(Lost, Shannon/Boone) Taste of Poison
FINALLY FINALLY WROTE FIC FOR MY OTP, HOORAY HOORAY TURNING OFF CAPSLOCK NOW.
Title: Taste of Poison
Author: crazylittleme @ vnilla
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Shannon/Boone
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Lost would be so much more pornographic if I owned it, man. But I don't.
Author's Notes: Baby's first Lost fic! Of course it's for Shannon/Boone, my OTP. Shannon has many, many issues. I love writing her.
--
It was a damn good thing the high school was huge, because Shannon went through girls like tissue paper, useful only for a few lipstick blots before it was tossed in the trash. The cold truth--it wasn't in her nature to love or be loved, and she surrounded herself with a coterie of the rich and the beautiful, always moving on to the next flavor of the month. The old girls, abandoned, were left to nurse old wounds and whisper things like bitch and slut and whore. Same old, same old. Shannon didn't care.
After all, none of the girls ever noticed that they were gone the moment they opened their mouths to say something like, "Your brother is just gorgeous."
She'd invariably reply to that with something along the lines of, "Yeah, but he's a dick", all while resisting the urge to claw the insipid little smiles from their faces. What did they know about Boone? What did they fucking know about anything? They saw some caricature of a brooding Byronic hero (yeah, she'd paid attention in English sometimes), they looked into those eyes (God, those eyes), they looked at the money--they didn't see anything, they didn't see a goddamn thing. She didn't fool herself into thinking that she was any more special, but at least he was in love with her. At least a fuck would mean something, coming from her.
Of course she'd thought about it. Sex. Sex with Boone. She'd kissed him for the first time when she was eleven and he'd been dragged into playing Spin the Bottle at her birthday party. She'd seen the odd pain in his face and felt the dropping in her stomach that she didn't understand, didn't until three years later when she got drunk for the first time and kissed him again. That one had tongue, and teeth, and she would have gone down on him right there if he had asked her to. But he didn't, because he was Boone, and so he pushed her away and she threw up on his shoes and then he drove her home.
So yeah, of course she'd thought about sleeping with her stepbrother. Christ. Thinking of him could keep her up nights. Rather than obsess over her self-righteous prick of a relation, her self-appointed guardian even when she wanted a little less protection, she went out and partied and generally (miraculously) managed not to get herself into too much trouble.
The real trouble was that she found herself crawling into Boone's bed whenever she was drunk but still sober enough to remain conscious. That was where hooking up with random guys at parties came into the picture. So what if she had a bad reputation? At least then she wasn't panting after someone who was too goddamn fucking good for her, asshole. He had some nerve, loving her even after all the million times she'd hurt him, and all the million times she would hurt him again.
If she were a better person, she could have understood it. The constant, steadfast devotion. The way he stayed home on weekends so he could be there in case she called, sobbing and sloshed and unable to get home by herself. The way he held her when she cried all over his shirt (he even carried a handkerchief for her to blow her nose). The way he stroked her hair and put her to bed and watched her go to sleep, which wasn't creepy, goddamnit. People who called him a stalker (mostly her boyfriends) were out of their minds. He wasn't obsessed, he was in love with her, and she couldn't drive him away, so she had to rip him to shreds.
Well, she didn't have to rip him to shreds. It was just going to happen no matter what. Just the way she loved people in return.
Yeah, loved him in return. Might as well admit it. Might as well throw all her secrets on the table, a full house. Full fucking house, yeah. They'd almost slept together so many times, so many times she'd had to run, had to globetrot, had to pretend she wasn't pathetically grateful whenever he called to check up on her. Then they'd finally fallen into bed in Sydney (she was drunk, of course), and it had been so good, so good, something fulfilling for once. She'd thought no problem, I'll just finally give him what he wants so he'll be mine forever, and then it had been her on her back on the bed, begging and gasping and the first one to come, like she had been the one wanting this for years and years.
She had.
Sometimes she wanted to kneel down on the sand and thank God that the plane had crashed, after all. Except she didn't believe in God and really, she hated this hellhole of an island. It was just that the basic art of surviving (well, and suntanning) kept her distracted from wanting Boone. Stupid goddamn cravings. Cave in once, and they think they've got even more of a hold on you, and they never go away. Flirting with Sayid wasn't even enough, though at least her brother was pretty when he was jealous. Mine, mine, mine.
