Author: ban sidhe
Title: Interlude
Rating: MA for sex and language
Fandom: BAD
Disclaimer: I don't own Toorop or any other characters from the movie or Maurice Dantec's book, Babylon Babies, and make no profit from this little tale.
Summary: The big guy meets his soul mate
Pairing: Toorop/OFC
Archive: here only unless you ask me
Feedback: Please!
Author's notes: I have loved this character since first seeing the movie. Then I read the book and realized the movie didn't do him justice. Riddick insists he must be related, so I had to do a piece for him.
Interlude
Insurrection over, he has just been 'pink slipped' and is contemplating where to go. The soldier wanders aimlessly across Eastern Europe, looking for 'work'. He's bored, broke and hungry. Running out of ammo and drugs. He decides to head in a southerly direction, it's warmer and winter's not too far off. It has already snowed in the mountains. He wonders if he's getting too old for this lifestyle, but what else could he do? All he knows is fighting and killing.
Tasked to find and recruit the Belgian mercenary as an instructor, she follows him, an unseen but often felt shadow. They pass through destroyed towns, cities, countryside, forests, over mountains. He watches closely, but never sees more than a fleeting shadow from the corner of an eye. It's beginning to spook him; he worries he's becoming paranoid. Well, more than usual, anyway
Maybe the last batch of amps was bad? He's no longer sure if his ghost is real or just his imagination. But he feels like he's being herded and doesn't like it. So he decides to set a trap.
He passes through another wrecked village, backtracks and circles around. Ducking in and out of the bombed-out buildings, hiding in wrecked vehicles, stairwells, bomb craters, he manages to lose his shadow temporarily.
Just long enough to catch a solid glimpse. Stunned, his mouth drops open and he almost gives himself away. But he's too good a soldier, too proficient at surviving to let his surprise stun him into immobility. He moves silently to intercept.
"You following me?" She smiles softly and nods in agreement. He just lifts an eyebrow.
"You are remembered in certain circles with respect, Toorop. One might even say affection."
"Your point?" He wonders how she knows his name.
"My employers wish for you to share your knowledge of warfare and survival with their troops."
He snorts and replies, "You're not bad, yourself, beautiful. Whyn't these people just use you?"
"Beauty is sometimes a disadvantage, a distraction. It turns women into objects to men, makes them deaf." She shrugs slightly. "Even you hesitated for an instant. And I do not have your expertise in strategy." She looks up at him through dark lashes. "Would you mind getting off me, now?"
Grinning evilly, he tilts his head, looking over whatever he can see. "Dunno if I wanna. Kinda feels good here."
The woman goes completely still, seeming to not even breathe. Her eyes become chips of glacial ice and the big merc has a feeling he's made a bad mistake. He thinks back to a time he'd spent staring into the eyes of an adder from inches away when he had dived into its rocky den to avoid being shot. It felt the same now. Cold and tense; fanged death staring him in the face.
He takes a slow breath, the blade pressed against his groin does not waver. "Easy, now. I'm getting up."
He doesn't quite make his knees, when she suddenly reaches up and yanks him back down onto her. "Wait." She hisses in his ear. They can both hear the whine of a search-and-destroy drone coming closer.
He takes advantage and lowers his head, turning his face toward her neck, sniffing deeply of her hair and skin. His lips brush along the side of her throat and he smiles as he feels her growl in annoyance.
"Put your arms around me." He breathes into her ear. The large man stays very still, hoping the woman pinned under him will trust enough to do as he asks. He is enjoying being pressed against her soft, warm curves; it has been a long time since he was this close to any female and she is young and beautiful, as well.
She breathes out angrily, but complies. She knows as well as he that whoever is watching through the drone's camera eyes might not shoot if they appear harmless, too involved with each other to be participants in the current local disagreement.
Toorop slips one hand under the back of her head, cupping it. Grinning into her bright, sea-green eyes, he lifts his head just enough that he can kiss her as he turns her slightly to him. At the same time, he rolls them both closer to the ruined wall, ending with the woman on top.
She glares down at him, her hips pressed hard against the bulge in his fatigues, her breasts flattened to his chest. Lifting one arm slowly from the ground by his ear, she flicks a drop of blood from his lower lip. "I am notpart of the incentive for you joining the cause, you beast!"
"No? Then why'd they send you?" He's suddenly serious. He licks his bitten lip; she has fire, this little bitch. And she was good; he'd known someone was tracking him, but it had taken him weeks to catch her. "What's your name, anyway, sweetheart?"
Siofra surprises herself in the way she was reacting to the deep, rough croon of his voice. She could feel it vibrate through her body as she lay atop his. And though he hadn't bathed in days and smelled strongly of sweat, she doesn't find him unpleasant.
His flak jacket has fallen open when he had moved them; she finds herself lowering her head to get another breath of him before she thought. And he is definitely interested in her; with their groins pressed together, that much is obvious.
She decides to answer truthfully, she doesn't know why, but she has to distract them both from the rising tension between them. Quickly, for her core was melting rapidly, her thoughts taking a dangerous path and they really couldn't be caught out here. "My name is Siofra, Siofra Raban". She blinks and swallows. "And you are Hugo Cornelius Toorop."
He grins again, "Nice t' meet ya, 'Shuh-frah'. What kind of name is that? Never heard anything like it before."
"It's Gaelic." At his raised brows, she adds, "My mother was a Scot."
"Ah. That explains the green eyes, then. Beautiful, by the way." He purrs softly, his big hands continuing to caress her, one even sliding down to cup her ass. Toorop can feel the woman vibrating where she lays on him, though she is fighting her desire. And she is beginning to smell like sex, too. Maybe he'd get lucky for a change, but he would let her decide.
He knew he didn't look like any prize. Most women got one glance and turned the other way; he figured it was probably the scars and the fact that he usually wasn't clean-shaven; hell, clean, period. And the gear; women were afraid of soldiers in this part of the world. With good reason.
