![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janie_tangerineThis is so Not what I should have been doing. Whoever left that prompt at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
thequillstation? I dunno who you are but I'm sure you knew I was going to take it. ;)
Title: Mystery Spot
Rating: light NC17
Pairing: Jack/Boone
Words: 2454
Spoilers: for The Incident.
Summary: He comes to his senses and it's dark; "... Jack?" a weak, soft and shocked voice asks; everything goes black.
Disclaimer: Lost is sure as hell not mine. Groundhog Day is not mine. The prompt isn't mine either. The title is from a SPN episode and it isn't mine either. Got the point?
A/N: written for the spooky battle atthequillstation for the prompt Jack/Boone, groundhog day death. I just couldn't NOT do it, even if I seriously should be finishing a lot of other crap. Using for 2x5obsessions #1, estranged existence. And whoever watches SPN will get why I stole the title from that episode. Mostly because I don't have time to come up with an intelligent one. (Actually, cookies if you get the SPN reference which doesn't have zilch to do with Mystery Spot.)
Jack closes his eyes.
Everything goes white.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is genuinely scared of opening them because he doesn’t want to know if it worked. He suddenly doesn’t, also because he’s lying on the ground and he can feel earth beneath his hands.
“... Jack?” a weak, soft and shocked voice asks, and Jack opens his eyes at once because it can’t be.
The first thing he sees is the jungle as it was the day of the crash, green leaves above his head, that damned sunlight filtering through them, and the second thing he sees is Boone, kneeling next to him, wide blue eyes as Jack remembers them, wearing his clothes from the day of the crash, his hair slightly longer, his cheeks pink, very much alive. Jack brings a hand to his heart. It beats.
He looks at Boone again, the both of them breathing heavily, just maybe a foot of distance between them, and then Jack gets on his knees and Boone moves forward and Jack doesn’t care if he’s crushing Boone against his chest so hard that he might lack air. Jack fucking lacks air too. It doesn’t really matter. Boone clutches at his back, and if it hurts Jack doesn’t care.
“What...” they ask at the same second, some minutes later when they both relented a bit, even if Jack’s hands are still on Boone’s shoulders, the flesh beneath his hands warm and the pulse on his neck steady.
“I was dead,” Boone says then, matter-of-fact.
“A nuclear bomb exploded while I was in 1977,” Jack answers, and he should be either back on the plane or dead. It doesn’t make sense.
“What’s going on?” Boone asks as he stands up. Jack answers that he sincerely doesn’t know. He explains the situation as better as he can manage, but Boone then shakes his head and says he has no idea. One second he was having a talk with Charlie and the next one his heart was beating again and staring at Jack as he lied on the jungle floor.
It seems like there’s no one around, but they decide they should check this out, whatever it is. They don’t talk much as they start walking; they’re side by side, it feels pretty much familiar, comfortable even, and Jack can’t take his eyes off Boone, he can’t really believe that at least he’s here, that whatever happened he’s here, and...
He sees smoke. Boone screams. A second later, he’s gone.
Jack starts running then, the suit he wears constricting; he throws away his tie as he runs, and runs, and runs, until he arrives at the caves and oh no, no, no goes through his head as he walks, now a lot more slowly, until he arrives at the shore of the small pool where Boone lies, his body covered in even more blood, slashes all over him, looking at him for one second, his eyes so full of life before he takes a last breath and dies. In front of him. All over again.
No, Jack screams as his hands reach for Boone’s shoulder.
Everything goes black.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is genuinely scared of opening them because he doesn’t want to know if it worked, now, or where he is, or if what happened really happened. He suddenly doesn’t, also because he’s lying on the ground and he can feel earth beneath his hands.
“... Jack?” a weak, soft and scared as fuck voice asks, and Jack opens his eyes at once because it can’t be.
But it is. Boone is next to him, alive, again, and Jack’s hand takes his wrist on impulse, checking it; and yeah. There’s a pulse, and a healthy one for that matter.
“I... I died again,” Boone whispers, and Jack doesn’t have it in him to lie.
