AUTHOR'S NOTE: Set two weeks after "Haunted" season 2. WARNING: Pretty darn graphic ya'll. Hang on! Thanks as always to the best beta ever, MajorSam! Please note, I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters. My words, however, are my own. Enjoy, and PLEASE REVIEW! It makes my little heart pitter patter with joy. :)
With Eyes Closed
Copyright 2011, by NoCleverSig
She just wanted some time alone.
The lobby of the Hotel Palomar in Washington, D.C. off Dupont Circle was bustling with scientists, academicians, and government and private industry researchers who all wanted Helen Magnus' attention. She was the keynote speaker at the North American Conference on Cryptozoology, and the Palomar was serving as the headquarters hotel. For the last three days she hadn't been able to ride the elevator or walk through the lobby without being waylaid by admirers or detractors ready to engage her in debate the moment she stepped out of her room.
Normally she enjoyed such discourse, and there were friends and colleagues in attendance she hadn't seen in years. But the truth was her mind was elsewhere; frozen outside the main lab doors of the Sanctuary with John preparing to sacrifice himself but saying those words to her…for all eternity… before he did so.
She closed her eyes and took a final sip of Cabernet.
It'd been two weeks since he'd disappeared, yet the scene played out in an endless loop in her head. Each and every time it did she uncovered some new, deeper regret.
I should have found another way…I should have recognized the truth sooner…I should have cured him…I should have told him how much I care…
It was the last lament that hit home the hardest.
She didn't want to love John Druitt, had tried desperately for years not to. All it took was one heartfelt confession, and she was on the verge of falling. It made her feel…weak. He was like an incurable disease, one that ravished her soul as well as her body.
Yet, in the end, she hadn't said the words. She'd kept quiet throughout his confession. And now? He was gone. Perhaps dead. Certainly mad. He'd sacrificed himself and in a moment of rare lucidity opened his heart. And how had she answered him in return? Stood there. Silent. Eyes closed.
"Would you like another glass?" the bartender asked.
She'd stumbled onto Quinn's Pub by accident, seeking fresh air and a respite from the constant barrage she was under at the conference hotel. She'd debated staying in her room and ordering room service tonight, but there was something morose about eating dinner alone in the suite of a luxury hotel. The final reception of the event was occurring later that evening, and she had to attend, but for now she needed to get away. She still wanted to be around people, she just didn't want to engage in intellectual discourse with them. Not for a little while.
She'd escaped the hotel generally unscathed with only two or three conversations between the elevator and the front doors, and had taken a stroll in the late afternoon down Massachusetts Avenue. The cool, autumn air lifted Helen's hair as she passed the historic buildings along Embassy Row. She spotted the pub on the corner and glanced in. It was full of smartly dressed men and women, most likely embassy staff, enjoying a drink after work. It looked…inviting.
She opened the door and blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. It was dark, as pubs were, but warm and well appointed. The building was an historic one with stone walls and black leather booths, tables, and stools, and a small stage for a band. Not too dingy and not too bright. The piped in music was upbeat and pleasant. It was a perfect place to sit, drink, and think, surrounded by people she didn't know. She could be alone and in a crowd at the same time. The thought made her sigh with relief.
She looked up at the bartender, a stout, older man in his 60s. "One more, please," she smiled.
"Put it on my tab, Mike," came a deep, booming British voice from behind her.
She froze at the sound of it. Rich and resonating, smooth as melted milk chocolate. All of the blood drained from her face as she turned around expecting to see the last man she expected to see and the only one she'd been thinking of for days.
But instead of John a younger man in his late thirties stood in front of her. Her eyes casually swept over him. He was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and wore a well-tailored grey suit that flattered his athletic build. He had a handsome smile.
"I noticed the accent," he told her before she could utter a word. "I thought I'd buy a fellow Brit a drink. I hope you don't mind. May I?" he asked, pointing to the empty bar stool beside her.
She debated a moment then nodded. "Certainly. Thank you."
"You're most welcome." He held out his hand in introduction. "Sean. Sean Langford. I work at the British Embassy down the way," he explained, inclining his head toward the door.
