rhienelleth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rhienelleth) wrote2005-12-08 12:42 pm
rhienelleth) wrote2005-12-08 12:42 pm
Not a Drabble
Because I am now and always have been obsessed with Sark, and I am surely going to hell for writing almost-porn at work -- it so easily could have gone that way, but I managed to control myself. My boss's boss is in the office today, so I need to be at least a little careful. ;)
Not really a drabble because it's too long to qualify, but more of a ficlet.
He was supposed to be gone. Left. Returned to his life of freelancing God knew what diabolical deeds for various criminal masterminds. And Rachel was relieved to see him go. No one but Sydney knew about her history – she supposed she had to call it a history, now – with Julian Sark, and Rachel would do everything in her power to keep it that way. She already felt like enough of a screw up. No, she was not sad to bid Bob Brown, Julian Sark, or whatever he was calling himself today, adieu.
So, when he slid into the elevator with her just before the doors closed, her mouth dropped open in shock before she could control it. A surge of adrenaline and alarm had her curling her hands into fists and leaning against the elevator wall for support, the hand rail digging painfully into her back. As far away from him and that killer smile of his as the tiny space would allow.
“What are you…you’re supposed to be gone!”
Sark smiled, looking impeccably like the business man he pretended to be in a blue pinstripe and matching silk shirt. He wasn’t wearing a tie today, and the casual look of the shirt collar open at his throat gave him an understated sexiness. Damn it. She wasn’t supposed to notice things like that anymore.
“A private matter I needed to discuss with Arvin Sloane delayed my departure,” Sark said. “A happy circumstance, as I did so want a moment alone with you.” His smile made it seem like he was laughing at her, and that made Rachel angry. She straightened away from the wall and crossed her arms over her chest.
“With me?” she said coolly. “I can’t imagine anything else we have to say to each other, Julian.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Can’t you?” Casually, he reached across her and hit the Stop button on the elevator controls. It lurched to an abrupt halt around them. “How strange, when I can think of so many things.” He turned toward her, effectively blocking her way if she tried to reach around him.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, holding on to her anger, though it was tainted now by fear. Her heartbeat had started spiking the instant he’d moved. He’s a murderer, she reminded herself. You’re not safe alone in here with him.
“I should think that was obvious,” he said, easing forward, crowding her. “This will insure we aren’t interrupted while I have my say.” Rachel dropped her arms to her sides, backing up against the wall for a second time as she tried to remember everything Thomas had taught her recently. Not that it would be enough against a guy who made his living like Sark.
“Your say?” she said, not at all pleased with how weak her voice sounded. “I don’t think --”
He leaned in, his lips next to her ear, his breath warm on her skin.
“Just so we’re clear, Ms. Gibson…”
He raised a hand, tracing one of his fingers feather-light down her throat, across her collarbone.
“…while I may have approached you first in the hotel bar…”
Her hands grasped the elevator railing, because she didn’t think her suddenly shaky legs could manage on their own.
“…what happened in the hallway, and subsequently my room, was entirely mutual…”
His lips brushed against her neck, and she shuddered. She couldn’t breath, needed to get away from him, get some space. He shifted in, the hard length of his body pressed against her, holding her up more surely than her own limbs. Trapping her against him. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth to tell him to back off, and he kissed her. His fingers threaded through her hair, cupping her head as his lips moved over hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth with sensual ease. Oh, God. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as heat washed through her. How was she supposed to stay stiff and cold when he could kiss like that?
He pulled back, and she was embarrassed to find one of her hands grasping the lapel of his jacket. But she didn’t let go. She couldn’t moved, frozen by the intensity of his eyes, inches from her own.
“And the cuddling afterward?” he murmured, rubbing a strand of her hair between his fingers. “Also mutual.” Indignation spiked through her.
“It was not! It was --”
“Shut-up, Rachel.”
He kissed her again, effectively silencing her, and this time she didn’t try to hold back. She kissed him like she had at the hotel, like she had in the darkness of his room, all friction and wet heat and urgent need. Her hands were on him, spread against the hard chest underneath his conservative jacket, soaking up the heat radiating from the body he’d accused her of liking so much. His teeth scraped her swollen bottom lip and she moaned.
“Right here, Rachel?” he whispered, his tongue flicking over her earlobe, trailing down her throat. She wanted his hands on her skin, could feel them through the barrier of her silk skirt, on her hips. Holding her tightly against him. “Shall I take you right here, in this elevator?”
God, yes. She inhaled deeply, filling her heated body with cool air. It helped her think.
“No,” she said. Her hands were still on him, her body still pressed to his, but sanity prevailed. For once. She looked into those brilliant eyes, and let go, smoothing the wrinkles in his silk shirt with her fingers. “I can’t.”
