TITLE: Actions
TIMELINE: Now that'd be telling. Sometime around the end of Season 2, start of Season 3.
SUMMARY: You know you shouldn't be doing this. Vaughn POV, secondperson fic. Read carefully.
RATING: PG-13. It's probably the closest thing to very, very, very, very, very mild sort of kind of not really smut I'll ever write. Which is really very, very, very tame.

Actions

You know you shouldn't be doing this.

Not now.

Not here.

Not with her.

But you are.

And you can't stop it, no matter how bitter your betrayal of her tastes in your mouth.

*

She's been gone for too long.

You can't fight this anymore.

You need this.

And so does she.

*

She starts it.

She kisses you.

Fiercely.

Passionately.

Hungrily.

But you kiss her back.

And you can feel your need for her racing through your veins. Shooting down your spine.

And you can't fight it anymore.

*

It's quick, and it's dirty, and it's fast.

But it satisfies your need.

And that's all you're thinking about.

Because it distracts you from thoughts of the way in which you're betraying her.

Thoughts of what she'd say if she'd found out.

Thoughts of the look of disappointment when she realized that you weren't the angel you'd always pretended to be.

You finish quickly, and get out of there as fast as possible.

You don't need to see the look on her face after you've both finished.

You know what she looks like only too well enough.

And you know that she doesn't look like the woman that you're supposed to be with right now.

*

This is wrong.

This is wrong.

This is wrong.



This is right.

This is right.

This is right.

*

You no longer know which ones are which anymore, and to be perfectly honest, you don't really care that much.

Right and wrong stopped meaning anything to you after Jack Bristow called you naïve.

You laugh at that now, laugh at the truth of it all, and the bitter irony.

You had been naïve.

That had been true.

The man you had been had been naïve.

You're not naïve anymore.

You've had too much blood on your hands to be naïve anymore.
Too many deaths.

Too many wrongs.

Too many sins.

And so now you no longer try to be "good", knowing that whatever evils you've committed in your past had long ago established your eventual destination.

Which is why you're back here a week later.

Doing the same thing.

In the same style.

With the same woman.

*

You do know it's wrong.

You just don't care that much anymore.

Not now.

Not as she ripples around you, her muscles clenching, holding you tight.

Not as she kisses you and caresses you gently and ohgodthatsgood.

Not as she makes you feel better than you have in a long time.

Not now.

*

You do later.

Oh, yes.

You do later.

When you hold her in your arms and blonde hair cascades down over her shoulders and onto your arms.

And you can't help wishing it was brown.

*

But she's dead.

And this is might not be right – but it's right now.

She's dead.

And you're a sinner.

*

And so what if your list of sins reads 'slept with another woman while still in love with a dead one?'

It'd just be one more in a long list of trangressions.

And so what does one more matter?