ruby axes, silver shoes (we deserve each other), Claire/Samuel, R
Title: ruby axes, silver shoes (we deserve each other)
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Claire/Samuel
Rating: R (violent imagery)
Word Count: 1,620
Summary: She deserves her secrets as much as anybody. (for 12_stories , silver)
His name comes from nowhere, like she always knew and just forgot. It sends a chill through the cabin, and Claire pulls her overshirt closed. She's still learning to speak the language of the island, a vague instinct that's more feelings than words. Sometimes though, she hears whispers, stern and scolding sentences that sound a little like her mother.
Samuel, it says. His name is Samuel.
Claire sits on the cot, knees pulled to her chest, fidgeting with a rip in her jeans as she waits for him. She knows from the electric tingle in the air that he will be here; he always comes in from the storm.
It's late when the door opens with a soggy creak. A familiar scowl on his face, he shakes the water from his short hair. Claire's stomach growls at the sight of his empty hands. He doesn't like her to go out in the rain, and sometimes he forgets she needs to eat.
It's okay, though. She's on a mission.
She climbs off the bed and smiles up at him, for once not letting herself swallow nervously as she notes how he towers over her. He greets her with a raised eyebrow, and she's ready to test her findings.
"Hello, Samuel."
His hands fly, and she flinches. They settle in her hair, tugging down to force her to look at him, his eyes bright and burning. "Where did you hear that name?"
Claire tightens her raised jaw. She deserves her secrets as much as anybody. "It's yours, isn't it?"
His mouth cracks open to reveal a glint of snarling white teeth. "Not anymore."
"That's silly. You can't just lose your name."
He doesn't appreciate the input. "And what would you know about that?" he growls, his arms tightening on her back. His bones are hard and solid against her own, and she wonders how much of him is real. Claire slides her hand under his chin, feeling his pulse. The beat is steady, too steady. It reminds her of a movie, of the man with a tick tick where his heart should go.
This is what I have made him, the island whispers proudly. Claire wrinkles her nose in thought. Maybe if she knows Samuel, knows him inside and out, this (her) will all make sense.
Lowering her hand to his waist, she brushes her pinkie beneath the coarse black fabric of his shirt. His skin is wet and warm. "Who are you?"
"You mean what," he grunts. His grip brings their bodies closer, and he feels too human to be anything else.
"What are you, then?"
One hand gropes for the knob behind him, the other still strong over her back as the door flings open. "Get out. Ask Jacob your questions."
They both know he would never answer. "I'm not leaving. I need to know, Samuel. I need you to tell me what-"
His teeth sink into her lip, ordering her to stop. Claire lets out a tiny gasp, tinted with the faint taste of blood as his mouth moves hungrily over hers. She hears a creak, of bones or the metal hinges of the cot, and the door clattering shut in the wind, and a voice hissing in her ear, you don't know what you're getting yourself into.
She tries arguing with it, I know exactly what I'm doing, but Samuel's fingers are pushing into the back of her neck and she doesn't really know anyway.
Somehow, Claire expected him to be like Jacob. She scolds herself for her naivety, before the island can do it for her. Samuel doesn't gaze into her eyes, doesn't whisper promises to calm her fears. His hands are heavy, burying her beneath a fog, and as the noises blur together she can't remember what she ever wanted from him besides this.
The need for him, for them, to be something better than Jacob, naws guiltily through her chest, slamming messily against Samuel's palm. She moans a soft complaint when she tries to touch him back, her hand getting caught between them, smashed tight over his heart.
His pulse is the same as before, and it's not fair. If only she could borrow his strength. She's tired of being broken by one man who isn't really a man and put back together by another. For once, Claire wishes she could save herself.
The ache in her wrist causes a different beat to rumble through her head, the sound of rain falling in angry splats, with only an old sagging roof to protect her from its reproach. You should have known better, silly girl.
"Samuel," she whimpers to drown it out. It makes him stronger, his kisses unrelenting on her neck, almost suffocating. She repeats it urgently, a cry for help. "Samuel."
