nc-17 | sexual content

Sayid earns Brownie points - not that he or Shannon were ever Girl Scouts - for not making a comment when she goes into her bag for a condom and three boxes fall out.

(Later, when she's over-analyzing everything, she realizes that if he had even seen them, he probably thought she bought them from Sawyer, or something. There's everything else on the damn plane, why not a million condoms?)

In reality, the three boxes were hers, brought with her on the plane, as part of what Boone referred to as her "shame bag", even though it contained tons of perfectly normal girly things - Nair, tampons, birth control pills, leave-in conditioner, pore-refining toner. Under all that, though, in another smaller bag - enough condoms to ensure a fabulous party weekend for her and her girlfriends, a corkscrew because nobody remembers to bring one, glucose tablets to keep her from passing out on the days she decides not to eat, jumbo popsicle sticks to avoid getting those nasty calluses on her knuckles, laxatives for a last resort, a million breath mints, and a bottle of gin that she found in the wreckage before Sawyer looted the entire plane.

(She had gotten lucky, it was just lying on the sand, impossibly pristine.)

Of course, Sayid probably didn't even notice the condoms. He had already gotten her shirt off and was caressing one of her breasts while his erection pressed against her leg. Normally, she hated guys who took their time, but he isn't on some oh-I-have-to-kiss-every-inch-of-your-body-literally thing; it isn't a thing at all, she thinks. He's touching her breast, trapping her nipple with his mouth because he wants to, sliding one hand down her leg because he wants to, making her feel this way because he wants to.

The self-destructive part of her wants to dump out her bag, right into his lap, and say, look. Look at all the things we don't talk about. Look at what I am, look at who you're fucking. He knows some of these things, because Boone loves to sabotage this almost as much as she loves to fuck up everything, but he's never brought it up. She's sure he probably thinks the same things that other guys have thought, that he's with her now, so she's okay, he's cured her, whatever. His dick is magical and heals bulimia, low self-esteem, and insecurities.

She's very good about sneaking off to vomit, very good about scrubbing her mouth out after.

(When her own toothpaste ran out, she stole some from Hurley.)

But he's working on removing his pants now, after he's already gotten rid of hers, and she's never really thought the male body was particularly beautiful, but she thinks maybe his is, and as he leans over her to kiss her, she's hit with the thought that his cock is thick and hard because of her, because he wants her, and it makes her moan. He takes the condom from her hand and rolls it on like it's his first time, or like he's nervous, and that pleases her, although she pretends not to notice.

She closes her eyes as she wonders if he'd still want her if he saw what she was doing this morning. She wonders if he'd run from this tent if he could taste vomit on her tongue, if he knew she spent a weekend in Paris with a guy whose name she didn't even know, if he could actually, really see her.

(She thinks, sometimes, usually when she's drunk, that her heart must be black and ugly, like a smoker's lungs.)

When she realizes that he's not in her yet, she opens her eyes, and he's just hovering over her, watching her, waiting for her. He's asking permission with his eyes, and it's so cliché, so stupid, but it's Sayid, so it isn't, and she thinks she might love him for it. She kisses him, and he has the slightest smile on his face as he aligns their bodies and slips in to her.

She hates condoms, hates the feel of them, but her birth control pills ran out three days ago, and she doesn't even know why she kept taking them, but even when she was on the pill, she always used them anyway, because there's no way she's letting some guy come in her, no way she's getting pregnant. Especially not here. She knows exactly how many she has in her bag, so she knows exactly how many sexual encounters she can have with Sayid here, and it sort of almost ruins the moment.

She's wondering if he'll even want to use them all up, if she'll fuck it up before she's run through them all, when he brings her back to reality with his hand on her face, his lips against hers.

(He's going to say it, she thinks, and she's excited and scared and nervous and happy, and she actually stops breathing, and she thinks maybe no, this will ruin everything.)

"Stay with me," he whispers. He traces her collarbone with his thumb, and she thinks she finally knows what the word 'sensual' means. It's this, the way his fingers skate across her skin, the way his lips are rough when they move against her shoulder, the way he slides in and out, in and out.

"Yes," she gasps, answering a question that maybe she only thinks he asked, hopes he asked, because she wants it to matter to him.

She reaches between them and rubs her clit, but then his hand is there, and he's whispering in her ear again, "Let me."

It doesn't take long, with him inside her, with his fingers against her, with the way he's looking down at her. His eyes are wide, and he watches her the entire time, from the first gasp, through the trembling, to the point where she finally stops saying his name. If he came, she missed it, she thinks, but then she feels him, still hard, shifting again.

"So beautiful," he says, and part of her wants to cry.

(He doesn't see her.)