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15 December 2009 @ 09:44 am
Fic: Fantasies, Alias Syd/Sark (Illusions part 3)  
There's a funny background story to this one. I'd written Dreams and Illusions pretty much back to back, and wasn't planning on another intsallment right away. Then on the forums, there was this discussion in the Sydney/Sark thread about bathroom smut. If I recall correctly, I was sort of challenged to write some. I can do that, I thought. Short, sweet, to the point - or should I say, pointless except for the aforementioned sex.

Except apparently my characters don't do that. Noooooo. They have to have life changing epiphanies. So, Fantasies became the short, third installment of the Illusions series.

Fic: Fantasies (third in the Illusions series)
Author: Rhien Elleth
Pairing: Syd/Sark
Rating: M
Words: 2175




Sydney slammed the door without meaning to, and winced at the sound. She was still shaking, anger coursing through her veins like a drug, making her cheeks flushed, her movements quick and jerky, and her temper lightning quick. She’d scared the shit out of at least three of her neighbors on the way up the stairs, but she wasn’t really worried about that right now. If I ever see that little low life again, it’ll be too fucking soon.

How dare some wet-behind-the-ears, I’ve-got-a-Doctorate-in-Psychology, rookie give her grief about her job? She could still hear his annoying, whiny little voice as they’d stood together in the Director’s office. It is my opinion, sir, that Ms. Bristow is suffering from emotional distractions. She is not maintaining the emotional distance necessary from her co-workers at SD-6. For instance, her obvious attachment to her partner, Mr. Dixon, is unprofessional at the very least. I’d also like to observe that this inability to separate emotions from her work has proved a problem in the past. I would like to recommend a full psych evaluation, followed by…blah, blah, blah.

She’d come very close to punching the bastard’s lights out. Her review with the Director had been grueling, largely because of the certified idiot they’d assigned to evaluate her. Certified fucking idiot, she mentally corrected. She was only grateful that Francie wasn’t home. Her roommate was attending a restaurateurs conference in San Diego for the weekend, leaving the apartment blessedly empty.

She kicked off her shoes in the doorway, and headed into the kitchen, intending to break open a bottle of wine from the stash Francie kept on hand. Owning her own restaurant gave her the ability to order cases at wholesale cost, which meant that the quality level of wine available in the apartment had steadily been rising. Red, she thought, selecting a bottle from the rack on the counter, definitely red. She poured herself a glass, re-corked the bottle, and gave her stiff shoulders a jerky roll. Maybe a bubble bath would help. I deserve a bubble bath.

With that in mind, and the foreign, luxurious thought that she had the entire place to herself for a weekend – a weekend off, no less – she went into the living room and put on some music. She chose one of her favorite relaxing CD’s, Loreena McKennitt’s Book of Secrets, hit the play button, and headed into the bathroom, stripping off articles of clothing as she went. As the opening strains of instrumental music filled the air, Sydney felt some of her tense muscles relax, some of her anger leeching away from the surface, though it didn’t leave entirely. Emotional instability, my ass. She had only to think the words for her teeth to clench. Resolutely, she took a large swallow of wine and started the bathtub filling.

She turned and looked at herself in the mirror, removing the last of her clothing. She looked tired. Her eyes, snapping with temper, were guarded and weary beneath the heated emotion. Well, what better recipe for relaxation than a glass of wine, a bubble bath, and some music? Some candlelight, she thought immediately, and lit the trio of scented candles Francie had placed in here months ago, but Sydney had never had time to make use of. It lit the room with a softly romantic glow that, for a moment, made her ache for something else, someone else. But who am I kidding? Sark isn’t exactly the most romantic guy I’ve ever known. And yet, she rather wistfully wished he was here. More than a month had passed since their last illicit liaison. And surprisingly, even more than the sex, she found she missed him. But the mind blowing, earth shaking sex sure doesn't hurt.

She set her wine on the rim of the tub and stepped into the frothy sea of bubbles, feeling the warm water rush over her skin like silk. She settled in, sighed, closing her eyes. As if thinking of him once had conjured him indelibly into her thoughts, she heard him speak a moment later, his voice surfacing out of the depths of her subconscious. There I go, she thought, wouldn’t psycho-babble boy have a field day.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a pretty picture?”

The words were low, so quiet and real she smiled, thinking her fantasies were getting a little out of hand. Sark would never just show up here, at her apartment. It was too dangerous, for one, and besides, he was probably on the other side of the world. Somewhere like Hong Kong. But she let the fantasy play, keeping her eyes closed.

“It would be a lot prettier if you were actually here,” she said, sighing out loud as her hands played with the bubbles heaped all around her.

“Maybe we can do something about that.”

His tone had deepened with that husky quality it had during the most intimate moments of their encounters, the timbre of it washing over her body with a shiver. She sighed again, this time with regret. Great, instead of making her feel better, her fantasy was turning her anger into a needful, deep yearning.

"God, I wish you could be here..."

Suddenly his hands were on her, the familiar feel of his fingers sliding over her neck, trailing down to the soap slicked surface of her breasts. She gasped, her eyes flying open even as her back arched beneath his touch. He was sitting on the rim of the tub, his shirt half unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, smiling at her with a wicked gleam in his blue eyes that made her heart falter in its suddenly erratic beat. Candlelight made his fair hair glow.

“Sark…what…?” What are you doing here, she’d started to ask, but his thumb circled her nipple at that moment, and the words died unspoken.