He drags himself away to glare down at her. "What?"
Claire bites her lip, hard, angry at herself for being afraid, for letting him see it. Blood slides from her mouth, down her chin. She tries to lick it away but he jumps at it like a circling shark, his thumb colliding with her tongue. A red smear appears down his hand as he wipes it off. "N-nothing," she says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering painfully over the cut. "It's nothing."
"Tell me." He speaks with a deep thunder that vibrates through her bones. Claire rubs awkwardly at her wrist, and he takes her hand, cradling it in his strong fingers. "Tell me, Claire."
The island hushes as his voice wraps around her name, warm and certain. There are other ways Samuel is nothing like Jacob, she realizes. Jacob watches her too closely, wastes words on apologies when his hands fumble. There are things Jacob doesn't know about this place, things he wouldn't tell her if he did. Things she can't tell him.
Samuel doesn't speak to figure her out, because he already knows. She can see that now, in the way he rarely uses her name, in his quiet smirk when he catches her watching him wide-eyed as he skins her a rabbit.
The knowledge of all Claire is remains trapped in his muscles, in the arms holding her in assurance, and she wants to know herself the way he does. "Am I dead?" she whispers.
He laughs, pressing his forehead to hers. "You're not dead," he says. "And you're not going crazy. It's trying to claim you."
She doesn't have to ask what it is, if Samuel doesn't mean he instead. A sweet voice echoes through her head, enticing, this is what's best for you, Claire.
Hot tears escape without her consent. He moves a hand to her knee, dragging his thumb along her leg, to her hipbone. Claire sighs as her body grows numb with the pressure. Samuel kisses her wet cheek. "I'm getting off this island," he murmurs, "and I'm taking you with me."
Claire grits her teeth. Even when he's gentle, he's commanding her to do something, never concerning himself with what she wants. She's through with allowing (needing) him to use her weakness against her.
She slides out from under him, and Samuel turns to look at her as she stands uncertainly on the floor. In her mind the dirt floor shifts and splits open beneath her, dragging her under and swallowing her whole. Claire leans against the cot for support, the metal shoved against her twitching legs, cold and hard through the denim. It's a strange comfort, this man-made object in the midst of the roaring of a violent storm.
She wonders if there's something artificial inside of Samuel, keeping him a separate entity from the greedy landscape. Folding her fingers over his arm, she feels so small and fragile, like filmy lace trying to hold onto an iron man, and she fears it will rip her to shreds.
Samuel says nothing, lets her think in silence. But it's not a very quiet silence. A new sound pours into her, from her. It's her own pulse, fast and inconsistent, but hers. Alive, it thumps. Hers. Alive. Claire's.
Her chest burns, and she lets go of him, shaky on her own feet. Her mother (her real mother, not this thing trying to sap away everything that makes her human) used to tell her pain was a sign that something was still working right. Samuel watches curiously as Claire shrugs off her plaid button-up, pushing aside the strap of her tank top to trace the skin underneath. There's a purple smudge over her heart, tender to the touch.
Claire laughs, relief making her light-headed. Finally she's figured it out, what she has that he doesn't. She can bruise, and bleed, and feel. She refuses to let the island take that from her.
She climbs onto the cot, and Samuel hmms as she kneels over him. His hand wavers at her hip, ready to push her away or pull her back down. "You know what I think?" Claire says, a smirk creeping onto her face. "Maybe you can't leave without me. Maybe-"
As soon as she says it she knows. There are no maybes. "You need me."
His fingers tighten, clamped over a fistful of her jeans. She raises her chin, expecting him to deny it, to rebuke her with angry kisses, but he lets her go. He lays back with his arms thrown behind his head, his mouth forming a crooked smile. "Is that so?"
Claire feels a rush through her veins as the last of her fear dissolves, replaced by the respect hidden under his mocking pride, the confidence she hears in her own voice. She lowers herself to run her hands along his ribs, and she could swear his heart skips a beat. "That's so."
