Warning: Sarkney
Disclaimer: I own ten fingers and everything they produce which does not, unfortunately, cover Alias.
The first time we kiss she smells like copper and tastes like vanilla. The blood of her enemies would be dripping off her fingers if they weren't already tangled in my hair. Her lips move angrily against my own and hate is written in every line of that body crushed so tightly to me. I open my eyes for a moment to look at her. Her own eyes are scrunched shut so tightly it gives her crow's feet but still a single tiny tear slips through. I understand it is not out of sadness that she cries, that only comes later, no these are tears of anger. Because in that moment, with that kiss, she hates everything. She hates Arvin Sloane for sending her on this mission, hates the CIA for making sure she can't say no. She hates me for being there and helping her commit these terrible crimes. She hates her long dead fiance Danny for getting her into this life, because that is what she hates above all else: this life. The lying, the running, the fear and the death. The death that is so sickeningly familiar to her skilled hands, and that she wields as deftly as any of her other weapons. The death that, moments ago, sprang so readily to devour the attacking guards. She is filled with hate and surrounded by death but still, on her tongue, I can taste the remnants of sweet innocence.
The first time we kiss he smells like mint and smoke and tastes like cinnamon. The fingertips sliding over my neck are dusty from gunpowder and cold as ice, I focus on the slight discomfort. His mouth is not cold however, instead it burns my tongue and I can taste cinnamon gum, although the gum itself is nowhere to be found. Strange, I didn't think Sark chewed gum. I grasp onto this thought, I cling tightly to the small mystery because otherwise I might think about other things. I might think about the dead bodies littering the small corridor. I might think about the reality of the liar, criminal and murder who is on the other end of these lips. But in this second I don't want to think about any of that. I refuse to. Right now, I focus only on my kiss which, at this point, is almost an attack. Still, he refuses to back down. I gouge bloody lines out of his scalp, the flesh is just as cold and wintery as the rest of him, and in return he yanks my head towards him with force enough to strike our teeth together. As his hands make their way to my cheeks I notice that his fingers also have traces of that minty residue. Cinnamon and mint, a strange combination but somehow, he makes it work. In fact, it fits him perfectly. Cool mint, cold hands, icy eyes, everything about him was freezing. But as his spicy flavor scorches my lip, I get the sudden feeling that he is perhaps not quite as cold as I imagined. That maybe, just maybe, underneath that frozen skin, deep down, a fire may be burning as brightly as ever. And when I catch his lip between my teeth and bite hard enough to break the skin, I find that even his blood tastes vaguely of cinnamon. Cold and hard as ice, that was him alright, but perhaps also fierce and flickering as firelight. And suddenly, it's not so difficult not to think about all the ways this is wrong, because one small piece of this emotional puzzle seems a little more right.
And so it takes only one kiss for Sark to see Sydney's anger. And it takes only one kiss for Sydney to see Sark's passion. And it takes 1,632 more kisses before either are truly understood.
Dabbling in a new fandom to celebrate the new year! This, theoretically, takes place sometime during between The Counteragent and Phase One in season 2, i.e. during the time Sark works in SD-6, but I'm sure it could fit in other places too.
Edit: Thank you so much to SouthernBell86 who left an awesome review that really helped improve this fic. I'm so much more pleased with it now. Thanks again and I hope you like it!
~Necessity
