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Six Misc. Lost Fics
Title:After Life
Pairing: Ana/Jack/Juliet
Rating: R (sex)
Words: 838
A/N: Written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
tokenblkgirl using the prompt threesomes.
He finds them on the shore staring out at the crashing waves, black and blonde hair blowing in the breeze. They’re passing a bottle between them.
Juliet sees him first and he stops, frozen and unsure, until she smiles.
“Hey Jack,” she says as if she had been expecting him.
He smiles back before crossing the short distance between them.
“Hey,” he replies softly.
Ana snorts, dusts the sand from her palms and passes him the bottle.
“Damn Jack, this is the longest fucking time I’ve ever waited to have a drink with a guy.”
He manages a small laugh before taking a long, grateful drink from the bottle. It burns his throat, makes him cough.
“Sorry I made you wait,” he chokes out.
Ana shrugs and takes the bottle back, drains the remnants in one gulp.
“Whatever, man.”
Juliet reaches up and takes his hand, tugging him down in the sand.
“It doesn’t matter, he’s here now.”
***
They don’t ask him how it happened.
He doesn’t ask them how long they’ve been here.
They just fall into step, the three of them, picking up at a place they never left off.
Sometimes they see others; Shannon and Boone curled together at the base of a tree, Charlotte running through the jungle, red hair flying behind her, and once John Locke standing quiet guard by a hatch that should be nothing but a gaping crater in the earth.
It’s always fleeting glances, there and gone in the blink of an eye.
“They’re just cracks,” Juliet explains calmly one night. She’s sprawled across him; blonde hair spilling around her shoulders and grazing his sides making him shiver.
She kisses him lazily, and he runs a hand up her bare back, his fingers looking for a mark he can’t find.
“That’s long gone,” Ana says as she crawls across the bed to join them.
She pauses halfway there, presses a kiss to the small of Juliet’s back.
“You wanna try to find my bullet wound?”
Jack grins, rubs a hand over Ana’s stomach, her dark skin smooth and unmarred.
“Like brand new,” she mutters, guiding his hand lower.
***
“Do you miss him?” Jack asks one morning.
They’re sitting on the front porch staring out at empty houses, mugs full of coffee in their hands. Juliet scoots closer to him, rests her head on his shoulder.
“Always,” she says. “Do you miss her?”
Jack just nods.
***
Ana’s always restless, always moving.
More often than not he finds her running or climbing and if she finds him it’s always for fucking. When it’s just the two of them it’s rough and quick. She’s always on top, her nails leave ragged cuts across his chest that make him curse and groan all at once.
With Juliet it’s slower, gentler, like they can’t bear the thought of hurting each other anymore than they already have, like they can’t bear the thought of leaving any more scars. She whispers in his ear while he moves inside her, telling him what to do, where to touch, it’s as if every time is his first time.
Sometimes he watches the two of them together. Ana kissing her way down Juliet’s stomach, Juliet’s fingers tangled in Ana’s hair.
There’s an easy rhythm between them. He can hear it in Ana’s laugh, raw and open, and in the sound Juliet makes right before she comes. It’s like they’ve been doing this forever. It makes him feel like an intruder until Ana looks at him over her shoulder and rolls her eyes.
“Get over here, Jack.”
He obliges, happily settling himself between them. Ana kisses him and he tastes Juliet on his lips. The sensation makes him smile.
He likes it best when it’s like this, the three of them all tangled up together.
***
“Do you think we’ll ever go back?” he asks.
Juliet’s pressed along his side, her breathing steady and even. He runs his hand across her hair, smoothing it away from her face.
Ana props herself up on one elbow and considers him, her eyes sharp and knowing as ever.
“No,” she says flatly. “I think this pretty much it for us.”
She reaches over him and rubs a finger across Juliet’s lips. Juliet stirs slightly and Ana smiles.
“This isn’t so bad though.”
Jack looks at Juliet, her face peaceful as she sleeps, and at Ana so much lighter than she was before, like some insurmountable weight’s been lifted from her shoulders. And then he thinks of himself, thinks of the way that empty space he’s always carried inside of him seems to have disappeared all together.
They’ll never go back, never go home, never wake up.
He finds that the thought doesn’t bother him so much.
