004 - Alias: The Two
Title: The Two
Fandom: Alias
Pairing: Sark/Syd
Rating: R for reference to sexual/sensual activities. *g*
Summary: A brief look into an already developed relationship during the holidays. (Slightly Christmas-y but not overly.)
Notes: Ack, I didn't mean to make the title the same as an Alias episode, it just turned out that way. It has nothing do with that episode and this is a future fic, totally AU. This was written for __veritas__ for her 21st b-day, hope you like it hun! Sorry there isn't THAT much pr0n, maybe next time. ;) Any errors are my own and should be pointed out in case I made an ass of myself, hee hee!
She always left before dawn. She would try her best to be quiet as she searched for her clothes, but he was always awake when she left. The way the bed would instantly grow cold when she left would alert him first. He would watch her in the darkness, fiddling with the clasps of her bra, wishing he could reach out and stop her. With every article of clothing she put on, the distance between them was greater. She would look back at him from the door, and he would freign sleep. He could feel her gaze upon him, yet he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. Sometimes after she left he could stare at the ceiling and wonder what she would do if he’d open his eyes and asked her to stay. Would she?
Every night was exactly the same. They had their own routine. She would show up uninvited, but always welcome. They would usually end up in the shower, washing away their sins and kissing away any unspoken fears. They would then share a quiet dinner. They hardly spoke, they never really had any reason to. Anything they needed to say could just as easily be expressed through their body language. The slight turn of the head, a soft stroke, or just a simple kiss.
Hands would be everywhere, touching, squeezing, stroking, and exploring. He could never have enough of her, and he knew that there would always be a part of her that she would keep to herself. But when they would climax together, panting and fully spent, the look in her eyes would be enough for then. It was a look of pure bliss and peacefulness and it made him happy to know it was only because of him.
Most nights she would fall asleep first, exhausted from the day’s work. And he would watch her. Her shallow breaths and soft murmurs reminding him that she was still just a girl. Nothing more. She may have been one of the strongest people he knew, but she was still fragile. Breakable.
Tonight was like any other. She showed up later than usual, and joined him in the shower. She was silent as he scrubbed her back with the wash cloth. The water pounded down on them, but she didn’t move from it’s hard spray. He turned her towards him and kissed her lightly. She didn’t respond at first, but as he continued, she slowly began to kiss him back. He backed her up to the wall and pinned her there. She wrapped one leg around him, her signal for him to come closer. Their wet bodies were flush against one another and his length was pressed to her opening. She lifted her hips slightly, inviting him in, and he finally pushed into her, burying himself in her heat.
The heat of the day had drifted away when the sun had set, and now a cool breeze filled his apartment. They lay on his bed while he read a book and she lay with her head on his chest, humming a familiar tune. Any onlooker would see a happy couple enjoying a quiet night in, but it was nothing of the kind. This simple domestic activity was the closest thing they’d ever have to a ‘normal life’.
As he stroked the bare skin of her lower back, he began thinking of how this all began, and where it was going. He knew one of them would end up hurt in the end, but he tried to push that thought away for just one more day.
It was now a little past 4 am and he could feel her stirring. He let out a silent sigh, knowing she would soon be gone. Even with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, he could see her pulling away. She slowly put on her clothes and started for the door. She paused, as if she forgot something, and turned towards him. She took a step towards his side of the bed and for a moment she was bathed in moonlight pouring in through the window. He watched her through slitted eyes but soon pressed them shut when she kneeled beside him. Warm fingers brushed away a few stands of hair from his forehead, and she placed a delicate kiss on his temple. She remained completely motionless for a moment longer and watched him sleep. He bit his tongue to force himself not to give himself away.
“What are we doing, Julian?” Her voice was quiet and it broke as she said his name. He could hear her take a deep breath, and tears were apparent in the way it caught in her throat. He could hear her place something on the night table and rise slowly. “Merry Christmas,” she said finally after composing herself. The door let out a soft creak as she pulled it open. And then she was gone.
He waited a long time after she left before opening his eyes. He didn’t want to see what she had left. Finally, he opened one eye, then the other, letting his eyes readjust to the room’s dimness. On his night table was a small box. He sat up slowly and flicked on the light. The brightness was harsh in the room, and he squinted at the box. It was wrapped in thick silver paper and tied with a dark blue ribbon. A small note was tucked under the bow, and he pulled it out carefully.