“Well,” he said, and stepped away for the first time since entering the elevator. He tugged at his sleeves, straightened his jacket collar, and never once looked away from her. His voice was as calm and collected as if he were negotiating a business deal, but his eyes were hot like a summer storm, like the sun on her skin. “I suppose that would be your loss, Ms. Gibson.”
She reached out with a hand that shook slightly, and pressed the button to start the elevator moving again. When it lurched, her unsteady legs stumbled, and Sark caught her arm, held her up. Electricity jolted along her nerve endings, her gaze colliding with his.
“I…I can’t,” she whispered. “Not here, where I work.”
He smirked.
“Of course.” He pressed something into her hand and stepped away just as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Her fingers curved around it, hiding whatever it was behind her leg as she smoothed her hair with her other, empty hand. Marshall stood outside the elevator doors, gaping at both of them like a fish. Rachel had to struggle not to blush. God, she hoped her clothes were straight.
“Um, hi guys…” Marshall managed after a moment. “I was just about to go and get maintenance because the, uh, elevator…it was stuck…for awhile…uh, Sark, what’re you…I thought you were gone…” He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.
Rachel searched her mind frantically for some sort of explanation, while Sark simply smiled and stepped out of the elevator past the flustered Marshall.
“Good-bye, Ms. Gibson,” he said. “It’s been fun.”
“Fun,” Rachel murmured, and forced herself not to watch him go.
She finished collecting herself, and stepped into the hallway. She arched a brow as the doors slid shut behind her, thrusting her hand back to hold them open.
“Weren’t you going up?” she asked Marshall, which prodded him into moving. He clutched the papers he was carrying tighter to his chest, and pushed past her.
“I see nothing, I know nothing,” he mumbled. He jabbed one of the buttons continuously until the doors slid shut, his face averted from her.
Rachel found herself sagging against the wall in relief as soon as she was alone. The sharp edges of something vaguely square shaped dug into her palm, reminding her of the object Sark had slipped into her hand. She opened her fingers, and couldn’t help the slow spread of a smile across her lips. A hotel room key. How apropos.
And so very, very tempting. She shouldn’t, of course. It would only prove to him how right he was, that she couldn’t resist him. But oh, God, she wanted to. She slid the key into her pocket, determined to forget about it for the rest of her day, if she could.
And if she couldn’t? Well, she did enjoy room service.
Not really a drabble because it's too long to qualify, but more of a ficlet.
He was supposed to be gone. Left. Returned to his life of freelancing God knew what diabolical deeds for various criminal masterminds. And Rachel was relieved to see him go. No one but Sydney knew about her history – she supposed she had to call it a history, now – with Julian Sark, and Rachel would do everything in her power to keep it that way. She already felt like enough of a screw up. No, she was not sad to bid Bob Brown, Julian Sark, or whatever he was calling himself today, adieu.
So, when he slid into the elevator with her just before the doors closed, her mouth dropped open in shock before she could control it. A surge of adrenaline and alarm had her curling her hands into fists and leaning against the elevator wall for support, the hand rail digging painfully into her back. As far away from him and that killer smile of his as the tiny space would allow.
“What are you…you’re supposed to be gone!”
Sark smiled, looking impeccably like the business man he pretended to be in a blue pinstripe and matching silk shirt. He wasn’t wearing a tie today, and the casual look of the shirt collar open at his throat gave him an understated sexiness. Damn it. She wasn’t supposed to notice things like that anymore.
“A private matter I needed to discuss with Arvin Sloane delayed my departure,” Sark said. “A happy circumstance, as I did so want a moment alone with you.” His smile made it seem like he was laughing at her, and that made Rachel angry. She straightened away from the wall and crossed her arms over her chest.
“With me?” she said coolly. “I can’t imagine anything else we have to say to each other, Julian.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Can’t you?” Casually, he reached across her and hit the Stop button on the elevator controls. It lurched to an abrupt halt around them. “How strange, when I can think of so many things.” He turned toward her, effectively blocking her way if she tried to reach around him.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, holding on to her anger, though it was tainted now by fear. Her heartbeat had started spiking the instant he’d moved. He’s a murderer, she reminded herself. You’re not safe alone in here with him.
“I should think that was obvious,” he said, easing forward, crowding her. “This will insure we aren’t interrupted while I have my say.” Rachel dropped her arms to her sides, backing up against the wall for a second time as she tried to remember everything Thomas had taught her recently. Not that it would be enough against a guy who made his living like Sark.
“Your say?” she said, not at all pleased with how weak her voice sounded. “I don’t think --”
He leaned in, his lips next to her ear, his breath warm on her skin.
“Just so we’re clear, Ms. Gibson…”
He raised a hand, tracing one of his fingers feather-light down her throat, across her collarbone.
