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Fanfiction: Anything you want

Fanfiction: Anything you want

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Ben's got a gun
Title: Anything you want
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sexuality, NSFW
Word Count: 3,811
Summary: She would never know how badly he needed her. At least, that was the promise Ben had made for himself. He should have known it would be for naught.
Pairings: young!Alex/Ben, references to young!Alex/Richard, background Annie/Ben
Characters: Alex, Ben, Richard, mention of Isabel and Annie
Prompt: Inspired by a fanfic by bittersweet325 called "Mutual Possession" and by watching the film version of Lolita yet again.
Notes: This is completely inappropriate, a dub-con incestuous relationship with an adult and his minor ward, aged twelve, and references another relationship, consenting, but still between the minor girl and another adult man. And yes, it's somewhat graphic. If that is going to offend you, please don't continue.

She would never know how badly he needed her. At least, that was the promise Ben had made for himself. He should have known it would be for naught.

    It began on his birthday. Back home in Portland, 19 December was a day marked in snow and ice, but on the island it was warm as always, the sweet tropical breeze lilting in through the open window, the night seamless, liquid black.

    "What are you doing?" Alex asked when she came in for the night. She was a month shy of thirteen, dressed in a faded velvet dress worn by generations of girls on the island. It had been handed down for seventy years and showed its wear; the bodice gaped, exposing skin beneath, the hem was ragged, there was a tear at the shoulder where a seam was coming apart. Nonetheless, it was Alex's favourite, imbued with the scent of Eloise and Amelia, Isabel and Bea, those island girls. Beneath the short hem, her thighs were thinner than Ben remembered, her knees bearing the scars of a recent fall. She was growing up, like a time bomb ticking. The thought pierced him.

    Instead of answering, Ben handed her the photograph, heavy in its frame, weighted with memory. Emily smiled, a blonde blur in a bad Polaroid.

    "Your mother," Alex spoke in a reverent voice, leaning against his chair. She never called the woman 'grandmother' or 'nana', though she knew what grandparents were. Her fingertips traced Emily beneath the glass. "What happened to her again?"

    Ben leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "She died when I was born."

    "Like my mother."

    "That's right." The lie was easy, now. He patted Alex's shoulder absently. There was nothing else he could possibly say. The Rousseau woman lurked in the dark jungle, but she was ineffective now, driven by madness, too unstable to pose any threat. Ben hated thinking of her, remembering the tense moments in the darkness of her makeshift dwelling, the babe in his arms. He plucked a picture of Annie from the drawer and passed it over to Alex's waiting hands. Annie was the crux of the lie, the absentee mother to answer all of Alex's questions.

    Alex studied the picture. "I don't look like her."

    "Oh, I don't know." Of course she didn't, they did not share a solitary drop of blood. "You take after me." Something warmed in him when Alex smiled absently. "Did you have dinner?" he asked, turning to more practical matters.

    Alex nodded. Her hair had worked its way free of the braids Ben had watched her plait that morning. Tendrils curled around her face. She will be beautiful one day, he thought. In the next moment, Ben corrected himself. She is already beautiful, even barely a teenager, a smirking brunet in torn blue velvet, dirt beneath her nails, feet bare from running along the beach. She was beautiful, and it scared him.

    "Richard," she said. "He came down to the dock when I was fishing. I caught a sunfish," she added, beaming for a moment, prideful. Dropping onto the couch, she reclined regally, picking up a book Ben had abandoned, turning a few pages carelessly and throwing it back down without regard to where he'd left off. "He helped me check the lobster traps. He made bisque."

    "Good." Ben's own meal had consisted primarily of Dharma-issue generic whiskey. He hated the taste of alcohol, all the memories of Roger the substance brought back for him, but on the anniversary of his birth and so many deaths, he often indulged. "Finished with your homework?"

    "Great Expectations," she answered, sounding bored. "And Ethan showed me how to do a dissection. He's going to let me help him next week."

    "Latin?" Ben wanted to know. "Alex? Did you study?"

