Summary: Sequel to Possession - Kate doesn’t know how to feel about Jack now that she’s seen his dark side
Pairings: Sawyer/Kate, Jack/Kate
Warning: Very dark and kinky. Definitely not Canon!Jack.
Word count: 4367 words (yep - it's long!)
Note: Thanks to foxxcub for the beta. ;-D
Kate winced as she tried to pull on her jeans. She couldn’t even get them over her sore hip. And once she had them on, she’d be in constant agony. They were just too damn tight. She rummaged around her scanty collection of clothes and swore when she couldn’t find even one skirt.
It was the last straw. She bent over, letting the tears that were stinging her eyes fall. What was she going to do? Stay in her tent until it healed?
It hurt so much, and the only doctor on the island was the one who had hurt her.
It wasn’t just the physical pain he’d inflicted with his strong hands burying into her flesh and his teeth breaking the skin -- it was that she’d seen this side of him now. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on him to -- what? Save her? Make her better?
She wiped at her eyes roughly. She’d never let herself think anything so ridiculous, but now that that idea was gone, she felt lost. It was like she realized she was on a ship with no anchor, and it was adrift.
And now she was being melodramatic, she told herself harshly. So he was a little kinky. Big fuckin’ deal. She should have expected it -- he had seemed so repressed at first.
The fact that he’d been with Sawyer first didn’t make her feel any better. What did it mean that he hadn’t come to her -- that she’d had to go to him? Did he even want her at all?
She found a towel to wrap around her waist. She’d have to go beg a skirt off Shannon, and she didn’t have any idea what her reason was going to be. Maybe she’d fallen and scraped herself. She hated to lie. Not that she wasn’t used to lying, it was just ... embarrassing.
A shadow fell across her tent and she looked up, her breath in her throat. The head that stuck its way into her tent was blonde.
“Hey darlin,” Sawyer drawled. “I catch you at a bad time?” His hands were behind his back.
Kate felt an enormous rush of relief on seeing him. She could talk to Sawyer. He was the only one she could talk to about this.
“I can’t find anything to wear,” she admitted. “How did you ... I mean ... after he ... didn’t it hurt to wear jeans?”
Sawyer held out the thing he’d been holding behind his back -- it was a skirt, blue and flimsy and completely impractical. Clearly one of Shannon’s.
“Oh my God!” Kate squealed. She rushed over and grabbed it. She hesitated for a second, and then whipped off her towel and stepped into the skirt. It fit. She twirled around, delighted.
“Thank you!” she said, stepping over to lean up and kiss him. He grabbed her arm, keeping her there for another, deeper kiss.
“Thought you might be needin’ that,” he said with a smile. His eyes were concerned, though. The awkwardness was there between them, impossible to ignore.
“It hurts, Sawyer,” she said, searching his face for the sympathy she knew she would find there. “I can’t go to Jack. I can’t go to Sun. I don’t know what to do.” He held her against his chest, patting her on the back.
She drew back, looking him full in the eye. “Sawyer, I want him. I want you. But I can’t ... I mean, how can you do it? And why? Why do you do it?”
Sawyer stiffened, the concern on his face fading into hostility. “Not something I care to discuss,” he said, letting her go.
She put her hand on his arm. “Sawyer. I ... I need to know. I’m part of it too, now.”
He regarded her warily. “You want me to say something fuckin’ cliched like ... the pain distracts me from my inner torment,” he snorted. “Well, you can think that if you want. He doesn’t talk. We don’t talk about it. It’s just ... what it is. And then you come along and ...”
“Are you mad at me?” she asked, suddenly fearing him and what he might do.
He let out a long sigh. “I’d be lyin’ if I’d say bein’ with you - both of you - wasn’t ...” He stopped. “But you can’t ask why and how -- that’s not how it works. You want to bring everything to a crashin’ halt, go right the fuck ahead.”
She bit her lip and nodded. She hated feeling this way, needy and desperate. She hated feeling left out. They understood each other and she didn’t. She didn’t understand them at all.
Her head dropped, the tears forming again, even as she fought them.
