Heart vs. Mind
Title: Heart vs. Mind
Pairing: Jack/Boone
Rating: R
Spoilers: 1.05 “White Rabbit”
Disclaimer: Not mine.
lostsquee luau: I usually don't like to combine queenly requests, but this one fell into place as combining perfectly, I couldn't help it. I hope you darlings don't mind.
For haldoor, who requested PWP, with one of the favored pairings being Jack/Boone, and for janie_tangerine, who requested Hearts and Minds and loves Boone.
He’s forceful and impatient, pulling at Jack’s clothes with hasty, sweaty hands as his lips push and push and push against Jack’s, over and again.
Jack is so calm, trying to steady him, slow him down - stop him entirely - but it only makes him want to rush faster. His fingers fumble with Jack’s belt; tear at the leather and metal.
It’s only when Jack’s back connects with a grunting thud against the rough trunk of the nearest palm tree that his eyes go wide with surprise, perhaps realizing for the first time that Boone’s desperation isn’t going to abate.
“I’m not some kid,” Boone mutters petulantly, rocking his hips against Jack’s as if to show him proof. Jack stops trying out the useless phrases that he’s been using so far - no more Boone, you don’t know what you’re doing’s, or You don’t owe me anything ‘s, no Stop, Boone, this isn’t what you want.’s.
“I don’t think you are,” Jack gasps out as Boone drags his mouth along his jaw, over his neck, licking dirt and salty sweat, the taste of Jack underneath. Boone can tell Jack is bewildered and off-balance - he likes this but he doesn’t want it, or feels he shouldn’t want it, anyway. Boone supposes there’s a difference.
It’s a difference that doesn’t matter, because whether or not Jack knows what he wants, this is what Boone is going to give him.
He drops down on his knees and unzips Jack’s jeans, peels down his boxers and draws his cock out, lets it rest in the palm of his hand. His mouth, when he takes Jack in, is insistent and greedy, eagerly trying to make Jack break apart.
He knows Jack never meant to make him feel small, but Boone can’t help wanting to gain the edge, have some power over Jack that can’t be denied. There is a voice of reason pleading somewhere in the back of his mind, but it is drowned out by his shouting ego, his guilty conscience.
Who appointed you our savior? His hands and his lips imprint the words on Jack’s skin with each hard press of flesh. Boone wants to undo him - rob Jack of his ability to form those noble and heroic speeches, those speeches that defend him, of all people, from the ire of the mob.
He didn’t need Jack’s help. Didn’t need it yesterday morning, didn’t need it yesterday night. Didn’t need Jack coming to his rescue like he was some damsel in distress. He’d made his own choices and he never asked Jack to step in and say whether or not those choices were right.
Jack did anyway; undermining him at every turn.
Boone grips Jack’s thighs harder, thumbs digging in above his hip bones. He hopes it bruises, he hopes someone sees it. Jack’s hands are large and strong as they twine gently in his hair and Boone wishes that Jack would pull, tug sharply, maybe force Boone to take him down completely.
But Jack is still trying to hold back and fight it, torn between the pleasure and the guilt, unsure that he should be letting this happen.
Boone closes his eyes tightly to block the image of Jack out, refusing to admit that the joy he’s taking from this isn’t completely a result Jack’s domination. It’s not because Jack is beautiful and amazing, or that the sight of such a strong man trembling merely from his touch doesn’t make his head swim with desire. It’s not any of those things. Certainly not.
But when Jack comes, heavy and hot all over his tongue, Boone groans and shudders, loses it a second later.
“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, resting his forehead against Jack’s stomach. Figures that he had to come so fast inside his pants, quick and hard like a damned teenager. What an idiot. He just can’t win.
Jack sputters for breath a little, chuckling slightly in disbelief.
“Boone, if that was your idea of thanking me…” He starts, shaking his head. Jack brushes his hand down the side of Boone’s cheek, his touch gentle but his hand rough, and Boone jerks away sharply.
“I don’t do thank yous,” he states. It’s something that Shannon would say, that she would think. In fact, this is something that Shannon would do. Sex equals power. Maybe it works for her, but it seems to have backfired for him. Boone clambers up from the ground, annoyed with himself.
Jack zips his jeans and stands there waiting, unsure what to do. He eyes Boone wearily, breathing hard. He looks more drained than ever but his cheeks finally have a spot of color after days walking around as pale as death.
“Because you don’t have to thank me. I didn’t-“
“This wasn’t because of that.”
“Then what was it because of?” Jack inquires. He looks honestly confused. Boone wants to stay angry at him. He wants to hate him. He wants to stalk away with some sharp quip or snide remark, a warning to leave him to fight his own battles in the future.
Instead, Boone steps in quickly, kisses Jack on the lips like a schoolgirl stealing a shy kiss, and then turns away.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He heads down the path back to the beach, leaving Jack with no explanation.
If he wants to know, at least then Jack will have a reason to talk to him again.