For Better or Worse | By : DharmaCharma Category: G through L > Lost Views: 1267 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own the television show "Lost", nor the characters. I do not profit financially from the writing of this story. |
Ben jolted into consciousness. It took him a moment to get his bearings. He couldn't believe he'd actually done it. He moved the island. Jacob would be so pleased! But...the others. Juliet, Locke, Richard, Simone. Wait, Simone? Why did she come to mind? There wasn't anything particularly extraordinary about the orphan he had watched grow up under the loving care of Bea Klugh and the rest of the Others. She didn't know his secrets, his hopes, his dreams, his desires. He loved Juliet. Beautiful, smart Juliet. Unfortunately, Juliet did not love him in return. No, instead she loved that interloping doctor, Jack Shephard. Damn that man! First it was Goodwin who had captured Juliet's fancy, so Ben sent him on a mission he was beyond certain would "get him out of the way". It worked, but unfortuntely it was at the expense of Juliet's feelings. Ben didn't want Juliet to be hurt, but he wanted her to belong to him. Little had he known that she was not trainable. She was so fixated on getting back home to her sister, the one she had cured of her cancer-related infertility, helped her artificially conceive her much longed-for baby, the sister she loved above anyone, or anything, else in the world. Ben had made Juliet a promise, and he doesn't break his promises. Oh, sure, he could subtly manipulate his way into foiling all of your plans, dashing your hopes and dreams, but he never broke a promise. No, Ben would make you ruin yourself. Get you to carry out his plans, while allowing you to think you hatched the idea all on your own. Ben promised Juliet she could leave the island if she helped him.
He needed an operation. The tumor was bearing down on his spine, growing rapidly, causing excruciating pain and loss of coordination. With Ethan gone there was no one else, save for Juliet, who could give him the medical attention he desperately needed. One day, Juliet came to him with a pained, fearful expression on her face. "What is it, Juliet?" he asked her. She cleared her throat and said, "Ben, I can't operate on your spine." Ben scowled at her and replied, "what do you mean you can't operate on my spine, Juliet?" She swallowed hard and continued, "Ben, I'm not a surgeon. I'm a fertility specialist. I don't know the first thing about spinal surgery." Ben turned from her and angrily shouted, "then what the hell am I supposed to do, Juliet? Die?"
Hot tears sprang to her eyes. She knew he would ever go for what she was about to tell him, but it was her only chance. Her only glimmering hope that she'd get off that God-forsaken island and be reunited with her sister and meet her miracle nephew face to face. "Ben, there was a doctor in that plane crash." Ben's gaze met Juliet's. He smirked and asked, "yeah, so? I'm sure there were a few doctors on that plane. There are doctors everywhere, you know?" Juliet wanted to cry, but fought against the urge. She could never let Ben see her weakness again. That was how he gained control over you, and she'd be damned if Benjamin Linus would control her any more. "There is a spinal surgeon who survived the crash." With that, Juliet handed Ben a manilla file folder. "It's his file, Ben. Everything is in there. His name is Jack Shephard, and he seems to be the de facto leader of the Oceanic survivors." Ben flipped through the file, skimming over details and fixing his eyes on the pertinent information. The doctor had excellent credentials. Was it worth the risk? Would he ever agree to such a thing? Ben was an "other". The enemy. Ben looked up at Juliet, set the file down on his desk and commanded, "bring the doctor to me."
Ben carefully surveyed his surroundings. Judging by the landscape, he was in the Middle East. A searing pain shot through his right arm. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth and looked at the gash he acquired when he fell down that decrepit ladder. Boy, that Jacob. He sure knew how to punish you when you had fallen out of his favor. John Locke was his new pet. "Let him have it!" declared Ben out loud, only the sand dunes bearing witness. He was burning up, so he stripped off the Orchid coat. On the horizon he could see two men on horseback approaching him. Nomads. Ben was ready for them if they gave him any trouble. The men halted their horses and began speaking to Ben in Arabic. Ben asked them if they spoke English. The men looked at one another, confused by his foreign tongue. One of the men drew a knife from a sheath under his tunic and quickly dismounted his horse. Ben put his hands up in surrender as the man approached to search him for weapons. The other nomad watched closely from his mount. In the blink of an eye, Ben grabbed a small knife from his belt, slashed the throat of the man searching him, and immediately throwing it with expert, deadly precision at the throat of the man still on horseback. He gurgled, choking on his own blood, as he fell from his horse, landing in the sand. Ben mounted the stallion and left his victims in their own blood as he galloped off to the nearest village.
