Legal Note: I am not associated with ABC or "Lost." I do not own Shannon or Boone, and am receiving no financial gain for this odd view into Boone's subconscious. I just feel sorry for him, and thought he deserved the chance to speak his mind.

At first, Boone thought there was nothing worse than for the others to think of him as a joke. Then, he had been beaten to a bloody pulp by Sawyer, and Boone decided

there was nothing worse than the others viewing him as a wimp. But now, listening to Scott and Steve whispering, he knew there was something much, much worse than being considered a joke or a wimp.

Being branded John Locke's "Boy Toy" was much, much worse.

For a moment, Boone toyed with the idea of running over to the two men, grabbing Scott in a passionate embrace, and laying a kiss worthy of Madonna on his worthless lips. All Boone would have to do was pretend Scott was Halle Berry or maybe

Ariel from The Little Mermaid.

Or Shannon.

Boone sighed and walked deeper into the jungle. Yes, he'd have to pretend Scott—or anyone he happened to kiss—was Shannon. His little sister. The wild angel he had been rescuing for over fifteen years. Anytime Boone had held another woman in his arms, felt feminine curves under his body, whispered sexy, naughty words in a girl's ear,

he had pretended she was Shannon. He had never been lacking in female attention. His

mother's empire—more specifically, Boone's inheritance—assured that. Women would always be throwing themselves at a trust fund baby, even a wimpy, clownish one.

With these women, Boone had felt in control. It was easy to walk around a pool with his arm around a girl's shoulders, to buy dinner and drinks, to take a lady on romantic holidays. He had loved the way women felt snuggled under his arm, enjoyed

sharing his bed with the pretty girls who threw themselves at Sabrina's son. Boone had never had a problem making a move, bedding a beautiful girl, or playing the modest hero.

He had never felt inadequate.

But Shannon changed everything.

Boone knew Shannon was in charge. There was no doubt Shannon ruled him, owned every beat of his heart. Shannon was inside him, knew his thoughts and actions long before Boone himself did. Shannon issued demands, Shannon stayed in control,

Shannon lived to dominate him.

Yet Boone did not kid himself. Shannon did not do these things out of love, romantic or brotherly. Shannon simply knew Boone would sacrifice his own life to

rescue her. Shannon knew she possessed him. And that made her dangerous.

Boone came to a stop, lost somewhere in the rainforest. He heard strange sounds,

sounds a city boy was not used to. God, he was a wimp. If only he could learn to take care of himself the way he cared for Shannon.

Suddenly, Boone gave up. He simply didn't care. Let the murderous island monster attack him. Bring on Ethan and his bungee cords. At this point, Boone simply didn't care. He stretched out on his tummy, deliberately keeping his back to the unknown, invisible enemies. Whatever was out there, he was ready for it. He just didn't want to see it coming.

Boone thought back to The Night back in his Sydney hotel room. Shannon had been drunk with despair, strawberry wine and knowledge. She knew a few well-planted

kisses would easily charm Boone, knew a night of lovemaking would replace him under her spell. It was an easy sacrifice for her to make. She had played the high-price prostitute, giving Boone her body in exchange for his sacrifices, his love of playing the hero, for the money he had given all those ex-boyfriends.

For what would someone like Shannon—beautiful and sexy, special and a real player—ever see in Boone, other than a big brother? She knew him better than anyone.

She knew he was the type of man who carried a worn copy of Watership Down with him

on every trip. She knew he had spent hours as a teen, pumping iron and running laps to

both impress the girls and be accepted by the guys. She knew, no matter how many girls

he bedded, that he was in love with her. She knew.

There was a rustling in the trees behind him, but Boone didn't start. He might not be a survivalist like Locke, or a tracker like Kate, but Boone knew those footsteps. He would recognize the familiar angry stomp of those slingbacks anywhere.

"You shouldn't be out here, Shannon."

"So what, it's okay for you to wander away from camp, but I have to sit there like a good little girl? Keep my mouth shut and look pretty?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"God, sometimes I really hate you, Boone," Shannon snapped. "Do you know that?"

Boone didn't turn, hadn't moved a muscle since Shannon's arrival. He continued

to lie in the dirt, his eyes closed. "Whatever, Shannon. I don't even care anymore."

"As if. You can't stop caring, Boone. That's your problem."

Boone thought he might cry. "You're right; that is my problem. It's been my problem since I was ten."

