Author: ivana_derevko
Disclaimer: I do not own Alias or any of the characters, except in my dreams from where this fic originated.
Rating: PG-13
Part Five
Sark paused to neatly fold up the cuffs of his gauzy white shirt, exposing firm forearms. A tan expanse of bare chest still glistened warmly from the heat of the shower. Only bothering to fasten two buttons down near his hard belly, he more resembled a beach bum than the highly paid terrorist cell leader he’d become. Graceful hands ruffled through shorn, blond locks before resting deep in the pockets of his cotton khaki shorts, as bare feet padded silently towards the bed.
Fascinated, he observed Sydney’s intuitive movements. Even bound and rendered sightless, she was scrutinizing, certainly aware that someone else had entered the room.
Ever the agent.
Pulling a chair with him, he planted himself next to her and immediately placed the warm, open palm of his hand on her scarred arm. His heat contrasted sharply with the cold, callous sting Lauren had delivered. Turning her head towards him, she released an apprehensive sigh. He increased the pressure slightly, drawing the pain away from her thoughts.
“Where’s Lauren? Who are you?” Her voice was still fighting, reaching. “Why are…”
Two fingers pressed to her lips, silencing her mid-phrase. All too often, Julian Sark had indulged many a daydream involving those very lips, but never fully believing any would be realized. Her mouth plumped against the light pressure he applied, sending a tingle sizzling through his skin.
From the middle of the room, an aloof voice answered her, “You are not in a position to ask questions, Sydney. I will not hesitate to gag you, nor will I hesitate to use my gun as I demonstrated earlier. It is your decision.”
Sydney clenched her teeth together at her threat, but relented beneath his gentler admonition. Warming fingers lingered a bit longer, allowing his thumb time to trace the line of her jaw. She found his scent spicy, mingling with clean soap, and it engulfed her pleasantly.
To the captive agent, still struggling to maintain her composure, his hand felt almost comforting against her cool skin.
Comfort? Sydney, get real.
Sark's hand now cupped the side of her face, his thumb still brushing back and forth lightly as he mused, How ironic to be stroking her cheek instead of punching it for once.
She lifted her chin in silent retreat. Watching her carefully, Sark’s long fingers brushed down the front of her blouse, unlatching buttons as he went along.
“Jolie...” Lovely…
The whispered word surprised even Sark, who had decided to use French in his effort to mask his voice from Sydney’s very perceptive ears. As the first button was freed, her chest rose and fell, steadying her growing trepidation.
“Si doux…” So soft…
Lauren’s muffled snort was met with a death glare thrown over his shoulder. How else was I supposed to disguise my bloody voice? Returning his focus, he continued.
“Si parfaite…” So perfect…
Using both hands, he drew the panels of the chiffon blouse aside, like curtains parting on a stage. Sydney leaned her head far to the side and sucked in a full breath. The action raked the lacy bottom edge of her short pink camisole up over her concave stomach.
“Meilleur,” growled Sark in praise. Better. The sight of Sydney Bristow biting her full, lower lip never failed to stir him, most preferably if he caused it.
But her mind was on someone else.
“En français?” It was a repeat request and she followed it up with her best pout. That usually did the trick, but he always held out on this matter. She couldn’t seem to convince him that she found even the thought of him speaking French to her in intimate moments highly alluring.
“Syd, come on. Can’t we just relax tonight?”
Eyeing him suggestively, she added, “S'il vous plait, Monsieur Vaughn?”
He sighed, annoyed. “Le mieux est l'ennemi de bien. (Let well enough alone) There, are you happy now, Syd?”
She didn’t understand his reluctance, but never made the request again.
Sark’s breath warmed her uncovered abdomen and it made her wriggle. Sliding the elastic waistband of her skirt a bit lower, he smiled into every kiss he lavished over her velvety skin, fighting the urge to bite at her hip bone. His nose brushed over her navel and her muscles contracted sharply. Turning his curious gaze to her face, the pad of his fingertip circled the petite dimple almost imperceptibly, delighting in discovering a sensitive spot.
The Super Spy is ticklish, is she?
Bringing his thumb and index finger together, Sark nipped playfully at her side, just under the rib.
“Ici?” He teased, moving the nips randomly around her midsection. “Là?”
Each soft pinch provoked a flinch from Sydney’s annoyed body, and as he picked up the pace, she found the squirming hard to control.
French son-of-a-b****.When his digits found a sweet spot near her hip, a frustrated squeal flew from the back of her throat before she could stop it.
“Trop, chérie?”
I’m not your darling.
Her chin dipped to meet a raised shoulder, shifting the dark silk restricting her vision.
Compartmentalize, Syd. Think of something good. Danny. Yes, Danny!
A gentle hand brushed over her ear, moving the scarf covering it. Recoiling as his nimble fingers settled the blindfold back into place, a picture of Danny flashed vividly in her mind.
Pointing the remote control at the small television, Danny turned the picture off and tossed the remote aside. He turned to Sydney, his eyes hungry and his hands frisky, a kiss punctuating every word.
“Baby. Sydney. Love. Honey. Baby.”
Sliding closer to him, Sydney smiled broadly, recognizing the familiar pattern he always followed when approaching an iffy subject with her.
“Have something on your mind, Danny?” She returned a kiss, suppressing a knowing chuckle.
Moving his kisses to her neck, Danny mumbled into her warm skin, “You wouldn’t be interested in trying…you know… what they did in the movie… by chance?”
Sydney scrunched her nose, the smile reaching her eyes, as she reached under her pillow and pulled out a pretty floral scarf, holding it up in front of him. “I’m one step ahead of you, Mister.”
Danny’s face erupted in a bright grin, “I love you, Sydney.” Sighing happily, he sat up and took the scarf in his hands.
Her face serious, Sydney snatched it back. “No, no, I get to do it to you.”
His mouth opened and closed like a fish, grasping for words, “I…well…hmm…actually...”
Laughing happily, she tossed it back to him. “Teasing! Had ya going there for a second.”
With a roguish growl, Danny eyed her merry face and kissed her lightly on the lips. Making a twirling motion with his finger, Sydney turned her back to him, brimming with anticipation. He tied the scarf gently over her eyes and placed little kisses on the back of her neck.
No matter what Danny tried, her laughing would not subside, so he just took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Breaking from the embrace, he sighed with relief at the quiet. As he attempted to lift her shirt over her head, Sydney snorted.
“Did you just… snort?”
Her head nodded up and down and they both laughed heartily, falling back onto the pile of soft pillows.
The first faint giggle pulled Sark’s attention away from the smooth skin of her toned thigh. Tilting his head to the side and squinting his eyes, he watched as her lips parted and another laugh tumbled out.
Where are you, Sydney Bristow?
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TO BE CONTINUED...