LOST: Insatiate #4 (Kate)
This is all Kate's fault. Actually, it's all my fault, but I'm going to blame her.
Title: Insatiate #4
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Lost
Character: Kate
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Whatever happens, this is.
Notes: S1, no spoilers
The thing about living on a beach with forty-odd complete strangers, no matter how nice, is that they are always there. In the open. In plain sight.
And Kate has only a blanket to drape over herself, and she hasn't had an orgasm in a very, very long time.
One evening, when it's especially warm, she nestles as close to the waves as some guy named Ernst deems safe. She folds her blanket around herself and rolls onto her side. Slips a hand beneath the waistband of her jeans and curses the need for constant modesty.
The crash of water masks her jagged breathing, and after a while, she doesn't care if anybody is watching.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Adrienne Rich's The Floating Poem, Unnumbered:Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine -- tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come --
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there --
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth --
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I have been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave -- whatever happens, this is.
Title: Insatiate #4
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Lost
Character: Kate
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Whatever happens, this is.
Notes: S1, no spoilers
The thing about living on a beach with forty-odd complete strangers, no matter how nice, is that they are always there. In the open. In plain sight.
And Kate has only a blanket to drape over herself, and she hasn't had an orgasm in a very, very long time.
One evening, when it's especially warm, she nestles as close to the waves as some guy named Ernst deems safe. She folds her blanket around herself and rolls onto her side. Slips a hand beneath the waistband of her jeans and curses the need for constant modesty.
The crash of water masks her jagged breathing, and after a while, she doesn't care if anybody is watching.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Adrienne Rich's The Floating Poem, Unnumbered:Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine -- tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come --
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there --
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth --
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I have been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave -- whatever happens, this is.