fic, Lost: Temptation (Jacob/Boone), PG
This is me trying to catch up at least with the writing for the luau. Sorry for the spamming, I have at least two fics to post now and maybe I'll have more later tonight. Actually, I'm sure I'll have more, but bear with me.
Title: Temptation
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jacob/Boone
Words: 1753
Spoilers: up until the S5 finale, even if it's light stuff.
Summary: It's just that sometime shortly after he starts having his sleeping trance-like trips in an heavenly version of Myst (even if he couldn’t find any kind of quiz to solve except for merely asking himself why does he dream about this at all), someone shows up on the beach in the distance. He never moves. Each night, Boone comes a bit nearer.
Disclaimer: er, no, Lost is sooo not mine.
A/N: for Queen aurilly at lostsquee, whose first request for Sayid I actually loved, but then she went and said Jacob/Boone and... er. I had to try it. Never mention Boone with someone I haven't paired him with... *cough* anyway, I really hope you like it and sorry for the lateness! ♥ using for 2x5obsessions #4, elusive dreams. Title kinda stolen from what I'm listening right now because I was stomped for one day and I was seriously becoming desperate for one.
The dreams start the day after Boone’s twenty-second birthday.
He never tells anyone about them, and not because of what happens. Well, that’s also one reason, but it’s not the main one. The main one is that he barely remembers them. While they’re pretty vivid as they happen, so much that they don’t even feel like dreams but like some weird kind of fucked up transcendental experience, and while he remembers them perfectly when he opens his eyes, the only thing he could say for sure about them half an hour after he wakes up, is that there is a blond man.
No more than that. And that’s why he never bothers to tell anyone, for the year they last.
--
When he’s dreaming, he’s on an island; exactly the kind of island one sees on the covers of those flyers tempting you to one week in Hawaii for some ridiculous price. But it doesn’t feel like a dream; it feels like he’s really there, and that’d be weird enough because whenever he dreams about something else, it always feels... detached. Or like he knew it was a dream and that he wasn’t even there in person.
Here, it seems like he is.
The trees are luscious, green, tall; the sand is white and soft and it slips through his fingers leaving only a faint trace and he doesn’t think he has ever seen a sea as blue as the one in front of him, whenever he dreams.
That’s always how it starts.
--
He can’t remember it when it exactly changed and from remembering random island only, he remembers blond hot guy too.
It's just that sometime shortly after he starts having his sleeping trance-like trips in an heavenly version of Myst (even if he couldn’t find any kind of quiz to solve except for merely asking himself why does he dream about this at all), someone shows up on the beach in the distance. He never moves. Each night, Boone comes a bit nearer.
In the beginning he’s a point on the line of the horizon; then he’s a point wearing white; then he’s an handsome blond man, still pretty young even if he has definitely passed his thirties and he wears indeed white clothes. When he comes near enough, Boone thinks that they must be sewn and weaved by hand.
He takes just maybe ten steps each day because the dream never lasts much. But each time lasts a bit longer.
The day they come face to face, three months have passed since the first dream and deep blue eyes stare at his and it’s a gentle stare that comes with an equally gentle smile; the breeze slightly moves his blonde short-ish hair which he has obviously cut himself and he looks pleased with him. Why, Boone doesn’t know. He can’t see why walking up a beach in a dream could be a reason to feel pleased or accomplished; not that lately he has managed to please many people, but that’s a problem for his real life, not for his dreams.
“I had been waiting for you,” the blond man says, and then Boone wakes up. One hour later, everything already became a giant blur.
--
“What’s your name?” he asks the following time (because it seems like as soon as he starts dreaming he remembers all the precedent installments of his night-time adventures).
“I’m Jacob,” the blond man answers, as he sits on the shore and looks over the horizon. He’s still smiling. Boone doesn’t know why he feels at ease, but he does. “You’re Boone, aren’t you?”
“How do you know?” Boone whispers as he sits down next to him, too.
The only answer he gets is an enigmatic smile.
--
For the next month, they just sit on shore staring at the sea. Boone doesn’t mind. His host doesn’t seem to mind either.
--
“What if I showed you around?”
“Around the island?”
“Around the island. Since you’re here, I think you might like it.”
“Well, after one month of sea only... why not?”
--
In two months, he has seen some kind of weird temple resembling maybe Egyptian ones, a cave with two skeletons lying on the ground, a village in the middle of the jungle which is seriously the most fucked up thing among all of this, a strange hut that seems to move around the island, a dock, a waterfall, a radio tower. Jacob just walks and never says a thing, but there doesn’t actually seem to be a need for him to explain. It takes two months because the dreams barely last twenty minutes.
