lost: the after hours
Title: The After Hours
Spoilers: 316
Rating: PG (sex)
Author's Notes: Experimenting with imagery.
Also written for the DarkShip Meme - Prompt: we're in this together
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Then I'm going with you rings fragile, haunting the stillness with shattering accuracy. A stab in the heart of what their relationship used to be.
The weight of the world tugs on his bent frame, outlined underneath the palm of her hand when they finally collapse onto the bed; a tangle of arms and legs grasping for control. Nightmares they've created throw shadows on the walls as they pour betrayal and regret into the slide of skin against skin.
I'm not broken isn't whispered, only planted in the bruises dotting her hips and in the suffocating kisses against the line of her jaw - chasing demons that blur the edges of their reality and send them spiraling into the icy waters of denial.
Don't try to fix me isn't whispered, but it lingers in the air like a dirty little secret before settling across Jack's shoulders, knotting in the desperation Kate's fingers make as she claws into his back, arching into him with a soft moan and tears that reflect the silver moonlight - burning imprints of pain and sorrow caused by too many mistakes.
His and hers.
Spoilers: 316
Rating: PG (sex)
Author's Notes: Experimenting with imagery.
Also written for the DarkShip Meme - Prompt: we're in this together
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Then I'm going with you rings fragile, haunting the stillness with shattering accuracy. A stab in the heart of what their relationship used to be.
The weight of the world tugs on his bent frame, outlined underneath the palm of her hand when they finally collapse onto the bed; a tangle of arms and legs grasping for control. Nightmares they've created throw shadows on the walls as they pour betrayal and regret into the slide of skin against skin.
I'm not broken isn't whispered, only planted in the bruises dotting her hips and in the suffocating kisses against the line of her jaw - chasing demons that blur the edges of their reality and send them spiraling into the icy waters of denial.
Don't try to fix me isn't whispered, but it lingers in the air like a dirty little secret before settling across Jack's shoulders, knotting in the desperation Kate's fingers make as she claws into his back, arching into him with a soft moan and tears that reflect the silver moonlight - burning imprints of pain and sorrow caused by too many mistakes.
His and hers.