“Yeah. In... in front of me. Jesus Christ, what’s this?”
“I... I don’t know. But... it’s the same as yesterday, isn’t it?”
Jack nods and then stands up, his legs shaking; he brings Boone up with him and they go the other way. They don’t talk and the silence feels a bit less comfortable. Boone is trembling slightly and Jack feels so wrong. He has to do something.
“Hey, what...”
He doesn’t finish the thought. He hears the bear mere seconds before he can shout at Boone to run and push him out of the way.
He sees white fur.
It really doesn’t last long.
Then he hears two gun shots and something heavy falls at his left side.
At his right, three seconds after, is Boone, a gun loose in his shaking right hand, his left barely brushing along the wide, fatal rip in Jack’s chest. He sees blue eyes filling up with tears as Boone reaches at his face with his hand, covered in Jack’s own blood.
“No. No, you can’t. You can’t do this to me. You can’t...”
I don’t want to, Jack tries to say, but three seconds after all his breath is gone.
Everything goes black.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is scared as hell of opening them because he doesn’t want to know if it worked, now, or where he is, or if what happened really happened, because he should be fucking dead. He suddenly doesn’t, also because he’s lying on the ground and he can feel earth beneath his hands.
“... Jack?” a panicked voice asks, and Jack opens his eyes at once because it can’t be. Boone’s hands are on his shoulder, shaking him awake, eyes impossibly wide and as scared as Jack feels, and Jack can only crush him against his frame again, hoping that he hears the steady beat of his heart.
And Jack feels Boone’s.
“We both died,” he says without letting go. “Maybe we just shouldn’t move.”
Boone nods against his chest before noticing that there’s the gun he used yesterday next to them.
“What...”
“Yesterday. It was... on the ground. I just... it was there and I... I had never fired one before, I just... I don’t know how...”
Boone picks it up again and Jack suddenly shouts no as he sees a thick smoke rising in the distance; and then Boone stands up, but as he does his trembling hands bring up the gun hastily, his finger hits the trigger, there’s no secure and –
- Jack is crying as he picks it up, aims and shoots with his eyes closed. Chest wound. Fatal but it didn’t reach the heart. Just like the marshal. Which means a painful and slow death, unless...
He shoots.
Everything goes black.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is scared as hell of opening them, never fucking wants to, because he doesn’t know where he is, or if what happened really happened, because he should be fucking dead and yesterday he... he... He suddenly doesn’t, also because he’s lying on the ground and he can feel earth beneath his hands.
“Jack!” Boone shouts, and Jack’s eyes jerk open. He’s there. Alive. Again. His hands are on Jack’s wrists, the gun is still there but Jack doesn’t even dare looking at it.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and he can’t help starting to cry again because mercy killing is not what Jack does, but Boone shakes his head and his hands raise to Jack’s face, his eyes merely thankful.
“Don’t be,” he says, earnest and just looking so fucking relieved, and Jack has missed him for years and has been wanting a chance to fix that for years and there’s nothing he wants more than close the distance between them now, except that he hears a noise and Boone hears it too.
They both turn on their left and fuck this, Jack thinks as Locke smiles and waves at them. He doesn’t think. He stands up and runs in Locke’s direction, shouting that he shouldn’t just fucking move before Boone screams stop, but he was running too fast and doesn’t see that there’s a cliff in the direction he’s going, it was somewhat covered by trees, and before he knows he’s falling, falling, falling-
Everything goes black.
--
The next day, they go after Locke together (walking) and Boone trips on one of Rousseau’s traps. An arrow shots right through his neck.
--
The next day, they avoid the trap but just as soon as they’re past it Jack trips on some piece of root and hits his temple against a rock.
--
The next day, they end up under the plane, Boone shoves Jack out of its way as it falls down (even if it should already be down, what the fuck?) and the yellow damned thing crushes him again.
--
The next day they reach Otherville, now painfully deserted. Jack gets into Ben’s house. It looks about to fall down.
It does. Boone is outside.
--
After twenty times, they lose count.
