A/N: Anticipation intensifies the experience, so they say; let's see if it's true for Kate. ;)
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Click.
The perpetual, maddening cycle of the mysterious timer. It didn't even annoy her anymore, announcing each minute with dull stubbornness; she didn't really hear it anymore.
Once again, Kate turned around on the bunk bed with a laboured sigh. Sleep was nowhere near to come.
She had set an alarm clock deciding rest would do her good, but ever since curling up on the coarse duvet, she kept tossing and turning, unable to switch off her mind.
Inside the hatch it was dim, the little niche were she was lying plunged into deep darkness. All sounds seemed muted, the rustling of sheets fading into silence when she straightened her legs to lay flat on her back. Staring into the invisible ceiling, Kate recalled the day's revelation.
"Been waiting long?"
"Just came in." Her words broke the penetrating silence, sinking into the concrete floor, a fraction too late, she realized, unnerved.
She watched him, how his whole body tensed and he never turned to face her.
"I… uhm… well, I guess, I'll just … go back now." Why couldn't she trust her own voice?
Kate jerked startled at the sharp click of a timer flap rewinding and spun around, taking one frantic step, only to be stopped dead by the inevitable.
"I thought you wanted a shower?"
She shuffled her feet, clumsily turning back.
"Yeah, right. Right. I'll…" Her chin pointed towards the bathroom. Jack's front was to hers now, his head tilted slightly to the side, hands shoved into his jeans' pockets, his face unreadable in the shadow of the vault structure.
How was she supposed to keep her composure, simply walk into the steam that smelled so much like him, dispose of her clothing and just proceed with plain hygiene maintenance, just like that? How could she consciously ignore the moist air enveloping her oversensitive skin, his scent lingering to it, tickling her, teasing, almost playfully? Did he expect her to step into the shower where the echo of his presence she would undoubtedly still feel with each of her electrified nerves on overload and let the water take over, just as if it was him, tracing his fingers down the outline of her body? Was she supposed to remain adamant?
Was that some sort of a game he was playing?
The thought brought a new wave of heat to her cheeks. Kate chose to walk into the very bathroom in an attempt to hide her blushing. Away from him. But into him. Jesus, this was going to be harder than she had feared. She stopped for a split second, took an unexpectedly sobbing breath, and turned to close the door behind her, catching a brief sight of him, pose and expression unchanged.
No – she shook her head – he couldn't have possibly been toying with you, that's just not something he does, is it; besides you had just told him yourself, you wanted a shower, end of story.
Kate's reason was reassuring her that he must had remained unaware of her spying. That he was only following the logical course of events.
But her insides couldn't help but twinge with excitement at the possibility of this new side of him that she caught a secret glimpse of, the whole different dimension of him being discovered.
Jack Shephard, the lover.
After all, what did she know about him?
That he was the sensible one, the self-controlled one, the reserved one, the reliable one, strong. But there was also some overwhelming intensity to him, the impulsiveness, the unexpected anger which shook her almost physically, underlain by crushing vulnerability.
She knew him enough to know, he had to understand things, had to dissect them with his mind before putting back together in satisfied cognition, she knew that inability and passiveness and lack of control were driving him insane, and that everything he chose to focus his attention on, he focused it completely, to the point of obsession.
To be the object of such intensity sounded almost frightening to her. What kind of lover is he?
She wondered staring blatantly at her own reflection in the fogged mirror.
Which side of him would take over?
Kate searched her own eyes as if expecting to find the answer in her heart of hearts. Overpowered by desire, her face changed, she noticed studying it with fascination, the image of Jack appearing behind her, to encircle his arms around her and drop his head to place a sensual, unhurried kiss in the crook of her neck clearly visible across her features.
She observed her cheeks taking a blotchy glow, her lips parting and her eyes glazing over, the pupils dilated as if on some sort of drugs while her reason gave in, admitting the drug was his intoxicating tart aroma which cocooned her firmly, oblivious to whatever possible objections.
Her skin tingled, every square inch.
