i've been 'neath the moon before (cindy/lennon, r)
Title: i've been 'neath the moon before
Author: cloudytea
Characters/Parings: Cindy/Lennon.
Rating: R
Summary: He hates her. For Darkfic's you just burn, and un_love_you's I hate you, you bitch.
I’m Cindy, by the way, she says and offers him a smile -- which he ignores.
Dogen reprimands him later. There is no reason to be rude. Lennon wants to laugh at the irony -- he pretends to be ignorant of a language he’s perfectly fluent in -- Dogen, of all people, should know everything about rudeness.
He hates her.
He hates every bit of her -- every smile, every word she says, the very sound of her voice. He hates her because she is kind and she is optimistic and she sees fault in nothing. He hates her because she is the mother that his own could never even hope to be, because she chooses to look after two kids who aren’t even hers. He hates her for caring, he hates her because she is one of them, he hates her because hate is the only thing he can ever really do.
She’s not important, he tells himself. She’s not even on Jacob’s list. We should’ve just left her there to die -- all her friends are dead anyways. Dead, or living in fear.
He’s sifting through her files one day -- long ago, Dogen made sure Linus and him were on the same page -- and happens upon some newspaper clippings. Best-Selling Author Engaged To Air Stewardess. That best-selling author was sucked into the turbine of a jet engine, while that air stewardess spent seven weeks starving and fearing and living like an animal. A small part of him wishes she would have gone down with the plane -- maybe it all would’ve been better for the both of them.
Weeks later, they’re grieving over the loss of one of their own -- Louisa was halfway into her second trimester. She knew the risks, but God knows that wouldn’t stop her and Rob, her husband. They took her to the sea and said their goodbyes, with a rendition of You’re My Thrill sung by Billie Holiday on an old tape deck.
(you’re my thrill, you do something to me)
A few make their way back to the Temple, but others remain at the beach. They all gather around a large fire, but no one talks. Lennon sits alone, perfectly still, eyes glued to the flames. Beside him, there is movement in the sand and he looks over to see Cindy seating herself next to him. The kids stayed behind at the Temple, per her request.
Hey, she whispers, seemingly speaking to no one in particular.
In her hand is a half-drunken bottle of DHARMA-labeled rum. She nudges it against his arm and he takes a small sip, and hands it back to her.
Hey, he responds in return, feeling the burn of liquid fire creep down his throat and into his empty stomach. Some night, huh? Wherever the hell all this is coming from is a mystery to him -- perhaps the grief plays a part in this, perhaps not. Whatever it is, he continues onward, exploring this unfamiliar territory that had only led to disaster before, mainly on his part.
Cindy stifles a laugh as she takes another sip, holding it in her mouth this time, savoring the staleness like a punishment. The smell of burning flesh churns her stomach, an alien aroma she will never forget.
(you send chills right through me)
He can’t remember the exact order of actions taking place before this, but it really doesn’t matter -- whether by his will or the bottle’s, this was bound to happen sooner or later. Lennon remembers her saying something about stretching her legs, but he rises as she rises (the sour taste of rum still on his tongue) and that’s that.
His hands are calloused and tough and hardened by years of jungle living, while the smoothness of her thighs are not yet punished by sun scarring or surgical attempts to seize life to save her own (and in this moment of drunken haziness, he prays she is spared from this). Thumbs dig into her hips as his teeth grind down her ribs and hot breaths warming her belly. He whispers a grizzly I hate you against her burning skin, creating trails of fire whose destination is clear once fabric is yanked and moans erupt from her trembling lips.
She rakes her fingers through his hair, but he pins her wrists against the rough knots of the tree digging into her back. He fucks her until her knees give out because she just can’t stand anymore. She falls into the dirt against him and violent gasps rip through her exhausted body.
And in that moment, he realizes she’s just as angry as he is. He can taste all of it -- her fear, her rage, her loneliness -- but she just hides it better. Teeth drag against his jawline, rough kisses accompany a surge of hot tears that never stop.
She clings to him, knobby knees digging into his ribs, and whispers I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m -- Goddammit, I’m so sorry. She makes a move to get up, but he pulls her back down by the wrists and kisses her hard, even though the alcohol’s well worn-off and the dawn is just now peaking over the treetops.
