, only to ask "But where's the sex??" Well, here it is! You all made me feel guilty for teasing you, you smut hounds!
So, yeah, this one's NC-17. And not really a drabble, since it's almost 2500 words. And un-beta'd since technically it's just a drabble!). I proofread it, obviously, but sometimes I miss things. hopefully nothing too bad.
The sound of gunfire still rang in her ears, and adrenaline had her heart pumping a thousand miles a minute. Her four inch heels had been abandoned three blocks back in favor of easier movement, her stockings were toast, and the sexy black dress was ripped in two places. But she was alive, and her mission, messy as it had been, was a success.
It grated that she owed at least some of that success to Sark, but there it was. Hard to argue when he’d laid down cover fire for her escape, and taken out at least one of Javier’s goons behind her. She’d heard the unmistakable sound of bone breaking, the grunt of surprised pain, but didn’t stop or look back. As much as she distrusted Sark in general, it never crossed her mind that he might have been the one broken. He was too successful at this game to be overcome by a Rent-a-Thug, or two, or three.
She took a long, circular path away from the club, just in case anyone got past Sark to try and follow her. When she was sure she wasn’t being tailed, she ditched her ruined stockings, ran fingers through her disarrayed hair, and hailed a cab. No way was she making it across town bare footed. The driver gave her a once over as she slid into the car, his gaze lingering on the rip up the side of her dress. He frowned, but didn’t say anything.
She used the time in the cab to calm nerves that were still on edge, slow her breathing, get her adrenaline levels back under control. She closed her eyes, listened as her heartbeat decelerated. It was definitely part of what she loved about the job, that rush.
“Aqui.”
Sydney opened her eyes, surprised to be at the hotel already, and paid the driver with the folded bills she’d had tucked into one of her heels - along with her ID and room key card - until she’d ditched them.
She stood outside for a moment, hesitating. Remembering that moment of weakness in the club, when she’d given Sark her room number. Would he show? No, probably not. They’d had an intense couple of minutes together, true, but in the cold light of sanity returned, surely they were both intelligent enough to realize that sex would be a monumental mistake.
“Absolutely” she muttered to herself, and forced her legs to move, carrying her inside the hotel and through the lobby, to the elevator. “Monumental.”
She jabbed a finger at the button for the third floor, and crossed her arms over her chest as the doors closed. The nerves were back, jittery enough to have her restless, shifting from one bare foot to the other. She had a sudden, sensory flash of Sark’s mouth on her, his hands pinning her against him, and clenched her jaw. Maybe it would be best if she called down to the front desk and got another room, moved her things for the night. Just in case.
Not that she didn’t trust herself, but…she didn’t, really.
Decision made, moving quickly, she entered her hotel room and gave the place a cursory once over. Empty, no signs of any presence but her own since she’d left it earlier in the evening. Relieved, she went for the phone, dialed the front desk.
“Yes, hello, this is Kate Jones in room 327. I’d like to switch rooms if you have any available.”
“Running, Sydney?”
Fuck. She tensed, didn’t turn around, froze with the phone cradled to her ear.
“Do you really want to play that game?” His voice was a little closer now, had adrenaline coursing through her veins again, her pulse ramping up.
She didn’t answer him, wondered how he’d picked the lock on the door without her hearing. The desk was telling her they had a room available, asking why she wanted to switch. Too damn late.
“Uh, nevermind. I suppose this room is fine, after all.”
She hung up without waiting for a response, turned around. He looked less ruffled by the events of the evening than she did, though his linen shirt was wrinkled, a light sprinkling of what looked like blood dusting one shoulder. Not his own, she was sure. Her mouth went dry, looking at him. He was close, less than ten feet away, and so still. She could see it in his eyes, the predatory darkness that screamed “danger!” She took a breath, let it out slowly.
“Don’t you think this is a mistake?” she asked, her voice level, reasonable. “There’s too much adversarial history between us, Sark, too much blood.” And there was Vaughn. But she wasn’t going to say his name here, to Sark – who smiled, gave a low laugh.
“Are you seriously suggesting our history is a drawback, Sydney?” he asked, amused. “Can you honestly tell me that it doesn’t excite you, that element of danger?”
No. He didn’t even have to touch her. All he had to do was stand there with blood on his clothes, waiting, and desire rolled through her in a wave, pooled wet between her thighs. She licked dry lips, opened her mouth, closed it again. What could she say that he wouldn’t know immediately for a lie? Mute, she shook her head.
He walked toward her, measured, controlled steps. She didn’t back away. By the time he was close enough to brush the hair from her face, fist his fingers in the curls, her breathing was uneven, too fast.
“I thought you wanted to be the aggressor, Sydney,” he said, eyes on her face. His other hand settled on her hip, bunched the torn fabric of her dress in his grip. “I thought you wanted control, to have me powerless.”
“I don’t want control, Sark,” she said.
“No?”
“No.” Unrestrained, uncontrolled, rough sex, yes. Control? If she had any, she wouldn’t be doing this at all.
