swmbo posts Shannon/Boone fic! The world trembles! WHY do I not have a shannon/boone icon?

Title: Everything He Ever Wanted
Pairing: Shannon/Boone*
Rating: Hard-R/NC-17

Summary: It's sad when being stranded on an island filled with death, kidnappings, polar bears and mysterious monsters feels like a vacation...

Disclaimer: Obviously they are not mine, for this is not the way it happened on the show. This was written for ros_fod and emailed to her in snippets until she gave in and agreed to beta it and make me work for it.



When she slips under the covers, Boone can't tell her no. Not when they can hear their parents' voices from across the hall, their mother's sounding like broken glass, sharp and cutting, their father's low and ugly.

Shannon's voice is soft in contrast, hesitant - nothing like the bossy tones she normally uses. "They're not going to get a divorce, are they?"

Boone shakes his head, whispering back, "They can't."

Shannon's fist curls against his ribs, twisting his t-shirt up. Boone flushes and tries to inch away, but she's clinging too close, her face creased in misery. "Why not? Becky's parents got divorced and she says they never fought at all before."

Boone reaches out, brushes a lock of hair out of Shannon's eyes automatically as he shrugs. "It's the money thing. The business is built on Mom's reputation - if they get a divorce..."

Shannon buries her face in his shoulder, her breath a hot, damp puff against his skin. "'kay. But - can I stay here, tonight? Just in case?"

He stifles a moan, nodding his head again. Reaches out to pull her close, muttering, "But just tonight."

Boone doesn’t fall asleep. He lays there, muscles locked into place, listening to the angry voices from the other room. Shannon's breath is soft against him and he can’t move, even though his body aches to relax, to shift closer. In the distance, a door slams and Shannon stirs at the sound, a soft whimper coming from her mouth.

Boone freezes, his hand awkwardly patting her hair. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers, voice hoarse with desperation.

She doesn’t stir again. And Boone stares, awake, into the darkness of the room all night. Every once in a while he glances down at the head resting against his arm, blond hair spread out over his pillow, and prays. The words are a jumble in his head and sour in his stomach, incoherent pleas mixed with the desperate hope that he might be stronger than he believes.

* * *

The plane tilts, metal grinding almost loud enough to drown out the panicked cries. Shannon stares straight ahead, biting her lip, hand gripping Boone’s forearm. She can’t breathe and she can’t think and she can’t breathe and…

Boone leans down, hand covering Shannon’s. “It’s going to be okay, Shannon. I promise you…it’s just turbulence. It’s going to be fine.”

She gasps, sucking in air. “I know,” she whispers, concentrating on his voice. But she can hear the fear underneath.

Oxygen masks tumble from the top and Shannon chokes back a sob, reaching up blindly. Boone’s hands are there before her, grabbing one and sliding the rubber band over the back of her head. She clutches it against her mouth, and listens as Boone’s voice continues to murmur, letting the sound wash over her, even as his arm wraps around her. The words are muffled by the mask, but the pressure of his fingers is strong and constant and there.

* * *

Boone walks through the door, slinging his bag to the floor. “Hey! I’m home!” Only silence greets him and he frowns, shrugging off his jacket. “Mom, Dad?” His footsteps echo on the marble and his stomach clenches as he calls out “Shannon…?”

There’s no reply and he glances down at his watch. He’s later than he’d thought he’d be, but only by about thirty minutes. They knew he’d be getting home today – and sure, he’d only been gone a week but Boone usually couldn’t be gone a day without being greeted with exuberant hugs on his return, Shannon hanging off his arm, pouting as she asked what he’d brought her.

Maybe…maybe they were throwing a surprise party. Boone smiles, spirits lifting at the thought. Shannon used to take any excuse to throw a party when they were little. Her enthusiasm faded over the years, as their mom would watch, indulgence turning to criticism as Shannon turned ten, twelve, thirteen. But this – his first roadtrip looking at colleges and Shannon had been so excited for him, ordering him to choose a college close enough for weekends home, far enough away that she could wheedle their parents into letting her visit.

He makes his way out the back, towards the pool. He can hear a radio playing now, and he fights to keep from breaking into a run. He doesn't want to let on that he knows, that’d ruin everything, but he’s smiling, practically bouncing as he walks through the French doors.