Nor did the tattoos help. The Cyrillic letters across his knuckles made it clear to anyone who understood, he'd had dealings with the Siberian Mafia, close dealings. That was enough to scare even a lot of men, tough men, away. He couldn't blame them, though. He was a scary guy.
Hearing the whine of the drone fading as it moves away, Siofra sits up, intending to move off the big mercenary. Too late, she realizes what her movement has just caused. The man beneath her gasps and his hands involuntarily tighten on her hips. His eyes widen slightly and the pupils expand, darkening the chocolate to near black. They glitter with heightened desire and he pants softly, mouth slightly open. "Oh, that was a bad move, sweetheart. Unless you've changed your mind?"
"This is not a good time or place. Think with the other head, eh? We need to find cover. And I would like an answer to my proposal." At his unrepentant grin, she hisses, "I said proposal, not proposition!"
Chuckling nearly silently, he releases her, allowing her to finish rising to her feet. She's careful to back away toward his feet; no need to aggravate the situation by allowing him to see more than he should. As he collects his gear, she darts away.
Straight into the black opening in the hillside. Following, he hears her splashing steps, and they emerge from the moat into bright sunshine. Now behind the ruins of the keep, they stand above the valley, looking down the slope toward the two armies converging below.
"Don' know 'bout you, sweetheart. Think I'm gonna sit this one out." He murmurs to the top of her head from behind. She only nods and they climb amongst the rocks, looking for a place to rest.
Finding a cool indentation in the palisade, they fill their water containers at the trickle in the back and share what food they have. Siofra has flat bread she bought at the last living village she passed, and dates ground into a paste with almonds. The big merc offers a sort of jerky made from some small animal he killed several days ago and smoked. He decides to save the MRE for an emergency.
Siofra looks askance at him when he pulls out his med kit and rummages through the various pills, patches and injectable. Lifting an elegant brow, she declines any offer of drugs. She settles with her back to the rock-face and closes her eyes with a sigh. Toorop is surprised she seems so trusting.
"So, I guess this means I get first watch, huh?" He grumbles, good-naturedly.
"Yes." She affirms without bothering to open her eyes. "I sleep light, so don't get any ideas."
"Wouldn't think of it, darlin'." He murmurs, sarcastically. He arranges himself comfortably, planning on waking her at dusk. He doesn't have to, the noise of the confrontation on the plain below them does it for him.
The pair sit through the night, watching the firefight. After spending some time shivering in the chilly night air, Siofra gives in when the big merc unwraps one arm from his emergency blanket and jerks his head for her to move closer. She actually shudders and sighs out a shivery breath as she cuddles into his warmth. He just gives her a crooked grin and wraps his arm and the blanket around her slight form.
Dawn silently slips over the hills to find them still coiled around each other. Toorop gently sighs into wakefulness without moving. The scent and warmth of the woman in his arms bringing him to instant rock-hard attention, he groans internally.
He hadn't allowed himself to be so inattentive to his surroundings in a long time. But all's now peaceful in the valley below. He sits quietly, just enjoying the warmth and softness of the woman for a few more minutes. She smells good to him, spicy and sweet. He lowers his head, his nose brushing her headscarf and inhales deeply.
Though she hasn't moved nor made a sound, he realizes she's awake, her body now stiff in his arms. "Don' worry, sweetheart. Was just gonna ask ya if you're ready to find some breakfast." He slowly spreads his arms, allowing her to go or stay as she wishes.
She lifts her eyes to his face and the early light paints her cheeks with a rosy blush, bringing out the red highlights in her dark mussed hair and making the green of her eyes brighten and sparkle. Her lips are puffy from her face being mashed against his chest and there is an imprint of a pocket closure on one cheek. It makes her look even more adorable.
His war-weary heart clenches at her unassuming beauty, and he swallows past a sudden tightness in his throat. Huffing out a sharp breath to relax, he growls at her. "Better move. 'Fore I forget how dangerous you are."
Her brows rise and she grins in amusement at his plight. As she gets up, she deliberately leans over him and kisses him, a hand on each shoulder. Then she giggles softly and sweeps around a boulder, pointing him in the opposite direction.
He watches her go, bemused, and murmurs "Damn!" as she vanishes.
Necessities taken care of, they share another flatbread with the remains of the date paste and fill their canteens again. Toorop sighs; leaning on the large rock he stands behind, and gazes out over the burned-out valley. He's mapping out a safe path down, then he'll do some quick scavenging. Find himself some ammunition for the Kalashnikov and his pistol.
"There's nothing down there. They've killed everything." She leans beside him, peering around the side. She's not tall enough to see over the top.
He shrugs. "We should get moving. Before the local jackals show up."
She straightens and frowns at him. "What do you seek down there?"
"Whatever I can find, sweetheart. Ammo, food, drugs, money... I'll take whatever I can use."
"So you are no different than the 'local jackals'". She sneers.
"I'm a survivor, honey. You do what you have to... or you die." He serenely answers. Siofra scowls, buts shrugs and turns to pick up her pack. Obviously, she plans on accompanying him.
"Maybe you should wait here? I won't be long."
"Oh, no. Now that I've found you, I'm not letting you out of my sight." She snorts in angry amusement. "You're not getting away that easy."
"What makes you think I want to?" He snarls back. Then he grins crookedly, "I like you. 'Specially sleeping with you, even if you did drool on me." He laughs out loud at the enraged expression his comment brings to her face.
Lips tight, she can't resist snapping back, "At least I don't snore. I don't know how you've survived this long with the racket you make." He just laughs even more. Then looks at her salaciously, "It's all in the positioning, sweetheart." Still chuckling, he cautiously moves out, following the path he scoped out earlier.