    Alex kicked her legs up in the air, unconscious of the dress sliding down, exposing her tanned legs and her underwear. "Yes, Benjamin," she teased, and Ben hastily looked away, the imprint of tiny rosebuds on the fabric of Alex's panties burned into his brain. "Four more pages. We read the States' Declaration of Independence. America," she clarified, as though speaking of something exotic. Sometimes, Ben forgot she had never been. "Omnes homines dignitate et iure liberi et pares nascuntur, rationis et conscientiae participes sunt, quibus inter se concordiae studio est agendum," Alex recited, her pronunciation sufficient.

    "Richard teach you that?" Ben asked, getting up and pouring himself another drink.

    "Hey, I want some of that," Alex said, watching him. She flopped back down onto the cushions. "No. He says it's a waste of time, learning Latin to go to the States. My English is perfect, did you know?" she declared. "Atque ita divisit eos Dominus ex illo loco in universas terras et cessaverunt aedificare civitatem."

    "The Bible," Ben answered back. He could remember similar tutelage, though he had been much older when the lessons had begun. "Sit up." He handed Alex a small glass of something purple, watching her face as she sipped.

    "Ugh! This grape juice is terrible."

    "It's wine," Ben countered. He lowered himself on the couch beside her, accommodating when Alex splayed her legs over his lap. It reminded him of stolen moments with Annie as a child, the two of them perched beneath a tree, reading in the shade, her head on his lap, or both of them walking hand in hand down the beach. Heat curled across his groin.

    She looked pleased. "Oh." She smacked her lips, stained plum. Her scent was like violets, the green lush of the jungle, the same sweetness as her laughter. "How come it's always tonight?"


    "That you miss my mother. It's always this night."

    Ben winced. He had not known it was that obvious. "I don't know," he lied. In truth, the reasons were impossible to forget. It had been hard enough, coming across Horace spent and still on the bench, his face a mask of blood. Far worse had been the discovery of Annie. She had been lying on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded with unpacked cases. Her hair had been longer than when she had left the island to pursue college, and her face showed some age, but she had still been his Annie, undeniably. Looking through her papers, later, he saw she had returned for Christmas, missing friends back home.

    He shook himself, focussed his thoughts. Alex handed him back the empty glass and before she could pull away, Ben caught her wrist. There were faint red marks there in the shape of fingers. "Alex? What happened?"

    She blushed and turned away, but before she could climb from the couch, Ben pulled her back. Her face in profile exposed the side of her neck, faint red nips along her throat.

    "Tell me."

    She smiled at him, a knowing, deceitful smile older than her years. "Nothing, Ben," she said with hard emphasis on the last word. She swung her legs at him and Ben caught her feet, studying her without blinking. There was barely a swell at her chest, undeveloped breasts years from a woman's shape, still, and her hips were a girl's, narrow. Nonetheless, he felt uneasy, aware of her scent, the shape of things to come.

    "I asked you not to call me that."


    His fingers lingered on her jaw. Annie had touched him the same way, once, after his father had left bruises and a black eye. "Who hurt you?"

    "I'm not hurt," she answered back, defiantly. Recumbent, she rested on the couch, the backs of her knees rubbing against one of Ben's thighs, her hands folded as if in prayer on her belly.

    "Who did this?" Ben amended.

    Alex heaved a slow sigh, sounding put-upon. She sat up quickly, drawing her legs away and folding them. Ben was immediately aware of the cool absence. "Did what?" she asked brightly, a fragile cheer ready to shatter like glass. Leaning in close, she reached for the empty glass again. "Can I have some more?" she wanted to know.

    Ben could smell the faint alcohol on her breath, mostly obscured beneath vanilla. Candy, again. He knew Richard plied her with it frequently, though he had never evaluated the older man's motives. His brow creased, then faded as he shook his head, forcing worrisome thoughts out. "I think you better get to bed, Alex," he said, pushing her knee away when it prodded him. "It's late."

    "I'm not tired."

    "Want to work on your piano lesson?"

    She shook her head, watching him from beneath dark lashes. "No."

    "Go take a bath, then," Ben said, edging away from her. She was somebody else's daughter, he knew that now as he never had before. This was not his infant Alex, rising up on hands and knees, marks on her skin, secrets kept. "You need to be up early. I'm sending you out with Isabel." Command decision, impromptu, but they would make due.

