Fic: Seven Sins Part 2 (Adam/Sark)
I see there are people asking for Adam/Sark in the Kensei/Adam Love-A-Thon. Well, this isn't to answer any prompts from there, but I've had it sitting in my hard drive for months. No smut this time, but I do have two more pieces that do; they just need polishing.
Fic: Seven Sins (Wrath and Sloth)
Pairing: Adam/Sark
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Summary: Two lossely connected ficlets that form part of my Seven Sins series which I commenced with All of You. You don't need to read that one to view these, though.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Wrath
“What happened?” Adam asked the instant Sark opened the door of the car he’d driven in, barely pushing it hard enough for Adam to see his body hunched in the seat, a grimace twisted on his face as he placed his hand at the back of his right shoulder. A great, black blotch stained the grey seat, the blood’s true crimson soaking through the white handkerchief Sark pressed to his shoulder. Anger spiked in Adam’s body, making his hands tighten into fists. Sark had called him half an hour earlier, asking him to meet him at a secure rendezvous point they’d chosen should anything go wrong with Sark’s mission. His consonants had been a little shaky as he spoke, breath hissing into the mouthpiece, but he’d never mentioned this.
“I had a bit of bad luck,” Sark said, giving him a tense smile.
He was pale, too pale, sweat glistening on his brow, but his hand was strong as he put pressure on the wound, a good sign, not that it made the knot in Adam’s belly any less poignant. Adam rushed to the passenger side, climbing inside so that he could examine the wound properly. Sark let him lift the handkerchief and he pulled down Sark’s shirt, seeing ragged flesh, blasted open in a raw, red hole, gasping blood that slithered through his fingers. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he saw pain pinched in Sark’s eyes, squeezed in his tense lips, agony screaming deep inside his torn nerves for far longer than any injury Adam had sustained
“Who shot you?” Adam’s voice was steel.
“That damn Gutierrez. But it did him no good. I got his codes.”
Sark patted the left side of his jacket, smiling grimly in satisfaction. Adam didn’t care about the codes or any of the other knickknacks Sark was hired to steal. He didn’t care for such trivialities, considering Sark’s activities no more than passing amusements. It wasn’t like either of them needed the money. They had plenty locked away in secure banks around the world, but Sark lived for his job, reveling in the thrill of it, and who was Adam to deny him his pride and joy? It’d be such a waste to deny Sark the use of his truly magnificent talents, but that didn’t mean that Adam would stand for injuries like these. No one, absolutely no one had the right to hurt Sark. Adam was going to kill the son of a bitch who did this.
“I would appreciate you healing me, if you don’t mind,” Sark said, throwing him a sharp look over his shoulder. “This does hurt.”
It’d hurt Gutierrez more, Adam would make damn sure of that.
“What happened exactly?” he asked as he took a syringe out of his jacket pocket. Uncapping it, he stuck it in his left inner elbow, pulling back the plunger. “Tell me details.”
“I took too long in Gutierrez’s office. If the decryption device had been a couple of seconds faster, I would have been fine. He spotted me just as I went out the door. He was supposed to be at the party upstairs. I ran. He shot at me three, maybe four times. The last bullet found it’s mark. But he didn’t get me. Or his property.”
Small consolation. It would do Gutierrez no good. By this time tomorrow, it would be his blood covering Adam’s hands. The syringe full, he extracted it from his arm. Sark stretched out his own and Adam rolled up his sleeve, inserting the needle. The tension in Sark’s body began to ease within seconds, relief dawning in his face as he stopped bleeding, the bullet popping out into Adam’s waiting hand. The broken flesh closed, healing into perfectly smooth skin. Adam’s hand closed on the bullet.
||||
Blood soaked through Adam’s clothes. His. That of the guards he’d killed. Their bodies littered the back lawn, the mansion’s entrance, the living room. He didn’t pay any heed to the lofty house he was standing in. All his attention was fixed on the man cowering before him, fancy grey suit all askew as he sidled around the dining table, holding his injured arm, trying desperately to reach the exit at the other side of the room. Adam seriously doubted that the man actually thought he could get away. His bullets would reach him just as surely here than across the room. Gutierrez’s spent gun lay on the light blue tile between them. He’d emptied nearly the entire clip into Adam’s body before Adam shot his arm, forcing him to drop it. He kicked it away, holding his own loosely at his side.
“How...” the man stammered, gaping with rising terror at Adam’s chest, no doubt searching for the holes he’d so annoyingly put there half a minute ago. “It’s impossible.”
His voice rose, approaching hysteria. He clutched the edge of the table, overgrown moustache wobbling as he shook his head, fat cheeks as pale as pale can be. It disgusted him. Adam raised his gun, stepping closer.
“Not impossible as you can plainly see,” he said. “But you won’t have much time to contemplate that.”
