Big Bad Wolf for janie_tangerine
Title: Big Bad Wolf
Author: gottalovev
Recipient: janie_tangerine
Pairing or Characters: Damon Salvatore/Jack Shephard (crossover fic)
Rating, word count: NC-17, about 5250 words
Warnings: The POV character is pretty cruel, but in a 'fun' way? I hope it doesn't trigger anyone. If so, I'm sorry. I do not own any characters, I just play with them.
Prompt: Boone/Jack, crossdressing, crack and S1. I think the fic has most of it, but with a twist.
Summary: Just his luck, though, Damon had been unceremoniously dunked on an island that took fucked up to new levels - polar bears and smoke monsters, anyone? - with a bunch of morons.
Author notes: This is a crossover with The Vampire Diaries, set on the island, where Boone is not who he appears to be. Can be read without knowing TVD if you know Damon is a snarky vampire. I want to thank toestastegood for an excellent and rapid beta. This fic should not be taken seriously ;)
Okay, so that was another perfectly nice afternoon wasted. They had walked around in circle while John tried to do... whatever. Possibly trying to find his purpose in life through communing with the jungle and fondling big knives. Or something. It was getting harder and harder not to...
"Boone! There you are!"
Oh wow, just what he needed just about now. He turned, and summoned his best smile from somewhere.
"Hey Shannon! We went hunting." He infused the statement with as much almost-worship as he could, just to disgust her, with the bonus effect of seeing John preen, pleased at his wide eyed wonder. The ass.
"Yeah, right, whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. For a second there, Damon felt a spark of real affection for the girl. He still planned to kill her, but maybe last. He could do merciful. "I can't find my suitcase. Where did you put it?"
He sighed.
"I didn't touch your stuff, Shan."
She threw her hands in the air, turned and started stomping -or doing the best impression of it, in the sand - towards their tent.
"You are so useless, seriously. What did I do to deserve a brother like you?"
Damon shrugged, looking at her go. Well her brother was long gone, although she didn't realize it; if she had known she'd really wish to have him back. Oh, the irony of family. They made you miserable but you still couldn't live without them.
Hell, he was even starting to miss Stefan.
***
Being momentarily bored of making Stefan's life as miserable as possible was what had got him on this stupid island anyway, thinking of it. He'd been walking on the beach in Santa-Monica, thinking about getting a snack later that night, when a runner had waved at him with a smile, hailing him as "Boone". To his complete bewilderment, the douche had asked if he was going to Steve's party later. Damon had rolled with it, said that he sure was, hey, he was always up for a good party. Then he had used his mojo to find out where Steve's place was, exactly.
That's how he'd found himself at the door of mansion with a houseful of rich brats partying like it was 1999 and barfing in house plants (if the view from the entryway gave a correct indication). He was promptly invited in, although Steve had looked confused when he had spotted him on the porch.
"Boone? Weren't you back...? Why are you even ringing, you ass? Come in, man."
Which Damon did with a smirk. Really, it was not even a challenge, most days. His interest was piqued and he couldn't wait to meet that Boone fellow. As soon as Steve looked away, Damon moved fast to a quiet corner to observe the crowd, evaluating potential appetizers along the way. The little red-head with the pink tank top looked particularly tasty, that's for sure. But then Damon had spotted him and a shiver had gone down his spine.
"Fuck me sideways," he'd whistled.
Damon was expecting someone looking a lot like him, dark hair and blue eyes, but this guy was an exact replica. From time to time, by a bizarre twist of genetics, it was possible to run into people looking exactly like someone from the past. Finding a lady looking just like Aunt Margaret in the almost new Republic of Czechoslovakia in the early 1920's had been a shock, but over the years it had happened here and there, with various degrees of similitude. Except from the ugly preppy shirt that Damon would not have worn for all of the blood in the world, Boone was just perfect and the possibilities for fun and games were unfurling before Damon like domino roads.
For once, though, he thought before giving into his impulse. Damon spent several days stalking Boone and learning all about his boring life and mommy issues. Sabrina was one tough bitch for someone 100% human, Damon had to admit. The half sister was a pistol, too, and someone would have had to be blind not to notice how she had Boone whipped. Then Damon had tried his hand at playing Boone for a couple of days, causing as much quid pro quo as he could just to make the real one paranoid. Damon might have broken up with Boone's decoy girlfriend especially nastily, among other things. Oh and jumping the tennis coach had been, if he said so himself, particularly inspired.
After weeks of foreplay, Damon had finally cornered the poor sucker, who had almost had a heart attack upon seeing him. He had seduced Boone, thrilled at the idea of fucking his clone; heck, he was smoking hot, after all. A little voice that sounded just like Stefan had nagged him that he was reaching never known levels of narcissism, but who cared? It had been fun even if a bit anti-climatic, but afterwards Damon hadn't had a clue of what to do with the kid.
He had considered clearing Boone of all of his memories and sending him amnesiac to Stefan just to mess with his brother. He could see it all: Stefan having kittens at finding him human and probably trying to establish a meaningful bond with Boone, like the good brother he thought he was. It would have been fun to then kill Boone and see Stefan go berserk. Turning Boone could have been an option, too, but more trouble than it was worth. Finally, Damon had just munched on the kid one night before thinking it through.
Ooops.
He still felt kind of bad about that.
Damon was just about to hightail out of California to find new feeding grounds - he'd heard hunters were starting to sniff around in town - when Shannon had called from Australia. Boone would have jumped in a plane to go to the rescue, and since Damon had nothing else to do, after all... he had decided to play the part until he was bored.
And hey, if he had laid the girl in a spectacular fake display of tortured guilt - he should have embraced acting - and killed the stupid Australian con man pulling a double cross on the sly, it was just nice side benefits. No one could say that Damon Salvatore didn't know how to multitask.
Just his luck, though, Damon had been unceremoniously dunked on an island that took fucked up to new levels - polar bears and smoke monsters, anyone? - with a bunch of morons. The upside was that there was lots of potential for entertainment, and it was time to get back to his current pet project: driving Jack Shephard out of his mind with lust.
****
Damon preferred the island at night. It didn't matter that he could day-walk with his ring, the sun here was harsh bordering on painful. When night fell, he could stop the pretending and move around, go explore. But not tonight, because it was finally time to move to the fourth phase of his seduction plan (although he was pretty sure that Jack had completely missed most of the first two phases and half of the third). The guy was so oblivious, it had almost stopped being funny.
