It was an early Tuesday morning and Boone was dreaming. It was a particularly erotic dream. Shannon was kneeling between his legs; they were both naked, he was lying in a clearing back on the island, both of them exposed in the moonlight. She was leaning forward, doing things to him with her mouth and her hands that were driving him wild. Boone moaned quietly in his sleep and shifted his hips restlessly, his breathing speeding up as his mind screened his very own private x-rated movie, though it was actually more a memory than something his sub-conscious had fabricated.
He whimpered a bit and his eye lids fluttered, his racing heart finally dragging him from sleep.
He awoke with a start, the images from his dream lingering in his head, following him into wakefulness. He was aware of the heat emanating from the area of his groin and raised his head, looking down. He furrowed his brow a bit in surprise at the sight of the obvious bulge in the covers. He hadn't become sexually aroused in longer than he could remember, the meds he was on, his depression, the lack of stimulation all serving to almost completely deactivate his libido. Boone stared in fascination and moved his hand down hesitantly under the sheets. His own touch was electric, he gasped a bit at the intensity of the sensation at the contact. He thought that maybe if he just waited it'd take care of itself and go away, but his hand kept moving insistently, independent of his brain.
He glanced at the bedside clock, his breathing laboured, he was supposed to get up in ten minutes anyway, if he showered now, anyone who might hear him wouldn't think to question it. Boone stilled his hand, and slipped out of bed. After pulling on his boxers, he hesitantly cracked open his bedroom door and cast his thoughts over the other occupants of the house. Andrew was still sound asleep, and he was pretty sure Tom and Heather were too, his connection to them still only marginal. He pushed his fist against his crotch, just in case he was wrong and one of them came out of their bedroom, and hurried across the hall.
The bathroom door securely locked behind him, he started the shower. After shedding his underwear he climbed into the tub. He leaned his forehead against the tiles, his left hand on the wall steadying himself as his right stole down again to wrap around himself. He brought an image of Pamela to mind and moaned as his hand worked.
Inevitably, as he got closer and closer, the instinctive part of this brain took over, and his pictured fantasy woman morphed into Shannon. As he spilled over his hand, he whispered her name, his forehead slamming once, hard, against the smooth surface as his body jerked, too far gone for the brief flash of pain to stop him.
When he was done, and all the evidence of his actions had swirled down the drain, leaving behind no trace other than a slightly sore spot just below the hairline on the right side of his forehead, guilt and shame set in. His shoulders started to shake as his hands came up to cover his face. Boone slid down the wall ending up crouched against the back of the tub in misery. He indulged in what was either self-loathing or self-pity; he wasn't sure which, for a count of five, just like Jack had told him how he personally dealt with fear, and then found the strength from somewhere to push it firmly away, and rise to his feet.
That morning at breakfast Heather noticed that he was acting a bit strangely, almost like he was hiding something. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and he seemed a bit flushed, she'd also noticed that there saw a small bruise almost completely concealed by his mess of hair, high on his forehead. When she asked him about it, he just mumbled something about slipping in the shower.
Boone hesitantly told his therapist about it during their session that day, mortified with humiliation. The guy just smiled at him, and told him that it was perfectly normal, nothing to be ashamed about at all. In fact it should actually be considered a good sign, another milestone on the road to recovery. He'd taken a big step when he'd started dating, so his reawakening sexual desires were a part of the natural progression. Reassured somewhat, though still feeling a bit like a hormonal adolescent, Boone tried to be a little less embarrassed. Dr. Andersen's next words buoyed his spirits considerably.
"I think we can reduce your dosage a bit. How does that sound to you?" The doctor knew how deeply disappointed Boone had been two months prior when he'd reconsidered his earlier decision to do what he was suggesting today, but had honestly felt that there was just too much upheaval in the young man's life at that point. The smile his words produced spoke volumes.
"Really?" He looked like it couldn't believe it, his mouth worked a bit, but he couldn't speak. "That'd be great. I mean, I really feel better, I really do. Thanks." He finally managed to get a few words out.