By the time the sun has fully risen above the far peaks, the mercenary has finished his raid on the remains of the previous night's battleground. He is almost happy, content with his gleanings; two full clips for the rifle, a rainproof poncho that would fit Siofra, an almost new pair of Gore-Tex combat boots to replace his worn-out ones, a ¾ full magazine for the Beretta, a small bag of mixed root vegetables.
But the prize comes when he rifles the decapitated corpse of an officer. Digging through the inner pockets of the unfortunate's uniform, the big man finds an envelope with several folded bills and a plasticine baggy. Leafing through the various currencies, he grins wolfishly. He nearly dances in delight after opening the little bag and sniffing at the dried herb within. It's pure Uygur hash, a real treasure and enough for at least three or four good smokes.
He decides to return to the ruined castle, there are still active artillery units at the far end of the valley. The woman has been sitting quietly on the carcass of a shelled Hummer, keeping watch and watching him. He hands her the poncho and murmurs, "Let's go." Not waiting, he heads cautiously down a cross alley, aiming for the ditch that runs alongside the main road.
Little more than half-way back, he hears voices and ducks down to squat silently in the ditch. The hand on his back nearly causes him to jump out of his skin. Automatically reacting to a possible threat, he spins, raising the butt of the AK-47 to slam into whoever has snuck up behind him.
It's only Siofra, and she hisses at him in anger from the puddle she's now sprawled in. His frown becomes a nasty smirk and he whispers, "Guess you won't be doing that again." Then he offers her a hand up, which she only slaps aside. The Belgian mercenary snickers softly as she squelches along behind him.
They've almost made it back to the tunnel, when Toorop motions to the woman to drop down. He does as well, slowly and silently drawing his pistol. She taps his left arm, looking a question when he turns to her. "Rabbit," he mouths. She acknowledges him with a lift of her chin and points to the gun in his hand and then taps her ear. He shrugs and she motions him aside, pulling a long slender blade from somewhere in her clothing.
He frowns, but decides to let her try anyway. She has a good point about the noise. So, affecting a gentlemanly pose, he waves her forward. At least, as much as is possible from a kneeling position. She makes a sour face and then grins, sliding up beside him like a ghost. He points out the hare; she nods and fires the knife even before he has lowered his hand.
The blade whistles toward its target; too high, he thinks. The rabbit's ears twitch and it stretches up, right into the path of the knife. A solid thunk, the creature spasms once and it's over.
He stares at her, brows high and she smirks back. He mimes clapping and her green eyes flash as she curtseys back. Cautiously, both glide forward to collect their dinner.
Toorop collects what wood he can find, Siofra has her hands full with her pack, the hare and a bundle she's been carrying since the valley. Back through the moat, they search for a safe spot to rest. He finds them a partially-roofed corner of the ruins and builds a careful fire, almost smokeless, but hot.
While he's busy with that, she has cleaned and skinned the hare and poked a long sharpened stick through it lengthwise. Siofra hands it over with a flourish and a grin. He leans it over the flames, steadying it with several rocks and looks her over. "You oughta get outta those wet things. You can rinse 'em out in the moat and dry 'em here."
As he speaks, he's dug a couple of the potatoes out of the sack and rubs most of the dirt off them.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She snapped. "Here, take this." She unwraps her bundle and offers him a shallow pan.
He just looks at her, pissed. "Knew that poncho would come in handy. Put it on. And hurry up. Before you catch pneumonia. I don't have enough antibiotics for both of us." He drops the pan onto the fire and proceeds to cut up the potatoes and an onion with his K-bar, adding them and some water to the pan.
Siofra gathers her pack, the bundle and the poncho and slinks off. The man watches her go, noting how she instinctively places her feet to make the least sound possible. He wonders how she learned that trick and when, who taught her. She's damn good with that knife, too. Bet she's had military training somewhere. Curious, who she works for, where she's takin' me. Who the hell remembers me. What was it she said? 'With respect, even affection'. Yeah, definitely curious.
Somewhat chagrined, she finds her way cautiously to the moat and quickly strips off her wet muddy things. Slipping the poncho on hurriedly, she looks over her shoulder. No sign of him. She sighs, almost disappointed. She knows he wants her, her body at least. And she feels the same way.
Why do we keep needling each other? I'm pretty sure he knows I'm attracted to him. Are we just being cautious? Feeling each other out? Or is this his way of courting me? Trying to see how far he can push before I explode? And then what? He overpowers me physically? It would be easy for him; he's so big. He's a damned caveman!
She hurriedly washes up and rinses the mud and stink of the effluvia in the puddle off her clothes as best she can. It's cold up here, even in the sun and it doesn't reach into the deep trench of the moat. She shivers, remembering last night. It was the first time in weeks that she'd slept warm.
Toorop glances up, hearing the slight rustle of the poncho upon her returning. And does a classic double take. She's removed the headscarf and bound up her hair. The sun turns it into a crown of red-black flame. Her slender, muscled legs are bare under the poncho from mid-thigh down. And she minces carefully, barefoot, through the pebbles of the path.
His breath whooshes out in surprise. Is she deliberately taunting him? He knows that she knows he's interested.
Siofra frowns at the big merc squatting before the fire, but smirks at him also. Making a disgusted face that she can't quite pull off, she snipes, "Oh, shut your mouth! This was your idea, after all."
"You're beautiful!" He blurts, then looks away, embarrassed.
"You noticed?" She replies, coyly. When he returns his eyes to hers, she waves over her shoulder. "Your turn. I'll watch dinner." His brows lift and she wrinkles her nose at him. "You stink."
He chuckles and nods. "Didn't realize you were so fastidious." But he rises and heads for the stream in the moat.
He finds a knee-deep pool and strips, splashing and shivering, then quickly scrubs his shirt, socks and shorts, before pulling his fatigues and jacket back on. He can feel her eyes on him, though he doesn't catch a glimpse of her. He sighs, figuring he's probably lost any chance now.