"I'm not going to argue with you," Shannon said, disgusted. "Just stay there and get trampled by a polar bear or speared by a wild boar. See if I care."

"That's my other problem," Boone said softly. "You don't care."

Silence. "I cared in Sydney."

"Seduction comes naturally to you, Shannon. You use your curvy little body to get men to do whatever you want them to do. Even your brother."

"Is that what you think?" Shannon spat. "That I seduced you? I didn't have to seduce you, big brother. You've been begging for it for years. All I did was finally take pity on you."

Boone bit down hard on his bottom lip, instantly tasting his own blood. He laughed out loud. Shannon had once again drawn blood.

"I remember that night, you know," Shannon said, her voice sultry. She threw her shoes to the ground, and straddled Boone's back. She began running her fingertips lazily

down his arms. Boone didn't kid himself. This wasn't a sexual power play. She had straddled him to keep from sitting down on the damp earth. Nothing more.

"I remember how your eyes fluttered closed when I kissed you," Shannon said,

her talented hands beginning to knead the tense muscles in his shoulders. "I remember

the way your mouth tasted, how quickly and easily you fell into my arms. I remember

undressing you in the moonlight."

"Shannon, stop," Boone groaned, unwilling to relive all she remembered.

"I could undress you again," she purred, leaning close to brush her lips across

his ear. "Undress you in full daylight this time."

"Then leave me for the monster, right?" Boone snapped. He couldn't let her take control again. Lying on his tummy, he could pretend she was any ordinary girl. He thought back to Justine, the pretty girl who had been under his arm when Shannon's Sydney distress call had came. If he only pretended this was Justine astride him, Justine's

fingers exciting him, he could stay in control. He had to stay in control.

Shannon seemed to sense she was losing her control. "Look at me, Boone," she

demanded.

"No."

For such a small girl, Shannon was powerful. Twisting off him, she grabbed Boone's shoulders and heaved him over. Much to his disgust, he didn't protest. He let her manhandle him, let her have control of his body. He stared at the sky, barely visible through the thick canopy of trees. He couldn't look at her. If he dared look at Shannon now, he would be completely lost.

Shannon crawled atop him, placing one hand on either side of his head. "You know you want me," she whispered.

"I don't," Boone replied. Think of Justine, he commanded himself. Remember the string bikini, the poolside flirtation, the subtle allusions to his mother's company. Think of anyone except Shannon.

"Boone," Shannon whispered, nuzzling his neck, licking the little mole under his ear. It was amazing…back in Sydney, his neck had tasted of soap and Polo. Here, stuck on this deserted island, predictable, reliable Boone tasted wild and tempestuous. Forbidden. She claimed his mouth, her tiny teeth nibbling on the bloody bite on his bottom lip. Her fingers drew large, lazy figure eights on the nape of his neck. At the sound of his sexy, submissive groan, Shannon felt herself melting into him. His arms came around her again, soft and gentle, so different from any man she'd ever experienced. Every other man had been desperate to crush her, to prove his masculinity

and power. Boone was tender and placid, the kind of man who entertained himself with stories of bunnies and enchanted castles. She knew Boone, as much as he protested, loved the idea of being her hero.

"You taste like dirt," Shannon whispered. She pulled back, blinking. Dirt?

Boone's hands, which were tangled in her silky hair, stilled. "I'm sorry, dirt?" He repeated. The look on his beloved, familiar face was almost comical. "Did you just say I taste like dirt?"

"Well, you have been wallowing in the mud," Shannon said, trying to appear flippant. "When was the last time you took a bath?"

"Probably that last night in Sydney," he replied, propping up on his elbows.

The motion sent Shannon sliding back on his chest, coming to rest in his crotch. His eyes,

hooded and heavy, were thick with desire.

A footfall behind them caused Shannon and Boone to scramble to their feet. Boone wrapped his arms around Shannon, pulling her tightly against his chest. "Who's there?" he called.

Sayid's sober face came into view. Boone felt Shannon's shoulders tense, knew she wanted him to release her. He held her tighter, much to both Shannon's and Sayid's

annoyance. "What do you want?"

"Shannon has been gone from camp for a long time," Sayid said, his eyes beetle-black and glittering with anger. He was speaking solely to Boone, speaking over Shannon. "I wanted to check on her."

"So what, you're her babysitter now?" Boone snapped.

"Shut up!" Shannon yelled, struggling in Boone's embrace. "Let me go so we can get back to camp."

"You're not going anywhere," Boone replied, his voice steely.

