They were both completley naked. Sawyer was lay flat on top of Shannon, still inside of her, with his eyes closed and his head lolling over her shoulders. Shannon was shuddering, completley drenched in sweat. Her mascara and eyeliner were smudged, as if she'd been crying... which she had been very close to. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, the image of Sawyer coming down on her and tearing her moist pussy apart flashing straight into her head. Shannon whimpered, opening her eyes and looking sideways at Sawyer, who still seemed to be asleep. Shannon felt like bursting into tears again... Even though it hadn't really been rape. Much to her distaste, she had found herself bucking her hips and groaning his name, sliding her tounge into his mouth and wrapping her long legs around his waist. She blamed passion. She had had the most amazing orgasm though, so intense, so powerful, so hot that it had brought tears to her eyes. Normally she was a screamer, but this time her breath was caught in her throat as he slammed against her, riding out his own orgasm. Sawyer had squeezed her breasts as Shannon arched her back, eyes blazing with ecstacy. And then he'd collapsed, breathing hard on her shoulder. They'd stayed like this for minutes, maybe even hours, breathing and sweating over each other, before Sawyer had feel asleep. Trying not to wake him, Shannon wriggled out from underneath him. Sawyer shifted, and murmered something in his sleep. Shannon froze in fear - but Sawyer did not awake. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Shannon managed to stand free. She desperatley put her bikini on, sliding the skirt onto her hips. She grabbed the flip-flops and scampered away. The coarse sand, sharp twigs and little bits of plane wreckage, almost shrapnol, scratched her feet, and thin branches of various trees whipped at her face and arms, though none of this bothered her. She needed to get to the caves - get to a supply of clean water. Then she'd wash herself, though she knew she was, and always would be, tainted with Sawyer. Shannon stumbled out of the jungle, tripping over a stray log and dropping her things.
"You alright?" asked that black man, who Shannon had never been able to remember the name of.
Grabbing her halterneck and shoes with one hand, Shannon mumbled what sounded like 'I'm fine' whilst trying to smooth down her hair. She ran to the left - God, why were there people EVERYWHERE? Finally Shannon found a little part of the river/stream that didn't have anyone in close proximity. She stripped down for the second time that day, and ran straight into the water. The icy-cold temperature hit her like a ton of bricks, and she gasped. She stood still, then walked slowly right into the centre of the little pool she'd found. Taking a deep breath, Shannon dipped her head under. She came back up, gasping for air and running her hands over her head. She did this five times, until the temperature became somewhat manageable. With shaking hands, Shannon rubbed herself clean, until it came to her 'downstairs'. Reluctantly, she touched her cunt... It was still coated with cum, a mixture of hers and of Sawyers, and was still wide. Shannon finally felt the tears come pouring down her face, and she choked on her own sobs. With the heel of her hand she desperatley wiped away the tears, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down; but the image of Sawyer cumming inside of her clashing with that one night she'd spent grinding on top of Boone seemed to be on constant replay inside her brain. She sobbed loudly once more, splashing her face with water. It took her probably about half an hour to calm down and get herself clean, before she stepped out of the water and replaced her bikini.
"Stupid fucking island," she cursed to herself, "Stupid fucking no towels. Stupid fucking water. Stupid fucking Sawyer. Stupid fucking Boone. Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
In spite of herself, she stamped her foot, putting her halterneck and skirt back on. She knelt down and washed the sand off her flip-flops, then put them back on. Her hair was still sopping wet - but for once, she didn't actually care.
Sawyer woke up, his face in grass and his body sweaty. He frowned, propping himself up with one hand. It took him a moment to clear his head, before he looked around.
"Fucking Sticks," he snarled, convinced that she'd nicked his clothes... Then he saw them up a tree.
"Oh. Right," he mumbled.
Sawyer stood straight up, rubbing at his tired eyes as he walked with no trace of embarassment to the tree for his clothes. Oh well. No-one was around, anyways.
Sawyer pulled his boxers and jeans up in one, leaving his belt undone, and slipped on a checked shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows and leaving the top three buttons undone. He sniffed. He could still smell Shannon - or rather, he could smell Pure Poison, by Dior.
Sawyer smirked.
Pure.
Poison.
...How very fitting.