In fact it feels a bit like letting go.
“It’s not so bad,” he echoes.
Ana smirks suddenly, lets her lips drop to his chest, her tongue darting out to trace circles around his nipple and he inhales sharply.
It’s not bad at all really.
Title: There are some things we can’t outrun
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Alex/Richard
Words: 914
A/N: Written for mollivanders using the prompts on the run and worry.
She’s sixteen and she’s never seen anything beyond this island. She knows there’s a world out there, he’s the one that taught her the names of all of the places she’ll never see.
It doesn’t seem right, for her to live and die here, to never see Australia or Rome or America, that mythical promise land he never quite reached.
So he takes her, slips into her room, places a hand over her mouth.
“Would you like to come with me?” he whispers in the dark.
She nods her answer.
***
Ben will wake up and find his daughter’s bed empty. Richard feels no pang of guilt about this.
Jacob will find him, he always does.
But for now, the sub has docked and Alex is setting foot on new land, her eyes shining.
“I never thought I’d leave,” she says, slipping her hand into his. “Where do we go?”
“Anywhere you want.”
***
They fly to Paris, and Richard tells her this should have been her home. He remembers Danielle, wild-eyed and lost in the jungle, searching for a daughter she never knew. This time he feels guilt.
The traffic, the bustle, it makes her head ache. She looks strange here amongst the cars and shops. There’s no dirt under her nails, no tangles in her hair.
“What do people do all day?” she asks. She’s sprawled across her bed, long legs stuck in the air as she idly thumbs through a magazine. He tries not to stare, tries to remember how young she is and how very old he’ll always be.
“They work, go shopping, see movies…they just do things.”
She sits up, smiles.
“Could we see a movie?”
She’s never been; he forgot that.
“Of course.”
***
The movie’s in French so they can’t understand the words, but she watches, mesmerized by the scene in front of her. He can see her face in the darkness, illuminated by the flickering lights of the screen.
She’s crying.
He wraps an arm around her shoulder, and she leans into his touch, lets her head rest on his shoulder.
***
They emerge from the theater squinting against the harsh afternoon light.
“I hate him,” she says suddenly. “He kept me there for sixteen years and now…I don’t fit, Richard. I’m the freak who can skin a rabbit, but I’ve never been to a dance or hell, school for that matter.”
He shakes his head, thinks of his own life wasted on that island.
“We’ll make you fit.”
He pulls her against his chest, presses a kiss to the top of her head.
Across the street, he sees a man with blond hair watching them.
***
They leave that night, catch a train to Germany.
“What are we running from?” she asks.
He doesn’t answer and she smiles faintly, turns away from him to watch the trees racing by her window.
“It’s okay. I knew it wouldn’t last.”
“We’re not going back,” Richard says firmly.
***
They only stay in Germany for two days.
Jacob comes the first night.
Alex is sleeping, her breathing steady and even, peaceful. Richard is waiting.
“You have to come home, Richard. You both do.”
Richard laughs bitterly. He’s given lifetimes for nothing, he won’t give anymore, he won’t give her.
“No we don’t. I’m done, Jacob. With you and Ben, with all of it. She’s just a child. And I’m a very old man. There’ve been enough games. I’m never going back.”
There’s a hint of sadness in Jacob’s eyes.
“I wish that could be true, Richard, I really do.”
And with that he was gone.
The next morning Richard books two tickets for America.
***
She loves New York, loves Central Park and the museums. The conservatory is her favorite place. She won’t tell him why.
They stay in a run down hotel, the sounds of sex and fighting echoing through thin walls.
Alex laughs, never blushes.
“We should get jobs,” she says one night, her fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt.
“You want to stay here?” he asks.
“Yeah. I do.”
***
She gets a job as a waitress.
He drives a cab.
They’re happy in a strange sort of way.
It doesn’t last.
***
It happens on a Monday afternoon.
She was on her way home from work, purse swinging in her hand. People on the street tell the police the car came out of nowhere. He gets a call, knows something is wrong when he hears the first ring.
He finds her in the hospital, broken and bandaged, hooked to machines. They assume he’s her father; he doesn’t bother to correct them.
He settles by her bed and waits for Jacob to come.
***
“She won’t remember?”
Jacob shakes his head.