    Alex made a face. "No. I am not going anyplace with that woman."


    Her hand rested on his shoulder, her face too close. Her eyes were bright. "Benjamin," she mocked. It reminded Ben uneasily of Widmore, and he wondered where she had picked up the crisp accent she imitated. "Richard's on assignment too," she said finally, like the words had been ripped from her. Heat touched her cheeks with a hint of rose, but she did not look terribly abashed. "Send me with him, then, if you don't want me around."

    Ben forced a bemused smile. "Of course I want you around, Alex. I'm concerned, that's all. You're on your own too much, I'm always so busy with work..." He narrowed his eyes, the suspicions making his stomach churn. It felt like falling down an elevator shaft, a hopeless, headlong plummet into darkness. At the same time, a thrill wormed through him, exploratory and new. "You and Richard, you're close?"

    "He's alright," she said; too quickly. A shrug of thin shoulders.

    "Did he do this?" Ben asked, tracing the marks on her wrist.

    "No," she answered, but she had never been a good liar.

    "And this?" His fingers were soft against Alex's neck, inquisitive.

    "I'll take my bath now," she said, sliding from the couch, but of course, Ben caught her. His fingers closed around her upper arms, wheeling her around. "What?"

    "Is something going on?"

    Her laughter was jarring, frightened. "What would be 'going on' then?" she demanded. The hard look faded from her face, replaced with impish girl-child. "Can I go now?" She made no move to flee once Ben released her, though. Instead, she cocked her head, studying him. "You don't control me, you know."

    "Don't I?"

    "No. I'm not one of them." Her voice was disdainful as she spoke of his people, sounding older than nearly thirteen. "You don't own me."

    "I know that, Alex." But I do, he thought. He remembered the crucial night when he had returned Alex to camp, stood up to Widmore. She had been his then, the cure for loneliness, someone who would stay by his side and never leave him. To that end, he had done everything he could. Her upbringing had been markedly lax, especially compared to the usual rigors their people faced. She ran wild, and he allowed it, rarely lecturing her, avoiding punishments as long as he could. You're mine. "But there are rules. I'm responsible for you. It's my job to make sure you aren't being hurt."

    Nodding slowly, she reached for his glass after he sipped it. A few drops of whiskey remained, scalding on her unprepared lips. "Oh, this stuff is awful," she remarked gleefully, slipping back into the Alex Ben remembered, the pubescent flickering phantom of a girl, perpetually at ease. "How can you stand it?"

    "It makes me feel better."

    "It tastes disgusting," Alex told him with emphasis. She perched on the armrest of the couch, though Ben had often told her not to. "Can I go with Richard tomorrow, instead of Isabel?"

    He shook his head, hot despite the refreshing breeze coming in through the open windows. "If you don't want to go with her, you can stay home. There's a lot of schoolwork you can work on, and I can use your help inventorying supplies before the submarine heads to the mainland."

    Wrinkling her nose, Alex looped an arm around his shoulders. Her touch stirred something in Ben, not an entirely foreign or unexpected sensation, but an embarrassing one. He had felt the same way at times when he had watched her sleep late at night, body wound in covers. "So boring," she said ruefully. "Please?" Ben closed his eyes for a moment as she slid down onto his lap, ignorant of the sensations she evoked, or so he assumed. "What do I have to do?"

    "Alex..." His voice was breathless, thin. Ben cleared his throat, shook himself mentally. "What happened with Richard?" He was aware of the pleading note in his voice, the way he had to know all as much as he did not want to know any of it. He cupped Alex's hip slightly, shifting her a little, a warm weight across his groin that made him feel the heat of shame as much as lust. "Tell me."

    "What do I get if I tell you?" she teased.

    He closed his eyes again, torn into pieces. "Anything you want," he murmured against her cheek. It was too much, the alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, the heavy press of memories, her heady scent. One hand found her hair, silky smooth beneath his touch. Ben pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth, a discreet touch, just an accident. "Just tell me. Please, Alex."


    Ben nodded, pressing his face against her shoulder, the soft brush of velvet on his skin. He settled a hand on her knee, edged it up a fraction, horrified but unable to stop as the pad of his index finger brushed the skin of her left inner thigh. "Anything," he swore. Arousal uncoiled in his groin.

