Title: Inevitable Dreams
Author: M & M, Emma, Emmer...whatever you wish to call me. :D
Disclaimer: Everyone in here belongs to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot.
Spoilers: Post "After Six."
Summary: Lauren "confronts" Vaughn about what Cole said about Vaughn's "extracurricular sextivities." Vaughn works through his feelings about his "loveless marriage".
AN: I'm aware this is kind of OOC for Vaughn, but maybe it's not, who knows. I wrote this on Monday since I didn't have school and I've proofread it a couple times but it hasn't been beta-ed. It was just itching to be written and I didn't feel like waiting to post it. Although I ended up doing that anyway, since SD-1 was down. I finally decided just to post it here. And apparently I'm an ff.net failure and I couldn't get the italics and bolds to work, so I took them out. If anyone wants to enlighten me that would be great. :D
So, forgive my mistakes and enjoy! :) And I adore feedback...
Inevitable Dreams (1/1)
Shutting the door, I throw my keys on the small table in the hall. I sigh as I kick my shoes under said table, before walking further into the house.
"Honey?" I hear her voice from the living room.
"Yeah, it's me," I say, half-heartedly. It was a long day at work and all I want to do is eat dinner and go to sleep, dreaming the inevitable dreams of her.
Walking into the living room, I gasp audibly. Lauren is standing in a stunning red dress; the room is dimly lit with scented candles and rose petals are scattered all over.
"Lauren, this is beautiful. You look beautiful. What's the occasion?" I smile politely. She couldn't have picked a worse night.
"What? I can't do something nice for my handsome husband every once and awhile?" She looks at me seductively and usually this would affect me.
"Besides," she continues, "I saw this dress in the store and I couldn't wait for you to see it."
"It is truly beautiful on you."
"I had trouble deciding whether to pick this or the same one in black, but a little voice told me you would like the red better."
Black or red.
Images of Sydney in her red and black lingerie on the plane play through my mind. I force myself to concentrate on my wife.
"The voice was right. This dress is amazing." I decide there is nothing I can do to get out of this so I try my best to step in to character. "I bet it will look even better off."
"Down boy. Dinner first."
During dinner we revisit the mundane topics such as work and missions. It suddenly occurs to me that she had gone on a "trip" for a few days and I didn't even know where she went.
"So where were you the last couple of days?"
"What, you don't trust me?"
Whoa. Did I ever say that? But for the record, no, I don't trust you.
"Of course I do. I just wanted to know where you went – just curious." I'm such a great actor.
"I went to visit my dad."
"Oh? How is he?"
"He's doing okay. He sends his love, of course. What did you do while I was gone? I hope you didn't find yourself a lover." She laughs, as if what she had just said was absurd.
I take in a short breath and laugh too. "I had a mission in Chamonix," I say nonchalantly, as if the normal person goes to a chalet and nearly gets killed by a lethal security system.
"With Sydney?"
"And Jack."
She seems to approve of the fact that we weren't alone on the mission.
"Did you get what you needed?"
"Yeah, it went well." Except, for the fact that we could have died about 5 different ways. But that was to be expected.
"Did you hear that Marshall and Carrie got married and that she's having a baby?"
"Yeah, it happened in the middle of our mission, actually."
"Oh."
Awkward silence. Do marriages have awkward silences? No, but loveless ones do.
Our marriage isn't loveless.
"I'll bring out some dessert."
I sigh as I watch her retreating form. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves someone who can love her and devote his whole life to her. I don't deserve her.
She had prepared a delicious key-lime pie, my favorite. Sydney's favorite is lemon meringue and she could never understand my addiction to key lime. Lauren's favorite is pumpkin. Or is it apple?
We smile and gaze into each other's eyes, searching for some semblance of love and it's then that I notice that her eyes don't shine with love either.
Our marriage isn't loveless. I have to believe this.
She feeds me pieces of the pie and I take this as a hint that I'm supposed to do the same. I feel a crumb of pie slide down my lip and before I have the chance to lick it away, her face is near mine and her tongue has flicked out to catch the crumb. She begins to back away but I pull her face close to mine and her lips grab mine in a searing kiss. She pulls back and smiles seductively.
