"Sex for Sarah is like a weapon." - Tatiana Maslany.
Sarah is frenetic until the early hours of the morning. Paul finds her in Siobhan's room, yanking drawers out of her foster mother's bureau and dumping their contents onto the floor. She searches for any clue about where Siobhan may have taken Kira, who Siobhan was, how Siobhan and Sarah fit together in this clone clusterfuck that was her life and Kira's life and AllisonCosimaKatjaBeth's life. She works with a single minded determination, her hands not shaking in the slightest as they'd done when she'd handled a gun, or pushed Helena into the trunk of her Jag, or turned over the picture her mother had given her to see Mrs. S' face staring back at her.
But there's nothing. Even there had been anything at all, Siobhan had taken it with her—with her and Kira.
Paul's driven the two of them back to the townhouse, because Neolution has had their chance to snatch her already and they (probably) won't try again tonight. Together they scrub Amelia's blood from the floor, dropping the blood-stained towels into a black plastic bag. Paul runs the sink full of hot water and bleach and mops the whole first floor from front to back. Good, Sarah thinks, her mind racing a million miles a minute. A spotty cleanup is a shitty clean up. He takes the plastic bag and the mop to his Range Rover and drives off, leaving Sarah standing barefooted in the middle of the dining room.
As soon as she sits down on the edge of their bed, the weight of it all pushes on her shoulders until she lays back and presses her hands to her eyes. Her sister had killed their mother; she'd killed her sister; her daughter was gone; her foster mother had taken her daughter—Helena, Amelia, Kira, Siobhan.
The bed sinks next her, heavy, and a hand rests low on her belly. Through her fingers, Paul peers down at her. "I'm going to kill her," she tells him, rage bubbling in her throat. "I'm going to find her, and strangle her myself."
"You don't know why, Sarah. The Neolutionists had no idea that you existed; maybe Siobhan hid you, just like she said, and now she's hiding Kira." Paul's trying to keep her from going over the edge, clearly.
"Yeah, convenient timing." Sarah pushes herself up onto her elbows and glowers at her reflection in the mirror. Sometimes she forgets that she and Allison and Cosima (and Beth and Katja) share the same face—they're all such different people—but here she sees it: the same straight nose and wide mouth topped with straight brows and the slightest hint of a widow's peak. She sees Paul's reflection staring at her profile, and she turns her head to meet his gaze again. "I'm gonna find out, though. I made it this far, I gotta get to the end. Are you with me?"
Paul nods, and part of her hisses that he was Beth's monitor and had tried to gain Leekie's trust, but the other part of her remembers the way he pressed his head into her arm when she showed up at Olivier's, and fuck it, because if he was going to give her up to the Neolutionists, he could've done it ten times over by now.
She wraps her hand around his neck and pulls his head down to hers. He's surprised, she can tell, because the way he falls across the upper half of her body is sloppy and so not-Paul. He murmurs her name like a question, but she silences him with her mouth over his. She falls back onto the bed again, dragging him with her this time. His eyes are shut, unlike hers, his eyelashes fanned out in dark swoops against his cheekbones. Sarah gives in with a sigh and closes her eyes.
Now she feels him more clearly. He's solid muscle wrapped in wool, pressing her down into the plush comforter that she has a niggling feeling Beth picked out. She can sense the dip in the blankets by her head where he rests his forearm, and his other hand has a sure grip on her hip. He rocks, his free hand sliding behind her back, her hair catching on the bed beneath her as he hauls her backwards across the width of it.
Then his hips settle against hers and she groans, the sound bubbling up from deep in her chest. "Big-dick Paul" Felix had called him, and he'd been right. His cock is what girls titter nervously about in school, what women joke lewdly about when they ask but how does it even fit? Really fucking well, Sarah wants to tell them. It had made her shudder in delicious surprise the first night, when Paul had thought that she had been Beth and she hadn't wanted to make him ask any more questions by sneaking a peek before she'd clambered up on top of him. She rocks her hips up against his and he huffs her name into the side of her neck, so she does it again.
He pushes off of her and sits back on his heels to yank his sweater and undershirt over his head. Sarah watches the muscles in his torso twist and she sits up, her legs still stretched out on either side of his, and leans forwards to palm his obliques and run her tongue along the smooth skin above his navel. "Fuck," he hisses, and grabs a fistful of hair to pull her head back so he can bend down and catch her lower lip with his teeth.
Sarah loses herself in the delicious haze of fumbling, tugging hands and until they're skin against skin, pushing and pulling at each other with heavy breaths and pounding hearts. His skin is damp now, so the pads of her fingers slip when she tries to grab his shoulders. She digs her fingernails into the taut muscle working underneath to compensate and he grunts a bit against her breast where his mouth is hard at work.
"Turn over." It's an order, and his hand is already on her thigh, flipping her easily onto her stomach. Sarah instinctively begins to bring her knees up to raise her hips, but his palm flattens over her lower back, keeping her firmly horizontal. She tosses her hair to the side with a flick of her head and rolls her eyes back to meet his. He's got his lower lip caught between his teeth and he holds her gaze as he stretches his body atop hers.
She should've known he'd love it like this, the way he'd tugged her hips back into his that first morning, already half-hard and god, it had really been tougher to leave than she'd let on, and again in the foyer when she'd forgotten about Felix in their bedroom the moment Paul had pushed her against the wall and snuck a hand down the front of her jeans. He lifts her hips enough to slip low and—
Sarah presses her forehead to the mattress and moans, and Paul swears in her ear, sending a shudder down her spine. The friction is sharp and real and Sarah realizes that they didn't use a condom. Kira's face flashes against the inside of her eyelids and when Paul rolls his hips a second time, it's all too much. Kira had been a part of her, once. Her eyes sting and now, when she shakes, it's not from pleasure.
Paul murmurs her name, his lips at her shoulder, and Sarah shakes her head, pushing back against him. "C'mon, Paul," she urges, but her voice cracks on his name, and he reaches up to lace their fingers together.
"We'll find her," he promises. Sarah turns her head away, so he presses an open mouthed kiss to the point of her scapula. He pulls his hips back and now the flex and slide of him is gentle, smooth.
"Even if we do, she belongs to them."
"She belongs to you. " His hand has worked its way between her belly and the mattress, and the first touch of his trigger-calloused finger on her clit has her sucking in a breath and rising up onto her elbows. "We'll burn them to the ground, Sarah," he mutters against the curve of her throat, and she dips her head and catches his mouth with a hard kiss.
She doesn't last long after that. Paul's deliciously heavy against her back, his hips working at the perfect speed, and Sarah closes her eyes and lets the heat of his body and the sound of his breath against her ear work her higher and higher until his finger catches at justtherightspot and she peaks with a shout, pushing her head back against Paul's shoulder. She's still catching her breath when Paul curses and comes inside of her.
It's not anything out of the ordinary—Paul always pushes deep to spend, but this time, all Sarah thinks is:
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