Fic: Inertia (Jack/Kate)
Title: Inertia
Pairing: Jack/Kate
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Takes place in some vague AU (still island setting, just obviously not parallel to the show currently) where these two are in the relatively early stages of a relationship and living together. Just some meaningful pr0n. Does that exist? As always, proceed with caution if can’t stand emotional, perhaps sappy stuff. Or if you think Kate’s the devil.
Note: Written for my Kate claim at philosophy_20, for prompt # 4 - Inertia.
Inertia
Sometimes, inside their shelter, she could pretend it was cooler than it was outside, looking at the blue of the tarp, moonlight filtering through the smallest holes, cool and somehow cutting through the humidity, stars that pierced the hazy air and seemed close enough to touch. But it couldn’t induce her to move, not even when Jack let himself in through the flap in their tent. It couldn’t even make her want to move, not even to touch him.
It wasn’t as though they didn’t want each other. Outside, in the light of the jungle day, far from camp, or inside the hatch, on button duty, they were not shy about touching each other. Kate might grab Jack and push him into a concrete wall or a tree, probing his mouth and feeling how quickly he would respond to her touch, even when he was angry or tired; Jack might sneak up behind her, pressing his lips to the back of her neck, sliding his hands around her waist, up to her breasts, as a shiver of arousal went through her. But inside their shelter, you would rarely know they were lovers unless you found them asleep, mostly nude and intertwined. Something about their home meant safety and partnership: talk, comfort, laughter, some occasional bickering, rarely serious. But at that point in the day, after dark, when they straggled in from their day’s work, they were too tired to use their bodies much at all. The lines on Jack’s face said it for him, but he always vocalized it anyway: “I’m tired, Kate.” Or she said, “It’s too fucking hot today,” as she lay there and tried to imagine air conditioning, and failed. But what they both actually heard in those statements was, “I’m not in the mood.”
So when Jack came in, nodding at her and mumbling out the details of his day as he unloaded its physical contents from his pack-water, a new book on loan from the hatch “library,” his notebook filled with the medical history of their camp, near over-ripe guava-and he ended with, “Fuck, I’m exhausted,” she smiled to herself, knowing what he meant and being halfway glad. She was in a good mood-calm and contemplative-but she was tired, too complacent to move or muster anything like a sexual appetite.
“Me too,” she said, rolling over from her back onto her side so that she could watch him, watch the shadows fall on his face there in the dim light; and his face seemed cool, dark, just as he seemed heavy, tired. He stretched his arms over his head, and her gaze followed down the length of his arms to his chest. She looked at him through eyes that had seen him before, watched his body move even before they finally fell together in a miserable, tangled, suspicious heap of a relationship that seemed so unavoidable it had once felt like a trap. Then it ceased to be a trap and started to be something so deep she was often afraid of it. She told herself that may be the reason they could talk in under their shelter, kiss and look into each other’s eyes, but they could only have sex in the daylight, pushing through it with the kind of heat and fire that had fed this thing, driving it to where it was, carrying it along without allowing them to contemplate things too much.
Somehow, along the way, as these distinct parts of their relationship separated, she had forgotten to look at him and to let herself see his arms and his thighs and his toned back and the wonderful, almost painful way he could drop his shoulders when he finally came home to her. Whenever she laid her head on his chest, she was touching him, but it was as if their bodies didn’t matter. The only time their bodies did matter was when she came upon him sometime during the day to find him doing something powerful, physical, that stopped her breath and made her want to have him, to take him so fast she wouldn’t have to think about that need, only act it out. But now, here in the dark of their tent, with the moonlight only giving her glimpses of his body, she was hungry for more. She wanted to see the arch of his neck, the soft spot where she could sink her teeth in and breathe hard against his skin until he nearly whimpered, begging her for something, anything. She wanted to see the hard, wide expanse of his chest. She wanted to watch the muscles bulge in his thighs and calves.
At that moment, he suddenly took off his shirt, pulling it over his head with one hand, and she felt something surprising catch inside her, this need for more, closer, hands on him, his smell, to see him more clearly. It started as heat, slow and spreading, then once it hit her groin it wound up to a tension that made her lay still and breathe and never take her eyes off him. He went to the doorway with a bowl of water, washing his face and allowing the cooling drops to stay on his shoulders, but she was watching the contours of his jaw, how they flowed into his neck and down over his back. She wanted to pull herself off the ground and creep along the sand until she could kiss his lower back, but she felt as if she couldn’t move, couldn’t disturb this picture, nor would she want to start moving her own limbs, which felt somehow cool, as though she was sensitive to the slight breeze that rippled the tent flaps. She knew if she moved it would be like burning, and her hands would move over her body to feel skin that longed to be touched. She wondered how she had suddenly gotten so desperate for him. Then he turned and she made the decision that she needed to have her hands on him, even if she had to coax him into the physical.