So he's stunned silent when he returns to their impromptu camp and sees her sitting, waiting on the bed she's made of his emergency blanket thrown on the softest spot close by. "You're serious?" He says, after a moment. "You're not just torturing me for teasing you?"
Smiling, she shakes her head 'no' and lifts a hand to him. He cocks his head to the side and takes a deep breath, still hesitant. She pulls the poncho off, making him swallow hard. "Come here."
"Oh, my God!" he breathes, going to his knees at her feet. The loose, over-sized clothes she'd worn conceal very womanly curves on a slight frame. She's well-muscled, but not hard-looking. As she leans back onto one elbow, he's reminded of a painting he once saw in a Paris museum.
She has the same knowing look as Manet's French whore, that superior female face that says to a man, "you're mine, you know it and I know it, so why fight the inevitable?" Giving in, he rips his jacket off and crawls up her, stopping to kiss here and there, gently tasting and breathing her in.
He's shivering, as much from desire as the cold air. She lifts his head from her breast with soft fingertips under his chin. They stare into each other's eyes and he watches hers darken, the pupils expanding until the green is just a narrow band. Her rosy lips part and he can hear her breathing, almost panting in need.
Her fingers slide down his throat to rest on his shoulder, and she whispers low, "Please. Toorop, I'm so cold. Warm me. I want to feel the heat of you; on me, in me."
He can only gasp and repeat himself. "Oh, my God!" Siofra has rolled flat on her back and bent her legs, knees open to him. He places one hand on the patch of dark flame between her legs and they both groan. She's on fire to his touch, though her legs and arms are covered in gooseflesh and she shivers repeatedly.
He opens the front of his fatigues with his free hand and before he can even push them down, her legs wrap his hips and she pulls him down. Her hands are everywhere, skimming his flesh, tickling and scratching gently; his sides, shoulders, up and down his arms, across his chest.
She reaches for his face, deliberately choosing the side with the bayonet scar and she traces it with a forefinger. She smiles and pulls his face to hers. As she kisses him, her other hand slides down his belly and wraps his engorged cock. She holds him tight and strokes hard, making him gasp.
"Stop! Stop!" He begs, between heavy breaths. "You're gonna make me go too soon." She giggles and lifts her legs. Hooking her toes in the waistband of his pants, she pushes them down to his knees.
"Take me. Now." It's a command he cannot refuse. And doesn't want to, in any case. He plunges deep; she stiffens and then sighs in delight, her quiet "mmm" all the encouragement he needs.
She cries out in ecstasy, burying her face against his shoulder to muffle the sound as he brings her to climax, once, twice, three times before he finally allows himself release. And he's no quieter, bellowing an "Oh God! Shit! Fuck, woman! Ah, aahhh!"
Now sweated, he collapses over her and she holds him close when he wants to roll off. "Stay."
She whispers softly, her hands smoothing over his skull, down his neck and across his shoulders. "You feel good." He just moans and settles, his head beside hers, resting on his forearm.
Stretching her arm, Siofra can just manage to get her fingertips on the collar of his jacket. She scrabbles at it, trying not to move too much. Finally pulling enough of the material into her hand to get a solid grip, she drags it close and throws it over his back. Almost asleep, he growls softly against her neck and sighs.
A mumbled something that sounds vaguely like "Fwanksh" and he's out cold. She giggles to herself, warm, sleepy and sated. She's going to be sore later, but right now she doesn't care. He's still seated in her, still half-hard. And thankfully, not snoring in her ear.
Drifting, half-asleep, almost completely hidden beneath the big man, warm and tired, she's fighting succumbing to slumber. One of them should stay awake and she got more rest than he last night. Her tummy rumbles and she suddenly remembers the food left by the fire. She tries to wriggle out from under, but he's just too big, too heavy to move.
"Hugo. I have to get up. Move over." She gently nudges his shoulder. No response. She sighs and pinches his ear. He snorts and swats at it, as if she were no more annoying than a gnat. She can't help chuckling, but she pinches him again. "Get up! Toorop!"
Now he's up, so fast he's scared her. Pistol in hand, he crouches over her, completely oblivious to the fact that they are both still naked. "What?" He hisses, looking everywhere at once.
"Sorry," she murmurs back. "I just remembered the rabbit. It's still cooking."
"Shit, girl. You almost gave me a heart attack." He suddenly reaches up to rub his ear, scowling at her. "What'd you do, bite me?"
"No. I pinched you... twice before you reacted." She grins, shaking her head in mock disgust. "A little tired, eh?" She scrambles over to the fire, pulling the pan away and stirring it. Fortunately, though the broth has thickened, nothing is really burnt. She goes to add more wood to the blaze and he stops her.
"Not like that. It'll smoke. Let me." She backs off, looking him over as he squats before the fire, carefully placing sticks just so. He glances up and raises a brow.
"Interesting art," is her only comment. She trails her fingers over the large Egyptian-looking tattoo than spans his shoulders. "I assume they all have stories attached."
"Yeah. Complicated. Maybe I'll tell ya someday." He goes back to poking at the flames. Siofra goes from piece to piece of their clothing, turning them so they'll dry faster.
She puts the poncho back on, asking "How long do you plan to stay here?"
"We'll move out this afternoon. Get some miles behind us. There's another ruin we should be able to make on the far side of the valley behind us. We'll rest there for the remainder of the night. But we gotta get away from this area soon. Don't wanna get caught up in this little fracas they got going locally."
He rises and finds his fatigues, pulls the pants on, then comes back to the fire. They share the meal and drink. Staring at each other over the flames, the decision to go back to the blanket is mutual, though not a word is said.
Both stand at the same time and smile, she shyly, him awkward. She holds out a hand and he moves to take it, then suddenly pulls her close. He murmurs into her hair, "What did I ever do to deserve you, eh? Young, beautiful and strong enough to take care of yourself. I bet you're at least as dangerous as I am, aren't you?"
