AN: I had to upload this again, there was a small mistake in the HTML that needed fixing. Thanks to Kat for being a beta who doesn't miss a thing. Her additions (and suggestions) have been invaluable! This story came to me as I listened to the "A Life Less Ordinary" soundtrack. I'm sure you diehard Ewan fans have seen the film; the soundtrack is just amazing. The song that inspired this is "Don't Leave" by Faithless. Comments are always welcome.
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Jekyll Island
Chapter One: Fuses
by Rach
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Gunshots. Screams. Fingernails clawing at splintered
wood. The echo of heavy, but fast footsteps in a long, white hallway. Running.
Blood, always blood.
She doesn't gasp for air as she wakes; these images are not new, nor as disturbing as they once were. She is calm, although her heart is beating faster than it should be. Her mind is blank for a few seconds as she slows her breathing and stretches, her bare body rubbing against the cotton sheet.
The first thought is that she's safe. The second, after inhaling a familiar scent, is that he must've burned the coffee again.
She rolls onto her side, her eyes struggling to open. Her hand, imprinted with the wrinkles of four-star hotel sheets, instinctively moves to block the brightness. After a few brief moments, she lets her arm flop back down to the soft mattress with a cushioned thud. Through squinted eyes and mussed tendrils of hair, all she sees is his familiar form silhouetted in the mid-morning sunlight, arms folded, in front of the window. The window with the gauzy white tab-top curtains. The curtains that still remind her of dressing a wound.
She remembers seeing the curtains whip in the late summer breeze last night when they returned, laughing, his hand on the small of her back. She could feel his warmth through the white linen dress, damp with her sweat. "I must've forgottento close the window," he said in between heated kisses. Her giggle morphed into a gasp as his hands met the zipper of her dress, brushing the nape of her neck. "Don't care," a whispered reply in his ear. Her hands cupped his face, feeling his strong, angular jawline with her lean fingers. Their eyes met and their smiles melted as a silent acknowledgment occurred. This was something they both wanted.
"I've always wanted you, Sydney," he said. His voice was rough with emotion and need. Her hands moved to the back of his head, digging into his hair, sliding on the perspiration of his scalp, to bring his lips to hers. The words "I know" were smothered by their kiss. No more words were needed as hands and lips roamed freely, desperately. It wasn't awkward, it wasn't planned, it just happened, as natural as the night's southern Georgia humidity.
As they moved to the king-sized bed, littered with pillows, her mind was concentrating only on the next moment, the next caress, the next article of clothing to be discarded. And slowly, things began falling from her consciousness. A smell, a taste, a sound - they all blurred and faded until all that was left was a lyric she had heard once on the college radio station.
His fingers were fuses.
"Don't leave." Her voice is hoarse, but she doesn't bother clearing her throat. She can still taste him on her tongue.
"Hey," he says quietly, as if he is still in danger of waking her. With one smooth movement, he's there, sitting on the bed. "How'd you sleep?"
Now that he's out of the sunlight, she can see him properly. The white linen shirt and khaki shorts are a good choice for what seems like another steamy day. Just as she's about to ask if he forgot to turn on the air conditioning, his smile catches her off-guard. Nice gleaming teeth, full lips. She's always thought he had a nice smile, but now.now everything is different. A new, raw process of discovering the contours of his body, the curve of his lips, the silky feel of his tongue.
"Mmmmm," she breathes, her dimples deepening as she grins. "I think I slept for twenty hours."
"Actually," he replies, turning the clock to face her. "You only slept five." He shoots her a rakish grin.
"Ohhh, you stud," she says jokingly, leaning toward him.
"I would say the same about you, exceptI don't know what the female version of stud is" Their proximity keeps him from laughing. She observes him observing her. "You're beautiful."
"That's the phrase used to describe a female stud?"
He grabs a fluffy pillow from the pile on the floor and taps it gently on her forehead. "You still can't accept a compliment," he laughs.
The smile leaves her face briefly as she recalls the only compliment that ever made her blush.
"You look really pretty."
It was ages ago, but the moment will forever be etched in her memory. Michael Vaughn. The name that used to rest on her lips each night before drifting off to sleep. The man who had saved her life on many occasions. The man who risked his life too often in order to keep her safe.
She briefly wonders what could've been.
"Hey, Syd?" She's brought back to reality.
"Huh?" She's grinning again, pushing thoughts of the past aside.
"You don'tfeel weird about last night, do you?"
He's concerned. Of course he is.
"No, no." she attempts to straighten her messy hair. "Do you?"
Brushing the stray strands out of her face, his eyes burn into hers. "Are you kidding? God, it was - you are.amazing. I mean, there are no words." His hand is now stroking her cheek.
Desire is stirring. Sitting up slightly, she halfheartedly attempts to adjust the lightweight sheet that partially covers her naked body. She bridges the scant gap between their faces, gently taking his lower lip between hers.
He pulls away slightly when he feels her smile. "What?"
His eyes are this ethereal, shocking blue. She's never seen them so bright. Or just maybe she's never paid them enough attention before now.
"I was just thinking that for being a writer, you're having quite a difficult time with words this morning, Will."
He brushes his lips over hers roughly in response. His stubble grazes her face, leaving a sensual stinging in its wake. God, she wants more of him. So much more than she ever thought possible. If she lets it, the void will be filled. She will be normal. And one day she'll forgetthe wounds will heal.and eventually the scars will fade and disappear.
"You knowcheck-out is at 11," he breathes in her ear.
"Mmmmhmmmm," she replies, longing to touch him. Physical intimacy is something she's not used to, it having been so long since she felt this way. And even though her feelings for Will mirror those she had for the last man she slept with, they lack the magnitude. Because he's not Vaughn. "I don't care."
"Um, yeahI don't either," he laughs, a smile tugging his lips upward.
What a sweet smile. The smile of a person who doesn't have to lie every day.
"Should we stay here another day?" he asks, almost absentmindedly, his fingers toying with the sheet. She is aching for his touch. "Do you think this heat will let up?"
Fitting.
"I don't know, Will." She lets him push the sheet off her torso. "I'm not good at predicting those kind of things."
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AN:
Patience, my dear friends. In the next part(s), we'll find out how Will and Syd
made it to this point, I promise. Oh, yeah, and what happened with Vaughn. "His
fingers were fuses" is a reference to Beth Orton's "Stolen Car"
- the actual lyric is "Your fingers like fuses, Your eyes were cinnamon."
Love that song. Jekyll Island, a barrier island, is located in south coastal Georgia,
about an hour north of Jacksonville, Fla.
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