fifty-seven channels and nothing on
By gale

SUMMARY: “Shannon loves boys. They’re better than cable.” Shannon/Boone/Sawyer, for arabella_hope, for the Lost Kinks ficathon. So, you know, if you came here looking for nice-later-on-Shannon, maybe you should read something else. This version’s kind of a bitch. Wait, what am I saying, “kind of”?

Shannon loves boys. They’re better than cable.

Especially out here, where there’s no cable at all. Or magazines, or books, or *anything* except beach and jungle and other people. She’s been living on water and pork and fruit for, like, two weeks now, and it’s driving her nuts. The second the rescue plane comes for them, she’s knocking someone unconscious for a piece of chocolate.

Also, she’s stuck here with Boone, which is a hundred times worse than the lack of the Style Network, because it’s *Boone*. Like it’s not already awkward enough when you’re stuck on a deserted island with your stupid stepbrother – but now she’s stuck on a deserted island with her stupid stepbrother who she’s had sex with, which, really, bites so hard she cannot think about it.

But still. There are boys. Which means maybe this entire thing isn’t so crappy after all.

Well, no, it’s totally crappy, but - *boys*. Boys to get things for her and admire her ass and stick up for her when Boone was being a jerk and wanting her to do things. So far, the highlight of this whole nightmare has been Charlie going fishing for her. Fishing! Sure, he was crappy at it, but hey, she didn’t have to do it. Also, it’s kind of neat to see someone doing something useful for her. Mostly boys just get her dresses and stuff, or maybe jewelry. This one time, this really hot guy named Troy wanted to get her a horse, but what the hell would she do with a horse? She can’t *ride*.

Anyway. Boys. Boys make everything better.

Except today all the menfolk were out doing – God, like she knew. Doing *something*, which meant it was just the women alone on the beach or at the caves. Shannon doesn’t hate the other girls, exactly; she only hates someone or something if there’s a chance she could look less than perfect, and around here, no chance of that. But while doing Claire’s toenails is fun and everything, she’s not in the mood for that today.

Today, she wants to *play*. And today, of course, all the men are missing, which means she’s stuck with Plan B.

Shannon rolls her eyes and starts rummaging around in the duffel bag she’s keeping her stuff in. She *hates* Plan B. But it’s better than nothing, so what the hell.


“Boone.” Nothing. “Boone.” Still nothing. “BOONE!”

What?” he snarled back, looking up from whatever he was – ew! ew! – skinning. With one of Locke’s big, fuck-off knives, no less. “*What*, Shannon? Isn’t there anyone else you could be bothering right now?”

”There are plenty of people,” Shannon says, “but they’re all off doing manly things in the jungle.” She edges closer to him and leers a little bit. “I bet they’re off having a circle jerk or something.”

That makes Boone flush a little. “Shut up,” he mutters, looking away from her. “Like you’d know.”

Shannon grins. He’s so easy when he’s like this, tired and out of sorts and already pissy. She’s not sure why, but she’s not going to waste time caring, either. “Not to mention,” she says, “that Jack and Sawyer were glaring at each other for the last, like, two days. And we all know what *that* mean—“

“*Shut up*,” Boone says, and she can hear the edge in his voice. Better to back off a little.

”Okay,” she says, holding up a hand. “I’m sorry. I just – it’s stupid, okay? I’m being stupid.” This is so easy, she thinks, and makes herself look embarrassed. It’s not hard; she had the look down when she was 15 and having sex on Sabrina Carlisle’s Egyptian cotton sheets, and it works even better on Sabrina’s son than it did on Sabrina.

Everyone *wants* to believe she’s not a total bitch. It works out great for her.

“I’m just bored,” she sighs, and drops down to sit on the ground. Inside, she makes a face; dirt stains are going to be a bitch to get out of this skirt, but it’s worth it if she stops being bored for even five minutes. “It’s so *boring* back there, Boone. You don’t know, you’re out here all day.”

”I dimly remember,” Boone says dryly, but he sounds less pissy. Of course, he’s not looking at her right now, so she’s still got a while to go yet.

”Seriously,” she says, stretching herself out in front of him. She rests her head on her hands and stares at him. “Remember that summer when you broke your ankle and Dr. Madison wouldn’t let you have a walking cast and you were stuck in bed the whole time? And that week they were working on the power lines, and we didn’t have any cable? This is worse than that.

“You’re not doing yourself any favors by sitting on your ass all day,” Boone says, glancing at her for a second. Just a second, but inside Shannon’s grinning. Baby steps. It always comes down to baby steps. “You could *try*, Shannon.”

”Oh, yeah.” Shannon snorts. “Because I have so many useful skills out here.”