"Oh, I think so, my painted warrior." She grins up into his eyes, coyly fluttering her lashes. When he gives her a crooked grin and a speculative expression, she cuddles closer and whispers sexily. "I was trained by the best, big man... Mossad."
His eyes widen and he actually stiffens away for a moment. "Holy fuck! What are you doing out here in no-man's land?"
She shrugs and laughs bitterly. "My team was betrayed. The assassins assassinated. Ironic, no? I survived by playing dead. But now, I'm compromised. They will never really trust me again. I can't go back."
He nods, "Yeah, I know how that goes. C'mon, let's rest while the sun's still on th' blanket." He pulls her with him and sits down. He pats the space beside his hip.
"Are you sure 'rest' is what you want?" She kneels beside him, hands on his shoulders, tracing delicate patterns over his tattoos.
He snorts and grins, "Hell, no! I wanna fuck you again. Slower, this time. Do some exploring."
"That's what I thought. Sounds interesting. I'll play, as long as I get to 'explore', too." She purrs in his ear, licking the shell and nipping the lobe. He shivers in reaction, so she does it again. He growls happily and wraps his arms around her, pushing her over backward.
She gives a very feminine squeak as she falls, clinging to him, so he ends up between her knees. He's surprised when she pushes him back. "Pants off, lover. I need to check out that big gun."
Leaping to his feet, he fumbles with the closure, anticipation making him clumsy. She laughs and comes to her knees, moving his hands away. "At ease, soldier," her fingers easily pop the waistband button and she slowly lowers the zipper.
"I'm dreaming, aren't I? Tell me this isn't just some drug-induced hallucination; I'm not fucked up on dope? Please. I want you to be real."
She suddenly yanks his fatigues to his ankles, all the while her eyes are on his face. Slowly sliding her hands up his calves to the backs of his knees, the woman smiles and leans just close enough to brush the tip of his rock-hard cock with her cheek. His eyes half close, and he whispers, "Oh, yeah."
He inhales sharply when she turns her face and feathers him with her lips. He can feel her hot breath on the iron rod his manhood has become and it makes his balls ache. He watches her use the drop of pre-cum like lipstick; the ache spreads to his belly and thighs. He reaches for her head, but she slaps his hands away, making him moan.
Siofra slides one hand up the back of his thigh to cup the lower curve of his ass. The muscle is hard, trembling as he waits, trying to restrain himself. Her other hand skims up the front of his leg and she gently palms his balls, massaging and tickling the soft skin just behind them. It elicits another groan; he spreads his feet as much as he's able with them still trapped in his pants.
She glances at the engorged organ before her, the darkened head, weeping from the slit in the center. Raising her eyes back to his, she parts her lips slightly and licks her lips. "What do you want, Hugo?" She breathes, her lips barely touching him.
"Christ, woman! Stop teasing. Just do it! Swallow me, for fuck's sake!" He begs her, hands fisted at his sides. He's panting, breath shuddering out roughly, his whole body shaking from need.
Smiling, she licks him and then takes him fully into her mouth. The wet heat makes him cry out and he reaches for her again, stopping himself with difficulty, when she shakes her head no.
She works him slowly, sucking harder on the retreat and swirling her tongue around the lip of the glans. She watches his belly muscles flutter, listening to his breathing speed and deepen as he gets closer to exploding. When she feels his balls begin to contract, the skin tightening and he jerks against her, she uses a little teeth and speeds up her stroke.
"Oh, fuck! Deeper, baby. Jeeezuus!" He wails, curling over her as he comes hard. She swallows every drop, sucking harder and licks the last few pearls off as she releases him with a slight pop. He falls to his knees, gasping, head down.
"Mary, Mother of God! Where did you learn to do that?" He finally can speak again. He raises his head to look at her and she smiles, her lips swollen and reddened from her work.
"You're welcome. Wanna return the favor?" She chuckles, coyly.
"Gimme... five minutes... to get... my breath back." He collapses onto his side and she joins him, facing him and drawing her nails lightly over his skin. He lifts one shaky arm and strokes it up and down her side, leaving it resting on her hip.
They spend the next half hour lying close, her head pillowed on his bicep; he's rolled onto his back, staring up into the cerulean vault with its blazing golden jewel. Her free hand maps out the contours of chest and belly, never still for more than a few seconds. Her leg is flung over the closer of his, his far one bent, knee to the sky.
"What are you thinking about?" She murmurs quietly. He rolls his head to look at her.
"Nothing much. Just wondering how long we have ..." He shrugs. "You know."
Siofra sighs. She knew this conversation was coming, she'd hoped it would have taken him longer. "Until we reach our destination. Then you'll choose to take the job offer or not and I will most likely have another assignment."
"Uh, huh. Probably not a good idea to refuse, eh?" He grins wryly.
She just gives him a significant look. "The rebels would fear your talents might be pre-empted by rivals or their mutual enemies, the Chinese or your former associates." She rubs her fingers over the tattoos on his knuckles.
"And if I refuse to go?" He knows what her answer will be, but asks anyway.
"Please don't. I... I..." she gazes at him, sadly. He's actually surprised to see her eyes become shiny with unshed tears. "I like you, Hugo. I would find it difficult to complete my assignment. It would make me very unhappy."
"Think you could?" His voice is rough, deepening with anger, but it's not directed at her; rather at whatever circumstances have forced her into this position.
She smiles as a single tear slides down her cheek. "I'm a survivor, too." He nods, understanding.
"Then I guess we'll just have to see that you stay happy." He comes up onto one elbow and pushes her gently onto her back. "I can start here." His hand slides between her legs and he lifts the farther one, moving down to bring his face even with her mons. He plants a soft kiss there and at her slight gasp, looks up, smiling.
"I did say I would reciprocate." She grins and wriggles a bit, lifting both legs to place her calves on his shoulders.
"Do your worst, my painted warrior. It's only fair you get your turn." She giggles.
