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Jan. 19th, 2005 10:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ficinabottleTitle: [ Untitled ].
Author: Annulled.
Pairing: Shannon/Sawyer, Shannon/Boone, with implied Boone/Jack.
Spoilers: After "Hearts and Minds".
Rating: R, for language and adult content.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, although I wish I did, and I'm not doing this for money or anything, so yeah. No suing. I do own this story, though, so no stealing.
Summary: Sneaky Shannon…
She wasn’t sure exactly when he’d made his decision to stop looking at her the way he always looked at her, and she wasn’t sure exactly when it started to bother her when he’d disappear with Jack for long hours at a time, and she couldn’t pinpoint the precise moment she narrowed her eyes for the first time and glared at the two of them smiling and joking and laughing, and lightly poking each other and exchanging glances. There was no black mark in the pages of the magazine where she kept tally of the days stranded that was captioned as “the day it changed” and there were no marks on the soles of her feet as she crossed the beach into the shelter of the last one anyone expected her to be sneaking around to see.
It was always night when she disappeared, when all was quiet and only the gentle rustling of leaves filled the air beside the sound of waves crashing on the shore. When she woke, she would glance at the still form beside her, force herself to keep from clawing out his eyes, and pull on her best shawl and comb her hair and clean out her mouth with the Scope she’d salvaged from someone’s toiletrie bag, and cross the beach into His Territory.
That’s always how she imagined it would be written if it was actually written. His Territory. With His things scattered here and there. He slept with the more important things under his back or between his legs, and even from ten steps away, she could see that he was waking up for their meeting as well, and looked at her with a grin that was hungry and wolf-like in the moonlight.
Her stomach dropped down into her feet, the way it always did, and she came up in front of him. He still lay back comfortably, his gaze burning a trail up long, smooth legs, up the curve of her hip, over the flat plane of her belly, over the swell of breasts, until his gaze and hers locked, and she felt fifteen and virginal and scared and excited and horny and disgusted and creeped out, all balled into one.
She liked how he was rough, liked how he didn’t waste any time with small talk when she sat down on the thighs of his legs and leaned over to whisper a greeting, and he cut it off with his mouth, claiming over hers in a knee-buckling way. She always whimpered with surprise, and he always chuckled and she swallowed it down and kept it inside of her, so she could go back and remember it later when she was bathing and hot and sliding her hands down her slick skin. And when she was back at the camp, flushed and clean, and watching a playful flirtation and maybe more carry on right before her mean eyes.
He never said a word. He didn’t start speaking until he was inside of her, until he was fucking her, until she was shaking with anticipation and squirming and it was all building up in a pool in her lower belly and between her legs. His breath was warm against her ear, his body weight was welcome on hers, and sometimes, she had to hold back the urge to push him away and tell him she hated him, because if she did that, she would only be playing into every fantasy he’d had (that she was sure he’d had) from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other, and she couldn’t give him the pleasure of making her hate him.
“I’m only fucking you for your sake,” he would say, and she would nip his lower lip and look at him, cheeks streaked over an angry red, and maybe he was telling the truth and maybe he wasn’t, but it sounded so real and she always respected honesty, even if the words were harsh.
She bucked her hips a little harder and grinded herself against him a little more, welcomed him deeper inside of her and locked her feet behind his back. He preferred being in control, but she tried convincing herself as she watched him with an unwavering gaze that maybe this game was some intricate and delicate design on him.
He would grin that hungry grin, look at her with devil’s eyes, and hurt her when he drove harder against her and pressed his mouth to hers and mumbled, “I wish it was anyone but you, Sticks. But you’ll do.”
Her fingernails dug into his back, into marks that had been there nearly since the beginning, and she came around him, mumbling his name in a strangled voice, barely audible. She felt him stiffen, felt his teeth sink into her shoulder, felt herself cry out in a mix of hot pleasure and searing pain, felt him finish off inside of her. She tightened around him and kept it all for herself, accepted him when he fell on her chest, shuddering and shivering, gulping for air the same way she was, and they took moments to revel in themselves and each other.
Until she started moving, trying to get away, and it was at that point when she tried telling herself that she enjoyed not a minute of it, sent him a look that told him she was only doing her duty as.. Well, it didn’t matter to her what she was doing her duty as, she was doing it and that was enough for her.
Boone looked at her sometimes, glancing up in mid-conversation with Jack, and furrowed his brows, almost as if he couldn’t place the tip of his finger on what had changed about her, or if anything had changed at all. She read her magazines and made another mark on the magazine page, this time in blue, and stayed quiet about Sawyer and the bruises on her back, letting her easy smiles and swinging hips do the talking for her. It was all part of the game she and Sawyer played with each other.
After all, she had the sneaking suspicion that Sawyer knew he was no Boone, but he’d do.
Author: Annulled.
