Summary: Sawyer has something Boone wants
Note: Written for ficangel’s Boone ficathon for astonish, who wanted Sawyer/Boone, fluffy pink slippers, sand in uncomfortable places and Hurley. I don’t know if she wanted smut, but well, that’s here too. Set sometime after "Confidence Man" and before "Do No Harm"
Boone wet his lips. Something about talking to Sawyer made his mouth go dry.
“I said, do you have any more sunscreen?” He hovered uncertainly, unnerved by the fact that Sawyer wasn’t even so much as glancing in his direction. He simply lay back in his airplane seat as though it were a deck chair and this was Club Med, and for about the fortieth time Boone wondered why Shannon hadn’t gone for Sawyer. He seemed perfect for her: lazy, self-involved, and well, stunning. And inclined to nasty, dramatic mood shifts. They could be twins.
Boone shifted his feet, remembering that beating he’d taken at Sawyer’s hands all too well. But now Sawyer seemed about as interested in him as he was in learning Korean and helping Jin fish. He just lay back, those stupid orange sunglasses covering half his face and sunning himself proudly like an overgrown cat, his bare chest glistening with the faintest sheen of sweat.
Boone swallowed, forcing his mind back to the reason he was here. “Well?” He hated being made to wait for Sawyer like some servant. He had a mind to go over there and rip Sawyer’s sunglasses off, but then Sawyer sat up and pushed them back onto his head and fixed him with those eyes that were as blue and changeable as the ocean and Boone nearly cut and ran.
“Well now, I think I just might,” Sawyer drawled, moving slowly and talking even slower. His every move seemed deliberately flirtatious, from the way he hitched up his jeans as he stood up to the flash of those sly dimples that had no right belonging to a man who was already so damn gorgeous.
Boone nodded and frowned, arms crossed, squashing those unwelcome thoughts of Sawyer, who after all, was a complete asshole, and followed him into his tent.
He hadn’t stepped two feet inside when his eye fell on something that looked like a fluffy pink dog and really the last thing he ever expected to see in Sawyer’s tent: women’s slippers. Shannon’s to be more exact. For a second, his worst fears were confirmed. Shannon had been fucking Sawyer all this time and here was the proof.
“Fancy those, Elton?” Sawyer was kidding him, but that soft Southern accent took all the harshness out of his jibe. “They might be a tad too small for you, but maybe for dear, darlin’ sister?”
“They are Shannon’s!” Boone insisted, glaring at Sawyer, but inwardly giddy that all signs pointed to regular, everyday scavenger Sawyer and not Sawyer, scoundrel seducer of Shannon.
“Ah, well, they’re mine now, college boy,” Sawyer said, scooping them up with a smile, clearly delighting in the fact that he had the upper hand. “Make you a deal for them.”
“Oh yeah?” Boone snapped, painfully aware he sounded about 14 years old and just about that dangerous. “Like what?”
“How ‘bout you give me your shirt?” Sawyer’s gaze flicked to his chest, and Boone uncrossed his arms long enough to doublecheck which shirt he was wearing.
“But ... I like this one,” he protested, his approximate age sinking by about two more years. It was the gray one with the Chinese symbol.
“You want the slippers, or doncha?” Sawyer held them up and gave them the once-over, as if surely everyone who laid eyes on them would agree they were priceless.
“OK, OK,” Boone sighed, pulling the shirt over his head and feeling like the world’s biggest fool. He tossed the shirt to Sawyer and stood there, thrusting his hands into the front pockets of his jeans rather than betray his self-consciousness.
Sawyer held the shirt in one hand, the slippers in the other. “Sure, not much cause for fuzzy slippers on a tropical island, but maybe they have other uses.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Boone was getting impatient. “Just give me the fucking slippers, OK?”
“Comin’ up,” Sawyer drawled, crossing the tent in one languid motion to stand directly in front of Boone now. Jesus, he was tall, Boone thought stupidly. Sawyer tucked the T-shirt into the waistband of his jeans, letting it trail down his leg. Boone wasn’t sure what to thank of that. But he didn’t give it much thought because now Sawyer was holding out the slippers to his bare chest and -- Boone’s eyes widened -- rubbing them over his skin in small circles.
“Uh ... what the fuck are you doing?” he said, and his voice came out much higher-pitched than he would have liked. He felt himself flushing from his navel upwards and possibly downwards as well.