--
Everything goes black.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is scared as hell of opening them, never fucking wants to, because he doesn’t know where he is, or if what happened really happened, because he should have been fucking dead for a while and at this point he wishes he was. He plans on keeping his eyes closed when hands reach his face and he hears hars sobs. His eyes jerk open and Boone is there again, kneeling over him, a hand trying to wipe away tear trails.
“Hey,” Jack whispers, unable to find something to say, he never fucking ever finds something to say or so it seems.
“I can’t do this,” Boone blurts, his voice a wreck. “I can’t fucking keep on watching you die.”
“I can’t either,” Jack whispers, his hands shaking hard. “The first time was enough.”
Boone’s hands tentatively reach Jack’s shoulders and Jack draws him in again, gently though, as gently as he can, and he’s warm and alive and unscarred again as Jack himself is and he doesn’t know what is this craziness all about but then he decides he’s sick of it, too.
“What about... what about sitting here quietly?”
“What?” Boone asks, sounding calmer at least.
“Let’s just stay here. We don’t move, we don’t go anywhere, we don’t separate. Maybe it happens because we do something.”
Boone thinks about it for a second, then nods. “Alright. Let’s. Uh. Can... could we...”
Jack’s arm sneak around Boone’s waist and he brings him forward. He has an idea that Boone might need this, but Jack needs it too. Because it doesn’t fucking matter, but every time he closes his eyes he doesn’t see all the times he died this week. He sees the first, and he can’t help feeling like this is borrowed time. He shivers. He tries not to think about it.
Twenty minutes and then Boone’s head raises from his shoulder and Boone is kneeling in front of him, so close, looking at Jack with those wide, scared-as-fuck, so blue eyes, and Jack just brings him forward and the kiss is strangely sweet, no rush, nothing harsh about it, just lips against lips, the tiniest bit of tongue, it’s just nice and exactly what Jack needs. And then Boone parts his lips and there’s wetness and warmth and hands bringing Jack closerclosercloser and Jack is kissing him like this is the first and last time.
And who knows. It might be.
Boone gets rid of his tie and Jack pushes away that blue shirt that has been haunting his dreams for ages, dreams when someone with his face covered in blood handed him pens, and then shuts the thought from his head and he’s pretty ashamed when he realizes he has basically ripped Boone’s shirt.
Then again, Boone has ripped away all of the buttons from his and soon they’re chest to chest, both naked except for their trousers, and the earth feels weird beneath Jack’s back but it’s not a problem. Not really. Not when Boone’s hands are getting his trousers and belt out of the way, and when those pink, full lips already swollen with kissing wrap around his cock and Christ, Jack is hard, he can’t remember the last time it happened, but right now his hands grip Boone’s hair and yes, yes, just like this, he mutters as Boone’s head moves up and down and his tongue flickers in all the fucking right places.
Jack is coming not much later, and tasting himself on Boone’s tongue not much after he comes, and they’re still both alive and not dead, their hearts beating almost in unison, Boone’s lips dripping soft, butterfly kisses all over his face and something in Jack melts at that and the only sensible thing that he thinks is please, don’t fuck this up. Whatever is going on, this can’t be ruined. Not now. Not when we’re here.
For a second he wonders about everyone else. Then he kisses Boone again.
--
A blond man with piercing blue eyes, dressed in white, watches them leaning against a tree, unseen. He knows who is behind this (not himself, he’s way above this kind of little games); he even dared to show himself, before. That’s something Jacob never understood about him, but that’s not a problem to take care of right now.
And he thinks he can give Jack Shephard what he wants.
He waits for them to be done. He waits for Jack to turn the tables, he waits while he pushes Boone slowly over his suit jacket, he waits while Jack spits almost continuously on his hand, he waits as Boone spreads his legs and Jack keeps on spitting, he waits as Boone bites his lip so hard that it bleeds when Jack starts easing himself inside him because really, that must hurt, and he waits as they push and grind against each other, as Boone’s hips thrust up to meet Jack’s pace. He waits until they both come and they lie spent on the jungle floor. Then he softly smiles and snaps his fingers.
--
Everything goes white.
