radicalize | (no subject)

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james ford

(no subject)

[From here]

He hadn't been expecting that. All in all, the fact that Lucy had such an injury stretching across her chest didn't make a big difference. She didn't speak of it or shy from it in a way that might have suggested that she'd played some hand in harming herself, or that anyone in particular had inflicted the wound on her. But it also didn't pass without leaving an impression on Sawyer, his hands suddenly more gentle, if not any less searching. Calloused fingers, worn from too much time climbing about the previous island, carefully traced along the pink line, before Sawyer slid down to press a trail of kisses along her side, not quite over the injury, but close.

To someone who had lost a great deal of people already from the antics of a strange island, the scar was a heavy reminder.

"We," he began, voice rumbling softly against her skin. "Can take it slow. I ain't in a rush." He took the opportunity of the slight break as he shuffled back up to remove his shirt, static snapping as he pulled it over and discarded it over his shoulder, before leaning down to kiss her again. Whereas his hands had been gentle, his tongue still searched feverishly— it wasn't Lucy herself who was weak, just that her body needed recovering.

As far as Lucy could see, it was just about the best response she could have gotten to something like that. Mentally making a note to explain later just how she'd come about such a scar, she found that she couldn't dwell on it for long. Her breath caught in her throat as his mouth met the skin of her chest, and when he moved lower, she was free to tug her own shirt the rest of the way off, one hand already moving to her back to fumble with the clasp of her bra. At the end of the day, this wasn't something new for her. She wouldn't have classified herself as easy, but she still knew what she was doing, as, apparently, did he.

Both articles of clothing were tossed aside onto the floor as he kissed her again, one she returned just as heatedly, bare chest pressing up against his. Maybe she wasn't in a hurry either, but nor was she about to pass up the opportunity for more contact, convinced by now that she had honestly needed this. A hand sliding up his back, fingernails just barely meeting skin, she pulled away only when air became a necessity, and even then, not by much. "Good to know," she murmured against his mouth, cracking a faint smile. "That makes two of us."

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He shivered when her skin pressed flush against his own, not from cold, but instead at the feel of it, at being close to someone physically again, something he hadn't felt in all too long. It was making it difficult to keep the plan that he had meant to adhere to, focusing entirely on the woman and not pressing her beyond the limits of what her body could take. Warmth shot down through his body, pooling lower as he gasped against the side of her neck, one hand palming her flat abdomen, before then brushing lower along her inner thigh. Slow. Indulgent. More importantly than keeping himself pleased was making sure that others had what they needed, be it safety or a good tumble in bed.

Taking slow, deep breaths to keep the oxygen flowing, he continued to press kisses into the crook of her neck, sucking at the skin where he could feel her pulse underneath, light sweat salty against his tongue. It was unfortunate that he had so few hands, he thought, as soon as her bra fell to the side. Although what one couldn't do with his hands, Sawyer thought with a smile, he could be creative with; while his hand lingered by her thigh, up and down with steady movement, his lips traveled to her collarbone. Chin brushing lightly against the skin there, he then let his mouth wander lower, tongue laving over the darker skin around her nipple.

Lucy was prone to spending a lot of time up in her own head, acting on emotion but never not thinking, actions careful, based on how she might be perceived. She had been too aware for too long of the fact that she'd never truly fit in anywhere, not in the wealthy, sheltered suburb she'd grown up in, nor with the free-spirited crowd in New York, nor here, from few people's time and with no desire to let herself settle. Only here like this, half-naked and beneath a near stranger, could she allow herself to become totally uninhibited. How she came across wasn't something that mattered, as long as it wasn't overeager. This was purely physical, and for that escape, she was actually grateful.

She gasped, then, as his mouth moved to her breast, one hand still at his back, even as the other slipped between them, fumbling with his belt. In a hurry or not, there was no reason to delay removal of clothing, to move this along a little further. "Mm, that's —" she breathed, but didn't bother putting an adjective at the end, certain that the responses of her body would be more than indication enough that she liked what he was doing. That was one of the good things about this.

His breath hitched in his throat as Lucy reached down for his belt, direct, not so much needy as commanding. And hell, that was fine by him. After weeks of coming to his own decisions, almost toeing the line of responsibility, to be able to let down that guard a little and be urged on by a pair of beautiful and willing hands was something that he could only appreciate. It was about time that he'd met a woman like this, no shortage of intellect or emotion, but also not so far overloaded with either that she turned to him to make the decisions. He moved up slightly, pulling the thin skin above her collarbone between his lips as his hands moved on popping the button of her jeans free, then gradually pulling down. Even if all else was shit, the fact that he could still make someone feel good right then and there felt pretty decent as Sawyer slipped a hand under the elastic of her briefs. Mostly teasing, a little insistent.

"You are... so beautiful," he murmured, with just a hint of a laugh, enough to make sure she knew that he wasn't so much a young man convinced of a destined love, but he too wasn't too old or jaded to recognize a good thing when he saw it. Still pressing heated kisses to her skin, Sawyer made no effort to work on his own pants, not wanting to rush her, and not wanting to rush at all, period. Why not let it all last?

Lucy couldn't honestly remember the last time she'd been called beautiful, and it was that which caught her attention more than anything physical, in this context only serving to make her want all the more. Her body, though, responded of its own accord, hips pressing up against his hand, a small, breathy sound catching in her throat. It wasn't so much maddening as it was something to be relished, but desire wasn't something that could be prevented, nor should it have been, in a position like this, both of them so clearly looking for the same thing.

