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Fic: Fool Star (Love Is A), Boone/Shannon (Lost)
Meh. Some of you may have seen this posted before, but LJ kept screwing up the format for me. And then RL intervened, which means I couldn't be online till now. I still wish I could find my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iharthdarth 'He said what about his sister? Gross' icon.
Title: Fool Star (Love Is A)
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Boone/Shannon (does it require incest warning if it is canon?)
Rating: NC-17, I think
Words: 1840
Disclaimer: Not mine. Merely playing.
Summary: She's long gone and Boone's still staring at the empty beach, like he half expects her to appear from nowhere. Sit down beside him again and tell him that she's going to stay.
A/N: Title and epigraph from Carl Sandburg's 'Offering and Rebuff'. Many thanks todelle and m_jade8 for looking through it for me. x-posted. Set during 1.19, Deus Ex Machina, some lines stolen from the show.
*
Let your heart look
on white sea spray
and be lonely.
*
She's long gone and Boone's still staring at the empty beach, like he half expects her to appear from nowhere. Sit down beside him again and tell him that she's going to stay.
*
He is, in fact, almost done packing when the rain comes, only wondering if he really should carry that much of rope and stuff. Doesn't make sense, when all they get is cuts and backaches and one very locked hatch, solid and inscrutable as ever.
John would stand in the rain. Savour the feel of warm water on skin, but Boone merely grabs his backpack and rushes for shelter.
By the time he makes it to the makeshift shelter, he's soaked to the skin and Shannon's already there, daintily shaking water off her hair. And it's unexpected, because while it is technically their shelter – Jack said so, when he assigned Boone with the tattered tarps – Shannon hasn't exactly been hanging out in these parts of late.
'Hi', she says, brightly, and goes on fussing with her hair.
'Hey,' Boone replies, not quite sure how this'll go. The last time they talked was, well, some time ago. Not something he wants to think about right now. Or ever.
He sets down his pack and settles himself on the slightly damp ground, watching her preen. She's wearing a tiny skirt, one that makes her legs look like they're endless. The pale pink shirt clings to her body, showing off those curves, and if she turns this way, he bets he'll get an eyeful 'cause Shannon takes slutty to a new level altogether.
She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
'Stupid rain,' Shannon mutters, finally sitting down beside him. She's almost pouting, in that cute (familiar) way that she has. He's missed this.
'It's monsoon. What'd you expect?' he says, and he's actually smiling now. He's missed this too.
'Very funny, jackass, ' says Shannon, but she's smiling too, and it all feels very different somehow. New.
*
It goes like this.
'This has got to stop', Shannon says, the third time in as many minutes, and Boone thinks: I'll throttle her if she doesn't shut up.
But her hand is warm, soft and warm and wrapped around his cock, touching, stroking, and ohgod her mouth –
'Yes', says Boone. 'Yes.'
And later, when she's on her back and spread wide open, eyes closed in ecstasy – Boone panics. Just for a moment, thinks he'll say 'you're right, we should stop'.
Shannon opens her eyes. Glares. 'What do you think you're doing?'
And what Boone says is: 'You're beautiful', thumb brushing her clit.
Shannon whimpers.
*
She hangs out a lot with Sayid these days. Pores over his maps and talks in French. Touches his arm, gently. Throws back her head and laughs, like she used to.
Boone sits beside Locke and sharpens his knife.
*
'So what's in your bag?'
'Rope. Knives. Stuff.'
'You're, like, macho hunter guy now,' Shannon smirks, but she's looking at him with something like awe. Something like pride, maybe. 'You really like it?'
'I was just trying to help. And it's cool, learning survival skills. Things like that,' Boone shrugs. 'I got used to it.'
He thinks of the forest: the heat; dirt sticking to his skin and the mosquitoes. Eyes that glow in the dark, and strange whisperings. The boars they never catch. The hatch with all its unnamed treasure, waiting to be unearthed.
He thinks of home: the cool, polished glasses in his office and the marble tiles, all that he has left behind.
'I like it,' he tells her. He didn't know how much until now.
