fic, Lost: slide up next to me (Jack/Boone), PG13
Title: slide up next to me
Pairing: Jack/Boone
Rating: PG13
Words: 1100
Spoilers: goes AU from late S1 so until then?
Warnings: none really.
Summary: Jack is currently wearing leather, both trousers and jacket, and sitting on this black motorbike that seems just out of Easy Rider. He’s quite tanned, looking a lot better than last time Boone saw him, with a helmet in the crook of his arm, and Boone swallows and blinks a couple of times before answering.
A/N: originally written for haldoor at the five acts exchange; the prompts were motorcycles and wet. Title from Pearl Jam.
It’s official. Boone is never, ever trusting Shannon with anything of his ever again.
Fine, it was just a used car, but he had bought it just six months ago with his fucking own money that he had been saving since before the island. Not that he couldn’t have afforded a better one, but he had kind of emptied half of his bank account to pay Shannon’s fake boyfriends before, he doesn’t work with his mother anymore and he’s done with flashy things. And he had really liked it. It was small, comfortable, easy to drive, and this nice blue color, not to mention that it had a tape recorder. And they’re so hard to find, these days.
And then she asks him if she can borrow it for one evening and she crashes it against a tree because she drank too much before coming back home. Sometimes he wishes Sayid would fucking go with her, but then again the guy isn’t made for clubbing.
Well, at least she hadn’t killed anyone, but now it’s another three weeks before it’s repaired. And now Boone just out of work (he ditched the wedding company and walked into the first Amnesty office he found the second he came home after the rescue), he’s soaked to the bones and the scars he got after that accident on the island hurt like fuck.
It’s really true that bad weather makes scars a problem. And Boone has enough of them to be feeling pretty bad at the moment. And he doesn’t have an umbrella because this morning it was such a lovely day. And he had figured he could have walked instead of calling someone at work to ask to go with them on their car.
Best idea he ever -
“Need a ride?” he hears, and then he gapes.
It can’t fucking…
He turns towards the road and fuck it, it’s Jack. Who, on the boat, had told him that he wasn’t ever going to manage to get back to his nice, upper-class life, and needed to take a long trip alone, somewhere that wasn’t the States. He had left the week after they were back.
And Jack is currently wearing leather, both trousers and jacket, and sitting on this black motorbike that seems just out of Easy Rider. He’s quite tanned, looking a lot better than last time Boone saw him, with a helmet in the crook of his arm, and Boone swallows and blinks a couple of times before answering.
“Jack?! Really? When did you…”
“Oh, I came back a couple of weeks ago.”
“And… woah. Was that your style also before the island?”
Jack lets out a snort and shakes his head.
“No, not really. But I decided I needed to get a grip on things and then I found out that sometimes you just need a change.”
And yeah, Boone figures, at times someone does.
“So? I wouldn’t advise you to walk much with this weather,” Jack adds, his voice slipping into doctor-mode probably without him even realizing it. Boone really, really wishes that what he thought was a stupid crush on Jack that started the second he brought him those stupid pens went away during the last year.
But it hasn’t and for a second Boone wonders about the mismatch they would be. Jack looks nothing short of amazing and he… well, he has a red still half-fresh scar on his cheek, old jeans and a soaked Zeppelin t-shirt.
“I’m not going to charge you,” Jack adds, and then hands over another helmet.
Well, Boone thinks, why not doing what he wants for once?
He takes the helmet, wears it and with enough careful maneuvering in order not to jostle the leg he almost got amputated he climbs behind Jack.
“You’d better hang on somewhere,” Jack says as he starts the bike, and…
You only live once, don’t you? Boone knows even too well, and he isn’t letting this chance go. So he nods and closes his arms around Jack’s waist and lets his frame touch Jack’s back.
And fuck, between the feeling of the black leather under his arms, and Jack’s body warm against his, and the rain not hitting at least his face anymore, it really feels good. Also Jack drives this thing surprisingly well, and so what if once in a while he closes his eyes? It feels nice, to pretend that this isn’t a one-time thing. He gives Jack instructions and he might suggest the longest route, but can you blame him? After all, he’s never going to have this chance again.
Clearly, it’s over too soon and when he has to climb down he wishes he didn’t have to.
But he does, and hands Jack the helmet after taking it off.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says, earnestly, and then he realizes that Jack is staring at him. And he can’t read it.
“Listen, uh, are… how are you?” Jack asks, and Boone isn’t an idiot. He knows what he’s asking about.
“Good. Once in a while they hurt… the leg and around the lung especially, but… well, fuck, I’m here, am I not? And thanks again for that,” he adds, maybe sounding a bit too rushed.
“Hey, it’s my job.”
“Uh, what… what about you? I mean, did your trip go well?”
Jack smiles again and nods. “I’d say it did, yeah. Listen, uh, I was about to search for you anyway because I think there are things I should have told you back then, so I guess it was my luck that -“
“Do you want to have coffee upstairs?” Boone interrupts, but he doesn’t think he can let this go. He has an excuse and he doesn’t know what Jack wants to tell him, but he’d really rather not do it under the rain.
Jack looks baffled for a second, then he nods, maybe too quickly.
“That would be nice.”
“Then I’ll wait for you.”
Jack nods and while he does whatever he has to with the bike, Boone searches for the keys. His hands are shaking, just a bit, but for some reason there’s a warm feeling in his stomach and he thinks that yes, the coffee was a good idea.
--
When Jack’s wet hands are tangled in his hair half an hour later as they kiss against the kitchen counter, the damned leather trousers clinging to his legs like a second skin, Boone takes it back.
He never had a better idea in his entire life.