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Claire/Samuel
Rating: R (violent imagery)
Word Count: 1,620
Summary: She deserves her secrets as much as anybody. (for 12_stories , silver)
His name comes from nowhere, like she always knew and just forgot. It sends a chill through the cabin, and Claire pulls her overshirt closed. She's still learning to speak the language of the island, a vague instinct that's more feelings than words. Sometimes though, she hears whispers, stern and scolding sentences that sound a little like her mother.
Samuel, it says. His name is Samuel.
Claire sits on the cot, knees pulled to her chest, fidgeting with a rip in her jeans as she waits for him. She knows from the electric tingle in the air that he will be here; he always comes in from the storm.
It's late when the door opens with a soggy creak. A familiar scowl on his face, he shakes the water from his short hair. Claire's stomach growls at the sight of his empty hands. He doesn't like her to go out in the rain, and sometimes he forgets she needs to eat.
It's okay, though. She's on a mission.
She climbs off the bed and smiles up at him, for once not letting herself swallow nervously as she notes how he towers over her. He greets her with a raised eyebrow, and she's ready to test her findings.
"Hello, Samuel."
His hands fly, and she flinches. They settle in her hair, tugging down to force her to look at him, his eyes bright and burning. "Where did you hear that name?"
Claire tightens her raised jaw. She deserves her secrets as much as anybody. "It's yours, isn't it?"
His mouth cracks open to reveal a glint of snarling white teeth. "Not anymore."
"That's silly. You can't just lose your name."
He doesn't appreciate the input. "And what would you know about that?" he growls, his arms tightening on her back. His bones are hard and solid against her own, and she wonders how much of him is real. Claire slides her hand under his chin, feeling his pulse. The beat is steady, too steady. It reminds her of a movie, of the man with a tick tick where his heart should go.
This is what I have made him, the island whispers proudly. Claire wrinkles her nose in thought. Maybe if she knows Samuel, knows him inside and out, this (her) will all make sense.
Lowering her hand to his waist, she brushes her pinkie beneath the coarse black fabric of his shirt. His skin is wet and warm. "Who are you?"
"You mean what," he grunts. His grip brings their bodies closer, and he feels too human to be anything else.
"What are you, then?"
One hand gropes for the knob behind him, the other still strong over her back as the door flings open. "Get out. Ask Jacob your questions."
They both know he would never answer. "I'm not leaving. I need to know, Samuel. I need you to tell me what-"
His teeth sink into her lip, ordering her to stop. Claire lets out a tiny gasp, tinted with the faint taste of blood as his mouth moves hungrily over hers. She hears a creak, of bones or the metal hinges of the cot, and the door clattering shut in the wind, and a voice hissing in her ear, you don't know what you're getting yourself into.
She tries arguing with it, I know exactly what I'm doing, but Samuel's fingers are pushing into the back of her neck and she doesn't really know anyway.
Somehow, Claire expected him to be like Jacob. She scolds herself for her naivety, before the island can do it for her. Samuel doesn't gaze into her eyes, doesn't whisper promises to calm her fears. His hands are heavy, burying her beneath a fog, and as the noises blur together she can't remember what she ever wanted from him besides this.
The need for him, for them, to be something better than Jacob, naws guiltily through her chest, slamming messily against Samuel's palm. She moans a soft complaint when she tries to touch him back, her hand getting caught between them, smashed tight over his heart.
His pulse is the same as before, and it's not fair. If only she could borrow his strength. She's tired of being broken by one man who isn't really a man and put back together by another. For once, Claire wishes she could save herself.
The ache in her wrist causes a different beat to rumble through her head, the sound of rain falling in angry splats, with only an old sagging roof to protect her from its reproach. You should have known better, silly girl.
"Samuel," she whimpers to drown it out. It makes him stronger, his kisses unrelenting on her neck, almost suffocating. She repeats it urgently, a cry for help. "Samuel."