He never remembers a single thing.
--
At the beginning of month seven, Jacob asks him whether he’d like to see his home. Boone answers sure, but why?
“You will understand. In time.”
That’s all Jacob says and Boone doesn’t ask other questions. First of all, questioning a dream (because he knows it is, even if it doesn’t feel like it) just sounds like a completely stupid idea, and second thing, it’s not like it’s news if he asks one question and it doesn’t get answered.
--
The dreams get shorter, though; so short that sometimes they’re barely ten minutes and they always start when the previous one ends. When they finally reach a beach where some foot of a statue towers in the distance, it’s five days before the eight month of Myst-like experience is over.
--
Apparently Jacob lives under the statue. Boone doesn’t even want to try to rationalize it. He thinks that he’d have a line of psychoanalysts out of his door, if he only could remember all of this clearly also when he’s awake.
--
It’s the last day of the eight month when Boone finally gets in; and it’s a huge underground cave with a weaver and a fire burning in the middle.
“This is your home?” he asks.
“It is.”
“You like to keep things simple.”
“That, I do.”
“Man, really. What am I doing here? Why am I here?”
“Did you ever wonder if fate had something in store for you?”
“Not really.”
“I think you should. But don’t worry, you will understand.”
“Why are you talking more now than you have in the previous eight months?”
“Because this is the last time.”
Boone isn’t surprised when he hears it, but he doesn’t have time to ask anything else because suddenly a pair of lips is covering his gently, then parting just slightly but without trying to make the kiss deeper; Boone closes his eyes on automatic and Christ, this man doesn’t taste like anything he can recognize. His lips are cool and soft and as soon as the kiss started Boone had felt like something was flooding him, and he has this idea that he’d see some blinding light if he just opened his eyes; but something tells him not to and he doesn’t.
“Why?” he mouths after it’s over.
“See you soon,” it’s the answer, the voice calm and almost cheerful as the dream is over and Boone wakes up with cold sweat all over his face.
Three hours later, he wonders why the hell he’s checking out every blond person that comes through the door of his office.
--
He doesn’t know why when he crashes on the island, most places feel like a deja-vu.
--
One second, he’s tasting blood in his mouth and Jack’s face is the only thing he can see; the following one, he’s sitting against some kind of tree in the luscious, green jungle of his dreams which he suddenly remembers at once.
It was the island all along, he thinks, and then he realizes what was happening and what the fuck? If anything, he should have died.
“And you did.”
He looks up and there he is, the same as he was in his dreams; blond hair still cut manually, white clothes, huge blue eyes staring down at him, same gentle smile.
“I... died, you mean?”
Jacob nods and kneels in front of him and Boone can’t take his eyes off him. He just can’t, for some reason.
“That’s what you meant about fate?”
“That was it.”
“Oh. Well. Sorry, but it doesn’t look too good from here.”
“I think you should just find out.”
“Find out?”
“Dying doesn’t mean stopping to exist.”
“Do you know something about it from personal experience?”
“Maybe I do.”
“Right. Of course. And you won’t ever tell me who are you exactly, will you?”
The gentle smile is there again as Jacob rises up and extends his hand in the meantime.
“That, I can’t do. Not now, at least. But I can show you around for real, now. And you could give me a hand.”
“I could? Sorry to break it to you, but I think you’re asking the wrong person.”
“And I think I’m asking the right one,” is the answer, and maybe if he wasn’t dead already Boone would actually feel at least a bit put off by that always-gentle smile thatis definitely not telling something. If it’s just something and not a lot.
Well, Boone thinks, it’s not like I’ve got much to lose at this point. He takes Jacob’s hand and lets himself be pulled up.
“Fine. Give me the grand tour then.”
“Does it mean that you will follow me?” Jacob asks, and Boone thinks that this is exactly the question behind which lies a trap. But after all, Jacob is a somehow known face and Boone kind of trusts him. And well, fuck, he just got pretty much stabbed in the back and died without even managing to get the famous last words out in their entirety, what could go worse than that? It isn’t like he’s making a deal with the devil or anything. Not to mention that you have to be alive to do that.
“Yes, it does,” he answers, and he sees faint light around him before he closes his eyes again and lips cover his again in a firm kiss; fingers are cradling his neck and his right cheek where an hour ago he could feel a gash which now has disappeared, he feels strangely warm and it doesn’t take him much time to stop just standing and starting to kiss back.