"I surmised as much," she said, grasping his hand tight in return. "Helen."
He waited for her to provide a last name. When she didn't, he simply nodded.
"Are you in town on business?"
"Yes," she answered, adding nothing more. It'd been awhile since she'd been hit on at a bar. Funny how the conversation rarely changed.
"I'm attending a conference at the Palomar," she elaborated, unsure why she did." I just needed to…step out for awhile."
"You mean run away?" he teased, flashing her a mischievous smile. "I understand. Conferences are tough, particularly when you're staying at the main hotel. No time to decompress, unless you hide in your room, which is terribly depressing," he laughed.
"Indeed it is," Helen agreed, sipping her wine and taking another surreptitious glance at Mr. Langford. He'd removed his jacket; the lines under his crisp white shirt confirming her previous assessment of a well-toned, muscular body. He was tall, though not as tall as John, perhaps 6' 2" or 3", with short, black hair, and shining, deep set brown eyes. His five o'clock shadow was neatly trimmed giving him a rugged, slightly Bohemian look that contrasted nicely with his professional bearing. Suddenly Helen imagined his rough chin on her cheeks, her neck, her breasts….She stopped, closed her eyes quickly, and took another sip of wine, shivering at the bolt of unexpected desire that had shot through her.
Sean narrowed his eyes in concern. "Are you cold? Would you like my coat?"
A gentleman to boot. She shook her head.
He caught the hesitation in her expression and mistook it for dismissal. "I'm sorry. You came here wanting to be alone, and I've done nothing but monopolize your time. I'll let you be. It was a pleasure meeting you, Helen. I hope your conference goes well and that you enjoy your time in D.C."
He grabbed his jacket and started to step down from the bar when the scent of his cologne struck her. Citrus and musk. Good God! The voice, the cologne…so like John's. If she closed her eyes and simply breathed….
"Wait!" she put her hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude. Please," she paused. "Stay. I'd enjoy the company."
Sean returned her smile, nodded, and got back up on the chair beside her, laying his coat back down. "I'm glad. I'd enjoy the company as well." She watched as he scanned her body appreciatively, an unmistakable yearning evident in his eyes as it was in hers. But to his credit, he looked away and quickly changed the subject. "Have you eaten? There's a little bistro just a block away from here. It'd be my pleasure."
Helen bit her lip. Dinner with a handsome stranger. Not something she hadn't done before, but not something she made a habit of either.
It took her just a moment to say yes.
Sean Langford had been with the British Foreign Office for nine years, having served in the Royal Air Force before that and graduating Cambridge with degrees in International Politics, Economics, and a smattering of foreign languages.
He did most of the talking because Helen encouraged it, doing her best to steer the conversation clear of her professional background and work. He was educated, interesting, and possessed an old world charm that was spellbinding. Between his voice, his cologne, and his manners, it was as if he had stepped out of a different time. A time she remembered with fondness.
"And I have dominated the conversation," Sean concluded as the waiter came to claim their empty dishes. "Dessert?" he asked.
"No, thank you," Magnus replied looking up at the server. "But a cup of tea would be nice please."
"Earl Gray?" Sean inquired.
"Of course," she smiled.
"Anyway, as I was saying, I think I've told you all of the relevant things about me, but I believe I know only three things about you."
"Really? Three?" Helen smirked. "That may be a new record. And they are?"
He counted on his fingers. "One. Your name is Helen."
She nodded. "Very good."
"Two. You like wine, but I also sense a penchant for Scotch?"
She smiled. "Clever."
"And three, you're attending a dreadful conference at the Hotel Palomar and some reception you feel you must make an obligatory appearance at but you would much rather spend the evening with me."
There it was. She had to give him credit. He'd taken his time to work up to it.
She laughed. "I'll give you two and a half out of three," she said teasingly to him. He frowned. She really should tell him something.
"All right. Here's four, maybe five. I'm a medical doctor and a biologist. I run a private research institution."
"Aha!" he said bolting upright. "It appears fate has intervened! Mum always wanted me to marry a doctor."
