dreadful sorry, clementine

[cibosity]

In more ways than one, Tabula Rasa was a surefire step up from the previous island. A simple look at the way that Sawyer occupied himself on most days was more than enough of an indication; whereas before, he'd spent his days lounging around, scavenging for materials and possessions, often causing factions of the camp to turn against one another,

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[cibosity]

He wishes he could say that he doesn't. If there's anything Sawyer knows, it's how damned futile it is, thinking that one's will alone can keep them anchored in one place. That wanting to stay makes a difference. And so maybe he understands that too, the pain that cuts through her voice, that seems so unlike the Kara Thrace that he's gotten to know that he wishes he could turn the clock right back and turn in the opposite direction. They're just words. He should be able to just reassure her, he wants nothing more than to leave, and that's why he'll stay, because the island's got a horrible sense of humor.

But that isn't true. It's not that he wants to leave. He's just sure that the happiness he feels here will eke away, drop by drop. His lips part, but they don't worm words. All Sawyer feels is the tug of her hand on his shirt, and when it registers, that's enough.

He leans in, closing the rest of the distance between them, hand immediately running along her spine as he presses his lips to hers, frantic. Maybe if he just doesn't say it. Maybe they can pretend a little longer.

[frakkup]

His mouth meets hers so suddenly their teeth clack together, and then Kara opens for him, under him, stupidly, pathetically grateful for the respite from her own weak voice. Maybe her body can't lie, but she's never been afraid of this, knows exactly what to do with the heat of him against her, her twisting fingers now fisting in his shirt to drag him closer, toes curling in her boots in an effort not to just leap up and twine herself around his waist.

"Yeah," she grinds out in the tiny space between them, fistful of shirt a makeshift collar now and dragging him forwards towards the door. "I can think of fair few ways to shut us both up."

[cibosity]

When the resistance suddenly crumbles, skin meeting skin and heat pressed flush up against his body, Sawyer doesn't know what he'll do. Quietly, in the back of his mind, are glaring red signs. He's never held her in his hands before, never tasted her lips, deceptively sweet. Already, his lungs are out of air as his cheek brushes against the side of her neck, his hand running along the length of her thigh, fighting the temptation to just pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. It's dangerous, though. New.

He's already fucked things up with Kate countless times, and now this?

"Might be a bad idea," he breathes, aware in spite of the way that his body tries to convince him completely otherwise, putting up no resistance as Kara steers the both of them.

[frakkup]

Kara laughs outloud, and in spite of everything, in spite of the asshole island curse, in spite of the fact that she hasn't had a drink in two years, she feels like her old self, running reckless and stubbornly carefree into something too big for her.

"Only kind of ideas I have," she says, releasing his shirt to grab his hand instead. She knows where she's going now. There'll be empty beds, empty bathrooms. Empty toolshed outside, even, but where she drags him is towards a small door that opens to reveal a dark space crowded with games and rubber balls, not kinky but juvenile, the games closet, site of not one but several of Kara's more memorable island moments. "C'mon," she says, stepping in and tugging him after before he can balk. "Not much but it's got a door that locks."

[cibosity]

As suddenly as she was pressed against him, now she pulls slightly away, keeping a firm grip on his wrist while pulling both of them into a small room. It makes things easier for Sawyer. These days, choice and all of its implications, they aren't so easy to swallow. Every step that he takes, there's a reaction, there's a consequence; it's so much simpler to go along with the plan as devised by someone else. Then, he doesn't have to think. Doesn't have to weigh. Just goes with his impulses, lets his hands do the talking, his mind blissfully blank.

They're rare, opportunities like that.

He does balk a little at the sight of all of the balls and games in the closet, feeling a little like he's just been invited to a carnival all his own. Weird. Fortunately, too dark to make out all of the small details, lest he really does find a clown's face looming somewhere. "This ain't stuff to get you all hot and fired with, right?" Sawyer breathes, his lips back on her neck before the door fully latches. "'Cause I don't like sharin'."

The statement can be applied to a lot more than a mere quickie in a closet. But Sawyer lets that thought slide.

[frakkup]

Kara kicks a ball out of the way, and, not one to waste a good forward momentum, throws that same leg up and around his hip, climbing Sawyer the way she'd been dying to the whole walk down the hall, or hell, maybe even since she first saw him.

"Was kinda counting on you for that," she says, and gods it feels good to have someone's hands on her, somebody's stubble against the soft skin of her throat. She's still young, but she spends so much time being lonely here she feels used up, not good to anyone anymore but her kid, and while that's enough to live on, it's not enough to mean she doesn't miss this, gripping someone's sturdy body between her thighs. "While we're telling truths," she says, grabbing his head between both hands and holding him steady for when her mouth descends, "I've been wanting to do this forever."

[cibosity]

"S'what I figured." It's all Sawyer manages to hiss between his teeth before he feels her warmth again, pressed against him. Some women have cold hands, skin that never seems to retain its color, the types sick from too much heartache and deprived of romance, of all of the things they'd hoped for when promising to be there for better or worse. It doesn't surprise Sawyer that Kara's anything but, the way her pulse races against her skin, clashes with the pace of his own, throwing his senses all over the place in confusion. She doesn't believe people will stay, but all of her actions show that she's not willing to reduce herself to someone waiting for the inevitable. Sawyer's not sure he can claim that amount of strength, himself, but he wants to, eyes heavily lidded for her confession and a hand sliding along the curve of her spine, as though proximity alone might teach him that lesson.

He'd be lying if he said that he's wanted her in that capacity, right from the start. For all the times he's wandered from the arms of one woman to another, when he's emotionally involved, Sawyer can only stretch himself so much. Between Kate and Lexie, there just isn't room for that much more, and it's only been lately that he's found himself trying anyway, drawn by the potential of a family. He pulls away from the kiss, presses his lips down the side of her neck until he's found a counter to set her down on while his hands quickly grope for her shirt, tugging it off with a snap of static.

"Thought Calliope made you off-limits," he murmurs, voice hoarse. "Thought I shouldn't mess a good thing up, but hell, Kara." His hands, large and warm, slide up her sides as he pulls her flush against him, too impatient to undo the buttons of his shirt.

"Bit surprised we haven't done this earlier."

[frakkup]

[continued here]