And then he swept her up into his arms, and her legs were around his waist and he was kissing her and she was crying and she didn’t care.
He was so gentle with her as he eased her panties down her thighs, as his fingers moved inside her, erasing the pain, making her moan, and forget. He cradled her against his chest as his thumb rubbed in maddening circles and his fingers darted in and out of her.
She shivered against him, feeling again how strong he was, how he could break her so easily. She buried her tongue in his mouth, welcoming his warmth, his touch, as he brought her, gasping, to orgasm.
And now she wanted him more than ever. Her hands moved to his fly, working the buttons blindly, unwilling to break their kiss. She had his cock in her hand - so warm and hard and already wet along the tip.
She brought her hips up as he thrust into her, her arms tight around his neck. She stared into his eyes, unable to look away as she rode him slowly, panting hotly into his mouth. He felt so delicious inside her, filling that ache she didn’t know was there.
His hands were cupped under her ass, supporting her weight as she luxuriously moved up and down the length of him. He kept his hands off her hips and she kissed him all the harder for that, for every little thing he was doing to her and for her.
But he was growing impatient with her slow, sliding grind. He backed her against the pole holding the tent up and started thrusting into her with such force she gasped. The tent shook around them as he kept up his assault, and she could only cling to him as he hammered her.
“Sawyer!” she cried, seeing the tent start to go. It fell around them, burying them completely, but that didn’t stop him. Sawyer drove into her wildly, forgetting to keep his hands off her hips in that last instant before he came and they cried out together -- he from pleasure and she from pain.
And then they were both lying there in the wreckage of the tent, spent and out of breath. As they came down from their high, they started to laugh, first Kate and then Sawyer. They couldn’t stop laughing as they lay under the crumpled tarp, tangled up in each other.
His hand laid possessively on her thigh. “Sorry ‘bout your tent,” he grinned.
She giggled. “It’s going to be all over camp by tonight. No. It’s probably already all over camp.”
Something about the real situation, the one no one else know about besides Jack, sobered them both up. Kate gazed into Sawyer’s face, so close to hers, as if all the answers were there in his eyes.
“Kate,” he said after a long while. “Even if this other thing doesn’t work out, we can always, you know, I mean, I ...”
“I know,” she said, silencing him with a kiss. “Thank you. Sawyer, you’re ... you make it not hurt so much.”
He nodded. She curled up against him, not caring about the damn tent or anybody who might be gawking outside. This is what she needed right now. Just to be with someone who understood her. “Sawyer,” she breathed, as she felt his cock stirring again.
Much later, Sawyer helped her right her tent and they found they’d gathered quite an audience as they worked.
“Some trouble with your tent?” Sayid asked, amused, watching them with crossed arms.
“Yeah, it fell down,” Sawyer snapped and was met with polite snickers. But he couldn’t stay in a bad mood. He looked over at Kate and she blushed and everyone seemed to be grinning big goofy smiles at them.
Finally, the curious crowd dispersed and Kate and Sawyer were alone again. They both fell silent, as if words would ruin everything. Neither one mentioned Jack.
With the tent finally fixed, Sawyer took his leave, giving her a public kiss goodbye. It felt strange, but then again, the whole situation was so strange -- and far from resolved. She felt like they were both just playing a part in some charade.
As Sawyer walked off, Charlie and Hurley strolled by, grinning like idiots. She ignored them.
She had to see Jack. Her hip was killing her anyway. He had said to stop by, hadn’t he?
But Jack wasn’t around the next day. And when she saw Sawyer again, he flashed that dimpled smile that made her blush now. But he seemed to be limping, and she felt a hand tighten around her heart. Jack. He’d been with Jack again.
She felt strangely bereft. She didn’t want it, did she? She could still be with Sawyer, but knowing he and Jack were together, without her, made her feel she’d been punched in the stomach. She felt sick suddenly. And her hip throbbed worse than ever.
She walked to Jack’s cave, her nerves on edge. He was inside, washing his hands. He looked up and nodded in greeting. “Nice skirt,” he said.
“It’s Shannon’s. I couldn’t wear jeans,” she said, giving him a pointed look.
