Clinical - Alias - Sark/Sydney
Title: Clinical
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Sydney Bristow, Julian Sark
Word count: 765
Disclaimer: Sydney and Sark are all JJ Abrams. I only borrow them occasionally.
Summary: All informants have to be paid in some way or form. Everything has a price, even if it’s not one you understand fully to start with.
Author's Notes: Written for the Porn Battle here with the prompt “Alias, Sark/Sydney, price”.
“Ah, Miss Bristow,” he says easily, “Such a surprise to see you here again so soon.”
Liar, Sydney thinks. Doesn’t stop her from blushing as Sark openly scans her up and down. It’s one of her more high class dresses that she’s picked up from one set of employers over the years - and she doesn’t care if he likes the color or not.
“Very nice,” he says and stays standing where he is. Such a contrast between the elegant clothes she’s wearing, and the dark, dirty, cramped quarters they’re standing in. Red neon light from outside throws odd shadows across it all. This is the world the two of them inhabit.
“You know the rules, Miss Bristow,” he says in that refined, silky voice of his, “If you want any information at all on your mother, you know what I want.”
She walks slowly across the room, stepping carefully around the rubbish on the floor. Sark’s leaning against one of the pillars at the back, situated so he can see anyone approaching from any angle. Always the professional.
Sydney stops before him and scans his face, looking for some kind of hint or feeling but Sark impassively looks back at her, his face half hidden by the neon cast dark. She swallows, and kneels down.
She can see the obvious signs of his excitement, but he makes no move. It’s always up to her to reach out and unzip him. So she does. At the back of her mind, the part that she can never turn off notes the fine fabric of his suit and how one could probably always track Sark just by asking his tailor a few questions, but the main part of her is lost in the feeling as she pulls his cock out into the night air.
It’s warm and firm to her grasp, and getting more so by the moment. She strokes him up and down a few times before sticking out her tongue and delicately licking along his length. She makes slow, careful strokes up one side and down the other, licking and flicking and darting around him.
And then Syd turns her attention to the crown. Vibrating slightly as even Sark can’t stop himself from twitching totally, she coils her tongue around the head, flicking over the tiny slit there, collecting the pre-cum. Her eyes flick upwards briefly hoping to see any crack in that façade of his, but that same small smirk remains. There is a tension to his arms though…
She leans forward and her mouth slowly opens around his cock, sliding deep into her. She pauses, bright red lips wrapped around his hardness, feeling the matching warmth down inside her growing. She sinks deeper, deeper along his cock, feeling it glide in, her tongue bathing it as it passes.
There’s a pause as she reaches her limit. Deliberately she refrains from using her hands to support her, crossing them behind her back to avoid any sort of temptation. She moves, rocking herself backwards and forwards in an ever increasing rhythm. Her mouth glides up and down in a rapid motion, her tongue flashing and darting and licking and stroking as she goes.
She finds herself humming as she goes, lost in the moment, alive once again in this moment, nothing else in her head but the motion, the movement, the taste… Up, down, in, out, faster, faster, ever faster, feel him almost writhing, desperate to touch her. She sucks even harder than before, feeling him swell-
“Sydney!” he says as he comes in her mouth, sagging back against the wall. Ever the perfectionist, Syd swallows rapidly before almost regretfully letting him free of her. One last lick to get the last drop.
It’s just seconds but Sark’s already straightened himself, looking as impassive as normal. “As I informed you yesterday Miss Bristow,” he says softly, “I doubt I will have any news on your mother until next week.”
Sydney breathes in, then out, and carefully reaches up and wipes the corner of her mouth. From the corner of her eye she sees Sark reaching down towards her and she recoils. His hand stops, forms a fist for a moment and drops to his side.
She stands up, shakes her hair out and turns to go. She strides across the dimly lit room, aware of the eyes on her back. It’s just business, right? Private business that she hasn’t told anyone else about because they don’t trust him. Perfectly reasonable.
“I’ll be here this time tomorrow.”
She doesn’t break her stride.
It’s just business.