In the last days there had been, finally, looks given back and satisfying staring at his ass. Damon waited to be sure that Jack had finally fell asleep, gave him twenty minutes so he'd be totally disorientated, and then went to his tent. He was pushing the tarp aside when he heard Jack's breathing change, awake, and the safety of a gun being taken off. Not a threat, but Damon hated being shot, so he stopped and whispered:
"It's okay, it's me."
Jack sighed, relieved, and it was so ironic that Damon wasn't considered a threat when he could be anyone's worst nightmare that he almost laughed out loud.
"Get in," Jack whispered back, and there was a flash of light from his watch that surprised Damon, overly bright for his night vision. "What is the problem, Boone?"
Of course Jack thought he was needed somewhere. A guy with a hero complex was so predictable, it made Damon smirk.
"Does it have to be a problem, Jack?"
He kept the question light and playful and Jack squirmed, obviously flustered. Damon knew that it was too dark for Jack to see much, but he could. And was delightful.
"Hum. No?"
Damon chuckled and Jack fidgeted on his cot. It was too tempting, so he went close, deliberately nudging Jack's leg with his shin and felt the guy jump back like a blushing virgin.
"You seem nervous," Damon said, trying to sound non-threatening. "Don't worry. I'm just here to tell you something."
"Ah?" There was a very audible gulp.
"See, I noticed how you're looking..."
"I don't..." Jack tried to deny, speaking over him. But Damon cut over him.
"It's okay, I don't mind. In fact I love it. I just want to tell you that tomorrow? I'll be wearing something just for you. I hope you'll like it."
"What?" Jack stammered after a second but Damon didn't wait and headed out, pausing just to whisper.
"Sleep well, Jack."
And he left. As he walked to the tent he shared with Shannon, Damon heard Jack fall back on his cot and he smirked. He was pretty sure that Jack wouldn't be able to sleep until morning.
***
Deliberately, Damon avoided Jack all day.
Well not really, he just spent what he considered being a usual day on Weirdo Island, being generally useless as he thought Boone would be, but without overtly paying Jack any attention. Of course it worked and Damon could feel Jack's eyes on him a couple of times, especially when he flirted with Sayid just to mix things up a little. Tired of traipsing around the jungle once again that afternoon, Damon led John towards a boar so he would just get things done already. Jeez. He had to fight the urge to gag at the resulting smugness, though.
But at dinner that night, around the campfire? It was show time. When toying with someone as straight laced at Jack, Damon liked to bring in a little extra edge into the game. He knew the whole gay thing was already messing with Jack, but Damon had decided to indulge into a little guilty pleasure of his: women underwear.
He had a pink satin slip on, and when he was sure Jack was looking his way, Damon did a full body stretch with his arms high above his head. His jeans were low enough on his hips that Damon knew the t-shirt riding up would show off a strip of pink for a moment. He kept his eyes on Jack the whole time, and saw his eyes go down, widen, and jump back to his face with lots of surprise, a tad of panic and unguarded lust. Yahtzee.
Even funnier was how Jack then suddenly looked away, blushing, but met Sawyer's eyes who hadn't missed a thing. Damon knew he was particularly sharp and observant, and Sawyer looked thoroughly amused at the reveal that there was something going on between Jack and him. Involving women underwear. Those two had a history of pulling each other's pig tails - Damon considered Sawyer his most immediate threat for Jack's attention, in fact, not Kate - and for a second there Damon wondered if making a move would up the ante from Sawyer.
Then Kate got mixed up in the whole thing, as she always did, and Sawyer bent down to her ear to whisper about all that was missing was spooky tales at night and how Jack would probably jump like a girl, which made her laugh. Damon understood because of his sharp hearing, but Jack didn't and fell right into Sawyer's trap, who was acting as if he'd told Kate about Boone flirting with Jack just to embarrass him. Clever. Mortified, Jack stood up and ran away.
In a way, that was not a bad thing. It would make it easier to get Jack alone. Damon ate a bit of the damn boar for show, figured Jack had had a nice five minutes to get it back together, winked at Sawyer who showed some dimples in return and got up too. Unsurprisingly Jack was in the water, ankle deep with his discarded shoes and socks a bit further up the beach. Stealthily, Damon got near, put his hands in his pockets and asked casually:
"How's the water?"
Jack almost jumped out of his skin and Damon had to fight not to laugh. It wasn't easy.
"Pretty cold," Jack answered, weary. "What do you want, Boone?"
Uncharacteristically bold, for Jack. It deserved the truth, so Damon teased him.
"I thought that it was pretty clear."
Jack rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
"I don't think it's a good idea."
Oh boy did he have that right! Damon grinned.
"It's a terrible idea. That's what makes it so great. You need to loosen up a little, Jack, or you're going to have an aneurysm."
Sighing, Jack shook his head, came back towards his shoes.
"I don't think it's a good idea," he repeated, and the guy was probably stubborn enough to stick to that, which Damon would not allow. He needed his fun and he needed it soon.
A bit pissed, Damon went right into Jack's personal space. He put a hand on Jack's bicep, looked up until they had eye contact, and said intently, using all the persuasion he needed, what he wanted Jack to do. What he knew Jack would have no power to resist.
"It's just for fun, Jack. Meet me tomorrow, at the second set of caves, where no one sleeps. Sunrise. I'll make it worth your while."
And I won't kill you, yet, he didn't add - unless Jack was a lousy lay, or he'd revaluate. He had a limited amount of patience, after all.
***
Of course Jack came to the caves at sunrise. Damon observed him as he refilled his water bottles, nervously darting little looks right and left, and Damon grinned. The anticipation was the best part, the whole thrill of going for the kill; even if it was la petite mort he was after this time, not the definite one. He knew he was about to blow Jack's mind - well maybe blow Jack period - and he couldn't wait. The pink underwear experiment having been such a resounding success the night before, Damon had decided to play it all out. It had been way too long since he had indulged in that particular pleasure.
