Obligatory A/N: The characters and stories in "Lost" are sole property of ABC, and I am in no way affiliated with them. That being said, after last Wednesday's episode, I was incredibly overwhelmed with the urge to write this story, and in case JJ is reading, I am more than happy to donate this material for the greater good-- namely to keep one of TV's most beloved, star-crossed couples together.

"You don't have to use me. All you have to do is ask."

Sawyer, you dumbshit!!

And there it was. He regretted it as soon as he said it. But he couldn't show it, not to her. So he smiled his scoundrel smile, tilting his head slightly before turning around and heading back to his tent.

He collapsed onto his pallet, stuffing his face into the pillow to stifle a scream while he pounded his fist into the sand.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Ironically, with his face buried in the pillow, he was able to catch a hint of her fragrance from the night before. His shoulders sagged defeatedly before he rolled onto his back to stare at the tarp of his ceiling and dwell. Why he said that to her, he had no idea. Pretty much, by revealing that he knew, he had effectively shattered any possibility of ever being with her again. As long as he played dumb, there was the slightest chance that he could have held on to her, just for a little while longer. There was the chance that she would come back to him one more time, and once again he could pretend to not notice that the whole time her eyes remained tightly closed, pretending. Ignore the salty taste of dried tears when he kissed her. Revel in her fiery passion as she unleashed the heat of her jealousy and frustrations on him.

Now? He had lost her, completely.

XxXxXxX

"You don't have to use me. All you have to do is ask."

And there it was. She had sought his solace out of desperation, loneliness, bitterness. She was feeling insecure, pathetic, and wanting to do something destructive. And he had seen right through her.

She watched his retreating figure head back to his tent, and looked at her hands absently, her eyes falling on the tape. "Best of Phil Collins." Of all the people on this island, he was the last one she ever thought would make her feel so… ashamed. She used to be disgusted by her feelings for him. She swore never to act on them. But it wasn't because she slept with him….twice. It wasn't even because she shared herself with him more than anybody else on the island. It was because after all these months, she had finally convinced herself that she was better than they all thought—mama, the marshal, Wayne. Here, she thought she could redeem herself. Prove that there was something good in her.

But it was all a farce. Deep down, she knew she still wasn't any better. Now he knew, too.

The next afternoon, Jack took Juliet to their makeshift driving range. He wanted to give her the "grand tour." They waved as they walked past her, grinning with their full water bottles and daypacks. As soon as their backs were to her, she scowled.

Sickening.

Immediately, it came back. That primal, petty, illogical feeling that she felt growing from the pit of her stomach. It wasn't lust necessarily, as much as a savage desire to completely detach herself from any thought or emotion. She wanted to succumb to the baseness she knew was always lurking within her. Blindly embrace it—the selfishness, the insensitivity. It was horrible, she knew. And yet, she couldn't help but wonder, either. Was the opportunity still there?

She looked over, and there he was, sitting shirtless on his lounge chair, reading. It was always comical to see him read. He lost his "prescription" glasses on the raft, so with this new pair, he had to hold the book somewhat far away. For a split second, the way he was peering over the lenses made him almost look scholarly. She quickly shook that thought away. No thought. Just pure, unadulterated, thoughtless... what?

She didn't know what exactly she wanted to get out of it. There was the immediate carnal satisfaction of course. For a few glorious minutes she could forget about anything else. But beyond that? She shook her head as she begin to make her away across the sand. Whatever, she didn't have to think that far ahead. No thought.

Still, when she plopped down next to him, she couldn't help but feel a small tinge of… something. She caught a glimpse of the cover: The Sorrows of Young Werther. It made her hesitate.

"Afternoon, Freckles." He turned the page without looking up.

She exhaled, steeling herself.

"Sawyer?" Her voice came out higher and more desperate than she had expected.

"Yeah?"

She bit her lip, reluctant to continue. I am the single most, awful person in the world.

After a few excruciating seconds, he set his book down and looked at her for the first time. The downcast eyes, the crinkled nose.

"Freckles? What's wrong?" He looked at her imploringly. Concerned. Genuine.

With the intensity of his gaze, she found herself feeling incredibly vulnerable. She stared at her fists.

"I…" She shut her eyes tightly, disbelieving that she was actually going to ask what she was going to ask.

