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[For Declan] Jan 22: when I don't know what to say
She's been here since September. Been through people getting powers, people coming, people going, the island itself changing, finding out that she's maybe fictional or some kind of crap, but it's really not until today Kate's realized just how much this place fucks with her. Over breakfast, she finds out one of the people she really likes and respects lost her husband and now she's like five months pregnant and raising the kid of someone else who left her. By herself. The kid - who she fucking loves, okay? and, whatever, just she does - lost his mom, his uncle, and now his step-dad in a place that's way too safe for death to be something you just get like she and Thad did.
And when she comes home to detox for an hour before going to make up with her boyfriend, because she's been a complete fucking jackass for a week and he could just disappear any second without her ever getting to fix it, there's this sweet set up on her porch. A laptop with a huge screen and killer resolution, long life batteries, cords, speakers, HDMI for TV hookup, seriously everything a chick could want. There's a gold bow on top and a card that says "For Kate Freelander," and when she powers it up, it's got a sick media library. Movies, tv, music, games. She's not even sure whether to laugh or cry. Which she doesn't do. Cry. Not much. Not often. Not because it's weak or whatever. It's just not her thing.
She shakes her head and packs it all up in one of her woven hemp bags. Cleans herself up. Then spends about ten minutes deciding what face she's wearing when she goes to see Declan. Leather, lace, trench coat? She lines her eyes with some kohl and smudges some berry colored stain on her mouth but she's still not sure. Maybe jewelry will settle it. With a flick of her hand, she opens the box (not her box, and fuck if she doesn't miss that) and --
The light catches on a flash of bright silver and deep, rich blue. It's beautiful.
Kate doesn't cry, but when she lifts out the bracelet and slides it around her wrist, the kohl on her eyes smears and her lashes are wet. No one's ever given her anything like this before. She's an idiot.
* * *
Half an hour later, she's on Declan's doorstep with their new system, wearing refreshed makeup, the bracelet he gave her, and a straight-up Kate face. Black leather, black lace, blue top and jeans. She knocks because it's been a week and he won't be expecting her.
"Declan?"
*
Title lyrics from Pat Benatar's We Belong.
And when she comes home to detox for an hour before going to make up with her boyfriend, because she's been a complete fucking jackass for a week and he could just disappear any second without her ever getting to fix it, there's this sweet set up on her porch. A laptop with a huge screen and killer resolution, long life batteries, cords, speakers, HDMI for TV hookup, seriously everything a chick could want. There's a gold bow on top and a card that says "For Kate Freelander," and when she powers it up, it's got a sick media library. Movies, tv, music, games. She's not even sure whether to laugh or cry. Which she doesn't do. Cry. Not much. Not often. Not because it's weak or whatever. It's just not her thing.
She shakes her head and packs it all up in one of her woven hemp bags. Cleans herself up. Then spends about ten minutes deciding what face she's wearing when she goes to see Declan. Leather, lace, trench coat? She lines her eyes with some kohl and smudges some berry colored stain on her mouth but she's still not sure. Maybe jewelry will settle it. With a flick of her hand, she opens the box (not her box, and fuck if she doesn't miss that) and --
The light catches on a flash of bright silver and deep, rich blue. It's beautiful.
Kate doesn't cry, but when she lifts out the bracelet and slides it around her wrist, the kohl on her eyes smears and her lashes are wet. No one's ever given her anything like this before. She's an idiot.
Half an hour later, she's on Declan's doorstep with their new system, wearing refreshed makeup, the bracelet he gave her, and a straight-up Kate face. Black leather, black lace, blue top and jeans. She knocks because it's been a week and he won't be expecting her.
"Declan?"
*
Title lyrics from Pat Benatar's We Belong.
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When there's a knock at the door and she's on his doorstep, Declan's smile is warm, genuine and more than a bit relieved.
"Katie-love. Was about to go looking for you tomorrow."
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God.
Without a word, she puts down the bag she's carrying and slides her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry. About all of it. I love you." Because she has to get it out. She has to get the words out before he can disappear or she starts crying and doesn't stop. "I'm sorry."
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He holds her for a few moments before leaning down and pressing a kiss against her hair. It feels good to have her here again, after a week of not really seeing her at all.
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"But I shouldn't have been such a jackass about sex. It wasn't even really about that. I'd just..it was a really long day of not being able to do fucking anything to help a friend and nothing going right. I think I just needed one thing to go right that I didn't have to fight for."
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"C'mon, then. We're on the way to being fine now, yeah?"
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But as soon as they're safely inside, she smiles up at him and pushes back the sleeve on her jacket to show off the bracelet. "I think we passed fine when you slipped this in my jewelry." She bit her lip and tried not to get all misty-eyed and shit. It's not the gift itself. It's just that no one's ever... "It's really beautiful, babe. You didn't have to. I wasn't going anywhere. Swear."
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"Never seen that before, love. I'm sorry, I didn't get it for you. Don't even know where you'd get something like that on the island, even."
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"I guess it could be a present, like one of the ones everyone's been getting. But I haven't heard of anyone getting two." She tips her head toward the bag. "I got what's in there."
A thought occurs to her, that someone might be fucking with her. Trixa or one of the others she stole shit from, but she buries it for now. It's not Declan's problem and she'll deal with it later.
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He wraps his arm around her waist and catches her chin in his hand. "May I kiss you, love?"
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But since he didn't get it for her, she kind of doesn't want to be wearing it. It's not hers and it feels weird. "Let me just take it off before we kiss and make up. I don't... it's weird. If it's not from you, I don't think I want it." And she definitely doesn't want him kissing her while she's wearing it.
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"For what it's worth, I wish I had gotten it for you. You deserve it."
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No, her fingers aren't shaking. Whatever. She holds her wrist out to him. "Can you? It's hard to do one-handed."
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"Love you, Katie."
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Which, he totally is, because there's half-a-dozen guys on the island who'd love to be in his place and he's the only one she's waking up with. So she just kind of sprawls over him, arm wrapped around his waist and one leg over his and when she's pretty sure he can't be buying the 'I'm asleep' routine any longer, kisses his chest.
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"Morning, love."
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"Better take your time, love, because then I get my turn."
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Her body tightens from the tone of his voice and the suggestion he's taking his turn. It's stupid how fast she gets wet for him, how fast she rolls for him, and how completely. But she kind of likes it anyway.
Right now, she's showing him just how much time she can take, swirling her tongue over skin that rarely gets kissed. Slow slow wicked slow. He can't really complain. It was his idea.
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"Could I get an itinerary of your plans down there or are you looking to surprise me?"
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"You really need me to spell it out for you, babe, or are you just looking to hear me say I want to suck your brain out through your dick?"
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He's hard already, has been since he woke up, and Kate's probably as eager as he is. She loves giving head, has never understood chicks who think it's a burden or a birthday gift. As soon as she gets her lips around his head, she gives herself over to the salt and musk of his precum and the heat of him against her tongue.
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She's not even trying to draw it out, just giving him everything she knows he likes and then some. Her mouth is wet, spit's all over her face and his thighs all mixed up with his precum, her head bobs, cheeks hollowing to suck him in deep and throat open to swallow him. He'll probably have a set of bruises from how hard she's holding his thighs for balance, and she'll probably lick and suck and bite them to make them bigger.
She's his, but he's hers, too. And she always makes damn sure he knows it.
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