Simone had never liked the Temple. It was nestled in the Dark Territory, for one thing. For several days after the island had been moved they stayed there. Simone had been sleeping on top of a coat on the hard, cold, stone floor. It was miserable! Richard had suggested to John that they wait before returning to the Barracks. That way they could put together a reconnaissance party to make absolutely certain Widmore's crew had left the island, or had been killed. John went with a search party of six men to canvas the parts of the island they depended upon most for their survival, repair the security fence, and search the Barracks for stragglers, tracking devices, or explosives. Richard stayed behind with the others, just in case there was an emergency.
Four days later they returned with the news that John had decided it was safe to move everyone back to the Barracks. Simone was thrilled with this, as she missed her messy little home. Little did she know the Oceanic survivors had been squatting there in her absence, when the Others had fled into the jungle with Richard while Ben tried to hatch a plan to deal with Widmore's people. She walked into her single-bedroom abode and was shocked at how clean the temporary inhabitant had left it. Her clothes had been washed, folded, and neatly put away in her chest of drawers. The dishes were put away in the kitchen cupboards. The refrigerator had been rid of moldy leftovers and the pantry cleaned of its out-of-date Dharma staples. They had even alphabetized her album collection. Her mind raced with memories as her fingers traced the spines of the CD jewel cases. Collective Soul, Drive Shaft, Goo Goo Dolls, INXS, Johnny Cash...her finger paused. Liz Phair. Her heart ached as she reflected back on that day she had told Ben she wanted that CD. How he had mocked her taste in music. How later that night she had...she spun on her heels and frantically reached underneath her mattress. Surely it was still there. Please, please let it still be there! Her fingers darted back and forth. Relief washed over her as her fingertips slid across a satin pouch. She grabbed it and pulled it out. She let out a deep sigh. A smile crossing her lips and she loosened the drawstring and pulled out her pink vibrator. By now it had seen some wear and God only knows how many batteries she'd had to replace over the past few years since she first got it, but here it was. Her old friend. She twisted the end cap and the familiar, comforting buzz broke the silence. She smiled, turned it off, placed it back in the pouch and said, "later." She slid the pouch back under her mattress, regained her composure, and walked out into the courtyard. There was much work to be done with Locke in charge. Her mother's prophecy still ringing in her ears, Simone looked to the future with eagerness and fear.
Ben rang the bell on the counter of the hotel. A woman wearing a hijab emerged from a back office and said politely, "yes, sir. How may I serve you?" Ben smiled, smoothed the front of his navy blue blazer and said, "yes, I have a reservation. Penthouse suite for Dr. Christian Shephard." The clerk scanned the ledger book, finger tracing down the list of reservations. Her eyes widened when she reached the name. "Ah, yes! Of course, Dr. Shephard." She turned to the wall behind her and retrieved a key with a golden fob attached, engraved with the letter "P". "Someone will be up with your bags shortly. Enjoy your stay, Doctor." Ben took the key from her, smiled, and said, "thank you. I will". He took the gilded cage elevator to the top floor and let himself into the luxurious penthouse suite. There was work to be done. People to see. Revenge to exact, but first he would rest. He had just removed his sport coat when there was a sharp rap at the door. Ben cautiously approached the door, peering through the peephole. The bellhop was there with his bags. He opened the door to let him in. The young immigrant boy thoughtfully placed the bags in the foyer. Ben handed him a generous tip, waited for him to go back down the elevator, and placed the "Do Not Disturb" tag on his doorknob.
Ben went into the bathroom. It was a vulgar display of marble and brass. There was a claw foot tub, a full shower stall, a toilet and a bidet and a double vanity sink with an enormous mirror framed in lights. He studied his reflection and was dismayed to see his wound was seeping blood through his makeshift dressing and had stained his white dress shirt. Sighing, he unbuttoned the shirt and carefully set it on the sink counter. He looked at himself in the large mirror, studying his physique. He was still very strong, but his illness, surgery, and subsequent post-op recovery had deteriorated his visible muscle mass. He struck a playful pose, flexing in the mirror. He chuckled to himself and left the bathroom to finish undressing in the bedroom. The bedroom was even more elaborately decorated than the bathroom. There was a king size bed with a platinum colored upholstered headboard covered in a thick, stark white, goose down blankets with matching satin sheets underneath. Ben smirked at the little mint they'd left on his pillow. He plucked it up and tossed it onto the white and silver painted nightstand. One whole wall facing opposite of the bed was completely mirrored. "To enhance the honeymoon" Ben said jokingly, as if he were pitching the suite in a television commercial.