"Let's go to bed."
I nod, reduced to non-verbal answers. She leads me to our bedroom, swaying her hips sensually as we go. I have to admit, she's got that swaying thing down pretty well.
As soon as we enter the bedroom, she slams the door shut and lurches toward me, her lips on mine in an instant. I reciprocate her actions, only half- wishing she were Sydney, which is a very big step for me.
She drags me hungrily towards the bed and bites down on my bottom lip. Hard. I look at her, slightly hurt, but more aroused. I lick my lip, reveling in the metallic taste of blood.
"What was that for?"
She shrugs nonchalantly. She has never been this...feral before. Usually our lovemaking is sweet and sensual. You could never have called it f*cking.
She pulls me back towards her and nibbles my collarbone, sinking her teeth down to draw more blood. Two can play this game.
I push her violently back against the dressing table sending trinkets and picture frames clattering to the ground. I vaguely remember hearing the glass of her favorite frame shattering. I essentially drop her on the table, not caring if she gets hurt in the process. She leans back against the mirror, letting her legs spread open wide, inviting me.
Unable to reach the zipper on her dress, in my lust-induced stupor, I rip her dress from the bottom, not caring how expensive it was. I bite my bruising lip when I find that she's bare underneath her dress.
Seemingly aroused by this gesture, she yanks my tie so that I stumble nearer and I have to place my hands on either side of her so that I don't fall.
She places a hand under my chin, forcing me to look at her. She smiles sweetly. "I want you to make love to me."
Make love? This kind of sex could hardly be categorized as making love. She obviously sees my confusion.
"What? You don't call this making love?"
I laugh nervously. "Well..."
She smiles sardonically. "No, you're right. I want you to f*ck me." She says these words slowly and deliberately; the ultimate seductress.
I quickly shed myself of my pants and boxers and stand before her, still wondering where she acquired this primal streak, not that I particularly minded.
She leans in, nibbling my earlobe gently. "F*ck me, dear."
I willingly comply and thrust into her deeply. She cries out in pain but yearns for more. She adjusts her hips so that she can thrust in time with me. The mirror rattles and I think it even cracks. She claws at my back, unfortunately scratching some of my bruises. I hiss in pain but don't pull out.
I remember to cry out my wife's name as I come violently into her. Recalling the physical pain she caused me earlier in the night, I pull out of her, denying her an orgasm. She cries at the abrupt loss of contact.
I saunter over to our bed, backwards, teasingly unbuttoning my shirt as I go.
She jumps off the counter on to me, pushing me onto the bed.
"I need you to make me come."
"No."
"No?!" She is livid.
"Not until you tell me what's bothering you." See? I am the caring husband-type.
"Not now."
"Yes, now. You've never acted like this before."
She stares in my eyes and I see desire and anger – no love.
"You've been f*cking her." And with those words she impales herself on me, leaving me no time to even understand what she just said.
"And I'll bet that you think of her when you're f*cking me," she continues.
"I...don't," I half-groan.
"Liar!" she moans, clenching her muscles around my throbbing erection.
I'm about to come again, but this time I thrust a finger inside her, thumbing her to ecstasy with me.
She collapses on me, trying to catch her breath.
I want to say something, deny the accusations against me, but I don't. Clearly, there's a lot we need to talk about. We'll talk in the morning. Maybe my marriage will be over tomorrow or maybe it will be even stronger, and honestly I don't mind either way. I look over at the cracked mirror and through the light of the moon I can see our reflection. Tonight we lay in bed, reveling in the best sex we've had since our wedding night.
It's times like these I can't help but think I should leave Lauren for Sydney, but I push these thoughts away. We'll talk through everything in the morning and be perfectly happy. After all, I'm not literally f*cking Sydney, only in those inevitable dreams that will come even tonight.
Our marriage isn't loveless.
Our marriage isn't loveless.
Our marriage is loveless.