Sawyer raised an eyebrow at him and leaned in closer, still tracing outlines over his chest with the fluffy things, and fuck it, but his nipples were getting hard and that wasn’t all. Boone didn’t know whether to look into those grinning blue eyes or at Sawyer’s chest or to close his own eyes and just ... let things happen.
“You know what?” he said, just as if Boone hadn’t asked him a question, “Don’t want your shirt now.” He pulled it out and let it drop on the ground, putting a protective foot on it. “Think I want those jeans.”
Boone swallowed hard as Sawyer’s hand moved to his crotch, those damned dimples eating up his reaction. “I don’t ...” he started to say, but he was already grinding against Sawyer’s hand and Sawyer was yanking his jeans down and he blindly stepped out of them, dizzy as Sawyer’s eyes ran over him.
“Turn around,” Sawyer ordered and Boone blinked and did it, his pulse throbbing wildly in his throat.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK, went the refrain in his head as Sawyer’s hand slipped onto his thigh and then oh so casually took hold of his cock. He was breathing fast already, scarcely believing this was happening.
Now Sawyer pressed his body up against his and Jesus, he felt only warm skin and Sawyer’s dick pressing against his ass. Sawyer spit into his hand and set to jerking him off with long, sure strokes, and Boone was just putty in his hands, a weak moan signaling his utter surrender.
“You like that?” Sawyer purred in his ear. “Bet you been thinkin’ about me doin’ that to you for a long time.”
He stilled his hand until Boone hissed, “Yesfuckyes” And Sawyer started up again, pulling him close against him, the other hand digging into his hip.
“Shhhh,” came that honeyed voice, growing thicker and warmer now. “There’s people right outside. You want them to know what I’m doin’ to you?”
Boone bit his lip and shook his head violently, cursing as Sawyer’s teeth sank into his earlobe and the motion of his hand grew more frenzied, like he was trying his damndest to make Boone cry out.
“What else do you want?” came the voice again and Boone shivered in answer, pressing back against Sawyer and letting his head drop back against his chest.
“You,” he said between gritted teeth.
“Me?” The way Sawyer said the word, it sounded like an endearment. “All of me, inside you, boy, fuckin’ you until you don’t know even know your own name? Is that what you want?”
“Yess,” Boone managed to gasp between pants. Sawyer squeezed his hip hard and then he was gone. Behind him, Boone heard the sounds of a mad search and he turned to see a sight that would fuel his imagination for months afterward -- a naked, fully aroused Sawyer frantically tossing his tent with growing frustration.
He finally held up a tube with satisfaction. “Ah, here we go,” he said, dropping again into the very picture of calm and collected. “Turn around,” he ordered, and Boone did as he was told. He stood there, never having felt more naked in his life, just waiting for Sawyer’s next move.
It wasn’t long in coming; he felt a hand swiping at his ass with a cool, gloppy mess and then Sawyer held him hard by the hips and was talking low into his ear again. “Hold on,” he said and Boone tried to relax but found himself tensing anyway as Sawyer’s hard, slick cock pressed hard against him and then he was inside and they were both gasping and Boone nearly pitched forward.
“I got you,” Sawyer murmured in his ear as he began to move and Boone’s legs were already shaking. Sawyer threw one arm over his chest and pulled him back, so they were both standing completely upright, their bodies pressed against each other, skin to skin. His other hand held Boone’s hip in place as he thrust, now harder, now faster, now fucking deeper, into him, angling Boone’s body at will like he was just a poseable mannequin in his arms.
Sawyer may have been generous with the lube, but he had skipped a condom, and Boone tried to imagine how he felt to him, how each movement of his translated back to Sawyer and he did his fucking best to make Sawyer feel him, feel how he moved with him and when he moved to thwart him and drive him a little bit mad.
He felt every glorious inch of Sawyer as his hips slammed into his and his cock just seemed to get bigger with each thrust and Boone had no choice but to hang onto Sawyer with one hand and nurse his own cock with the other, moving when Sawyer did and willing them to come together.
Sawyer’s breathing was growing ragged and sweat from his chest was dripping onto his back and Boone knew he could make him come now. Boone pushed hard against him and he heard Sawyer’s breath catch and hold and then a moan so deep and sustained shook him and now he was gone too, just fucking gone, with Sawyer inside him and both of them holding the other one up on shaky legs.
