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janie_tangerineTitle: You Look At Me Now And Don't Think I Don't Know
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Jack/Boone
Warnings: Nirvana!Jack, drug use. More or less.
Words: 275
Summary: “You can’t do this to yourself,” Boone keeps on, a hand on Jack’s wrist squeezing it lightly and it’d feel just so good, so warm, so alive if only Jack’s fingers weren’t brushing against Boone’s own wrist. There’s no pulse. He can’t even have a proper delusion, these days.
Spoilers: for the S3 finale?
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, what a pity.
A/N: originally written months ago for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lostsquee fic battle, using pills for a prompt. Using it for lostpicksix #15, intoxicated.
“You should quit them,” Boone says softly, sitting on the edge of Jack’s battered mattress.
Jack shakes his head. “Quit what?”
Boone stands up, his clothes pristine clean, his eyes staring unblinkingly at Jack, his lips slightly parted, his whole body language screaming sadness.
“At this point, everything except Nirvana,” Boone answers, and there’s a trace of regret in his voice, like he would like to do something but he can’t.
“You’re asking too much of me now,” Jack says shaking his head and reaching for his last bottle of beer.
“Yeah. Like everyone, always, am I not?” Boone says as he drops on the mattress again and well, don’t the dead just know? Jack doesn’t even answer. He’s fairly sure that his eyes are saying it all.
“You can’t do this to yourself,” Boone keeps on, a hand on Jack’s wrist squeezing it lightly and it’d feel just so good, so warm, so alive if only Jack’s fingers weren’t brushing against Boone’s own wrist. There’s no pulse. He can’t even have a proper delusion, these days.
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Jack says, and his tone is ironic enough that Boone doesn’t even seem too shocked.
“Jack…”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because I want to fuck things up for myself. Because I don’t care. Because after all I’m just like my dad. Because, because, because.
Because otherwise you wouldn’t have a reason to come anymore.
He doesn’t answer. He just shakes his head and says, “Stay” instead. And if when Boone’s finger traces his lips (still sticky with beer) Jack feels more alive than he has felt in months, he doesn’t say that either.
End.
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Jack/Boone
Warnings: Nirvana!Jack, drug use. More or less.
Words: 275
Summary: “You can’t do this to yourself,” Boone keeps on, a hand on Jack’s wrist squeezing it lightly and it’d feel just so good, so warm, so alive if only Jack’s fingers weren’t brushing against Boone’s own wrist. There’s no pulse. He can’t even have a proper delusion, these days.
Spoilers: for the S3 finale?
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, what a pity.
A/N: originally written months ago for the
lostsquee fic battle, using pills for a prompt. Using it for lostpicksix #15, intoxicated.“You should quit them,” Boone says softly, sitting on the edge of Jack’s battered mattress.
Jack shakes his head. “Quit what?”
Boone stands up, his clothes pristine clean, his eyes staring unblinkingly at Jack, his lips slightly parted, his whole body language screaming sadness.
“At this point, everything except Nirvana,” Boone answers, and there’s a trace of regret in his voice, like he would like to do something but he can’t.
“You’re asking too much of me now,” Jack says shaking his head and reaching for his last bottle of beer.
“Yeah. Like everyone, always, am I not?” Boone says as he drops on the mattress again and well, don’t the dead just know? Jack doesn’t even answer. He’s fairly sure that his eyes are saying it all.
“You can’t do this to yourself,” Boone keeps on, a hand on Jack’s wrist squeezing it lightly and it’d feel just so good, so warm, so alive if only Jack’s fingers weren’t brushing against Boone’s own wrist. There’s no pulse. He can’t even have a proper delusion, these days.
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Jack says, and his tone is ironic enough that Boone doesn’t even seem too shocked.
“Jack…”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because I want to fuck things up for myself. Because I don’t care. Because after all I’m just like my dad. Because, because, because.
Because otherwise you wouldn’t have a reason to come anymore.
He doesn’t answer. He just shakes his head and says, “Stay” instead. And if when Boone’s finger traces his lips (still sticky with beer) Jack feels more alive than he has felt in months, he doesn’t say that either.
End.