Fin.
Author: M & M, Emma, Emmer...whatever you wish to call me. :D
Disclaimer: Everyone in here belongs to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot.
Spoilers: Post "After Six."
Summary: Lauren "confronts" Vaughn about what Cole said about Vaughn's "extracurricular sextivities." Vaughn works through his feelings about his "loveless marriage".
AN: I'm aware this is kind of OOC for Vaughn, but maybe it's not, who knows. I wrote this on Monday since I didn't have school and I've proofread it a couple times but it hasn't been beta-ed. It was just itching to be written and I didn't feel like waiting to post it. Although I ended up doing that anyway, since SD-1 was down. I finally decided just to post it here. And apparently I'm an ff.net failure and I couldn't get the italics and bolds to work, so I took them out. If anyone wants to enlighten me that would be great. :D
So, forgive my mistakes and enjoy! :) And I adore feedback...
Inevitable Dreams (1/1)
Shutting the door, I throw my keys on the small table in the hall. I sigh as I kick my shoes under said table, before walking further into the house.
"Honey?" I hear her voice from the living room.
"Yeah, it's me," I say, half-heartedly. It was a long day at work and all I want to do is eat dinner and go to sleep, dreaming the inevitable dreams of her.
Walking into the living room, I gasp audibly. Lauren is standing in a stunning red dress; the room is dimly lit with scented candles and rose petals are scattered all over.
"Lauren, this is beautiful. You look beautiful. What's the occasion?" I smile politely. She couldn't have picked a worse night.
"What? I can't do something nice for my handsome husband every once and awhile?" She looks at me seductively and usually this would affect me.
"Besides," she continues, "I saw this dress in the store and I couldn't wait for you to see it."
"It is truly beautiful on you."
"I had trouble deciding whether to pick this or the same one in black, but a little voice told me you would like the red better."
Black or red.
Images of Sydney in her red and black lingerie on the plane play through my mind. I force myself to concentrate on my wife.
"The voice was right. This dress is amazing." I decide there is nothing I can do to get out of this so I try my best to step in to character. "I bet it will look even better off."
"Down boy. Dinner first."
During dinner we revisit the mundane topics such as work and missions. It suddenly occurs to me that she had gone on a "trip" for a few days and I didn't even know where she went.
"So where were you the last couple of days?"
"What, you don't trust me?"
Whoa. Did I ever say that? But for the record, no, I don't trust you.
"Of course I do. I just wanted to know where you went – just curious." I'm such a great actor.
"I went to visit my dad."
"Oh? How is he?"
"He's doing okay. He sends his love, of course. What did you do while I was gone? I hope you didn't find yourself a lover." She laughs, as if what she had just said was absurd.
I take in a short breath and laugh too. "I had a mission in Chamonix," I say nonchalantly, as if the normal person goes to a chalet and nearly gets killed by a lethal security system.
"With Sydney?"
"And Jack."
She seems to approve of the fact that we weren't alone on the mission.
"Did you get what you needed?"
"Yeah, it went well." Except, for the fact that we could have died about 5 different ways. But that was to be expected.
"Did you hear that Marshall and Carrie got married and that she's having a baby?"
"Yeah, it happened in the middle of our mission, actually."
"Oh."
Awkward silence. Do marriages have awkward silences? No, but loveless ones do.
Our marriage isn't loveless.
"I'll bring out some dessert."
I sigh as I watch her retreating form. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves someone who can love her and devote his whole life to her. I don't deserve her.
She had prepared a delicious key-lime pie, my favorite. Sydney's favorite is lemon meringue and she could never understand my addiction to key lime. Lauren's favorite is pumpkin. Or is it apple?
We smile and gaze into each other's eyes, searching for some semblance of love and it's then that I notice that her eyes don't shine with love either.
Our marriage isn't loveless. I have to believe this.
She feeds me pieces of the pie and I take this as a hint that I'm supposed to do the same. I feel a crumb of pie slide down my lip and before I have the chance to lick it away, her face is near mine and her tongue has flicked out to catch the crumb. She begins to back away but I pull her face close to mine and her lips grab mine in a searing kiss. She pulls back and smiles seductively.
