My first LOST fic...
What She Wants (NC-17)
Juliet does cool, calm, and collected better than anyone. It’s something she doesn’t even have to work at - it’s a gift she’s had since childhood. It comes in handy around here. She observes everyone around her, takes in their nervous glances at the rustles in the foliage, and lets their emotions roll past her, not letting them soak into her. She doesn’t shake, she doesn’t scream, she doesn’t sob. But make no mistake about it, Juliet is scared every single minute of every single day. And what she wants, more than anything, is to feel less scared. Fear will be something she can never totally shake, and she knows it. But to feel less scared, even by one or two degrees, would be okay with her.
She’s not surprised, then, that when Jack shows up around her, she has an overwhelming urge to find relief and comfort from him. There’s a little spark about him that melts her icy mindset around the edges. His energy flows from an unnamed source, and doesn’t seem to flag. And it hasn’t taken him long to seep into her subconscious. Indeed, whenever she closes her eyes, whether for a second or a night, she thinks about his focused eyes and his lean, athletic build, and those gifted hands. Even the sensation of his specter soothes her.
She didn’t dream of him last night, didn’t imagine his body, didn’t perceive his touch. Maybe that’s why a panic attack jerks her awake her today. She bolts from her tent, and begins to scour the beach for him. He’s gone out into the jungle again, she’s told by a trio powwowing near a well-worn path. Right into the lion’s den. Hell, into the lion’s mouth. That he does it willingly, without complaint - without having to be asked most of the time - that is something she admires and loathes in equal parts.
The blooming need in her - that indescribable hunger - sends her after him, and ditches the loathing six steps into her pursuit.
The sky opens up just before she finds him. She follows the hollow thonk-thonk-thonk of an axe against thin timber, and discovers Jack in a clearing. He’s still chopping as the stinging rain pours over him in sheets, soaking him to the bone. And still he stays focused on the swing of the implement, remains fluid in his motion, attentive to his target.
She is cautious in her approach. Waits for him to pause. He has to pause. He just has to.
And he does. His eyes come up to meet hers.
She’s twenty yards away, standing next to a tree that silently awaits its eventual fall.
He cocks his head, concern spreading across his face. He lets the axe drop away, and he starts toward her.
She doesn’t move, either toward the beach or toward him. She holds her ground in the pummeling rain.
When he reaches her, before he can think, she puts her arms around him and clutches his torso to herself. She holds him until she can feel her heart beating against his. And then, without warning, she presses her smooth lips against his unshaven ones. Her tongue finds his, and she feels a swell of energy that bursts through her and makes her feel suddenly, wonderfully, drunk.
His soaked t-shirt floats past her hands as he makes quick work of it. The blouse and tank top she’d been wearing dissolve in the downpour, too. She feels the bristle of his whiskers against her neck and shoulder, then the wet warmth of his educated mouth against her breasts. The sensation of his lips closing around her firmed nipples, then drawing in, makes her eyes roll back. The tip of his tongue thrums against her, and she moans as he squeezes her tighter in his arms.
He drops to his knees in front of her and peels her sopping khakis down past her thighs, then pulls away her cotton panties to expose a puff of dark blonde curls. Juliet’s eyes close as she feels him sweep into her, his persistent lips and tongue seeking and finding. And finding.
And finding.
She lets out a hard shout that is covered by the sound of the rain and a clap of thunder that rolls and dips and rolls again. She jerks and quivers a bit, then slumps backward against the tree trunk, lightheaded. He works his way back up her body, seeming to drink the rainwater from her skin until he reaches her mouth again, and the taste of his breath mixes with her own to create a flavor that she can’t quite name, but she rather enjoys. And when she feels the length and girth of his manhood against her warm and accepting feminine flesh, she merely arches her back a little to let him penetrate, and hears thunder split the air overhead as he pushes into her.
She briefly thinks of his fluidity as he begins to thrust - he is as patient and focused in his primal rhythms as he is in any other action. Those thoughts dissolve as she feels her passion for him tear through her. His speed and strength ratchet up gradually, and she longs to feels his mouth on hers again, but his head is thrown back, and his jaw is squared.
Then she hears him let out a chest-deep cry as his hips stall, then release, and he starts to tremble and shake. She wraps her arms around his bare body and holds him until he is finally drained. He relents and relaxes into her, and his head comes to rest on her shoulder. They breathe together, satisfaction in every exhalation.
On the beach that night, she watches him throw wood onto the fire as the rest of the populace mills about between them. Every once and a while, she catches his eye, and he gives her those shy-boy smiles of his, the ones that are just for her. She smiles back, thinking about how he made her feel safe and alive and normal that day in the rain. The memory of the pleasure flows through her for a moment, and Juliet allows herself to relax into the sand, less scared now than she has been in some time. She watches him disappear into his tent, and whispers a tiny wish that sometime in the night, he will decide to come to her. Because now what Juliet wants is Jack - and nothing else will do.
THE END