Adam shot him in the right shoulder, just where he’d shot Sark, and Gutierrez fell against the table, gasping, dishes crackling under his weight. Adam didn’t smile as he approached. Didn’t gloat. Didn’t speak. He just stood right over him, looked right into his pleading eyes, and shot him straight through the heart.
||||
Sloth
7:49
Warm breath on Sark’s collarbone. He opened his eyes and saw as well as felt Adam nestled against his side, arm draped over his chest. He turned his head, trying to peer at his face, but he could only catch a glimpse of hair and the slightest curve of lips. Adam’s arm rose and fell gently with each of Sark’s breaths. Smiling, Sark placed his hand on it, his touch light so he wouldn’t disturb his sleep. He stroked up to his elbow, fingers hovering over the tiny hairs covering his skin, feeling like pale gossamer. Any brush harder than that and Adam might waken, instantly alert. Sark wondered if his power was responsible for it or if it was simply training. He glanced at the clock. 7:51. There was no need to get up yet. No assignment pressing on his attention. Slumber clung to his eyelids, deciding his course for him. He closed his eyes, lulled back to sleep by the warmth of Adam’s body.
9:57
The pillow lied against his left cheek. A body pressed against his back, legs twining with his, arms wrapped around his torso. Breath fluttered against his ear this time, soft and feather light. He opened his eyes only long enough to glance at the clock.
“Adam?”
A hand slid over his lower stomach. He drifted off again.
10:48
“Don’t you think it’s time to get up?” Sark mumbled.
He’d woken up as Adam moved to the other side of the bed, rearranging Sark’s body so that he lay over Adam’s chest, much like the first time he’d opened his eyes, only backwards.
“No.”
Adam stroked his hair, gentle brushes dipping down to his nape. Despite his question, Sark held Adam more tightly, burrowing against him. He wasn’t accustomed to sleeping this late, but his eyes refused to stay open. He inhaled the richness of Adam’s scent, so much like his own. Consciousness could wait.
12:01
French toast. He sniffed the air, making sure. Definitely French toast. This time, Adam wasn’t touching him. Sark raised his head and saw Adam sitting against the headrest, a plate on his out-stretched legs, brimming with a stack four pancakes thick. A dining cart stood next to the bed, filled with plates bearing all sorts of breakfast goodies: scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, mushrooms, hash browns, and even crepes, his favorite. He pushed himself upright.
“How did you get that at this hour?” he asked, watching Adam stuff a two inch thick bite in his mouth.
“I made a special order,” Adam mumbled, smiling around the bulge in his cheeks. “I had to throw a couple of extra pounds their way, but I wasn’t in the mood for the lunch menu. I figured you wouldn’t be, either.”
Sark stood up, surveying the selection on the cart. He picked up the crepes, with were exquisitely dipped in strawberry syrup, the fruit wrapped inside. He returned to the bed, balancing the plate on his crossed legs.
“Breakfast in bed, then?” he said, meeting Adam’s mischievous eyes.
Adam leaned forward, kissing him. Sark licked sweet, maple syrup from his lips.
“Definitely.”
Fic: Seven Sins (Wrath and Sloth)
Pairing: Adam/Sark
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Summary: Two lossely connected ficlets that form part of my Seven Sins series which I commenced with All of You. You don't need to read that one to view these, though.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Wrath
“What happened?” Adam asked the instant Sark opened the door of the car he’d driven in, barely pushing it hard enough for Adam to see his body hunched in the seat, a grimace twisted on his face as he placed his hand at the back of his right shoulder. A great, black blotch stained the grey seat, the blood’s true crimson soaking through the white handkerchief Sark pressed to his shoulder. Anger spiked in Adam’s body, making his hands tighten into fists. Sark had called him half an hour earlier, asking him to meet him at a secure rendezvous point they’d chosen should anything go wrong with Sark’s mission. His consonants had been a little shaky as he spoke, breath hissing into the mouthpiece, but he’d never mentioned this.
“I had a bit of bad luck,” Sark said, giving him a tense smile.
He was pale, too pale, sweat glistening on his brow, but his hand was strong as he put pressure on the wound, a good sign, not that it made the knot in Adam’s belly any less poignant. Adam rushed to the passenger side, climbing inside so that he could examine the wound properly. Sark let him lift the handkerchief and he pulled down Sark’s shirt, seeing ragged flesh, blasted open in a raw, red hole, gasping blood that slithered through his fingers. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he saw pain pinched in Sark’s eyes, squeezed in his tense lips, agony screaming deep inside his torn nerves for far longer than any injury Adam had sustained
“Who shot you?” Adam’s voice was steel.
“That damn Gutierrez. But it did him no good. I got his codes.”
Sark patted the left side of his jacket, smiling grimly in satisfaction. Adam didn’t care about the codes or any of the other knickknacks Sark was hired to steal. He didn’t care for such trivialities, considering Sark’s activities no more than passing amusements. It wasn’t like either of them needed the money. They had plenty locked away in secure banks around the world, but Sark lived for his job, reveling in the thrill of it, and who was Adam to deny him his pride and joy? It’d be such a waste to deny Sark the use of his truly magnificent talents, but that didn’t mean that Adam would stand for injuries like these. No one, absolutely no one had the right to hurt Sark. Adam was going to kill the son of a bitch who did this.
“I would appreciate you healing me, if you don’t mind,” Sark said, throwing him a sharp look over his shoulder. “This does hurt.”
It’d hurt Gutierrez more, Adam would make damn sure of that.