When he had roamed the unclaimed luggage laying around after the crash - and he couldn't believe Sawyer went through them before him, that had been seriously remiss on his part - Damon had found a suitcase with women's clothes that fit him. A girl who had had class and quality stuff, too: silk, satin and dresses that flowed, complete with lacy underwear. Damon's best guess was someone on a honeymoon or with serious cash and who intended to show it. Of course nothing fit perfectly; he had no boobs to fill the cups, although the girl must have been athletic and not really busty. Some items, though, like the silk white négligé with spaghetti straps he was wearing at the moment, were good enough. He liked the way it stretched across his chest and draped near his hips, the soft garment gliding coolly against his upper thighs.
Damon waited until Jack drank from his bottle before walking from behind a tree, dragging his bare feet in the undergrowth to make a bit of noise to attract his attention. It worked and Jack choked on a mouthful of water, turning bright red. Jack couldn't stop staring, swaying a bit like a cobra as Damon slowly made his way to him. Damon wondered if Jack was going to bolt, because he looked as terrified as he was fascinated. Damon approached while looking at Jack through fluttering eyelashes, enjoying the act, while hiding his smile under his hand (he was worried it was downright predatory, he couldn't help it).
Damon was no more than four steps from Jack when he stopped, looked up and smiled at him, hoping he conveyed amusement and didn't look like the big bad wolf about to pounce. Jack's eyes fell immediately to Damon's lips and he reacted to the make up, as expected. Simple lip gloss, but Damon knew it put his lips in evidence, and it seemed to definitely make an impression on Jack. He stayed mute, though, and as usual Damon had to get things moving. It was starting to get a bit old.
"I made myself all pretty for you," Boone said, gesturing at himself.
Jack nodded, so Damon took it as at least encouragement enough to step forward and press his palms to Jack's chest, before sliding them over very interestingly firm muscles until he linked his wrists behind Jack's neck in a close embrace. They were plastered together now, which was so much better; Damon smiled, pleased.
"You like it? You can touch, you know," he cajoled.
The touch finally came, but it was Jack gripping Damon forearms, as if ready to push him away. Damon could have ordered Jack into sex, but it was a brand of skeevy he'd never needed to fall into. Seduction was way more satisfying, anyway. Jack didn't push Damon away, though, and after two seconds Damon knew that he wouldn't. That he didn't want to.
Damon turned his head and he could feel, hear, smell the blood pumping right there, in Jack's neck and it made him crazy with want. He chuckled and nosed the soft skin just over the carotid, licked it even and could feel his features starting to turn with the urge to bite. He managed to keep control, though, since he had taken the edge off the constant hunger by feeding in the night on some suckers who were traipsing around in the jungle in hobo clothes for some reason. Jack shivered under Damon's tongue and the soft scrape of his fangs.
"Aww, come on, Jack, you know you want me," Damon said, while doing a full body slither move against Jack that put them in contact from knees to neck.
Jack could protest and hesitate all he wanted, but he was hard as a rock as Damon pressed against him. Finally, the momentum changed and Jack let go of Damon's arms to capture his face, making him look up. He barely had time to conceal his true nature that Jack was scrutinizing his face with a look so full of want that Damon had to grin.
Finally, Hallelujah, Jack kissed him, bruising and demanding and Damon opened up immediately, letting him take control of this, at least. It seemed that Jack was like those little robots you had to turn the crank of, coiling the spring inside more and more and more, and when you finally let them go they'd spring forward. In Jack's case it resulted in Damon being walked backwards until his back and head slammed hard against the rock wall of the caves. Thank god he was solid, because that would have been hard enough for a concussion for anyone else. For a second Damon was distracted at how Jack would have reacted to that, which would have been ten kinds of hilarious. But the rough manhandling was a-okay in Damon's book, and he just moaned under the attack. Bring it on.
Panting like crazy, Jack broke the kiss to gulp air, letting his forehead fall to Damon's naked shoulder. He was vibrating with need, about to shake apart and Damon loved it. He wanted him to splinter and come like he never came before with the added benefit that in the process Damon wanted to come spectacularly too. How, that he didn't care much about. But soon? Yes that better happen.
"Tell me what you want, Jack," Damon whispered in Jack's ear. "Anything. I could suck you, make you see stars and make you come so hard you wouldn't remember your name. You could also fuck me, that'd be nice too, especially since I got myself all ready for your big cock already."
Jack shuddered before taking a step back and pressed down hard on his dick, obviously to stop himself from coming in his pants, keeping his other hand braced against the wall over Damon's shoulder for support.
"God!"
Poor Jack was totally riled up, but Damon couldn't squash the need to take it a notch higher by caressing himself, sliding his hands down his own chest and stomach. Damon bit his lower lip and started to hike the hem of his nightshirt up. If he had to choose what he wanted right now, it was to get fucked. Blowing Jack first would mean having to wait the damn recovery period before his own fun, and yeah, patience was not his strong suit and all.
"What will it be?" Damon asked.
Jack for once didn't disappoint.
"Fuck you," he said, voice raspy. "I want to fuck you so bad."
Damon grinned.
"Oh yeah."
It seemed that once Jack had made up his mind, he flipped all of the switches at on: he captured Damon's wrists, pulling his hands off his body and pinned them up over his head. Jack was not really strong enough to restrain him, but he did it with enough authority that it made its little effect on Damon who grunted, pleased. Then Jack nudged Damon's leg apart and pushed in close, nailing him to the cave walls.
"You'll be the death of me," Jack said before crushing their mouths together for another forceful kiss.
Damon could not reply that he sure hoped so, but he could grind against Jack, and did it with enthusiasm. Jack transferred both of Damon wrists in one hand, as if, but since he used the other one to slide down Damon's side and then caressed the silk on his chest, he didn't complain. Jack played a little with his nipples, but too soon he was sliding down to a hip, then a thigh to start the journey back up but on flesh this time, hand strong and sure. Damon had always loved the confident ones and it seemed that for this, right now, Jack was. There was no hesitation or second guessing anymore. When his fingers met hip and the satin and lace of underwear, he growled in Damon's mouth and broke the kiss to look down. Unfortunately he couldn't see anything with his hand under the nightgown, so he looked at Damon and ordered.
"Keep your hands up."