    Her voice was lilting, teasing, impossible. "I can't tell you," she said, sounding powerful and amused. They both knew she had the upper hand. "He made me promise."

    "Break it." Another centimetre up her thigh. He traced the cut on her leg that she had sustained on the boat, when they had been jarred by a sudden wave.

    "I think he loves me," she confessed in her little girl voice, the same one that recited Latin to Ben on other humid nights, the soft voice that asked him for glasses of milk in the morning or complained that she had outgrown yet another pair of shoes.

    Ben nodded. His hand slid beneath the ragged hem of her dress, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, lingering there a moment. "I love you."

    Alex reclined back slightly, left her arm languid on Ben's shoulder, right arm on the armrest. Her bottom slid over the bulge developing in his trousers, a teasing, brief heat, and she arched her hips up slightly. Ben opened his eyes for a moment, watching her. Her head was tipped back, her mouth open slightly, her own eyes closed, matted lashes sooty against her cheeks. He felt the sting of guilt, the undeniable wrongness of what he was doing, but he could not stop. He had taken her for this, a dark part of him whispered, the infected pieces luring him toward temptation. A woman could leave him, scorn him, turn her back, forget him. Alex, though, was not a woman. Just a girl, spoke some sort of conscience from the back of Ben's mind, but he had learned early on to ignore that soft voice.

    "It's not the same," Alex said, her voice breathy. "Did you know he was married, once?" She leaned her head on Ben's shoulder, looking tired. "He used to call me Isabella, sometimes. Her name."

    It was startling, just how far away from him she had gone. "How long has that been going on?" Ben asked, his hand creeping up. He grazed the elastic of her knickers. He felt a wave of shame, noting the faint dampness there. He kissed Alex's neck, stamping his own invisible brand over the marks Richard had left.

    "A while," Alex answered, deliberately vague. Her inhalation was sharp as Ben prodded her delicately with one finger. She shifted back, pulling away, but there was no place to go. Ben dragged her forward slightly across his lap, guiding her onto her knees. It was better from that angle, still painful as Ben's fingers penetrated, but she did not try to escape. She did not protest as Ben kissed her mouth, his tongue tracing her lower lip.

    "And how do you feel about him?" Ben asked in a guarded voice. It was a dream, it had to be, Alex's arms around his neck, perched on her haunches. His erection was raging beneath the buttoned trousers, straining against the fabric. He moved his fingers inside Alex as he had done with Annie long ago, conscious of the hiss of her breath and the faintest sounds she muffled against her own arm.

    She winced as Ben kissed her hard, his mouth demanding, unyielding on her already sore lips. His fingers thrust in deeper, and she shifted, trying to accommodate him. Richard was always far more gentle. "I don't know," she admitted. "Probably the same."

    "Probably," Ben echoed, sucking her earlobe. "Oh, Alex." He withdrew his hand, aware of the scent of her body, a honey sweetness. He looked away from her as he undid his trousers and guided one of her hands towards his erection. She was inexperienced, as he had hoped; Richard had not yet stolen all innocence. Her touch was feather-light against his smooth skin, but even her clumsiness felt amazing. He administered a harsh love bite to her neck, flustered by the arousal her sharp cry provoked.

    His hands dragged the underwear aside, down her thighs, to be discarded on the ground. His fingers explored her again, his palm cupped against her mons pubis. Hitching up the dress, he guided her onto him, finding the right position. He entered her with more force than he had expected, and pressed one hand against her mouth to silence the shrill sound of her cry as he thrust inside.

    "Alex." His shaking hands undid the ancient buttons of the dress, and Ben pushed the fabric from her. She was bare before him, thin-armed, her chest faint nubs, narrow waist. Her hair hung over her shoulders, cascading down her back, and her lips were deep red, glossy from his kisses. He swallowed tightly, thrust in a second time. His fingers sought her, experienced enough to provoke a vibration of pleasure, and to his relief, the tension of her features relaxed even as he quickened his cautious movements.

    She made no protest when he withdrew and laid her back on the couch. Her hair pooled a pillow for her head, mermaid-like.

