Challenge/Prompt: 100_women, 054. Sister
Rating: Strong PG-15
Word Count: 1647
Warnings: While these guys aren’t related by blood (as Hearts and Minds reminds you excessively…), they have been raised as brother and sister, so, you know, mildly [canon] incest-y. Ish. Also, possibly a reference to underage sex since I’m not too sure about ages of consent in the US.
Summary: Boone was never sold to Shannon as a brand new older sibling; so she never bought him as one.
Author’s Notes: I’m working my way up to Petrellicest or Ryan/Sharpay (their twincest is awesome), so I’ve got to start somewhere small i.e with people who aren’t technically related. Plus, I ship these two like crazy, I always have. I don’t know why I didn’t write something like this sooner.
They’ve never really been very good at being brother and sister.
Their parents, when they decided to get remarried, didn’t really give a damn about whether Shannon and Boone were ok with it. They didn’t spend hours trying to placate them, didn’t try and come up with good reasons to make the marriage seem like a positive thing. Boone was never sold to Shannon as a brand new older sibling; so she never bought him as one.
Her friends made excuses, freshman year, to come over to the house and lounge around pretending not to watch Boone swimming laps of the pool, his perfect bronzed shoulders, the way chlorinated water clung to eyelashes that were longer than hers. Shannon called them idiots, that her brother was nothing special; he was actually kind of a dork, and probably gay anyway, ‘cause he never brought any girlfriends home.
That didn’t explain, though, why she found herself hiding behind the drapes in her room when her friends were nowhere around, watching the clean lines his body cut through the water.
“You need to fucking eat,” Boone snaps, it’s becoming obvious that being saved isn’t really an option any more.
Shannon’s bikini has never fit her so well and anyway, Boone has always been ridiculously overprotective. It’s stupid, how many years it took her to work out why.
“Go away and bother someone else,” she mumbles, not even bothering to raise her sunglasses.
He calls her something, tossed over his shoulder when he leaves; sounds a lot like vapid little bitch but she doesn’t really care because it’s always been like that between them. Push push push and then, blindingly quick, snap.
Sabrina Carlyle owns the world’s biggest wedding chain or something, whatever, Shannon was never all that interested.
She was sixteen and they were at a wedding of some kind; it was important to be seen there, something like that anyway. Shannon has always lived on the surface; as long as everything appears to be ok, it will be.
Come on then, Boone said, he was leaving for college in the fall. He had ridiculous bangs that fell in his eyes and that should have made him unattractive and it didn’t. All those dance classes, he continued when Shannon looked at him like he was mad, Thumping around in your room doing pliés or whatever, prove they’re worth it.
She was wearing powder blue and her hair was wavy down her back. Boone’s hands were too warm, one enclosing hers, the other on her hip. She could feel the warmth bleeding through her dress and it was too late to back out. Shannon wanted to move away, wanted to stop looking at him, but she couldn’t.
Most people thought it was sweet, siblings dancing together and all, isn’t it wonderful that their parents’ marriage hasn’t caused all kinds of resentment, but Shannon caught sight of Sabrina watching them. Her face was impassive, of course, but disapproval radiated off her in waves. And Boone let go of her too fast at the end, unable to look her in the eye, almost stumbling at the end of the dance, mumbling something about wanting a drink.
The next week, he brought a decidedly brunette girl home with him.
It’s no different, being on the island. Girls talk to Shannon in an attempt to get close to Boone, all giggles and sun-flushed faces. After all, Boone is pretty and seems to be devoted; they see him taking care of Shannon and they fall for a guy so willing to look after his sister.
The truth is, of course, completely different. But probably not something they should admit to.
Brothers and sisters didn’t do this. Shannon may not have really known anything about family and how they were supposed to interact, but she did know that much.
I’m leaving in the morning, Boone said, like she didn’t already know, fingers grazing Shannon’s wrist. They sat side by side on her bed, soft pale pink quilt pressing against the back of her thighs. She’d be at her morning ballet class, when he drove out of her life. College as far away from them as he could get.
If they had ever been close, if they had ever had a straight conversation that didn’t involve a barrage of insults, this would have made sense. As it was, they barely liked each other, spent most of their time snapping vitriol at each other, or in a frosty silence. Perhaps it was the perfect example of a sibling relationship… or not.
