the last second to catch her cheek with his lips; the hesitation, the subtleties of the gesture not lost on her. “Gotta be up early. Need you to service my Jeep before I sweep the perimeter.” She closes her eyes as his fingers dance in the hair that hangs near her ears, knowing that sometimes, he hides behind trivialities because he’s not ready to put his cards on the table; he doesn’t yet realize that showing his hand doesn’t have to mean he’s folded, but instead can mean he’s won.
Sometimes, she knows that he needs her to let it go; that he needs to hide just a little bit longer, and that she needs to call his bet for now, until he knows that she won’t run with the pot at the end of the round.
To her great surprise, she finds that - for him - she can do these things. She can yield, and play along, and put him at ease even when her own heart is heavy with the first inklings of dread.
“That all you need serviced?” she asks in a husky purr as she nuzzles against the stubble of his sideburns, and she can feel the tension drain from him even as it grips her her tighter, his relief at her willingness to drop the conversation settling as a tangible presence between them.
“Mmmm...” he growls, hands on her shoulders as he presses her gently into the mattress, slinking an arm around her sheet-clad stomach and balancing on her opposite side as he smirks down at her, wanton desire shining in his grin. “Now that you mention it...”
The apprehension strangling the beat of her heart melts to lusty anticipation in an instant as his leg slides past her thigh, his knee hooking behind her own as he hovers above her, dark passion in his eyes shining fierce - eternal and undeniable and uninhibited by fear. She sucks in a gasp, deep and halting and dry in her lungs, and it leaves her breathless and lightheaded, but it doesn’t matter - nothing matters, as his arms wrap around her and gather her to his chest.
There’s no need to worry, not right now.