He lowers his face to her, nuzzling through the soft dark red curls. She moans quietly when his beard-roughened face scrapes the delicate flesh and she shivers in reaction. He starts to lift his head and she pushes him back down. "Don't stop. Make me come screaming your name, Hugo."
"Yes, ma'am." He chuckles into her muff. Then he proceeds to do a thorough job of eating her out, licking, sucking and nibbling at her until she's writhing and moaning. Her body stiffens and arches as she comes for the first time, her moans scaling up in pitch to soft screams.
The big mercenary lifts his head for a moment to take a breath, his eyes sparkling. "Now, I'm gonna make you scream," he growls and straightens up to his knees. He drags her up with him, her knees still over his shoulders. Only her shoulders and head are still on the ground, making her completely helpless.
Siofra gasps at the predatory gleam in his eye, shivering and scrabbling at the ground, but she can get no purchase. She's at his mercy. He grins evilly, his mouth and chin shiny with her juices. He licks his lips, "Mmmm, delicious."
His hands are wrapped around her thighs, holding her up, his fingertips just reaching far enough to spread her labia. He rubs his chin over her already sensitized flesh and she squeals,
"Oh, no! Oh, please, Hugo! Have mercy!"
He just smiles more, lowering his face and crooning deeply, the vibration against her making her writhe and flail her arms. Now he points his tongue, flicking the firmed tip over her tender, hot bud and drops one leg to slide two fingers deep inside. It brings her to an almost instant climax and she does scream, first his name, then it becomes wordless animal sounds of ecstasy.
He lowers her gently, watching as she slowly comes back to earth. Finally her eyes open, just in time to see him sucking her off his fingers. He comes down over her, grinning like a fiend. "Got your breath back? "'Cause I'm not finished."
The woman does no more than simply sigh a soft, "mmph," and open her arms to him. She still shaking from the last orgasm as he enters her heat; he can feel her spasming, yet. Her legs are flopped loosely open, and though she tries to wrap her arms around him, she seems weak, uncoordinated.
"You okay?" He rumbles softly. She smiles and nods, yes. Finally able to raise her arms, she pulls him down closer for a deep kiss.
When she lets him go, she's grinning. "You taste like me. Nice."
"Yeah." He agrees. He begins to move in her, more gently than the first time, slower, drawing out their mutual pleasure. Their breathing syncs up, and she swears later, their hearts do, too. Eventually, he speeds up and begins to lose rhythm; she knows he's going to come soon.
She whispers in his ear, "Yes, lover, yes! Come for me, Hugo. I love feeling you inside." His groan of release and spasming does it for her, and she clutches his shoulders, shuddering hard as she also peaks.
They both gasp and laugh at the same time. "Now I gotta get some rest," He groans happily.
"I've fucked more in the past day than I have in the past year... make that two years." She nods in agreement and snuggles under him more. He drags his jacket over and covers them, then sinks into her embrace and closes his eyes with a satisfied, if tired sigh.
The sun is half way to the evening horizon when Siofra kisses the big man awake. He yawns and stretches, a deep, rumbling 'mmm' resonating from his chest. Jumping up, he moves to the fire, now just embers and tosses Siofra's clothes to her, then dresses himself. She smiles, appreciating the warmth still held in the fabric. It's already starting to get cool as the sun lowers.
Siofra stands, leaning against a broken wall, looking out over the next step in their journey. Toorop is policing their camp, putting out the fire, making sure they've left nothing behind to connect them with the place. The road appears empty, but one never knows where trouble could pop up from, she thinks. Probably, it will be safer to cut across country.
She can barely make out the lighter coloured stone of the next ruin in the far hills. She checks the sun; they will really have to push to make it by dark. And definitely not run into any armed natives.
He comes up behind her, nuzzling her neck. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be. Time for you to get you mind out of your... or should I say my pants?" She grins over her shoulder at him. He just snorts. "It looks so peaceful," she sighs, returning her gaze to the valley.
"You know it's an illusion." He answers. "Distance hides the ugliness. But it's still there." He heads down the slope without another word and she follows. They make good time at first, both refreshed after their nap and the steepness of the slope adds impetus. By the time they reach the valley floor, both are ready for a short stop to drink and readjust their posture to the now level ground.
The big merc looks down at the much smaller woman, calculating in his head. She probably weighs a little more than half what he does. And she's not used to medicating, so her tolerance will be very low. He decides to err on the side of caution; a third of his normal dose.
He takes two patches from his kit and slaps one against his inner elbow. Pulling his knife he carefully cuts the other one in two, one twice the size of the other. As his head comes up, he sees her staring unhappily. "That's for me, isn't it?"
He nods yes, once and steps toward her. She backs away, looking panicked. He stops short. "What the hell's wrong with you? It's just speed. We aren't gonna make it without this."
He frowns, her eyes are huge, she's hyperventilating and her palms are sweaty; she keeps rubbing them on her thighs.
"I'll keep up. I will. Please, don't make me do this." She keeps shaking her head no and her whole body is vibrating in fear.
"What did they do to you?" He knows now.
"I can't remember most of it. That's the worst part." She moans.
"I'm sorry, Siofra. But this isn't gonna mess with your head. You won't be able to stay with me, believe me. Now let me put this on you. It takes a couple minutes to work."
"I can't. I can't!" She covers her face with her hands... a mistake. Before she can react, he's grabbed one wrist, yanked her arm to him and slapped the patch on. And he holds on as she fights him, completely out of control, flailing wildly and moaning, sobbing.
She finally realizes he's too strong, just too big for her to fight and gives up, collapses against him in tears. He cuddles her close, shushing her and stroking her hair. Five minutes pass and she takes a deep breath.
"I'm okay, now. You can let go. In fact, I feel good. Let's go!" She takes off straight across the first field at a dead run, making him sigh in aggravation. Obviously, he was going to have to teach her how to pace herself. He settles his pack comfortably over his shoulders so it rests high on his back.