She laughed recognizing by now the teasing tone in his voice. He really was an extraordinarily charming young man.
"I'm surprised you aren't married already," she said without thinking, inwardly cringing at the not so subtle inquiry.
"If you're asking if I'm married or otherwise committed, I am not. The one downside to the RAF and Foreign Office is I move around a lot. Not many chances for establishing relationships, at least lasting ones," he replied with a tinge of regret. Magnus caught it.
"I'm sorry," she responded quietly.
Sean shook his head and smiled. "It's all right. As a consolation I get to meet new and interesting people like you." His eyes caught hers and locked. The silence hung heavy between them. After a moment he reached his hand across the table and carefully laid it atop of hers. "You are a beautiful woman, Helen. An enigma, but a beautiful one."
Helen's heart sped up at the touch. If she didn't put a stop to this soon, she had no doubt where this evening would end. Although the thought was not unappealing, she wasn't ready for it. Too many other emotions were swirling within her.
"Your tea, ma'am," the waiter interrupted, breaking the moment. Magnus took a few sips, glanced at her watch, and then decided it best to call it a night. "I'm sorry, Sean, I need to run. I'm going to be late."
"To your reception?"
"Yes."
"Not a problem. I'll walk you back to your hotel. It's only a couple of blocks away."
"That's kind of you, but I'll be fine."
"Helen," he touched her elbow lightly sending an unexpected shiver through her. "I'd feel better escorting you. It's a relatively safe neighborhood, but it is night time in D.C. Indulge me?"
She'd be perfectly fine on her own. Connecticut Avenue was nothing compared to the places she'd been, the experiences she'd had. Still, it was chivalrous of him, and truthfully, spending a few more minutes in his company would be a welcome distraction.
Ten minutes later and they had reached the Hotel Palomar. Several people she knew greeted her as they entered, squinting their eyes curiously at Magnus and her handsome escort.
"Well, this is it," Helen remarked looking up at the building and gazing forlornly at the front doors. She turned to Sean and extended her hand. "Mr. Langford, it's been a pleasure. Dinner was lovely, as was the company. I needed that far more than I realized. Thank you."
He nodded, half bowing. "The pleasure was all mine, Helen…just Helen," he teased about the lack of a last name. She laughed. Their eyes rested on one another's. That same warm sensation she'd felt all evening returned, like melted copper running through her veins, settling between her thighs. She swallowed and looked away. "I best be off," she said, slowly releasing his hand.
She spun around and started to walk through the door, the doorman holding it open for her, when she felt a gentle tug on her arm and turned around. Sean stood there, holding his hand out to her, palm up, his dark eyes heavy.
"Don't go. Please…," he said softly.
Magnus stood half in, half out of the doorway, the doorman curiously watching their exchange. She felt frozen, like she had two weeks ago, standing outside the main lab doors of the Sanctuary. Unable to respond. Unable to make a decision. Unable to voice her feelings.
Say something, Helen…Do something, Helen…For God's sake don't just stand here Helen!
She took a quick look inside the main lobby, watching as the guests gathered for the evening's reception in the ballroom. She closed her eyes for a moment, made her decision, then turned back around to face Sean and grabbed onto his extended hand like a lifeline.
"Let's go," she told him.
They were silent as he led her to the nearest metro station at Dupont Circle. They boarded the Red Line heading Northwest and out of the city. Rush hour was over, and the train was unusually empty. They made their way to a seat at the back, hands still clasped tight.
"Where are we going?" she asked once they sat down, fairly certain of the answer.
"To my apartment," he replied, squeezing her hand. "If that's all right?"
He looked at her shyly, waiting for a response.
"It's all right," she answered. Then Helen leaned forward, put her other hand on his cheek, stroked the dark stubble with her thumb, and pressed her lips against his. He tasted like wine and mint and smelled of musk and citrus, a scent so achingly familiar she wanted to cry. She opened herself wider inviting him in and he accepted, massaging her mouth with his tongue, gliding over her teeth, her cheeks. She answered him in kind, her tongue dancing with his, her grip on his hand growing tighter as she fought to keep her desire in check, to stem the growing dampness between her thighs.
