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Whisper of Smoke	By : LavenderDaydreams Category: G through L > Lost Views: 1216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the T.V. series Lost, or any of its characters. I write for fun, never for profit.

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- 1-Whisper of Smoke
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WHISPER OF SMOKE

By VioletDaydreams

I do not own the T.V. series Lost, or any of its characters. I write only for fun - not profit.

He was keeping a sharp rein on his temper. Right now he was merely a whisper of smoke, snaking inconspicuously between green leaves and dense jungle undergrowth, spying on his followers.

But he was calm now...not angry. He'd expended much anger destroying the Temple. No, he was not angry - but he did disapprove of what he was watching.

Useless Kevie the Gardener - that pandering cipher of a man - making inept love to his beautiful wife, Marisol.

Unlike the other "redeemed" Temple members, Kevie possessed no self-discipline. Muscular and handsome though he was, he lacked stamina. He could last only a few moments, once he'd actually mounted his woman.

So Kevie, as always, brought his wife to climax manually, waiting to penetrate her as she peaked.

Stupid Kevie never dreamed his Leader drifted nearby, unrecognizable, stealthily watching his poor performance.

Watching him. Judging him.

But at least Kevie had a name. Smoke, himself, had never been given a name. Not even when he was human. His foster mother had never bothered, and Jacob had merely referred to him as "brother".

And of course, after Jacob's great betrayal, he'd spent eternities simply as "The Black Smoke". Unable to feel, unable to die, with only his rage to carry him forward.

Sometimes he could assume the shape of dead men - but the time he'd spent embodied was strictly limited.

Until now. At last he'd found a way around Jacob's Rules, and had completely usurped a human form. He could now feel everything a man felt: he had weight, solidity, all the needs and drives of a man.

It had happened after the crash of Flight 815, when the right person had finally arrived at the Island. That person had been John Locke.

But John, although favored by Jacob, could not stand against Smoke...could not resist Smoke's blandishments.

For Smoke had abandoned his usual form to appear - however briefly - in the form of a woman. He had taken on the semblance of his own human mother, the red-clad Claudia.

Who more beautiful than Claudia? His and Jacob's natural mother...she who had been murdered, immediately after their birth?

He remembered the day, when he had first approached John Locke. In those days he could retain solidity for only an hour at a time: but it had been long enough.

It had been unpleasant. Strange. He had lain on his back like Marisol, his tunic discarded, naked before John. Seemingly vulnerable, open to him.

And he remembered John, crying aloud in happiness, looming over him. John's heavy, coarse hand gentle on his breasts, traveling lower, separating and stroking the tender lobes of flesh at his very center.

John had believed he was embracing the Island's incarnation, in sultry, desirable and feminine form.

John had not wilted after mounting, but had ridden him strongly, for many timeless minutes.

Not at all like Kevie. John, to give him his due, was nothing like Kevie.

He heard a sharp intake of breathe from Marisol. She was beginning to moan as she lifted her hips, pressing herself against Kevie's hand.

Her long, graceful legs were spread wide. Smoke could see the glistening darkness open before his eyes. He saw her smooth, golden flesh beginning to flush. Radiant pink and coral, like the Island sky at sunset.

And then Kevie rolled over onto Marisol, bringing the moment to an abrupt, premature end.

He was quick...as usual. Marisol gave a little groan of disappointment.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just couldn't wait..."

"It's all right, Kevie...it was enough".

But no - it wasn't enough. He saw two tears escape from her large, storm blue eyes. She slowly turned her head away, trying to hide them from her husband.

Smoke nearly lost his temper. He wanted to surge forth, pull Kevie away from her, dispatch him quickly. He could get away with it. Only Richard and Ben, Sayid and Claire, knew what he actually was. And they would never tell the other members of his mercenary army.

All four of them knew what would happen to them, if they did.

But his new followers might still desert him, if "The Smoke" were to kill one of their number. They hadn't been loyal to the Temple, so why should they be loyal to him? And he needed most of them...at least for now.

But not Kevie. Kevie, with his yellow hair and his vacant face: he was an obstacle. Smoke had plans for Marisol, but he could not force himself upon a married woman. It was against the Rules. He'd killed men for doing less than that. But many things could happen to a man, out in the jungle. There were dangerous cliffs, poisonous spiders, rampant boars, deadly bears.

And then there was his touch. He could extend his hand, while in human form, and the person who voluntarily clasped it would be his.

His, entirely.

Tomorrow there would be another march. He would be leading his people over the mountains. He would keep Kevie and Marisol close to him. He would arrange for Marisol to stumble...

And then he would offer her his hand...and she would accept it.

And perhaps, shortly thereafter, he would offer Kevie a hard push.

Smoke silently withdrew, quickly resuming his human form. Some distance away, Kevie and Marisol collected their clothes.

Smoke returned to his followers, watching as they set up camp. He smiled as a group of women returned from the stream, filing past him, laden with pots and water bottles. He called several of the men over, quickly assigning sentry duty for the night. Soon enough, he slipped away and left camp again, climbing up a nearby knoll to look down upon his lackeys. He saw Kevie and Marisol as they returned. He noticed that they separated quickly - Marisol joining the women while Kevie dawdled, pretending to chop wood with the laborers.

Smoke grinned to himself. Everything was under control, now. Soon he would have Marisol...and what a ride he would give her. His most important business had concluded successfully: finally Jacob was dead. Soon he would track down his possible replacement. Somewhere, among Jacob's "candidates" was the person he must defeat.

Smoke had no doubt that he would prevail. And after his final triumph, when the Island itself was no more, he would sail across the sea to his mother's birthplace.

His ultimate, dreamed-of destination.

Rome.

The End

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Whisper of Smoke