3x3=3 [Shannon/Boone/Jack; Daniel/Miles/Charlotte; Boone/Claire/Shannon] [NC-17]
Title: 3x3=3 (Triangulation, An Open Door, Truth and Innocence)
Characters: Shannon, Boone, Miles, Charlotte, Daniel, Jack, Claire
Threesomes: 1. Shannon/Boone/Jack, 2. Daniel/Miles/Charlotte, 3. Boone/Claire/Shannon
Rating: NC-17 (het, slash and femslash-extra warning that fic #3 is Quite Explicit)
Spoilers: Major season 5 spoilers for #2. The others take place during season 1.
Summary: 1. Shannon gets a bit jealous over Boone’s attempts at flirtation. 2. Miles goes both ways. 3. Claire becomes the peanut butter. :D
A/N: These were all fics I wrote for pann_cake 's OT3 meme a couple of weeks ago, but I hadn’t finished the third one (for ciaimpala ) until today. I know I have a long list of fics to write, but this little little guy rudely jumped the queue in my head (apologies!).
~~
Triangulation (Shannon/Boone/Jack)
Jack is leaning over Boone, wrapping the burn on her brother’s forearm carefully, telling a joke that Shannon knows is completely lame without needing to hear. Boone laughs anyway, of course. It’s already dark, but she can see his wide, bright blue eyes and exactly what they’re trying to do: she knows because this is what she does, and her mouth drops open in surprise as she watches her own technique reflected suddenly (if imperfectly) back at her.
Actually, she thinks, it’s a pretty poor imitation: Boone lays it on a little too thick, the way he tries to seem vulnerable, blushes and bats his eyelashes like he’s Greta fucking Garbo, but it works well enough on Jack, who looks simply bewildered, dropping the bandages in his hands when Boone tips his head up to kiss him.
Shannon presses her fist against her mouth and bites her knuckle as their lips meet, torn between the potential satisfaction of ruining her brother’s game (and enjoying his subsequent discomposure) and the pleasure that she feels now, creeping up on her slowly as she watches him press his body against Jack’s with a grace that reminds her suddenly, strangely, of ballet. And then she imagines herself walking out from between the trees, circling round them like an instructor, offering a point-by-point critique and moving their hands into better positions. She can’t help it-she laughs aloud at the idea.
When they break apart, staring at her with matching looks of horror, she laughs again.
Boone recovers first: his face scrunches up into that awful, spiteful expression that he knows enrages her more than anything else.
“What, are you spying on me now?” he spits out, trying not to show his discomposure as he looks her up and down. Blood pumps hard to every part of her body and she honestly doesn’t know whether it’s from shame or lust.
“Just wanted to return the favor,” she narrows her eyes to slits: it’s a shot in the dark-she doesn’t actually know that Boone’s ever watched her like this, with someone else, but when he flushes suddenly, practically squirming with discomfort, she knows she’s hit her mark. Instantly, she’s back on top, and that appeases her more than a little, but she doesn’t let him see it, keeping up the guise of anger to hide the throbbing of her pulse, the hot, sticky feeling between her legs.
When she walks up to the two of them, they’re still touching, Boone’s hand still resting, forgotten, against Jack’s hip. Shannon leans into Boone, ignoring Jack, shoving him out of the way.
“Don’t pretend like it doesn’t get you off,” she whispers against Boone’s ear, and then reaches between his legs, running her hand over the bulge in his jeans. He gasps, swells helplessly against her hand, and she smiles, “Pervert.” Before he can close his lips, she slips her tongue wetly in between: It only takes about a second for him to start kissing her back.
When they break apart, she turns to Jack, who is staring at them like they’ve just beamed down from the mother ship, his mouth literally hanging open, his whole face flushed with heat.
“What are you looking at?” Shannon snipes, moving into his space accusatorily as if he’s the one who has been caught spying. She takes hold of his collar, half-tempted to call him a pervert too, just to see how he’ll react, when he meets her eyes and somehow finds his voice.