Had been a while that Damon played that particular game and he nodded, biting his lip. Jack hiked the white fabric up around Damon's waist and bunched it behind his back, clearing the view. Damon was so hard and the damn panties so tight, that he knew that his flushed dick must have looked obscene under white satin and lace, which was exactly what he was going for. The tiny pink ribbons made everything more decadent, and Jack followed it with a finger from a hip to the front, where the head of Damon's cock was peaking out, glistening with pre-come. Even then, Jack's touch didn't waver and for a second Damon wondered if Jack maybe had experimented with boys in his past, after all. But then Jack looked up, pupils blow and eyes a bit wild and Damon knew he was his first. It was way hot. So much that Damon just wanted him to get on with it already.
"Please fuck me," he whined, trying to move his hips so Jack would apply more pressure with his hand, at least, touch him for real.
Jack didn't say anything, just firmly turned him around to face the wall and Damon shivered, keeping his hands up and gripping at the edge of a rock. Jack tugged the underwear down and off, a welcome relief, and then nudged Damon's legs opened again. Damon wanted to taunt and prod, but the build up was enough right now. He relished in the sound of a zipper going down and a strong hand gripping his hip, the other one sliding where he wanted it the most. When Jack found out he was already slick, he growled.
"God!" Jack said again. Seemed like his default exclamation to overwhelming sexual stimulus, but he was hardly the only one with that problem. Damon heard it a lot. Still, it made him grin, and Damon pushed back on Jack's fingers.
"Told you I was ready. Come on, Jack, do it."
Without more prep, Jack lined up and he was pushing inexorably in, slow but steady. Damon moaned at the sharp feeling of pain, of being split open, as he had put on lube but hadn't stretched all that much. He was expecting it to hurt a bit, wanted it even; it was exactly what he needed, what he craved, and anyway the pain soon was washed away with pure pleasure when Jack started to move.
"Holy shit, you're so tight," Jack panted in Damon's ear, hands gripping his hips hard as if it was a way to keep control of Jack's own body, not Damon's.
"Harder," Damon demanded, trying to set some sort of rhythm, unsatisfied by the slow pace Jack seemed to insist on. Jack grunted and didn't speed up, but was a bit less careful, snapping his hips at the end of each stroke. He had barely pushed his jeans down and Damon could feel the rough material against his thighs in sharp contrast to the silk of the nightgown just above.
"So fucking pretty," Jack said against Damon's neck.
"Is that all you've got?" Damon snarled, getting frustrated. He was so close, so fucking close. He tried to up the tempo but Jack kept that maddening rhythm he'd set. If only he touched Damon's dick or something, gave him a little more.
"You're such a little whore," Jack growled right back and the mere idea that something so filthy would come out of Jack's mouth made Damon arch against him, crying out. He loved being surprised. "Come on, Boone. Show me how much you want this."
"Fuck!" Damon cried out, pleasure ratcheting up, and he tried to get them lined up so Jack would hit right where he needed it. "Harder, I won't break."
When Jack just took dug his fingers even harder around Damon's hips and pounded, without any mercy, Damon screwed his eyes shut and just held on to the rock edge. He was lost into taking and taking and feeling it all build up until he shook apart without anyone even touching his dick, pleasure taking the entire place for blissed seconds. Distantly he was conscious of Jack's rhythm faltering and that he was coming too, before he slumped against Damon's back, panting.
Hell. That was one spectacular orgasm, way better than Damon had even wished for. Coming with no one even touching his cock hadn't happened in, well, decades. Damon suddenly had way more interest in the repressed type, if that was the result when they finally snapped. Holy shit.
After a couple of minutes, Jack pulled back and immediately started to be awkward, as if he had just realized what they had done and that they'd have to somehow interact in day to day situations some more. Damon felt magnanimous, though, being well screwed had this effect on him, and he turned around to kiss Jack lightly with a smile.
"See? Wasn't so bad, was it?"
Jack flushed, which was almost endearing. He even did the patented rubbing of the nape: Damon almost felt special.
"Yeah." Jack said, avoiding his eyes. "I hope..."
He probably thought he'd been too rough. Damon rolled his eyes, because duh.
"I'm okay. I swear."
The smile Jack gave him was a tad more genuine, then. He raised a hand to Damon's face and caressed his cheekbone, almost reverent. With a dawning horror, Damon figured that if he wasn't careful, there might be feelings involved real soon in Jack's case, not only lust and want. Guys like Jack were looking for connection and soul sharing moments or bullshit like that. Damon didn't mind one bit breaking Jack's heart if it came to that, but he hated the idea of Jack suddenly going soft and sappy on him. Ugh. He should start working his charm on someone else, Sawyer or Charlie, maybe, to squish that idea right out of Jack's head.
But then again, now that he had got what he wanted, Damon wondered what the hell he was staying on this stupid island for. Playing dumb or worshipful to Locke all day was starting to grate on his nerves, digging up that stupid window in the ground felt like a colossal waste of time even if he could hear that there was someone living down below, and to be honest he missed his most basic pleasure in life. Nothing felt quite as good as making Stefan's life a living hell. It had been what, ten years now that he had not done that up close and personal? Damon could not even play with fog all that much, over here, without it looking even more ridiculous than usual.
Jack finally just zipped up and sort of flew towards the beach - maybe to make a move on Kate to reassess his masculinity, who knew. As Damon peeled off the women clothes and changed into his regular gear, he just suddenly wished to get the hell out of the south pacific in general. He'd seen the settlement on the other side of the island, even killed a couple of its inhabitants when he was hungry, and he knew they had a submarine to get off this rock. Finding a lift to the mainland should be easy enough, with his handy dandy suggestion powers. But leaving the elaborate undercover operation of being Boone just like that seemed like a sloppy job.
Maybe he could arrange a fake fatal incident or something, ratchet up the despair factor for Jack and Shannon as a parting shot. Heck, he thought, it was better than draining them from all of their blood, as tempting as that was. It's not like Damon was totally insensitive or something. He felt downright magnanimous at this moment, even.
Yeah, he'd lead Locke to that beachcraft soon and get that plan under way. But right now he needed a snack, sex always made him ravenous. Damon raised his head, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to find out who had the unfortunate luck to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He just hoped it wasn't someone like that Ethan guy: he had seriously given Damon the creeps, that's for sure.
The weird smoke chose that moment to come and tsk tsk tsk around, flashing images of all of the bad bad things he had done in his life and Damon rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come on. Go patrol elsewhere, Smokey. I have a plan to design."
And it would be glorious. Heck, he was Damon Salvatore: all he did had potential for awesomeness, after all.