Jack had chosen Dr. Andersen with care, actually interviewing the man personally before even suggesting that the two of them meet. Boone's case was pretty special, the doctor who would eventually end up helping him get over his problems, would have to do so without benefit of the entire truth, though they wouldn't be told that, of course. Jack knew that there was no way that Boone could, or would, tell most of what had happened during their year of forced isolation, and the astounding abilities that many of them had returned with. His therapist would have to be intuitive enough to be able to help him regardless. Dr. Andersen seemed to be the perfect candidate. His prior experience, before taking up private practice, had been working with military men who had been traumatized by their activities in the field, activities that had been so covert that they were on a strict need to know basis, and he hadn't needed to know. Even so, from what Jack had managed to learn from his inside sources, he'd managed to help many of them anyway, and almost all had come out the better for it. Jack had been pleased when doctor and patient had hit it off immediately and then again when the doctor had agreed to take the case.
"Don't thank me. You've done most of it yourself; you've worked really hard Boone. You should be pleased." He scribbled a note on a prescription pad and stood, holding it out.
"I am. I want so much to be okay." He said sincerely. "Thanks," the gratitude in his voice, evident.
The doctor clapped him on the shoulder as he ushered him out with the usual caution to be careful on his motorcycle.
Boone couldn't wait to tell Tom and Heather the good news.
Heather had spent theday wondering about his strange mood of that morning, and was a little apprehensive about how he would be after his weekly session. When she saw his face, she was understandably relieved at the genuine smile with which he greeted her. When she heard what he had to say, she shared in his happiness. That he'd had to go through it at all in the first place still ate at her achingly, but he'd chosen his own path in life, even though it had several times led to disaster. Tom's reaction mirrored Heather's, and was perhaps even a little more heartfelt. He still remembered the horrific feeling that he'd gotten from Boone the day the boy had touched his mind. At three thirty Boone headed off to pick Andrew up with a spring in his step.
Pamela had lay awake most of the night he'd told her about his step-sister, thinking about what she'd told him before he'd left. She was willing to take a chance with him, she'd said. What she hadn't said was that she thought she might actually already be in love with him, and was going to go the distance with him because she hoped that there was some way that he could come to love her enough, that if his wife ever did come back, the thought of leaving her would never even occur to him. It was pretty risky; she knew she was setting herself up for disappointment, but at this juncture, going on without Boone Carlyle in her life was something she didn't want to contemplate.
Just before four Andrew's head came up, a sparkle in his eyes, and a big grin on his face, Boone's happiness almost tangible to him. He shifted in his seat, bouncing up and down a little as he kept glancing back at the door, even though he knew Boone had only just started down the corridor.
Pamela noticed his behaviour, but she'd given up trying to figure out the range of reactions he displayed just before Boone put in his daily appearance.
He was out of his seat and at the door, launching himself into Boone's waiting arms at the exact moment his dad entered the room, his usual more restrained greeting temporarily abandoned. 'Boone.' He wrapped his arms around his neck and snuggled into him, 'You're really happy about the doctor's today.' He pulled back and looked into his eyes, as Boone nodded in confirmation.
'It went well. We'll talk about it later, okay Bud?' Boone kissed his cheek and set him down on the floor so he could gather his things.
'Kay Boone.' Andrew headed back up the aisle.
Pamela couldn't help but smile and wonder at the silent, but obviously emotionally charged scene that had just transpired. Boone was smiling happily at her now as he waited for his son. She smiled back, and decided again to break their no school contact unwritten rule.
She walked to the back with Andrew, "Hey, you look like the cat that just ate the canary."
"I had an appointment today that went really well, so I'm kind of on a bit of a high." He shrugged, downplaying the euphoria he'd actually let seep into him a little.
Andrew waited patiently by his side, his hand held in Boone's, Boone had already asked him not to say anything when he realized that Pamela was coming to talk to him.
"You want to share a bit of that high, and come over tonight?" She asked, after checking to be sure she couldn't be overheard, though they usually didn't meet on school nights.
"I could come by for a bit after supper. That okay with you Andrew?" He looked down for confirmation.
Mindful of Boone's request that he stay silent, the boy just nodded.
When he arrived at her apartment she asked him about the nature of the appointment and good news he'd mentioned earlier, but when she was met with a bit of a panicked look in response, she just shook her head, smiled and told him, "Never mind Boone, I don't need to know, just as long as it made you happy."
They were sitting on the couch now, the TV on but unwatched, as they kissed.
She slid her hand under the hem of his sweater, as she had before, knowing that he was comfortable with this amount of contact, and ran her palm over his stomach, lifting the garment up as she slowly moved higher. Before her fingers reached his chest, however, he gently grabbed her wrist, and guided her hand back down to his abdomen, not wanting to ruin the evening by having to explain where the scars she was sure to sense with her finger tips had come from.