End.
thequillstation? I dunno who you are but I'm sure you knew I was going to take it. ;)Title: Mystery Spot
Rating: light NC17
Pairing: Jack/Boone
Words: 2454
Spoilers: for The Incident.
Summary: He comes to his senses and it's dark; "... Jack?" a weak, soft and shocked voice asks; everything goes black.
Disclaimer: Lost is sure as hell not mine. Groundhog Day is not mine. The prompt isn't mine either. The title is from a SPN episode and it isn't mine either. Got the point?
A/N: written for the spooky battle at
thequillstation for the prompt Jack/Boone, groundhog day death. I just couldn't NOT do it, even if I seriously should be finishing a lot of other crap. Using for 2x5obsessions #1, estranged existence. And whoever watches SPN will get why I stole the title from that episode. Mostly because I don't have time to come up with an intelligent one. (Actually, cookies if you get the SPN reference which doesn't have zilch to do with Mystery Spot.)Jack closes his eyes.
Everything goes white.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is genuinely scared of opening them because he doesn’t want to know if it worked. He suddenly doesn’t, also because he’s lying on the ground and he can feel earth beneath his hands.
“... Jack?” a weak, soft and shocked voice asks, and Jack opens his eyes at once because it can’t be.
The first thing he sees is the jungle as it was the day of the crash, green leaves above his head, that damned sunlight filtering through them, and the second thing he sees is Boone, kneeling next to him, wide blue eyes as Jack remembers them, wearing his clothes from the day of the crash, his hair slightly longer, his cheeks pink, very much alive. Jack brings a hand to his heart. It beats.
He looks at Boone again, the both of them breathing heavily, just maybe a foot of distance between them, and then Jack gets on his knees and Boone moves forward and Jack doesn’t care if he’s crushing Boone against his chest so hard that he might lack air. Jack fucking lacks air too. It doesn’t really matter. Boone clutches at his back, and if it hurts Jack doesn’t care.
“What...” they ask at the same second, some minutes later when they both relented a bit, even if Jack’s hands are still on Boone’s shoulders, the flesh beneath his hands warm and the pulse on his neck steady.
“I was dead,” Boone says then, matter-of-fact.
“A nuclear bomb exploded while I was in 1977,” Jack answers, and he should be either back on the plane or dead. It doesn’t make sense.
“What’s going on?” Boone asks as he stands up. Jack answers that he sincerely doesn’t know. He explains the situation as better as he can manage, but Boone then shakes his head and says he has no idea. One second he was having a talk with Charlie and the next one his heart was beating again and staring at Jack as he lied on the jungle floor.
It seems like there’s no one around, but they decide they should check this out, whatever it is. They don’t talk much as they start walking; they’re side by side, it feels pretty much familiar, comfortable even, and Jack can’t take his eyes off Boone, he can’t really believe that at least he’s here, that whatever happened he’s here, and...
He sees smoke. Boone screams. A second later, he’s gone.
Jack starts running then, the suit he wears constricting; he throws away his tie as he runs, and runs, and runs, until he arrives at the caves and oh no, no, no goes through his head as he walks, now a lot more slowly, until he arrives at the shore of the small pool where Boone lies, his body covered in even more blood, slashes all over him, looking at him for one second, his eyes so full of life before he takes a last breath and dies. In front of him. All over again.
No, Jack screams as his hands reach for Boone’s shoulder.
Everything goes black.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is genuinely scared of opening them because he doesn’t want to know if it worked, now, or where he is, or if what happened really happened. He suddenly doesn’t, also because he’s lying on the ground and he can feel earth beneath his hands.
“... Jack?” a weak, soft and scared as fuck voice asks, and Jack opens his eyes at once because it can’t be.
But it is. Boone is next to him, alive, again, and Jack’s hand takes his wrist on impulse, checking it; and yeah. There’s a pulse, and a healthy one for that matter.
“I... I died again,” Boone whispers, and Jack doesn’t have it in him to lie.
“Yeah. In... in front of me. Jesus Christ, what’s this?”
“I... I don’t know. But... it’s the same as yesterday, isn’t it?”
