Come Undone
She was in the training room beating the bag to a bloody pulp when it happened. The morning briefing had bored her to tears and she couldn't concentrate anyway. All she could see was Vaughn, his arm wrapped around Alice's back, guiding her through the door of the bar. The stiff, polite conversation she'd been required to make kept running through her mind in a continuous loop. Thank God Will had been so quick on his feet and gotten them out of there in a hurry. When they got back, she'd gone into her room and shut the door, pacing back and forth until her body forced her into a fitful sleep. She'd been on autopilot for most of the morning and took the first opportunity she could find to work out her aggression on something. Somewhere during her third set she felt another presence in the room with her. When she turned she saw Sark standing on the catwalk above her, silently observing. The sight of him did nothing but make her hit the bag harder, pushing until she felt pain bloom from her hands. She wasn't surprised to see the tape had peeled back and most of her knuckles were bleeding.
Stepping away from the bag, she went toward the bench. She sat down and ripped the tape off, keeping Sark in her peripheral vision. Adding a layer of gauze, she rewrapped her hands and went back to the center of the room. Rolling her shoulders, she began another round, alternating between punches and kicks. Every time she connected, she couldn't help but see Alice's face.
Movement caught her eye and she saw Sark leap down off the catwalk and land in a crouch, barely wrinkling his thousand-dollar suit. He circled around until he was standing next to the bench, but still in her line of vision. Something about the way he was watching her, so intently she felt naked.
"What's the matter, Sark? Got tired of terrorizing the junior agents and thought you might pick on someone your own size?" she asked flippantly, never breaking her rhythm. He took off his jacket and draped it on the bench next to her bag.
"You seemed distracted during the briefing this morning. Is there something on your mind?" he asked, loosening his pale gray tie.
She slammed her fist against the bag again and snorted. "I was bored. But I'm surprised you noticed. You seemed a bit wrapped up in the sound of your own voice."
"Sydney, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you were calling me vain," he said sarcastically.
"Vain, self-serving, criminally insane, take your pick," she replied as she landed a roundhouse kick.
"Nothing like Agent Vaughn, I presume. The total opposite, one might say." When he said that name, she felt her heart drop into her stomach. If he knew about Vaughn, then he must know she was a double agent. Which was the worst possible thing that could happen at this moment.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she answered. Moving behind the bag, he held it steady as she rained punches, each one harder than the last.
"Don't play coy with me, Sydney. I know all about you. Not to worry, I jammed the transmitters in here, all they can hear is vague white noise," Sark said, moving back and narrowly avoiding her foot hitting his jaw.
"You don't know anything about me," she ground out.
"Where did you go after you left the bar last night? Home with Mr. Tippin for some more fumbling, but well-meaning advances?" he asked casually. "I'm sure seeing Agent Vaughn and his girlfriend must have been quite a blow to your fragile heart. And after everything you did to save his pathetic life," Sark scoffed.
She stilled, trying to hold back the urge to strangle him on the spot. "This conversation is over," she replied icily. She tried to go past him, but he grabbed her arm. Without hesitation, she struck out at him, catching him square in the jaw with her fist. His head snapped back, but he didn't let go of her arm.
"We're really not that different, you know," he said. He was holding her arm so tightly that she wondered if there would be bruises tomorrow.
"We are nothing alike," she hissed. "Now let go of me or your jaw won't be the only thing aching in the morning." He was hurting her, but there was something else, a tingle where his skin was touching hers that made her more than a little uncomfortable.
He arched his eyebrow and looked at her with that smug smile that made her want to slap it right off his face. "Don't make threats you can't possibly follow through on, Sydney," he said, moving so their faces were just inches apart. She could feel his warm breath against her cheek and felt a shiver run down her spine. This standoff needed to end, now.
"Sark, let me make this perfectly clear to you. You are a mercenary, an assassin for hire whose loyalty is paid for by the highest bidder. The people you kill are a means to an end for you, they mean nothing to you," she said evenly. "What I do is out of necessity, for survival. I don't murder people for sport."
"Really, then your trading away Sloane for that antidote, that was out of your deep sense of self-preservation? Because it didn't look that way to me," he said as let go of her arm. She shoved past him and began throwing her things into her bag.
"Terribly inconvenient, those morals of yours. No way to justify it, really. How do you sleep at night, knowing that your perfect exterior is slowly chipping away?" he asked. She could feel her patience wearing dangerously thin. She had too much on her mind and playing Clarice Starling for Sark was not on the agenda.
"Do you have a point?" she asked, whirling around. "Because I'm getting tired of listening to you analyze me like I'm the sociopath here." Flinging her bag over her shoulder, she went for the door. He walked backwards, blocking her way to the door.
"Move," she said, narrowing her eyes. They were practically nose-to- nose now and the room was thick with tension. She could feel the heat from his body and when she looked into his eyes, she saw something indefinable, different. All of sudden the air changed and he leaned forward, his cheek grazing hers.
"Don't deny what you are, Sydney. And don't waste your time pining over the Boy Scout. He's not pining over you," he murmured in her ear. The shiver was back, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He was faster this time, catching her hand before it made contact. She exhaled slowly as he ran his thumb over the inside of her wrist before dropping her hand and letting her out the door. Without looking back, she fled into the elevator before he could follow.
