The Red Dress
An MI2 fanfiction
Aniah
* * *
Hi everyone!Not quite my usual BSSM, but IÕm on a Dougray Scott (Sean Ambrose) fetish right now, so bear with me! email me at: AniaHope@aol.com THANK YOU! And now, the fic...
* * *
"Love lost is like a stab in the side
Love gained is heaven in earth
Love lost and then regained is
Like a peace treaty between
Satan and God
* * *
Nyah Nordoff Hall moved slowly through the yacht Burgomask. Slipping into the masterÕs cabin, she removed the wood panelling from behind his desk. Grinning with expectation, she slipped the smoothly chained gold and sapphire necklace known as the Pride into her cleavage.
ÒNot quite the master thief, are you?Ó The voice was accented, rolling the rÕs and soft. Nyah turned to face the IMF agent that had been following her the past few days. Discreet as he had been, she had noticed him immediately, wherever she was.
Her eyes bore deep into his, almost into the soul. He was tranfixed, for a moment. ÒPut it back, nice and slow.Ó Sean Ambrose pulled a gun from seemingly nowhere. Throwing up her arms in despair, she did so.
Then, before he could blink, Nyah was out of the door and into a waiting motorboat. It would be three years before they met again.
* * *
Sean Ambrose, now promoted in the IMF to a master agent, the equal of Ethan Hunt, took a vodka from the bartender in an Italian nightclub. Swigging the drink in one gulp, he perimetered the dance floor. It was his night off and he was going to make the best of it.
Nyah Hall, grinding with a stranger, pocketed his wallet in a snap. Without looking back, she exited into the back alley. ÒPretty good work,Ó a man behind her drawled. Turning to insult him, she realized how familiar his face looked.
ÒWhat of it?Ó She quipped.
ÒI always had a thing for the color red,Ó he commented, moving closer. Slipping the wallet into a black boot, Nyah put her arms around SeanÕs shoulders. ÒLooking for a place to spend the night?Ó She asked.
* * *
The next few months were blurry, all pushed together in NyahÕs mind. She had moved into SeanÕs HQ, a small but beautiful chateau in the foothills of the Alps. Their bedroom was furnished with white and mahogany. Many nights were spent in front of a roaring cedar fire, toasting to their future.
Eight months after their meeting at the Italian night club, Sean left for a IMF mission in Montreal. He emailed every day. He had taken Hugh with him, so it was just Nyah and the household help. Taking advantage of the situation, she prowled the net for a quick job she could do before Sean got back. There was nothing. She checked her mail, before logging off. There was the customary from Sean, and an anonymous email:
Got a job for you. Meet me at the Windrider's pub in the village, 4:30pm on the 18th. Sit by the fireplace.
J
Stifling a shriek of joy, Nyah went to the dresser in their room and, from a compartment, withdrew her most valued tools. "Looks like I'm back in buisness!"
The 18th came, and, wearing a tight pair of stonewashed jeans and a brown turtleneck, Nyah breezed into Windrider's. "Hot cider," she said to the bartender. Pulling out a thick book, she sat in an easy chair by the fire.
"I have a job for you," the trench-coated figure commented. "You up to it?" Nyah bit back a grin.
"Of course," she said.
"A month from now, M. F_____ in Barcelona will be auctioning a valuable emerald-and-sapphire necklace that has been a family heirloom for years. You will infiltrate the pre-auction gala, and take it from under their noses. Bring it to Madrid, and you will be paid a hefty sum." Shaking on it, Nyah left the pub and snowmobiled home to the Chateau.
* * *
ne? Did it suck?! I am SO running out of ideas. Email me: AniaHope@aol.com Ja ne!
Aniahchan
* * *
An MI2 fanfiction
Aniah
* * *
Hi everyone!Not quite my usual BSSM, but IÕm on a Dougray Scott (Sean Ambrose) fetish right now, so bear with me! email me at: AniaHope@aol.com THANK YOU! And now, the fic...
* * *
"Love lost is like a stab in the side
Love gained is heaven in earth
Love lost and then regained is
Like a peace treaty between
Satan and God
* * *
Nyah Nordoff Hall moved slowly through the yacht Burgomask. Slipping into the masterÕs cabin, she removed the wood panelling from behind his desk. Grinning with expectation, she slipped the smoothly chained gold and sapphire necklace known as the Pride into her cleavage.
ÒNot quite the master thief, are you?Ó The voice was accented, rolling the rÕs and soft. Nyah turned to face the IMF agent that had been following her the past few days. Discreet as he had been, she had noticed him immediately, wherever she was.
Her eyes bore deep into his, almost into the soul. He was tranfixed, for a moment. ÒPut it back, nice and slow.Ó Sean Ambrose pulled a gun from seemingly nowhere. Throwing up her arms in despair, she did so.
Then, before he could blink, Nyah was out of the door and into a waiting motorboat. It would be three years before they met again.
* * *
Sean Ambrose, now promoted in the IMF to a master agent, the equal of Ethan Hunt, took a vodka from the bartender in an Italian nightclub. Swigging the drink in one gulp, he perimetered the dance floor. It was his night off and he was going to make the best of it.
Nyah Hall, grinding with a stranger, pocketed his wallet in a snap. Without looking back, she exited into the back alley. ÒPretty good work,Ó a man behind her drawled. Turning to insult him, she realized how familiar his face looked.
ÒWhat of it?Ó She quipped.
ÒI always had a thing for the color red,Ó he commented, moving closer. Slipping the wallet into a black boot, Nyah put her arms around SeanÕs shoulders. ÒLooking for a place to spend the night?Ó She asked.
* * *
The next few months were blurry, all pushed together in NyahÕs mind. She had moved into SeanÕs HQ, a small but beautiful chateau in the foothills of the Alps. Their bedroom was furnished with white and mahogany. Many nights were spent in front of a roaring cedar fire, toasting to their future.
Eight months after their meeting at the Italian night club, Sean left for a IMF mission in Montreal. He emailed every day. He had taken Hugh with him, so it was just Nyah and the household help. Taking advantage of the situation, she prowled the net for a quick job she could do before Sean got back. There was nothing. She checked her mail, before logging off. There was the customary from Sean, and an anonymous email:
Got a job for you. Meet me at the Windrider's pub in the village, 4:30pm on the 18th. Sit by the fireplace.
J
Stifling a shriek of joy, Nyah went to the dresser in their room and, from a compartment, withdrew her most valued tools. "Looks like I'm back in buisness!"
The 18th came, and, wearing a tight pair of stonewashed jeans and a brown turtleneck, Nyah breezed into Windrider's. "Hot cider," she said to the bartender. Pulling out a thick book, she sat in an easy chair by the fire.
"I have a job for you," the trench-coated figure commented. "You up to it?" Nyah bit back a grin.
"Of course," she said.
"A month from now, M. F_____ in Barcelona will be auctioning a valuable emerald-and-sapphire necklace that has been a family heirloom for years. You will infiltrate the pre-auction gala, and take it from under their noses. Bring it to Madrid, and you will be paid a hefty sum." Shaking on it, Nyah left the pub and snowmobiled home to the Chateau.
* * *
ne? Did it suck?! I am SO running out of ideas. Email me: AniaHope@aol.com Ja ne!
Aniahchan
* * *