“I thought you were brother and sister,” he breathes, looking back and forth between them confusedly, as if he doesn’t know which one of them to ask. Shannon laughs and presses her body against his just the way Boone did a moment ago, but more gracefully (if she does say so herself). Jack groans, completely dazed as she lifts one leg over his hip, fitting his cock, hard and throbbing, between her legs.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she licks her lips and then his cheek, grinding against him to show Boone how it’s done. “We’re identical fucking twins.”
~~
An Open Door (Daniel/Miles/Charlotte)
Miles closes his eyes just before Daniel’s mouth closes over his earlobe, sucking slow trails of heat down the back of his neck. He knows what Daniel’s hands feel like-clumsy, but gentle, and the familiar dig of the useless watch that Daniel refuses to take off even when they’re naked, as if he’ll disappear without it. But then a second pair of hands begins to slip through Miles' hair, and even though he’s felt this before-knows exactly what it is-it still sends chills through him, sends goose bumps thrilling through every part of his body.
“She’s here,” Daniel says, so perceptive to what he can’t see that he knows almost before Miles does.
“Yeah,” Miles says anyway, opening his eyes to sharp blue eyes and long, bright red curls that coil against the pillow. She’s one of the most colorful ghosts that he has ever seen. When she smiles softly, he shivers, hardens in Daniel’s hands.
“It’s good to see you too,” she looks down at his body and laughs.
Daniel’s hands curl soothingly against Miles' stomach, move down over his hips and ass while Charlotte presses forward, wrapping her cool arms around his neck. Her soft breasts graze his chest, and she touches her lips to his with a tenderness that he finds difficult to reconcile with his memories of her in life. He often wants to ask her whether it’s an effect of the change, whether it means she’s at rest somehow, but he swallows the question again and again, lets Daniel distract him with his cock and his mouth, murmuring comforting nonsense in his ear.
When Charlotte slips around him at the same time, it’s almost more than Miles can take. The cool tightness of her body opens to the quick, driving motions he begins to make inside her in response to Daniel’s movements inside him, and he feels caught in the push and pull of them, like a door between two worlds, like the only thing holding them together.
~~
Truth and Innocence (Boone/Claire/Shannon)
“I don’t believe this. You’re screwing the pregnant girl?”
To his credit, Boone doesn’t look the least bit surprised.
“What do you care?” he shrugs, raising his eyebrows, “It’s not like I can get her pregnant.”
At first Shannon thinks that’s going to be all she can get out of him, but then he hesitates, sighs in that weird, guilty way that people with consciences do, and murmurs, “I’m not screwing her, Shannon: we’re just-”
Shannon’s not sure why she interrupts him, except that she might be a little bit afraid of what he’s going to say next.
“You’ve got a pregnant girl giving you blowjobs? Just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore pathetic-”
“She’s not-” before he can finish the lie, he flushes and looks away. “It was one time, Shannon. And it wasn’t like I didn’t do anything for her.”
It has always shocked her how he tells the truth, when it would be the easiest thing in the world to lie. She still can’t figure out why he does it: is it because he actually cares about being honest? Or is it because he’s still in love with her? A few years ago, she was certain it was the latter, but now she doesn’t know. Maybe now that he’s getting blowjobs from a pregnant girl, his incestuous, perverted relationship with his sister is starting to look a little stale.
“Anyway,” he backtracks, drawing her out of her reverie, “it’s not like you’re making it out to be. We’re-”
“What?” she crosses her arms, “You’re dating?” Her tone makes it sound like the most obscene, appalling possibility she can imagine. Let’s face it, she thinks, it is the most obscene, appalling possibility she can imagine. “You’ve got to be joking. What’s going to happen when she pops that thing out? You going to play daddy to some brat who isn’t even yours?” She scoffs, shaking her head, “I thought you were past the whole Hillary Clinton ‘it takes a village’ phase.”
Boone’s cheek twitches for one brief moment before his face shuts down completely. She knows that she’s crossed the line. As he glowers at her, she steels herself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth.
“You know, Shannon, just because you can’t get anybody on this island to put up with you for more than five minutes doesn’t mean you have to go trying to fuck up the closest thing to a real relationship that you’re ever going to see.”