Just something I found a long time ago that reminded me of you. I saw it in a small pawn shop while on one of my missions in Russia. We all have two sides to us, but which do you prefer to show the world? -S.
He glanced over at the box again, slightly apprehensive about opening it. Even if he loved her, he would never trust her, the same way she would never fully trust him. He studied the box in his hands, it was quite weighty and he tugged gently at the ribbon. He lifted the lid and saw a wooden box nestled in silver tissue paper. The box had a lid that was worn from years of use and the hinge was slightly rusty. With a slow, but deliberate motion he pulled the lid up revealing a small wooden figure on a spring. An ugly nutcracker stared back at him, its angry eyes and twisted mouth making it look vicious. He turned the knob on the side of the music box four times and almost jumped when it sprang to life. A familiar tune filled the room, and the nutcracker began to turn, the springs creaking slightly from its lack of use in the more recent present. As it turned, he saw that the backside of the Nutcracker was actually a smiling prince. Its pale blonde hair peaking out from under a small crown, and its bright blue eyes smiled back at him.
He remembered one year when he was 13, Irina took him to see the Nutcracker ballet. He remembered smiling to himself when the Nutcracker killed the Rat King and turned into a handsome prince, finally winning the sweet Clara. He didn’t really enjoy the rest of the ballet’s plot, but that moment stuck out in his mind.
He looked back at the small figure painted in harsh reds for the Nutcracker, then as it turned to the prince it was painted in gold and royal blue. The soft tinkering of ‘The Nutcracker Suit’ merrily played along with the twirling figure.
He didn’t know what else to do, so he settled back into bed, turned off the light and wound the music box up again. He watched in darkness the small figure turning from Nutcracker to Prince and he let himself smile. It was probably the best gift anyone had ever given him and he continued to watch it for hours until the sun peeked through his venetian blinds.
Finally after he had had enough for now, he shut the lid and placed the box gingerly on the table next to him.
“Merry Christmas, Sydney,” he whispered into the empty room and smiled again.
Fandom: Alias
Pairing: Sark/Syd
Rating: R for reference to sexual/sensual activities. *g*
Summary: A brief look into an already developed relationship during the holidays. (Slightly Christmas-y but not overly.)
Notes: Ack, I didn't mean to make the title the same as an Alias episode, it just turned out that way. It has nothing do with that episode and this is a future fic, totally AU. This was written for __veritas__ for her 21st b-day, hope you like it hun! Sorry there isn't THAT much pr0n, maybe next time. ;) Any errors are my own and should be pointed out in case I made an ass of myself, hee hee!
She always left before dawn. She would try her best to be quiet as she searched for her clothes, but he was always awake when she left. The way the bed would instantly grow cold when she left would alert him first. He would watch her in the darkness, fiddling with the clasps of her bra, wishing he could reach out and stop her. With every article of clothing she put on, the distance between them was greater. She would look back at him from the door, and he would freign sleep. He could feel her gaze upon him, yet he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. Sometimes after she left he could stare at the ceiling and wonder what she would do if he’d open his eyes and asked her to stay. Would she?
Every night was exactly the same. They had their own routine. She would show up uninvited, but always welcome. They would usually end up in the shower, washing away their sins and kissing away any unspoken fears. They would then share a quiet dinner. They hardly spoke, they never really had any reason to. Anything they needed to say could just as easily be expressed through their body language. The slight turn of the head, a soft stroke, or just a simple kiss.
Hands would be everywhere, touching, squeezing, stroking, and exploring. He could never have enough of her, and he knew that there would always be a part of her that she would keep to herself. But when they would climax together, panting and fully spent, the look in her eyes would be enough for then. It was a look of pure bliss and peacefulness and it made him happy to know it was only because of him.
Most nights she would fall asleep first, exhausted from the day’s work. And he would watch her. Her shallow breaths and soft murmurs reminding him that she was still just a girl. Nothing more. She may have been one of the strongest people he knew, but she was still fragile. Breakable.