Never leaving her own eyes, Kate reached to the hem of her top and pulled it over her head. As if in slow motion, she went on, unclasping her bra, sliding the shoulder straps down, placing the garment next to her top, on the basin countertop. Her fingers didn't linger, she did absolutely nothing to throw the simple actions of undressing out of balance, her movements spare and purposeful. Yet she kept looking straight into her own glassy eyes, the thought planted in her head: what kind of lover is he?
Holding her glaze, she stood still for a while, naked, listening to her heartbeat in the buzz of blood rushing through her veins. She looked over to the door. What was he doing? Did he stand where she left him? Did he move closer to the bathroom? Was he just on the other side?
Kate's hand twitched at a brazen idea to open that door now, to walk out and straight into him, right now.
She looked the other way, into the shower. Empty. Relief and disappointment mingling in the strangest of tastes. Of course, it would be empty. She drew in a sharp breath and sighed, throwing herself out of her daze.
The water was warm, pleasantly so, as she flexed the muscles of her neck, realizing how tense she had been. Her head tilted back and Kate opened her mouth to let the water in, tasting it, swallowing some in an action vaguely reminiscent of a weird virtual kiss. Flat, toneless taste.
Shampoo. Kate had always thought the gesture of having her hair washed by a man being a highly erotic one. And of all men, by him. Working the skilful fingers through her locks, tangling them, smoothing them, caressing her scalp in slow sensuous circles. Brushing the foam away from her face. Whispering into her ear everything he would do to her next.
She picked the soap, her gaze falling to it hastily. An indifferent, lifeless cube…In his hands, just minutes ago. Mapping out the unknown territory of his strong body. Her knees nearly gave way and she steadied herself with one arm on the wall. Quick glance to the wall resulted in a tide of humming pulls on her lower abdomen: that's the exact place which he had pressed the breadth of his shoulders to, not long ago at all.
Head spinning, Kate brought the soap bar closer to her face, close enough to sniff on it. If she concentrated, she was surely going to be able to find the traces of him. Musky, woody undertones hidden in the brisk artificial floralness. She inhaled, shutting her eyes and subconsciously bringing her other hand to one breast, with a light squeeze.
What kind of lover was he?
Was he focused, thorough, attentive, like when he took care of his patients? Hands steady, purposeful, knowing, his touch sure and unhesitant, fearless, as he'd watch intently for her reactions? Eyes born into her, piercing her yielding flesh, burning it with their dedicated attention? Would he like to be the one in control? To decide how much pleasure could she take, to push her to the edge, only to bring her back in an agonizing tease, would he enjoy this kind of power he had over her?
She pressed the soap to her cheek, to run in down her jaw-line, down her neck, down her collarbone, to the other breast, gliding it in circles around the tight nipple.
Maybe he would free himself from the ever-present control? Giving in to the raw instinct, tossing the chivalry, the courtesy, the caution and letting his temper consume him and grab hold of his hands, as he would be roughly gabbing hers, openly using his greater strength to pin her underneath him, part her legs, push inside her fiercely, impatiently, desperately, before she had time to protest?
Or give it all back to her, to let her choose the moment, let her set the rhythm, let her kiss his worries away, let himself lose in her?
Kate panted when she moved the soap across her stomach while twisting one nipple between her fingers. She brushed the fragrant bar over her inner thigh and brought the other hand to where the sweet urge had been rippling through her body from. In a haze of vivid images of the fingers she had just dipped to massage herself with being his, seeking a release, quiet, liberation, peace of mind - oh, she couldn't take it any more! – Kate moaned softly.
Just as she dropped the soap to bring another hand in between her legs, just as she arched her back and let her head fall to the side and the water caress her neck like she imagined he would be nibbling it, nuzzling it, licking it while taking her to a dimension where she would become all women of the world rolled in to one with him becoming all men, just as she felt herself approaching the brink –
"Kate?"
Several hurried thuds at the door.
"Are you all right?"
He sounded alarmed, worried. She froze, taking short, shallow breaths for the inability to still them completely.