She leaned in, tilted her head until she could rest her cheek on his shoulder, her face beside his neck, breathing in his scent. Sark didn’t wear cologne. He didn’t have to. He smelled of gunpowder and sweat, and ever so faintly, of blood. The combination shouldn’t have been erotic, but it was. She opened her mouth, nipped at his throat with her teeth. The rhythm of his breathing changed, the hand on her hip tightening until she knew it would leave a mark, a dark bruise against her pale skin.
“Julian,” she whispered, a capitulation and demand all at once.
He pulled her head back, and she felt – almost heard – the restraint between them snap, like a band stretched too tightly. They came together, frantic, open mouthed, all wet friction and heat. Sark’s body was a solid, unmovable weight beneath her hands. His tongue slid over hers, his lips crushing, teeth biting down just hard enough to make her moan. She gripped his shirt, yanked, heard fabric tear. His skin was suddenly there, warm beneath her hands, his chest smooth and hard. She shivered as a wash of cool air unexpectedly hit her back, and realized he’d ripped off the tattered remnants of her dress at the same time. Her bra was gone, too. His hands were on her, warm and heavy. They slid down, cupped her ass, and lifted, until she boosted herself up, wrapped her legs around his waist.
Oh, God.
His cock was hard and perfect against her. She closed her eyes, her head falling back. Sydney had strong legs; she used them now to raise herself up, and slide slowly down his length, their clothes a paltry barrier. Sark made a noise in his throat. His hands tightened convulsively on her when she repeated the slide, his hips thrusting. She leaned in and sucked his earlobe into her mouth, teased it with her teeth.
“Fuck me,” he gasped, an exclamation that might have been a plea.
He swung her around, threw them both onto the bed with her legs still wrapped around him. His weight pinned her down while his mouth moved over her throat, down to her breasts. His hands found her wrists, pinned them so that she gasped and arched, helpless while he sucked a nipple into his mouth, circled it with his tongue. When he bit down, just hard enough to put an edge on the pleasure, she cried out and bucked beneath him. He switched to her other nipple, nibbled at it before sliding back up to take her mouth, the sensitized nubs rasping deliciously against his chest. Sydney strained and writhed at the contact, almost weeping. She was so close, and he’d barely touched her yet.
How did he know? How could he possibly know exactly what she needed, what she’d never even been able to articulate to Vaughn?
She wanted the rest of his clothes off, wanted him naked and able to slide inside her, to fuck her until she came. Her hands were still trapped, so she rolled her hips, thrust against him, over and over. It was almost enough, that friction, almost—
“I don’t think so.”
His weight suddenly settled, held her against the bed so that she couldn’t even manage that small movement.
“Sark, please.”
The words were out without thinking; if she could just…suddenly his weight shifted and her hands were free. She didn’t know whether to feel triumph, or disappointment. She needed him to touch her, to let her move against him.
“What are you…?” She started to prop herself up on an elbow, only to trail off as Sark unclipped a folding knife from his slacks. What the hell? She tensed, nerves spiking, until he looked up, smiled into her eyes.
“Relax, Sydney. I’m more of a gun man for wetwork. This, on the other hand…”
He folded the knife open, slipped the blade between a strap of black lace and her hip, and cut her panties off her body, while her heart tried to beat its way free of her chest. Jesus, the man could make anything erotic.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he gave a flick of his wrist, and sent the knife flying to embed itself in the closet door. She was still looking at it, open mouthed, when two fingers suddenly plunged inside of her. She gasped, arched, threw her head back. Her hands fisted in the blanket beneath her as he fucked her with his fingers.
“Look at me, Sydney,” he said, his voice a whip, an order she had to obey. He watched her so intently she couldn’t look away, and when he spoke again his voice was low, almost conversational. “Is this enough, or do you need more?”
Oh, my God. Her hips moved, pressed up in time with his fingers, and it wasn’t quite enough, and he knew it.
“More,” she managed, the word thin and breathy.
He obliged, instantly adding a third finger, thrusting harder, deeper. It didn’t take much, she was so close, so fucking ready. It hit her hard, fast, exactly like she wanted it to, making her body bow up off the bed, convulse. She might have said his name, she wasn’t sure. He held her gaze the whole time, watching the orgasm take her, and that was almost as arousing as his fingers still inside her.
Breathing heavily, like she’d just finished running from a group of bad guys armed with MP5’s, she spiraled down while Sark stripped off the rest of his clothes. He was back before her head had stopped spinning, covering her with his body, kissing her, his hands rough on her skin, arousing her again mercilessly.
It became a kind of game. They’d grapple briefly, and if she pinned Sark, she’d torture him with her mouth, swirling her tongue over the head of his cock before deep throating him for a few strokes. Just enough to leave him panting and swearing. If he won, he held her down while he fucked her with either fingers or tongue – or both.
They were both wild by the time he finally filled her with his cock, thrusting into her from behind while he held her pinned face down on the bed. She gave a whimpering cry, and he went still, hesitated.