"I believe the lady said she wants to go," Sayid said, deadly calm.

Shannon broke free. She spun in a tight circle, and slapped Boone hard across the face. His neck snapped back. His hand came up to cradle his cheek, stunned but not surprised by Shannon's violence. It was just like Shannon, flirty and seductive one second, cruel and calculating the next. Boone was frozen.

And in that moment, he gave up.

"Let's go," Sayid repeated, holding out his hand for Shannon. His gaze was focused on her now; Boone was of no importance.

"Give me just a minute," Shannon replied, dazzling Sayid with her girlish smile. "There's something I need to take care of."

Sayid's eyes flashed. "Ten minutes. If you are not back at camp in ten minutes, I will come back for you."

Shannon nodded. She knew Sayid didn't trust her alone with Boone.

When Sayid had disappeared into the jungle, Shannon turned back to Boone. Boone hadn't moved since she'd slapped him. His face was averted and already slightly swollen, his shoulders were hunched. "Don't look so pathetic," Shannon snapped.

Boone shrugged. He was pathetic. His entire life, he had been dominated by two strong, powerful women. First his mother, then Shannon. They had spent a lifetime belittling Boone, making him feel silly and inadequate. For the first time in his life, he gave in to his feelings. Shannon and Sabrina were right. There was literally nothing to him.

"What is wrong with you?" Shannon asked. Boone kept his eyes averted, refusing to look at her. Shannon cupped his chin and forced his face to hers. Boone looked tired and old, nothing like the too-serious brother she relied on.

"It's over, Shannon," Boone said. "I'm through."

"What does that mean?" She demanded. "What's over? Us? Like it or not, I'm your sister. That will not, can not, change. No matter how much you'd like to get rid of me."

"You're right," he whispered. "As usual, you're right. Like it or not, I'm your slave. You've owned me since childhood. And that last night in Sydney, that night broke me completely."

"It was sex, Boone!" Shannon yelled, releasing him. "God, had I know how hard-up you were I would have pity-screwed you years ago."

"Pity…" Boone trailed. He smiled wryly. Pity. At least she felt some emotion for him. At least he was more to her than a checkbook.

Shannon was livid. This sad, quiet Boone was new to her, and she didn't like the change. She wanted Boone enraged and passionate, fighting and angry. She needed to see those blue eyes sparkle with annoyance and determination. She wanted to find the Boone he kept buried deep inside, the man who was revealed only to her. She knew she was the only person alive capable of bringing out the best—and the very worst—in her brother.

More than anything, Shannon wanted Boone flat on his back, naked in the dirt. She wanted to listen to the little gurgling sounds he made when she kissed his earlobe,

taste the muddy earth on his corded neck.

She wanted Boone.

Impatient, Shannon pressed her lips to Boone's. At first, just like the night in Sydney, he didn't react. His arms hung limply by his side; he didn't kiss her back. Shannon refused to give up. She suckled his lips, claiming his mouth as if she were

biting into a ripe, juicy peach. One hand firmly held his head in place, while the other,

softer, hand tap danced down his spine.

Live, damn you! Shannon thought frantically, using all the feminine power she possessed to draw Boone back to her. After all these years, she wanted Boone to break free—no to explode—from the cave he had built around himself. She had thought her reference to the "pity screw" would have ignited his passion and fury. Instead, he simply seemed sad. Broken.

Boone remained impassive, letting Shannon manipulate his body. He didn't seem to care what she did. Breaking the kiss, Shannon lowered herself down to the earth, pulling Boone along with her. He came willingly, like a puppy she was leading by a leash. She had to make him a partner in this. An equal partner in their relationship; not the hero or the moldable brother, but an equal.

"Kiss me, Boone," she demanded, her voice soft.

Boone smiled sadly. "What do you think that just was?"

"That was me kissing you. Just like in Sydney. I want you to kiss me. I want to taste your tongue in my mouth, to swallow your moans and sighs. I want your arms around me."

"You were in my arms a minute ago, remember? Then Sayid appeared, and you slapped me."

"I could make you forget," she whispered, palming his stinging cheek. "Let's switch roles. I'll be the savior; you be the seducer. No one will ever know."

"Like it's up to you," Boone said, echoing his words in Sydney. She stepped closer. "Shannon, please---"

"Please what, Boone? Please nuzzle my neck? I can do that," she dropped her head and planted hot, searing kisses on his sweaty neck. She felt a thrill of adrenaline

at his soft groan. "Please hold me? I can do that, too." She slid her arms around his neck, drawing his downy head onto her shoulder. "Please make love to me? Ah, sweet Boone, I can do that, too."