“How are you doing?” he asked, drying his hands and walking over to her.
“It hurts,” she admitted. “You said you had something for it?”
He took a look around to make sure they were alone. He lifted up her skirt and delicately examined her hip. She trembled at his touch, not sure if was from fear or excitement.
“How does that feel?” he asked as he pressed his hand into her bruised hip.
“You know how it feels,” she hissed at him as she recoiled, starting to regret coming to see him.
Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on hers, he moved his hand to cup her crotch. “And how does that feel?” he asked as he started to rub her through the thin cotton of her panties.
“Jack, that’s not ...” she held up her hand to his chest, as if to push him away, but she didn’t stop him.
They were both breathing faster now, staring into each other’s eyes, until she had to close hers. He slipped a finger underneath the fabric and inside her, and then added another finger. She whimpered at his touch, as he slid his hand in and out of her -- she was dripping by now -- and so very close to coming.
And then he gripped her hip hard with his left hand and she gasped at the pain. She tried to move away, but she was so close -- so close. She dug her fingernails into his chest , clawing through his T-shirt -matching him pain for pain. His eyes widened, but he didn’t stop -- or stop her.
“Jack? You in there?” A female voice came startlingly near. They both jumped. Jack let go of her and she pulled her skirt down hastily. She was suddenly conscious of her flushed face and her soaking wet panties. And that she hadn’t come yet.
“I’m with a patient,” Jack called in his most authority-filled voice. “Just give me a few minutes, OK?”
He leaned back towards her, cupping her through her skirt. “We’ll finish this later,” he said.
“No,” she said firmly, pushing his hand away, suddenly hating him and herself. “That’s not what I came here for.”
“I have something for it,” he promised, reluctantly withdrawing his hand. “A salve. I’ll bring it to you.”
“Just give it to me now,” she said, eager to get away from him.
“Later,” he said firmly, his eyes going dark. “OK, I’m done,” he called to the next patient.
She glared at him, but there was nothing she could do. Shannon walked in as she was walking out. “Is that my skirt?” she asked, her voice rising indignation. “It is! So that’s where it went. How the hell did you get it?”
Kate sighed. “Sawyer. I’ll bring it back in a few days.”
“You better wash it,” Shannon said, crossing her arms.
“Don’t worry,” Kate said darkly as she stormed off, as horny and pissed off as she could remember.
That night, Jack came to see her. “Glad you got your tent back up,” he said, smiling like a teenager.
“I’m not in the mood, Jack,” she said coldly. “Just give me the salve or whatever it is.”
“Come with me, first,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Jack, I don’t want to play any games.” Tonight he seemed so playful, so ... light. His face was completely open and inviting. She wanted to go with him, but ...
“I just can’t, Jack,” she said, turning away from him. He came up behind her, pressing against her, his body warm and solid. His hands were on her waist, so close to her hips that she could feel them already there, digging in again to the same, sore spots.
“Come with me, Kate,” he repeated. He didn’t offer any more reason. He didn’t try to convince her or to apologize. He just held her, his hands staying on her waist, until she ached for him to touch her.
“Jack,” she said softly, knowing he could hear the need in her voice. She turned in his arms and looked up into his face, trying to read his expression. “OK,” she said finally.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her, slowly and gently, stopping when she let out an audible sigh.
He took her hand again and pulled her towards him. “Come on,” he said, and she followed, butterflies in her stomach.
They walked along the beach, Jack striding purposefully ahead, her hand still clasped firmly in his. If she was supposed to be with Sawyer now, then it would be a bit hard to explain what she was doing with Jack. She was still working on an explanation for herself.
But they didn’t see anyone. He led her to an isolated spot, far past the last signal fire. She recognized it as the spot she’d first seen him with Sawyer.
She shivered as he dropped her hand, laid down his backpack, and started to disrobe. The night was dark and the ocean looked black and dangerous.
“You’re going to go swimming?” she asked in disbelief. “Now?”
“You are too,” he said, walking over to her and pulling her skirt down.