And scene, she thinks. Her mouth wobbles dangerously for a few seconds before she manages to pull it back into a tight scowl. She doesn’t know why Boone’s words affect her so much: it isn’t like he hasn’t told her exactly the same thing a hundred times before. But then it occurs to her suddenly why she hates it: he’s still telling the truth, or he thinks he is, anyway.
When she insults him, she lies; she’ll say anything to piss him off, but this is what he genuinely believes about her, that she’s going to spend the rest of her life miserable and alone.
“Fuck you,” she spits, and yes, the argument is definitely over now. She moves to stalk off, ignoring the looks of the few brave souls who’ve kept their tents close enough to hers and Boone’s to be able to hear. Another domestic dispute at the Rutherford/Carlyle residence shouldn’t be shocking anyone at this point.
“Stay away from her, Shannon,” Boone calls, his warning following her into the trees, “You hear me?”
Her eyes burn a little: she does.
~
“Baby names?” Shannon reads from the back of the book.
The pregnant girl looks up at her, sitting up slightly on top of the faded blue blanket to see better, but the sunlight falls on her face, over the brim of the hat that’s supposed to be protecting her from it, and she squints.
Even if she weren’t squinting-even if she weren’t pregnant, Shannon decides, she still wouldn’t be nearly as pretty as Shannon is.
But she gets it, what Boone likes about this girl, instantly: she’s cute. Innocent. It’s something that Shannon will never be, no matter how hard she tries. As if on cue, the older girl laughs, as if, for just a second, she’s in on the cosmic joke.
“The funny thing is,” she answers, as she lifts the book up to block out the sun, “it’s not even mine. It’s amazing, some of the stuff we found in the wreckage. I think that guy Hurley found a whole set of golf clubs, completely intact. Can you believe that?”
“Have you found any so far that you like?” Shannon asks tersely, ignoring the overture.
“What’s that?” Claire doesn’t quite follow at first.
“Baby names,” Shannon explains, tilting her chin toward the book.
“I like ‘Alice’ for a girl, and ‘Aaron’ for a boy,” Claire considers, thumbing through the pages, her eyes going a little distant before she looks up again, “Of course, that’s probably just because I haven’t gotten past the A’s yet.”
Shannon smirks half-heartedly at the joke: she isn’t used to making small talk. Claire seems to sense it when she looks up, and then suddenly, her slight smile falls away.
“I know what you’re trying to do, you know.”
“Excuse me?” Shannon can’t help the rawness that creeps into her tone.
“He told me about you.” Claire doesn’t bother with the pretense of explaining who ‘he’ is, and Shannon doesn’t bother asking.
“What did he tell you?” she swallows instead. Claire shrugs.
“That you’re not really brother and sister, that you had a thing once, when you were younger. That you fight all the time, and that he’s sorry for what he said yesterday.”
Shannon’s eyes widen and she flushes despite herself. It sinks in all at once that her brother and this girl really are spending time together. Talking. Dating. It makes her a little sick.
“It doesn’t matter if he’s sorry for saying it,” Shannon barks, “Not if he still thinks it was the truth.”
Claire just looks up at her blankly.
“You don’t know what he said, do you?” Shannon realizes aloud, feeling suddenly like a fool.
“No,” Claire admits, smiling slightly, almost sympathetically, “but I’m guessing, based on the look on your face, that it was pretty awful.”
“Yeah,” Shannon looks down at her bare feet in the sand, not sure why she’s owning up to it, “It was.” And then her eyes wander back toward Claire involuntarily, examining her afresh. Maybe her first read was wrong-maybe Claire isn’t innocent after all. There’s something frustratingly inscrutable about the composure in the girl’s calm blue eyes: It’s like she’s on another plane that Shannon doesn’t quite understand, past the need to lie and play games. She’s looking her up and down slowly, but not the way Shannon’s looking at her, sizing up a rival. It’s different somehow-
“So, do you want to come to date night?” Claire asks nonchalantly, as if the question follows at all logically from what has preceded it.
Shannon blinks twice, the neurons firing a little more rapidly than usual as she takes in the soft grin, the movement that looks almost like a wink, and then she’s got it: The pregnant girl is a lesbian. Wait.
