Chimera
Title: Chimera
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Claire/Desmond
Warning: Post season three finale.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine. This is what it would look like if it were.
Challenge: #56 Masks
x x x
Desmond got to his feet when she approached, rested his rifle against the tree. They stood close, so she could share the shelter offered by the canopy of leaves.
“Do you need something?” he asked.
She reached first for his wrist, encircled it. Her thumb traced the fragile skin on the underside and he shivered. The last time she had touched him, a week ago when he returned alone from the Looking Glass, she had slapped him hard, leaving a scarlet handprint on his cheek. He had trembled then too.
If Claire counted on her hands the number of ways this was wrong, she would have run out of fingers.
He should have been on watch. She should have been sleeping.
Not even a hundred feet away, four people lay asleep, probably not very deeply. Five people, if she included Aaron, whom she had left swaddled inside a shallow crate within the bowels of the rotting ship, whose hold still held dynamite, fresh blood stains and god knows what creepy crawlies.
And it was raining.
But these were mere practicalities compared to the remaining reasons. The ones that needn’t be named because they hung between them as tangible as the rain.
He must have anticipated her kiss when she stood on the tip of her toes because he backed away but then he didn’t move any further and didn’t say anything, only reached out and stroked her hair. Thunder rattled in the distance. When it stopped she could hear he was breathing as hard as she was. She stretched again to reach his lips and met no resistance. His beard brushed against her cheek and she sighed.
They shed only the necessary clothing. Their bodies fit clumsily together, two pieces from different puzzles whose edges refused to line up. He was too tall, she couldn’t bring him close enough. His hands roamed her skin, searching for something that wasn’t there. Then he lifted her up, she tucked herself around him, and for a moment it felt right.
She closed her eyes and buried her face in the crook of his neck as he braced himself against the tree, started to move inside her. The grief which was still so fresh that it crawled up her chest at every inhale, clawed at her heart when she exhaled was temporarily relieved. Perhaps this was because she had momentarily stopped breathing.
“Claire.” His voice was low and the tone just muffled enough that she could pretend it was not his. She whispered his name back and hoped she could offer him the same illusion.
After, when they had collapsed on the ground, she sat with her knees tucked up, between his legs, felt his chest rise and fall against her back. She wondered if he ever had a flash of this. If so, had he planned to stall or get it over with? Gradually the heat left them and they both grew chilled. He remained seated, eyes discreetly dropped as she dressed.
“Good night,” she said, facing the rain, not him.
“Good night.”
She returned to the Black Rock, gingerly stepped around the sleeping forms on the floor. Hurley snorted and rolled over when she passed. Aaron had kicked his blanket off. She picked him up and he twitched in his sleep but he didn’t wake as she rewrapped him. She nuzzled his cheek and placed him beside her on the blanket, curled him into the groove of her arm.
Her free hand searched the floor for the nook in the wood where she had placed the ring. She found it, held it in her hand, then slipped it back on.
She was still awake when Desmond came in about an hour later and woke Juliet for her sentry duty. Instead of taking the open spot on the floor, Claire heard him settle in the corner furthest away from her. She thinks she fell asleep first.
In the morning, everyone ate their oatmeal and fruit quietly as Jack tried to reach Sayid’s group on the walkie talkie. Desmond was the last to get up and join the circle around the campfire. She didn’t look at him but she could feel his eyes on her. Claire feared her neutral expression would falter under his scrutiny and she herself didn’t know what would appear. Forgiveness or blame? Loneliness or desire? Relief or guilt? When she eventually snuck a look at him out of the corner of her eye his face was equally blank.
She doubted anyone would notice. They were used to her silent treatment, his tentativeness with her. She could keep the pretence on all day. It was the night that worried her.
x x x
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Claire/Desmond
Warning: Post season three finale.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine. This is what it would look like if it were.
Challenge: #56 Masks
x x x
Desmond got to his feet when she approached, rested his rifle against the tree. They stood close, so she could share the shelter offered by the canopy of leaves.
“Do you need something?” he asked.
She reached first for his wrist, encircled it. Her thumb traced the fragile skin on the underside and he shivered. The last time she had touched him, a week ago when he returned alone from the Looking Glass, she had slapped him hard, leaving a scarlet handprint on his cheek. He had trembled then too.
If Claire counted on her hands the number of ways this was wrong, she would have run out of fingers.
He should have been on watch. She should have been sleeping.
Not even a hundred feet away, four people lay asleep, probably not very deeply. Five people, if she included Aaron, whom she had left swaddled inside a shallow crate within the bowels of the rotting ship, whose hold still held dynamite, fresh blood stains and god knows what creepy crawlies.
And it was raining.
But these were mere practicalities compared to the remaining reasons. The ones that needn’t be named because they hung between them as tangible as the rain.
He must have anticipated her kiss when she stood on the tip of her toes because he backed away but then he didn’t move any further and didn’t say anything, only reached out and stroked her hair. Thunder rattled in the distance. When it stopped she could hear he was breathing as hard as she was. She stretched again to reach his lips and met no resistance. His beard brushed against her cheek and she sighed.
They shed only the necessary clothing. Their bodies fit clumsily together, two pieces from different puzzles whose edges refused to line up. He was too tall, she couldn’t bring him close enough. His hands roamed her skin, searching for something that wasn’t there. Then he lifted her up, she tucked herself around him, and for a moment it felt right.
She closed her eyes and buried her face in the crook of his neck as he braced himself against the tree, started to move inside her. The grief which was still so fresh that it crawled up her chest at every inhale, clawed at her heart when she exhaled was temporarily relieved. Perhaps this was because she had momentarily stopped breathing.
“Claire.” His voice was low and the tone just muffled enough that she could pretend it was not his. She whispered his name back and hoped she could offer him the same illusion.
After, when they had collapsed on the ground, she sat with her knees tucked up, between his legs, felt his chest rise and fall against her back. She wondered if he ever had a flash of this. If so, had he planned to stall or get it over with? Gradually the heat left them and they both grew chilled. He remained seated, eyes discreetly dropped as she dressed.
“Good night,” she said, facing the rain, not him.
“Good night.”
She returned to the Black Rock, gingerly stepped around the sleeping forms on the floor. Hurley snorted and rolled over when she passed. Aaron had kicked his blanket off. She picked him up and he twitched in his sleep but he didn’t wake as she rewrapped him. She nuzzled his cheek and placed him beside her on the blanket, curled him into the groove of her arm.
Her free hand searched the floor for the nook in the wood where she had placed the ring. She found it, held it in her hand, then slipped it back on.
She was still awake when Desmond came in about an hour later and woke Juliet for her sentry duty. Instead of taking the open spot on the floor, Claire heard him settle in the corner furthest away from her. She thinks she fell asleep first.
In the morning, everyone ate their oatmeal and fruit quietly as Jack tried to reach Sayid’s group on the walkie talkie. Desmond was the last to get up and join the circle around the campfire. She didn’t look at him but she could feel his eyes on her. Claire feared her neutral expression would falter under his scrutiny and she herself didn’t know what would appear. Forgiveness or blame? Loneliness or desire? Relief or guilt? When she eventually snuck a look at him out of the corner of her eye his face was equally blank.
She doubted anyone would notice. They were used to her silent treatment, his tentativeness with her. She could keep the pretence on all day. It was the night that worried her.
x x x