Written for a prompt on LJ.
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet.
Rating: NC-17.
Prompt: Outdoor sex.
Fucking piece of shit #2 van was always breaking down. Must have been why it was the #2, after all. Meanwhile, if Juliet had been on the desk this morning, there would have been no way she'd ever stuck him with the #2, but Frankie had it in for him for sure. He'd seen the little sonuvabitch checking her out. Just because she had the best goddamn rack in Dharma didn't mean she was anyone's property. Except his own, maybe. "Ain't you got anything else?" he'd demanded, and the little bastard had just shrugged, all innocent.
Now the walkie sputtered and crackled for a split-second and he thought he caught a snippet of conversation. He'd called for backup almost 45 minutes ago, but after this aggravating day he was just about ready to leave the damn van and walk back already. He was drumming his fingers on the edge of the propped-up hood even though he had no idea what he was looking at when he heard a Jeep rumble up behind him. He swore to God, if it was that smug little bastard Frankie -- he turned and saw blonde hair and a flashing grin.
Juliet jumped out of the Jeep and reached into the back to retrieve a tool box and a canteen. "What were you doing bringing the #2 all the way out here?" she asked him incredulously, arching an eyebrow. "Never mind," he huffed.
She just shrugged and tossed him the canteen. It was a little too much like the gesture she'd made back when she'd had him on the ol' chain gang, but he was sure as hell she was on his side this time, and anyway he just wanted this day to end with as little aggravation as possible. So he twisted off the top and took a long sip. In the meantime, Juliet pulled on a thick pair of work gloves and was fiddling around with a wrench, but she gave him a strange look. "What?" he challenged her.
"Nothing," she said, and turned back to the engine.
"No, what?"
"I was just thinking that could have been the exact canteen I'd thrown to you that other time." At least she had the decency to look embarrassed.
She kept fiddling with whatever the hell it is that overheated or exploded or whatever the #2 liked to throw at them, and he was all angry energy, tossing the canteen from one hand to the other like it was a goddamn football. Juliet took a long, slow, appraising gaze at him, one of these enigmatic stares that these days seemed more of a turn-on than creepy in the ways they used to be. "James, it's too hot for this. Why don't you just sit down?"
"I'm fine," he grumbled.
"Suit yourself," she shrugged, and unzipped the top of her jumpsuit. The smooth pull of her hand on the zipper seemed so innocent, so inconsequential, but she was looking just far enough off into the distance that he couldn't tell whether she was trying to torment him or just cope with the heat. But then she leaned way, way, waaaay over the engine in just a skimpy tank top and Jesus Christ, the way she angled over that thing he could see practically everything and his mouth went dry.
She shifted slightly, reached out a long, slender arm to twist a cap or a bolt or who the hell was he even kidding, he didn't give a shit about the #2 van. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she licked her lips and sneaked a peek through her lashes at him, and he knew then, he knew she was playing with him the way a cat likes to play with its food first. Two could play this game, though, and he pretended to look away, not quite paying attention, taking another sip of the canteen.
So she sighed lightly, just the hint of an elusive smile curling around the edges of her mouth. She slid off the gloves off her hands and bent to fetch something else from the toolbox, offering him a lengthy, unobstructed view of her ass and good God he was so hard now, she was going to win this game yet again if he didn't play his cards right. But he couldn't help but angle his head and examine the curves of that gorgeous ass, the dip in between the backs of her legs and fuck he wanted to slide his hand in between and feel her warmth, hear her sharp intake of breath and that was it, when she turned and rose again he was on her, his palms rough against the hot skin of her bare shoulders. She opened her mouth for him immediately, like she was waiting for this and really she was, and he forced his tongue against hers. She gave back as good as she got, as always, and she reached out roughly to unzip the top of his jumpsuit. He groaned as she scraped her teeth hard against his collarbone, and before his brain registered it, she was groping his hard-on through the rough khaki cloth.
Somehow he regained his senses for at least a split second and tugged at the hem of her tank top. She instantly raised her arms over her head and he pulled it off. As he went to work on the clasp of her bra, she panted his name. At first he thought she was just in the moment but Juliet wasn't into panting names in breathy tones, so belatedly he realized it was a question. "What?" he growled.
"There aren't any cameras out here, are there?" she asked.
He paused. Shit. "Uh... "
She cringed. "What?! Where?"
He tugged at her hand. "Put your shirt on an' come with me."
Her face was flushed from the heat, but he saw the redness creeping in.
"Jus' come on."
She pulled her shirt on and he pulled her to the edge of the treeline, just where the shade began. "James, they saw what we were doing, they're going to know why we ducked out of -- "
He pressed his finger up to her lips. "Shh," he whispered. "Let 'em be jealous." He dragged that finger down over her lips, along the column of her throat, down between her breasts, over her stomach -- here she started to squirm a little -- and finally dropped his hand between her legs. Even through the thickness of the fabric, he could feel her warmth, and she relaxed. "'Sides, you started it," he reminded her, and she swatted his arm. That tank top came off again, and then they were both kicking out of work boots and the God-awful Dharma jumpsuits. She pushed him down onto the ground, straddling him after she yanked off his boxers, and his newly freed cock sprang up, touching her just where the inside of her thigh met softer skin, and he groaned at the sensation. "Juliet..." he pleaded.
"But James, I started it," she said innocently. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but then she bit his lip hard and thrust her tongue into his mouth again, and all efforts at clarity instantly evaporated. She reached down to stroke him in rhythm with their kisses but he let her do this only for a moment before he was pushing him off her. He flipped her over, pressed a hand onto the soft skin of her lower belly to keep her down, and replaced his hand with his mouth, his tongue, a moment later. She breathed in, hard, and he dragged his tongue down, down, into the cleft between her legs, and she dropped her head onto the ground, flinching a little -- she must have hit a tree root or something, and she shifted her head to one side of it.
He watched the little fretful movements of her face for long, delicious moments as he lapped at her, watched the sweat pooling under the half-moon curves of the undersides of her breasts, listened to her breath catch in the back of her throat. She was raking her fingers through fallen leaves when she started to tense and tremble under his tongue, and then her hands were in his hair and she was groaning words made solely of consonants. Eventually he slowed down and dragged his tongue more slowly in wide, generous circles the way he knew she liked as she was coming down again, and Christ, he needed her now.
He raised himself over her and had pushed inside her before she'd even opened her eyes, and he was rewarded with a soft, desperate, pleading moan low in her throat. He responded with his own growl, burying his face against her soft skin. "Jesus Christ," he groaned into her neck. She responded with something completely unintelligible, but Christ she was so hot and wet, tight from her first orgasm and he felt her reach down to cup his ass cheeks, bringing him further inside her, and he almost lost it right then. He dragged her legs higher up against him so her knees were nearly against his ribs and he drove into her over and over again until this long, awful, hot, pointless-until-now day was nothing but a memory. When he felt her clamp down on him, her muscles pushing and pulling against him, he closed his eyes and let go into her, and for a long, perfect moment he saw nothing but blackness against his closed lids. And when he opened them he saw nothing but the bright blue of her eyes.
She wiped a sweaty strand of hair from her eyes, still gasping. Finally she dropped her head back onto the ground, avoiding the tree root this time. "I can't believe I have to go back to fixing that stupid van now," she said.