Maybe he can stop being angry at Shannon for crashing that car, after all.
End.
Pairing: Jack/Boone
Rating: PG13
Words: 1100
Spoilers: goes AU from late S1 so until then?
Warnings: none really.
Summary: Jack is currently wearing leather, both trousers and jacket, and sitting on this black motorbike that seems just out of Easy Rider. He’s quite tanned, looking a lot better than last time Boone saw him, with a helmet in the crook of his arm, and Boone swallows and blinks a couple of times before answering.
A/N: originally written for haldoor at the five acts exchange; the prompts were motorcycles and wet. Title from Pearl Jam.
It’s official. Boone is never, ever trusting Shannon with anything of his ever again.
Fine, it was just a used car, but he had bought it just six months ago with his fucking own money that he had been saving since before the island. Not that he couldn’t have afforded a better one, but he had kind of emptied half of his bank account to pay Shannon’s fake boyfriends before, he doesn’t work with his mother anymore and he’s done with flashy things. And he had really liked it. It was small, comfortable, easy to drive, and this nice blue color, not to mention that it had a tape recorder. And they’re so hard to find, these days.
And then she asks him if she can borrow it for one evening and she crashes it against a tree because she drank too much before coming back home. Sometimes he wishes Sayid would fucking go with her, but then again the guy isn’t made for clubbing.
Well, at least she hadn’t killed anyone, but now it’s another three weeks before it’s repaired. And now Boone just out of work (he ditched the wedding company and walked into the first Amnesty office he found the second he came home after the rescue), he’s soaked to the bones and the scars he got after that accident on the island hurt like fuck.
It’s really true that bad weather makes scars a problem. And Boone has enough of them to be feeling pretty bad at the moment. And he doesn’t have an umbrella because this morning it was such a lovely day. And he had figured he could have walked instead of calling someone at work to ask to go with them on their car.
Best idea he ever -
“Need a ride?” he hears, and then he gapes.
It can’t fucking…
He turns towards the road and fuck it, it’s Jack. Who, on the boat, had told him that he wasn’t ever going to manage to get back to his nice, upper-class life, and needed to take a long trip alone, somewhere that wasn’t the States. He had left the week after they were back.
And Jack is currently wearing leather, both trousers and jacket, and sitting on this black motorbike that seems just out of Easy Rider. He’s quite tanned, looking a lot better than last time Boone saw him, with a helmet in the crook of his arm, and Boone swallows and blinks a couple of times before answering.
“Jack?! Really? When did you…”
“Oh, I came back a couple of weeks ago.”
“And… woah. Was that your style also before the island?”
Jack lets out a snort and shakes his head.
“No, not really. But I decided I needed to get a grip on things and then I found out that sometimes you just need a change.”
And yeah, Boone figures, at times someone does.
“So? I wouldn’t advise you to walk much with this weather,” Jack adds, his voice slipping into doctor-mode probably without him even realizing it. Boone really, really wishes that what he thought was a stupid crush on Jack that started the second he brought him those stupid pens went away during the last year.
But it hasn’t and for a second Boone wonders about the mismatch they would be. Jack looks nothing short of amazing and he… well, he has a red still half-fresh scar on his cheek, old jeans and a soaked Zeppelin t-shirt.
“I’m not going to charge you,” Jack adds, and then hands over another helmet.
Well, Boone thinks, why not doing what he wants for once?
He takes the helmet, wears it and with enough careful maneuvering in order not to jostle the leg he almost got amputated he climbs behind Jack.
“You’d better hang on somewhere,” Jack says as he starts the bike, and…
You only live once, don’t you? Boone knows even too well, and he isn’t letting this chance go. So he nods and closes his arms around Jack’s waist and lets his frame touch Jack’s back.
And fuck, between the feeling of the black leather under his arms, and Jack’s body warm against his, and the rain not hitting at least his face anymore, it really feels good. Also Jack drives this thing surprisingly well, and so what if once in a while he closes his eyes? It feels nice, to pretend that this isn’t a one-time thing. He gives Jack instructions and he might suggest the longest route, but can you blame him? After all, he’s never going to have this chance again.
Clearly, it’s over too soon and when he has to climb down he wishes he didn’t have to.
But he does, and hands Jack the helmet after taking it off.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says, earnestly, and then he realizes that Jack is staring at him. And he can’t read it.
“Listen, uh, are… how are you?” Jack asks, and Boone isn’t an idiot. He knows what he’s asking about.
“Good. Once in a while they hurt… the leg and around the lung especially, but… well, fuck, I’m here, am I not? And thanks again for that,” he adds, maybe sounding a bit too rushed.
“Hey, it’s my job.”
“Uh, what… what about you? I mean, did your trip go well?”
Jack smiles again and nods. “I’d say it did, yeah. Listen, uh, I was about to search for you anyway because I think there are things I should have told you back then, so I guess it was my luck that -“
“Do you want to have coffee upstairs?” Boone interrupts, but he doesn’t think he can let this go. He has an excuse and he doesn’t know what Jack wants to tell him, but he’d really rather not do it under the rain.
Jack looks baffled for a second, then he nods, maybe too quickly.
“That would be nice.”
“Then I’ll wait for you.”
Jack nods and while he does whatever he has to with the bike, Boone searches for the keys. His hands are shaking, just a bit, but for some reason there’s a warm feeling in his stomach and he thinks that yes, the coffee was a good idea.
--
When Jack’s wet hands are tangled in his hair half an hour later as they kiss against the kitchen counter, the damned leather trousers clinging to his legs like a second skin, Boone takes it back.
He never had a better idea in his entire life.
Maybe he can stop being angry at Shannon for crashing that car, after all.
End.