Shaking his head, Toorop follows at a steady, grounding-eating pace. With his longer step, he'll catch up soon. He keeps one eye on her and watches for any trouble as he marches across the field she's just traversed and the next.
The sun is setting by the time they reach the foothills, bathing the mountains in flame, painting the snowcaps in blazing orange, hot pink and sinking behind them, bloody-red and promising a clear, warm day to come. The first flush of energy having passed, Siofra strides beside the mercenary now, her shorter stride faster than his, but just as even.
They've settled into a rhythm now, nearly hypnotized, arms swinging in counterpoint to the ground-eating pace. Siofra is almost startled for a moment when the big man breaks into song. It's the last thing she expects from him. His choice makes her smile; Green Day's Wake Me When September Ends:
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Like my father's come to pass
Seven years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are
As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Laughing, she joins him for the second verse:
Ring out the bells again
Like we did when spring began
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are
As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Like my father's come to pass
Twenty years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Wake me up when September ends
Wake me up when September ends
When they finish, he grins and slaps her ass. He feels good, the companionship surprisingly still welcome, though it's something he's not used to.
Thinking about it, he realizes it's not just that she's female or even that she let him fuck her, (that was amazing). She's a kindred spirit, willing to do whatever's necessary to survive and steeped in the art of death. In fact, from what he's observed and what she's told him, she probably doesn't know anything else... just like him.
It's full dark when they finally make the ruins, the moon just rising over the peaks behind them.
By the time camp is set up, both are exhausted, the methamphetamines worn off. They lie watching the stars, too tired to do more than cuddle for warmth.
A full two weeks passes in this fashion, forced marching by day, exhausted sleep at night. They've traveled from Chechnya around the upper curve of the Caspian Sea keeping to the lower slopes of the Kirghiz steppe and passing just north of the Aral Sea, the high Betpaqdala desert to their left and north.
Crossing the Syrdaria River at Qyzylorda by night, they've entered Uzbekistan and the mountains are all around now. Nearly blazing during the day, the high altitude air drops to freezing rapidly as soon as the sun touches the peaks. Siofra suffers in the cold, obviously, she's not used to it.
Toorop spends a few of his scavenged euros on warmer clothing for her in a mountain village. The woman they find that's almost Siofra's size is so glad of the money, she's willing to literally give the coat off her back. Siofra refuses, pointing to the somewhat shabbier one that's hung drying in the fresh breeze. The big mercenary snorts in disbelief, but doesn't argue. It's her ass.
Insisting on returning a few Uzbecki soms, the woman presses them into Siofra's hand and smiling, leads her into her house. She shoos him back, when Toorop makes to follow. He frowns, but waits. Women.
She sends out one of her younger children, a boy, with a mug of the local brew. Shyly, he looks way up and grins at the big man, holding his offering in both grubby, fat hands. Toorop drops into a squat and nods his thanks to the child, taking the cup gently.
He sniffs; the stuff smells vile, but it is alcohol. He downs it, shudders and hands the empty cup back with a small smirk. He ruffles the kid's head and stands back up, turning to look down the valley. He lights up while he waits.
Hearing giggling a few moments later, he looks back over his shoulder. He just gapes at the woman he's been traveling with for the past weeks. Completely covered, she's sexier than when he's seen her nude. The old lady has cleaned her up and redressed her in her best things.
And those eyes! God in heaven; I could drown in her eyes, he thinks. She belongs somewhere warm and soft... a dacha outside Moscow in summer, no... Istanbul. She looks like she should be in a sultan's harem. Ruling it... and him.
The woman pats Siofra's hand and gently pushes her at the big man, smiling happily at the results of her motherly meddling. They can both see he's been properly impressed. She chuckles and asks him if they have a place to sleep. He replies that he hadn't intended to stay so long. She clucks and tells him his woman is exhausted, she needs to rest. And eat... hasn't he been feeding her? She's too thin. He should be ashamed, treating such a delicate beauty like that.
Siofra's head swings back and forth between them; she doesn't understand the mountain dialect. She wonders what they're speaking of, when she sees his head drop suddenly with a sigh. She looks back to the other, older woman in question. What could she have said to make him react like that?
"Toorop? What's wrong? What did she say to you?" Concerned, she lays a hand on his arm.
Head still hanging, he glances sideways at her. "Mama here thinks I don't treat you well. Says you're too thin. You need to rest." Chuckling, he adds, "and eat."
Eyes wide, she looks back at 'Mama'. The woman grins, nodding at her and makes motions for them to go inside. Siofra turns back to him. "Is she offering to keep us for the night? Feed us?"
"Yeah. Probably her meal ration for a week with the kids."
"We can't do that!" She's incensed.
"We have time to spend a day or two? I could hunt. Saw sheep track a ways back. If I can bring one down, it would keep them for a month."
"Oh, yes! That would be wonderful! They really have nothing to spare, anything we can do..." She's so excited; she's bouncing, hanging on his arm.
He snorts and shakes her loose. "Are you kidding? With what I just gave her for your coat, she's rich."
"Just the same, we should contribute if we can," she's insistent. "We can take a couple days. We could both use the rest, too. You won't have time to get much once we reach Bishkek."
"Bishkek? That's Kyrgyzstan, practically in the Tien Shan. Who areyou working for?" He's more than curious now. Worried she's leading him into the insurrection against the Chinese, he knows the various rebel groups are just as likely to attack each other as their common enemy. And the Russians would be hovering in the background, too. Not a good place to be, especially for a foreigner.
"I'm not supposed to say, but since you know where we're headed, it doesn't make much difference. You'll figure it out on your own soon enough." She sighs, unhappily. "The ETLF; Prince Ali 'Shabazz' Valikhan himself sent me to find you, in fact."
