Challenged? Try Shannon/Boone!
Title: "Courage is a Shade of Blue"
Pairing: Shannon/Boone (Lost), for the shannon_boone "On The Plane" challenge
Word Count: 370
Warnings: Step-incest of course, semi-angst.
Thanks to i_like_soap for the title and her lovely encouragement as always. (Oh yeah, and disclaimer. No they don't belong to me. How i wish they did.)
Boone hands over the inhaler in the same resigned way he has handed her many things - the remote control when they were kids, the keys to his car when their parents refused to let her drive theirs, his heart when he was old enough to know what doing so meant.
Their fingertips brush as she takes it and an absent-minded smile crosses her face. A memory surfaces; she can still feel his hands gripping her shoulders, burning. Can still taste the desperate need that arose in him as her tongue traced the line from ear to chin. Still see icy fire reflected in his blue blue eyes.
It’s alright.
I understand.
I’m sorry.
Trite phrases reach her mouth, flicker and die on her lips. She swallows them back down inside, he drowns them in exigent kisses. A fingernail snaps, the result of trying to pull him closer than close, and for once in her life Shannon doesn’t care. Doesn’t even notice. The world is spinning, alcoholic-emerald-sapphire, and the only thing holding her on are two sea coloured stars pinning her in their gaze.
“Boone?”
“What?”
His tone is dark, shadowed navy to match his face, not what she expects at all.
When we get home, we’ll leave. And we’ll be happy. I’ll be better, nicer, I promise. I’ll be the way you always wanted me to be.
Courage has never been her strong point, at least not when truth is involved.
“When we get back to LA, you should just tell your mother you saved me again…”
His words smash through the fragile calm she’s trying to maintain, slivers of hope and warmth falling around her.
“Like it’s all up to you.”
Pressing down on the inhaler, she breathes in wishes. If it were all up to her she’d tell him, ten thousand things she’s wanted to say ever since he first held her hand at their parents wedding. Ten thousand things she’s always told herself are sick and wrong and stupid. Ten thousand things that have never come out the way she wants them to, not even when she practiced on other boys first.
When we get home. I’ll do it, I promise, the second we get home.
Pairing: Shannon/Boone (Lost), for the shannon_boone "On The Plane" challenge
Word Count: 370
Warnings: Step-incest of course, semi-angst.
Thanks to i_like_soap for the title and her lovely encouragement as always. (Oh yeah, and disclaimer. No they don't belong to me. How i wish they did.)
Boone hands over the inhaler in the same resigned way he has handed her many things - the remote control when they were kids, the keys to his car when their parents refused to let her drive theirs, his heart when he was old enough to know what doing so meant.
Their fingertips brush as she takes it and an absent-minded smile crosses her face. A memory surfaces; she can still feel his hands gripping her shoulders, burning. Can still taste the desperate need that arose in him as her tongue traced the line from ear to chin. Still see icy fire reflected in his blue blue eyes.
It’s alright.
I understand.
I’m sorry.
Trite phrases reach her mouth, flicker and die on her lips. She swallows them back down inside, he drowns them in exigent kisses. A fingernail snaps, the result of trying to pull him closer than close, and for once in her life Shannon doesn’t care. Doesn’t even notice. The world is spinning, alcoholic-emerald-sapphire, and the only thing holding her on are two sea coloured stars pinning her in their gaze.
“Boone?”
“What?”
His tone is dark, shadowed navy to match his face, not what she expects at all.
When we get home, we’ll leave. And we’ll be happy. I’ll be better, nicer, I promise. I’ll be the way you always wanted me to be.
Courage has never been her strong point, at least not when truth is involved.
“When we get back to LA, you should just tell your mother you saved me again…”
His words smash through the fragile calm she’s trying to maintain, slivers of hope and warmth falling around her.
“Like it’s all up to you.”
Pressing down on the inhaler, she breathes in wishes. If it were all up to her she’d tell him, ten thousand things she’s wanted to say ever since he first held her hand at their parents wedding. Ten thousand things she’s always told herself are sick and wrong and stupid. Ten thousand things that have never come out the way she wants them to, not even when she practiced on other boys first.
When we get home. I’ll do it, I promise, the second we get home.