“It’ll be as if you never left.”
Richard chokes out a laugh, fights back the tears stinging the corners of his eyes.
“We never did.”
Jacob runs a hand across Alex’s cheek.
***
Richard wakes up alone in the dark; he can smell salt on the air.
Home, he thinks wryly. He was a fool for believing he could escape.
He sees her the next morning sitting on her front stoop eating cereal from a yellow bowl. She waves at him absently, her mind clearly elsewhere.
He waves back because there is nothing else to do.
***
Three months later she dies. A shot to the head.
Richard wishes he were surprised, but he has been here long enough to know better.
Title: We Come Apart, We Stay Together
Pairing: Miles/Richard
Rating: R
Words: 350
A/N: Written for primarycolors92 using the prompt make-up sex.
Miles forgets how this one began.
They were hot. They were tired. They were only two steps ahead of fucking Smokey and Miles could feel death creeping up on him again, hear whispers rushing through the trees. The same old story, three years they’ve been running, moving, hiding from the monster and his merry band of zombies Miles used to call his friends.
And sometimes it hits him all at once, the enormity of it, the stupidity and he cracks just a little bit because Richard won’t, because he just keeps moving even though there’s nowhere to go. So Miles said something stupid, something petulant, probably---
“Let’s just let him catch us for fuck’s sake, let’s just give up…”
or
“You don’t know where you’re going…”
or
“I should have never followed you…”
Yeah, it was definitely the last one. That’s the one that stings, the one that makes Richard flinch. And just like that they were tearing into each other, listing faults, throwing blame and maybe there was a punch or two, maybe more if the pain around Miles’s eye is any indication. They separated, Miles heading towards the ocean, Richard towards the jungle. Neither one looked back.
An hour later, Richard finds him on the shore. Always does.
They don’t say I’m sorry or I didn’t mean it, they don’t say anything at all, but Richard kisses him and it’s gentle, not rough or brutal, not a challenge like it usually is when they’re huddled together in some abandoned shithole of a hatch.
And Miles kisses him back, just as soft, runs his hand up Richard’s neck and cups the side his face, let’s his finger trace the bruise he left there before.
They sink down onto the sand and Miles slips his hand into Richard’s pants, finds his cock and strokes it until Richard groans and thrusts up to meet Miles’s hand.
“Are we good?” Miles mutters against Richard’s neck. This is the closest he’ll ever come to apologizing, the closest he’ll ever come to saying I need you.
Richard nods, presses a soft kiss to Miles’s forehead.
The meaning is understood.
Title: Here is the Secret Nobody Knows
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: PG-13
Words: 450
A/N: Written for hitlikehammers using the prompts happiness and poetry. The poem is "I carry your heart with me (I carry your heart in me)" by e.e. cummings.
He traces words across her back with the tips of his fingers, spells out things he ain’t got the guts to say to her face.
“What’d I say, Blondie?”
She shivers, looks over her shoulder and flashes him a half-smile that’s starting to become awfully familiar, hell it already makes him ache. He grins at her in turn, makes sure to flash his dimples and silently hopes she likes that as much as he thinks she does.
“I have no idea, James,” she replies casually.
He suspects she’s lying. He can’t help but imagine she’s better at this game than she lets on.
“Let’s try another one then,” he says and this time he uses his tongue, spells out something old and half-forgotten mostly just as an excuse to make his way up her back so he can kiss her neck, press his lips to her pulse point and feel her heart racing under his touch.
It was a line from a poem. Something he picked up a long time ago, maybe while he was cooling his heels behind bars, he can’t really remember anymore. It seemed silly at the time, trite bullshit peddled to some sucker stupid enough to believe in a forever.
It was nice though, stuck with him for some reason and it reminds him of her.
whatever a sun will always sing is you
She turns over so they’re face to face and he leans down, lets his weight rest against her. She grins and runs a hand through his hair tucking it neatly behind his ears.
“What did you say, James?” she asks.
He smiles and leans in so he can whisper in her ear.
“I told you a secret,” he says.
She kisses him suddenly, her tongue sliding against his, pulling a groan out of him before he can stop himself.
She pulls back and he tries to follow, but she shakes her head and covers his mouth with her hand to smother any protests.