He stood there, looking at her quizzically, unbuttoning his jeans and letting them fall. He was about to drop down into bed with her, but she said, “Jack.”
His answer wasn’t really words, just a questioning grunt as he yawned and blinked at her through the darkness.
“Take the rest off.”
He wrinkled up his face at her, but she was squirming, finally, not bothering to hide what she wanted from him.
“Kate?”
“Please.” Her hand that had been resting at her neck traced its way down her body, over the blanket, and she could barely see Jack’s eyes, but they were shining, and he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them off. He was still soft, but that somehow made it better, because she looked at all of him, not just his cock, and she felt how he was wondering what she saw, what she wanted, how she could need what she needed.
She let out a sigh and said, “Damn…”
He chuckled nervously. “I thought you were tired…”
“I am. But, God, you look so good, Jack. Come here.”
She pulled back the covers and he slid in beside her, and he was quickly hard as his body rocked against hers. He didn’t kiss her on the mouth, instead pulling his lips along her neck, pulling back the strap of her tank top to let his tongue flick over her collarbone as his fingers teased her nipple. She felt herself murmuring, carrying on this conversation with him, her sounds to his mouth and her hips to his hips. Their bodies were clenching against each other, despite the easiness of Jack’s mouth’s movements, and she almost hurt with the need to have him touch her, slide his fingers over her clit or, better yet, to pull off her shorts and be inside her, deep and hard. But he suddenly stopped and sat back, taking the covers with him, looking at her body and breathing deeply. For a moment, he stood, and he went to the flap at the entrance to their tent, pulling it back to let in the moonlight.
When he got back to her, he started taking her clothes off slowly, drawing out the experience as though he’d never seen her naked and never touched all those parts of her skin. His stubble rasped over her neck and breasts and stomach, and as he pulled off her underwear, he was already breathing against her stomach and kissing down, lightly over the hair there, until he reached her lips, carefully pulling them apart and taking a slow, hot swipe with his tongue, lightly, over her clit. The contact almost made her jerk away, but she didn’t, and she felt him working her even more open, probing his tongue inside her. He was careful and hungry with his mouth, and it felt so wet and so good that she couldn’t breathe. He had done this for her before, and she knew he could be as patient as he needed to be while enjoying it, his own groans vibrating against her as she squirmed. But her hands on his head pulled him back up toward her until he was kissing her and she was tasting herself as his tongue drove into her mouth and she was slipping her hands between them to find his cock and his hips shifted to let her guide him in and he went slow, so they could feel every new depth until their bodies met and she moaned, “Fuck, Jack.”
He held his hips still as his eyes closed. When they opened, he started moving, and every word, every part of a word, was how beautiful she was, but she wanted to say that this was beautiful, the hardness of his arms holding him up and the softness of her stomach pushing against his. She pulled him closer, until her face was against his chest and she was forcing him deeper, and she felt his body hot and flush against hers, connected all the way down to her clit. When he started to speed up, she thought she could feel it building to something, but she didn’t care, because she watched as his jaw relaxed and he stopped talking altogether, then his face grew tense again. After he came, moaning and then so silent, he pulled out and immediately rolled himself off her, now stretching out beside her and kissing her neck. She was wound up so tight now, so much that she felt a little shaky, so when she felt him guide her own hand to her clit, and he said into her ear, “Let me watch you,” she didn’t even think about being self-conscious.
Jack’s hands ghosted over her thighs and stomach, but they settled at her breasts, because a little teasing of her nipples often nearly sent her over the edge. Usually, when she was near orgasm, she couldn’t stop making noise, but now she was listening to him in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, even now, spent and drained and feeling the long, hot day catch up to him. The day seemed to be catching her, too, and every muscle held itself tight as her body concentrated its energy on her hand and her clit, and then he was breathing on her skin, saying something she couldn’t even hear, because she was coming like a sudden hot release of all that tension. Her eyes popped open as her whole body reeled with it and the moonlight was there again, now greeting her on Jack’s face, reflecting in his tired, sex-full eyes, narrowed and so brown, even in the dim light; his gaze was so deep that she had to close her eyes again as the waves slowed and stopped shaking her. He curled his body around hers and settled his face on her breast, and she breathed hard against his short-cropped hair.
After a moment, he got up to fetch them a bottle of water. As she watched his body moving around the moonlit tent, she smiled and sighed and decided she was, again, quite tired, and now not so complacent as satisfied, even with the humid night air.
He stood there, watching her, saying, “I guess I should be glad you were…in such a…”
“I really wasn’t, Jack. It’s your fault.”
“How?”
“It’s just… It’s you.” He looked at her curiously for a moment, then he sighed and pulled the tent flap closed and she smiled in the near darkness as she felt him slip into bed beside her.