The End.
Author: gottalovev
Recipient: janie_tangerine
Pairing or Characters: Damon Salvatore/Jack Shephard (crossover fic)
Rating, word count: NC-17, about 5250 words
Warnings: The POV character is pretty cruel, but in a 'fun' way? I hope it doesn't trigger anyone. If so, I'm sorry. I do not own any characters, I just play with them.
Prompt: Boone/Jack, crossdressing, crack and S1. I think the fic has most of it, but with a twist.
Summary: Just his luck, though, Damon had been unceremoniously dunked on an island that took fucked up to new levels - polar bears and smoke monsters, anyone? - with a bunch of morons.
Author notes: This is a crossover with The Vampire Diaries, set on the island, where Boone is not who he appears to be. Can be read without knowing TVD if you know Damon is a snarky vampire. I want to thank toestastegood for an excellent and rapid beta. This fic should not be taken seriously ;)
Okay, so that was another perfectly nice afternoon wasted. They had walked around in circle while John tried to do... whatever. Possibly trying to find his purpose in life through communing with the jungle and fondling big knives. Or something. It was getting harder and harder not to...
"Boone! There you are!"
Oh wow, just what he needed just about now. He turned, and summoned his best smile from somewhere.
"Hey Shannon! We went hunting." He infused the statement with as much almost-worship as he could, just to disgust her, with the bonus effect of seeing John preen, pleased at his wide eyed wonder. The ass.
"Yeah, right, whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. For a second there, Damon felt a spark of real affection for the girl. He still planned to kill her, but maybe last. He could do merciful. "I can't find my suitcase. Where did you put it?"
He sighed.
"I didn't touch your stuff, Shan."
She threw her hands in the air, turned and started stomping -or doing the best impression of it, in the sand - towards their tent.
"You are so useless, seriously. What did I do to deserve a brother like you?"
Damon shrugged, looking at her go. Well her brother was long gone, although she didn't realize it; if she had known she'd really wish to have him back. Oh, the irony of family. They made you miserable but you still couldn't live without them.
Hell, he was even starting to miss Stefan.
***
Being momentarily bored of making Stefan's life as miserable as possible was what had got him on this stupid island anyway, thinking of it. He'd been walking on the beach in Santa-Monica, thinking about getting a snack later that night, when a runner had waved at him with a smile, hailing him as "Boone". To his complete bewilderment, the douche had asked if he was going to Steve's party later. Damon had rolled with it, said that he sure was, hey, he was always up for a good party. Then he had used his mojo to find out where Steve's place was, exactly.
That's how he'd found himself at the door of mansion with a houseful of rich brats partying like it was 1999 and barfing in house plants (if the view from the entryway gave a correct indication). He was promptly invited in, although Steve had looked confused when he had spotted him on the porch.
"Boone? Weren't you back...? Why are you even ringing, you ass? Come in, man."
Which Damon did with a smirk. Really, it was not even a challenge, most days. His interest was piqued and he couldn't wait to meet that Boone fellow. As soon as Steve looked away, Damon moved fast to a quiet corner to observe the crowd, evaluating potential appetizers along the way. The little red-head with the pink tank top looked particularly tasty, that's for sure. But then Damon had spotted him and a shiver had gone down his spine.
"Fuck me sideways," he'd whistled.
Damon was expecting someone looking a lot like him, dark hair and blue eyes, but this guy was an exact replica. From time to time, by a bizarre twist of genetics, it was possible to run into people looking exactly like someone from the past. Finding a lady looking just like Aunt Margaret in the almost new Republic of Czechoslovakia in the early 1920's had been a shock, but over the years it had happened here and there, with various degrees of similitude. Except from the ugly preppy shirt that Damon would not have worn for all of the blood in the world, Boone was just perfect and the possibilities for fun and games were unfurling before Damon like domino roads.
For once, though, he thought before giving into his impulse. Damon spent several days stalking Boone and learning all about his boring life and mommy issues. Sabrina was one tough bitch for someone 100% human, Damon had to admit. The half sister was a pistol, too, and someone would have had to be blind not to notice how she had Boone whipped. Then Damon had tried his hand at playing Boone for a couple of days, causing as much quid pro quo as he could just to make the real one paranoid. Damon might have broken up with Boone's decoy girlfriend especially nastily, among other things. Oh and jumping the tennis coach had been, if he said so himself, particularly inspired.
After weeks of foreplay, Damon had finally cornered the poor sucker, who had almost had a heart attack upon seeing him. He had seduced Boone, thrilled at the idea of fucking his clone; heck, he was smoking hot, after all. A little voice that sounded just like Stefan had nagged him that he was reaching never known levels of narcissism, but who cared? It had been fun even if a bit anti-climatic, but afterwards Damon hadn't had a clue of what to do with the kid.
He had considered clearing Boone of all of his memories and sending him amnesiac to Stefan just to mess with his brother. He could see it all: Stefan having kittens at finding him human and probably trying to establish a meaningful bond with Boone, like the good brother he thought he was. It would have been fun to then kill Boone and see Stefan go berserk. Turning Boone could have been an option, too, but more trouble than it was worth. Finally, Damon had just munched on the kid one night before thinking it through.
Ooops.
He still felt kind of bad about that.
Damon was just about to hightail out of California to find new feeding grounds - he'd heard hunters were starting to sniff around in town - when Shannon had called from Australia. Boone would have jumped in a plane to go to the rescue, and since Damon had nothing else to do, after all... he had decided to play the part until he was bored.
And hey, if he had laid the girl in a spectacular fake display of tortured guilt - he should have embraced acting - and killed the stupid Australian con man pulling a double cross on the sly, it was just nice side benefits. No one could say that Damon Salvatore didn't know how to multitask.
Just his luck, though, Damon had been unceremoniously dunked on an island that took fucked up to new levels - polar bears and smoke monsters, anyone? - with a bunch of morons. The upside was that there was lots of potential for entertainment, and it was time to get back to his current pet project: driving Jack Shephard out of his mind with lust.
****
Damon preferred the island at night. It didn't matter that he could day-walk with his ring, the sun here was harsh bordering on painful. When night fell, he could stop the pretending and move around, go explore. But not tonight, because it was finally time to move to the fourth phase of his seduction plan (although he was pretty sure that Jack had completely missed most of the first two phases and half of the third). The guy was so oblivious, it had almost stopped being funny.