'I like it,' he says once more, drinking in the softness in her eyes and her indulgent smile, and for a moment, for one bright second he thinks he'll tell her about the hatch as well. Put an end to secrets, once and for all.
*
'If someone sees us – '
'There's no one around', says Boone, thrusting up, making her gasp.
They're in the tiny alcove where Jin fishes at times: a nice place, nice and quiet and a little out of the way, which works just fine. He dragged her here, sneaked away from the golf course while everyone was watching Hurley beat Jack, ignoring her heated 'are you nuts' and her nails digging into his wrist.
'Someone might come along.' The sand scrapes raw against his skin, tiny pebbles pricking on his back as Shannon presses down, harder, hands gripping his shoulder like vice.
'Stop whining', he snaps. Threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her closer, closer still till he can mouth one gorgeous breast. Feels her grow wetter as he bites down.
*
Boone doesn't always get John, doesn't get this obsession with the hatch and all the mystery. But John's like he's got to prove something, prove something to himself – because John doesn't give a rat's ass about what anyone else on the island thinks of him, the doctor included – and yeah, that's something Boone gets, even if he doesn't understand the reason behind it.
*
'It's not your fault,' says Sayid, gently, like he understands. Yeah, likehe would've fucked this up, fucked up this one thing he's supposed to be good at. And now the woman's dead, and of course it's his fucking fault.
'Try to get some rest,' Kate says, squeezing his palm.
They're all so very sympathetic, and that makes it worse.
He's barely closed his eyes when Shannon comes screeching, 'What do you think you were doing?'
'Shan – '
'You could've died, you stupid – '
'Like you care,' he retorts, before he can stop himself, before he can think. Watches her face grow ashen, anger giving way to something he doesn't know how to name.
'I'm alright,' he says, softly, closing his eyes again. He's so tired of fighting. Sit here with me, he thinks.
*
'I'm going to the forest with Sayid,' Shannon says.
Boone'd figured that much. Lovebirds going for a picnic or something. He doesn't say anything, though, and Shannon continues, a little too quickly, 'He wanted to find Danielle. You know, the crazy Frenchwoman with the maps. And I, I said I'd come along.'
How very generous of you, he could say, in his Suave Guy voice. He put a lot of effort on that one. Worked on her every damn time.
Or he could reach out. Reach out and touch her; bend her over on the soft, wet ground and taste their need until all thought of forests and leaving was forgotten.
Boone's not doing that anymore, not here. She's all he has here.
'She's kinda freaky, isn't she?' he says instead. 'I mean, those maps – '
'Uh-huh. Sixteen years on this hellhole, can you imagine? But Sayid thinks she'll help him.'
'He better have his gun along.'
'There's no way I'm going without one.'
It's weird, how normal this is, how easy. How it should be between them. And if his heart skips a beat every time she smiles at him, well, he's just gonna ignore it. Because some things are more important.
*
'If you have a minute – I would like to talk to you,' says Sayid, falling in step beside him as Boone makes his way towards the camp. 'About Shannon.'
'What about her?'
Sayid hesitates, just for a moment, and says, 'It's very possible your sister and I are going to become more than just friends', serious and oh-so-earnest as always.
Boone wonders, briefly, if he knows.
'What is this? Some kind of Middle Eastern thing? You want my blessing or something?' he says, not even trying to mask his contempt.
'I was hoping you wouldn't object', says Sayid. Means it, too. As if his objection would actually matter.
'Yeah?'
And maybe it's just Boone, but Sayid looks almost hurt, like Boone has said something stupid and insensitive, like maybe he should apologise and tell Sayid that he can fuck his sister any time he wants to, no problem at all. He doesn't, though, and Sayid says, 'I was extending a courtesy, not asking your permission,' his voice cold.
He walks away, then, and Boone's hand itches for his chequebook.
*
'You know, Sayid told me that he thinks that you're gonna become more than just friends with him.' The twilight makes her face kinda hard to see, but Boone imagines she goes pale. He's got the mocking down well. 'Good thing I didn't mention your thing about older men, huh? Would've broken his poor heart.'