He broke away for a moment and looked at her, both of them breathless. An elderly African-American woman a row away coughed and scowled at them. Two small children peeked backwards over their seats, giggling, their mother pulling them back, ordering them to sit down. A stylishly dressed woman on their right ignored them, reading the Washington Post. On the other side of the car several businessmen or politicians worked on their laptops, oblivious to the scent of sex hanging heavy in the air.
"Helen…" he started, his dark eyes filled with passion. She could see the arousal building in his fitted suit pants and yearned to touch it, stroke him, have him fill her. Drive away the demons that had been plaguing her these past two weeks.
The Demon.
She tipped her head back and resumed their kiss, moving her hand to his chest, caressing the taut muscles beneath his starched, white shirt. He let go of her hand and lifted his to her hair, running his fingers through her thick locks. The other he set on her knee, edging his way up the hem of her grey skirt, slowly sliding it underneath and over the silkiness of her black hose.
The train jolted to a stop, and they broke apart again, opening their eyes. "Tenleytown" the announcement said. The old woman grabbed her cane, got up, and mumbled "indecent" as she walked past them. There was a time Helen Magnus would have agreed. Public displays of affection were not her preference. But what she and Sean were doing was not affection; it was physical need in its most base form.
"The next stop is mine. Friendship Heights," Sean reported, his breathing staggered. "I seemed to have missed two or three along the way," he smiled embarrassed. "We got here faster than I anticipated."
Helen squeezed his hand again. "It's all right. We got here faster than I anticipated as well."
The doors opened, and Sean led Helen out of the subway and up the tunnel to Wisconsin Avenue. The night air had grown chill. He offered her his coat, and she took it. Not because she needed it, but because she could tell it was important to him to give her something.
His apartment building was several blocks away. They walked briskly in virtual silence, her arm in his, both of them quietly weighing the wisdom of their choice. But there was no turning back now, Magnus mused. Truthfully, she didn't want to. She'd been Dr. Helen Magnus for far too long. It would be a joy to simply be Helen for one night.
They arrived at the red brick steps of his apartment building, and Sean punched in his security code. "I'm on the third floor. Do you mind walking? The elevator's slow," he said apologetically.
"Not at all," Magnus answered the tension throbbing inside her like a drum.
They walked up the three flights of stairs, finally reaching his apartment. Sean took out his keys, fumbling with the lock. He was nervous. Nice to know he didn't make a habit of this as well. Finally, the door swung open, and he held it as Helen walked in. Sean followed after her, switching on a light, revealing a neat and elegant living room, impressive for a bachelor. It was minimally decorated, but given his job and his travels, no doubt he had little time to acquire things.
"May I get you a drink?" he stumbled, taking off the coat he'd draped on her and setting it down on the couch, the awkwardness between them hanging like a thick fog.
Helen took a step toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck, her blue eyes dark with desire, and whispered hotly in his ear, her tongue teasing his earlobe "Perhaps later. For now, there's something else I think I'd much prefer…"
It was all the permission he needed. Sean grabbed Helen around the waist and covered her mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue inside her, letting his arms drop to her bottom, kneading it roughly as he walked her backward toward the door. Helen hit it with a thud. "Sorry," Sean mumbled, then slid his lips away from hers and trailed his tongue down her neck, nibbling at her Chanel-scented skin. The sensation sent shockwaves of desire up and down Helen's body pooling in her center. She slipped out of her four-inch t-strap heels forcing him to dip his head down to keep in constant contact with her skin. Sean's hands left her butt and flew up to her lavender blouse, fumbling with the tiny pearl-shaped buttons, his lips seeking hers once more, then quickly cascading down to her chest as he opened the silky material to reveal her lacy, lilac colored bra.