His "special friendship" with Locke was obviously his revenge on her. Damn, but that guy was a freak. But she and Boone at least shared the same sleeping area, so she was able to exert her oh-so-wholesome influence on him for some of the time. Or maybe it was the other way around.
"You really need to drink more water," he said, all earnest, like he was some kind of doctor.
"Thanks, Jack," she sniped. "Maybe you should hunt more boar."
He sighed. "You know what, Shan? Just... never mind."
It had been a while since she'd heard him sound that tired, that resigned. She couldn't go to bed letting him look like that, so she snatched his water bottle and took several long gulps. "Happy now?"
The smile made her sick to her stomach. Lovesick. Christ. There were a lot of reasons not to lean over and kiss him and lick him (right at the base of his throat, hear his breath catch), and they totaled to something like not everyone sleeping yet and Locke will go on a jealous rampage and no fucking condoms and they didn't mean a thing, because she had him pinned beneath her and she was feeding on him, just the taste and the feel and the sound of him trying not to moan. Boone's been wanting this as much as she has. Knowing this felt oddly liberating and then she proceeded to spread the feeling around, freeing him from his clothes. Free Willy. Christ, the island drove her off the deep end. What the fuck was she even thinking?
About Boone. Always about him. Everything. God's friggin' gift, as she said once. God's friggin' gift to her, not to the world. This time he was the first to go, choking out her name with adolescent boy cracks in it, till she couldn't hold out anymore and she practically took a chunk out of his shoulder trying not to make noise. Mustn't traumatize the rest of the island.
If she were a better person, she'd have stayed and kissed his forehead and finally returned the favor by watching him go to sleep for once. But she was Shannon, and he was Boone, so she took a few minutes to gather herself, and then she pulled her clothes back up and went to sleep all by herself. If she were a better person, she'd want to hold him and treasure such unconditional love. There'd at least be some kind of afterglow.
But she was Shannon, through and through.
Three hours later, though, she finally gave up on her half-doze and rolled over. Definitely the only one up, unless Locke was actually a vampire, which would not have been all that surprising. Creepy, creepy man. Needed to get his creepy hands off her brother, who looked ridiculously innocent when he slept. She could just make out his features in the firelight. The long eyelashes she envied and loved.
"What you do to me," she sighed, half under her breath, and then rolled back over again.
Maybe she'd be nicer to him tomorrow.
Title: Taste of Poison
Author: crazylittleme @ vnilla
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Shannon/Boone
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Lost would be so much more pornographic if I owned it, man. But I don't.
Author's Notes: Baby's first Lost fic! Of course it's for Shannon/Boone, my OTP. Shannon has many, many issues. I love writing her.
--
It was a damn good thing the high school was huge, because Shannon went through girls like tissue paper, useful only for a few lipstick blots before it was tossed in the trash. The cold truth--it wasn't in her nature to love or be loved, and she surrounded herself with a coterie of the rich and the beautiful, always moving on to the next flavor of the month. The old girls, abandoned, were left to nurse old wounds and whisper things like bitch and slut and whore. Same old, same old. Shannon didn't care.
After all, none of the girls ever noticed that they were gone the moment they opened their mouths to say something like, "Your brother is just gorgeous."
She'd invariably reply to that with something along the lines of, "Yeah, but he's a dick", all while resisting the urge to claw the insipid little smiles from their faces. What did they know about Boone? What did they fucking know about anything? They saw some caricature of a brooding Byronic hero (yeah, she'd paid attention in English sometimes), they looked into those eyes (God, those eyes), they looked at the money--they didn't see anything, they didn't see a goddamn thing. She didn't fool herself into thinking that she was any more special, but at least he was in love with her. At least a fuck would mean something, coming from her.
Of course she'd thought about it. Sex. Sex with Boone. She'd kissed him for the first time when she was eleven and he'd been dragged into playing Spin the Bottle at her birthday party. She'd seen the odd pain in his face and felt the dropping in her stomach that she didn't understand, didn't until three years later when she got drunk for the first time and kissed him again. That one had tongue, and teeth, and she would have gone down on him right there if he had asked her to. But he didn't, because he was Boone, and so he pushed her away and she threw up on his shoes and then he drove her home.
So yeah, of course she'd thought about sleeping with her stepbrother. Christ. Thinking of him could keep her up nights. Rather than obsess over her self-righteous prick of a relation, her self-appointed guardian even when she wanted a little less protection, she went out and partied and generally (miraculously) managed not to get herself into too much trouble.