Hours later, she found herself driving, circling around Los Angeles on the endless miles of freeway. All the windows were open and the stereo was turned to an ear-splitting level. But nothing was helping. That unsettled feeling was still in the pit of her stomach.
She had let him get to her. But that wasn't the worst thing. The fact that she felt something for him, something that was not loathing was wreaking havoc on her already strained psyche. He was the anti thesis of everything she stood for and the complete opposite of Vaughn. Vaughn was her rock: loyal, dependable and honest.
Loyal, dependable, honest and currently attached to someone that wasn't her.
"This is ridiculous," she said aloud.
Cutting across three lanes, she went for the exit. Flying down the residential streets, she pulled her car into a space in front of an apartment building near the beach. She knew the address, and had staked it out, just in case. Walking through the lobby, she nodded at the doorman, who didn't give her more than a passing glance. Pushing the button for the top floor, she told the rational voice in the back her mind to shut up. The doors slid open and she went to the door. Her hand hovered, knowing that this was the last chance to turn around, but before she could decide the door flew open.
"Sydney?" He was framed in the door, wearing jeans and a thin white t-shirt, feet bare and hair damp and messy. That rock in her stomach had suddenly exploded into a thousand butterflies, and she felt warm all over. Whatever she had planned to say to him had faded from her mind completely. She vaguely recognized the music playing inside, some old punk song with a heavy, pulsing guitar, and before he could speak again she was inside, pushing him against the wall.
"I still hate you," she said as her slammed her mouth against his. Their teeth clacked together and she sucked at his bottom lip, biting hard enough to draw blood. Bracing her hands on either side of his head, she pressed her whole body against him and felt his mouth open under her. The bitter taste of red wine and blood washed over her as he slid his tongue against hers, still tentative. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, she was astonished by the look on his face, a combination of surprise, caution and desire. She stepped back, her confidence faltering.
"Sark, I.." she started, but was swiftly cut off by him winding one hand around the back of her neck and kissing her, all hesitance gone. Shutting her mind off to all possible consequences, she threw herself into him, grinding her hips against his as their tongues battled for dominance. His hands were sliding up the back of her sweater, leaving trails of heat over her lower back. She felt him trace the long, thin scar next to her spine.
"Three years ago, in Moscow. K-Directorate," she said, catching her breath. He was making his way down the side of her neck, sucking and biting down hard enough to make her gasp. He managed to switch their positions, and now she was the one pinned to the wall. His leg slid between hers, and she tilted her hips forward, causing the seam of her jeans to hit just the right spot. Running her hands under his shirt, she felt his stomach muscles contract as she circled his belly button. Working her way up, she found his nipple. She flicked back and forth, feeling his throat vibrate with a growl. She laughed against his mouth and broke the kiss, her other hand running along the inside of his waistband. Slowly, she ran her tongue over the line of his jaw, ending at his ear. She bit down on the soft lobe and heard him hiss in pain. Her hand wandered across his waist and dipped below, fingertips brushing lightly over his growing erection.
"Sydney," he gasped roughly against her throat. With a feral grin, he moved his thigh up and down between her legs sending ripples of pleasure through her. She shoved him back lightly, leaning her head back and taking a deep breath. Her legs were shaky already. By the look on his face, he was feeling just as unsteady. The fact she had broken through his cool exterior was immensely satisfying. Locking eyes with him, she brought her hands to the tiny buttons on her sweater. Starting at the bottom, she flicked them open, exposing more and more skin. Shrugging it off onto the floor, she turned and headed further into the apartment.
The music was coming from the living room, done stylishly in black and white. A wine bottle and a single glass were sitting on the coffee table, where a sweet smelling candle flickered, the only light in the room. Sprawling across the couch, she picked up the bottle and looked at the label before taking a long swallow. Closing her eyes she swirled it around in her mouth, letting the tart taste settle on her tongue. When she looked up, he was watching her, his eyes veiled again. The shiver was back, the one she had felt earlier in the training room, but now it was amplified a hundred times.
She felt heady, as if she'd had that entire bottle instead of a single mouthful. His eyes never left hers as he slid up her body, fingers ghosting a path over her ribs, tracing a line over the tops of her breasts, finally tangling in her hair as he crushed her mouth in another bruising kiss. The need for the feel of skin on skin was overwhelming and she grabbed at the hem of his shirt. She yanked it up and pulled away just long enough to get it over his head. Running her hands over his back, she felt the play of his muscles under the skin as he shifted their bodies. Trailing his tongue down over her collarbone, he licked at the hollow of her throat and she arched into him, her moan vibrating against his lips.
Pushing them into a sitting position, she skimmed her palms across her tightened nipples, obvious through the thin satin of her bra. A lazy smile crossed his face as she unclasped it and slid the straps off her shoulders and tossed it in the direction of his shirt. Leaning forward, he caught one between his teeth, pulling it taunt. She felt an answering pull from between her legs, and she thrust her hips hard against him. Her eyes slid closed as lips, tongue, teeth, and hands teased her until she thought she would explode from the sensation.