“Hey, where is everybo…”

There's just Shannon lying on a deck chair by the side of a pool, music blasting from the cd player next to her. She’s wearing a bikini, skin tanned and covered with oil, her eyes shaded by sunglasses. Boone’s mouth dries and he struggles to keep the smile on his face, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Shan.” He has to raise his voice to talk over the music. “Hey! Did you forget that I was coming back today?”

His frustration mounts when she ignores him and he moves closer, slapping the off button. His voice is too loud when he speaks again. “Shannon? Hey, what’s your deal? Where’s mom and dad?”

Shannon pushes the sunglasses down just far enough that she can glance over the top, gaze flat and cold. Boone’s palms are sweaty and he suddenly wants to stop time, go back inside, rewind the last five minutes, five hours, five years.

“Shan?” I love you is whispering in his head, words that once came so easily, but now he can’t force them out. Just thinking them feels wrong, ugly, even while it feels like another betrayal that he can't say them. “What’s wrong?”

“Dad left today.” Shannon says it dismissively, and she’s already pushed the sunglasses up, shutting Boone out. He can feel the shock of her words rolling through him and he reaches out to touch her, fingers just grazing her arm before she jerks herself back, away from his touch. “Left and you weren’t here to stop him.”

“What? But..” Their father couldn’t leave, wouldn’t leave. Their mom had controlled the purse strings for as long as they could remember. “I’m sure he’ll be back, it's probably on business…” His voice trails off. Shannon’s eyes are covered by the glasses, face turned away in a refusal to look at him.

“Whatever.” She reaches out, turning the music back on, turning the volume even higher.

Boone just stares at her, watches her skin glistening beneath the hot sun. He can feel the beads of sweat starting to gather on his own forehead, almost feel the slick glide of oil against his fingers. He frantically tries to figure out how to fix this, but how can he fix it if she won’t even meet his eyes?

Shannon doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle and eventually Boone gives up, makes his way inside with slow, heavy footsteps.

***

The sand is hot and gritty beneath her legs, the sun beating down is too bright to even look at. But Shannon's not sweating, because Shannon doesn't sweat. She's also not going to move from here, because there's no point. Nothing she could do would change anything, whatever her stupid brother might think.

Shannon runs her hands through the warm sand, feeling the grains trickle between her fingers, staring out at the ocean. If she doesn’t see the wreckage of the plane, it’s not really there and she’s just on the beach, waiting for a waiter to bring her a mai tai. Except out of the corner of her eye she can still see Boone, always moving, trying to help everybody. She has to force herself to stare straight ahead, although her eyes want to follow him, know where he is at every second.

"Stupid," Shannon mutters under her breath. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"I'm sorry?" The voice is young and sweet, and it makes the hair on the back of Shannon's neck raise. Nobody's ever that nice, not unless they want to use you. "Did you say something?"

Shannon glances over, automatically noting the delicate profile, the air of fragility. Her hands clench, fists buried in the sand, but her face is smooth and unconcerned when she responds. "No. Sorry. Just talking to myself."

She looks away, eyes finding Boone again. There's a hard, tight knot in her chest that's not loosening no matter what she tries to do. Fix this, she thinks, so hard she's surprised the girl next to her can't hear it, too. You promised. But Boone's talking with some guy, head cocked to his side, all of his focus on somebody else and he doesn't look her way at all.

Shannon has to close her eyes then, lay back into the sand. Breathe, she reminds herself. Just breathe. Everything is hot and bright and orange beneath her eyelids and she’s on a beach and any minute now somebody will be there to rescue them.

***

Shannon doesn’t talk to Boone for two weeks after their father leaves.

Boone pretends it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t even notice. It’s almost easy to do, except for the clenching in his stomach every time he sees her or hears her voice in the other room talking on the phone. She laughs and teases and he doesn’t know who she’s talking to, but he’s almost overwhelmed by the urge to hit whoever it is on the other line. Boone runs his fingers through his hair and hovers outside the door, listening to her laugh, his own mouth tense. He wants to say something to her, tell her he’s sorry -- even if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to have done wrong. But he can’t take the fact that when she sees him, the smile drops off her face and she looks away, every time. So he waits until he hears her hang up the phone and then slips away.

He’s asleep the next time she comes to his room, ghosting in so silently he barely stirs, not until she slips beneath the covers.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is just a breath, stuffy and snotty, like she’s been crying for hours.

Boone knows he should tell her to go, but he can’t, not when she hasn’t talked to him in weeks, not when she hasn't acknowledged he’s alive. And he can’t even hold a grudge, or ask her why he’s forgiven now. Not when she buries her head against his neck again and he can feel her lashes, spiky with tears, pressing against his skin.