Stay. Just stay.
(you’re my thrill)
Author: cloudytea
Characters/Parings: Cindy/Lennon.
Rating: R
Summary: He hates her. For Darkfic's you just burn, and un_love_you's I hate you, you bitch.
I’m Cindy, by the way, she says and offers him a smile -- which he ignores.
Dogen reprimands him later. There is no reason to be rude. Lennon wants to laugh at the irony -- he pretends to be ignorant of a language he’s perfectly fluent in -- Dogen, of all people, should know everything about rudeness.
He hates her.
He hates every bit of her -- every smile, every word she says, the very sound of her voice. He hates her because she is kind and she is optimistic and she sees fault in nothing. He hates her because she is the mother that his own could never even hope to be, because she chooses to look after two kids who aren’t even hers. He hates her for caring, he hates her because she is one of them, he hates her because hate is the only thing he can ever really do.
She’s not important, he tells himself. She’s not even on Jacob’s list. We should’ve just left her there to die -- all her friends are dead anyways. Dead, or living in fear.
He’s sifting through her files one day -- long ago, Dogen made sure Linus and him were on the same page -- and happens upon some newspaper clippings. Best-Selling Author Engaged To Air Stewardess. That best-selling author was sucked into the turbine of a jet engine, while that air stewardess spent seven weeks starving and fearing and living like an animal. A small part of him wishes she would have gone down with the plane -- maybe it all would’ve been better for the both of them.
Weeks later, they’re grieving over the loss of one of their own -- Louisa was halfway into her second trimester. She knew the risks, but God knows that wouldn’t stop her and Rob, her husband. They took her to the sea and said their goodbyes, with a rendition of You’re My Thrill sung by Billie Holiday on an old tape deck.
(you’re my thrill, you do something to me)
A few make their way back to the Temple, but others remain at the beach. They all gather around a large fire, but no one talks. Lennon sits alone, perfectly still, eyes glued to the flames. Beside him, there is movement in the sand and he looks over to see Cindy seating herself next to him. The kids stayed behind at the Temple, per her request.
Hey, she whispers, seemingly speaking to no one in particular.
In her hand is a half-drunken bottle of DHARMA-labeled rum. She nudges it against his arm and he takes a small sip, and hands it back to her.
Hey, he responds in return, feeling the burn of liquid fire creep down his throat and into his empty stomach. Some night, huh? Wherever the hell all this is coming from is a mystery to him -- perhaps the grief plays a part in this, perhaps not. Whatever it is, he continues onward, exploring this unfamiliar territory that had only led to disaster before, mainly on his part.
Cindy stifles a laugh as she takes another sip, holding it in her mouth this time, savoring the staleness like a punishment. The smell of burning flesh churns her stomach, an alien aroma she will never forget.
(you send chills right through me)
He can’t remember the exact order of actions taking place before this, but it really doesn’t matter -- whether by his will or the bottle’s, this was bound to happen sooner or later. Lennon remembers her saying something about stretching her legs, but he rises as she rises (the sour taste of rum still on his tongue) and that’s that.
His hands are calloused and tough and hardened by years of jungle living, while the smoothness of her thighs are not yet punished by sun scarring or surgical attempts to seize life to save her own (and in this moment of drunken haziness, he prays she is spared from this). Thumbs dig into her hips as his teeth grind down her ribs and hot breaths warming her belly. He whispers a grizzly I hate you against her burning skin, creating trails of fire whose destination is clear once fabric is yanked and moans erupt from her trembling lips.
She rakes her fingers through his hair, but he pins her wrists against the rough knots of the tree digging into her back. He fucks her until her knees give out because she just can’t stand anymore. She falls into the dirt against him and violent gasps rip through her exhausted body.
And in that moment, he realizes she’s just as angry as he is. He can taste all of it -- her fear, her rage, her loneliness -- but she just hides it better. Teeth drag against his jawline, rough kisses accompany a surge of hot tears that never stop.
She clings to him, knobby knees digging into his ribs, and whispers I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m -- Goddammit, I’m so sorry. She makes a move to get up, but he pulls her back down by the wrists and kisses her hard, even though the alcohol’s well worn-off and the dawn is just now peaking over the treetops.
Stay. Just stay.
(you’re my thrill)