Nine times out of ten they end up in the kitchen afterwards; James in his boxers, Juliet wearing nothing but his shirt.
He cooks for her, standing at the stove scrambling eggs. She sits on the counter and watches him work, her long legs crossed at the ankle. He tells her stories about bad cons while they wait; one night he tells her about the Tampa job and she damn near laughs her ass off.
He likes watching her eat; somehow she manages to make licking a spoon look sexy as hell. She always offers him a bite, holds her fork out to him and then pulls it away at the last minute making him curse. He smirks, promises to pay her back later.
They never bother with the dishes at night, just dump them in the sink and head upstairs to fall back into bed. She gets sleepy after she eats, and sleepy Juliet is a hell of a thing to see. She gets cuddly and silly, starts giggling at everything---he likes that part, it ain’t often a man gets to hear Juliet Burke giggle.
She always falls asleep first, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head resting on his chest so that he can feel every breath she takes ghosting across his skin. She looks beautiful like that, relaxed and unguarded. There’s something nice about lying in the dark with Juliet curled against him like that, it makes him feel safe somehow, peaceful in a way he’s never quite felt before.
It’s nothing special really---just sex and eating eggs in the middle of the night and falling asleep with miles of blonde hair tickling his chin---but it all adds up, makes him feel like he’s got a home for the first time in his whole godforsaken life.
He’ll never tell her this, not in so many words---but come morning he’ll wake up to the smell of burnt toast and bacon and she’ll kiss him without having to think about it and he’ll know it don’t really matter if he ever says it.
Home, Sawyer/Juliet, PG-13, domesticity + a tiny bit of voyeurism
Nine times out of ten they end up in the kitchen afterwards; James in his boxers, Juliet wearing nothing but his shirt.
He cooks for her, standing at the stove scrambling eggs. She sits on the counter and watches him work, her long legs crossed at the ankle. He tells her stories about bad cons while they wait; one night he tells her about the Tampa job and she damn near laughs her ass off.
He likes watching her eat; somehow she manages to make licking a spoon look sexy as hell. She always offers him a bite, holds her fork out to him and then pulls it away at the last minute making him curse. He smirks, promises to pay her back later.
They never bother with the dishes at night, just dump them in the sink and head upstairs to fall back into bed. She gets sleepy after she eats, and sleepy Juliet is a hell of a thing to see. She gets cuddly and silly, starts giggling at everything---he likes that part, it ain’t often a man gets to hear Juliet Burke giggle.
She always falls asleep first, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head resting on his chest so that he can feel every breath she takes ghosting across his skin. She looks beautiful like that, relaxed and unguarded. There’s something nice about lying in the dark with Juliet curled against him like that, it makes him feel safe somehow, peaceful in a way he’s never quite felt before.
It’s nothing special really---just sex and eating eggs in the middle of the night and falling asleep with miles of blonde hair tickling his chin---but it all adds up, makes him feel like he’s got a home for the first time in his whole godforsaken life.
He’ll never tell her this, not in so many words---but come morning he’ll wake up to the smell of burnt toast and bacon and she’ll kiss him without having to think about it and he’ll know it don’t really matter if he ever says it.
They both know what they’ve got here.