They didn’t exchange heartfelt promises to miss each other, didn’t even hug. And afterwards, it wasn’t even clear who kissed who first.
Under tarpaulin, and, more importantly, under cover of dark, Shannon lies awake and knows that he isn’t sleeping. There’s sand in her hair and the heat is unforgiving, shimmering over her skin. And Boone is lying too close to her.
Their fingers knot together, it’s been days and the probability of being able to return to their previous lives is falling. Boone shivers when she pulls his hand in a slide across her own hip, down under her bikini bottoms.
“We can’t,” he mumbles weakly, and she knows without having to check that his eyes are shut, refusing to acknowledge whatever this is.
“We’ve played this game before,” she mutters, withdrawing her own hand and leaving his between her legs. “You always lose.”
His breathing shudders when he uncurls his fingers a little, feeling that she’s already wet.
“You break all the rules,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side as two fingers push up and inside her. “You cheat.”
Shannon moves her hips against his hand, closing her eyes, and doesn’t deny it.
I don’t like him, Boone said when he thought she couldn’t hear. He was home for Spring Break or something, and had just met Shannon’s boyfriend. He was a quarterback, because she hadn’t learned any better, and good-looking in a way that was nothing like Boone. That part was important.
He’s Shannon’s boyfriend, Sabrina replied, voice calm yet sharp, like an unspoken warning, You don’t need to like him. He’s nothing to do with you.
I still don’t like him, Boone mumbled, and Shannon wondered if maybe that had been the reaction she’d been looking for all along anyway.
Boone prefers blondes but sleeps with brunettes. It’s a very, very determined routine.
Shannon wouldn’t want it any other way.
The first time (with him, anyway) was an accident. Boone mumbled into her neck, afterwards, This is probably a felony of some kind.
Shut up, Shannon muttered in reply. She was seventeen. She pushed Boone away, rolling onto her side. You always worry too much.
Boone laughed softly and started playing with her hair, fingers brushing against her neck. Shannon closed her eyes and tried to work out, on a scale of one to ten, how big the mistake she’d made was. And how the hell she was going to get out of it.
She could have died, not from the freaky-ass polar bears crashing about in the woods, or even heat-crazed fellow survivors, but because her own lungs seem to want to give up on her.
Everything’s giving up on her at the moment.
Boone smells like sunblock and he has sand stuck to his arms, but Shannon’s in no position to judge since she smells like eucalyptus and the menthol is almost overpowering. It’s gooey and cool on her chest.
“I thought-” he mumbles, mouth against her temple and he’s holding her too tightly. People are going to get suspicious, sooner or later. People always get suspicious.
“Yeah,” she murmurs back, it’s not quite an admission, but it’s close enough.
Boone had always been in love with her and Shannon wasn’t above using that. She wished she could be a good enough person to just accept that her stepbrother had completely inappropriate feelings for her, and move on, but she had no money and no one in the world and if, in order to survive, she had to manipulate Boone’s emotions, then that was what she was going to do.
It was almost too easy, the first time, picking a guy he wouldn’t like and then setting it up so Boone would pay her ‘boyfriend’ off. Maybe she should have gone into acting, instead of dancing. Too late to find out either way, now.
She was eighteen, and sick of the world.
He just left me, she sobbed like she cared, like she didn’t know exactly what Boone had done, He just told me he didn’t want to see me any more.
Boone stroked her hair and made sympathetic noises and then swallowed her grief with his mouth against hers. Shannon was almost amused to find that he wasn’t above his own fair share of emotional manipulation. Of course, he didn’t know the whole truth; Boone thought that he was in control of her.
Shannon always won this particular game. It was sweet, the way he hadn’t noticed yet.
There are miles of jungle and she has goop in her hair. The tree bark is rough against her spine, her perfectly tanned legs wrapped around Boone’s hips. They should stop this, they really should, but Shannon’s not going to be the one to point this out.
Boone’s teeth scrape her ear, he’s breathing too hard and Shannon digs her nails into his shoulders.
“It’s all your fault we’re stuck here,” Boone hisses, mouth against her jaw, “If you’d just picked somewhere other than Australia…”
“If you weren’t such a fucking pushover…” Shannon replies, venom in her tone, this is stupid, this is stupid.
Boone’s mouth finds hers, she grazes her back against the tree, and Shannon promises herself she’ll figure out how to give this up. Sooner or later.