"Let's go to bed."
I nod, reduced to non-verbal answers. She leads me to our bedroom, swaying her hips sensually as we go. I have to admit, she's got that swaying thing down pretty well.
As soon as we enter the bedroom, she slams the door shut and lurches toward me, her lips on mine in an instant. I reciprocate her actions, only half- wishing she were Sydney, which is a very big step for me.
She drags me hungrily towards the bed and bites down on my bottom lip. Hard. I look at her, slightly hurt, but more aroused. I lick my lip, reveling in the metallic taste of blood.
"What was that for?"
She shrugs nonchalantly. She has never been this...feral before. Usually our lovemaking is sweet and sensual. You could never have called it f*cking.
She pulls me back towards her and nibbles my collarbone, sinking her teeth down to draw more blood. Two can play this game.
I push her violently back against the dressing table sending trinkets and picture frames clattering to the ground. I vaguely remember hearing the glass of her favorite frame shattering. I essentially drop her on the table, not caring if she gets hurt in the process. She leans back against the mirror, letting her legs spread open wide, inviting me.
Unable to reach the zipper on her dress, in my lust-induced stupor, I rip her dress from the bottom, not caring how expensive it was. I bite my bruising lip when I find that she's bare underneath her dress.
Seemingly aroused by this gesture, she yanks my tie so that I stumble nearer and I have to place my hands on either side of her so that I don't fall.
She places a hand under my chin, forcing me to look at her. She smiles sweetly. "I want you to make love to me."
Make love? This kind of sex could hardly be categorized as making love. She obviously sees my confusion.
"What? You don't call this making love?"
I laugh nervously. "Well..."
She smiles sardonically. "No, you're right. I want you to f*ck me." She says these words slowly and deliberately; the ultimate seductress.
I quickly shed myself of my pants and boxers and stand before her, still wondering where she acquired this primal streak, not that I particularly minded.
She leans in, nibbling my earlobe gently. "F*ck me, dear."
I willingly comply and thrust into her deeply. She cries out in pain but yearns for more. She adjusts her hips so that she can thrust in time with me. The mirror rattles and I think it even cracks. She claws at my back, unfortunately scratching some of my bruises. I hiss in pain but don't pull out.
I remember to cry out my wife's name as I come violently into her. Recalling the physical pain she caused me earlier in the night, I pull out of her, denying her an orgasm. She cries at the abrupt loss of contact.
I saunter over to our bed, backwards, teasingly unbuttoning my shirt as I go.
She jumps off the counter on to me, pushing me onto the bed.
"I need you to make me come."
"No."
"No?!" She is livid.
"Not until you tell me what's bothering you." See? I am the caring husband-type.
"Not now."
"Yes, now. You've never acted like this before."
She stares in my eyes and I see desire and anger – no love.
"You've been f*cking her." And with those words she impales herself on me, leaving me no time to even understand what she just said.
"And I'll bet that you think of her when you're f*cking me," she continues.
"I...don't," I half-groan.
"Liar!" she moans, clenching her muscles around my throbbing erection.
I'm about to come again, but this time I thrust a finger inside her, thumbing her to ecstasy with me.
She collapses on me, trying to catch her breath.
I want to say something, deny the accusations against me, but I don't. Clearly, there's a lot we need to talk about. We'll talk in the morning. Maybe my marriage will be over tomorrow or maybe it will be even stronger, and honestly I don't mind either way. I look over at the cracked mirror and through the light of the moon I can see our reflection. Tonight we lay in bed, reveling in the best sex we've had since our wedding night.
It's times like these I can't help but think I should leave Lauren for Sydney, but I push these thoughts away. We'll talk through everything in the morning and be perfectly happy. After all, I'm not literally f*cking Sydney, only in those inevitable dreams that will come even tonight.
Our marriage isn't loveless.
Our marriage isn't loveless.
Our marriage is loveless.
Fin.