Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 1
Rating: PG-13/T/whatever the hell they're calling a bit of sex and language these days.
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.
Summary/AN: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale. The title is from Patsy Cline's song of the same name, and it (and the rating) will be applicable a bit later.
She hangs back when they get to the beach, lets Sun and Rose have their reunions. She presses towards the outside of the crowd, waylaid once in a bear hug from an exuberant Hurley. When Jack starts telling them about Naomi, the phone, the freighter, everyone surrounds him and finally she's alone. She stoops to take her boots off and curls her toes in the sand as she stands up again. Looking. Waiting.
And then she sees him, leaning against the door of the van and downing a beer casually, as if Jack weren't a few yards away with news of a rescue boat. She watches him stare at her, then shakes her head and turns towards the ocean again once it's clear he's not going to move from his spot. Damned nervy, when he's the one who left and said she couldn't come. Not that she'd expected running through fields of daisies with arms outstretched. She almost laughs at that, but she's still mad at him, no matter the motive Jack had suggested for him.
Problem is, she can stay mad at him, but she can't stay away. So she turns again, walking towards the van, feeling his eyes on her the whole time. When she stops a couple feet away from him she looks up, tossing her head a little when her curls fall across her face. To his credit, he doesn't smirk. Yet.
There it is, that damned smirk. Just in his eyes; it hasn't reached his lips yet but she sees it still. She opens her mouth to speak and then his free hand is at the back of her neck, pulling her to him. His mouth is engulfing hers, bruising, and she thinks maybe Jack was right (not that she's thinking of Jack at the moment at all).
He releases her almost as quickly as he'd grabbed her and she takes a half step back, still feeling the imprint of his mouth on hers. She says the first thing that comes to mind. "You taste like beer."
The ghost of a smirk is back, and he takes a long pull of the beer and swallows before stepping forward and kissing her again, this time softer than she thought Sawyer knew how to kiss. His hand is at the small of her back now, thumb rubbing just under her shirt, and she wonders if he knows just what this is doing to her.
Of course he does. This time she's the first to pull away, and when she does she sees that the smirk has made it all the way to the rest of his face. He gives her a small nod. "You still taste like strawberries."