Ben's humor gave way to sadness, as he thought about how lonely his life had been. How he longed to have a wife, children of his own. Oh, sure, he had Alex and he had loved her immensely just as he would his own, but how he longed to be intimate with a woman. To make love to her and create life. To watch her belly swell as the months went by. To feel their baby kick beneath the skin stretched taut, covered in purple stretch marks. To be there and watch his child being brought into the world. To beam with pride as his wife, pale and covered with sweat, held their baby for the first time. Ben was startled to feel wet tears roll down his cheeks. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped them away. Why was he thinking about such ridiculous things? He reached into the nighstand drawer and pulled out the room service menu. He perused it quickly before making a decision and calling the front desk. Thirty minutes later the room service cart rolled up to his door. He wheeled it into the sitting area and removed the silver cloche from the serving platter. Underneath was his favorite - lasagna with meat sauce. He savored each and every bite, caring very little about the saucy mess he was leaving on his face. When he finished his dinner, he wheeled the cart back into the hallway and went to unpack his suitcase. He laid his clothes out for the next day over the chair in the bedroom. Khaki slacks, an olive green button-down, and a beige striped tie. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and went into the bathroom.
Once he had stripped down to his boxer shorts, he slipped beneath the silky sea of covers, put on his glasses, and started reading from a book he had bought in a book store down the street from the hotel. It was written in Arabic, but Ben was fluent in many languages and was enjoying his book when he was overcome with sleepiness. He yawned, removed his spectacles, carefully placing them on top of his book on the nightstand. He turned off the lamp, rolled over onto his side, and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Sometime around 3am, Ben was startled awake. He rolled over on his back and quickly realized he had a massive erection. Exasperated, Ben let out a deep sigh and stared up at the ceiling. He tried thinking of serious things. Complex math equations, botany, Shakespeare. Nothing could alleviate his boner. He reached down to scratch his scrotum and his hand brushed against the shaft of his cock through his boxers. The friction sent a shiver of arousal through his body. "Damn!" he exclaimed into the dark emptiness of his room. He closed his eyes and the image of Simone flashed behind his eyelids. His eyes shot back open. Why was he thinking about her again? She was nobody. She wasn't especially beautiful, or intelligent, or even funny. She smoked, and was a sloppy housekeeper, and had a foul mouth. But then, when Ben thought of how Simone's lips moved when she said the word "fuck", he imagined what she would look like telling him, "fuck me, Ben." A wave of arousal gripped him at that moment and he remembered that night he had been outside. Unable to sleep he had decided to take a late night stroll. He had just gotten to the gazebo when he heard muffled sounds. Thinking someone was in trouble, he sneaked over to Simone's house, following the sounds until they got louder. He stopped, crouching just below her bedroom window. He quickly realized she wasn't in trouble. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Judging by the moans and cries coming from her dark bedroom, Ben assumed Simone was having the time of her life with some lucky guy. It didn't take long for Ben to realize, however, that Simone was all by herself. The thought of her pleasuring her own pussy sent an odd sensation through Ben's body, and he stood there not even realizing he was playing with his already hard cock through his pants. It wasn't until a rapidly approaching orgasm surged through his body that he realized what he was doing and he was filled with shame, confusion, and even a little bit of anger. What the hell was he doing, anyway? He risked the physical pain it would cause and left himself unrelieved, skulking back to his house to take a cold shower.
Ben laid there in the dark stillness of the hotel room, listening to the noises coming from the street below his window. His breathing becoming more labored as he rubbed himself through his boxers. He slowly slid them down his legs to just below his knees, letting his firm member pop out underneath the covers as they caressed every inch of his thick shaft with silky kisses. With his eyes closed tightly, he reached down and began stroking himself slowly. He felt the thick blue veins bulge from underneath the taut skin. His smooth mushroom head slick with pre-cum. He dipped his fingertips in it and smeared it all over the head, gripping it in his palm. Ben let out deep, but quiet moans, as he thought about Simone. He fantasized about ripping her clothes off. Throwing her down on her dirty clothes littered couch. Breathing in the scent of stale cigarette smoke and whatever perfume she was wearing in her hair as he crushes her body beneath his, biting her neck. Hearing her cry out, "fuck me, Ben. Please, fuck me!" Liz Phair's "Supernova" blaring in the background, the soundtrack to him ravaging her skinny little body. Her small, but firm, tits bouncing wildly as he kneels between her legs, pumping into her hard. Hearing his balls slapping against the cheeks of her tiny ass. Watching tears escape underneath her tightly shut eyelids. Hurting her, but also giving her the most intense pleasure she's ever felt, with every rough thrust. Filling her tight hole completely. Fucking her until she can't take it any more. Rubbing her pink pearl of a clit with his thumb. Bringing her to an electrifying climax. Feeling his own orgasm bearing down on his balls. Pulling out and shooting a hot, thick, white load all over her belly. Watching her rub it into her skin. Sweaty. Breathless. Ben fell asleep in a warm, sticky puddle of his own cum.
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