“It’s okay.” His arms reach out almost against his will, and he feels his body relax for the first time in days as he pulls her close, rubbing her back gently.

“Still love me?” Soft and quiet, sounding so young that Boone wants to cry himself.

“Always.” He can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to her forehead, sweet and innocent. Just a kiss, because they’re brother and sister and it’s okay. It’ll be okay.

Boone hasn’t had a good night’s rest in days, and he can’t help falling asleep.

Sometime during the night, he awakens to the warm weight of a slight breast cupped in his hand. Boone doesn’t even know where he is. He can smell lilacs and apples, soft strands of hair pressed against his mouth, and he slides his lips down, kissing the curve of an ear. The nipple hardens against his palm as he caresses and he can hear a small, kittenish noise, as his cock hardens even further.

Boone tries to blink himself awake, because something’s not right, and then a small hand is clutching his and guiding it down, slipping it between Shannon’s legs and it’s warm and wet and full, and Boone can’t stop himself from stroking. Not when she’s rubbing against him, moaning so softly he has to press his mouth even closer to her face to hear it, lips gliding across her cheek. Rubs and strokes until she stiffens against him, a tiny noise like a sob breaking out and he can feel himself jerking against her, stars bursting against his eyelid and he’s unable to control it as he spills into the sheets wrapping them both.

He doesn’t remove his hand, scared and shocked and feeling his gut churning. Shannon doesn’t say anything, just melts against him. Slowly, her breathing eases and he can hear the soft, measured sounds of sleep.

He’s not sure when he drifts off, but he wakes up alone. When he enters the kitchen, Shannon makes a face at him and says imperiously “There you are. You finished off the last of the orange juice yesterday, you jerk. Go to the store and get some more.”

They never speak about it.

***

Is he your boyfriend?

Sometimes the words echo through Shannon’s mind and she wonders why she didn’t say yes. Or at least, just stopped with a no, because Boone wasn’t her boyfriend but…she couldn’t explain what he was. Except that he was the only thing she had left. At night, she always lay down near him, ignore the stiffening of his body next to hers, the way he rolled over so that his back was a solid wall, silent and impenetrable.

It was her fault they were on the island. She was the one who’d run away to Paris and never came back again. Wouldn’t talk to her mother, never even heard from her father. Until finally Boone came, typical knight in shining armor, rescuing her from her mistakes. From married boyfriends and no money and no idea what to do next. Except press her mouth to Boone’s, even when he tried to pull away, and forget everything she’d done wrong. And he gave in, because Boone always gave in.

When she closes her eyes, she can still see him the next day, the way he couldn’t look at her. Still hear the click of the lock when he closed the bathroom door behind him, the sound of the shower starting up. She hadn’t taken the time to even think things through, that little click echoing in her ear and she’d grabbed his wallet, fished out a credit card, and a few hours later she was on a plane for Australia. Most poisonous place on the planet, kept running through her head, words from some documentary Boone had made her watch years ago. It sounded like the right place to go.

Only now they’re on an island and Shannon wants…

She doesn’t even know. But at night she waits until he’s asleep and then turns over, burying her face in the warmth of Boone’s back, breathing in the scent of salt and sweat. Boone keeps telling her she’s useless, keeps asking her to do something. She doesn’t know how he can still try, how he can keep begging her to help when he knows that she can’t do it, that everything she touches breaks apart. But she still can’t help touching him.


***

When Boone’s mother tells him she’s going to be in Paris on Shannon’s sweet sixteen, he tries to object. He doesn't know if it's worse that his mother won't be there or that he will. But he knows that he doesn’t want to be the one to tell Shannon. His mother brushes off his concerns and tells him she knows Shannon will take it much better from him. He’s not reassured when she tells him that their father might be in town that weekend, but could Boone please chaperone, anyway?

Shannon waits all day for their father to call, but she’s smiling and laughing when the first of her friends arrive. The event is elaborate – photographers are there for the first half an hour, but after the journalism show is over, it settles down to teenagers giggling and throwing chips at one another. Boone tries to stay out of their way, although he’s uncomfortably aware of the flirtatious glances being sent his way by some of her friends. Worse, he knows Shannon can see it, too…her voice gets sharper at those moments, any edge of laughter fading.

He retreats into the kitchen, making sure just to keep an eye on the open door. Kristy tries to slip inside, but he fends her off with a bag of cheetos and clutches the phone like a life preserver when it rings, turning his back on her with an apologetic smile.