Pairing: Shannon/Sawyer, Shannon/Boone, with implied Boone/Jack.
Spoilers: After "Hearts and Minds".
Rating: R, for language and adult content.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, although I wish I did, and I'm not doing this for money or anything, so yeah. No suing. I do own this story, though, so no stealing.
Summary: Sneaky Shannon…
She wasn’t sure exactly when he’d made his decision to stop looking at her the way he always looked at her, and she wasn’t sure exactly when it started to bother her when he’d disappear with Jack for long hours at a time, and she couldn’t pinpoint the precise moment she narrowed her eyes for the first time and glared at the two of them smiling and joking and laughing, and lightly poking each other and exchanging glances. There was no black mark in the pages of the magazine where she kept tally of the days stranded that was captioned as “the day it changed” and there were no marks on the soles of her feet as she crossed the beach into the shelter of the last one anyone expected her to be sneaking around to see.
It was always night when she disappeared, when all was quiet and only the gentle rustling of leaves filled the air beside the sound of waves crashing on the shore. When she woke, she would glance at the still form beside her, force herself to keep from clawing out his eyes, and pull on her best shawl and comb her hair and clean out her mouth with the Scope she’d salvaged from someone’s toiletrie bag, and cross the beach into His Territory.
That’s always how she imagined it would be written if it was actually written. His Territory. With His things scattered here and there. He slept with the more important things under his back or between his legs, and even from ten steps away, she could see that he was waking up for their meeting as well, and looked at her with a grin that was hungry and wolf-like in the moonlight.
Her stomach dropped down into her feet, the way it always did, and she came up in front of him. He still lay back comfortably, his gaze burning a trail up long, smooth legs, up the curve of her hip, over the flat plane of her belly, over the swell of breasts, until his gaze and hers locked, and she felt fifteen and virginal and scared and excited and horny and disgusted and creeped out, all balled into one.
She liked how he was rough, liked how he didn’t waste any time with small talk when she sat down on the thighs of his legs and leaned over to whisper a greeting, and he cut it off with his mouth, claiming over hers in a knee-buckling way. She always whimpered with surprise, and he always chuckled and she swallowed it down and kept it inside of her, so she could go back and remember it later when she was bathing and hot and sliding her hands down her slick skin. And when she was back at the camp, flushed and clean, and watching a playful flirtation and maybe more carry on right before her mean eyes.
He never said a word. He didn’t start speaking until he was inside of her, until he was fucking her, until she was shaking with anticipation and squirming and it was all building up in a pool in her lower belly and between her legs. His breath was warm against her ear, his body weight was welcome on hers, and sometimes, she had to hold back the urge to push him away and tell him she hated him, because if she did that, she would only be playing into every fantasy he’d had (that she was sure he’d had) from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other, and she couldn’t give him the pleasure of making her hate him.
“I’m only fucking you for your sake,” he would say, and she would nip his lower lip and look at him, cheeks streaked over an angry red, and maybe he was telling the truth and maybe he wasn’t, but it sounded so real and she always respected honesty, even if the words were harsh.
She bucked her hips a little harder and grinded herself against him a little more, welcomed him deeper inside of her and locked her feet behind his back. He preferred being in control, but she tried convincing herself as she watched him with an unwavering gaze that maybe this game was some intricate and delicate design on him.
He would grin that hungry grin, look at her with devil’s eyes, and hurt her when he drove harder against her and pressed his mouth to hers and mumbled, “I wish it was anyone but you, Sticks. But you’ll do.”
Her fingernails dug into his back, into marks that had been there nearly since the beginning, and she came around him, mumbling his name in a strangled voice, barely audible. She felt him stiffen, felt his teeth sink into her shoulder, felt herself cry out in a mix of hot pleasure and searing pain, felt him finish off inside of her. She tightened around him and kept it all for herself, accepted him when he fell on her chest, shuddering and shivering, gulping for air the same way she was, and they took moments to revel in themselves and each other.
Until she started moving, trying to get away, and it was at that point when she tried telling herself that she enjoyed not a minute of it, sent him a look that told him she was only doing her duty as.. Well, it didn’t matter to her what she was doing her duty as, she was doing it and that was enough for her.
Boone looked at her sometimes, glancing up in mid-conversation with Jack, and furrowed his brows, almost as if he couldn’t place the tip of his finger on what had changed about her, or if anything had changed at all. She read her magazines and made another mark on the magazine page, this time in blue, and stayed quiet about Sawyer and the bruises on her back, letting her easy smiles and swinging hips do the talking for her. It was all part of the game she and Sawyer played with each other.
After all, she had the sneaking suspicion that Sawyer knew he was no Boone, but he’d do.
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no subject
Date: 2005-01-27 03:40 am (UTC)Seriously perfect and wrong and dirty.
Yum.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 06:18 am (UTC)thank you. i'm glad you liked it.