fic, Lost: Leaving All of Love's Ashes Behind (Sawyer/Boone), light R, for 12_stories
Well, I had this in mind for months and since the insane thing has stopped to cooperate after 8000 words of cooperating, guess I'll just write it since it's the only prompt for that table left for which I had an idea.
Title: Leaving All of Love's Ashes Behind
Pairing: Sawyer/Boone
Rating: light R
Disclaimer: See the spoilers. If it was mine, it wouldn't have happened.
Word count: 858
Spoilers: For The Greater Good.
Summary: They lower the corpse six feet under in the grave that Sawyer contributed to dig because he felt like he should have been there at least and he finally gets it, and it hits. It hits hard.
A/N: for 12_stories #8, forgiveness. No plot whatsoever and I wish I could write some angst-free Boone thing, but that's not the case. Title stolen from a line of Bob Dylan's Ballad in plain D, which doesn't really have a thing to do with any of this. Nominated for best slash fic at lost_fic_awards, May 2008.
Sawyer doesn’t really get it until they lower the corpse six feet under.
Or what he, Charlie and Michael assumed was about six feet under when they dug the grave that morning. They were the only three volunteering for the job and it wasn’t like Jack could have helped anyway; he looks like he’s going to faint every second and Sawyer doesn’t really understand where he found any strength to carry the corpse altogether.
Corpse.
In Sawyer’s head, it doesn’t click.
The first time they actually had a close encounter, well, he remembers Boone’s skin being pale and soft, his lips full and pink and his eyes big and sort of vibrating before he threw the first punch. Then the skin had broken, his upper lip split and his cheek wasn’t just flushed and pale but also stained in red. The same one that was on the back of his hand.
You don’t beat a corpse. If you do, blood doesn’t flow.
A week or so later, Boone had come to his tent and then it began.
The second time they had a close encounter, Boone’s skin was soft and a little less pale under his fingers, those lips were full, pink and Sawyer had to admit that Boone had put them and his mouth to excellent use, his eyes big and really vibrating with pleasure when Sawyer was pushing inside him. His bottom lip had bled when Sawyer bit it and Boone hadn’t complained about it. After their second encounter, his cheeks were even more flushed and the back of Sawyer’s hand wasn’t red anymore but sort of white.
It was a pretty fine agreement, truth to be told; Sawyer got some quite fantastic sex out of it (oh, he never told Boone, but the damn kid was always a fucking tease later and it meant he knew) and while he never really knew what was Boone’s advantage, it really wasn’t his business since hey, he was the one offering.
You don’t have sex with a corpse and that’s why Sawyer can’t really place the concept in his head. Boone and corpse just don’t go together, not when three days ago he could just feel the blood flowing through Boone’s veins and his heart beating so fast that Sawyer had actually congratulated himself for doing such a good job.
They lower the corpse six feet under in the grave that Sawyer contributed to dig because he felt like he should have been there at least and he finally gets it, and it hits. It hits hard.
Shannon tries to speak and can’t say a thing. Sayid does in her place.
I didn't know Boone very well, and for that I am sorry.
Sawyer sure knew him better than Sayid did. Though well, the level on which they knew each other is probably nothing good for a funeral speech and so Sawyer lets Sayid talk and stays silent.
Their last time together, he told Boone he was sorry for what he did during the inhalers mess. He couldn’t recall telling someone he was sorry during the last ten years, implied that it was someone alive, but fuck, he really couldn’t bear keeping on meeting up with Boone in his tent three times per week behaving like it had never happened.
Boone had just laughed softly and told him that it was long forgiven.
Then Boone’s skin was again soft and pale and bruised from three nights before under his hands, those eyes were staring into his, so impossibly blue; Boone’s lips were soft under Sawyer’s and it had been slow, full and without strings attached for the very first time since they started.
Just after, Sawyer had wondered if next time something would trick him into developing another kind of strings, but then Boone had fallen from a cliff, or a plane, or whatever it was. Jack had been there and he wasn’t, he really chose the worst timing for listening to Kate when he had spent a month doing the contrary. So he contributed and they dug the grave.
Least he could do, right?
He figures that at least he knows Boone wasn’t holding the inhalers against him; knowing that someone forgave any of the crap he did (because that was some unreasonable crap, nothing more and nothing less) just makes him feel slightly better.
I remember his courage. And I know he will be missed.
A good speech. Better than he could have done. Surely better than the speech he’s going to get, if he gets one, but that isn’t the point.
Then Locke shows up, Jack is on him, Sawyer grabs Charlie and they are just in time before the stubborn bastard collapses, and wasn’t it just time.
When Sawyer actually sees Locke’s shirt, he wants to throw up. At least he had only split Boone’s lip; he’s got this idea that a split lip is better than a split body. He wants to throw up again. He wonders if Boone would have forgiven him, had he lived.