In the last days there had been, finally, looks given back and satisfying staring at his ass. Damon waited to be sure that Jack had finally fell asleep, gave him twenty minutes so he'd be totally disorientated, and then went to his tent. He was pushing the tarp aside when he heard Jack's breathing change, awake, and the safety of a gun being taken off. Not a threat, but Damon hated being shot, so he stopped and whispered:
"It's okay, it's me."
Jack sighed, relieved, and it was so ironic that Damon wasn't considered a threat when he could be anyone's worst nightmare that he almost laughed out loud.
"Get in," Jack whispered back, and there was a flash of light from his watch that surprised Damon, overly bright for his night vision. "What is the problem, Boone?"
Of course Jack thought he was needed somewhere. A guy with a hero complex was so predictable, it made Damon smirk.
"Does it have to be a problem, Jack?"
He kept the question light and playful and Jack squirmed, obviously flustered. Damon knew that it was too dark for Jack to see much, but he could. And was delightful.
"Hum. No?"
Damon chuckled and Jack fidgeted on his cot. It was too tempting, so he went close, deliberately nudging Jack's leg with his shin and felt the guy jump back like a blushing virgin.
"You seem nervous," Damon said, trying to sound non-threatening. "Don't worry. I'm just here to tell you something."
"Ah?" There was a very audible gulp.
"See, I noticed how you're looking..."
"I don't..." Jack tried to deny, speaking over him. But Damon cut over him.
"It's okay, I don't mind. In fact I love it. I just want to tell you that tomorrow? I'll be wearing something just for you. I hope you'll like it."
"What?" Jack stammered after a second but Damon didn't wait and headed out, pausing just to whisper.
"Sleep well, Jack."
And he left. As he walked to the tent he shared with Shannon, Damon heard Jack fall back on his cot and he smirked. He was pretty sure that Jack wouldn't be able to sleep until morning.
***
Deliberately, Damon avoided Jack all day.
Well not really, he just spent what he considered being a usual day on Weirdo Island, being generally useless as he thought Boone would be, but without overtly paying Jack any attention. Of course it worked and Damon could feel Jack's eyes on him a couple of times, especially when he flirted with Sayid just to mix things up a little. Tired of traipsing around the jungle once again that afternoon, Damon led John towards a boar so he would just get things done already. Jeez. He had to fight the urge to gag at the resulting smugness, though.
But at dinner that night, around the campfire? It was show time. When toying with someone as straight laced at Jack, Damon liked to bring in a little extra edge into the game. He knew the whole gay thing was already messing with Jack, but Damon had decided to indulge into a little guilty pleasure of his: women underwear.
He had a pink satin slip on, and when he was sure Jack was looking his way, Damon did a full body stretch with his arms high above his head. His jeans were low enough on his hips that Damon knew the t-shirt riding up would show off a strip of pink for a moment. He kept his eyes on Jack the whole time, and saw his eyes go down, widen, and jump back to his face with lots of surprise, a tad of panic and unguarded lust. Yahtzee.
Even funnier was how Jack then suddenly looked away, blushing, but met Sawyer's eyes who hadn't missed a thing. Damon knew he was particularly sharp and observant, and Sawyer looked thoroughly amused at the reveal that there was something going on between Jack and him. Involving women underwear. Those two had a history of pulling each other's pig tails - Damon considered Sawyer his most immediate threat for Jack's attention, in fact, not Kate - and for a second there Damon wondered if making a move would up the ante from Sawyer.
Then Kate got mixed up in the whole thing, as she always did, and Sawyer bent down to her ear to whisper about all that was missing was spooky tales at night and how Jack would probably jump like a girl, which made her laugh. Damon understood because of his sharp hearing, but Jack didn't and fell right into Sawyer's trap, who was acting as if he'd told Kate about Boone flirting with Jack just to embarrass him. Clever. Mortified, Jack stood up and ran away.
In a way, that was not a bad thing. It would make it easier to get Jack alone. Damon ate a bit of the damn boar for show, figured Jack had had a nice five minutes to get it back together, winked at Sawyer who showed some dimples in return and got up too. Unsurprisingly Jack was in the water, ankle deep with his discarded shoes and socks a bit further up the beach. Stealthily, Damon got near, put his hands in his pockets and asked casually:
"How's the water?"
Jack almost jumped out of his skin and Damon had to fight not to laugh. It wasn't easy.
"Pretty cold," Jack answered, weary. "What do you want, Boone?"
Uncharacteristically bold, for Jack. It deserved the truth, so Damon teased him.
"I thought that it was pretty clear."
Jack rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
"I don't think it's a good idea."
Oh boy did he have that right! Damon grinned.
"It's a terrible idea. That's what makes it so great. You need to loosen up a little, Jack, or you're going to have an aneurysm."
Sighing, Jack shook his head, came back towards his shoes.
"I don't think it's a good idea," he repeated, and the guy was probably stubborn enough to stick to that, which Damon would not allow. He needed his fun and he needed it soon.
A bit pissed, Damon went right into Jack's personal space. He put a hand on Jack's bicep, looked up until they had eye contact, and said intently, using all the persuasion he needed, what he wanted Jack to do. What he knew Jack would have no power to resist.
"It's just for fun, Jack. Meet me tomorrow, at the second set of caves, where no one sleeps. Sunrise. I'll make it worth your while."
And I won't kill you, yet, he didn't add - unless Jack was a lousy lay, or he'd revaluate. He had a limited amount of patience, after all.
***
Of course Jack came to the caves at sunrise. Damon observed him as he refilled his water bottles, nervously darting little looks right and left, and Damon grinned. The anticipation was the best part, the whole thrill of going for the kill; even if it was la petite mort he was after this time, not the definite one. He knew he was about to blow Jack's mind - well maybe blow Jack period - and he couldn't wait. The pink underwear experiment having been such a resounding success the night before, Damon had decided to play it all out. It had been way too long since he had indulged in that particular pleasure.
