Mine
By Wahinetoa
Rating: PG18/M for some adultish situations and words.
Summary: (Sana) A alt. version of TFTR. Part of the Resurrecting Ana Series.
Disclaimer: Lost belongs to ABC.
AN: Unedited, quickly written from memory. To the Sana girls on the Lost.Forum. Apologies for the mistakes.
He'd held to the hope she was alive. That he'd have the chance to reply in kind to her brilliant and cunning deception.
The Cop; conning a Con. AGAIN!
Unheard of, till this freaking woman came literally crashing into his life, all tussled hair about her shoulders and hot sexy lips that told him she was just a tiny survivor woman... like hell she was! Then she'd hit him, freaking hit him, the bloody nerve after he was being gentlemanly enough to save her miserable life from Shaft, and was all of a sudden Xena: Warrior Bith.
"Bith," he growled helplessly, unable to stop repeating the curse. His hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into the palm hard enough to make them bleed.
If he wasn't so afraid for her, right now, he'd be pissed, seething and bloody impressed with the lill' chica. Not even his Freckles managed to wrangle him outta something he didn't feel like letting go of. Or get the Doc to wrangle on her behalf. But then again, not even Freckles or Doc got him screaming their names in frustration and blinding desire, quite like Rambina had.
Would be a whole other story, if they did.
The Hatch loomed in the near distance, and he increased his pace to get to her before Mr.Clean , Freckles or Jacka could figure out he'd slipped away from the ensuing argument at the beach, to get his hands on Lucy before they did.
Music reached his ears, once the blood pounding in them ceased enough, as he slammed through the doors into the long corridor leading to the inner sanctum. Something low, sultry and darkly erotic.
Not at all the anthem he had in mind, at least for this part of the screaming.
But no way had he imagined what he would walk in on.
Mistress May-I, was curled up on the couch, with her bare feet tucked up under her, ebony hair cascading about her mocha dark shoulders. Those wickedly deceptive eyes half-closed like a contented kitten, enjoying the song moving all around her - full of love.
Momentarily he was struck by the vision she presented to him. Complex a witch she was. One moment all he wanted from her was to slap her silly, wrap his fingers around that slender neck of hers. Then the next, he wanted nothing more than to --
Talk to her? Unravel the mystery she posed. Undo the depth of sadness that reached out to him. Sass her. Suffocate her. Demand an apology? Some sense she regretted it. Would pay for it?
Speaking of which….
"It's MINE," he growled tightly, not quite too sure anymore which deadly weapon he was referring.
Ana Lucias eyes flash open, find him, standing close enough to her to begin a tremor in her bones. Did she loose herself too much not to notice Mike had left, after she had refused him the gun? Or that another had taken his place without her knowing?
She knows that stance he's giving her. Knows what it means. Seconds later she is on her feet, her breath quickening, heartbeat going double time. Didn't she expect this?
The urge to grab for the gun that was supposed to be in her possession, now lying on the kitchen counter, unused, while Gale was still ensconced in the Armoury, was incredibly strong.
Hopefully it would remain unseen by the blond long enough for her to get it.
"Not no more," she responded gruffly, meeting his eyes defiantly. Her hands pause on those generous hips, framing them. Sawyers gaze reluctantly followed, unable to resist. An inferno burned inside him, his face becoming hot, as memory of her last dark sultry growl, accompanied by those clever fingers and what they could do, drove need into his blood.
He cursed inwardly, shoring up a cold denial. "You got somethin' of mine," he snapped, eyes narrow in on her. 'Gimme it back, an' --"
Her laughter belied his warning. "I ain't gonna 'gimme you' nothin'!"she smirked back, hammering him with his own quote. Eyes twinkling at him so fetchingly.
"Yo' sure you wanna do this, Lucy? Better have tried.. and died tryin'."
Dammit. The boy could be a thrilling mix of danger and bluff. Called to the reprobate in her.
Back straight, she moved. Out from behind the coffee table, hips swaying, eyes locked on his - the music teasing, taunting. Making the night, liquid honey.
He let her move closer. Wanted to see how far the militant Rambina would take it this time. The nerves in his body, jumped, waiting the inevitable. She didn't disappoint.
Ana Lucia stopped inches from him, looking up at him as if she was on eye level instead of a few inches shorter. Girl had cajones.
Assertive. Mesmerizing.
A hand grenade with the pin pulled out. Someone he felt immediate kinship with. Whether he wanted too or not.
She gazed up at him, gloriously belligerent. Said all she had to with that one f-you grin.
His eyes were no longer searching for the gun, she realized, but fell on her. His tone sent a tremor up her spine, his gaze burned over her body.