Well, maybe it’s better to stick with what you know. He knows he was forgiven. That’s enough.
End.
Title: Leaving All of Love's Ashes Behind
Pairing: Sawyer/Boone
Rating: light R
Disclaimer: See the spoilers. If it was mine, it wouldn't have happened.
Word count: 858
Spoilers: For The Greater Good.
Summary: They lower the corpse six feet under in the grave that Sawyer contributed to dig because he felt like he should have been there at least and he finally gets it, and it hits. It hits hard.
A/N: for 12_stories #8, forgiveness. No plot whatsoever and I wish I could write some angst-free Boone thing, but that's not the case. Title stolen from a line of Bob Dylan's Ballad in plain D, which doesn't really have a thing to do with any of this. Nominated for best slash fic at lost_fic_awards, May 2008.
Sawyer doesn’t really get it until they lower the corpse six feet under.
Or what he, Charlie and Michael assumed was about six feet under when they dug the grave that morning. They were the only three volunteering for the job and it wasn’t like Jack could have helped anyway; he looks like he’s going to faint every second and Sawyer doesn’t really understand where he found any strength to carry the corpse altogether.
Corpse.
In Sawyer’s head, it doesn’t click.
The first time they actually had a close encounter, well, he remembers Boone’s skin being pale and soft, his lips full and pink and his eyes big and sort of vibrating before he threw the first punch. Then the skin had broken, his upper lip split and his cheek wasn’t just flushed and pale but also stained in red. The same one that was on the back of his hand.
You don’t beat a corpse. If you do, blood doesn’t flow.
A week or so later, Boone had come to his tent and then it began.
The second time they had a close encounter, Boone’s skin was soft and a little less pale under his fingers, those lips were full, pink and Sawyer had to admit that Boone had put them and his mouth to excellent use, his eyes big and really vibrating with pleasure when Sawyer was pushing inside him. His bottom lip had bled when Sawyer bit it and Boone hadn’t complained about it. After their second encounter, his cheeks were even more flushed and the back of Sawyer’s hand wasn’t red anymore but sort of white.
It was a pretty fine agreement, truth to be told; Sawyer got some quite fantastic sex out of it (oh, he never told Boone, but the damn kid was always a fucking tease later and it meant he knew) and while he never really knew what was Boone’s advantage, it really wasn’t his business since hey, he was the one offering.
You don’t have sex with a corpse and that’s why Sawyer can’t really place the concept in his head. Boone and corpse just don’t go together, not when three days ago he could just feel the blood flowing through Boone’s veins and his heart beating so fast that Sawyer had actually congratulated himself for doing such a good job.
They lower the corpse six feet under in the grave that Sawyer contributed to dig because he felt like he should have been there at least and he finally gets it, and it hits. It hits hard.
Shannon tries to speak and can’t say a thing. Sayid does in her place.
I didn't know Boone very well, and for that I am sorry.
Sawyer sure knew him better than Sayid did. Though well, the level on which they knew each other is probably nothing good for a funeral speech and so Sawyer lets Sayid talk and stays silent.
Their last time together, he told Boone he was sorry for what he did during the inhalers mess. He couldn’t recall telling someone he was sorry during the last ten years, implied that it was someone alive, but fuck, he really couldn’t bear keeping on meeting up with Boone in his tent three times per week behaving like it had never happened.
Boone had just laughed softly and told him that it was long forgiven.
Then Boone’s skin was again soft and pale and bruised from three nights before under his hands, those eyes were staring into his, so impossibly blue; Boone’s lips were soft under Sawyer’s and it had been slow, full and without strings attached for the very first time since they started.
Just after, Sawyer had wondered if next time something would trick him into developing another kind of strings, but then Boone had fallen from a cliff, or a plane, or whatever it was. Jack had been there and he wasn’t, he really chose the worst timing for listening to Kate when he had spent a month doing the contrary. So he contributed and they dug the grave.
Least he could do, right?
He figures that at least he knows Boone wasn’t holding the inhalers against him; knowing that someone forgave any of the crap he did (because that was some unreasonable crap, nothing more and nothing less) just makes him feel slightly better.
I remember his courage. And I know he will be missed.
A good speech. Better than he could have done. Surely better than the speech he’s going to get, if he gets one, but that isn’t the point.
Then Locke shows up, Jack is on him, Sawyer grabs Charlie and they are just in time before the stubborn bastard collapses, and wasn’t it just time.
When Sawyer actually sees Locke’s shirt, he wants to throw up. At least he had only split Boone’s lip; he’s got this idea that a split lip is better than a split body. He wants to throw up again. He wonders if Boone would have forgiven him, had he lived.
Well, maybe it’s better to stick with what you know. He knows he was forgiven. That’s enough.
End.