“Sydney?” She could hear the strain in his voice, the effort it took for him to stop, hold himself in check, and ask if she was all right.
“I’m fine,” she told him, her breath coming in gasps. “Finish it, damn it. Don’t fucking stop.”
Sark gave a bark of laughter, and started thrusting again, hard and deep, his hands holding tight to her hips. She buried her face in the bed to muffle the little sounds she couldn’t quite control, her hands scrabbling at the blankets. Every thrust tightened things inside her more, heightened the pleasure until she thought she might fly apart with it, until she couldn’t contain it anymore, and the tension finally snapped. The orgasm rushed through her, flooding her with wave after wave of shuddering sensation and white noise. She bit the blankets, gave a wordless scream as Sark kept thrusting, kept the waves rippling through her body. Finally he tensed, cried out, convulsed above her, his hands slipping off her hips to grip the bed.
Sweat slicked their skin as he lay against her, their breathing slowing, pulses dropping back to normal levels. She felt him brush the hair back from her face, an almost tender gesture that caught her off guard, made her bite her lip.
Holy mother of…she couldn’t complete the thought, didn’t know how to. She felt the prick of tears at her eyes, and blinked them away before Sark could notice. Vaughn would never come close to duplicating what had just happened in this room. If she asked him to put bruises on her body, he’d just stare at her in horror. Sark had whipped out a knife to cut the clothes from her body. She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut as if she could block out the direction her thoughts were taking.
“Sydney?”
Sark lifted his weight, rolled off her. That was all, just her name. He waited patiently while she wrestled with her emotions, his fingers idly tracing the marks he’d left on her body.
She sat up, and his hand fell away. She stood, grabbed her carry on bag and the change of clothes inside it. She couldn’t look at him when she spoke.
“I’m going to change. I’ll be – I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t tell him she was hoping he’d be gone by then, couldn’t force the words past her lips. She went into the bathroom and shut the door without looking back, then just leaned against it, her bag clutched to her chest.
Oh, God, she thought, far too little, far too late. What have I done?
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rhienelleth
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Date: 2006-09-21 10:48 pm (UTC)I so shouldn't be reading this at work!
Scorching hot!
I love your Alias stuff. You have them down perfect.
*sigh*
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Date: 2006-09-21 11:37 pm (UTC)Thanks. Really, they write themselves. I love my sexy spies. :D
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Date: 2006-09-22 12:17 am (UTC)I'm feeling so nostalgic now! Makes me want to whip out my DVDs for seasons one and two and re-read some of the old Sarkney fanfic I saved to my hd. I wish the 'Cover Me' archive hadn't died--along with a load of other ones that I went to for my Sarkney fix--so I could re-read some of the stories I didn't have the foresight to save.
Thanks for writing these two drabbles; they were very welcome indeed.
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Date: 2006-09-22 01:27 am (UTC)Seriously, though, thanks. And yes, I miss Cover Me. Though most of the old stories are still scattered online in various archives, if you search by title/author.
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Date: 2006-09-22 01:15 am (UTC)Really, I should give you Sarkney drabble prompts more often. Hee-hee.
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Date: 2006-09-22 01:30 am (UTC)But really, that's the only drawback. Cause Sarkney sucks me in like nothing else. I don't know what it is about those characters, but damn. I actually had to rewrite pieces of this as I was writing, cause I'd write a couple paragraphs, and one or the other of the characters would be all "WTF are you doing?" Sydney, for instance, didn't want Sark to go down on her. Too, er, 'gentle' for what she had in mind. That cost me almost five hundred words of re-writing.
Yeah, my writer brain is weird.
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Date: 2006-09-22 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-22 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-22 02:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-22 02:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-22 04:33 am (UTC)Hot, sexy, dangerous--that's Sarkney. I didn't mind the little Vaughn bashing either...although I'm sure he's okay in bed.
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Date: 2006-09-22 02:22 pm (UTC)Oh, I don't mean to say Vaughn's bad in bed...just not dangerous enough for Syd. A little too vanilla.
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Date: 2006-09-22 09:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-22 02:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-22 08:44 pm (UTC)*fans self*
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Date: 2006-09-23 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-23 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-23 09:59 am (UTC)So do you have more Sid/Sark?!?!?
Is in love with these drabbles!
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Date: 2006-09-23 03:16 pm (UTC)http://rhienelleth.fateback.com/fic.html
The link above has all my Alias fic. There is one stand alone piece, and then a series of five (which I wrote first). The standalone you can read whenever, but the Illusions series needs to be read in order. If any of the links give you problems, let me know.
As I told someone else recently, I wrote these some time ago. Particularly for the Illusions series, it was well before Sark had a first name on the show.
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Date: 2006-09-23 11:51 pm (UTC)P.S. You are amazing at this carzy ship! Please write more for them.
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Date: 2006-10-26 05:36 pm (UTC)(here from polyfandom recs)
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Date: 2006-10-26 05:40 pm (UTC)Seriously, you have no idea how much I needed a smile today. Surprise comments like this fit the bill perfectly. :D