“This is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart, I carry your heart, I carry it in my heart,” she whispers.
He fucking knew it.
He chuckles, tries not to look as embarrassed as he feels.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he says.
She winks, forces him to turn over on his back so that she can straddle him, her long blonde hair falls around them, creating a curtain, closing them in.
“I know a few poems too, you know,” she says, that damn smile
tugging at the corner of her lips again.
“I’ll try to remember that,” he mutters defeated as she kisses her way down his chest.
Title: Home
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: PG-13,
Words: 355
A/N: Written for hopelessfangirl using the prompts domesticity and voyeurism.
Juliet’s always hungry after sex.
Nine times out of ten they end up in the kitchen afterwards; James in his boxers, Juliet wearing nothing but his shirt.
He cooks for her, standing at the stove scrambling eggs. She sits on the counter and watches him work, her long legs crossed at the ankle. He tells her stories about bad cons while they wait; one night he tells her about the Tampa job and she damn near laughs her ass off.
He likes watching her eat; somehow she manages to make licking a spoon look sexy as hell. She always offers him a bite, holds her fork out to him and then pulls it away at the last minute making him curse. He smirks, promises to pay her back later.
They never bother with the dishes at night, just dump them in the sink and head upstairs to fall back into bed. She gets sleepy after she eats, and sleepy Juliet is a hell of a thing to see. She gets cuddly and silly, starts giggling at everything---he likes that part, it ain’t often a man gets to hear Juliet Burke giggle.
She always falls asleep first, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head resting on his chest so that he can feel every breath she takes ghosting across his skin. She looks beautiful like that, relaxed and unguarded. There’s something nice about lying in the dark with Juliet curled against him like that, it makes him feel safe somehow, peaceful in a way he’s never quite felt before.
It’s nothing special really---just sex and eating eggs in the middle of the night and falling asleep with miles of blonde hair tickling his chin---but it all adds up, makes him feel like he’s got a home for the first time in his whole godforsaken life.
He’ll never tell her this, not in so many words---but come morning he’ll wake up to the smell of burnt toast and bacon and she’ll kiss him without having to think about it and he’ll know it don’t really matter if he ever says it.
They both know what they’ve got here.
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: PG-13
Words: 354
A/N: Written for
blackmamba_esq using the prompts angst and talking. The poem is "History of the Night" by Borges.
Night's the hardest part. A man don’t spend three years curled around someone and then just go back to nothing. There’s an empty space where her body used to fit against his making him feel hollow and lost. The worse part, the very worst part is he can’t imagine ever filling it up again. This is his life now and he can’t fucking stand it.
They used to take turns reading to each other when they couldn’t sleep, books and poems, magazines whatever they could get their hands on. Once when they were desperate they delved into his porn stash and she read every line with a husky voice like she was a damn phone sex operator. He laughed so hard he started to cry, shoulders shaking, chest aching, the kind of laugh that feels like it cleans you out, takes all the bad and squeezes it right out of you.
He took the magazine from her, tossed it to the floor and kissed her till they stopped laughing, whispered something stupid and dirty in her ear and cursed when she rolled her hips up to meet him before he was expecting her too.
He tries not to dwell on it, tries not to think about all the ways he fucked up the only good thing he ever had, tries not the think about her dead and gone and never coming back.
It’s hard though, when he’s laying on that cold ground, staring up at the stars, an empty space beside him where she ought to be.
He can almost swear he feels her sometimes, the ghost of a laugh echoing through the jungle, the phantom tickle of blonde hair against his chest. And then her voice, strained and tired but still reading poetry in the dark---
We shall never know who forged the word
for the interval of shadow
dividing the two twilights;
we shall never know in what age it came to mean
the starry hours.
Others created the myth.
They made her the mother of the unruffled Fates
that spin our destiny
---still helping him drift off to sleep.
no subject
Did you really need to end with the angsty (omgmyheartithurts) one??
Loved all three of the Sawyer/Juliet ones. They are made of amazing.
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Thank you so much!
Heh. I know I'm evil. I was re-reading them though and I was like, hey these kind of go in order...;)
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Perhaps I shall now re-read them in reverse. I am so cunning.
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I always think of mine as my not losing the faith icon. I might symbolically delete it when they get their happily ever after. ;)