'You leave him out of this,' Shannon says. Her voice could cut diamonds. She is getting better at the Frosty Bitch routine.
'I'll leave him out? Newsflash princess, he came to me – '
'Leave him out of this, okay?' she hisses, drawing closer, closer, so close that he can feel her breath (warm, warm) on his face. 'Just leave him out of this.'
Not so frosty, after all.
And when she kisses him – hard, hands on his chest and pushing him against the damn tree, teeth nipping at his lower lip – she's not cold at all, and he can't breathe, but he doesn't care. The ancient tree trunk scratches on his back, urging him on.
*
At night she sits beside a fire and sings to Sayid, sings some stupid (beautiful) French song Boone's never heard before and doesn't understand anyway.
Her face looks different in the firelight: sharper, thinner, younger somehow. Younger, and strangely peaceful.
This island does things to people.
What, he isn't sure; only that it does. Maybe John was onto something there.
Or maybe it's just the song.
*
It goes like this.
'It's stopped,' Shannon says. And Boone doesn't say anything, so she continues, 'I'll go now.' Softly: 'Sayid will be waiting for me.'
He watches her heave herself off the ground; straightening her clothes; fixing her hair. And when she arches her neck, just so, Boone has to look away.
'Boone - ' There's this look in her eye now, and Boone thinks, he could say something stupid. He could say, 'Don't go,' and hold her hand.
He could say something stupid.
She reaches out and musses his hair; he hates it when she does that.
'Happy hunting,' she says, smiling again. 'Don't get lost.'
'Yeah. You too.' Boone smiles back. It's easy. Watches her turn her back and walk away, her footprints on the wet sand.
He thinks of the forest: the heat; dirt sticking to his skin and the mosquitoes. Eyes that glow in the dark, and strange whisperings. The boars they never catch. The hatch with all its unnamed treasure, waiting to be unearthed.
Locke will be waiting for him. He'll get up and they will head for the forest, Locke chatting away about his plans for the day. Maybe things will go well. Maybe they'll get the hatch to open after all. Or maybe they will drop the thing for good and hunt down a boar instead.
He'll get up.
Later.
*
iharthdarth 'He said what about his sister? Gross' icon. Title: Fool Star (Love Is A)
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Boone/Shannon (does it require incest warning if it is canon?)
Rating: NC-17, I think
Words: 1840
Disclaimer: Not mine. Merely playing.
Summary: She's long gone and Boone's still staring at the empty beach, like he half expects her to appear from nowhere. Sit down beside him again and tell him that she's going to stay.
A/N: Title and epigraph from Carl Sandburg's 'Offering and Rebuff'. Many thanks to
delle and m_jade8 for looking through it for me. x-posted. Set during 1.19, Deus Ex Machina, some lines stolen from the show.*
Let your heart look
on white sea spray
and be lonely.
*
She's long gone and Boone's still staring at the empty beach, like he half expects her to appear from nowhere. Sit down beside him again and tell him that she's going to stay.
*
He is, in fact, almost done packing when the rain comes, only wondering if he really should carry that much of rope and stuff. Doesn't make sense, when all they get is cuts and backaches and one very locked hatch, solid and inscrutable as ever.
John would stand in the rain. Savour the feel of warm water on skin, but Boone merely grabs his backpack and rushes for shelter.
By the time he makes it to the makeshift shelter, he's soaked to the skin and Shannon's already there, daintily shaking water off her hair. And it's unexpected, because while it is technically their shelter – Jack said so, when he assigned Boone with the tattered tarps – Shannon hasn't exactly been hanging out in these parts of late.
'Hi', she says, brightly, and goes on fussing with her hair.
'Hey,' Boone replies, not quite sure how this'll go. The last time they talked was, well, some time ago. Not something he wants to think about right now. Or ever.
He sets down his pack and settles himself on the slightly damp ground, watching her preen. She's wearing a tiny skirt, one that makes her legs look like they're endless. The pale pink shirt clings to her body, showing off those curves, and if she turns this way, he bets he'll get an eyeful 'cause Shannon takes slutty to a new level altogether.
