I'm Not Your Queen - Lost - Sayid/Sun
Title: I'm Not Your Queen
Pairing: Sayid/Sun
Word Count: 560
Rating: NC-17
A/N: At the lostsquee luau, that_evening asked for Sayid/Sun. Also using for one of writing_rainbow's prompts.
Summary: Sun doesn't want Sayid to be gentle with her.
He treats her like a goddess, his deadly, gentle hands stroking down the swell of muscle on her calf - she wishes he wouldn't. When he presses a kiss against the bone of her ankle, she wishes for the scrape of teeth or the scratch of nail. She wants it to hurt; she wants to be destroyed. Sayid is a man like her husband: he knows how to make a human bleed and scream. The experience in his eyes and she knows how to recognise it. People like Sayid, people like Jin, their experiences set them apart from the rest of the population.
She knows it because it is in her as well. She has held a gun and pulled the trigger; she has felt no remorse.
His attention wanders further up, hands cupping the flesh of her hips. When she presses upwards to hunt for the attention of his mouth, they move around onto her ass - still so soft, so careful. It's alright, she wants to whisper to him. Break me. She wants to be destroyed and smashed against the rocks of the world; she wants to be consumed in an explosion and feel the fire in her lungs.
His lips nuzzle against the outer lips of her pussy, a kiss against trimmed hair. His fingers are there to tease her open and she sits up on the bed, looking down upon him: he is lounging on his front, fully naked against the red sheets of her bed with his hips slightly raised to avoid distracting pressure on his dick. His straight hair falls by the side of his face, so smooth that she finds herself jealous of it at times. His eyes are dipped to focus on his task, as diligent with her as he ever was with any piece of machinery. To him, she is an instrument to be tuned or technology to be repaired.
"Sayid," she says. They rarely talk when they do this and his name is all that it takes to have his attention hurtling up towards her: his brown eyes look like an animal about to be struck but she doesn't hold her tongue. "I am not her."
She doesn't know who she means but she imagines that Sayid will have a perfect idea: she is not the woman he loves. She is not someone to have attention lavished on her in such a way; to make love to her would be a waste of both their energies.
"And I am not him," Sayid counters, but it's a pointless exercise. Sun has never hd any delusions about their activities. She has never pretended that Sayid is her Prince Charming; she never closes her eyes and thinks of Jin's clever hands.
He looks up at her and she holds his gaze without flinching; she is a different woman from the one who crashed on the island. She doesn't know if she is stronger or weaker, but she knows that she is colder. Perhaps, before the crash, she would have apologised and made amends. Soft hands would stroke Sayid's cheeks and she would kiss him, soothing his hurt feelings and coaxing him back to life.
Now her head tilts to the side as she considers her next move, a chess-player with her pieces. "Would you like to fuck me?" she asks.
In the morning, her body aches and Sayid is gone from the room: she feels better than she has in years.
Pairing: Sayid/Sun
Word Count: 560
Rating: NC-17
A/N: At the lostsquee luau, that_evening asked for Sayid/Sun. Also using for one of writing_rainbow's prompts.
Summary: Sun doesn't want Sayid to be gentle with her.
He treats her like a goddess, his deadly, gentle hands stroking down the swell of muscle on her calf - she wishes he wouldn't. When he presses a kiss against the bone of her ankle, she wishes for the scrape of teeth or the scratch of nail. She wants it to hurt; she wants to be destroyed. Sayid is a man like her husband: he knows how to make a human bleed and scream. The experience in his eyes and she knows how to recognise it. People like Sayid, people like Jin, their experiences set them apart from the rest of the population.
She knows it because it is in her as well. She has held a gun and pulled the trigger; she has felt no remorse.
His attention wanders further up, hands cupping the flesh of her hips. When she presses upwards to hunt for the attention of his mouth, they move around onto her ass - still so soft, so careful. It's alright, she wants to whisper to him. Break me. She wants to be destroyed and smashed against the rocks of the world; she wants to be consumed in an explosion and feel the fire in her lungs.
His lips nuzzle against the outer lips of her pussy, a kiss against trimmed hair. His fingers are there to tease her open and she sits up on the bed, looking down upon him: he is lounging on his front, fully naked against the red sheets of her bed with his hips slightly raised to avoid distracting pressure on his dick. His straight hair falls by the side of his face, so smooth that she finds herself jealous of it at times. His eyes are dipped to focus on his task, as diligent with her as he ever was with any piece of machinery. To him, she is an instrument to be tuned or technology to be repaired.
"Sayid," she says. They rarely talk when they do this and his name is all that it takes to have his attention hurtling up towards her: his brown eyes look like an animal about to be struck but she doesn't hold her tongue. "I am not her."
She doesn't know who she means but she imagines that Sayid will have a perfect idea: she is not the woman he loves. She is not someone to have attention lavished on her in such a way; to make love to her would be a waste of both their energies.
"And I am not him," Sayid counters, but it's a pointless exercise. Sun has never hd any delusions about their activities. She has never pretended that Sayid is her Prince Charming; she never closes her eyes and thinks of Jin's clever hands.
He looks up at her and she holds his gaze without flinching; she is a different woman from the one who crashed on the island. She doesn't know if she is stronger or weaker, but she knows that she is colder. Perhaps, before the crash, she would have apologised and made amends. Soft hands would stroke Sayid's cheeks and she would kiss him, soothing his hurt feelings and coaxing him back to life.
Now her head tilts to the side as she considers her next move, a chess-player with her pieces. "Would you like to fuck me?" she asks.
In the morning, her body aches and Sayid is gone from the room: she feels better than she has in years.