Summary: Kate gives Sawyer a haircut
Spoilers: What Kate Did
Note: I started this a week ago, before it looked like this is going to be canon. Well, the non-shower, non-smut part of it anyway. ;-D For everyone who's been asking me to write Skate. Sadly not appropriate for any birthday girls I know. I don't think anyway, LOL. Claiming for the fanfic100 prompt "Outsides."
“You know what horses mean, doncha, Freckles?” Sawyer still leaned heavily on Kate as she led him into the shower.
“No, Sawyer, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” she said in that mock-annoyed voice that meant she wasn’t annoyed at all.
“Well,” he grunted a little as she eased him onto the chair she had placed under the shower. He was tired, after that little tour of the hatch, but he wouldn’t admit it. “You know how all those little teenage girls always want ponies and collect all those damn horse statuettes?”
“What would you know about that?” she laughed as she helped him off with his shirt.
“I’ve known some teenage girls in my time.” At her frown, he added, “When I was their age. C’mon! I’m not a complete pervert.”
“No, just 80 percent or so,” she said with a shake of her head. “C’mon, legs out.” He obediently stuck out his legs as she tugged off his jeans.
“Tell me again why I gotta be half naked for this?”
“I’m going to wash your hair and then cut it,” she said, folding his clothes and putting them aside. “So there’s no point in getting all your clothes wet.”
“Guess not,” he sighed. “So, anyway, as I was sayin’, you’ve got all these little girls -- teenage girls, or darn near -- just itchin’ to be near boys but boys are too scary yet, so what’s the best substitute? Horses.”
“Horses instead of sex, you mean?” She turned on the water without warning and he spluttered under the spray.
“Hey!” He shook his head like a wet dog, spraying her liberally. And then he leaned back, letting the water run over his head, eyes closed in bliss. First shower in months -- that he had been conscious for anyway -- and he nearly forgot she was there. Felt so sinful just to have the hot water wash over him like that. Nearly made up for everything.
When her fingers started roughly rubbing the shampoo into his scalp in firm, tantalizing circles, he almost groaned out loud. Figured it was time to start talking instead.
He picked up where he had left off. “Just statin’ the obvious. I’m hardly the first person to make that observation. C’mon, Freckles -- unh, that feels good -- you know what I mean. It’s like foreplay that never goes anywhere.” And you would know something about that. “But as soon as they get a boyfriend, bam, all the stupid horse statues are gone.”
“Spoken like a true expert on the female psyche,” Kate giggled. “OK, lean back, so I can rinse the shampoo out.”
Sawyer obliged her and she smoothed her fingers through his hair until the water ran clear, ignoring the little “mmm” noises he was making.
“OK,” she said, reaching for a towel. “Now let’s trim that unruly mane of yours.” She rubbed the towel roughly over his head until he protested.
“Hey! I thought you needed it wet to cut it!”
“Yeah, not dripping wet. Don’t be a baby, Sawyer.”
He sighed heavily and shoved her arm away with his good hand. “Well, I’m only being spoon-fed and hosed down like a damn infant, so ... “
She waved the scissors in front of him. “Alright, mister. I don’t want to hear one word of complaint when I’m done, OK?”
“Like I got a choice. I’m at your mercy, ma’am.”
She leaned in, snipping his bangs first. She stared hard at them, cutting and recutting until they were even. He should have minded how his hair was going to turn out, but he hadn't been this close to her since she’d kissed him oh so many days ago. Suddenly, he didn’t care if she shaved him bald, as long as she stayed right where she was.
Kate either hadn't noticed, or was choosing to ignore, how his white boxers had become nearly transparent when wet. The darn things clung to him until he might as well be naked. That and the darn slit, well, he knew the more she touched him, the more of a show he’d be putting on for her. Not that he minded. He’d never exactly been shy.
Now, that little tank top of hers was already a little wet, but it could stand to be a whole lot wetter.
She was so focused on the haircut, she didn’t notice him reach behind and turn the shower back on. “Sawyer!” she squawked as the water hit her full in the face. He just smiled and opened the tap wider.
She reached out blindly with her hands for the faucet, but he was too quick for her, catching her wrist with his good hand and blocking the tap with his body as best he could as she flailed wildly.