"You've been there for half an hour. Kate?"
"Yeah!" She shouted, entirely too loud and in an unusually high pitched voice.
"I'm fine! I'll be out in a minute!"
Damn! She pressed her palms to her overheated face. Damn it! She had to remind herself over and over again that he had no chance to have had actually seen her through the door.
Kate had gathered herself in a rush and had practically ran from the hatch, leaving him confused, mumbling nonsense about something seemingly important waiting for her to be done somewhere, for someone, at that specific hour. Barely even looking at him.
Too scared, he'd have seen straight away, he'd have guessed immediately and then she would have been unable to stop the pull of him, the temptation too powerful, the promise too sweet, and she'd have fallen right into his arms, fallen to place, like a missing piece of jigsaw, sinking into him, melting into him, giving in to the eternal call, which she refused to acknowledge as superior to her individual being.
Frustrated and weary, she had arrived for her night hatch shift after a excruciatingly long day of avoiding Jack relentlessly, forcing a slightly embarrassed Hurley out, informing him in a hurried fib that he'd had just swapped shifts with Jack, who'd have been arriving any second then, letting him assume whatever he wanted to assume, his face visibly flushed upon leaving with a nervous chuckle.
She just wanted to be alone. To collect her thoughts, to fortify and consolidate her cracking battlements, so next time she would see him, a flash of his naked form under that shower, pleasuring himself while whispering her name would not resurface from her mind in an explosion to the defensive walls, maintained so carefully.
To give in, to let him in… Kate couldn't really tell who did she fear for more: herself or him?
Curling up again in helpless desperation, she struggled in vain to keep the very image away from her stream of consciousness. She bit her lower lip. The memory so vivid, technicoloured by her over-receptive senses. He had looked so primordial, so human, so utterly male. Like all the civilized layers on him, all his sophisticated skills and likings, all the complex knowledge and his gentle, self-restrained manner, all disappeared into this raw, real need to be one with her.
Kate shivered, feeling the familiar warmth creeping in, down between her legs. With the timer stating yet another minute dissolve into the past of those quiet small hours, she squeezed her thighs. It did nothing to ease the aching, if only, it was an emphasis. How ironic, she thought, how ironic to be the frustrated one.
A part of her, the mesmerized part which kept rewinding the scene, her profoundly human part, whimpered in the physically painful wish that he would materialize right beside her, so close, wrapping his entire body over hers, that she could absorb him with all five senses, could feel so blissfully whole, safe and right like she did whenever he was near. Forever, for eternity, let the world just crumble and go to hell, nothing would matter as long as they belong to each other.
She was not strong enough.
Finally surrendering, she pressed her hand to the joining of her thighs, massaging herself slowly through the fabric of her worn combats.
Just what kind of lover is he?
Kate felt her hips bucking up involuntarily, when she slipped the hand inside her trousers, past the underwear, into her hot wet centre. An odd twitch of embarrassment surprised her at the notion of how wet the thought of his hands replacing her own made her, how quickly. How he didn't even have to touch her to make her ready, ready to be his, eager to be his.
Had he known, would that excite him? Would it test the limits of his patience, of his self-control? Would he want to literally tear the pants off of her, to reach her quicker, in an unexplained haste, as if he couldn't come back for more and more and more?
She worked two curled fingers to her opening, pressing into it, while stroking the swollen clit with the thumb of her other hand, which joined the first one in its rubbing, pressing, pinching, setting the rhythm to match the raising of her hips.
Jack, Jack, Jack-
"Jack!..."
She panted out, almost there, almost there, a deliciously tingling spasm foreshadowing the final release grabbing hold of her insides and forcing her tightly shut eyes to snap open.
And to look directly into a pair of intent brown ones.
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I know, sex with a bar of soap... ;) But you know what's coming, right? ;) I can't keep her on the verge forever, poor Kate. Lol Still, reviews keep me going, so please do. I know that you people are reading, so pretty please let me know what you think, it's not all that complicated.