“What? No!” she protested, fighting to keep it on. “Salt water -- open wound? I don’t think so.”
“It’s not an open wound,” he contradicted her. “I barely broke the skin. And anyway, it’ll be good for it,” he said with such earnestness she almost believed him.
“I don’t care,” she said. “It’ll hurt.”
“Trust me,” he replied good-naturedly, tugging her skirt down past her knees. “It’ll be OK.”
She shot him a dirty look and bent over to pull her skirt back up, “I don’t trust you Jack. Not anymore.”
“Funny thing, trust,” he said, as he caught her hand, keeping her skirt mid-thigh. “I never really trusted you.” He gave her a hard look. “Like that night when I came out here and you stole my clothes. You’re a user, Kate. You didn’t really want me. You just wanted the key to the gun suitcase.”
“That’s not true,” she started to say, but there was some truth in it. Even now, the key around his neck caught her eye. “So this is payback?” she snapped. “You’re just trying to hurt me any way you can?”
“Is that what you really think?” He wasn’t angry. He just looked concerned.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said in a low, wounded whisper. “Jack, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry I lied to you. But now it hurts just to look at you.”
Just saying it out loud was making her more upset. “I’m going to go,” she said, but he held her fast by her skirt.
He lifted her up and yanked the skirt past her feet, followed by her panties as she kicked and flailed. He tossed them over his shoulder and walked out into the surf with her in his arms. “What are you doing?” she screamed, pounding on his chest. “Let me go! Jack!”
He didn’t put her down until the water was up to her chest. She gasped as the saltwater hit the bite marks on her hip with a sharp sting. Jack held her firmly around the waist as the waves rushed around them.
“Just relax,” he told her, “Just give into it.”
The salt burned along her hip, bringing tears to her eyes. “Let me go, Jack,” she said again, fighting him and the water as hard as she could.
The waves were so strong, she felt herself being lifted up and thrown back against him, but he held fast against the current. He anchored them both. She was scared now -- scared of the water, scared of being forced into it by him. And she was scared of Jack.
He seemed at home here, in the black vastness of the ocean, but it terrified her. It was coming in so fast and strong and she felt so tiny and overwhelmed. The next wave looked enormous, as if it would blot them out.
“Jack!” she yelled and then it broke over both of them. She was being dragged under, drowning in dark brine and choking on her own hair. At last the wave crashed behind them, leaving them gasping.
She looked up at Jack. He was exhilarated by it. Even in the darkness, she could see his eyes sparkle and she could feel his skin vibrate. He was even more of a stranger than the man who had painfully marked her so slowly and deliberately.
“Can’t you feel it?” he asked her, surprised to notice her panicked state. His hand moved between her thighs, and she inhaled sharply as he found her clit, rubbing rhythmically, almost in time with the tide. His other hand was underneath her soaked tank top, cupping a breast in his palm and rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
The ocean lapped around them like it was in league with Jack’s hands, playing over her body possessively. It was calmer now, and she relaxed, leaning back against Jack, no longer afraid.
She was done fighting him, she was giving in, giving up, giving herself over to him. He soon had her shaking under his hands, the dissolved fear in her veins adding to the sensation of him and the ever-shifting water. Her hip still throbbed, but the pain was duller now.
She felt lulled by the ocean, cradled in his arms, completely safe. When the orgasm came, it was as powerful as the wave that had pulled them under. She gasped for air, sure she was drowning again, only she didn’t mind. She was drowning with Jack, of Jack, tumbling into darkness and not sure if she was ever coming back up.
When it passed, she opened her eyes, almost surprised to find herself still bobbing in the ocean with him. She felt oddly peaceful. Content, almost.
She turned back around to face Jack. His face was calm, blissful, but still with that strange light that made her think she’d never really seen him before.
He leaned down to kiss her, grabbing her ass and pulling her closer. His cock brushed against her legs. He was hard -- he’d been hard this whole time -- and now she reached for him. He stopped her hand and jerked his head toward the beach.
Jack took her by the hand and led her out of the water. The night air felt cool on her wet clothes and hair. She stood by while he found his backpack and pulled a blanket out of it.