When she opened them, he was watching her with fascination, like he had never seen her before. "Do you know how stunning you are, when you let go like that?" There was something soft in his face, but she didn't want him to be gentle. Gentle was for someone else. He was harsh, hard, and exactly what she needed.
With a wicked smile, she slid off his lap, her knees hitting the plush carpet. Using both hands, she popped the buttons of his fly, watching his eyes dilate with lust. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips over hip bone, sucking until she saw broken blood vessels on the surface. Lifting his ass, he helped her drag his pants off and kicked them away. She wrapped her hand around him, running her thumb over the sensitive head. Slowly, she stroked up and down, increasing the pressure with each down stroke. He was struggling to keep control, to not thrust his hips in time with her hands. Keeping perfect time, she curled her tongue around his head, rolling the salty sweet taste around in her mouth, letting it mix with the wine and his blood. Taking a little more in each time, she toyed with him, varying the speed and depth until his head was thrown back and her name was like a mantra. Reaching back, she felt the glass, smooth and warm in her hand.
Cinnamon, she thought, and sandalwood. She never stopped the rhythm of her hand and mouth as she maneuvered it above his stomach, smooth but for a spattering of long healed scars. Tipping the holder, she watched the first few drops of wax hit skin and dribble down. His eyes flew open and he clenched his fists, but didn't stop her. She let go of him and moved in closer, his throbbing erection brushing against the soft skin between her breasts. She tilted the candle again, dotting over the rise of chest, letting the warmth of the glass skim over his nipples as the hot wax ran down to his navel.
Flame winking out, she put the candle down. Using her nails, she scraped the hardened wax off his skin and soothed the red patches beneath with her tongue. Slithering back up, she kissed him again, hard and fast, the heat still on her lips.
He was getting impatient now, hands working fast to strip her of her own clothes. More mischief crossed her mind as she stood up and stepped out of her pants, nothing left but black bikini underwear. She grabbed his hands and went down the hall, instinct leading her to his bedroom.
The bed was large and covered in soft gray sheets. No headboard, she noticed. She almost laughed, thinking it was better for her if there wasn't one.
Propelling him backwards, she climbed on top of him. The thin layer of silk she still had on was soaked and she rolled her hips against him, feeling his hardness pressing on her clit. They were kissing again, hot and wet, biting and soothing.
Lightning fast, he rolled them, pinning her hands above her head. When she bucked against him, he held fast, knees on the outside of her thighs. She kept her eyes on his as she felt one hand glide down her side to her hip. Running his fingers under the thin strap, she heard fabric tear as it gave way under pressure. She tried to move, but he stilled her again as he switched hands and the other side met the same fate. Lifting his torso, he shoved the scrap of silk away and slipped his hand between their bodies, fingers sliding through her slick, wet heat.
She shifted her hips and moaned, letting the sensations wash over her. Grinding her clit against the heel of his hand, she felt him slip one finger inside her. It had been so long and she'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel this, this feeling of hazy pleasure and the friction of slick skin on hers. Another finger joined the first and she relaxed into the stretch, her body remembering what she thought might have disappeared. She was close now; the heat was coiled in her stomach like a snake ready to strike. As if he could read her mind, he pulled his hands away and sat back. She watched in fascination as he ran his tongue over his fingers, tasting the fruits of his labor. That moment was all he needed and before she knew it, he buried himself inside, hard and fast.
She cried out as he began to move, twisting his body to hit her clit with every thrust. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears as her wrapped her legs around his back and matched his pace. A semi- coherent thought passed through her mind.
"Your name," she murmured into his ear, "Tell me your name." He turned his head as his movement slowed. For a second they were both still, bodies still joined. Something changed in his eyes, a flicker of emotion, she thought.
"Julian," he whispered almost inaudibly. She touched his face and when she looked at him, she saw someone else, not Sark, not Vaughn, but maybe someone in between. Julian.
Rolling her hips, she kissed him and he began to move again, slower and more deliberate than before. He sucked on her lower lip, drawing out a moan from the back of her throat. In response, she ran her fingernails up and down his back in time to their movement. The heat was back, and she felt herself beginning to fray. She jerked her hips and he moved faster. Without warning, she felt everything explode around her, stars behind her eyes. He was right behind her, collapsing onto her, trembling from the force of their orgasms.
She opened her mouth to speak, to say anything, but he stopped her.
"Don't. Just leave it," he said as he pulled the blankets from underneath them. He settled behind her, throwing his arm over her waist, and she twined her fingers with his. Within seconds, she was asleep.
It was five in the morning when her internal clock woke her up. They had shifted during the night and he was on his back, arm thrown carelessly above his head. He looked so calm, so young when he slept that she could almost pretend he wasn't the man she knew he was. Running her fingers over his face, tracing his lips, she leaned over and kissed him softly.
"Goodbye, Julian," she whispered softly. Grabbing her underwear, she went back to the living room, got dressed, and slipped out the door.
On the drive back to her apartment, she didn't think of Vaughn. Not once.