“…while I may have approached you first in the hotel bar…”
Her hands grasped the elevator railing, because she didn’t think her suddenly shaky legs could manage on their own.
“…what happened in the hallway, and subsequently my room, was entirely mutual…”
His lips brushed against her neck, and she shuddered. She couldn’t breath, needed to get away from him, get some space. He shifted in, the hard length of his body pressed against her, holding her up more surely than her own limbs. Trapping her against him. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth to tell him to back off, and he kissed her. His fingers threaded through her hair, cupping her head as his lips moved over hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth with sensual ease. Oh, God. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as heat washed through her. How was she supposed to stay stiff and cold when he could kiss like that?
He pulled back, and she was embarrassed to find one of her hands grasping the lapel of his jacket. But she didn’t let go. She couldn’t moved, frozen by the intensity of his eyes, inches from her own.
“And the cuddling afterward?” he murmured, rubbing a strand of her hair between his fingers. “Also mutual.” Indignation spiked through her.
“It was not! It was --”
“Shut-up, Rachel.”
He kissed her again, effectively silencing her, and this time she didn’t try to hold back. She kissed him like she had at the hotel, like she had in the darkness of his room, all friction and wet heat and urgent need. Her hands were on him, spread against the hard chest underneath his conservative jacket, soaking up the heat radiating from the body he’d accused her of liking so much. His teeth scraped her swollen bottom lip and she moaned.
“Right here, Rachel?” he whispered, his tongue flicking over her earlobe, trailing down her throat. She wanted his hands on her skin, could feel them through the barrier of her silk skirt, on her hips. Holding her tightly against him. “Shall I take you right here, in this elevator?”
God, yes. She inhaled deeply, filling her heated body with cool air. It helped her think.
“No,” she said. Her hands were still on him, her body still pressed to his, but sanity prevailed. For once. She looked into those brilliant eyes, and let go, smoothing the wrinkles in his silk shirt with her fingers. “I can’t.”
“Well,” he said, and stepped away for the first time since entering the elevator. He tugged at his sleeves, straightened his jacket collar, and never once looked away from her. His voice was as calm and collected as if he were negotiating a business deal, but his eyes were hot like a summer storm, like the sun on her skin. “I suppose that would be your loss, Ms. Gibson.”
She reached out with a hand that shook slightly, and pressed the button to start the elevator moving again. When it lurched, her unsteady legs stumbled, and Sark caught her arm, held her up. Electricity jolted along her nerve endings, her gaze colliding with his.
“I…I can’t,” she whispered. “Not here, where I work.”
He smirked.
“Of course.” He pressed something into her hand and stepped away just as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Her fingers curved around it, hiding whatever it was behind her leg as she smoothed her hair with her other, empty hand. Marshall stood outside the elevator doors, gaping at both of them like a fish. Rachel had to struggle not to blush. God, she hoped her clothes were straight.
“Um, hi guys…” Marshall managed after a moment. “I was just about to go and get maintenance because the, uh, elevator…it was stuck…for awhile…uh, Sark, what’re you…I thought you were gone…” He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.
Rachel searched her mind frantically for some sort of explanation, while Sark simply smiled and stepped out of the elevator past the flustered Marshall.
“Good-bye, Ms. Gibson,” he said. “It’s been fun.”
“Fun,” Rachel murmured, and forced herself not to watch him go.
She finished collecting herself, and stepped into the hallway. She arched a brow as the doors slid shut behind her, thrusting her hand back to hold them open.
“Weren’t you going up?” she asked Marshall, which prodded him into moving. He clutched the papers he was carrying tighter to his chest, and pushed past her.
“I see nothing, I know nothing,” he mumbled. He jabbed one of the buttons continuously until the doors slid shut, his face averted from her.
Rachel found herself sagging against the wall in relief as soon as she was alone. The sharp edges of something vaguely square shaped dug into her palm, reminding her of the object Sark had slipped into her hand. She opened her fingers, and couldn’t help the slow spread of a smile across her lips. A hotel room key. How apropos.
And so very, very tempting. She shouldn’t, of course. It would only prove to him how right he was, that she couldn’t resist him. But oh, God, she wanted to. She slid the key into her pocket, determined to forget about it for the rest of her day, if she could.
And if she couldn’t? Well, she did enjoy room service.
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And thanks. :) Feedback is muchly appreciated.
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In my version of the universe, this or something like it really did happen.
I certainly like to think so. :D
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Thanks. :)
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Why must he be so hot?
Although, it's probably a good thing he doesn't really exist, right? (you know, with all the murder and stuff...)
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It just doesn't bode well for any real-life guys :)
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Very insightful and a pleasure to read. Thanks for sharing...
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Thanks for the excellent feedback. :)
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hee! this was fun