"Not bad yourself," she said, voice breathy, pausing to draw in a sharp breath, "though I'd use a different adjective." Not caring enough to try to think of one, she pulled his belt from its loops, dropping it onto the floor along with the rest of their clothing. That she was so obviously interested likely spoke enough for itself, anyway; Lucy wasn't the complacent sort in any situation, but she definitely wasn't about to lie back and let him do all the work.

Although his breath caught in his throat again, it wasn't with enough force for him to suppress the deep, rolling chuckle in his throat as he pressed his nose under the skin of her chin, letting her pull his belt away and his pants down while he worked at hers in return; it was getting harder and harder to slow down when she was being so encouraging, and when it didn't seem like the injuries she'd suffered were keeping her back from being active, hands quick and direct. Soon, his breath hissed between his teeth as cool air met his skin, and lightly, he sneaked an arm under Lucy's waist to pull her gently up until they met, skin against skin.

"I dunno," he joked between kisses, each crushing against her lips and tasting something sweet on the tip of her tongue. "Ain't ever been called beautiful before, but I could take it as a compliment. Comin' from the right person." After a brief glance down her front, Sawyer's brows knit almost imperceptibly.

"You'll tell me if it hurts, right?"

"'Course," Lucy answered easily, like that ought to have been obvious. He didn't know her, of course, to know better, but she, at least, was well aware that she wasn't the kind of girl to keep her mouth shut for someone else's enjoyment. (She'd ruined a relationship that way, though that was the furthest thing from her mind now.) She wasn't anticipating any trouble from the wound, anyway, but this was her first time in bed with someone since the hurricane; she wasn't so reckless as to think it entirely inconsequential.

Mostly, though, if only for the fact that he knew and she was willing to speak up, it was. Even if it hadn't been, it would have been all but impossible to focus on, his skin against hers the only thing worth paying attention to, the only thing she was able to pay attention to. Not needing to dwell on the injury any longer than was necessary, she tilted her head up enough to catch his mouth with hers once more, a kiss that bordered on desperate. "So don't worry."

Perhaps it was a fact that when told not to worry, Sawyer started worrying more than ever, something which he felt hadn't been all that true only months ago. He didn't like caring too much about people. He didn't like it, because something would always go and tear it asunder for him, whether they were bullets from a gun, or an island hopping its way through space and time. Essentially, it was always a gamble, and when a man had built the majority of his life around trying to be smart with risks and getting other people to put their money on the table, it lost its appeal.

But he worried more than a little, when Lucy told him not to, trying his best to ignore the alcohol-steeped nerves at the back of his mind in favor of helping her shed her jeans all the way, his own pair following thereafter with a soft whisper of air against the ground. It was a worry he wouldn't allow to be voiced, one that instead was channeled into the desperation which fueled his kiss, which continued to let his hand splay over her back and press her closer. He kept on palming her inner thigh, lips leaning in to close around her ear, where his tongue lightly skimmed over the thin skin there.

All thoughts left lingering in the back of her mind about the wound she'd suffered were gone right around the time both pairs of pants hit the ground, leaving more skin exposed, the leg he wasn't touching bent up by his hip. Prone as she was to worrying, acting on impulse overrode that by far, and there were few things she could think of, in that moment, that were better than this. Her fingers tangled in his hair, a small noise escaped the back of her throat at his mouth's proximity to her ear, and she deliberately rocked her hips up against his, a hint, at least, of wanting more. They weren't going to stop at making out mostly naked, after all.

There were times when teasing was the right thing to do, but under the influence of alcohol and suddenly feeling the press of hips against his own, Sawyer couldn't imagine that this was one of them. He tried, of course. Tried to hold out and to pay those little attentions to her— a thumb hooked subtly under the elastic of her underwear, a hand which slowly kneaded at the muscles of her back, right around where her bra clasp had been only minutes before. Tried because, well, it was a matter of principle. Fast and dirty had its place, but when it wasn't necessary to fit such a night in a short period of time, better to have it last. But there was also the very real fact that Sawyer had not had intercourse in months, and the eager little sighs which fluttered from her lips were only further encouraging him, fingers pressing into her back.

He couldn't manage a single word right then, only helped to throw his pair of boxers over the jeans and hooked a thumb to ease her underwear the rest of the way down as well, feeling the fold of sheets under his knee as he pressed his hand against her. His breath caught by her ear, once, then twice, before he hiked her leg around his hip at last, letting out a deep groan at the feel of her, slowing down to better orient himself.

Lucy could do nothing but moan, a faint, strangled, but undeniably pleased little sound, eyes half-lidded as her head tipped back against the pillow, back arching. She may have become fairly experienced in these endeavors over the past few years, but that didn't lessen her enjoyment of it — she was presently lying under him for a reason, after all, and not because she had nothing better to do —, and he knew what he was doing, if the minutes leading up to this were any indication. The thought only served to make her more eager. A hand of her own pressed against his back, she curled her fingers slightly, enough that her nails just met his skin, a means of encouraging him without saying anything. Injured she might have been, but she wasn't some fragile thing to be treated too gently, either.

He caught the end of her moan with his lips, as though he might be able to grasp the sound with them, keep it all to himself and file it away in his memory. The nails grazing against his back made something turn in his stomach, low and light, and the kiss broke then for him to press his nose against the side of her neck, cutting off a part of his senses, barring vision so that he had time enough to focus on everything else. Gradually, he began to move, a hand still splayed over the small of her back as a low growl sounded in the back of his throat. He couldn't tire of this. Getting to know someone in the basest of ways, all action and no careful, calculating thought. Just instinct.

Like the one telling him to go faster, breath regularly catching in his throat.

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