Disclaimer:
I own nothing but the premise. Everything else belongs to their respected owners, and god help me I wish I worked at ABC, but I don't. If anyone wants to sue me go ahead, you'll only receive a bucket of lard.

Summary:
Bird of a feather, flock together. Or just ruffle their feathers. Ana-Lucia/Sawyer One-shot.

A/N:

Anything reguarding Ana-Lucia's demise at the hands of Michael is being ignored. I thought it was unfair because, well, come on... Ana was the most unique character on the damn show! At least she didn't flutter her eyes all every guy on the island coughkatecough. And for that matter, I rather would have liked to see where her fling with Sawyer would have ended up going... Not one can deny that shit was hot.

Anyhow. This is a one-shot inspired by my friend Trish in the midsts of our writing battle. My prompt was for Feathers and Flowers and you'll see the end result in just a moment.

But anyhow, enjoy!

It was one of those rare moments. One of those rare moments where Sawyer was up at the crack of dawn. He really shouldn't have been actually, considering the earlier night's activities should have at least kept him sleeping like a baby until the up do hours where the sun was it's highest up in the sky. Though, none-the-less, the southerner was up, and not just awake, wide-awake to the point that even trying to go back to sleep was impossible.

Grant it, he was still tired, but the urge to sleep more was ever so present. It was like waking up on a Saturday morning. The first weekend day you could sleep in and not be able to. Disappointing was what it was. Very disappointing. And besides that, he was comfortable and the woman next to him was more then comfortable as she continued to sleep, unaware of the dilemma he was in. Why not go back to sleep?

Yet, the question was just answered as he brought his hands up to rest underneath his head as he flopped onto his back. Sawyer tried closing his eyes, they'd stay shut, but nothing would bring him back to that lower level of consciousness. Not even the fact of being tired, or comfortable, or just for the hell of sleeping.

Groaning quietly at this, he looked up at the blue tarp that was his ceiling in his little o' bungalow. With the sun's rising it basked everything in the tainted hue of blue, although softly. Everything, that was, inside the tent from the flower power sheets, that he had to barter one of the other survivors for just so that they both would have something covering them concerning someone having to barge in, and they did from time to time, to the two of them that were lain inside the confines of what he would have considered his, well, house.

Though, something caught the man's eye as he was about to go back onto his side and saddle up to the woman and bury his face into the crook of her neck. Something that was fluttering and flapping nearly silently against one of the windows of the piece of rubbish that used to be part of the plane. Reaching out a hand, he plucked it from the window, pulling it closer to inspect it.

A feather. A seagull feather more precisely, he realized, looking it over. However it got there, he had no clue. Though more then likely it got blown in at some point, not that he would have noticed it if he wasn't so damn sleep deprived.

Sawyer's lips curled up into a grin, however, as he devised a plan that would surely solve that problem. Or at least amuse him until he could.

Shifting onto his side once again, he studied the figure of little Miss Ana-Lucia Cortez as she still lay sleeping. And she would be, considering she kept him up more then half the night. The damn woman was fucking insatiable. Literally. Demanding, crude, feisty, those were just a few words he could think to describe her off the top of his head. Definitely not like the women he'd been with before. She was... She was something else. Point and fact. But it wasn't a bad thing.

Though, at that very moment, she was far from those things. But rather quite, peacful.

Her arm rested, bent, underneath her head as she was curled on her side towards him. Dark ebony locks, free from the restraint of the ponytail elastic that always held it up, were splayed over the pillow and her shoulders in loose ringlets, some falling in her face. The sheet on the other hand was hanging just barely over her hips, clearly showing that there was nothing on her lower half. But there was the shirt.

The infamous black tank top that she always seemed to wear and recently started wearing during their couplings more often then not after he asked her about the four small scars that marred the flesh of her back. Ana always seemed so self-conscious about it for one reason or another, by the way she always covered it up. He knew what they were, bullet wounds. He'd really be stupid if he didn't know that, considering he had one on his shoulder.

Yet, she never answered the questioning, resorting to brushing him off, rudely. Would he ever get the answer? Only if she decided to change her mind and tell him. He'd stopped questioning it anyhow. She had a right not to tell him, just like he had a right not to tell her the tearjerker story about all of that plagued his life.

The fact remained though, that he was awake while she was snug under his sheets, quite peacefully he might have added. Shame what he was about to do though, he thought, brushing the hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear, his fingers lingering a bit on her cheek a moment before he made a grab for the feather.

