As much else in this fic, the polar bear hunting mission was a complete flop. Miles got darted in the ass and mauled by Kate, rather to his delight before Sawyer's manly-man face appeared, putting a damper on things. So; how long will Miles continue to get screwed rather than laid? Disaster is looming in the horizon….. Someone is not feeling well…
Lovesick
"However, never daunted, I will cope with adversity in my traditional manner ... sulking and nausea."
- Tom K. Ryan -
.
Damn.
Why is it that all the good ones are either taken or gay?
Seriously - always. Hot as hell - gay as a cabaret.
Damn.
She still can't quite believe it. Totally out of the blue – she hadn't seen that one coming - not in a million years.
He leads the way, sashaying along a few paces in front of her as if equipped with his very own internal GPS. He is clearly absolutely clueless as to where he is heading. They have walked in circles for the last hour and by now they have reached the open high planes for the third time. He is completely off track – and hundred percent unaware of it - but she isn't about to correct him. He could just ask.
Hydra is a paltry little island and you can't stay lost for very long even if you try – which leaves Kate to suspect that he might just not be eager to go back and explain to the Capo why they've failed to dart the bear. And earnestly; she is enjoying the view much too much to say anything.
No harm in that right?
His lean, velvety neck, where whiskey-cream skin meets the ragged black hair, sticking up in tufts at the back of his head. Wonders if he cuts it with a pair of nail scissors? It sure looks like it – or perhaps a pair of shears? She's seen better haircuts on sheep. But she still finds it irresistible that he can look like a goat chewed him over and still keep that arrogant little strut going. The hair on top of his head is slicked in a swaying little horn.
Hah. How suitable.
But the neck – shiny from perspiration – little minute rivers of sweat traveling down to the collar. The long sensual curvature upwards, towards the rounded back of his skull. Tense long sinewy muscles moving under the skin as he moves, uptight and edgy. Skin that shimmers, amber and caramel where the sun's rays beats down. She revels in it – the childish curve at the nape of his head - always had a weakness for that spot.
There is a dark patch from perspiration between the shoulder blades of his overalls. She can hear him huffing and puffing in front of her from the exertion. But he doesn't slow down. Doesn't turn to check if she's keeping up with him. In any event – she is pleased as punch that he doesn't. This is the part she really enjoys. The way the coarse fabric wrinkles and bunches up around his buttocks as he stomps testily - in the opposite direction of the Hydra station. She thinks with glee of the modest white underpants still up in that tree swaying in the rustle of the wind. And him, grumpy and bitchy in front of her, and undeniably bare-assed under that jumpsuit.
Um-mmmm.
It's so, well - just so. He is scrumptious – from cow-licked top to muddy toes. Rumpled, wrinkled and imperfect. Something surges inside of her and she refused to look closely at it. Could just be lust. Yeah, probably. Stupid crush.
Oh hell. – Gay or not. One can look right?
Uhu.
Crap, she's been caught.
Without warning he jerks his head halfway round. Like some a sniper that already knows where his target will strike, his superbly cranky scowl that hits her straight in the stomach like machine gun fire. She notices that the purple around his eyes is fading into a greenish yellow on some spots. Ha - delightful!
"Stop ogling my ass!"
"Am not!"
She pulls a nervous, exaggeratedly toothy smile, but he doesn't return it. Guess he is still pissed about getting thumped on the nose for jumping out of the closet. Kate finds herself exhaling suddenly as he spins his face forward again. She feels a little bad for hitting him – though seriously; who wouldn't?! He has mostly himself to blame for that one. He is such a tease and, um, really there would have been harsher words fore someone like that had he been a woman.
He could have given her a fair warming before she went through all the trouble of falling in…darn it…of falling, eh; of removing those stupid Dharma bloomers.
She can't quite make up her mind about this part. Since honestly, the image etched on her cornea of him, his honey colored skin. Black eyes round in surprise and his beautifully proportioned lean limbs against the green of the forest floor - almost made it worth the humiliation that followed.
The look on him as she had brashly nudged her hands inside the opening of the jumpsuit. She doesn't really know where she got the nerve. But she could have sworn he wanted it. The astonished expression on his ugly Siamese cat face – his breathing; ridiculously off beat. She could have sworn.
The initial mortifying shock of his rejection has settled down a smidgen. It might sting a tad but one thing is becoming increasingly clear as she reconsider the existing evidence of the last few days. The shower, the kiss, all of it.
The LaFleur-Sawyer thing – nope - not entirely buying it.
She smiles to herself walking there behind him. Alright, if that's the way it is -hah – two can play that game.
He feels utterly deflated.
Fucking LaFleur.
She had allowed him to lead them in a blind mole race crisscross across the island before she finally piped up and within fifteen minutes they were back at the station. A neat little promenade, after gallivanting around the whole flipping Hydra all fricking day long. And she hadn't even broken a sweat. He is dead sure that she let him get them lost on purpose.
Her evil grin behind his back; proof enough.
It is already late afternoon. Not that the air is any cooler, but he's found his way down to the dock in a vain attempt at chilling off a little bit. He sits wiggling his toes, airing his poor blistered feet, just short of reaching the surface of the water. He has torn his stinking soggy boots off and placed them next to him on the narrow wooden pier where the Pala ferry normally docks.
She had come on to him. To him!
And how! Her hands had been all over him and there was no mistaking that she'd wanted him. He'd never even thought it'd be possible to shed a Dharma overall that quick.
Him!
And where are his freaking' cojones when he needs them?
Do they step up?
Nope. They are fucking out somewhere square dancing or knitting or doing some other manly stuff. Useless.