She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
'Stupid rain,' Shannon mutters, finally sitting down beside him. She's almost pouting, in that cute (familiar) way that she has. He's missed this.
'It's monsoon. What'd you expect?' he says, and he's actually smiling now. He's missed this too.
'Very funny, jackass, ' says Shannon, but she's smiling too, and it all feels very different somehow. New.
*
It goes like this.
'This has got to stop', Shannon says, the third time in as many minutes, and Boone thinks: I'll throttle her if she doesn't shut up.
But her hand is warm, soft and warm and wrapped around his cock, touching, stroking, and ohgod her mouth –
'Yes', says Boone. 'Yes.'
And later, when she's on her back and spread wide open, eyes closed in ecstasy – Boone panics. Just for a moment, thinks he'll say 'you're right, we should stop'.
Shannon opens her eyes. Glares. 'What do you think you're doing?'
And what Boone says is: 'You're beautiful', thumb brushing her clit.
Shannon whimpers.
*
She hangs out a lot with Sayid these days. Pores over his maps and talks in French. Touches his arm, gently. Throws back her head and laughs, like she used to.
Boone sits beside Locke and sharpens his knife.
*
'So what's in your bag?'
'Rope. Knives. Stuff.'
'You're, like, macho hunter guy now,' Shannon smirks, but she's looking at him with something like awe. Something like pride, maybe. 'You really like it?'
'I was just trying to help. And it's cool, learning survival skills. Things like that,' Boone shrugs. 'I got used to it.'
He thinks of the forest: the heat; dirt sticking to his skin and the mosquitoes. Eyes that glow in the dark, and strange whisperings. The boars they never catch. The hatch with all its unnamed treasure, waiting to be unearthed.
He thinks of home: the cool, polished glasses in his office and the marble tiles, all that he has left behind.
'I like it,' he tells her. He didn't know how much until now.
'I like it,' he says once more, drinking in the softness in her eyes and her indulgent smile, and for a moment, for one bright second he thinks he'll tell her about the hatch as well. Put an end to secrets, once and for all.
*
'If someone sees us – '
'There's no one around', says Boone, thrusting up, making her gasp.
They're in the tiny alcove where Jin fishes at times: a nice place, nice and quiet and a little out of the way, which works just fine. He dragged her here, sneaked away from the golf course while everyone was watching Hurley beat Jack, ignoring her heated 'are you nuts' and her nails digging into his wrist.
'Someone might come along.' The sand scrapes raw against his skin, tiny pebbles pricking on his back as Shannon presses down, harder, hands gripping his shoulder like vice.
'Stop whining', he snaps. Threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her closer, closer still till he can mouth one gorgeous breast. Feels her grow wetter as he bites down.
*
Boone doesn't always get John, doesn't get this obsession with the hatch and all the mystery. But John's like he's got to prove something, prove something to himself – because John doesn't give a rat's ass about what anyone else on the island thinks of him, the doctor included – and yeah, that's something Boone gets, even if he doesn't understand the reason behind it.
*
'It's not your fault,' says Sayid, gently, like he understands. Yeah, likehe would've fucked this up, fucked up this one thing he's supposed to be good at. And now the woman's dead, and of course it's his fucking fault.
'Try to get some rest,' Kate says, squeezing his palm.
They're all so very sympathetic, and that makes it worse.
He's barely closed his eyes when Shannon comes screeching, 'What do you think you were doing?'
'Shan – '
'You could've died, you stupid – '
'Like you care,' he retorts, before he can stop himself, before he can think. Watches her face grow ashen, anger giving way to something he doesn't know how to name.
'I'm alright,' he says, softly, closing his eyes again. He's so tired of fighting. Sit here with me, he thinks.
*
'I'm going to the forest with Sayid,' Shannon says.
Boone'd figured that much. Lovebirds going for a picnic or something. He doesn't say anything, though, and Shannon continues, a little too quickly, 'He wanted to find Danielle. You know, the crazy Frenchwoman with the maps. And I, I said I'd come along.'