Boone looks at her. “Hi, maybe we haven’t met,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

”That’s not the same.” Shannon pushes herself to sit up, keeping an eye on him the whole time. He glances at her top when it slides down, but only for a second, and then it’s back to skinning…whatever he’s skinning.

Dammit. Stupid island’s teaching him morals. He was way more fun when he was less – earthy. Or whatever.

“Seriously, though, *do* you know where everyone is?” she asked. Not that she cared, right now. “It’s kind of weird that everyone took off like that.”

”Sayid’s scouting the other side of the island,” Boone says, and pulls at a section of skin that doesn’t want to come away. The sound makes Shannon make a face. “John and Jack are with him, and Hurley and Charlie. The Korean guy’s off with his wife, Michael and Walt are off bonding or whatever, and I have no idea where Sawyer is.”

Huh. Little twist to his mouth on that last part, there. Shannon would have bet money she doesn’t have right this second that Boone was mooning over Jack. Hell, maybe both of them; Shannon is. Money isn’t the only thing they have in common.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Boone asks, and Shannon makes herself look bored. It’s not that difficult.

”I told you,” she says, “I’m bored. I can’t go shopping, I can’t *do* anything, and it’s too hot to work on my tan or sleep. It’s not like I have a lot of options.” She shrugs once, careful not to look at him when she adds: “I mean. Besides the obvious.” Long, slow look from under her lashes.

She can almost *see* when it clicks in Boone’s head. He’s still arching an eyebrow at her – and then it falls, and he goes pale for a second, and then flushes red. “Fuck you,” he mutters, looking away.

”Did it,” Shannon says, leaning back on her hands and arching her back a little. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and keeps looking bored. “Oh, come on. Like you don’t want to do it again, too. What else do we have to do out here?”

”Not that.”

”Liar.” Yes and no. He wants to do it again, and he hates himself for it. Shannon gets that, in her head, but she doesn’t *get* it. What’s the point of doing something you don’t want to do? She’s never done that a day in her life, and she’s not about to start now.

”You don’t— Shannon, do you even get how fucked up that was?” Boone drops the knife and looks at her. “No, seriously. That’s not the kind of thing you do *once*, and now you want to do it again?”

Shannon shrugs.

”So, what, you were lying back in the hotel?”

”Not then,” Shannon says promptly, shifting a little in the dirt. It’s fucking the skirt all to hell, but that’s why it’s not one of hers; no way is anything from Fred Segal getting even slightly dusty out here. She’s saving that for when they get back and start doing interviews. And it rucks the skirt up enough for Boone to catch a glimpse of the tiny black thong she’s wearing, and ohhhh yeah there go his eyes, like magnets.

Shannon sits up and leans forward, all one smooth motion. Thank you, yoga. “Look,” she says patiently. It’s her sneaky voice, her oh-come-*on*-big-brother voice, the one she’s used since she was a kid. It didn’t always work on Boone, but then, she hadn’t gotten boobs until she was fourteen, and oh! what a coincidence. “We’re already not going to ever tell anyone about what happened in Sydney, so there’s no point in doing it one more time, right? It’s not like we’re going to tell anyone about *this* one, either.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Boone says. Shannon resists the urge to slap him. He’s so fucking sanctimonious, always has been. Pretty, perfect Boone. Even her dad liked him, said he was a good kid, said Shannon could do worse than using Boone as a role model.

Somehow, Shannon doesn’t think this is what her dad meant.

“Boone,” she says flatly, dropping all pretense of being sexy. “Our plane has crashed on a deserted island. Everyone in the real world probably thinks we’re dead. There is nothing else to do here *besides* be useful, and you of all people know how crappy I am at that.” She crawls forward, palms of her hands pressing against the dirt so it doesn’t get under her nails. “So why don’t you just shut up and fuck me already.”

And because Boone is only human, he pounces.

Okay, not *actual* pouncing, because A) he’s not a cat and B) if he thought he was, that would be sort of fucked up. But one second Shannon’s crawling towards him and the next she’s flat on her back with her stepbrother shoving her skirt up around her waist, so “pouncing” is as good a word as any.

And maybe they’re never going to tell anyone about this ever, but that doesn’t mean Shannon’s not walking away from this whole experience with some very good memories. Boone’s better in bed than a lot of the guys she’s slept with, which is saying something – a dozen times better than Bryan, certainly, who was all muscled arms and barrel-chest and not a hell of a lot on the foreplay.