Pairing: Jack/Kate
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Takes place in some vague AU (still island setting, just obviously not parallel to the show currently) where these two are in the relatively early stages of a relationship and living together. Just some meaningful pr0n. Does that exist? As always, proceed with caution if can’t stand emotional, perhaps sappy stuff. Or if you think Kate’s the devil.
Note: Written for my Kate claim at philosophy_20, for prompt # 4 - Inertia.
Inertia
Sometimes, inside their shelter, she could pretend it was cooler than it was outside, looking at the blue of the tarp, moonlight filtering through the smallest holes, cool and somehow cutting through the humidity, stars that pierced the hazy air and seemed close enough to touch. But it couldn’t induce her to move, not even when Jack let himself in through the flap in their tent. It couldn’t even make her want to move, not even to touch him.
It wasn’t as though they didn’t want each other. Outside, in the light of the jungle day, far from camp, or inside the hatch, on button duty, they were not shy about touching each other. Kate might grab Jack and push him into a concrete wall or a tree, probing his mouth and feeling how quickly he would respond to her touch, even when he was angry or tired; Jack might sneak up behind her, pressing his lips to the back of her neck, sliding his hands around her waist, up to her breasts, as a shiver of arousal went through her. But inside their shelter, you would rarely know they were lovers unless you found them asleep, mostly nude and intertwined. Something about their home meant safety and partnership: talk, comfort, laughter, some occasional bickering, rarely serious. But at that point in the day, after dark, when they straggled in from their day’s work, they were too tired to use their bodies much at all. The lines on Jack’s face said it for him, but he always vocalized it anyway: “I’m tired, Kate.” Or she said, “It’s too fucking hot today,” as she lay there and tried to imagine air conditioning, and failed. But what they both actually heard in those statements was, “I’m not in the mood.”
So when Jack came in, nodding at her and mumbling out the details of his day as he unloaded its physical contents from his pack-water, a new book on loan from the hatch “library,” his notebook filled with the medical history of their camp, near over-ripe guava-and he ended with, “Fuck, I’m exhausted,” she smiled to herself, knowing what he meant and being halfway glad. She was in a good mood-calm and contemplative-but she was tired, too complacent to move or muster anything like a sexual appetite.
“Me too,” she said, rolling over from her back onto her side so that she could watch him, watch the shadows fall on his face there in the dim light; and his face seemed cool, dark, just as he seemed heavy, tired. He stretched his arms over his head, and her gaze followed down the length of his arms to his chest. She looked at him through eyes that had seen him before, watched his body move even before they finally fell together in a miserable, tangled, suspicious heap of a relationship that seemed so unavoidable it had once felt like a trap. Then it ceased to be a trap and started to be something so deep she was often afraid of it. She told herself that may be the reason they could talk in under their shelter, kiss and look into each other’s eyes, but they could only have sex in the daylight, pushing through it with the kind of heat and fire that had fed this thing, driving it to where it was, carrying it along without allowing them to contemplate things too much.
Somehow, along the way, as these distinct parts of their relationship separated, she had forgotten to look at him and to let herself see his arms and his thighs and his toned back and the wonderful, almost painful way he could drop his shoulders when he finally came home to her. Whenever she laid her head on his chest, she was touching him, but it was as if their bodies didn’t matter. The only time their bodies did matter was when she came upon him sometime during the day to find him doing something powerful, physical, that stopped her breath and made her want to have him, to take him so fast she wouldn’t have to think about that need, only act it out. But now, here in the dark of their tent, with the moonlight only giving her glimpses of his body, she was hungry for more. She wanted to see the arch of his neck, the soft spot where she could sink her teeth in and breathe hard against his skin until he nearly whimpered, begging her for something, anything. She wanted to see the hard, wide expanse of his chest. She wanted to watch the muscles bulge in his thighs and calves.
At that moment, he suddenly took off his shirt, pulling it over his head with one hand, and she felt something surprising catch inside her, this need for more, closer, hands on him, his smell, to see him more clearly. It started as heat, slow and spreading, then once it hit her groin it wound up to a tension that made her lay still and breathe and never take her eyes off him. He went to the doorway with a bowl of water, washing his face and allowing the cooling drops to stay on his shoulders, but she was watching the contours of his jaw, how they flowed into his neck and down over his back. She wanted to pull herself off the ground and creep along the sand until she could kiss his lower back, but she felt as if she couldn’t move, couldn’t disturb this picture, nor would she want to start moving her own limbs, which felt somehow cool, as though she was sensitive to the slight breeze that rippled the tent flaps. She knew if she moved it would be like burning, and her hands would move over her body to feel skin that longed to be touched. She wondered how she had suddenly gotten so desperate for him. Then he turned and she made the decision that she needed to have her hands on him, even if she had to coax him into the physical.