Kate shook her head at his preparation. He kneeled on the blanket, patting the spot next to him. It was such a corny gesture that she smiled. More like the Jack she thought she knew.
She joined him on the blanket, shaking a little with cold and with nervousness. He peeled off her tank top and pulled her to him. He felt so warm and safe. She had to tell herself that he wasn’t safe, that wildly enough, he had turned out to be the most dangerous man on the island for her. She wanted him so badly, if only he wouldn’t ... hurt her this time.
As his tongue darted inside her mouth, she took his cock in her hand, guiding him into her. He laid her down, pushing deep and she arched her back, welcoming him. His hands tangled in her hair as he attacked her mouth. She moaned as he moved inside her, pounding her as relentlessly as the tide.
Jack was moving over her like that killer wave that had pulled her under -- she was going to drown in him, in his sweat, in his strength, in that strange darkness that scared her so much.
He pulled at her hair as he thrust harder into her and she wrapped her legs tighter around him, willing him to pound her into nothingness, to erase her completely, to leave nothing behind but bones.
His intensity, his need, burned hotter than when it had been the three of them. He took her breath away, fucking her with a fury she’d never felt before. And then his hand found her hip -- pressing, digging, hurting her so deeply she thought she was going to black out.
He didn’t stop and she didn’t ask him to. As he held her in a cruel, viselike grip, she dug her nails into his back, scratching him so hard she broke the skin and she could feel the blood under her fingertips.
She had tried to stifle her pain that first time, but now she gave it full cry. Her groans seemed to spur him on. He responded by fucking her even harder.
He kissed her fiercely, taking her lower lip between his teeth and grinding. She dug her hands deeper into his back - scraping along a scar below his left shoulder blade. It was the cut she’d stitched up for him. She tore at it with her fingers, as if she could reopen the healed wound.
It was how they first met - she had sewn up his bloody back, and she’d been scared then, too. Pain was their connection. It always had been, she just hadn’t realized it yet.
She had killed a man, and so had Sawyer, but Jack was the darkest of them all - as black as the ocean at night - and he was pulling her in with him, into oblivion, his private pain swallowing her too.
But underneath the darkness was something burning white-hot, a crazy compassion that was even more destructive.
He held her head, cradling her skull like she was a newborn he was afraid to drop. His touch grounded her, made her feel more loved, more wanted, more needed than she thought possible. She stared into his eyes. They were as big and dark as the sea, or the sky above it. She wasn’t being fucked by a man, but by some crazy force of nature, something cosmic and all-consuming that was either going to destroy her or save her.
The pain was all around her, throbbing and bleeding, and then suddenly she was on the other side of it somehow, like walking through a door she didn’t know was there.
As insane as it sounded she felt like she was inside his pain with him, or that he had a found a way inside her. It was like he had reached into her and pulled her out -- her true self -- the one no one knew. And she saw him as clearly as he saw her and she was as scared as she had been in the ocean, but somehow behind the fear was ... acceptance and a tremendous peace.
His harsh, ragged breathing pulled her out of her reverie and she knew he was going to come any second. She pushed against him hard, and leaned up and bit his ear. He pulled out of her, shooting cum all over her stomach. The sight of him holding his cock as he spilled jism over her was the most erotic thing she had ever seen.
Spent, he slumped over, and began rubbing his cum over her belly. He rubbed it over her face, into her mouth, letting her suck it off his thumb as he watched, his dark eyes drinking her in.
Then he moved slowly back down her body, spreading her legs and fucking her with his fingers and his mouth until she was convulsing underneath him in a series of orgasms so intense she thought her heart would stop.
He held her to his chest, still gasping and quivering, and kissed her on the forehead.
She lay in his arms, shaken by the intensity of what she had just experienced. She didn’t have to say anything. He knew what she had felt. He had felt it with her.
Now she understood what Sawyer meant when he said they didn’t talk. There wasn’t any need for words. Jack held her and she had never felt more loved or safer in her life. Part of her brain told her she was imagining it, but she looked up at him and he kissed her and she told herself it was real. There was no pain anymore.