Oh hell - he's really done it now. He'd had one chance and he'd blown it to smithereens. The floorboards of the pier bounce slightly when someone steps on it jauntily, someone's happy, untroubled footsteps approaching him. He groans when he looks up to find Hugo standing next to him.
" Hi! You're back! Thought Kate might have fed you to the bears dude!"
" Yeah, well she didn't…" he grumbles, rubbing his sore ankles. Though – truth is -she had almost devoured him. If only it weren't for that damn LaFleur. Uhum.
"So no luck with catching it huh?"
Hugo stands next to him – weighing back and forward on his feet, looking over the strait towards the main island. He is in civilian clothes and Miles realizes that he likes him like this. Big floral hippie shirt billowing in the wind from the sea. Happy smile painted all across his chubby face.
" Nah. Got away. Swam off the island actually." he says looking away, shrugging like it happens all the time. You loose a polar bear or two – no big deal.
" Yeah – that makes sense. Gotta' get to the mainland I guess so that we Oceanics can shoot it or it's offspring in 2004. - Sawyer did ya know, like just after we crashed or so."
" Yeah. Of course he did," Miles scoffs. He knows it isn't Hugo's fault but oh fucking hell! There is really no escaping him and his damn heroic sun-kissed biceps. Yep. Fucking perfect.
" You bet dude! Kate was really impressed by that – I reckon that's when it all started. Whatever happened, happened right? So where is she?" Hugo picks something from his front teeth and looks around like her head might pop up from under the pier at any moment.
"Who?" Miles answers with badly affected pretence. Damn Hugo. Nosiest man alive on earth in all possible time dimensions.
"Kate of course!"
Is that Hugo laughing at him? Miles studies him suspiciously from the corner of his eye, a soft chuckle that bubbles up from Hugo's abundant belly. Miles scratches his hair in a manner that he imagines nonchalant enough to throw Hugo off the scent.
" Oh, guess she is back there saying goodbye to Mo…. I mean …Lara."
" So, how are we…you and me dude - are we cool? You ok about me and Lara man? 'Cause this is for real, we're really doing this - getting off the island and all. "
"Yeah, yeah – fucking delighted, " Miles says dryly. "Just be a good dad to that little ankle-biter alright!"
" You kidding!? I frigging love that weird little dude. And Lara and me – it's love – I'd do anything for her man. Anything. I just want to be with her – all of the time you know. She just makes me feel – complete. You really ought to give it a go dude – isn't anything stronger than love. And stop rolling your eyes! You know you are so into her – it's totally obvious I can totally tell. Could be love man – could be!"
Hugo's wiggling eyebrows are freaking him out. He feels his stomach turning. There is something here. Something that just makes him sick to his stomach. He can't take any more of the Hugo Reyes' love propaganda indoctrination.
" Stop it for fucks sake! You're making me nauseous man."
With that, Miles abruptly shoots up into a standing position and like a large human tap he leans forward in an upside down L shape and throws up violently. Hands on his thighs for support and his whole upper body quivering with the forceful spasms. He manages tremblingly to unbend his L-shaped body into a weak and shivering bow.
" Dude. You're puking all over the place!"
"You don't say!?" he shrieks before slanting forward to hurl some more. Sarcasm and puking makes for strange companions. He stands up shakily. A bad imitation of Homo Erectus tossing his cookies
" Man, I don't feel well at all." He shivers, taking on a sickly green sheen and his jaw hangs wide open like a large oval.
Love.
His hands clasping the sides of his head – he knows he must look like a perfect parody of Edvard Munch's The Scream – but he doesn't give a shit.
It's awful! Shit oh shit oh shit!!
"Fuck Hugo! I think it's fucking serious."
He pukes some more. Feeling completely schnokered by the realization slowly taking shape. No. How did this happen? All he wanted was to make out with a hot chick – the only one available that hadn't reached the age of consent prior to World War II. It has him gnashing his teeth.
Fuck! It isn't fair.
Hugo looks genuinely vexed – as if it might be something contagious or infectious.
" Wow. That doesn't look good Miles. Maybe you should get back to the barracks. Have the medics check you out. You might have caught something…"
"No you schmuck!" Miles dry-heaves producing a peculiar high-pitched squeak like a cat coughing up hairballs. "It's Kate!"
There. He's said it. The sky hadn't collapsed. Time hadn't stopped.
"Oh? Oh… Oooh, I get it. Yeah, yeah dude, totally! I remember back at the barracks, she did that. She poisoned Michael over that whole raft thingy. Unbelievable dude – but true, I tell you, you've got a live one there..." Hugo waggles his index finger in front of Miles face as he goes on and on and on…. "So what was it? What did she slip you?"
Miles shoves Hugo's large annoying hand out of his face before heaving some more. Nothing comes up really, just some green stuff….gall or some other gross internal sludge. Hugo shudders demonstratively. Obviously not fond of bodily fluids.
" No! No…" Miles croaks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, chin resting on his chest and the rest is so flipping ear-splitting and shrill it nearly makes Hugo take a tumble off the pier.
" No. You stupid fuck….. I think I'm in love - you fucking moron!!!"
.
So there –
I am not ashamed to admit that the only red thread in this story is pretty much whether Miles will ever get it on or not…yes, I'm deep like that. I realize that it takes an outrageous level of geekdom to write a 15+ chapter story of someone trying (unsuccessfully) to get laid. I am not in denial ( a little perhaps) but I promise that it's almost over…promise. Wrapping up, really am, soon. Writing Miles is just really, really, really addictive.
Reviews make me giddy – in a good way..