Jack nods and then stands up, his legs shaking; he brings Boone up with him and they go the other way. They don’t talk and the silence feels a bit less comfortable. Boone is trembling slightly and Jack feels so wrong. He has to do something.
“Hey, what...”
He doesn’t finish the thought. He hears the bear mere seconds before he can shout at Boone to run and push him out of the way.
He sees white fur.
It really doesn’t last long.
Then he hears two gun shots and something heavy falls at his left side.
At his right, three seconds after, is Boone, a gun loose in his shaking right hand, his left barely brushing along the wide, fatal rip in Jack’s chest. He sees blue eyes filling up with tears as Boone reaches at his face with his hand, covered in Jack’s own blood.
“No. No, you can’t. You can’t do this to me. You can’t...”
I don’t want to, Jack tries to say, but three seconds after all his breath is gone.
Everything goes black.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is scared as hell of opening them because he doesn’t want to know if it worked, now, or where he is, or if what happened really happened, because he should be fucking dead. He suddenly doesn’t, also because he’s lying on the ground and he can feel earth beneath his hands.
“... Jack?” a panicked voice asks, and Jack opens his eyes at once because it can’t be. Boone’s hands are on his shoulder, shaking him awake, eyes impossibly wide and as scared as Jack feels, and Jack can only crush him against his frame again, hoping that he hears the steady beat of his heart.
And Jack feels Boone’s.
“We both died,” he says without letting go. “Maybe we just shouldn’t move.”
Boone nods against his chest before noticing that there’s the gun he used yesterday next to them.
“What...”
“Yesterday. It was... on the ground. I just... it was there and I... I had never fired one before, I just... I don’t know how...”
Boone picks it up again and Jack suddenly shouts no as he sees a thick smoke rising in the distance; and then Boone stands up, but as he does his trembling hands bring up the gun hastily, his finger hits the trigger, there’s no secure and –
- Jack is crying as he picks it up, aims and shoots with his eyes closed. Chest wound. Fatal but it didn’t reach the heart. Just like the marshal. Which means a painful and slow death, unless...
He shoots.
Everything goes black.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is scared as hell of opening them, never fucking wants to, because he doesn’t know where he is, or if what happened really happened, because he should be fucking dead and yesterday he... he... He suddenly doesn’t, also because he’s lying on the ground and he can feel earth beneath his hands.
“Jack!” Boone shouts, and Jack’s eyes jerk open. He’s there. Alive. Again. His hands are on Jack’s wrists, the gun is still there but Jack doesn’t even dare looking at it.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and he can’t help starting to cry again because mercy killing is not what Jack does, but Boone shakes his head and his hands raise to Jack’s face, his eyes merely thankful.
“Don’t be,” he says, earnest and just looking so fucking relieved, and Jack has missed him for years and has been wanting a chance to fix that for years and there’s nothing he wants more than close the distance between them now, except that he hears a noise and Boone hears it too.
They both turn on their left and fuck this, Jack thinks as Locke smiles and waves at them. He doesn’t think. He stands up and runs in Locke’s direction, shouting that he shouldn’t just fucking move before Boone screams stop, but he was running too fast and doesn’t see that there’s a cliff in the direction he’s going, it was somewhat covered by trees, and before he knows he’s falling, falling, falling-
Everything goes black.
--
The next day, they go after Locke together (walking) and Boone trips on one of Rousseau’s traps. An arrow shots right through his neck.
--
The next day, they avoid the trap but just as soon as they’re past it Jack trips on some piece of root and hits his temple against a rock.
--
The next day, they end up under the plane, Boone shoves Jack out of its way as it falls down (even if it should already be down, what the fuck?) and the yellow damned thing crushes him again.
--
The next day they reach Otherville, now painfully deserted. Jack gets into Ben’s house. It looks about to fall down.
It does. Boone is outside.
--
After twenty times, they lose count.
--
Everything goes black.