"What is it?" He pressed her, lowering his head as to look into her eyes again.

"I was wondering…" She braced herself. He was going to think she was the most despicable person in the world. And yet, she continued slowly, "If you…meant…what you said yesterday."

She never once removed her gaze from her hands. "What'd I…"His brow furrowed as he tried to recall what he could have said yesterday. She doesn't mean… There was really only one thing he said to her yesterday. "Well yeah, Freckles… yeah, I meant it… why?"

She finally looked up at him, unwavering. With purpose. "Are you really going to make me ask?"

Slowly, he began to realize what she was getting at. He was in disbelief. She came back. "You mean you wanna…"

Her nostrils flared slightly as she looked at him defiantly.

"What…now?!" His eyes widened incredulously.

She nodded, impatiently, almost annoyed.

He snapped to attention immediately, so fearful of losing her. A small part of him couldn't believe how lucky he was. Another part of him was resentful for being so weak and desperate that he would willingly let himself be hurt, just to have another excuse to be near her. But mostly, he was just terrified that maybe this time was going to be the last time she would have him. He glanced around nervously before taking her hand and leading her into his tent.

Inside, she positioned herself on his stomach, tearing off his glasses. "You remember the rules from last time?"

"Yeah, but-" She cut him off by pressing her lips sloppily on his.

"Same thing," Still kissing him, she roughly began to slip off her jacket and unbutton his pants. She broke away only long enough to peel off her tank top.

She fumbled with her own jeans as she tried to pull them off while keeping her lips in contact with him. His lips, cheeks, neck, chest. As long as she was touching him.

He had a surprisingly gentle touch. She could feel the strength of his grip as he held her, sense the tautness of his muscles, the callousness of his fingers. And yet, his fingertips grazed her with the lightest of caresses, setting her own skin afire with a trail of goosebumps. She knew he was holding back, having experienced the pure hot-blooded, ferocity of his passion that one fateful night in the cage. But here, these last two times he didn't fight her. No matter how violently she scratched and bit him, he responded with only the softest of kisses and strokes.

Tender. Sensual. Infuriating. She wanted a reaction from him. She wanted him to fight back, just as a way she could excuse her own behavior. To know that he was no better than she was. But he never did. She was using him, and he was letting her. On some level she was grateful. She was in control, and he was willingly at her mercy—just like she wanted. Throughout, her eyes were pinched shut, but she took pleasure in hearing the reactions she could elicit from him. Aside from occasional low guttural moaning, he abided by her request and didn't say a word. Several times, she could hear him struggle to keep himself from crying out. She even heard the beginnings of her name, but the "kuh"s quickly dissolved into short, quiet gasps. He was giving her exactly what she asked for, exactly what she needed. No more, no less.

XxXxXxX

It took a great deal of self-control for him to hold back the way he did. Even though she was being physically aggressive, he knew she was just trying to cover her own broken feelings. All the roughness, the hitting, the biting, he knew that wasn't intended for him. Not really. He was just that pillow that you scream silently into at night. That knot in the wall you hit when you want to feel pain. And he was happy to serve his role.

She was so delicate, so fragile, the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like he was taking advantage. No, he was only doing this for her. Giving her the comfort and compassion the only way he knew how. How much he wanted to just take her in his arms, show her how much he truly felt for her. To make her feel as euphoric and special as she made him feel. He had to physically restrain himself from smothering her with kisses and promises, because that's not what she wanted. At least, not from him. He could deal with that.

When it was over, they lay together silently, not really knowing what to say. He didn't force anything. He just lay behind her quietly, lightly running a knuckle back and forth on the curvy dip of her waist. Abruptly, she sat up and quickly began pulling her clothing back on. She never turned around to look back at him. He could only look on as she scrambled to put up her hair and slip on her shoes.

She didn't say a word to him as she proceeded to exit the tent. Before she got the flap, however, he called out to her. She stopped.

"Freckles… Kate. Y'know… y'know you don't always haveta…leave, right?"

She knew it was hard for him to ask that, just as it was hard for her to say no. "Not today, Sawyer."

She paused to swallow before looking back and flashing a small smile. "Maybe next time."

With that, she was gone. Leaving a very naked, very confused Sawyer, who was having a hard time digesting one thought: Next time???