He doesn’t have the slightest idea of what it means. Not at all. But the truth is that for the first time in his life, probably, he just somehow doesn’t care about the consequences.
End.
Title: Temptation
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jacob/Boone
Words: 1753
Spoilers: up until the S5 finale, even if it's light stuff.
Summary: It's just that sometime shortly after he starts having his sleeping trance-like trips in an heavenly version of Myst (even if he couldn’t find any kind of quiz to solve except for merely asking himself why does he dream about this at all), someone shows up on the beach in the distance. He never moves. Each night, Boone comes a bit nearer.
Disclaimer: er, no, Lost is sooo not mine.
A/N: for Queen aurilly at lostsquee, whose first request for Sayid I actually loved, but then she went and said Jacob/Boone and... er. I had to try it. Never mention Boone with someone I haven't paired him with... *cough* anyway, I really hope you like it and sorry for the lateness! ♥ using for 2x5obsessions #4, elusive dreams. Title kinda stolen from what I'm listening right now because I was stomped for one day and I was seriously becoming desperate for one.
The dreams start the day after Boone’s twenty-second birthday.
He never tells anyone about them, and not because of what happens. Well, that’s also one reason, but it’s not the main one. The main one is that he barely remembers them. While they’re pretty vivid as they happen, so much that they don’t even feel like dreams but like some weird kind of fucked up transcendental experience, and while he remembers them perfectly when he opens his eyes, the only thing he could say for sure about them half an hour after he wakes up, is that there is a blond man.
No more than that. And that’s why he never bothers to tell anyone, for the year they last.
--
When he’s dreaming, he’s on an island; exactly the kind of island one sees on the covers of those flyers tempting you to one week in Hawaii for some ridiculous price. But it doesn’t feel like a dream; it feels like he’s really there, and that’d be weird enough because whenever he dreams about something else, it always feels... detached. Or like he knew it was a dream and that he wasn’t even there in person.
Here, it seems like he is.
The trees are luscious, green, tall; the sand is white and soft and it slips through his fingers leaving only a faint trace and he doesn’t think he has ever seen a sea as blue as the one in front of him, whenever he dreams.
That’s always how it starts.
--
He can’t remember it when it exactly changed and from remembering random island only, he remembers blond hot guy too.
It's just that sometime shortly after he starts having his sleeping trance-like trips in an heavenly version of Myst (even if he couldn’t find any kind of quiz to solve except for merely asking himself why does he dream about this at all), someone shows up on the beach in the distance. He never moves. Each night, Boone comes a bit nearer.
In the beginning he’s a point on the line of the horizon; then he’s a point wearing white; then he’s an handsome blond man, still pretty young even if he has definitely passed his thirties and he wears indeed white clothes. When he comes near enough, Boone thinks that they must be sewn and weaved by hand.
He takes just maybe ten steps each day because the dream never lasts much. But each time lasts a bit longer.
The day they come face to face, three months have passed since the first dream and deep blue eyes stare at his and it’s a gentle stare that comes with an equally gentle smile; the breeze slightly moves his blonde short-ish hair which he has obviously cut himself and he looks pleased with him. Why, Boone doesn’t know. He can’t see why walking up a beach in a dream could be a reason to feel pleased or accomplished; not that lately he has managed to please many people, but that’s a problem for his real life, not for his dreams.
“I had been waiting for you,” the blond man says, and then Boone wakes up. One hour later, everything already became a giant blur.
--
“What’s your name?” he asks the following time (because it seems like as soon as he starts dreaming he remembers all the precedent installments of his night-time adventures).
“I’m Jacob,” the blond man answers, as he sits on the shore and looks over the horizon. He’s still smiling. Boone doesn’t know why he feels at ease, but he does. “You’re Boone, aren’t you?”
“How do you know?” Boone whispers as he sits down next to him, too.
The only answer he gets is an enigmatic smile.
--
For the next month, they just sit on shore staring at the sea. Boone doesn’t mind. His host doesn’t seem to mind either.
--
“What if I showed you around?”
“Around the island?”
“Around the island. Since you’re here, I think you might like it.”
“Well, after one month of sea only... why not?”
--
In two months, he has seen some kind of weird temple resembling maybe Egyptian ones, a cave with two skeletons lying on the ground, a village in the middle of the jungle which is seriously the most fucked up thing among all of this, a strange hut that seems to move around the island, a dock, a waterfall, a radio tower. Jacob just walks and never says a thing, but there doesn’t actually seem to be a need for him to explain. It takes two months because the dreams barely last twenty minutes.