Except, instead of safety, Boone’s father just asks him to pass along a birthday greeting – something’s come up and he won’t be able to make it out. Boone tries to convince him to at least talk to Shannon in person, but he already knows it’s a lost cause.

The expression on Shannon’s face when he tells her makes his chest ache, but a split second later she’s smiling and laughing and telling him that it’s okay, adults would just cramp her style. He feels even more guilty an hour later, when he won’t let her spike the punch, but it’s his job to be the responsible one.

It’s after two a.m. before the last of the guests clear out, Shannon waving goodbye from the front porch. A glance around the disaster that was their living room convinces Boone that he’s better off leaving it for the morning. He can't stand the thought of going to bed with skin sticky from spilled fruit punch and heads towards his shower.

He's just finished lathering up his hair and is rinsing it, letting the hot water pelt into him, when the door opens softly. Shannon’s standing there, face shadowed from the hallway, just her mouth visible, lipstick smudged red. Boone lets out a yelp, face flushing with embarrassment.

“Jeeze, Shan…”

She doesn’t speak, just steps forward, opening the door and walking into the cascade of water before Boone can even stop her. He’s too shocked to move when she drops to her knees in front of him, taking him in her mouth, tongue swirling around his cock in a motion that makes Boone’s eyes roll back in his head.

He scrambles for purchase against the tiles for a second, trying to summon up the strength to pull her away, to make her stop. But her mouth is hot and wet and her hands are sliding up his thighs, lightly scraping her nails against him. He doesn’t know, he can’t tell if she’s done this before or just read about it. Her mouth is soft and awkward but persistent.

“Oh, god..” His voice breaks off when she digs her nails into the muscles of his thigh at the sound, head jerking slightly to the side. Shannon’s teeth graze lightly against his dick with the motion and he lets out a gasp, half pain and half pleasure. He can’t help but look down at the motion, seeing the perfect, angelic face of his sister, her pink lips wrapped around his cock, cheeks hollowing slightly as she pulls, eyes closed against the water that runs down her face.

Boone can’t suppress a groan at the sight, a groan that vibrates inside his chest as he slams his head back. He feels it crack against the tile but he doesn't even care. He deserves the pain, but it’s not enough to wipe out the pleasure, not when Shannon’s wrapping one hand around his thigh and sliding the other between his legs. Boone shatters with a moan, watching Shannon’s throat moving rhythmically as she swallows before pulling her head back, his dick slipping from between her lips. Her eyes never open, but her head falls forward as if too heavy for her neck to support it.

Boone just leans there, collapsed against the side of the shower, looking down at her. The water soaks her hair, turning the blond strands dark, her dress going transparent and clinging as she kneels on the floor, head still bowed. His hands are still clutching at the cold tile of the shower, breathing harsh and erratic. He can’t form words, can’t form thoughts.

When Shannon rises, it’s a smooth, graceful motion and she turns to leave, still never opening her eyes. Still not looking at him. Boone reaches out one hand to stop her but can’t make himself make contact. He watches her depart, the nausea roiling in his gut so strongly that he stumbles out of the shower, falls to his knees in front of the toilet, heaving until there’s nothing left in his stomach but bile.

***

The conquering heroes don’t so much stride as straggle into camp. It doesn’t take but a few seconds of searching before Shannon realizes that they don’t have Claire with them, either. A word with Jack that she can’t hear, and Boone moves off, away from Locke, whose face is drawn and serious.

Shannon follows him quietly, picking her way carefully through the jungle. Stops when she catches sight of him, because Boone’s leaning against a tree, face pressed into the rough bark, one hand fisted, the knuckles white with strain and bleeding. His shoulders are shaking and everything inside Shannon starts screaming in panic, because she can hear the muffled sounds and it’s not even like sobs, it’s too raw and painful, it's like a broken animal. And that’s not allowed, because Boone can be pissy or annoying and everything will be okay, but he can’t…Shannon can’t make it if he doesn’t.

It takes every ounce of courage she possesses to take another step forward, and the sound of the twig snapping beneath her foot echoes. Boone’s head jerks up sharply and he turns with a jerk, eyes narrow. His shoulders don’t relax at all when he catches sight of Shannon.

“What do you want?”

“I – I’m sorry.” Shannon takes a deep breath, licking her lips. “About Claire.”