“Sawyer!” she yelled again, finally getting her hand free and stepping out of the stream of water. “You, you...”
“Really shouldn’t have. I know,” he grinned as he turned the water off. He leaned back and let his eyes roam over her, just appreciating how her wet clothes hung to every curve, especially how her nipples stood out under the thin cotton of her shirt.
He already knew she looked good dripping wet, had known that since they’d gone swimming in that pretty little lagoon. Knew she didn’t like to wear a bra any more than he liked to wear shorts.
She wiped her dripping hair out of her eyes, glaring at him. “Very funny.” But her mouth was starting to twitch at the edges. “OK, yeah, you got me. At least I know you’re feeling better.” She ran her hand through her hair again, moving it up and off her face and her head tilted back as she did it. Maybe unaware of the effect she was having on him. Most likely completely aware.
He inched forward on his chair, balancing on the edge. “A lot better, actually.”
His fingertips brushed her jeans. She’d come a little closer, maybe without realizing it. He trailed his hand over her thigh, watching for her reaction. “You know what they say about wet clothes.”
“What?” Her voice was low, soft. She was poised to either run or move closer, he couldn’t tell, could only feel the tension coming off of her.
“You’ll catch your death,” he said, dropping his voice and raising an eyebrow. She was close enough now for him to grab hold of her hip. He pulled her to him and for a second, she froze. She looked stricken. Scared, even. She held the scissors as if she was thinking of using them as a weapon.
“Shhh,” he said, as if he were trying to soothe a panicky animal. “It’s OK.” His eyes locked on hers, trying to read what was scaring her in those wide, green eyes. She’d looked just like that when he’d first come around -- like she was crumbling in front of him. “It’s alright,” he continued in the same calm voice. “Everything’s OK.” He kept gently rubbing her thigh, as if she were fuckin’ Black Beauty out there in the jungle, and he had to stop her from galloping over a cliff.
She swallowed and nodded, never breaking eye contact. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, the spooked expression was gone. The scissors fell to the floor with a resounding clatter. She put her hand over the one on her thigh and they stood there for a second, the heat building between them until she bent forward and took his head between her hands. Her mouth hovered over his, still hesitating. Those green eyes, this close, were hazy behind loose, wet tendrils of hair. It was like looking into the jungle itself.
And then her mouth opened to him and she closed her eyes and he did too, just savoring her taste and the welcome feel of her as she settled onto his lap. Her clothes were soaked but her skin was warm to the touch and if she was shivering, he didn’t think it was from cold.
One hand edged up under her shirt, peeling back the wet cloth that seemed glued to her, while his mouth sought her other breast, nipping at the material that still covered it. She arched toward him as his fingers teased a nipple into hardness and her mouth parted, sucking in a quick breath.
He shifted underneath her, trying to balance her weight better and she started up, slipping his hand out of her shirt.
“Sawyer, we should wait ...” she bit her lip in concern.
“Hey, hey. You’re good, right here.” He pulled her back down gently with a smile and set to slowly pushing the straps of her shirt down each arm.
“But are you sure you... ...”
“See, that’s why I’m just going to sit here ...”
She inched closer, shrugging off her shirt.
“And what am I going to do?” she said, eyes wide, as she toyed with the waistband of his boxers.
“Well now,” he drawled, suppressing a shiver as her hand snaked inside his shorts. His voice dropped even lower. “I figured you could ride me like that pony you never got for Christmas.”
Her answering grin was all the medicine he needed. “How do you know I never got a pony?”
“Because no one ever does.”
“Anyone ever tell you...” she sighed between kisses, “you talk too much?”
“I’m a vocal guy,” Sawyer whispered in her ear. And then he proceeded to demonstrate just how vocal.
If Jack wondered why Sawyer’s hair looked considerably worse after the haircut than before, he tactfully said nothing. At first.
“You know, I cut my own hair,” he finally offered. “I could maybe...”
“Nah. I think this suits me,” Sawyer grinned, tossing his butchered hair. “But, tell you what, I’ll let her take another whack at it. If it’s still not right, then I’ll come find ya.”
“Deal,” Jack smiled.