Title: The Perfect Con
Rating: R
Pairing: Sawyer/Boone
Warnings: Season 1 spoilers involving character death
Author's Note: I've had this idea tossing around for a while, but challenge 20 over at cultunderscoreships gave me the nudge to finally write it. It's a different writing style than what I normally do, so sorry if it sucks.
…
The two of them together wasn't as unlikely as it might at first have seemed, if you thought about. Being with each other seemed to fulfill each of their wants. Sawyer had wanted everyone to hate him, and Boone had wanted everyone to like him. Sawyer rationalized it as another reason for people to frown at him, talk unkindly when his back was turned. Boone had figured that if he could get even Sawyer to pay attention to him - Sawyer, who didn't like being involved - then the other survivors must notice him, too.
They didn't question each other, either. Boone hadn't wanted to know if he was a stand-in for a different brunette on the island, and Sawyer definitely didn't want to know if it was a different tall blonde that occupied Boone's thoughts.
It had started with guilt. Boone came to Sawyer one day after Jack stopped by to change the bandage on his arm. Sawyer watched him approach over the top of his book. Boone's steps were slow, cautious, like a beaten dog seeking forgiveness. This made Sawyer feel smug; he wanted people to be afraid of him, cower at his presence, even if it was just some rich kid from Malibu. The sentiment evaporated when Boone apologized, feeling sorry that his irresponsibility got Sawyer hurt, blaming himself for losing Shannon's inhalers, which resulting in Sawyer getting stabbed.
A better man would've said how it couldn't have been Boone's fault. Sawyer could have said he never had them, but he had been curious to see how far he could push them before they gave up. Jack finally punched him. Sayid shoved bamboo under his fingernails. Hell, he had gotten Kate to kiss him before Sayid finally snapped. A better man would have just said he didn't have them; he had a lot of things but no inhalers.
Sawyer wasn't a better man, though, and he didn't like to kid himself otherwise. He had made a living figuring people out, trying to get under their skin, making them vulnerable and robbing them blind. Sawyer folded the book carefully, putting it down next to where he lounged, sizing Boone up. He noticed the unease in his posture, the flush of his cheeks, and the fullness of those red lips. Boone was eager to please, and at the moment, all that eagerness had been focused upon Sawyer.
He didn't remember saying anything, but one moment Boone was nervously toeing at the sand, and the next Boone was kneeling above him, legs straddling Sawyer's hips. Sawyer grabbed Boone's shoulder with his good arm, smirking as those blue eyes widened, momentarily afraid that Sawyer would hit him, before pulling the younger man down, causing him to lose his balance, and crushing their mouths together. Sawyer couldn't help but get turned on. Boone's previous insecurities had vanished, and his touch was bold, confident. Sawyer gave a thrust upwards, making sure Boone could feel his arousal through the denim barriers. He found himself feeling pleased with the throaty moan this elicited. Sawyer felt even more pleased when Boone's hands moved to his stomach, undoing the button and slowly pulling down the zipper before reaching under the waist of Sawyer's jeans and wrapping skillful fingers around the length he found there. That had been one of the most intense orgasms Sawyer had ever had.
Things continued on that way for a while. They would more or less ignore each other all day except for the sex. They didn't really talk, at least not of anything pertaining to the island. They got what they needed from each other and went on their separate ways. Sometimes Boone would show up at Sawyer's tent with some extra water, and Sawyer would give Boone something from his stash without asking for something tangible in return.
As time went on, though, Sawyer was starting to feel something change. He was being more tolerant of the other survivors, trying in his own way to be helpful, to find his niche. He gave up the Halliburton, helped keep an eye on Claire when they tried to trap Ethan, didn't kill that damned boar that destroyed his tent, and then he returned the gun to Jack. Sawyer didn't want to think that he was becoming nicer, that people were actually starting to like him, but it seemed to be the case.
Another time with Boone, Sawyer was pulling his jeans on, the younger man still naked and watching with narrowed eyes. He had asked why Sawyer always left, and Sawyer had said that he had a reputation to maintain. He didn't know how to tell Boone that he suspected his goodness was rubbing off on him. Sawyer couldn't explain that he was damaged and wanted to stay that way, so Boone should just leave him the hell alone. Instead he just smiled, trying his best to be charming, and asked Boone what he was doing tomorrow. Boone had sighed, saying he was going back out again with Locke, still trying to find the boar. Sawyer knew a lie when he heard one. He and Kate had found boar just fine, and Locke was a damn better tracker. Calling Boone out on his bluff, though, would've left all of his open, so he left well enough alone.
The next day, when Kate came running to him, frantic for whatever alcohol he had in his stash, he didn't think twice. Whatever had her panicking so badly wasn't worth him antagonizing her over it. When she told him why, Sawyer felt like the world tuned out, and Kate sounded like she was underwater. There had been an accident. Boone was hurt really badly, and as good of a doctor as Jack might have been, they were stranded on a tropical island who the hell knows where. He asked to go, but Kate had said there were too many people there already. Then she thanked him for the alcohol and took off towards the caves.
When he found out Boone had died, Sawyer envied Jack more than ever before. Jack was noticeably upset, exhausted physically and emotionally, bearing the weight of Boone's loss on his shoulders as Sawyer struggled to comprehend. Jack took his anger out on Locke as Sawyer tried to seclude himself away again in his lies. Boone wasn't dead, he rationalized. All their time together had just been one big con. Boone took something of his and ran with it, never to be seen again. He stood by watching as they buried Boone, realizing it had been the perfect con, indeed.