"Mine."
Quickly fearing her own response to him, she stepped back from him, in an attempt to distance herself from the pull he had on her whirling senses.
"Not. No. More." she insisted, not speaking of the gun either. But those azure blue eyes of his pinned her, told her, he was no longer here, just for the gun. Her body responds against her wishes, nipples tightening to hard peaks. Jaw clenched, prays he doesn't notice, and knowing he would anyway.
Sawyer watches as her gaze shoots to the kitchen, sees the gun, knows her move before she does. Sawyer's arms dart out suddenly, captures her arms. He pulled the surprised and now vehemently resisting Latina beauty against his hard chest, holding her there. Captive.
"Mine."
She seethed, twisting to get free from both his possession and the uncompromising arousal of what her struggle invoked in the Hustler. Rising against her belly, her hip. Round thigh.
But Ana never gives in. Her hands are free, made into those speciality claws he knows so very well, striking her mark where they land. Which is everywhere, her teeth aren't trying to bite his face off.
It's like a freaking Predator.
Sawyer grunted, as the sensations grew, pleasure at her passion coursing through him, knowing he could not last longer, he grabbed her flailing fists and forced them behind her, held secure with his one hand. While the other, caught up in her dark tresses, fisted at the nape of her neck, controlling her.
Anas eyes widened. Confusion. Indignant fire, and something alien… like the beginnings of hope, or love - or the possibility of it, warring in those depths. Reflected, he suspected in his own.
"Sawyer," Ana says his name like a warning, damn near a plea. And Gods, he wishes he could listen for once, but it's much too late for either one of them to be reprimanded on falling for the bad ones.
"Mine." he repeats, pushing her back, further back, towards the door to Henrys cell. Their bodies thump together, their breaths harsh and loud, alerting the prisoner inside to something going on outside. His voice can be heard from inside, between the slow rhythm of music, but neither one have the temperance to listen.
Far better things to concentrate on. He made sure of that. Blue eyes glittering he watched her, moving a fraction lower to nestle between voluptuously created thighs, just as she decided to move.
Glory, did she move.
Her hips heft up, trying to get leverage, but only seems to inflame him more. Hips mashing against the other, Sawyer shoves her legs apart further with his knee, surges up and against her, eliciting a surprising gasp from the hellion. Her eyes close, trying to deny the truth.
Too long alone, his touch had awakened something dangerous inside her. The need to be held. So tired of being alone, pretending that's what she wanted all along.
He seems to recognize the turmoil, his lips hovering above hers, his hot breath skimming over the curve of her cheek, against her ear.
"A lill' late for that too, sweetheart." No sense of denying it. The two most loneliest people - how could they not find each other?
Ana looked up at him, her own eyes wet and alive with the hard beat of their pulsing heartbeats.
It unravels him from the core at her quiet resignation.. The sweet thrill of victory, lost to him, as he pressed further into her, sealing their fates.
His hard mouth slates over hers, briefly, before his long tongue snakes out and runs over her lips, slowly, and before she could form an objection, he is claiming, reclaiming, her mouth in a searing kiss. Hard and deep, and cocky sure. Ana inhales sharply through her nose, her mouth fused to his.
With one final demand, Sawyer became James Ford. The man he was meant to be, would be, with her.
Let Dr.Goodbar, Freckles and whoever, find them this way, hell, even Gale was gonna get more than Marvin Gayes sultry voice coming through that door tonight.
He arches into her hard, and she tears her mouth away, groaning . But he won't release her, catching that wicked mouth with his again, before she could draw another breath.
But she's stubborn, pulls away from him. Sawyer finds himself growling her name loud enough to go above the music and give the prisoner inside a mental picture of what was happening outside.
Ana whimpers, catches the sound back. Sawyer looks down at her, pleased. Knows she wants to move away, someplace private. But he's not willing.
Lets his Rambina know it, by caressing, seizing and reclaiming the vivacious curves he's more than experienced with. Both hands release hers, travel down her back, the sweet curve of her spine and the vivacious curves of her behind. Both hands grasp wantonly, pulling her hard into him. Shamelessly aroused.
Let the arguing beach brats see exactly how she got his gun from him - and how he intends to get it back. Let them and Gale, hear in full stereo sound just how appreciative he can be, when aptly engaged in Muchachas finer points of persuasions.
Here against this door, 'cause ain't nothing in this world was gonna stop him from claiming what was, and would always be - His.
Her eyes burned him. Fierce. With that silent threat, he shoves himself harder into her, wrenching her thighs further apart. Ana suddenly arches at the sensations rolling through her core, memory facilitating the fire he could evoke when suitably inspired.
