Post by gl12 on Jul 25, 2007 21:41:30 GMT -5
I thought I would post this here since there is a Bocke discussion elsewhere on this board. Some of you may have seen this already on the henrygalelovers livejournal. There are more chapters but you will have to e-mail me for them or just get on my livejournal to read the rest.
Title: Unfamiliar
Author: GL-12
Pairing: Locke/Ben
Rating: PG
Summary: Locke learns more about Ben, and himself
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything about Lost
This fic takes liberties with the canon timeline, as it takes place right before the Others vacate Otherville, but Ben is not wheelchair bound.
“You know you still haven’t really told me anything.”
Ben paused to look at his visitor, relaxed on the end of the couch, one long leg propped up on the coffee table. Few people would have dared to be so informal in Ben’s home. “What do you mean?” he asked innocently. “I’ve been answering questions for an hour.”
An easy smile spread across Locke’s face. “You’ve been dodging questions for an hour,” he corrected.
“Well, I fed you anyway,” Ben replied.
Locke studied his host for a moment. He knew that all the answers he sought were in this man’s head, but clearly it would take patience to get them. Locke’s pointed questions had been evaded, ignored, or answered with more questions. At the end of the meal Locke realized that he had given more information than he got, although he hadn’t realized at the time that it was happening. Ben Linus was nothing if not subtle. Locke gave in to the change of subject. “Dinner was good,” he said. “Thanks. It’s been a long time since I had a ‘real’ meal.”
“Do you miss it?” Ben asked.
“Nope,” said Locke. This drew a fleeting smile from Ben which disappeared as quickly as it had come. It occurred to Locke to wonder why Ben’s smiles were so rare. He tucked this away in his mental file of questions to get answers to.
From across the room, Ben held up a black and white labeled bottle. “Drink?” he asked.
“What is that? Dharma’s version of scotch?” Locke asked.
“Afraid so,” Ben replied. Locke nodded and Ben took out two heavy glasses and poured them each half full of amber liquid.
“I will tell you one thing,” Ben said, handing one glass to Locke.
“Alright,” Locke replied. Ben moved to sit on a chair opposite Locke, but then paused. Locke looked up at him, expectantly. After a moment, Ben sat down, not in a chair, but on the edge of the coffee table nearly in front of Locke. He stared into his glass. If it had been anyone else, Locke would have read his manner as nervousness, but in all the circumstances he had seen Ben in, he had never seen his icy composure crack. Not as prisoner, Henry Gale; not looking down the barrel of a pistol. So Locke waited.
Finally Ben looked up. “Boone wasn’t your fault,” he said. Locke stared back, frozen with shock. He had never properly grieved Boone’s death, and the unexpected mention of his name tore open the raw wound. Locke lowered his glass without drinking and, leaning forward, shoved it roughly onto the table. The warm liquid sloshed over onto his hand.
“What are you talking about?” he rasped, clenching his hands together, his elbows leaning on his knees.
“I know you think it was your fault,” Ben went on, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, “but it wasn’t.”
“How would you know?” Locke asked, anger creeping into his voice. Somehow the mention of Boone felt like an invasion.
“I know that things happen for a reason,” Ben said. “And we don’t always know what the reason is at the time. But everything that has happened in your life, every awful, painful, miserable event has led you here. And isn’t this where you were meant to be?”
The wave of pain had subsided as Locke felt that Ben was speaking his own thoughts to him. Thoughts he had tried to express to others but that had been met with derision.
“Boone trusted me,” he said.
“He did,” Ben agreed. “And he liked you. And he admired you -- with good reason. Maybe the first person in your life who has.”
Locke could not meet Ben’s gaze. He knew he should keep his defenses up, that Ben was most likely manipulating him with his kind words, but he couldn’t. There had been no one to talk to about Boone, about how much his friendship had meant, how much Locke had basked in Boone’s youthful admiration, about his incessant, gnawing guilt over the boy’s death.
“I miss him.” Locke’s whispered words came out as confession. A crushing burden fell away as he was able to speak the simple and honest words out loud.
“I know,” Ben answered, his own voice full of emotion.
Locke stared down at his hands, unconcerned with the tears than welled in his eyes. Ben did not speak further, but raised his hand and brushed a tear from Locke’s cheek with the back of his fingers.
The touch brought Locke out of his memories. He looked up and found Ben studying him, his smoky blue eyes intense. Locke hadn’t realized until then just how close Ben was sitting to him. His instinct was to move back and retake his personal space, but he didn’t move. He was perfectly still as Ben traced his forefinger along Locke’s jawline and lightly brushed his thumb over his lower lip. What held Locke paralyzed was his own reaction to Ben’s touch.
He had loved Helen, and in her arms he had found comfort and some measure of peace. But her touch had not set him aflame. He had never expected it to. And the handful of other women in his life had mostly been matters of diversion, generally unsuccessful attempts to infuse meaning into a gray existence.
Locke wondered if it was his rebirth on the Island, or perhaps the taboo of another man’s touch. Whatever it was, Locke was being stretched between the impulse to back away, and the undeniable yearning for whatever came next. Fear flamed deep inside.