    "Bend your knees," Ben admonished lightly, bending to kiss her stomach, the faint rise of hipbones, her sex. He delved with his tongue, provoking a moan, and Alex's legs relaxed slightly, spreading open a fraction for him. Pleased, Ben worked her with his mouth, until she was whimpering. Finally, he slid up to join her, lifted one of her legs against his hip and thrust in hard. His lips pressed against the nubs of her breasts, the hollow of her throat, her brow as he moved inside of her. "Alex...." The sound of her name made him harder, and he lifted her up from the couch, angling her body so he could enter deeper. Her body was tight around him. "I love you," he whispered, the words Annie had turned from. "I love you."

    There were tears in her eyes; he was harsher than Richard, more demanding, more impatient. Ben kissed them away before they could spill too far. Her puckered lips called to him, and he kissed her, desperate. His hands smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "You're not going to leave me," Ben said, not sure if he was questioning or telling her. He spoke it like a benediction, head bowed, eyes closed, forcing his way into her body. "You're mine."

    She shifted away as he thrust in to the hilt, her body unprepared for the onslaught, but there was pleasure as well as pain, a hum of warmth building. She let Ben angle her hips, his hands arousing her, bringing a wave of bliss that rose and crested.

    "My Alex," Ben whispered. He came as the words left his lips, a wild pleasure building inside of him, hotter and better than when he brought himself to orgasm alone or in the distant memories of long-dead loves. He kissed her, his tongue entering her mouth relentlessly.

    She jumped up from the couch as soon as Ben sat up, knelt on the floor and picked up her dress, holding it in front of her nudity. Her hair was tangled, her lips ruby, obvious marks on her neck and the undeveloped expanse of her chest.

    "Alex," Ben started, his voice shaky. He felt dazed, like he had been woken in the middle of a dream.

    She shook her head before he could say anymore, as if she knew how useless the apologies would be. Ben knew better than to believe she would not want them. "So, I can go with Richard tomorrow?" she asked, a brightness returning to her voice as she bartered.

    Ben opened his mouth to protest, then remembered the deal. Anything, he had promised. Anything you want. "Yes." His voice sounded weary in his own ears. He buttoned his trousers, smoothed the wrinkles on his shirt and got up, pouring himself another drink. Emily's photographs waited, but he could not look at them. "Whatever you like."

    "Now? Tonight?"

    "If you want. Be back for dinner tomorrow."

    She nodded, an eagerness on her face that was painful. Ben frowned, watching as she gathered up the abandoned underwear and found a book of hers that had been left out. He reached out, wanting to say something that could make it right, but even as he tried, he felt the heat curl beneath his abdomen, the arousal lurking. "Listen, Alex -"

    "I need to take a bath," she interrupted, making her excuses. She retreated down the hallway, the ruined velvet draped around her hips, faint bruises on the back of her thighs that bore a resemblance to Ben's fingertips.

    He settled back against the couch, dryness in the back of his throat, tears burning in his eyes. Finally, he went to the desk, found the abandoned pictures. Annie's face, open and welcoming, long before they had parted ways. It would have been different, Ben knew, if she had lived.
  • (no subject) -
    • I read your piece, it was great! I'm in the same boat as far as comms go. I want to share this one and the young!Alex/Richard but I'm not sure how it would be received even by others who share the Alex/Richard OTP, let alone what the reaction might be to Ben and Alex...

      • (no subject) -
        • I wouldn't be too surprised if this was the case. It's one thing to write about the sexuality or exploits of an older teen, but when someone is younger than that, it begs a lot of questions about control, manipulation, coercion and so on. I tend to think that, in real life, the situation depends a lot on each partner's personality and motives, but in fanfiction, anything goes; if you want to write about murder, mayhem, abuse, war, political corruption or anything else, go for it. Writing is something taken out of the imagination and shared, and people should be able to think about and write about anything.
          • (no subject) -
            • Oh, I remember that, too. It's such a shame that someone was harassed for their kink, when it was pretty clear from the descriptions and other requests that it was anything goes. I've never really understood the upset over age differences, non-con, even incest. I don't like those in all settings and situations, but it seems silly to judge someone based on what they want to read about.

              We need some kind of community, underaged/adult pairings fest, or something. :)
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