He drags himself away to glare down at her. "What?"
Claire bites her lip, hard, angry at herself for being afraid, for letting him see it. Blood slides from her mouth, down her chin. She tries to lick it away but he jumps at it like a circling shark, his thumb colliding with her tongue. A red smear appears down his hand as he wipes it off. "N-nothing," she says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering painfully over the cut. "It's nothing."
"Tell me." He speaks with a deep thunder that vibrates through her bones. Claire rubs awkwardly at her wrist, and he takes her hand, cradling it in his strong fingers. "Tell me, Claire."
The island hushes as his voice wraps around her name, warm and certain. There are other ways Samuel is nothing like Jacob, she realizes. Jacob watches her too closely, wastes words on apologies when his hands fumble. There are things Jacob doesn't know about this place, things he wouldn't tell her if he did. Things she can't tell him.
Samuel doesn't speak to figure her out, because he already knows. She can see that now, in the way he rarely uses her name, in his quiet smirk when he catches her watching him wide-eyed as he skins her a rabbit.
The knowledge of all Claire is remains trapped in his muscles, in the arms holding her in assurance, and she wants to know herself the way he does. "Am I dead?" she whispers.
He laughs, pressing his forehead to hers. "You're not dead," he says. "And you're not going crazy. It's trying to claim you."
She doesn't have to ask what it is, if Samuel doesn't mean he instead. A sweet voice echoes through her head, enticing, this is what's best for you, Claire.
Hot tears escape without her consent. He moves a hand to her knee, dragging his thumb along her leg, to her hipbone. Claire sighs as her body grows numb with the pressure. Samuel kisses her wet cheek. "I'm getting off this island," he murmurs, "and I'm taking you with me."
Claire grits her teeth. Even when he's gentle, he's commanding her to do something, never concerning himself with what she wants. She's through with allowing (needing) him to use her weakness against her.
She slides out from under him, and Samuel turns to look at her as she stands uncertainly on the floor. In her mind the dirt floor shifts and splits open beneath her, dragging her under and swallowing her whole. Claire leans against the cot for support, the metal shoved against her twitching legs, cold and hard through the denim. It's a strange comfort, this man-made object in the midst of the roaring of a violent storm.
She wonders if there's something artificial inside of Samuel, keeping him a separate entity from the greedy landscape. Folding her fingers over his arm, she feels so small and fragile, like filmy lace trying to hold onto an iron man, and she fears it will rip her to shreds.
Samuel says nothing, lets her think in silence. But it's not a very quiet silence. A new sound pours into her, from her. It's her own pulse, fast and inconsistent, but hers. Alive, it thumps. Hers. Alive. Claire's.
Her chest burns, and she lets go of him, shaky on her own feet. Her mother (her real mother, not this thing trying to sap away everything that makes her human) used to tell her pain was a sign that something was still working right. Samuel watches curiously as Claire shrugs off her plaid button-up, pushing aside the strap of her tank top to trace the skin underneath. There's a purple smudge over her heart, tender to the touch.
Claire laughs, relief making her light-headed. Finally she's figured it out, what she has that he doesn't. She can bruise, and bleed, and feel. She refuses to let the island take that from her.
She climbs onto the cot, and Samuel hmms as she kneels over him. His hand wavers at her hip, ready to push her away or pull her back down. "You know what I think?" Claire says, a smirk creeping onto her face. "Maybe you can't leave without me. Maybe-"
As soon as she says it she knows. There are no maybes. "You need me."
His fingers tighten, clamped over a fistful of her jeans. She raises her chin, expecting him to deny it, to rebuke her with angry kisses, but he lets her go. He lays back with his arms thrown behind his head, his mouth forming a crooked smile. "Is that so?"
Claire feels a rush through her veins as the last of her fear dissolves, replaced by the respect hidden under his mocking pride, the confidence she hears in her own voice. She lowers herself to run her hands along his ribs, and she could swear his heart skips a beat. "That's so."