When he had roamed the unclaimed luggage laying around after the crash - and he couldn't believe Sawyer went through them before him, that had been seriously remiss on his part - Damon had found a suitcase with women's clothes that fit him. A girl who had had class and quality stuff, too: silk, satin and dresses that flowed, complete with lacy underwear. Damon's best guess was someone on a honeymoon or with serious cash and who intended to show it. Of course nothing fit perfectly; he had no boobs to fill the cups, although the girl must have been athletic and not really busty. Some items, though, like the silk white négligé with spaghetti straps he was wearing at the moment, were good enough. He liked the way it stretched across his chest and draped near his hips, the soft garment gliding coolly against his upper thighs.
Damon waited until Jack drank from his bottle before walking from behind a tree, dragging his bare feet in the undergrowth to make a bit of noise to attract his attention. It worked and Jack choked on a mouthful of water, turning bright red. Jack couldn't stop staring, swaying a bit like a cobra as Damon slowly made his way to him. Damon wondered if Jack was going to bolt, because he looked as terrified as he was fascinated. Damon approached while looking at Jack through fluttering eyelashes, enjoying the act, while hiding his smile under his hand (he was worried it was downright predatory, he couldn't help it).
Damon was no more than four steps from Jack when he stopped, looked up and smiled at him, hoping he conveyed amusement and didn't look like the big bad wolf about to pounce. Jack's eyes fell immediately to Damon's lips and he reacted to the make up, as expected. Simple lip gloss, but Damon knew it put his lips in evidence, and it seemed to definitely make an impression on Jack. He stayed mute, though, and as usual Damon had to get things moving. It was starting to get a bit old.
"I made myself all pretty for you," Boone said, gesturing at himself.
Jack nodded, so Damon took it as at least encouragement enough to step forward and press his palms to Jack's chest, before sliding them over very interestingly firm muscles until he linked his wrists behind Jack's neck in a close embrace. They were plastered together now, which was so much better; Damon smiled, pleased.
"You like it? You can touch, you know," he cajoled.
The touch finally came, but it was Jack gripping Damon forearms, as if ready to push him away. Damon could have ordered Jack into sex, but it was a brand of skeevy he'd never needed to fall into. Seduction was way more satisfying, anyway. Jack didn't push Damon away, though, and after two seconds Damon knew that he wouldn't. That he didn't want to.
Damon turned his head and he could feel, hear, smell the blood pumping right there, in Jack's neck and it made him crazy with want. He chuckled and nosed the soft skin just over the carotid, licked it even and could feel his features starting to turn with the urge to bite. He managed to keep control, though, since he had taken the edge off the constant hunger by feeding in the night on some suckers who were traipsing around in the jungle in hobo clothes for some reason. Jack shivered under Damon's tongue and the soft scrape of his fangs.
"Aww, come on, Jack, you know you want me," Damon said, while doing a full body slither move against Jack that put them in contact from knees to neck.
Jack could protest and hesitate all he wanted, but he was hard as a rock as Damon pressed against him. Finally, the momentum changed and Jack let go of Damon's arms to capture his face, making him look up. He barely had time to conceal his true nature that Jack was scrutinizing his face with a look so full of want that Damon had to grin.
Finally, Hallelujah, Jack kissed him, bruising and demanding and Damon opened up immediately, letting him take control of this, at least. It seemed that Jack was like those little robots you had to turn the crank of, coiling the spring inside more and more and more, and when you finally let them go they'd spring forward. In Jack's case it resulted in Damon being walked backwards until his back and head slammed hard against the rock wall of the caves. Thank god he was solid, because that would have been hard enough for a concussion for anyone else. For a second Damon was distracted at how Jack would have reacted to that, which would have been ten kinds of hilarious. But the rough manhandling was a-okay in Damon's book, and he just moaned under the attack. Bring it on.
Panting like crazy, Jack broke the kiss to gulp air, letting his forehead fall to Damon's naked shoulder. He was vibrating with need, about to shake apart and Damon loved it. He wanted him to splinter and come like he never came before with the added benefit that in the process Damon wanted to come spectacularly too. How, that he didn't care much about. But soon? Yes that better happen.
"Tell me what you want, Jack," Damon whispered in Jack's ear. "Anything. I could suck you, make you see stars and make you come so hard you wouldn't remember your name. You could also fuck me, that'd be nice too, especially since I got myself all ready for your big cock already."
Jack shuddered before taking a step back and pressed down hard on his dick, obviously to stop himself from coming in his pants, keeping his other hand braced against the wall over Damon's shoulder for support.
"God!"
Poor Jack was totally riled up, but Damon couldn't squash the need to take it a notch higher by caressing himself, sliding his hands down his own chest and stomach. Damon bit his lower lip and started to hike the hem of his nightshirt up. If he had to choose what he wanted right now, it was to get fucked. Blowing Jack first would mean having to wait the damn recovery period before his own fun, and yeah, patience was not his strong suit and all.
"What will it be?" Damon asked.
Jack for once didn't disappoint.
"Fuck you," he said, voice raspy. "I want to fuck you so bad."
Damon grinned.
"Oh yeah."
It seemed that once Jack had made up his mind, he flipped all of the switches at on: he captured Damon's wrists, pulling his hands off his body and pinned them up over his head. Jack was not really strong enough to restrain him, but he did it with enough authority that it made its little effect on Damon who grunted, pleased. Then Jack nudged Damon's leg apart and pushed in close, nailing him to the cave walls.
"You'll be the death of me," Jack said before crushing their mouths together for another forceful kiss.
Damon could not reply that he sure hoped so, but he could grind against Jack, and did it with enthusiasm. Jack transferred both of Damon wrists in one hand, as if, but since he used the other one to slide down Damon's side and then caressed the silk on his chest, he didn't complain. Jack played a little with his nipples, but too soon he was sliding down to a hip, then a thigh to start the journey back up but on flesh this time, hand strong and sure. Damon had always loved the confident ones and it seemed that for this, right now, Jack was. There was no hesitation or second guessing anymore. When his fingers met hip and the satin and lace of underwear, he growled in Damon's mouth and broke the kiss to look down. Unfortunately he couldn't see anything with his hand under the nightgown, so he looked at Damon and ordered.
"Keep your hands up."