“You’re inviting me on your date with Boone?” she asks uncertainly, feeling strangely innocent herself.
“Yeah,” Claire nods simply.
“And he knows about this?”
“We talked about it,” she says, leaning back against her blanket, “He says he’s all right with it, if you bring the peanut butter.”
Shannon swallows, hesitates, before meeting the other girl’s eyes. Her brow creases.
“Peanut butter?”
~
Lifting the flap of Claire’s tent is like opening a door into an alternate universe, a bizarro world where her brother is some kind of responsible adult. They look like the glossy surface of a clothing catalogue, the young, well-dressed husband and his charmingly pregnant wife. Except, of course, that something tells Shannon that J. Crew isn’t quite ready for Boone’s hand beneath Claire’s skirt, working slowly between her legs.
She’s leaning against his chest, panting quietly, clutching his t-shirt, and he’s brushing his lips against her collar bone, her throat, with a kind of tender, overwhelmed look on his face that actually makes Shannon shiver, because she remembers it, that same, exact look in a totally different place and time, when he was-
Then Claire whimpers, jarring Shannon out of her reverie, displacing the memory before she has a chance to recall it. The image fades, pales against the freshness of this moment, as the girl’s pink lips part, and her eyes squeeze shut as she falls back against Boone’s shoulder, trembling in his arms. Boone kisses her deeply, his tongue slipping again and again into her mouth, and Shannon can’t stop watching, not sure what she feels, some combination of fascination and arousal that for a moment, almost makes her forget that she is present, that she exists at all.
And then suddenly (or maybe it isn’t suddenly at all, because Shannon almost can’t tell how long she’s been looking), they turn toward her, and she remembers all at once that she is there, one sweaty hand still clutching the cool jar of peanut butter against her thigh. She feels almost as surprised as they look.
“That guy Sawyer is a total freak,” she says, shocked by how normal she sounds, “You wouldn’t believe what he wanted me to do for this.” She looks up at them boldly, feeling for a moment like a bright shell of herself, where everything inside is suddenly on the surface. As soon as she opened the door of the tent, she recognized the possibility that she could be walking into a trap, into some carefully-arranged revenge on the part of Claire or her brother, but she refuses to acknowledge that possibility now, refuses to crack unless one of them decides to smash her open.
Claire recovers first, moves away from Boone to reach out toward Shannon with an open palm.
“Well whatever it was, I hope you didn’t do it,” she grins harmlessly, turning the jar over casually as though nothing has happened, “Peanut butter may be worth a lot of things, but I doubt it’s worth anything involving that bloke.” She sets the jar down by her side before taking one of Shannon’s arms, turning it over almost casually in her hand. “You didn’t kiss him, did you?”
Shannon looks for a moment at Claire’s fingers wrapped around her arm. Then she laughs despite herself.
“It wasn’t a kiss he wanted.”
“Oh God,” Claire wrinkles her nose, “You didn’t-”
She shakes her head, a slight grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“I got that kid Walt to grab it while the ‘con man’ was explaining exactly what it was he wanted from me,” she shrugged. “For someone who’s supposed to be so good at fooling people, he’s not very good at recognizing when he’s being distracted.” Her words trail off as Claire moves closer, squeezing her arm, and then she’s much too close for the purpose of conversation and Shannon knows that Claire’s going to kiss her. She swallows, wondering if this some weird kind of test, and her eyes flick toward Boone as though he might give something away, give her some clue how to respond, but he’s just looking at her with dark, curious eyes and then Claire’s pink lips are on hers, and her own eyes close automatically, flitting shut.
It’s not exactly how Shannon expected it to be: it is teasing and soft, but it’s not exactly innocent. Claire’s kiss is much surer, much easier, almost, than Shannon has ever felt, and she opens her mouth automatically, sucking gently on Claire’s tongue as it slips past her lips. Shannon is so distracted that she only realizes belatedly that has no idea where to put her hands-she almost laughs when she remembers that she’s kissing a pregnant girl-but then she feels Claire’s own hands moving to her waist, slipping beneath the edges of her tank top, small palm flattening against her navel, and she’s distracted into forgetting her dilemma.