Helen's arms traveled up and down Sean's back, falling down to his buttocks, grasping his firm ass, forcing his groin against hers, his heat meeting her heat. She could feel his erection straining through his pants and dropped her hands to release it, undoing the buckle of his trousers, pulling down his zipper while Sean yanked her bra straps down her arms, unhooked the front clasp, and released her full breasts. They were white as ivory, her nipples pink and erect from arousal. He paused a moment, taking in the sight of her. "You are so beautiful," he breathed. Then he dipped his head to her chest and began sucking her, moving from one breast to the other, pulling, nibbling, twisting, teasing her nipples between his teeth, causing Helen to wince in pain, the wetness between her thighs becoming a flood.
Sean reached around and undid her skirt, pulling it down over her hips and thighs, letting it pool at her feet. With her left hand she tangled her fingers in his thick, black hair, pressing him deeper into her breasts, urging him to suck even harder, heedless of the pain, the pleasure too much to ignore. Her right hand she dipped under the waist band of his boxers, releasing his erection and taking it in her palm, stroking him. He was big, impressively so, and she suddenly had the desire to taste him.
Without warning Helen dropped to her knees and took Sean's erection into her mouth, grasping his butt, and urging him in and out of her mouth in an age old rhythm. She could hear him groan with pleasure above her, his liquid sliding across her lips, her tongue teasing his head, scraping her teeth against his cock and nibbling at the bundle of nerves just under his tip. As she sucked him, he grew harder, his rhythm faster, his hips rocking back and forth against her lips. He settled his hands on top of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair and mumbling indecipherable words of pleasure as she lapped and sucked and nibbled his cock. She opened her mouth and throat wider so he could drive deeper inside her. His pace quickened at the change, and Helen became lost in the sensation of having his shaft batter the back of her throat, almost choking her. Her hands gripped his ass tighter in response, holding on to the driving rhythm he was setting, when, lost in passion, she slipped her finger into his anus. He started at the unexpected intrusion, and then cried out with pleasure as she worked her finger back and forth, mimicking the rhythm of his hips.
With a strained cry he suddenly pulled out of her mouth, holding her head back with his hands, his eyes almost black now with desire as he looked down at her.
"I don't want to come like this. I want to be inside you. May I come inside you, Helen?" he asked, breathless.
"Yes," Helen whispered looking up at him, her body completely aroused. "God, yes," she repeated and stood up and kissed him, the taste of his cock, his sex all over her lips.
"I want you," he whispered in her ear, breaking away from the kiss just long enough to speak. "I want to make you come, Helen. I want to make you come so hard you'll scream my name," he murmured, standing back and yanking her hose down over her thighs.
"Please…yes," was all she could manage.
He knelt to the ground, pulling her hose with him, kissing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, her knees as he did so with an almost quiet reverence. When he'd worked her stockings down to her toes, he lifted her feet, urging her to step out of them. She did so, standing virtually naked before him now, her hose and skirt gone, her bra undone, her breasts heaving out of the lavender blouse that still clung to her shoulders and arms.
He looked up at her, his dark eyes seeking her approval. She nodded, and he nudged her legs apart. He kissed her feet, her ankles, her calves, her knees, her thighs, working his way up achingly slowly toward her center. When he reached it, he grabbed a hold of her thighs and then plunged his mouth between her legs, lapping at the smooth, wet folds he found there, tasting her sex on his tongue, and teasing her clit with his teeth.
Helen threw her head back against the door, one hand on Sean's head, to steady herself or urge him onward she wasn't sure. The other flew up to her breast, kneading it between her fingers as he worked her pussy below, thrusting his tongue in and out of her then returning to her clit, licking and sucking it until her hips began rocking uncontrollably against him.
He held on tight, lapping her, kissing her, sucking her, swallowing her sweetness and darting his tongue in and out of her hot center until he thought he might come himself just from the feel and smell of her. She moved faster now, both of her hands grabbing tight to his hair, her legs shaking, her body slipping against the wall. He could tell she was close…so close.
Suddenly she cried out, her body stiffening, her fingers pulling at his hair, her pussy bucking against his lips. "Jesus…god…sweet Jesus…" he heard her gasp as she rocked against him, riding out her orgasm.