Had been a while that Damon played that particular game and he nodded, biting his lip. Jack hiked the white fabric up around Damon's waist and bunched it behind his back, clearing the view. Damon was so hard and the damn panties so tight, that he knew that his flushed dick must have looked obscene under white satin and lace, which was exactly what he was going for. The tiny pink ribbons made everything more decadent, and Jack followed it with a finger from a hip to the front, where the head of Damon's cock was peaking out, glistening with pre-come. Even then, Jack's touch didn't waver and for a second Damon wondered if Jack maybe had experimented with boys in his past, after all. But then Jack looked up, pupils blow and eyes a bit wild and Damon knew he was his first. It was way hot. So much that Damon just wanted him to get on with it already.
"Please fuck me," he whined, trying to move his hips so Jack would apply more pressure with his hand, at least, touch him for real.
Jack didn't say anything, just firmly turned him around to face the wall and Damon shivered, keeping his hands up and gripping at the edge of a rock. Jack tugged the underwear down and off, a welcome relief, and then nudged Damon's legs opened again. Damon wanted to taunt and prod, but the build up was enough right now. He relished in the sound of a zipper going down and a strong hand gripping his hip, the other one sliding where he wanted it the most. When Jack found out he was already slick, he growled.
"God!" Jack said again. Seemed like his default exclamation to overwhelming sexual stimulus, but he was hardly the only one with that problem. Damon heard it a lot. Still, it made him grin, and Damon pushed back on Jack's fingers.
"Told you I was ready. Come on, Jack, do it."
Without more prep, Jack lined up and he was pushing inexorably in, slow but steady. Damon moaned at the sharp feeling of pain, of being split open, as he had put on lube but hadn't stretched all that much. He was expecting it to hurt a bit, wanted it even; it was exactly what he needed, what he craved, and anyway the pain soon was washed away with pure pleasure when Jack started to move.
"Holy shit, you're so tight," Jack panted in Damon's ear, hands gripping his hips hard as if it was a way to keep control of Jack's own body, not Damon's.
"Harder," Damon demanded, trying to set some sort of rhythm, unsatisfied by the slow pace Jack seemed to insist on. Jack grunted and didn't speed up, but was a bit less careful, snapping his hips at the end of each stroke. He had barely pushed his jeans down and Damon could feel the rough material against his thighs in sharp contrast to the silk of the nightgown just above.
"So fucking pretty," Jack said against Damon's neck.
"Is that all you've got?" Damon snarled, getting frustrated. He was so close, so fucking close. He tried to up the tempo but Jack kept that maddening rhythm he'd set. If only he touched Damon's dick or something, gave him a little more.
"You're such a little whore," Jack growled right back and the mere idea that something so filthy would come out of Jack's mouth made Damon arch against him, crying out. He loved being surprised. "Come on, Boone. Show me how much you want this."
"Fuck!" Damon cried out, pleasure ratcheting up, and he tried to get them lined up so Jack would hit right where he needed it. "Harder, I won't break."
When Jack just took dug his fingers even harder around Damon's hips and pounded, without any mercy, Damon screwed his eyes shut and just held on to the rock edge. He was lost into taking and taking and feeling it all build up until he shook apart without anyone even touching his dick, pleasure taking the entire place for blissed seconds. Distantly he was conscious of Jack's rhythm faltering and that he was coming too, before he slumped against Damon's back, panting.
Hell. That was one spectacular orgasm, way better than Damon had even wished for. Coming with no one even touching his cock hadn't happened in, well, decades. Damon suddenly had way more interest in the repressed type, if that was the result when they finally snapped. Holy shit.
After a couple of minutes, Jack pulled back and immediately started to be awkward, as if he had just realized what they had done and that they'd have to somehow interact in day to day situations some more. Damon felt magnanimous, though, being well screwed had this effect on him, and he turned around to kiss Jack lightly with a smile.
"See? Wasn't so bad, was it?"
Jack flushed, which was almost endearing. He even did the patented rubbing of the nape: Damon almost felt special.
"Yeah." Jack said, avoiding his eyes. "I hope..."
He probably thought he'd been too rough. Damon rolled his eyes, because duh.
"I'm okay. I swear."
The smile Jack gave him was a tad more genuine, then. He raised a hand to Damon's face and caressed his cheekbone, almost reverent. With a dawning horror, Damon figured that if he wasn't careful, there might be feelings involved real soon in Jack's case, not only lust and want. Guys like Jack were looking for connection and soul sharing moments or bullshit like that. Damon didn't mind one bit breaking Jack's heart if it came to that, but he hated the idea of Jack suddenly going soft and sappy on him. Ugh. He should start working his charm on someone else, Sawyer or Charlie, maybe, to squish that idea right out of Jack's head.
But then again, now that he had got what he wanted, Damon wondered what the hell he was staying on this stupid island for. Playing dumb or worshipful to Locke all day was starting to grate on his nerves, digging up that stupid window in the ground felt like a colossal waste of time even if he could hear that there was someone living down below, and to be honest he missed his most basic pleasure in life. Nothing felt quite as good as making Stefan's life a living hell. It had been what, ten years now that he had not done that up close and personal? Damon could not even play with fog all that much, over here, without it looking even more ridiculous than usual.
Jack finally just zipped up and sort of flew towards the beach - maybe to make a move on Kate to reassess his masculinity, who knew. As Damon peeled off the women clothes and changed into his regular gear, he just suddenly wished to get the hell out of the south pacific in general. He'd seen the settlement on the other side of the island, even killed a couple of its inhabitants when he was hungry, and he knew they had a submarine to get off this rock. Finding a lift to the mainland should be easy enough, with his handy dandy suggestion powers. But leaving the elaborate undercover operation of being Boone just like that seemed like a sloppy job.
Maybe he could arrange a fake fatal incident or something, ratchet up the despair factor for Jack and Shannon as a parting shot. Heck, he thought, it was better than draining them from all of their blood, as tempting as that was. It's not like Damon was totally insensitive or something. He felt downright magnanimous at this moment, even.
Yeah, he'd lead Locke to that beachcraft soon and get that plan under way. But right now he needed a snack, sex always made him ravenous. Damon raised his head, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to find out who had the unfortunate luck to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He just hoped it wasn't someone like that Ethan guy: he had seriously given Damon the creeps, that's for sure.
The weird smoke chose that moment to come and tsk tsk tsk around, flashing images of all of the bad bad things he had done in his life and Damon rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come on. Go patrol elsewhere, Smokey. I have a plan to design."
And it would be glorious. Heck, he was Damon Salvatore: all he did had potential for awesomeness, after all.
The End.