Deliver Us To Temptation
Chapter 2: Gleaming
His car is gleaming in the California sun; it helps that he had it washed the day before. He had upgraded earlier this year, from the telltale Agency Buick to a sleek Federal Audi. He gets in and sits in the driver's seat, sliding across the black leather, drumming the steering wheel with his fingers. There's no point in starting the ignition yet; he's not yet positive on his destination.
He decides to listen to some music. It's never calmed him before, so Michael doesn't expect it to do wonders now. Surprisingly, the loud, pumping rock that appears when he turns on the stereo helps him make his decision.
The drive to the freeway he could make in his sleep. The rest, he's not so sure about. The exit he takes he hasn't taken in years, it seems. The side roads he rumbles through have been hiding in his memory. The last streetlight before he reaches where he's going is red, as usual. A sign, perhaps—granting him time to change his mind and turn around.
When he finally stops, it is a block away from his true destination. A car that is all too familiar is coming at him from the opposite direction, and it is what causes him to pull over in front of an apartment building. The SUV makes a sharp left into a driveway one hundred yards in front of him, and he taps the accelerator ever so slightly, inching forward.
The white house is coming into focus too quickly, the red shutters and door filling up his windshield. He allows the driver to make their way into the house before shifting to Park in front of the house beside it. He waits a minute, wondering if he really should go through with this.
There are no second chances allowed, no second thoughts.
He rings the doorbell. She comes to the door, a bright smile on her face for a fleeting moment. It disappears as she realizes who is on her doorstep. He missed that smile, the way it would appear every time she looked at him.
"Michael." Her voice sounds shocked, as if his first name is the only word she can speak aloud. "Come in," she manages, but not before they both stand in silence, staring at one another for a full thirty seconds. She steps aside and allows him to come through the open doorway, closing the door behind him. She takes in his dissheveled appearance: blue jeans and a rugby shirt. She remembers that he is moving, and has most likely been packing for the last few days.
Before she can say anything, he speaks, getting right to the only reason of his visit he forces himself to believe.
"I still have your key." He pulls it out of his pocket, holding it up between them. She takes it from him, trying not to touch him but failing miserably as her fingers graze his hand, reminding them both.
"It's going to be so different when you're gone," she says, looking off to the side.
"We don't see each other than much anyway."
She shrugs. "I guess. Where are you going?" She looks him straight in the eye, pulling the truth out of him and not some elaborate lie.
"Paris. The Agency wants an affiliate who speaks the language, and guess whose name came up first on the list?"
They smile, knowing that though she is fluent, and knows various dialects, she could never be that agent.
"How would I reach you? I mean, if I wanted to talk to you or something." Her question catches him off-guard; they haven't spoken for months, why would she want to reach him in France?
"I'm getting a new cell, so I don't know the number yet. I could leave it with your dad—I doubt I'll see you before I leave."
"Leave it with Weiss," she says quickly. "I know I'll see him."
"Okay."
They stand silently once more. She grazes a mohagony table with her fingertips, he watches her fingers move.
"So," he says, surprising her. "I guess this is it, Sydney."
"I guess it is."
He steps closer to her. "Goodbye kiss?" She nods and finally smiles, leaning in and lightly brushing his lips with hers. She moves back, looking into his eyes. "What?"
His voice is husky with his reply, his eyes gleaming, and his stubble evident on his cheeks as she watches them move. Her only possible response to his words is the crash of fiery passion that ensues as their lips meet again, bodies pressed closely.
"I just remembered how much I've always wanted you."
Chapter 2: Gleaming
His car is gleaming in the California sun; it helps that he had it washed the day before. He had upgraded earlier this year, from the telltale Agency Buick to a sleek Federal Audi. He gets in and sits in the driver's seat, sliding across the black leather, drumming the steering wheel with his fingers. There's no point in starting the ignition yet; he's not yet positive on his destination.
He decides to listen to some music. It's never calmed him before, so Michael doesn't expect it to do wonders now. Surprisingly, the loud, pumping rock that appears when he turns on the stereo helps him make his decision.
The drive to the freeway he could make in his sleep. The rest, he's not so sure about. The exit he takes he hasn't taken in years, it seems. The side roads he rumbles through have been hiding in his memory. The last streetlight before he reaches where he's going is red, as usual. A sign, perhaps—granting him time to change his mind and turn around.
When he finally stops, it is a block away from his true destination. A car that is all too familiar is coming at him from the opposite direction, and it is what causes him to pull over in front of an apartment building. The SUV makes a sharp left into a driveway one hundred yards in front of him, and he taps the accelerator ever so slightly, inching forward.
The white house is coming into focus too quickly, the red shutters and door filling up his windshield. He allows the driver to make their way into the house before shifting to Park in front of the house beside it. He waits a minute, wondering if he really should go through with this.
There are no second chances allowed, no second thoughts.
He rings the doorbell. She comes to the door, a bright smile on her face for a fleeting moment. It disappears as she realizes who is on her doorstep. He missed that smile, the way it would appear every time she looked at him.
"Michael." Her voice sounds shocked, as if his first name is the only word she can speak aloud. "Come in," she manages, but not before they both stand in silence, staring at one another for a full thirty seconds. She steps aside and allows him to come through the open doorway, closing the door behind him. She takes in his dissheveled appearance: blue jeans and a rugby shirt. She remembers that he is moving, and has most likely been packing for the last few days.
Before she can say anything, he speaks, getting right to the only reason of his visit he forces himself to believe.
"I still have your key." He pulls it out of his pocket, holding it up between them. She takes it from him, trying not to touch him but failing miserably as her fingers graze his hand, reminding them both.
"It's going to be so different when you're gone," she says, looking off to the side.
"We don't see each other than much anyway."
She shrugs. "I guess. Where are you going?" She looks him straight in the eye, pulling the truth out of him and not some elaborate lie.
"Paris. The Agency wants an affiliate who speaks the language, and guess whose name came up first on the list?"
They smile, knowing that though she is fluent, and knows various dialects, she could never be that agent.
"How would I reach you? I mean, if I wanted to talk to you or something." Her question catches him off-guard; they haven't spoken for months, why would she want to reach him in France?
"I'm getting a new cell, so I don't know the number yet. I could leave it with your dad—I doubt I'll see you before I leave."
"Leave it with Weiss," she says quickly. "I know I'll see him."
"Okay."
They stand silently once more. She grazes a mohagony table with her fingertips, he watches her fingers move.
"So," he says, surprising her. "I guess this is it, Sydney."
"I guess it is."
He steps closer to her. "Goodbye kiss?" She nods and finally smiles, leaning in and lightly brushing his lips with hers. She moves back, looking into his eyes. "What?"
His voice is husky with his reply, his eyes gleaming, and his stubble evident on his cheeks as she watches them move. Her only possible response to his words is the crash of fiery passion that ensues as their lips meet again, bodies pressed closely.
"I just remembered how much I've always wanted you."