“What happened exactly?” he asked as he took a syringe out of his jacket pocket. Uncapping it, he stuck it in his left inner elbow, pulling back the plunger. “Tell me details.”
“I took too long in Gutierrez’s office. If the decryption device had been a couple of seconds faster, I would have been fine. He spotted me just as I went out the door. He was supposed to be at the party upstairs. I ran. He shot at me three, maybe four times. The last bullet found it’s mark. But he didn’t get me. Or his property.”
Small consolation. It would do Gutierrez no good. By this time tomorrow, it would be his blood covering Adam’s hands. The syringe full, he extracted it from his arm. Sark stretched out his own and Adam rolled up his sleeve, inserting the needle. The tension in Sark’s body began to ease within seconds, relief dawning in his face as he stopped bleeding, the bullet popping out into Adam’s waiting hand. The broken flesh closed, healing into perfectly smooth skin. Adam’s hand closed on the bullet.
||||
Blood soaked through Adam’s clothes. His. That of the guards he’d killed. Their bodies littered the back lawn, the mansion’s entrance, the living room. He didn’t pay any heed to the lofty house he was standing in. All his attention was fixed on the man cowering before him, fancy grey suit all askew as he sidled around the dining table, holding his injured arm, trying desperately to reach the exit at the other side of the room. Adam seriously doubted that the man actually thought he could get away. His bullets would reach him just as surely here than across the room. Gutierrez’s spent gun lay on the light blue tile between them. He’d emptied nearly the entire clip into Adam’s body before Adam shot his arm, forcing him to drop it. He kicked it away, holding his own loosely at his side.
“How...” the man stammered, gaping with rising terror at Adam’s chest, no doubt searching for the holes he’d so annoyingly put there half a minute ago. “It’s impossible.”
His voice rose, approaching hysteria. He clutched the edge of the table, overgrown moustache wobbling as he shook his head, fat cheeks as pale as pale can be. It disgusted him. Adam raised his gun, stepping closer.
“Not impossible as you can plainly see,” he said. “But you won’t have much time to contemplate that.”
Adam shot him in the right shoulder, just where he’d shot Sark, and Gutierrez fell against the table, gasping, dishes crackling under his weight. Adam didn’t smile as he approached. Didn’t gloat. Didn’t speak. He just stood right over him, looked right into his pleading eyes, and shot him straight through the heart.
||||
Sloth
7:49
Warm breath on Sark’s collarbone. He opened his eyes and saw as well as felt Adam nestled against his side, arm draped over his chest. He turned his head, trying to peer at his face, but he could only catch a glimpse of hair and the slightest curve of lips. Adam’s arm rose and fell gently with each of Sark’s breaths. Smiling, Sark placed his hand on it, his touch light so he wouldn’t disturb his sleep. He stroked up to his elbow, fingers hovering over the tiny hairs covering his skin, feeling like pale gossamer. Any brush harder than that and Adam might waken, instantly alert. Sark wondered if his power was responsible for it or if it was simply training. He glanced at the clock. 7:51. There was no need to get up yet. No assignment pressing on his attention. Slumber clung to his eyelids, deciding his course for him. He closed his eyes, lulled back to sleep by the warmth of Adam’s body.
9:57
The pillow lied against his left cheek. A body pressed against his back, legs twining with his, arms wrapped around his torso. Breath fluttered against his ear this time, soft and feather light. He opened his eyes only long enough to glance at the clock.
“Adam?”
A hand slid over his lower stomach. He drifted off again.
10:48
“Don’t you think it’s time to get up?” Sark mumbled.
He’d woken up as Adam moved to the other side of the bed, rearranging Sark’s body so that he lay over Adam’s chest, much like the first time he’d opened his eyes, only backwards.
“No.”
Adam stroked his hair, gentle brushes dipping down to his nape. Despite his question, Sark held Adam more tightly, burrowing against him. He wasn’t accustomed to sleeping this late, but his eyes refused to stay open. He inhaled the richness of Adam’s scent, so much like his own. Consciousness could wait.
12:01
French toast. He sniffed the air, making sure. Definitely French toast. This time, Adam wasn’t touching him. Sark raised his head and saw Adam sitting against the headrest, a plate on his out-stretched legs, brimming with a stack four pancakes thick. A dining cart stood next to the bed, filled with plates bearing all sorts of breakfast goodies: scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, mushrooms, hash browns, and even crepes, his favorite. He pushed himself upright.
“How did you get that at this hour?” he asked, watching Adam stuff a two inch thick bite in his mouth.
“I made a special order,” Adam mumbled, smiling around the bulge in his cheeks. “I had to throw a couple of extra pounds their way, but I wasn’t in the mood for the lunch menu. I figured you wouldn’t be, either.”
Sark stood up, surveying the selection on the cart. He picked up the crepes, with were exquisitely dipped in strawberry syrup, the fruit wrapped inside. He returned to the bed, balancing the plate on his crossed legs.
“Breakfast in bed, then?” he said, meeting Adam’s mischievous eyes.
Adam leaned forward, kissing him. Sark licked sweet, maple syrup from his lips.
“Definitely.”