The real trouble was that she found herself crawling into Boone's bed whenever she was drunk but still sober enough to remain conscious. That was where hooking up with random guys at parties came into the picture. So what if she had a bad reputation? At least then she wasn't panting after someone who was too goddamn fucking good for her, asshole. He had some nerve, loving her even after all the million times she'd hurt him, and all the million times she would hurt him again.
If she were a better person, she could have understood it. The constant, steadfast devotion. The way he stayed home on weekends so he could be there in case she called, sobbing and sloshed and unable to get home by herself. The way he held her when she cried all over his shirt (he even carried a handkerchief for her to blow her nose). The way he stroked her hair and put her to bed and watched her go to sleep, which wasn't creepy, goddamnit. People who called him a stalker (mostly her boyfriends) were out of their minds. He wasn't obsessed, he was in love with her, and she couldn't drive him away, so she had to rip him to shreds.
Well, she didn't have to rip him to shreds. It was just going to happen no matter what. Just the way she loved people in return.
Yeah, loved him in return. Might as well admit it. Might as well throw all her secrets on the table, a full house. Full fucking house, yeah. They'd almost slept together so many times, so many times she'd had to run, had to globetrot, had to pretend she wasn't pathetically grateful whenever he called to check up on her. Then they'd finally fallen into bed in Sydney (she was drunk, of course), and it had been so good, so good, something fulfilling for once. She'd thought no problem, I'll just finally give him what he wants so he'll be mine forever, and then it had been her on her back on the bed, begging and gasping and the first one to come, like she had been the one wanting this for years and years.
She had.
Sometimes she wanted to kneel down on the sand and thank God that the plane had crashed, after all. Except she didn't believe in God and really, she hated this hellhole of an island. It was just that the basic art of surviving (well, and suntanning) kept her distracted from wanting Boone. Stupid goddamn cravings. Cave in once, and they think they've got even more of a hold on you, and they never go away. Flirting with Sayid wasn't even enough, though at least her brother was pretty when he was jealous. Mine, mine, mine.
His "special friendship" with Locke was obviously his revenge on her. Damn, but that guy was a freak. But she and Boone at least shared the same sleeping area, so she was able to exert her oh-so-wholesome influence on him for some of the time. Or maybe it was the other way around.
"You really need to drink more water," he said, all earnest, like he was some kind of doctor.
"Thanks, Jack," she sniped. "Maybe you should hunt more boar."
He sighed. "You know what, Shan? Just... never mind."
It had been a while since she'd heard him sound that tired, that resigned. She couldn't go to bed letting him look like that, so she snatched his water bottle and took several long gulps. "Happy now?"
The smile made her sick to her stomach. Lovesick. Christ. There were a lot of reasons not to lean over and kiss him and lick him (right at the base of his throat, hear his breath catch), and they totaled to something like not everyone sleeping yet and Locke will go on a jealous rampage and no fucking condoms and they didn't mean a thing, because she had him pinned beneath her and she was feeding on him, just the taste and the feel and the sound of him trying not to moan. Boone's been wanting this as much as she has. Knowing this felt oddly liberating and then she proceeded to spread the feeling around, freeing him from his clothes. Free Willy. Christ, the island drove her off the deep end. What the fuck was she even thinking?
About Boone. Always about him. Everything. God's friggin' gift, as she said once. God's friggin' gift to her, not to the world. This time he was the first to go, choking out her name with adolescent boy cracks in it, till she couldn't hold out anymore and she practically took a chunk out of his shoulder trying not to make noise. Mustn't traumatize the rest of the island.
If she were a better person, she'd have stayed and kissed his forehead and finally returned the favor by watching him go to sleep for once. But she was Shannon, and he was Boone, so she took a few minutes to gather herself, and then she pulled her clothes back up and went to sleep all by herself. If she were a better person, she'd want to hold him and treasure such unconditional love. There'd at least be some kind of afterglow.
But she was Shannon, through and through.
Three hours later, though, she finally gave up on her half-doze and rolled over. Definitely the only one up, unless Locke was actually a vampire, which would not have been all that surprising. Creepy, creepy man. Needed to get his creepy hands off her brother, who looked ridiculously innocent when he slept. She could just make out his features in the firelight. The long eyelashes she envied and loved.
"What you do to me," she sighed, half under her breath, and then rolled back over again.
Maybe she'd be nicer to him tomorrow.