Thinking about Bryan again, about how he skimped on the oral and pulled out as soon as he got off – like the female orgasm was a myth or something, asshole, what the *hell* - makes Shannon even more pissed that he got away with her money, so she wraps one leg around Boone’s waist and bites his earlobe, whispers in his ear. He’s so hot, so strong, he’ll always protect her, always take care of her, he’s so fucking *big*. All the shit guys love to hear, and it comes off her tongue easy as anything.

Shannon doesn’t bother wondering if that’s maybe because she means some of it. She’s too busy biting down on her arm and trying not to scream. This place has fucking polar bears; no way is she going to shriek because her stupid (goddamn hot) stepbrother has his fingers on her clit just right, just the way she likes, and bring something running, let alone someone.

Sex makes Shannon babble, always has, unless she’s drunk. She remembers, even now, as her orgasm slams into her like another plane crash, that night in Sydney, being quiet and just fuzzy enough that she knew she’d use it as an excuse when they were done. She’d been so quiet, and so had Boone, though even fuzzy-headed as she was she’d known he was doing it out of reverence, not – whatever reason she was being quiet.

She’s being quiet now. There’s just enough of her not caught up in coming her brains out to know that that’s not good. It’s going to make Boone think things, and that’s the last thing she wants right now. She wanted to have sex, not *thoughts*.

So Shannon pushes herself away from Boone and his (clever, really clever) hands to murmur “thank you,” making sure to keep her voice lazy and a little sleepy. For once, it’s nothing personal; she always uses this voice after sex. It keeps guys on their toes, keeps them trying. “I needed that.” She stretches and rolls her neck. “I mean, sure, I’ve had better—“ and she doesn’t even *have* to look over to know that Boone’s flushed right now, horny and furious in equal measure, and she doesn’t even bother to hide her grin. “—but that was still pretty good. And hey! not bored anymore.”

She leans in and moves to kiss his forehead, but he catches her wrist and makes her look at him.

“Or,” Boone says, gritting his teeth, “you could shut up and blow me.”

Shannon leans her head back just enough to pretend she’s thinking about it. Part of her – okay, a lot of her – wants to tug her skirt down and flounce off, but Boone’s not the same guy from that night in Sydney. *That* guy would have leaned back and let her do it, frustrated and angry and ten other things he couldn’t name; Shannon has a sneaking suspicion this one wouldn’t be as accommodating. Besides, she didn’t get a chance to do that last time, and she’s pretty sure he’s not an ear-grabber.

“Huh,” says someone from behind them. “Look what we have here.”

Boone jerks his head around to look. Shannon makes herself stay perfectly still, then takes a deep breath and turns.

Here’s the thing: Sawyer’s not unattractive. Fuck, no. If he ever got cleaned up and slipped into some Armani, he’d be better than she’s done in a long time, Boone notwithstanding (and really, he’s not; pseudo-incest is so 1987). Even better, Sabrina would *hate* it, and really, that’s been Shannon’s main criteria for dating a guy since – oh, ever.

Sawyer looks at the two of them for a long minute. Shannon can only imagine how they must look, half-naked and sweaty, a little grimy from rolling around in the dirt, Boone still hard and pressed close to her. She thinks for a second about tugging her skirt back down, or trying to, and rejects it. Fuck him. They were here first.

“You know,” Sawyer says, after a while, “when I told Locke I’d come back here and see how you were doing cleaning things out, Metro, this was not what I expected.” He lets out a low whistle.

Shannon can almost hear Boone blush. “It’s not what you’re thinking—“ he starts, but Sawyer cuts him off.

“Oh, I *highly* doubt that.” He looks over at Shannon; she tosses her hair and looks right back. Sawyer grins a little. “I know this place is doing all sorts of odd things to people’s heads, but this is a new one, Princess.” He shakes his head, clucking his tongue. “Wait until *this* gets around. Looks like I’m going to have company on Bad News Beach.”

“Or,” Shannon says, tilting her head down to examine her manicure, “you could keep your goddamn mouth shut and get over here.” She looks up from under her lashes. “There’s got to be better things to do with your tongue than flapping it to everyone else.”

She doesn’t bother to hide her smirk when Sawyer and Boone both stare at her.

See, because that’s the thing about boys – or men, or guys, or whoever. They’re all the same. Look pretty, look expensive, treat them like shit, and they’ll keep coming back for more. She’s put Boone through ten years of crap, and maybe he’s staring at her with hate in his eyes, but five bucks says he’d rather fuck her again than watch her stalk off in her stiletto heels.

”You know,” Sawyer says slowly, looking only at her, “you might be right.”

”Smart man,” Shannon says, tossing her hair again.

Boone hates her, but he’s not leaving. That’s the important part, out here; and besides, where would he go?

”Come here,” Shannon says, crooking her finger at Sawyer, and he does.


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