He stood there, looking at her quizzically, unbuttoning his jeans and letting them fall. He was about to drop down into bed with her, but she said, “Jack.”
His answer wasn’t really words, just a questioning grunt as he yawned and blinked at her through the darkness.
“Take the rest off.”
He wrinkled up his face at her, but she was squirming, finally, not bothering to hide what she wanted from him.
“Kate?”
“Please.” Her hand that had been resting at her neck traced its way down her body, over the blanket, and she could barely see Jack’s eyes, but they were shining, and he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them off. He was still soft, but that somehow made it better, because she looked at all of him, not just his cock, and she felt how he was wondering what she saw, what she wanted, how she could need what she needed.
She let out a sigh and said, “Damn…”
He chuckled nervously. “I thought you were tired…”
“I am. But, God, you look so good, Jack. Come here.”
She pulled back the covers and he slid in beside her, and he was quickly hard as his body rocked against hers. He didn’t kiss her on the mouth, instead pulling his lips along her neck, pulling back the strap of her tank top to let his tongue flick over her collarbone as his fingers teased her nipple. She felt herself murmuring, carrying on this conversation with him, her sounds to his mouth and her hips to his hips. Their bodies were clenching against each other, despite the easiness of Jack’s mouth’s movements, and she almost hurt with the need to have him touch her, slide his fingers over her clit or, better yet, to pull off her shorts and be inside her, deep and hard. But he suddenly stopped and sat back, taking the covers with him, looking at her body and breathing deeply. For a moment, he stood, and he went to the flap at the entrance to their tent, pulling it back to let in the moonlight.
When he got back to her, he started taking her clothes off slowly, drawing out the experience as though he’d never seen her naked and never touched all those parts of her skin. His stubble rasped over her neck and breasts and stomach, and as he pulled off her underwear, he was already breathing against her stomach and kissing down, lightly over the hair there, until he reached her lips, carefully pulling them apart and taking a slow, hot swipe with his tongue, lightly, over her clit. The contact almost made her jerk away, but she didn’t, and she felt him working her even more open, probing his tongue inside her. He was careful and hungry with his mouth, and it felt so wet and so good that she couldn’t breathe. He had done this for her before, and she knew he could be as patient as he needed to be while enjoying it, his own groans vibrating against her as she squirmed. But her hands on his head pulled him back up toward her until he was kissing her and she was tasting herself as his tongue drove into her mouth and she was slipping her hands between them to find his cock and his hips shifted to let her guide him in and he went slow, so they could feel every new depth until their bodies met and she moaned, “Fuck, Jack.”
He held his hips still as his eyes closed. When they opened, he started moving, and every word, every part of a word, was how beautiful she was, but she wanted to say that this was beautiful, the hardness of his arms holding him up and the softness of her stomach pushing against his. She pulled him closer, until her face was against his chest and she was forcing him deeper, and she felt his body hot and flush against hers, connected all the way down to her clit. When he started to speed up, she thought she could feel it building to something, but she didn’t care, because she watched as his jaw relaxed and he stopped talking altogether, then his face grew tense again. After he came, moaning and then so silent, he pulled out and immediately rolled himself off her, now stretching out beside her and kissing her neck. She was wound up so tight now, so much that she felt a little shaky, so when she felt him guide her own hand to her clit, and he said into her ear, “Let me watch you,” she didn’t even think about being self-conscious.
Jack’s hands ghosted over her thighs and stomach, but they settled at her breasts, because a little teasing of her nipples often nearly sent her over the edge. Usually, when she was near orgasm, she couldn’t stop making noise, but now she was listening to him in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, even now, spent and drained and feeling the long, hot day catch up to him. The day seemed to be catching her, too, and every muscle held itself tight as her body concentrated its energy on her hand and her clit, and then he was breathing on her skin, saying something she couldn’t even hear, because she was coming like a sudden hot release of all that tension. Her eyes popped open as her whole body reeled with it and the moonlight was there again, now greeting her on Jack’s face, reflecting in his tired, sex-full eyes, narrowed and so brown, even in the dim light; his gaze was so deep that she had to close her eyes again as the waves slowed and stopped shaking her. He curled his body around hers and settled his face on her breast, and she breathed hard against his short-cropped hair.
After a moment, he got up to fetch them a bottle of water. As she watched his body moving around the moonlit tent, she smiled and sighed and decided she was, again, quite tired, and now not so complacent as satisfied, even with the humid night air.
He stood there, watching her, saying, “I guess I should be glad you were…in such a…”
“I really wasn’t, Jack. It’s your fault.”
“How?”
“It’s just… It’s you.” He looked at her curiously for a moment, then he sighed and pulled the tent flap closed and she smiled in the near darkness as she felt him slip into bed beside her.