"We did that in Sydney," he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

"No. Love was barely involved then. I took possession of you; I dominated you."

"Thanks for putting it so delicately," he said sarcastically.

She smiled, thumping him on the back of the head. She loved arguing with him, loved his fighting spirit.

"Ouch," Boone complained, reaching back to rub his head. "I'm still sore where Locke conked me the other day."

"That guy is a total freak," Shannon said passionately.

Boone sighed. "Can't say I disagree with you on that one." Locke. Thinking of Locke made Boone remember why he had trekked, all alone, into the jungle in the first place. The other survivors thought Boone was Locke's new boyfriend. Life didn't get much more pathetic than that.

Pulling away from Shannon, Boone attempted to stand. Shannon grabbed him around the waist, forcing him to stay seated beside her. "Don't go," she pleaded.

"You were supposed to meet Sayid back at camp fifteen minutes ago," Boone reminded her. "The last thing I want is an angry Iraqi slapping my other cheek."

"I want you to kiss me," Shannon said again.

"Shannon," Boone drawled, turning his head away. "Let this go."

"Afraid of me, Boone?" Shannon asked, deadly serious. "In Sydney, we were protected. I could claim I came to your hotel room because I was upset about Brian. I could claim I kissed you because I was drunk. We could pretend you felt sorry for me, or that we were both lonely. Here…"

"Here?" Boone interrupted.

"Here, on this island, there can be no excuses. You are no longer Sabrina's little business manager. I don't need rescuing from big, bad lovers. Right now, I simply need you."

"Ah, you just hit on the key words—right now. Right now you need me. Tomorrow, hell, this afternoon you may be begging for Sayid's kisses. You may need poor Charlie to catch you another fish. You may need Michael to spread eucalyptus on your chest, or Jack to coach you through another anxiety attack. If we're here long enough, you'll need Walt for something."

Shannon drew back from him, disgusted. "Is that what you really think of me?"

"It's how you've behaved your entire life, Shannon!" He yelled. "There's always been a stream of men lined up, ready to sacrifice anything for you."

"And that just killed you, didn't it?" She spat, staggering to her feet. Instinctively,

Boone reached out to steady her, but she brushed his hands away. "You were always jealous of any guy around me. It was pathetic, really, watching you drool over me."

There was that word again; pathetic. Pathetic Boone, always watching over Shannon. From boyhood to manhood, he had been her whipping boy. He had always done exactly what she wanted and needed.

And there was no need to stop now.

Grabbing Shannon's hand, he yanked her back to the ground. He briefly had a glimpse of her wide, surprised eyes before he ground his mouth against hers. He pushed his tongue past her lips, and began making love to her mouth. His touch was nothing like it had been in Sydney; there he had been gentle and considerate. Now, he was demanding

and forceful, channeling a lifetime of pent-up anger, passion and love into his kiss.

He pushed his arms between them, making quick work of the buttons on her blouse. Pushing the shirt off her shoulders, he tore his mouth away from hers and planted hot, branding kisses along her tanned throat and shoulders. She groaned and tipped her head back, allowing him greater access. When his mouth found the slope of her bare breast, he felt Shannon shiver.

Boone drew back, his chest heaving. He raised a trembling hand to her cheek. "Shannon, do you want me to stop."

"Are you insane? Have you not been listening to me the past thirty minutes? I want this!" She smiled teasingly, almost, Boone swore, shyly. "A girl is allowed to get excited, isn't she?"

"Oh, God yes," Boone breathed, grabbing for her again.

Hours later, Boone and Shannon lay curled in each others' arms, limp and sated with sex. Shannon, so determined to care for Boone the way he had protected her for years, had her arms and legs wrapped around him. He was literally wrapped in a cocoon

fashioned from her own body. For his part, Boone had one hand twisted in her hair and the other lying casually across her backside.

Sayid watched them, his eyes hard and unyielding. He had hidden in the undergrowth for hours, listening to Shannon and Boone moan and sigh, laugh and scream. Every time had had heard Shannon scream Boone's name, her voice raised in passion and excitement, Sayid had bit down on himself to keep from charging them.

Sayid was not a man to give up easily. He would win this battle. He would have Shannon in his embrace, his name on her lips. As for Boone…the island monster would welcome another victim.