He never remembers a single thing.
--
At the beginning of month seven, Jacob asks him whether he’d like to see his home. Boone answers sure, but why?
“You will understand. In time.”
That’s all Jacob says and Boone doesn’t ask other questions. First of all, questioning a dream (because he knows it is, even if it doesn’t feel like it) just sounds like a completely stupid idea, and second thing, it’s not like it’s news if he asks one question and it doesn’t get answered.
--
The dreams get shorter, though; so short that sometimes they’re barely ten minutes and they always start when the previous one ends. When they finally reach a beach where some foot of a statue towers in the distance, it’s five days before the eight month of Myst-like experience is over.
--
Apparently Jacob lives under the statue. Boone doesn’t even want to try to rationalize it. He thinks that he’d have a line of psychoanalysts out of his door, if he only could remember all of this clearly also when he’s awake.
--
It’s the last day of the eight month when Boone finally gets in; and it’s a huge underground cave with a weaver and a fire burning in the middle.
“This is your home?” he asks.
“It is.”
“You like to keep things simple.”
“That, I do.”
“Man, really. What am I doing here? Why am I here?”
“Did you ever wonder if fate had something in store for you?”
“Not really.”
“I think you should. But don’t worry, you will understand.”
“Why are you talking more now than you have in the previous eight months?”
“Because this is the last time.”
Boone isn’t surprised when he hears it, but he doesn’t have time to ask anything else because suddenly a pair of lips is covering his gently, then parting just slightly but without trying to make the kiss deeper; Boone closes his eyes on automatic and Christ, this man doesn’t taste like anything he can recognize. His lips are cool and soft and as soon as the kiss started Boone had felt like something was flooding him, and he has this idea that he’d see some blinding light if he just opened his eyes; but something tells him not to and he doesn’t.
“Why?” he mouths after it’s over.
“See you soon,” it’s the answer, the voice calm and almost cheerful as the dream is over and Boone wakes up with cold sweat all over his face.
Three hours later, he wonders why the hell he’s checking out every blond person that comes through the door of his office.
--
He doesn’t know why when he crashes on the island, most places feel like a deja-vu.
--
One second, he’s tasting blood in his mouth and Jack’s face is the only thing he can see; the following one, he’s sitting against some kind of tree in the luscious, green jungle of his dreams which he suddenly remembers at once.
It was the island all along, he thinks, and then he realizes what was happening and what the fuck? If anything, he should have died.
“And you did.”
He looks up and there he is, the same as he was in his dreams; blond hair still cut manually, white clothes, huge blue eyes staring down at him, same gentle smile.
“I... died, you mean?”
Jacob nods and kneels in front of him and Boone can’t take his eyes off him. He just can’t, for some reason.
“That’s what you meant about fate?”
“That was it.”
“Oh. Well. Sorry, but it doesn’t look too good from here.”
“I think you should just find out.”
“Find out?”
“Dying doesn’t mean stopping to exist.”
“Do you know something about it from personal experience?”
“Maybe I do.”
“Right. Of course. And you won’t ever tell me who are you exactly, will you?”
The gentle smile is there again as Jacob rises up and extends his hand in the meantime.
“That, I can’t do. Not now, at least. But I can show you around for real, now. And you could give me a hand.”
“I could? Sorry to break it to you, but I think you’re asking the wrong person.”
“And I think I’m asking the right one,” is the answer, and maybe if he wasn’t dead already Boone would actually feel at least a bit put off by that always-gentle smile thatis definitely not telling something. If it’s just something and not a lot.
Well, Boone thinks, it’s not like I’ve got much to lose at this point. He takes Jacob’s hand and lets himself be pulled up.
“Fine. Give me the grand tour then.”
“Does it mean that you will follow me?” Jacob asks, and Boone thinks that this is exactly the question behind which lies a trap. But after all, Jacob is a somehow known face and Boone kind of trusts him. And well, fuck, he just got pretty much stabbed in the back and died without even managing to get the famous last words out in their entirety, what could go worse than that? It isn’t like he’s making a deal with the devil or anything. Not to mention that you have to be alive to do that.
“Yes, it does,” he answers, and he sees faint light around him before he closes his eyes again and lips cover his again in a firm kiss; fingers are cradling his neck and his right cheek where an hour ago he could feel a gash which now has disappeared, he feels strangely warm and it doesn’t take him much time to stop just standing and starting to kiss back.
He doesn’t have the slightest idea of what it means. Not at all. But the truth is that for the first time in his life, probably, he just somehow doesn’t care about the consequences.
End.