How very generous of you, he could say, in his Suave Guy voice. He put a lot of effort on that one. Worked on her every damn time.
Or he could reach out. Reach out and touch her; bend her over on the soft, wet ground and taste their need until all thought of forests and leaving was forgotten.
Boone's not doing that anymore, not here. She's all he has here.
'She's kinda freaky, isn't she?' he says instead. 'I mean, those maps – '
'Uh-huh. Sixteen years on this hellhole, can you imagine? But Sayid thinks she'll help him.'
'He better have his gun along.'
'There's no way I'm going without one.'
It's weird, how normal this is, how easy. How it should be between them. And if his heart skips a beat every time she smiles at him, well, he's just gonna ignore it. Because some things are more important.
*
'If you have a minute – I would like to talk to you,' says Sayid, falling in step beside him as Boone makes his way towards the camp. 'About Shannon.'
'What about her?'
Sayid hesitates, just for a moment, and says, 'It's very possible your sister and I are going to become more than just friends', serious and oh-so-earnest as always.
Boone wonders, briefly, if he knows.
'What is this? Some kind of Middle Eastern thing? You want my blessing or something?' he says, not even trying to mask his contempt.
'I was hoping you wouldn't object', says Sayid. Means it, too. As if his objection would actually matter.
'Yeah?'
And maybe it's just Boone, but Sayid looks almost hurt, like Boone has said something stupid and insensitive, like maybe he should apologise and tell Sayid that he can fuck his sister any time he wants to, no problem at all. He doesn't, though, and Sayid says, 'I was extending a courtesy, not asking your permission,' his voice cold.
He walks away, then, and Boone's hand itches for his chequebook.
*
'You know, Sayid told me that he thinks that you're gonna become more than just friends with him.' The twilight makes her face kinda hard to see, but Boone imagines she goes pale. He's got the mocking down well. 'Good thing I didn't mention your thing about older men, huh? Would've broken his poor heart.'
'You leave him out of this,' Shannon says. Her voice could cut diamonds. She is getting better at the Frosty Bitch routine.
'I'll leave him out? Newsflash princess, he came to me – '
'Leave him out of this, okay?' she hisses, drawing closer, closer, so close that he can feel her breath (warm, warm) on his face. 'Just leave him out of this.'
Not so frosty, after all.
And when she kisses him – hard, hands on his chest and pushing him against the damn tree, teeth nipping at his lower lip – she's not cold at all, and he can't breathe, but he doesn't care. The ancient tree trunk scratches on his back, urging him on.
*
At night she sits beside a fire and sings to Sayid, sings some stupid (beautiful) French song Boone's never heard before and doesn't understand anyway.
Her face looks different in the firelight: sharper, thinner, younger somehow. Younger, and strangely peaceful.
This island does things to people.
What, he isn't sure; only that it does. Maybe John was onto something there.
Or maybe it's just the song.
*
It goes like this.
'It's stopped,' Shannon says. And Boone doesn't say anything, so she continues, 'I'll go now.' Softly: 'Sayid will be waiting for me.'
He watches her heave herself off the ground; straightening her clothes; fixing her hair. And when she arches her neck, just so, Boone has to look away.
'Boone - ' There's this look in her eye now, and Boone thinks, he could say something stupid. He could say, 'Don't go,' and hold her hand.
He could say something stupid.
She reaches out and musses his hair; he hates it when she does that.
'Happy hunting,' she says, smiling again. 'Don't get lost.'
'Yeah. You too.' Boone smiles back. It's easy. Watches her turn her back and walk away, her footprints on the wet sand.
He thinks of the forest: the heat; dirt sticking to his skin and the mosquitoes. Eyes that glow in the dark, and strange whisperings. The boars they never catch. The hatch with all its unnamed treasure, waiting to be unearthed.
Locke will be waiting for him. He'll get up and they will head for the forest, Locke chatting away about his plans for the day. Maybe things will go well. Maybe they'll get the hatch to open after all. Or maybe they will drop the thing for good and hunt down a boar instead.
He'll get up.
Later.
*