A/N: All right, so not exactly a Jack and Kate story like the others, but it does involve them so I'm counting it. This comes from the perspective of another one of the islanders and I'll give you three guesses for who, but you'll only need the one.
Timeline: Takes place after Born to Run, could be before the raft launch, could be after; doesn't really matter.
Rating: T. Only precautionary as it's really minor. I don't even know if I would pick up on it.
Disclaimer: They're ALL mine. Everything. In fact, I'm J.J. I am the island, coo-coo ca choo… No I'm not.
Amid the few belongings not claimed and distributed among the island, she finds a straight razor and brings it to him, laughing that she has a solution to his facial hair problem. He grins uncertainly and admits that he's never used one. She blushes slightly, looks away and offers to do it for him.
He watches them. Watches him sit on the beach, chin held up to the sky, with her standing behind him, gently moving the razor across his skin. He watches and wonders how he would feel, letting the only known criminal on the island hold a blade to his throat.
He imagines how it would feel, knowing that she would never offer, would turn away in disgust if he asked, imagines the feel of her fingers splayed across his cheek, the smell of forest and salt water on them, steadying the other hand that holds the razor. He imagines the proximity of her, feeling her body pressed close behind, and imagines letting his hand drop and bump against her thigh in exactly the right place, so that the muscles would jump beneath her pant's leg.
He imagines feeling the scrape across his jugular.
As he watches, she finishes and rinses the razor in a basin of water before folding it carefully and handing it to him. He takes it and pockets it, thanking her for a job well done, and lets his hand linger over hers for just a second too long. She smiles and lets it reach her eyes, lets her hand to drift up to touch his smooth cheek, where there's not a nick in sight.
He knows, were it him under her blade, that at that crucial point where life sits so close to the skin, he would have lifted his chin and let her cut in, let her draw blood.
But only a little.
END.