Alias and the characters of Alias are property of ABC and
Touchstone, and are the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot.
These stories are purely for entertainment purposes, no copyright
infringement is intended, I am not making money from this
Is lovingly cherished. And I mean it.
Alyxstarr, for a quick, generous and lovely beta
Auburn, for yet another insightful beta
For voleuse and corngirl_jo
Games are pleasurable. As long as you play by the rules.
She was gentle tonight. For
the very first time. Gentle in everything she did.
This encounter had begun like
so many before, but something in the air had changed, he noticed.
There was a determination in her he hadn’t seen before.
The darkness around them was
silky and warm, her bedroom non-existent for sight, only for
smell. It held her scent and her perfume. That scent was here
even when she wasn’t.
And though he didn’t
want tenderness tonight, he complied, playing his part of
their game for her sake.
She was quiet. In the darkness,
there was only the sound of the wind outside and her low breathing.
She fanned his cheeks with her warm breath, and allowed her
hands to travel over his face, fingertips searching out his
closed eyes, trailing down his cheeks and stopping at his
mouth. She had an obsession with his mouth; he had noticed
that before. Tonight she paid deliberate attention to it.
Her cool fingertips whispered over his lips, a mere ghost
of a touch. He was tempted to flick his tongue against the
teasing finger, but held himself in check.
She was caressing him, but
without the dominance, without the usual game of who was stronger.
This was just her, a side that had been hidden from him until
tonight. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
This was almost personal.
Her fingers on his face, the nearly reverent way of touching
him, like he meant something to her, more than she admitted.
Her lips followed her fingers,
breathing tiny kisses over his face and neck. She threaded
her fingers into his hair, but instead of tightening and pulling,
she let it glide through her hands, touched his scalp. It
made goosebumps skitter over his skin.
The need was there, but dormant.
This wasn’t what he had come here for, this wasn’t
their usual game. Between them, sex was always hard and fast
and gratifying, but never like this, never with feelings attached.
It disconcerted him; he could feel the frown puckering his
"Sydney, what - -"
One of her fingers descended
to his lips again, silencing him effectively. "Let me."
And because he never said
no to one of her games, he agreed. Allowed the tension to
seep from his body and gave himself into her hands, no matter
how wrong it seemed.
She slid her cool hands under
his shirt, caressing his skin, drawing languid little circles
on his abdomen and moving up to his chest. He assisted her
in pulling off his shirt but otherwise stayed immobile, waiting,
trying not to anticipate anything.
Normally, when they had sex,
his mind was blissfully blank, one of the few times he felt
truly relaxed and carefree. But tonight, his thoughts were
swirling behind his eyes damaging the comfortable oblivion.
He had the curious sensation
of being treated like glass. Yet that was what she did. She
was careful, so very careful. Her kisses were light, never
pressing. She didn’t bite down on his nipples tonight,
but circled them with her warm tongue, drawing a shuddering
breath out of him before he could stop himself.
He had the urge to switch
on some light, to see her face. Instead, he lifted his hands
and buried them in her hair. She didn’t fight him like
she usually did, only made it clear that it was her turn,
There was no urgency when
she undressed him completely, and then herself. No rush when
she slid over him, just lying there, covering his body with
hers. Breathing. Caressing his face. Kissing him as though
it suddenly had a meaning. Moving just enough to set his whole
body on fire but not hurt him.
When she finally raised her
hips to welcome him into her body, he could feel the change
more evidently than ever before. He could feel her eyes boring
into him even in the darkness. Her body language spoke to
him, tried to make him understand. Even her movements sent
him a message. Her hips were gyrating, setting a slow, torturous
rhythm, not allowing him the pleasure of a quick and clean
She gathered him up, showering
his face with kisses, breathing in his scent as though she
couldn’t get enough of it, burying her forehead in his
shoulder. His hands found her back without meaning to, guiding
her, stroking, fingertips only, over the smooth expanse of
He could hear whispered words
under her breath, low and enticing. Promises, pleas.
He didn’t want any of
it, but found himself unable to let go of the pleasure her
body gave him, no matter how loud his brain protested.
Usually, sex was pure and
freeing and meaningless. Two bodies meeting, sharing pleasure.
It was what he wanted. But this ... there were emotions involved
tonight, real emotions, and suddenly, he felt dirty, and constricted,
his mind heavy with prospects and the meaning of words unspoken.
He didn’t want all that.
He didn’t want emotions.
He wanted to either let go
of her or fuck her senseless - his way. To get back what they
had had before.
But her body started to clench
around him, her inner muscles sending him shooting over the
edge he hadn’t meant to go over after this realisation,
too late to go through with his other plan. He groaned deeply.
His traitorous body had become much too adapted to hers and
followed her easily. He silenced the little voice in the back
of his mind that told him he enjoyed it, every second of it.
The orgasm was unpleasant,
searing pain shooting through him, making his eyes water.
His moan was strangled and low. The release was no release
at all, even though he felt himself going limp inside her.
He sank back against the pillows,
staring into the darkness, still buried deep within her but
not experiencing the usual calm.
Her breathing was musical,
her hands still gentle, stroking his hair when she rolled
off him. "I knew it." She kissed him, once, twice.
Affectionately. Tenderly. Found his moist eyes and smiled
against his temple. "You’re not as cold as you
want everyone to believe."
Her hands drew lazy patterns
on his sweat-slicked chest again, her cool fingertips a strange
contrast to his hot, taut skin.
"Tell me now." Her
voice was triumphant. "Tell me you felt nothing."
He choked on the response,
breathed hard. She touched her fingers to his damp lashes.
A pause, then: "I know you can’t."
Bloody hell. He had
been right. It was hard not to forcefully push her away.
He untangled himself from
her, slid out of the white cotton sheets and felt the cool
air touch his body. Slipped into boxers and a shirt before
switching on the bedside-lamp and answering. "If you’re
trying to convert me, Sydney, it’s not going to work."
It was not the reaction she
had imagined. Denial was evident on her features. Her eyes
started to glisten moist in the warm light of the lamp.
"I am not a fallen angel.
I don’t need saving. And if you wanted to go and celebrate
your success in taming the beast, I’m really sorry to
spoil that for you, sweetheart. If you want that kind of sentimental
rubbish, maybe you should go back to your pretty CIA handler."
He ignored what he read in her eyes and went on to pull on
his trousers. "Either you accept me the way I am, or
we’ll call this little liaison off. I’m not a
puppy dog you can shape to your will." His eyes bore
into hers, mercilessly. "I don’t need another teacher.
And I don’t need you to save my soul."
There was no protest from
her; her eyes weren’t spitting fire as he had expected.
She sat in her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, suddenly
looking small and vulnerable, the sheets around her body and
her dark hair spilling over her bare shoulders. Her eyes were
wide, her lower lip trembled.
Christ, she was beautiful.
He didn’t want to stop their affair. Hurting her this
way was necessary, but held no satisfaction. He was glad that
she had enough grace not to let the tears glistening in her
eyes fall. Yet this other situation was not an option. He
couldn’t afford emotional ties. Neither could she.
He finished dressing. Her
scent still clung to his entire body.
When she spoke, it was barely
more than a whisper. "Didn’t you feel anything
"Ask yourself if you
could handle the answer, Sydney."
He opened the French doors
and slipped into the night.