“Ben,” Locke said. Simply speaking his name felt strangely intimate. Locke forced himself to tear his gaze away. “Ben,” he repeated, “I, uh…I’m not…” Locke trailed off, resenting Ben for pretending not to get the message of his stammer. Locke tried again. “I don’t… I like women.”
“So do I,” Ben replied without pause, a slight curl on his lip. Locke was shocked that his own response was to note how sexy the half-smile was. And even in this totally unfamiliar territory, Locke could not mistake the desire in Ben’s eyes, or the elevation of his own heart rate.
Locke drew in a sharp breath as Ben closed the small distance between them and brushed his lips against Locke’s. If his wits had been about him, Locke would have been astonished at the thrill that went through his body like an electric shock. Some part of him was aware that Ben’s hand rested on Locke’s thigh as he pressed one featherlight kiss after another on Locke’s mouth. Involuntarily, Locke’s eyes had fluttered closed and he felt himself sinking slowly into the flood of sensations. When he felt Ben start to move away, he instinctively leaned in, covering Ben’s mouth completely with his own. This time he could not deny the erotic thrill of hearing Ben’s breath catch. Locke allowed his lips to part, but when he felt Ben’s tongue tentatively seeking his own, he suddenly drew away.
Locke sat all the way back on the couch, placing distance between them as he worked to steady his breathing. Ben had clearly been caught off guard, and a look of surprise and, Locke thought, hurt flashed across his face and then was gone. Ben took a drink from the glass which oddly enough, was still in his left hand, and let out a long breath.
After a moment, Ben chuckled unconvincingly and put up a hand. “You don’t have to look so scared, John. I’m not going to hurt you.” Locke realized he was plastered against the back of the couch, and he forced himself to relax. Ben stood up and walked around the outside of the coffee table. He picked up Locke’s glass and held it out to him. When Locke didn’t move to take the drink, Ben spoke. “Just because you didn’t want something yesterday, doesn’t mean it’s not okay to want it today.”
Locke raised an eyebrow. “Give me a minute to unravel that triple negative,” he said and took the offered glass.
“Good luck with that,” Ben replied with a roll of his eyes. Locke realized that Ben was probably more self-conscious about the bad grammar than anything else that had transpired that evening. He let a genuine grin break his own palpable tension.
“What?” Ben asked, clearly not in on the joke.
“Nothing,” Locke answered. He raised his glass to his lips, but held it there without drinking. As Ben disappeared into the kitchen, Locke let himself realize that he was savoring the taste of the unanticipated and shocking kisses. A moment more and Locke let the smoky liquid fill his mouth.
Title: Unfamiliar
Author: GL-12
Pairing: Locke/Ben
Rating: PG
Summary: Locke learns more about Ben, and himself
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything about Lost
This fic takes liberties with the canon timeline, as it takes place right before the Others vacate Otherville, but Ben is not wheelchair bound.
“You know you still haven’t really told me anything.”
Ben paused to look at his visitor, relaxed on the end of the couch, one long leg propped up on the coffee table. Few people would have dared to be so informal in Ben’s home. “What do you mean?” he asked innocently. “I’ve been answering questions for an hour.”
An easy smile spread across Locke’s face. “You’ve been dodging questions for an hour,” he corrected.
“Well, I fed you anyway,” Ben replied.
Locke studied his host for a moment. He knew that all the answers he sought were in this man’s head, but clearly it would take patience to get them. Locke’s pointed questions had been evaded, ignored, or answered with more questions. At the end of the meal Locke realized that he had given more information than he got, although he hadn’t realized at the time that it was happening. Ben Linus was nothing if not subtle. Locke gave in to the change of subject. “Dinner was good,” he said. “Thanks. It’s been a long time since I had a ‘real’ meal.”
“Do you miss it?” Ben asked.
“Nope,” said Locke. This drew a fleeting smile from Ben which disappeared as quickly as it had come. It occurred to Locke to wonder why Ben’s smiles were so rare. He tucked this away in his mental file of questions to get answers to.
From across the room, Ben held up a black and white labeled bottle. “Drink?” he asked.
“What is that? Dharma’s version of scotch?” Locke asked.
“Afraid so,” Ben replied. Locke nodded and Ben took out two heavy glasses and poured them each half full of amber liquid.
“I will tell you one thing,” Ben said, handing one glass to Locke.
“Alright,” Locke replied. Ben moved to sit on a chair opposite Locke, but then paused. Locke looked up at him, expectantly. After a moment, Ben sat down, not in a chair, but on the edge of the coffee table nearly in front of Locke. He stared into his glass. If it had been anyone else, Locke would have read his manner as nervousness, but in all the circumstances he had seen Ben in, he had never seen his icy composure crack. Not as prisoner, Henry Gale; not looking down the barrel of a pistol. So Locke waited.
Finally Ben looked up. “Boone wasn’t your fault,” he said. Locke stared back, frozen with shock. He had never properly grieved Boone’s death, and the unexpected mention of his name tore open the raw wound. Locke lowered his glass without drinking and, leaning forward, shoved it roughly onto the table. The warm liquid sloshed over onto his hand.