Tonight was like any other. She showed up later than usual, and joined him in the shower. She was silent as he scrubbed her back with the wash cloth. The water pounded down on them, but she didn’t move from it’s hard spray. He turned her towards him and kissed her lightly. She didn’t respond at first, but as he continued, she slowly began to kiss him back. He backed her up to the wall and pinned her there. She wrapped one leg around him, her signal for him to come closer. Their wet bodies were flush against one another and his length was pressed to her opening. She lifted her hips slightly, inviting him in, and he finally pushed into her, burying himself in her heat.
The heat of the day had drifted away when the sun had set, and now a cool breeze filled his apartment. They lay on his bed while he read a book and she lay with her head on his chest, humming a familiar tune. Any onlooker would see a happy couple enjoying a quiet night in, but it was nothing of the kind. This simple domestic activity was the closest thing they’d ever have to a ‘normal life’.
As he stroked the bare skin of her lower back, he began thinking of how this all began, and where it was going. He knew one of them would end up hurt in the end, but he tried to push that thought away for just one more day.
It was now a little past 4 am and he could feel her stirring. He let out a silent sigh, knowing she would soon be gone. Even with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, he could see her pulling away. She slowly put on her clothes and started for the door. She paused, as if she forgot something, and turned towards him. She took a step towards his side of the bed and for a moment she was bathed in moonlight pouring in through the window. He watched her through slitted eyes but soon pressed them shut when she kneeled beside him. Warm fingers brushed away a few stands of hair from his forehead, and she placed a delicate kiss on his temple. She remained completely motionless for a moment longer and watched him sleep. He bit his tongue to force himself not to give himself away.
“What are we doing, Julian?” Her voice was quiet and it broke as she said his name. He could hear her take a deep breath, and tears were apparent in the way it caught in her throat. He could hear her place something on the night table and rise slowly. “Merry Christmas,” she said finally after composing herself. The door let out a soft creak as she pulled it open. And then she was gone.
He waited a long time after she left before opening his eyes. He didn’t want to see what she had left. Finally, he opened one eye, then the other, letting his eyes readjust to the room’s dimness. On his night table was a small box. He sat up slowly and flicked on the light. The brightness was harsh in the room, and he squinted at the box. It was wrapped in thick silver paper and tied with a dark blue ribbon. A small note was tucked under the bow, and he pulled it out carefully.
Just something I found a long time ago that reminded me of you. I saw it in a small pawn shop while on one of my missions in Russia. We all have two sides to us, but which do you prefer to show the world? -S.
He glanced over at the box again, slightly apprehensive about opening it. Even if he loved her, he would never trust her, the same way she would never fully trust him. He studied the box in his hands, it was quite weighty and he tugged gently at the ribbon. He lifted the lid and saw a wooden box nestled in silver tissue paper. The box had a lid that was worn from years of use and the hinge was slightly rusty. With a slow, but deliberate motion he pulled the lid up revealing a small wooden figure on a spring. An ugly nutcracker stared back at him, its angry eyes and twisted mouth making it look vicious. He turned the knob on the side of the music box four times and almost jumped when it sprang to life. A familiar tune filled the room, and the nutcracker began to turn, the springs creaking slightly from its lack of use in the more recent present. As it turned, he saw that the backside of the Nutcracker was actually a smiling prince. Its pale blonde hair peaking out from under a small crown, and its bright blue eyes smiled back at him.
He remembered one year when he was 13, Irina took him to see the Nutcracker ballet. He remembered smiling to himself when the Nutcracker killed the Rat King and turned into a handsome prince, finally winning the sweet Clara. He didn’t really enjoy the rest of the ballet’s plot, but that moment stuck out in his mind.
He looked back at the small figure painted in harsh reds for the Nutcracker, then as it turned to the prince it was painted in gold and royal blue. The soft tinkering of ‘The Nutcracker Suit’ merrily played along with the twirling figure.
He didn’t know what else to do, so he settled back into bed, turned off the light and wound the music box up again. He watched in darkness the small figure turning from Nutcracker to Prince and he let himself smile. It was probably the best gift anyone had ever given him and he continued to watch it for hours until the sun peeked through his venetian blinds.
Finally after he had had enough for now, he shut the lid and placed the box gingerly on the table next to him.
“Merry Christmas, Sydney,” he whispered into the empty room and smiled again.