His own hand mimicked hers, sliding up under her top, to tease again at her breast as he had before. His experiences of the day leaving him feeling confident and a little bold, he slid his other hand from around her shoulders and onto her bare thigh, stroking gently as he moved up her leg and under her skirt, until he encountered the fabric of her panties.
Pamela was seriously starting to question her good fortune. Was this really the shy, almost frigid man she'd been trying to coerce into reaching even second base for weeks now? She figured if he was being this forward, then maybe he'd let her go a little further too. She moved her hand from under his top, and down to stroke gently at the front of his blue jeans, waiting to see if he'd pull away. When he shifted his hips slightly, increasing the pressure, she was only too willing to accommodate him, stroking a little harder.
Boone's fingers slid under the elastic of the leg, and down, shocking her, but pleasing her greatly in more ways than one, when they reached their destination and started to move slowly.
She broke the kiss briefly, and he pulled his hands back as she stood, moving to straddle him, their previous positions a little too awkward for what they both were intending. Just before she knelt on the couch to face him, he reached up under her skirt and tugged her panties down. Pamela watched his face the whole time, searching his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitancy on his part, but not finding any. His eyes captivated her, they were smoky, the lids heavy, making him look, if it was even possible, even sexier. One side of his mouth slowly rose in a bit of a half smile that she returned as she placed her knees on either side of his thighs, and brought their lips together once more.
His hands slid up under her skirt and top again, the one under her shirt pressing the two sides of the front closure of her bra together, undoing it. He pushed one half to the side as his hand cupped her breast again, his thumb circling her nipple.
The sensations were forcing most thoughts from her head, whoever had taught him how to do this had been good, very good, she'd never encountered a guy before who knew exactly what spots to touch quite the way he did. She had to force herself to remember to breathe as she fumbled for his belt, quickly undoing it, the button and zipper on his jeans following. She didn't think she was going to last much longer as she broke their kiss again and pressed her lips to his ear, telling him to raise his hips. When he did she pulled his jeans down till the waistband was below his crotch. The heat started to spread though her as her fingers slid though the opening in the front of his boxers, and she finally touched him for the first time. He groaned at the contact, as her hand circled him firmly; then tightened as her orgasm took her, somehow remembering to keep stroking him as she shook.
When Boone heard her breathing more regularly, he smiled against her neck at the pleasure he'd given her, then turned his focus to the pleasure she was giving him.
She had just freed him from the confines of his underwear when his cell phone rang.
"Shit," Boone cursed, Pamela silently echoed the word. "I'm going to have to check that. It might be home."
She let go of him and got to her feet, as he reached down into his pocket to retrieve the unwelcome intruder.
She picked her panties up off the floor and started putting them on as he snapped the phone open and checked the call display, it was home just as he'd thought.
Tom was on the line, Andrew had had a nightmare and nothing they'd done could calm him down. Tom was sorry, but Boone was going to have to come home.
Pamela turned to see him tucking himself back into his underwear. He awkwardly held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he stood, pulling his pants back up. She caught another flash of silver on his left wrist as his sleeve rode up a bit as he refastened his jeans.
"Let me speak to him." Boone requested.
"Daddy?" Andrew choked the word out between sobs.
"Hey bud, what gives?" Boone kept his voice soft.
"The monster killed Shan, she was dead Boone. I saw her lying on rocks in a stream. I want my mommy." He wailed.
'Oh fuck,' Boone pinched the bridge of his nose. The kid had picked another memory out of his head, but this was a first, he'd never asked for Shannon before. "Andrew, Andy, please bud…calm down, okay? I'll be right home, I'm on way." Boone's own thoughts were racing as he recalled the hallucination John had forced on him.
Instead of an answer, there were only a few more sobs coming from the other end of the call.
"You tell Tom that I said you get to sleep with me tonight, okay bud?" He spoke the words slowly, trying to calm the boy down. He crossed to the door and put his jacket on.
"Kay Boone." The words hitched as Andrew cried.
"I'm on my way, right now," he repeated, snapping the phone closed.
"Pamela, I'm sorry but…," he started.
"Don't," she shook her head. "Just go, he needs you, I understand."
He smiled briefly, "Thanks." He leaned in and kissed her, his eyes lingering a bit as he pulled away.
"Night," He said a bit regretfully as he opened the door and headed down the corridor.
She closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, closing her eyes and recalling the sensation of his touch.