Holiday Fic #4
Dec. 20th, 2005 12:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityvixenOf course, since it was the first I accepted, it ought to have been #1. For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deepredbelle, a LOST fic. There are spoilers up through the last new episode of season 2, so be warned.
The prompty-type words were Sawyer/Ana Lucia and 'retribution.' Also, be warned.
All the Good Little Children
bytrinityvixen
*****
They waited three weeks. They baited each other; he flirted and she spurned. He called her chica to offend her, and she called him ninfo* because he didn’t speak Spanish and the heavy kid who did wouldn’t tell him what it meant. It’s bad, dude, what she’s saying. That’s all you gotta know.
Three weeks for his fever to go down and his strength to return. Three weeks for people to stop following her with their eyes, waiting for her to attack. Couldn’t do it without the means to engage and didn’t want an audience when they did. It only took three weeks to solve both problems and find a scratch of comfort among all the itches.
Sure, they rubbed up against others—the doctor found reasons to commiserate with her; Kate came close to blowing him in his sleep—but they waited because they knew. No matter what all else the others had done, they were the only two who’d done it for that reason. Not out of mercy, not out of anger, not by mistake, but because they earned it, because they deserved it. It gave them airs; they both knew that, too. What others mistook for arrogance, conceit, or irritability, they saw in each other was righteousness.
When? He demanded as he pushed her down into the towel spread out over the sandy floor of his tent.
Three years ago. She confessed to crimes instead of moaning.
It wasn’t fair. He’d been planning for longer, but she had all the luck. Time had brought them to the same place, and blamed them for one innocent death apiece, but she had satisfaction and he was still holding out for some.
Why him?
Killed my baby. She hissed as she flipped him over to do more of the work. His shoulder was better, not healed; as she had enough experience with bullet holes to know, he let her lead.
Was it good?
The…best. She gritted her teeth, clenched, and kept rocking against him.
Better than what you lost? He snarled at her, digging blunt fingernails into her hips hard enough to leave bruises.
No. She froze up in ways having nothing to do with climax, frosted over from the inside out. When she moved to climb off, he held her fast.
Don’t you dare, woman. Switching it up, he rolled and pinned her. Don’t you take what you need and walk away, damn it! Don’t you—not like—
She wasn’t leaving. You still haven’t? There was no joke, no more flirting or teasing or being mean for the sake of showing she was tougher. All of her was serious, understanding, even encouraging.
Not yet.
How long? Between thrusts, he did his maths, and the answer nearly stole the moment away.
Twenty-eight years.
Too long. She made a little effort, pinched his ass, clawed his back, chewed his earlobe. There’s still time.
Not much left at this point. He wasn’t above milking her for sympathy.
Still have that letter?
How did you—
Kate told me. She shoved him far enough away from her body so they could lock gazes. Still got it?
Yeah.
Then there’s still time. Do it.
No regrets?
Bits of the present interrupted, but in the end she answered with a grim smile. About that? None.
Yeah. Maybe she wasn’t sure of what she was saying, seeing as an-eye-for-an-eye would have left her blind and dead, if Sayid hadn’t pussied out. But she had a point—if you gave up, you renounced your claim to their kind of justice. He hadn’t given up. He still had that letter to burn holes in his pockets and light a fire under his ass.
Yeah.
He drove until he ached, almost passing out before he could get some release. She coaxed him up onto the seat cushions and covered him with the towel.
I don’t like you, but I get you. She offered her hand to him and they shook on that.
Seems I got you more than one way, kitten.
There was an exchange of a raised eyebrow and a smirk, and they were through.
*ninfo = literally, homosexual; as slang, it’s closer to faggot
deepredbelle, a LOST fic. There are spoilers up through the last new episode of season 2, so be warned.The prompty-type words were Sawyer/Ana Lucia and 'retribution.' Also, be warned.
All the Good Little Children
by
trinityvixenThey waited three weeks. They baited each other; he flirted and she spurned. He called her chica to offend her, and she called him ninfo* because he didn’t speak Spanish and the heavy kid who did wouldn’t tell him what it meant. It’s bad, dude, what she’s saying. That’s all you gotta know.
Three weeks for his fever to go down and his strength to return. Three weeks for people to stop following her with their eyes, waiting for her to attack. Couldn’t do it without the means to engage and didn’t want an audience when they did. It only took three weeks to solve both problems and find a scratch of comfort among all the itches.
Sure, they rubbed up against others—the doctor found reasons to commiserate with her; Kate came close to blowing him in his sleep—but they waited because they knew. No matter what all else the others had done, they were the only two who’d done it for that reason. Not out of mercy, not out of anger, not by mistake, but because they earned it, because they deserved it. It gave them airs; they both knew that, too. What others mistook for arrogance, conceit, or irritability, they saw in each other was righteousness.
When? He demanded as he pushed her down into the towel spread out over the sandy floor of his tent.
Three years ago. She confessed to crimes instead of moaning.
It wasn’t fair. He’d been planning for longer, but she had all the luck. Time had brought them to the same place, and blamed them for one innocent death apiece, but she had satisfaction and he was still holding out for some.
Why him?
Killed my baby. She hissed as she flipped him over to do more of the work. His shoulder was better, not healed; as she had enough experience with bullet holes to know, he let her lead.
Was it good?
The…best. She gritted her teeth, clenched, and kept rocking against him.
Better than what you lost? He snarled at her, digging blunt fingernails into her hips hard enough to leave bruises.
No. She froze up in ways having nothing to do with climax, frosted over from the inside out. When she moved to climb off, he held her fast.
Don’t you dare, woman. Switching it up, he rolled and pinned her. Don’t you take what you need and walk away, damn it! Don’t you—not like—
She wasn’t leaving. You still haven’t? There was no joke, no more flirting or teasing or being mean for the sake of showing she was tougher. All of her was serious, understanding, even encouraging.
Not yet.
How long? Between thrusts, he did his maths, and the answer nearly stole the moment away.
Twenty-eight years.
Too long. She made a little effort, pinched his ass, clawed his back, chewed his earlobe. There’s still time.
Not much left at this point. He wasn’t above milking her for sympathy.
Still have that letter?
How did you—
Kate told me. She shoved him far enough away from her body so they could lock gazes. Still got it?
Yeah.
Then there’s still time. Do it.
No regrets?
Bits of the present interrupted, but in the end she answered with a grim smile. About that? None.
Yeah. Maybe she wasn’t sure of what she was saying, seeing as an-eye-for-an-eye would have left her blind and dead, if Sayid hadn’t pussied out. But she had a point—if you gave up, you renounced your claim to their kind of justice. He hadn’t given up. He still had that letter to burn holes in his pockets and light a fire under his ass.
Yeah.
He drove until he ached, almost passing out before he could get some release. She coaxed him up onto the seat cushions and covered him with the towel.
I don’t like you, but I get you. She offered her hand to him and they shook on that.
Seems I got you more than one way, kitten.
There was an exchange of a raised eyebrow and a smirk, and they were through.
*ninfo = literally, homosexual; as slang, it’s closer to faggot
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no subject
Date: 2005-12-21 09:12 am (UTC)This is so different than anything else I've read of yours. As it is 2am, and my eyes are burning, extended commentary will have to wait for tomorrow. But --
*BIG HUGS*
Thank you, dearest! :)