When she was finished, her body limp, Sean pulled himself back up. He lifted Helen's satiated limbs with him, wrapping her legs around his waist, holding his arms under her bottom and leaning her against the door. Without preamble he drove into her. She was wet and hot and tight from her orgasm. He was firm and thick and intensely masculine. She cried out at the sudden invasion throwing her arms around his neck for stability, trying to hang on.
Sean pounded into her, knocking her against the door, hearing her cry out in pleasure and pain. He hesitated, not wanting to hurt her, but she urged him on, whispering words of encouragement into his ear. "Yes…harder…God…yes…harder….Please."
He did as she commanded, driving into her as hard and as fast as he could. He could feel his climax building, her muscles tightening around him. With one final blow he thrust into her, slamming her against the door with a forceful thud, causing the lampshade on the end table to fall over and shatter. As he poured himself into her, he heard her cry out, coming again, her muscles clenching around his shaft.
"John!" she screamed.
It sounded like John, not Sean. He wasn't sure. He stood holding her against the door, his shirt dripping in sweat, his body sticky against hers. Helen clung to him tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck, trying to catch her breath, unable to speak. Finally she found her voice.
"I think I could use that drink now," she panted, her voice smiling. Sean chuckled into her neck.
Half an hour and a hot shower later, Helen and Sean sat in companionable silence on the couch staring at the flames of his gas jet fireplace. He'd given her his robe to wear, poured her a glass of Merlot, and dug out some cheese and crackers from his kitchen while she cleaned up, the two of them ravenous from their earlier activities. Helen leaned against his sturdy frame, letting Sean curl his arm around her shoulders and play with the strands of her hair.
For a one night stand, it was turning out to be remarkably civil.
"Who's John?" Sean asked, suddenly breaching the silence between them.
Helen stiffened. "John?"
Sean took a sip of his wine. "Mmm. You said his name when you came the second time. When I was pounding you into the door? Remember?" She could hear the laughter in his voice.
She sat up to look at him. "Yes, I remember quite vividly," she smiled. "And I said 'Sean' not 'John.'"
He shook his head. "I don't think so."
Helen narrowed her eyes. Had she said John's name? Good God, she wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed by the slip or the cliché-ness of it all.
"Is he your husband?"
"No!" Magnus protested. "I'm not married. I would have told you."
"Good. I have standards you know."
She laughed.
"Seriously, who is he?"
Magnus sighed. She'd given him so little; she could give him this one truth. She leaned back against the couch and into his arms.
"My fiancé. Things ended…badly between us. I saw him again recently and…." She fell silent.
"And?" he urged her on.
She looked up at him. "And I left too many things unsaid." She paused. "I'm sorry if I said his name. I'm very sorry. He's just been on my mind and truthfully, you remind me of him."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
She smiled wistfully. "Good."
"Do I look like him? Talk like him? What is it?" Sean prodded her.
"You really want to know?"
"I do."
Helen took another sip of her wine and stared at the fire. "You sound like him. You smell like him. If I closed my eyes...You could almost be him." She trailed off.
They were silent for a time, each sipping their wine, lost in their individual thoughts.
"You're still in love with him."
It was a statement, not a question.
Helen nodded, acknowledging to Sean what she couldn't say to John. "Yes, I am."
Sean took a final sip of his wine, set his glass down on the coffee table, and held Helen tighter in his arms. "And after tonight, I won't see you again, will I?" he asked softly.
She felt an unexpected sadness run through her. "Probably not, no."
He nodded. "Then let me give you something to remember…."
She turned and looked at him, curious as to what he meant.
"Close your eyes," he whispered.
"Why?"
Sean frowned and tilted his head. "Humor me."
Helen closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt his fingers gently brushing her cheeks, her neck. Feather light kisses sprinkled her forehead, her nose, her eyes, her cheeks. They moved to her lips, brushing them softly, then deepening the kiss, slowly, sensually. The scent of cologne, John's cologne, citrus and musk, hung heavy in the air.
"You're beautiful Helen," she heard him say, his voice so like John's it made her heart ache. "He'd be a fool not to love you in return."
He laid her down on the couch and made love to her, slowly and gently, and throughout it all, she kept her eyes closed.
END