"Hunh." He didn't say anything more, frowning as he thought about what would happen to her if he changed his mind. It would be a kindness if they simply killed her. He wasn't going to let that happen.
So he ducks inside, followed by Siofra and the home's owner. She pushes them at what must be her bedroom, the only separate part of the small building. He nods thanks and takes his woman by the hand, leading her through the curtain that divides what's barely more than an alcove from the main room.
Before she can protest, he spins her in his arms and crushes her to him, capturing her lips with his. A fierce, hungry kiss, demanding and possessive, he groans at the taste of her. She melts into him, her hands sliding up his back, under jacket and shirt to caress his so warm flesh.
She is a willing victim to his ravenous need. Without a second thought, clothes fly and he takes her right there and then. Children just beyond the curtain and their mother cooking right outside, nothing matters but each other. She is stunned when she comes back to earth to hear him whispering love poems in her ear.
"I swear, since seeing your face,
the whole world is fraud and fantasy
The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf
or blossom. The distracted birds
can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare.
A house of love with no limits,
a presence more beautiful than venus or the moon,
a beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart."
"Toorop?" She whispers softly and strokes her palm down the side of his face. He looks so sad. "What is it? Why are you sad?" He just sighs and kisses her breast, laying his head on her heart. "Hugo?"
"Oh beloved,
take away what I want.
Take away what I do.
Take away what I need.
Take away everything that takes me away from you."
"You are quoting Rumi to me? Persian love poems? What is going through your mind?" She realizes he's smoked one, she can smell the hash on his breath. Hoping it's nothing more serious than him coming down from his high; she wraps him in her arms and lets him sleep on her breast like a child. He seems so relaxed and peaceful, too innocent to be the killer she knows is also in him.
It's a couple of hours before he wakes and makes no mention of his strange behaviour, so Siofra decides to chalk it up to the vagaries of dope at altitude and being overtired. They share a meal with the family and retire to the mother's bed for the night and get some needed sleep this time.
In the morning, he's gone before she rises. When she asks, the oldest daughter smiles and points up into the mountains, making shooting motions and then swirling her hands above her ears in a circular movement before planting her fists against her temples with the forefingers extended.
Siofra surmises it means he's gone hunting as promised. It's two days before he returns... and with a curly-horned ram draped over his shoulders, too. The entire village turns out to celebrate; he has an entourage of children by the time he makes the center, all chattering and laughing gaily as they run circles around him.
He's smiling and answers them, but his eyes are on her. The hunter returns. She muses. Proud of his success and enjoying every bit of adoration as his due. And I know what he's going to want from me... I hope they will leave us alone long enough. I can't believe how much I've missed him.
When she returns his happy grin with a smile of her own and opens her arms, he unshoulders the carcass and hands it to the nearest male villagers. He's almost running by the time he makes it to her, lifting her right off her feet and swinging her around in his arms. She's just as excited, clinging to him with arms and legs wrapped around him.
All the village ladies are giggling behind their hands, lifting their headscarves to cover their eyes from the outsiders' open display of affection. The men, too, look away, nodding to each other at the obviousness of the couple and grinning quietly. They carry the ram to their small shrine and say prayers of thanks for the big European's unexpected bounty. There will be a party tonight.
And indeed there is, everyone together, each bringing what he or she can to the event. All are gathered in the central square, where a large cooking fire has been set up. They sing and play instruments, everyone gets slightly drunk on the local beer. Toorop even convinces Siofra to have one. After the first, she forgets the taste and has another.
It's stronger than she thinks and when the music has the right rhythm, she jumps up and dances for him. The musicians recognise her snaky movements and they play another, more Arabic-sounding piece to encourage her.
Laughing, she whips a long piece of sheer cotton from a frame and wraps it around herself. Slinking across the center of the square, she shakes and gyrates like an epileptic python. She peeks from behind the curtain of fabric and whirls it as she spins around and around, bending and twisting. Toorop sits entranced, food and drink forgotten, and he's not the only one.
Finally exhausted, she collapses in his lap, to the nods and bows of all her new admirers. Now others are dancing, a more traditional but just as joyful choreography. The lovers sneak away, only the oldest noticing and whispering amongst themselves. They let the young ones go... it is the way of life.
She takes his hand and he looks down at her, gazing at the stars reflected in her eyes. I'm falling in love with this woman. He thinks, shocked. It's not something he ever expected to happen to him. And he knows it's not something either of them can afford. Not in this world, this place, at this time.
He doesn't realize his pain is visible to her, written on his face and echoed in his eyes. She decides to try and ease him the only way she can. "Take me to bed, Hugo. I need you." She clings to him, as she whispers huskily.
He nods and they go back into the little hut, tiptoeing so as not to wake the sleeping young ones. Passion carries them through most of the night; he has her again and again until he can't anymore. Even then, he refuses to let her rest, using fingers, lips and tongue to bring her to ecstasy until she can't breathe and literally falls asleep between one breath and the next.
The big mercenary lies beside the softest, sweetest thing he's ever known, memorizing her face, the contours of her body. He leans in close and buries his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. He needs to remember everything about her, her scent, the sweet taste of her, the silky softness of her skin and hair. It will have to last him for the rest of his life. He knows this won't happen again.
It's still black out when he rises and packs his things. Only a faint lightening of the eastern sky between the peaks of the mountains he must cross heralds the coming day. He must be far from here before the sun brightens the valley floor. Too far for her to follow. It's the only way he knows to save her.
He has already spoken to the villagers about this. They know what he is sacrificing and they understand. They will care for her and send her in the right direction when she is ready to leave. And he's left her a note with the woman who's bed they have borrowed explaining. He hopes she'll understand and forgive him.
Stepping outside, he accepts a cup of tea from the villager, and downs a dose of speed with it. He takes a moment to sigh, fighting to not look back at that doorway. He hands the cup back to the woman and she watches him plunge down the trail to his destiny.