“I've missed you, Sydney," he said softly. "Have you missed me?" He pinched the now erect nipple, rolled it lightly between his thumb and forefinger, and she groaned.

He smiled. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

His hand left her breast, stroked down her body beneath the water, trailing lightly over her stomach until she shivered, her eyes fixed on his face, on the unwavering blue of his gaze.

"I've kept tabs on you," he said, brushing her inner thighs in a teasing manner. "I knew Francine was going to be gone this weekend." She lifted her hips in an unspoken, involuntary plea. He rewarded her with a light, feathery touch along her slit, again teasing. "I waited, made sure she got on her flight, made sure you didn't have any missions this weekend." He stroked once, twice, keeping the pressure so light she almost couldn't feel it. Sydney closed her eyes, refusing to ask for what she wanted from him.

He leaned over the tub, so close she could feel his breath on her face. He'd been drinking her wine.

"I've missed you, Sydney," he whispered across her skin. He touched her clit with his thumb, and her body jerked involuntarily, water sloshing in the tub. Her eyes fluttered open, searched his face, with its oh-so-serious expression.

"I've missed you, too, Sark," she said, her voice breathy. He smiled, and plunged two fingers inside of her. She gasped, arching, her hands clutching the sides of the tub.

"I know," he said, and kissed her.

He held himself controlled, in check, using his mouth and tongue to arouse her further while he thrust his fingers over and over, in a knowing, deliberate rhythm. His thumb continued its inexorable stroking of her clit. He knew her body well, by now, well enough to hear it in her breathing, to sense it in the tensing of her muscles, and in the grip of her hands. He pulled back to watch it wash over her, watch the pleasure spill across her face as she came. She cried out, body arching, her head thrown back as the water rippled around her in tiny waves.

By the time it had settled again, he was naked, and sliding into the tub with her. She didn't mind in the least. Her hands stroked his chest, played with the silky hair at his navel, then dipped lower. She closed her fingers around him at the same time that her tongue lathed his chest. She circled his nipples until he groaned, stroked her hand over the hard length of his arousal until control vanished, and he gripped her forearms with his hands.

"Sydney, I want it to be inside you," he told her, his voice a harsh rasp in her ear, his mouth and tongue moving over her neck, her earlobe, her mouth. She smiled, paused, arched one brow.

"How long are you staying?" she asked.

He didn't answer immediately, and she squeezed lightly. His eyes were dark with need when he looked at her.

"As long as I can; a night, a day, two."

He gave a shrug, and she understood. Neither of them could predict what might happen. She turned over in the tub until they were lying stretched out, side by side. She was finally grateful for the larger, longer tub in this place; it was one of the selling points of the apartment, though Sydney had never had cause to utilize its expanded size until now. She stroked him with her hand as she kissed her way down his chest, her tongue leaving a wet trail over his skin.

"You'll come inside me," she said simply, "when I want you to." And then she encased him in her mouth. She considered it appropriate payback when he stiffened and groaned, his hips thrusting toward her involuntarily. She used her tongue to her advantage, enjoying the way his body responded, feeling his fingers dig into her hair. It wasn't long before his hands sought the sides of the tub, muscles straining as he groaned and sighed, and said her name with a kind of reverence. She stopped before the peak, before release, and he whispered a protest, groaned an unspoken plea.

In answer, she pulled back, glided through the water up his body, and guided him inside of her. His arousal, they way he lost control for her, made her breath come fast, her body flushed with the twin forces of passion and a rush of power. It was a heady mix. She stared into his heavy lidded eyes, moving in rhythm with his thrusts, and knew it wouldn't take long. She wasn't expecting to go over that edge with him, not quite so quickly, but he reached down between their bodies and touched her clit with his fingers. He moved them in a small circle, steadily applying more pressure as his own breath turned more ragged, and his body began to shudder. The water was moving around them, sloshing the sides of the tub, spilling over the tile. The pleasure built quickly, intensely, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The orgasm slammed into her with unexpected force, flooding her, making her shake and shudder and cling to him.

They lay together, the water slowly coming to rest around them, their breathing gradually returning to normal. She could feel his heartbeat, still rapid beneath her cheek, where she rested against his chest.

What do we do now? She didn’t know; they’d never had time enough together, before, for the mundane things. He picked up her wineglass and took a swallow, eyed it in surprised appreciation for a moment. It made her smile. She looked up at his face, rested her chin on his chest, and he set the wineglass aside, stroked his hand over her hair. She opened her mouth, found herself saying,

“I could cook dinner.”

Her heartbeat kicked up a notch as she waited for his response. It seemed like such a small thing. Domestic, really. It surprised her how much she wanted him to agree. He looked at her with his serious blue eyes for a long moment, and she held her breath. Then he smiled, slowly, a real smile that reached his eyes. She relaxed.

“All right,” he said.

He helped her to stand, to dry off, to blow out the candles and pour more wine, and it all made Sydney feel almost giddy. It was normal, and so different from anything she’d fantasized about, and fun.

And wholly unexpected.

She realized it suddenly, somewhere between her third glass of wine, and the forth or fifth time he brushed his fingers over her arm, casually, not sexually, but with a sort of comfortable intimacy that made her breath go still in her lungs. She stared at him, shocked, thankful that he was looking away at just that moment.

My God, she thought. She couldn’t think the words, not yet, not about Sark. But she knew it even without that. She knew it with a certainty that reached all the way to her soul. I’ve fallen for him.

::La fine::

On to the next in the series, Revelations.
 
 
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