Lost ficlet.
Jan. 13th, 2005 12:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pauraque_bkIt seems that I wrote Lost fic. How did that happen?
The Fourteenth Piece
PG, 270 words. Implied Shannon/Boone and Shannon/Sayid. Spoilers through "Hearts and Minds".
The heat bothers Boone more at night. Maybe because it seems like it should be cold, to match the thick heavy blackness that fills up the jungle and hides the sea. But no, the heat's heavy too, down Boone's throat and all around him, making his T-shirt stick. He hates getting near the fire, but none of them exactly have a choice. He sits knees-drawn-up in the sandy dirt by the firepit, waves of heat washing over and over his forearms. Blue and orange flickers over people slinking like animals at the light's edge -- not too close to the biting insects attracted by the flame, not too far from safety.
He sees her out of the corner of his eye; careful tiptoe steps over sticks and stones, hand coming up to tuck her hair behind her ear. And him -- larger, darker hand that cups protectively (not quite touching) at her upper arm like he thinks she might fall.
And she might, the clumsy little-- Always was a klutz, little girl soft and falling-down like a rag doll, grabbing at Boone's shoulder and whining (whispering) in his ear.
Shannon's watching where she puts her feet; Sayid catches Boone's eye for just a second across the fire, dark and wolf-wary. When Boone looks away into the sparking fire, he sees Sayid's hands touching the pale and mosquito-bitten skin of his sister's lower back, her flushed-pink breast-- sees his dark eyes shut and mouth open, her blonde head down between hard brown legs, hair tangled and damp--
Boone feels the tickle of a bug at his elbow, and slaps it dead. He hates the fucking fire.
end.
Feedback appreciated.
Anyone who can guess the meaning of the title gets a cookie.
The Fourteenth Piece
PG, 270 words. Implied Shannon/Boone and Shannon/Sayid. Spoilers through "Hearts and Minds".
The heat bothers Boone more at night. Maybe because it seems like it should be cold, to match the thick heavy blackness that fills up the jungle and hides the sea. But no, the heat's heavy too, down Boone's throat and all around him, making his T-shirt stick. He hates getting near the fire, but none of them exactly have a choice. He sits knees-drawn-up in the sandy dirt by the firepit, waves of heat washing over and over his forearms. Blue and orange flickers over people slinking like animals at the light's edge -- not too close to the biting insects attracted by the flame, not too far from safety.
He sees her out of the corner of his eye; careful tiptoe steps over sticks and stones, hand coming up to tuck her hair behind her ear. And him -- larger, darker hand that cups protectively (not quite touching) at her upper arm like he thinks she might fall.
And she might, the clumsy little-- Always was a klutz, little girl soft and falling-down like a rag doll, grabbing at Boone's shoulder and whining (whispering) in his ear.
Shannon's watching where she puts her feet; Sayid catches Boone's eye for just a second across the fire, dark and wolf-wary. When Boone looks away into the sparking fire, he sees Sayid's hands touching the pale and mosquito-bitten skin of his sister's lower back, her flushed-pink breast-- sees his dark eyes shut and mouth open, her blonde head down between hard brown legs, hair tangled and damp--
Boone feels the tickle of a bug at his elbow, and slaps it dead. He hates the fucking fire.
end.
Feedback appreciated.
Anyone who can guess the meaning of the title gets a cookie.