“Fuck, boy, you are one fuckin’ fine ride,” Sawyer drawled, swiping lazily at the sweat at the back of his neck. Boone shivered and then Sawyer pulled out of him and he felt horribly cold and exposed. He suddenly wished he could have at least kissed Sawyer ... at least tasted him once but now it was over and it was time to leave and pretend this hadn’t happened.
He turned around, not sure what Sawyer’s expression would be despite that unexpected bit of praise. And all his doubt evaporated when he saw Sawyer cleaning up -- with his shirt.
“You jerk. That’s my shirt!” Boone cried, lunging forward to grab it out of his hands.
“Nope, it’s mine now,” Sawyer grinned, sidestepping him and continuing to use the shirt as a fucking towel. “You can wipe off with the damn slippers if you want.”
Boone stood there and fumed for a second and then he shoved Sawyer hard, knocking him onto the ground. He straddled him before Sawyer could react. “Hey, watch it,” Sawyer yelped. “I’m gettin’ sand where I definitely do not want any sand ...”
“Shut up,” Boone said and Sawyer blinked at him.
“What did you say to me, boy?” His face turned stormy and Boone knew he was inches away from another beating.
“I said ‘Shut up',” Boone said slowly, enjoying the reversal more than was probably good for him. He reached for the shirt and started to take over in wiping Sawyer off. He grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over Sawyer’s lap.
“Just what are you doin,’ son?” Sawyer demanded, but now he sounded amused.
“If I’m going to suck your cock, it has to be a whole lot cleaner than that,” Boone said matter of factly. Sawyer just stared at him, and then the hugest shit-eating grin spread over his face.
“Damn, boy, you’re insatiable,” he said, leaning back, no longer caring about the sand. By now Boone had found some soap and he took his time lathering Sawyer up until he was groaning under his hands and biting his lip now not to be heard.
At last Boone stopped cleaning him and lowered himself to take his cock -- and God, it was beautiful and getting so hard just for him -- in his mouth. Sawyer hissed in a breath and his hands threaded into Boone’s hair and then he was just melting underneath him, squirming and swearing and making these deep, masculine noises that went through Boone like a shot. His fingers clasped and unclasped and then his hips bucked up and when he came hot and hard into Boone’s mouth, the stifled cry he gave was so helpless that Boone couldn’t believe it came from him. It was like he had swallowed all of Sawyer’s malevolence, like he’d exorcised him somehow. He sat back on his haunches and watched a broken Sawyer laying there, panting and he had the oddest urge to hold him. Instead he moved up his body until their mouths met and he took Sawyer’s head in his hands and thrust his tongue into his mouth, as if to say, I’ve tasted you. I know you.
Sawyer ‘s moan now was like a welcome and Boone lost all sense of time as they kissed. At last, they pulled apart and Sawyer was the one to drop his eyes first.
“So you gonna take the slippers or what?” Sawyer groused and when he looked at Boone again, the walls were back up and he was the same cocksure, strutting asshole that would likely beat him up if he stayed one minute longer.
“Yeah, thanks for the slippers,” Boone said, unable to suppress a smirk. “They’re the best fucking slippers I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, well, that’s to be expected, ain’t it?” Sawyer said and there was a genuine grin there, Boone thought.
He nodded, still thinking he shouldn’t press his luck. He pulled on his jeans and then gave the sodden T-shirt a sorry glance and left it on the ground. He picked up the slippers and waved them at Sawyer in a sort of goodbye salute and walked out.
He felt a little foolish walking shirtless down the beach, carrying a pair of pink slippers but he let everyone he passed wonder what the hell he was up to and why he was smiling like that.
“Hey, dude,” he heard someone call after him. He turned to face Hurley.
“Where’d you find those slippers? I’ve been looking everywhere for them.”
“Uh, your slippers?” Boone stammered. “These are Shannon’s.” And you don’t want to know what I just did to get them back.
“Yeah, they’re mine. Who else would have slippers like that?” Hurley said as if that in itself were proof of ownership.
Boone looked at the fuzzy things and considered the situation for a second. “Here, take them,” he said, offering the slippers to Hurley, who took them gladly. “What Shannon doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”