--
He comes to his senses and it’s dark. He feels light prickling from above him, though, the sunlight is fighting to get under his eyelids and Jack is scared as hell of opening them, never fucking wants to, because he doesn’t know where he is, or if what happened really happened, because he should have been fucking dead for a while and at this point he wishes he was. He plans on keeping his eyes closed when hands reach his face and he hears hars sobs. His eyes jerk open and Boone is there again, kneeling over him, a hand trying to wipe away tear trails.
“Hey,” Jack whispers, unable to find something to say, he never fucking ever finds something to say or so it seems.
“I can’t do this,” Boone blurts, his voice a wreck. “I can’t fucking keep on watching you die.”
“I can’t either,” Jack whispers, his hands shaking hard. “The first time was enough.”
Boone’s hands tentatively reach Jack’s shoulders and Jack draws him in again, gently though, as gently as he can, and he’s warm and alive and unscarred again as Jack himself is and he doesn’t know what is this craziness all about but then he decides he’s sick of it, too.
“What about... what about sitting here quietly?”
“What?” Boone asks, sounding calmer at least.
“Let’s just stay here. We don’t move, we don’t go anywhere, we don’t separate. Maybe it happens because we do something.”
Boone thinks about it for a second, then nods. “Alright. Let’s. Uh. Can... could we...”
Jack’s arm sneak around Boone’s waist and he brings him forward. He has an idea that Boone might need this, but Jack needs it too. Because it doesn’t fucking matter, but every time he closes his eyes he doesn’t see all the times he died this week. He sees the first, and he can’t help feeling like this is borrowed time. He shivers. He tries not to think about it.
Twenty minutes and then Boone’s head raises from his shoulder and Boone is kneeling in front of him, so close, looking at Jack with those wide, scared-as-fuck, so blue eyes, and Jack just brings him forward and the kiss is strangely sweet, no rush, nothing harsh about it, just lips against lips, the tiniest bit of tongue, it’s just nice and exactly what Jack needs. And then Boone parts his lips and there’s wetness and warmth and hands bringing Jack closerclosercloser and Jack is kissing him like this is the first and last time.
And who knows. It might be.
Boone gets rid of his tie and Jack pushes away that blue shirt that has been haunting his dreams for ages, dreams when someone with his face covered in blood handed him pens, and then shuts the thought from his head and he’s pretty ashamed when he realizes he has basically ripped Boone’s shirt.
Then again, Boone has ripped away all of the buttons from his and soon they’re chest to chest, both naked except for their trousers, and the earth feels weird beneath Jack’s back but it’s not a problem. Not really. Not when Boone’s hands are getting his trousers and belt out of the way, and when those pink, full lips already swollen with kissing wrap around his cock and Christ, Jack is hard, he can’t remember the last time it happened, but right now his hands grip Boone’s hair and yes, yes, just like this, he mutters as Boone’s head moves up and down and his tongue flickers in all the fucking right places.
Jack is coming not much later, and tasting himself on Boone’s tongue not much after he comes, and they’re still both alive and not dead, their hearts beating almost in unison, Boone’s lips dripping soft, butterfly kisses all over his face and something in Jack melts at that and the only sensible thing that he thinks is please, don’t fuck this up. Whatever is going on, this can’t be ruined. Not now. Not when we’re here.
For a second he wonders about everyone else. Then he kisses Boone again.
--
A blond man with piercing blue eyes, dressed in white, watches them leaning against a tree, unseen. He knows who is behind this (not himself, he’s way above this kind of little games); he even dared to show himself, before. That’s something Jacob never understood about him, but that’s not a problem to take care of right now.
And he thinks he can give Jack Shephard what he wants.
He waits for them to be done. He waits for Jack to turn the tables, he waits while he pushes Boone slowly over his suit jacket, he waits while Jack spits almost continuously on his hand, he waits as Boone spreads his legs and Jack keeps on spitting, he waits as Boone bites his lip so hard that it bleeds when Jack starts easing himself inside him because really, that must hurt, and he waits as they push and grind against each other, as Boone’s hips thrust up to meet Jack’s pace. He waits until they both come and they lie spent on the jungle floor. Then he softly smiles and snaps his fingers.
--
Everything goes white.
End.