Dios.
His husky voice, the smell of him, of her still on him - his weight baring down on her was too much. Her hips lurch of their own accord to meet his, pressing into his arousal, making them both groan and shudder, and repeat the action twice more, before they could even contemplate a reason to stop.
Her hand worked free from clenching his biceps to shove him off, tangled in his hair and drew him down, hard and full upon her own smirking mouth. Let herself get caught, with whatever it was that began the first day they'd met, to the wonderful power struggle a few hours ago. Answered his quest with a growl of her own.
Apparently in a past life, she was a gymnast, because her back arches in a most delicious way, managing to lift his larger frame back, but still closer to her own. The heels of her boots pressed into his backside, thighs clenching.
She's devouring.
He feels his eyebrows climb into his hairline with surprise and awe. Arousal already burning, he thrust himself back to her, harder than he initially intended. Meeting her thrust for thrust. Challenge taken and extended as their bodies cajoled, slamming against the other for domination. Rasping. Her gasp of pleasure inflamed him, rose like a python to devour those lips, the sweet wild cavern within.
He was ravenous to taste her again, mouth slanted and opening her to his skill and domination. His tongue rolls into her mouth, reacquainting himself with the delights of taming, and being tamed by his Lucy.
His Lucy!
Sawyer feels the pang of old fear of any commitment creep through his veins. Ain't a way for a conartist like him. But then again, this island has shown him plenty things he didn't reckon on.
Just whose trap is this? he wonders, trying to pull away from her warmth, the steely fire and kinship she will forever represent to him.
But she is far from through with that clever mouth of his, and he's hardly in a position to object, when his size doubles as she nibbles on his lower lip. Growls loud and long, as her hand moves over his chest, etching out a path she's travelled before - intends to travel again.
She releases his mouth, leaning in to nip lightly at his earlobe, a soft whisper making him tremble.
"I owe you a shirt."
RRRRIIIIIPPPPPP
Buttons pop, ricocheting all over the polished concrete floor, off the walls and door, as the purple tartan shirt is torn into two. That's the second time she's done that - only this time, there'll be no shirt to slip back on.
She's seen to that.
Without apology, or regret, he tosses the offending article of clothing behind him. Staring down at her, maddeningly primal he was almost growing incisors.
Devil woman moves again, those demanding hands continuing, as she meets his gaze, undeterred. Slams her fist against the hidden button to the left of the panel. Screeching and trembling of the Blast doors slamming the rest of the world out for another hour of Lock-down. The world being shut out rumbled in his ears.
His head shoots up, taking in her deviousness. Clever. He didn't have too much time to contemplate their situation, as she takes her pleasure, raking her nails over his hardened nipple. Soothing with fingertips, and a quirk of dark full kips, when his mouth drew into a scolding pout.
He allows Ana to have her way. He would have his, soon enough. Then she repeated it, again and again, and the pout, slacked into a tiger-growl of want and need.
Ana tried to scoot him back, to the couch – didn't know his Lucy could be so shy. Sawyer chuckled low, slammed them both back against Gales prison door. Refusing.
Here. Against the door. And later, on the couch, the floor, the kitchen table. Lastly, he wanted her in the bed, her hair spilling out over the pillow, eyes on his as he would make love to her. A slower pace, a deeper pace to the frantic one he was about to set. Wanted to watch her face, her eyes darken like he remembered as he fell on his knees - adorning her skin with kisses, brushes of mouth, cheek, stubbled jaw and hungry skilled craving, like every woman deserved to be worshipped.
But most of all, he wanted desperately to rid himself of the enchantress Lucy had become to him - Freckles no longer in his dreams when he closed his eyes, but her. Lucinda Lu.
She posed a danger to him. Even as he kissed her hungrily back, his own eager hands ripping and renting her clothes away - Sawyer wondered just who he was conning now?
Gales voice bled from behind the closed door, demanded what was going on.
Sawyer laughed inwardly, eyes glittering.
Let him hear just exactly how furious a woman Ana Lucia Cortez was when riled. And the enemy gale had made, in James 'Sawyer' Ford, for daring to touch what was his.
He suddenly pulled back, staring down at her intensely. Wanted her to admit it.
"Say it, Chica. Tell me." He needed to know, that she wanted this as much as he did. Could not ignore it, anymore. He leaned in, nudging her cheek softly with his jaw, his lips evoking a murmuring tremble. "Tell me I ain't alone in this."
Ana murmured in the back of her throat, eyes closed shut. But he waited for her reply... and when she finally opened her eyes to meet his..she gave it...
One word - irrefutable truth.
"Mine."
The End.