Just business.
~Fin~
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Sydney Bristow, Julian Sark
Word count: 765
Disclaimer: Sydney and Sark are all JJ Abrams. I only borrow them occasionally.
Summary: All informants have to be paid in some way or form. Everything has a price, even if it’s not one you understand fully to start with.
Author's Notes: Written for the Porn Battle here with the prompt “Alias, Sark/Sydney, price”.
“Ah, Miss Bristow,” he says easily, “Such a surprise to see you here again so soon.”
Liar, Sydney thinks. Doesn’t stop her from blushing as Sark openly scans her up and down. It’s one of her more high class dresses that she’s picked up from one set of employers over the years - and she doesn’t care if he likes the color or not.
“Very nice,” he says and stays standing where he is. Such a contrast between the elegant clothes she’s wearing, and the dark, dirty, cramped quarters they’re standing in. Red neon light from outside throws odd shadows across it all. This is the world the two of them inhabit.
“You know the rules, Miss Bristow,” he says in that refined, silky voice of his, “If you want any information at all on your mother, you know what I want.”
She walks slowly across the room, stepping carefully around the rubbish on the floor. Sark’s leaning against one of the pillars at the back, situated so he can see anyone approaching from any angle. Always the professional.
Sydney stops before him and scans his face, looking for some kind of hint or feeling but Sark impassively looks back at her, his face half hidden by the neon cast dark. She swallows, and kneels down.
She can see the obvious signs of his excitement, but he makes no move. It’s always up to her to reach out and unzip him. So she does. At the back of her mind, the part that she can never turn off notes the fine fabric of his suit and how one could probably always track Sark just by asking his tailor a few questions, but the main part of her is lost in the feeling as she pulls his cock out into the night air.
It’s warm and firm to her grasp, and getting more so by the moment. She strokes him up and down a few times before sticking out her tongue and delicately licking along his length. She makes slow, careful strokes up one side and down the other, licking and flicking and darting around him.
And then Syd turns her attention to the crown. Vibrating slightly as even Sark can’t stop himself from twitching totally, she coils her tongue around the head, flicking over the tiny slit there, collecting the pre-cum. Her eyes flick upwards briefly hoping to see any crack in that façade of his, but that same small smirk remains. There is a tension to his arms though…
She leans forward and her mouth slowly opens around his cock, sliding deep into her. She pauses, bright red lips wrapped around his hardness, feeling the matching warmth down inside her growing. She sinks deeper, deeper along his cock, feeling it glide in, her tongue bathing it as it passes.
There’s a pause as she reaches her limit. Deliberately she refrains from using her hands to support her, crossing them behind her back to avoid any sort of temptation. She moves, rocking herself backwards and forwards in an ever increasing rhythm. Her mouth glides up and down in a rapid motion, her tongue flashing and darting and licking and stroking as she goes.
She finds herself humming as she goes, lost in the moment, alive once again in this moment, nothing else in her head but the motion, the movement, the taste… Up, down, in, out, faster, faster, ever faster, feel him almost writhing, desperate to touch her. She sucks even harder than before, feeling him swell-
“Sydney!” he says as he comes in her mouth, sagging back against the wall. Ever the perfectionist, Syd swallows rapidly before almost regretfully letting him free of her. One last lick to get the last drop.
It’s just seconds but Sark’s already straightened himself, looking as impassive as normal. “As I informed you yesterday Miss Bristow,” he says softly, “I doubt I will have any news on your mother until next week.”
Sydney breathes in, then out, and carefully reaches up and wipes the corner of her mouth. From the corner of her eye she sees Sark reaching down towards her and she recoils. His hand stops, forms a fist for a moment and drops to his side.
She stands up, shakes her hair out and turns to go. She strides across the dimly lit room, aware of the eyes on her back. It’s just business, right? Private business that she hasn’t told anyone else about because they don’t trust him. Perfectly reasonable.
“I’ll be here this time tomorrow.”
She doesn’t break her stride.
It’s just business.
Just business.
~Fin~