Holding On
*SD-6 is gone, Syd and Vaughn have been married, Sark is jealous*
All he ever wanted was Sydney, to feel her soft skin against his once more. To be able to kiss her beautiful lips and know that they were his forever. To be able to take a stroll in the park and sling his arm casually around her delicate figure and have that smile, such a sweet smile, beam up at him as they playfully teased each other. It ate away at him every day, the longing, the pain. She wasn't his. It made him sick to imagine Vaughn taking her to dinner, running his finger over her cheekbones, whispering words of passion in her ears. Sark wanted that, needed that, and it killed him.
That should be me. Sydney should be mine.
This infatuation filled his thoughts day and night. He could not fall asleep thinking of how it was Vaughn that got to snuggle close to her before they drifted off and whisper "I love you" every night. It was Vaughn that could stroke her hair and hold her close while watching a movie. It was Vaughn who could caress her graceful neck with kiss after kiss and take her breath away. It was Vaughn. Sark was tortured. Even the nights he was able to slip into a restless sleep, he would awake to a pounding headache. Open his eyes to the reality that she wasn't next to him on the bed. Wake up to have dizziness overcome him. Sometimes he was confused.
Why didn't Sydney choose me?
Most days he was angry and upset. He couldn't erase the memory of her from his mind. It was etched on his heart. He remembered about one time. The memory that kept him hanging onto her, the memory that wouldn't go away.
*flashback*a dark hotel room in Russia*
"Sydney." He moaned as the rhythmic movements of they're bodies made his heart beat faster.
Almost like a dream the night had unfolded to this. Earlier that evening Sydney and Sark had raced each other to steal a disk from a man named Boris Smirnoff. Sark won this time; knocking Sydney down with a kick to the head. Smirking, "Miss Bristow, looks like I've won again." as he turned and ran out of the dank office, leaving Sydney with the unconscious Smirnoff on the floor. It didn't take long, however for Sydney to pick herself up and chase after him, until a thought crossed her mind and a smug smile crept across her face. She trailed Sark at a distance now, determined to get the disk back.
Sark heard a knock on his hotel door. Cocking his gun, he stood to the side and opened the door carefully. Like lightning, the door was forced towards him and a gun pointed at his nose. "Don't. Move." She growled. Plucking his gun from his fingers, she proceeded to unload it, toss it across the room and then smirk Sark's famous smirk.
"Ahh Miss Bristow.I see you are enjoying this, I'm elated you stopped by to chat. You found me rather easily"
"Don't flatter yourself, you know what I'm here for. And you are rather easy to tail. Give me the disk now."
"Are you sure you didn't come for something else"
"What the hell is that supposed to mea-"
Sark had taken the opportunity to make a quick grab for her gun, ending up smacking it onto the floor. The two made eye contact for one second-her eyes glittering with malice, his eyes glittering with game- and then both dove for the gun. After a short struggle, Sark snatched it up and quickly pointed it at Sydney before they had a chance to stand.
"This is what I mean" he said as he leaned over and kissed her. At first, Sydney tried to resist, but then Sark deepened the kiss and Sydney gave in, rolling over on top of him, violently unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his pants. Sark then flipped her onto her back and did the same. Pausing for a second, they moved up onto the bed and then continued until all of the clothes were scattered on the floor, and it was just skin touching skin as they explored each other with a kind of fury unexplained.
*end flashback*
Sark had thought that they had felt something real, true, and genuine. Now he wasn't sure anymore if it was honest love, or just a sudden desire, an intense spur-of-the-moment attraction that their bodies felt. He was still hopeful. And that's why he couldn't let her memory go. That's why he needed to hold on.
*SD-6 is gone, Syd and Vaughn have been married, Sark is jealous*
All he ever wanted was Sydney, to feel her soft skin against his once more. To be able to kiss her beautiful lips and know that they were his forever. To be able to take a stroll in the park and sling his arm casually around her delicate figure and have that smile, such a sweet smile, beam up at him as they playfully teased each other. It ate away at him every day, the longing, the pain. She wasn't his. It made him sick to imagine Vaughn taking her to dinner, running his finger over her cheekbones, whispering words of passion in her ears. Sark wanted that, needed that, and it killed him.
That should be me. Sydney should be mine.
This infatuation filled his thoughts day and night. He could not fall asleep thinking of how it was Vaughn that got to snuggle close to her before they drifted off and whisper "I love you" every night. It was Vaughn that could stroke her hair and hold her close while watching a movie. It was Vaughn who could caress her graceful neck with kiss after kiss and take her breath away. It was Vaughn. Sark was tortured. Even the nights he was able to slip into a restless sleep, he would awake to a pounding headache. Open his eyes to the reality that she wasn't next to him on the bed. Wake up to have dizziness overcome him. Sometimes he was confused.
Why didn't Sydney choose me?
Most days he was angry and upset. He couldn't erase the memory of her from his mind. It was etched on his heart. He remembered about one time. The memory that kept him hanging onto her, the memory that wouldn't go away.
*flashback*a dark hotel room in Russia*
"Sydney." He moaned as the rhythmic movements of they're bodies made his heart beat faster.
Almost like a dream the night had unfolded to this. Earlier that evening Sydney and Sark had raced each other to steal a disk from a man named Boris Smirnoff. Sark won this time; knocking Sydney down with a kick to the head. Smirking, "Miss Bristow, looks like I've won again." as he turned and ran out of the dank office, leaving Sydney with the unconscious Smirnoff on the floor. It didn't take long, however for Sydney to pick herself up and chase after him, until a thought crossed her mind and a smug smile crept across her face. She trailed Sark at a distance now, determined to get the disk back.
Sark heard a knock on his hotel door. Cocking his gun, he stood to the side and opened the door carefully. Like lightning, the door was forced towards him and a gun pointed at his nose. "Don't. Move." She growled. Plucking his gun from his fingers, she proceeded to unload it, toss it across the room and then smirk Sark's famous smirk.
"Ahh Miss Bristow.I see you are enjoying this, I'm elated you stopped by to chat. You found me rather easily"
"Don't flatter yourself, you know what I'm here for. And you are rather easy to tail. Give me the disk now."
"Are you sure you didn't come for something else"
"What the hell is that supposed to mea-"
Sark had taken the opportunity to make a quick grab for her gun, ending up smacking it onto the floor. The two made eye contact for one second-her eyes glittering with malice, his eyes glittering with game- and then both dove for the gun. After a short struggle, Sark snatched it up and quickly pointed it at Sydney before they had a chance to stand.
"This is what I mean" he said as he leaned over and kissed her. At first, Sydney tried to resist, but then Sark deepened the kiss and Sydney gave in, rolling over on top of him, violently unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his pants. Sark then flipped her onto her back and did the same. Pausing for a second, they moved up onto the bed and then continued until all of the clothes were scattered on the floor, and it was just skin touching skin as they explored each other with a kind of fury unexplained.
*end flashback*
Sark had thought that they had felt something real, true, and genuine. Now he wasn't sure anymore if it was honest love, or just a sudden desire, an intense spur-of-the-moment attraction that their bodies felt. He was still hopeful. And that's why he couldn't let her memory go. That's why he needed to hold on.