“What are you talking about?” he rasped, clenching his hands together, his elbows leaning on his knees.
“I know you think it was your fault,” Ben went on, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, “but it wasn’t.”
“How would you know?” Locke asked, anger creeping into his voice. Somehow the mention of Boone felt like an invasion.
“I know that things happen for a reason,” Ben said. “And we don’t always know what the reason is at the time. But everything that has happened in your life, every awful, painful, miserable event has led you here. And isn’t this where you were meant to be?”
The wave of pain had subsided as Locke felt that Ben was speaking his own thoughts to him. Thoughts he had tried to express to others but that had been met with derision.
“Boone trusted me,” he said.
“He did,” Ben agreed. “And he liked you. And he admired you -- with good reason. Maybe the first person in your life who has.”
Locke could not meet Ben’s gaze. He knew he should keep his defenses up, that Ben was most likely manipulating him with his kind words, but he couldn’t. There had been no one to talk to about Boone, about how much his friendship had meant, how much Locke had basked in Boone’s youthful admiration, about his incessant, gnawing guilt over the boy’s death.
“I miss him.” Locke’s whispered words came out as confession. A crushing burden fell away as he was able to speak the simple and honest words out loud.
“I know,” Ben answered, his own voice full of emotion.
Locke stared down at his hands, unconcerned with the tears than welled in his eyes. Ben did not speak further, but raised his hand and brushed a tear from Locke’s cheek with the back of his fingers.
The touch brought Locke out of his memories. He looked up and found Ben studying him, his smoky blue eyes intense. Locke hadn’t realized until then just how close Ben was sitting to him. His instinct was to move back and retake his personal space, but he didn’t move. He was perfectly still as Ben traced his forefinger along Locke’s jawline and lightly brushed his thumb over his lower lip. What held Locke paralyzed was his own reaction to Ben’s touch.
He had loved Helen, and in her arms he had found comfort and some measure of peace. But her touch had not set him aflame. He had never expected it to. And the handful of other women in his life had mostly been matters of diversion, generally unsuccessful attempts to infuse meaning into a gray existence.
Locke wondered if it was his rebirth on the Island, or perhaps the taboo of another man’s touch. Whatever it was, Locke was being stretched between the impulse to back away, and the undeniable yearning for whatever came next. Fear flamed deep inside.
“Ben,” Locke said. Simply speaking his name felt strangely intimate. Locke forced himself to tear his gaze away. “Ben,” he repeated, “I, uh…I’m not…” Locke trailed off, resenting Ben for pretending not to get the message of his stammer. Locke tried again. “I don’t… I like women.”
“So do I,” Ben replied without pause, a slight curl on his lip. Locke was shocked that his own response was to note how sexy the half-smile was. And even in this totally unfamiliar territory, Locke could not mistake the desire in Ben’s eyes, or the elevation of his own heart rate.
Locke drew in a sharp breath as Ben closed the small distance between them and brushed his lips against Locke’s. If his wits had been about him, Locke would have been astonished at the thrill that went through his body like an electric shock. Some part of him was aware that Ben’s hand rested on Locke’s thigh as he pressed one featherlight kiss after another on Locke’s mouth. Involuntarily, Locke’s eyes had fluttered closed and he felt himself sinking slowly into the flood of sensations. When he felt Ben start to move away, he instinctively leaned in, covering Ben’s mouth completely with his own. This time he could not deny the erotic thrill of hearing Ben’s breath catch. Locke allowed his lips to part, but when he felt Ben’s tongue tentatively seeking his own, he suddenly drew away.
Locke sat all the way back on the couch, placing distance between them as he worked to steady his breathing. Ben had clearly been caught off guard, and a look of surprise and, Locke thought, hurt flashed across his face and then was gone. Ben took a drink from the glass which oddly enough, was still in his left hand, and let out a long breath.
After a moment, Ben chuckled unconvincingly and put up a hand. “You don’t have to look so scared, John. I’m not going to hurt you.” Locke realized he was plastered against the back of the couch, and he forced himself to relax. Ben stood up and walked around the outside of the coffee table. He picked up Locke’s glass and held it out to him. When Locke didn’t move to take the drink, Ben spoke. “Just because you didn’t want something yesterday, doesn’t mean it’s not okay to want it today.”
Locke raised an eyebrow. “Give me a minute to unravel that triple negative,” he said and took the offered glass.
“Good luck with that,” Ben replied with a roll of his eyes. Locke realized that Ben was probably more self-conscious about the bad grammar than anything else that had transpired that evening. He let a genuine grin break his own palpable tension.
“What?” Ben asked, clearly not in on the joke.
“Nothing,” Locke answered. He raised his glass to his lips, but held it there without drinking. As Ben disappeared into the kitchen, Locke let himself realize that he was savoring the taste of the unanticipated and shocking kisses. A moment more and Locke let the smoky liquid fill his mouth.
I'M SO OUT OF THE LOOP!!