Boone lets out a sound that might be a laugh, except that it’s harsh and ugly. “That’s rich. Drop the act, Shannon – like you care about anybody but yourself.”

She takes another step forward, fingers digging into her palm. She can do this, she can and it will be okay. “I do care. I want you to find her. But beating yourself up about it won’t do any good.” She reaches out, grabbing a hold of Boone’s hand, wincing slightly at the rawness of the knuckles. “You hurt your hand.” Her thumb dances lightly over the scrapes, and she looks up at Boone through her lashes.

His eyes are hungry, fastened on her, and she almost goes limp with relief, because this is something she knows. Shannon takes a step closer, feeling the heat of his body, watching a drop of sweat trickling down his neck, gleaming against his collarbone. She can’t drag her eyes away from it, rises up on tiptoes to press her mouth against Boone’s skin, her small tongue flicking out and tracing the path. Warmth hums in her stomach, making her shiver and take the final step, pressing herself against him completely.

“Shannon…”

She pulls away for a second, hands sliding beneath his shirt, feeling the muscles of his stomach clenching beneath her fingertips. His thigh is hard between her legs and she arches into it, murmuring “Shhh….”.

And for an instant, everything is right. Perfect. Shannon feels Boone’s cock hard against her and the uneven sound of his breathing is making its way under her skin, skittering across her nerves. Its even better when Boone’s hands come up, wrap themselves around her arms and tighten, fingers pressing into skin and just a hint more pressure and there’ll be bruises and it’s all perfect.

So it’s a shock when Shannon finds herself suddenly touching nothing.

“Stop it! Just fucking stop it, Shannon.” Boone’s voice is low and hoarse and he’s pushing her away and Boone doesn’t push her away, he can’t, he’s the one person who never will but…

“Boone?” Shannon reaches out, unable to stop herself. But Boone is backing away, shaking his head.

“We can’t do this anymore. Ever.” His mouth is a hard, tight line and this time Boone’s looking at her, the weight of his gaze so strong that Shannon just wants to collapse to the ground under the strain of it.

“But…”

“I mean it, Shannon.” When Boone turns and walks away, he doesn’t look back.

After he leaves, Shannon just crouches on the ground, arms wrapped around herself, trying to control her ragged breathing. She catches a glimpse of her nails, ragged, dirty…they don’t belong on her hands. She suddenly has the urge to find Charlie, cover her nails in thick, black nailpolish, to fix them. Fix something, if she can't fix anything that really matters.

***

Survival demands sacrifice. Boone clutches at Locke's words. He rubs fiercely at the broken skin of his knuckles, twisting it painfully until it's a sharp burn that covers everything else, until he can't see the look on Shannon's face any longer.

There's a reason they survived and a reason they crashed and sometimes Boone wonders if it wasn't all the same reason. His punishment, his weakness and his sin. His reward, even, because...

It's their first night on the island, everybody's shell-shocked, numb. Obeying whatever orders Jack throws at them, or just staring into the fire. Shannon's leaning against him, limp with exhaustion, when Boone realizes that nobody's looking at them. Not looking at them oddly or with understanding or amusement. Simply not looking at them at all, even as Boone wraps his arm around Shannon, pulling her closer to him.

He leans over, whispering quietly. "Don't tell anybody about us."

Her face is blank with incomprehension as she stares up at him.

"Don't tell anybody," Boone says again, hand squeezing Shannon's arm. "Don't tell them that we're brother and sister. Not while we're on the island."

Shannon shakes her head, her mouth twisted with misery or guilt or satisfaction, Boone can't tell. "I - I already have. That pregnant girl, the blonde, she asked if you...I told her you were my brother."

The words slide into Boone like a knife, a second of disbelief that Shannon picked now to start sharing confidences with strangers, before the reality of what they mean cuts into him. His arm drops to his side as he pulls away.

"Boone..." Shannon sounds off-balance and upset.

"Never mind." He pushes away the hope that had filled him for a brief instant, pushes away the irrational anger that Shannon hadn't seen the same chance he had or, worse, had seen it and rejected it.

The sound of trees crashing to the ground comes as a welcome distraction.

Now Claire is missing and Boone's failed her. Failed her, failed Locke, failed himself. But Shannon was still alive and Boone is determined that she'll continue that way.

No matter what he has to sacrifice.

*author's note: The bulk of this was originally written the day before Hearts and Minds aired. Obviously canon came and bit me immediately, but I decided that it fit the spirit, if not the letter, of the show and kept it all intact.