Propping his head up on his hand as he looked at her, he ran the tips of the soft object against her cheek. Just barely making contact with her skin, he brought the feather down to the curve of her jaw, smoothing the path to her chin before stopping. Her nose crinkled a bit in her sleep, disturbing her a little, but not enough to wake her. A loud exhale escaped her mouth, before she settled down once again.

It only just made him grin that much more as he repeated his actions. Sawyer drew the feather down her cheek, but this time took a detour towards her ear. Tickling the outer part of her ear, he had to pull back abruptly before her hand reached up to scratch at her cheek and her ear, barely missing her hand.

He was chuckling on the inside at this. It was so juvenile, but when wasn't he? All the same, he enjoyed it. It was better then trying to count boars, like he did the week before. Though, after promptly he had dreams of John coming after him with a spatula for stealing his boar burgers. Not exactly his ideal dream, or even near it. He could live without any dream with Mr. Clean.

Repeating his actions after a minute, he continued tease her while in her slumber. He didn't know how long it went on for, could have been minutes, maybe even a half hour before he took a wrong turn.

Sliding the feather down her neck, and then to her chest, he teased the skin where her chest met the top of her breast, right above the hem of the shirt. But before he could do anything further, her free hand came up and clasped around his wrist gripping him, but not tightly.

"Sawyer... what the fuck are you doing?" she asked, not even bothering to open an eye as she pushed his hand away. Not even awake two minutes as she was cursing at him. God, he liked this woman.

Not discouraged however, even at her words, he brought the feather against her cheek once again. "Why good mornin' Lucy. I hoped you've slept well," he told her brightly. But she just shoved his hand off as she grabbed feather, tossing it behind her somewhere where she didn't care to look.

"I was sleeping quite well before you decided to wake me up," she told him dryly, cracking a tired eye open, glaring at him. "I'm not in the mood, I'm tired."

"Well that's your own damn fault. I recall a certain person being rather eager to be pleased last night. Making me stay up to fulfill those pleasings..." he trailed off, lazily trailing his fingertips against her hip through the fabric of the too-thin sheet.

"And you weren't complaining then if I recall," she shot back, pushing his hand away, not giving into his teasings, as much as her body begged for it through her tiredness.

"I'm not complaining now. I simply want... retribution," Sawyer told her, whispering the last word into her ear as he leaned over, about to try to roll her onto her back with him on top of her.

But the plan was thrown out the window as she shoved him off, not at all gently. And before he could stop her, she was scooting over and sitting up, reaching around the discarded clothes to probably find her jeans. "Where ya goin'?" he asked her, frowning, more then slightly confused.

"Beat off to one of your playboy magazines. I'm going to sleep in my tent," she told him, moving around the mass of their clothes. Throwing his pants in one direction, she found hers underneath, practically rolled into a ball. Going to stand up to put them on, she didn't get far when she felt his arm wrap around her waist pulling her back to the 'bed' with him all too swiftly getting on top of her.

"I think you're gonna stay here," he told her, holding her down beneath him. He was practically pinning her to the comforter that was thrown over the sand, but he was in no way hurting her, just trying to hold her down. But the fact was, that it was like trying to hold down a snake, which was nearly impossible, especially with certain body parts rubbing against other parts, making him grit his teeth. Damn woman...

"Sawyer!" she growled up at him, trying to roll him off once again. Though, he was managing to just overpower her. She growled a few other names at him as well, but he wasn't paying attention to it really as he craned his head down, capturing her mouth and cutting off anything other that she had to say. The kiss had it's desired affect, at least after a moment. Her squirming stopped, everything stopped for a moment, as he tried to coax her lips apart, trying to make her give into the kiss. And if she didn't, well, he would probably have another black and blue on his jaw. That would be fun to explain to Jack...

Though, not surprisingly, she returned kiss. Good, he thought, feeling her more then return it, more like attack his mouth and he nearly struggled to return it's intensity. There she was... right how he wanted her.

But she pulled back, ending the kiss. Her face an almost mask of fury. What? Now she was going to hit him?

"You're impossible," she told him, pulling his face down to meet hers again before he could utter a reply, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. Nope, maybe not.

Though, it was his turn to pull back, but in contrast to her anger, he was grinning down at her. "And you're playin' mighty hard to get," was his retort to her.

"Shut up."

"Yes ma'am," Sawyer replied. And had he had a free hand, he might have given her a salute. But instead, turned his mouth back to hers as he tried to maneuver them towards the pillows.

There would be time to sleep later. Much, much later. If... she could tire him out again, that was.