There were times over the years when Sawyer had asked himself that inevitable and unanswerable question of whether or not that feeling of loneliness that had lodged itself in his heart the day his parents died would always persist. It was a question which made him contrary on the best of days, sometimes convinced that he would retain that same hollow in his life even after Anthony Cooper's death, and then at turns convinced that he'd moved past it in some way already. He was rarely on his own anymore. That had ended with the island, being forced to live the same lives as those around him for an extended period of time, and gradually, unavoidably learning about them and who they'd been prior to the island. Discovering with them who they were bound to become. On Tabula Rasa, that feeling of isolation had lingered to some degree, but with increasing frequency, found itself pushed into the very corner of his thoughts.
Lying there with Lily, it hardly even crossed his mind at all, save for that hopeful beat of his heart against his chest, the one that tempered the touch of his hand as he slid his fingers into her hair, leaning into the kiss with a soft and yearning moan, tongue meeting her own and finding that she tasted sweet still.
Completely out of control of his own actions, Sawyer arched his hips up, the movement unsteady, as she pressed down against him. He felt his length, too warm and too aware, press against her thigh, and he gasped lightly when she shifted— whether purposely or not, he couldn't tell. His own fingers raked down her back, rested by her hips, and slipped deviously underneath the elastic pull of her underwear, thumb tracing that spot underneath her hip in a smooth, circular fashion, before starting to ease all of the fabric down, wanting more skin, wanting more of her, and wanting it never to stop.
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Date: 2012-02-11 01:15 am (UTC)Lying there with Lily, it hardly even crossed his mind at all, save for that hopeful beat of his heart against his chest, the one that tempered the touch of his hand as he slid his fingers into her hair, leaning into the kiss with a soft and yearning moan, tongue meeting her own and finding that she tasted sweet still.
Completely out of control of his own actions, Sawyer arched his hips up, the movement unsteady, as she pressed down against him. He felt his length, too warm and too aware, press against her thigh, and he gasped lightly when she shifted— whether purposely or not, he couldn't tell. His own fingers raked down her back, rested by her hips, and slipped deviously underneath the elastic pull of her underwear, thumb tracing that spot underneath her hip in a smooth, circular fashion, before starting to ease all of the fabric down, wanting more skin, wanting more of her, and wanting it never to stop.