His mouth was warm against her cold one. Her lips trembled, shaking and blue. If he hadn't been so warm, she wouldn't have felt his kiss at all.
"I am nothing," she said into his mouth. "We don't exist." But her words did nothing to halt him. It was as if he couldn't hear her. Maybe he couldn't.
His hands moved underneath her tank, which was smeared with blood and speckled with dirt. They were as warm as his lips. He cradled her breasts, thumbing her protruding nipples and she couldn't help but arch up against him. With her mouth inches from the skin of his neck, he tracked his way to the middle of her ribs, pressing his palms against the cold skin. Her heart pulsated against his hand; he could feel the beat, hard and strong. "We're alive," he murmured against her ear, neck, her mouth. "We are alive."
For now.
She didn't particularly like him. He had been the one who had wanted to leave her behind, the planner. And now here they both were; in each other's arms as if they had done this everyday or at least had even been friends. They weren't lovers, they weren't friends.
Their backdrop was demolition. The island was ablaze with fire, flame, heat, and yet, she was freezing. It was as if she was a part of the place and as it was wiped clean; as it died, she did too. Everyone else was dead. It was just Sawyer and Claire left now (and the man who had done it). They didn't know how much longer they'd have.
Funny how that'll bring two people together.
…
They come. They fight. They destroy. They corrupt. It always ends the same. When all is said and done, the candidate sits alone. This time around, Jack burns every inch of the island. He doesn't flinch when he hears his sister's scream.
The island is clean now.
end.