I used to have a stomach, she remembers Claire saying to her from across the beach, as Claire takes hold of the flesh there, kneading her belly. Shannon moans and arches a little at the strange feeling, pressing back against Claire a little harder, but before she knows it, the other girl is pulling away.
She takes hold of the tank top again, this time moving to draw it over Shannon’s head, and Shannon shivers, almost puts her hands out, almost asks Claire to slow down, but she doesn’t know how to say I just want to keep kissing you for a little while longer, or, what is more likely, she can’t bring herself to say anything that sounds so needy, so she just lifts her arms over her head and lets Claire do what she wants.
Shannon isn’t any more prepared to object when the other girl reaches around her, deft fingers unhooking the clasp of her bra in one try. Instead, she just looks at Boone over Claire’s shoulder, her face flushing a little as she watches his dilated pupils, the hand that is resting motionless over the bulge in his pants. She still doesn’t know what this is supposed to be, what they’re doing here: It could still be a trick, she thinks. But could Boone have planned this whole thing? Stupid teenage boy lesbian fantasy aside, none of this seems like something he would do.
Before she can get any farther, she feels Claire pull the bra away from her body, and she bites her lip, trying to keep her expression neutral as she’s exposed to both of them at once, her nipples hardening almost instantly. Claire looks her over with open, dark blue eyes, and before Shannon knows it, the other girl’s hand reaches out to cup her breast, her thumb rolling carefully over the nipple. Shannon can’t help it-she hisses and closes her eyes. Before she knows it, Claire is pushing her onto her back, opening her mouth over one breast, her fingers twisting carefully against the other. When Claire pinches her, she cries out, opening her eyes suddenly only to realize that Boone is there, that he’s moved to look at her, to get a better view.
And she thinks, This is sick, isn’t it? even as she moans aloud, twisting beneath Claire. She shouldn’t be doing this, letting him- But she doesn’t think she’s ever been so turned on in her life, the wet warmth soaking through her panties, and then Claire’s mouth is on her stomach, her hands fiddling with the button of her shorts, and then she’s pulling them off along with the rest of her clothing, and she doesn’t have any more time to think about it, completely bared beneath them, breathing hard and so fucking ready that she has to bite her lip to keep from begging them. When Claire pushes apart her legs, she actually whimpers.
In the moment before Claire bends down, Shannon can’t believe that this is really happening. Her mind begins to work strangely, a series of vague and fleeting fears and memories rising up in her only to slip away just as quickly. She remembers that she hasn’t waxed since the crash and flushes a little; then she thinks of an old boyfriend in France, before the au pair thing, and how he used to love to go down on her, and she’d never understood why-and then Claire’s fingers are parting her, spreading her open-
She gasps as she feels Claire’s fingers began to work in her, because it’s too much: she’s too wet, too swollen, and Claire knows now, knows everything, and soon so will Boone. The thought makes Shannon look up almost frantically, trying to locate him as she squirms against Claire, but before she can manage it, Claire’s tongue is sliding against her lips, and then inside-
Shannon groans as Claire’s tongue slips over her clit, over and over until she’s dizzy with it, so that she’s almost totally unprepared for the swift pulsing of her body when she comes, Claire’s fingers continuing to move steadily inside her. And, perversely, that’s when she finally finds Boone, his eyes reduced almost to slits as he watches her, his hand moving up and down in his lap behind Claire, where she can’t see. All at once, another wave of pleasure courses through her and she can’t help but surrender to it, arching beneath Claire and closing her eyes.
She only opens them again when Claire pulls away, and then it’s to find that the other girl has moved back toward Boone, that she’s helping him stroke himself to release. Shannon waits, lifting herself just slightly on her elbows to watch. It only takes him a few minutes after that. He flushes prettily, breathing hard for a few seconds before he opens his eyes again, looking down at Claire.
Shannon laughs then, unexpectedly, leaning back on her arms, feeling strangely light and free. When they both turn to her in surprise, she grins at how innocent they both look, at their big, open blue eyes.
“Nice apology,” she nods at Boone, raising her eyebrows, and then turns to Claire, “So is this about the time that you two usually break out the peanut butter?”
~