Ch 2 - Amber
I fall over and over and over over over on you
I get ill, I get ill, I get ill, you're the only one I'm into
You and me
Fit so tight
I go lower and lower and lower lower livin easy
I don't know, I don't know what I got till it's over
You and me
Fit so tight
Do It Again - Queens of the Stone Age
Same old colors - medium blue with the slightest bit of taupe as contrast - one would think that a change would have been warranted by now, but nothing had been done. Same random decorative pieces, nothing too extravagant, but they still seemed to fit the scheme just fine. Same breakfast bar, and dining room table, both still appeared relatively unused. Not much had changed in a year, and surprisingly he didn't think it was too terrible of a thing. His life had been full of one change after another. Moving from one secure place to the next, never forging any ties. He almost felt somewhat normal now, and he liked it.
Same amber liquid filled the glass, and burned the throat, even though it was cooled with three round cubes of ice. Amber, a color perceived by most to be boring, the addition of yellows to a plain color, just turned it into a lighter version of brown. Coincidentally, those same people were probably too consumed with their pathetic lives to see the bigger picture - at least not like he could.
He didn't often have the opportunity to take a moment and reflect on the finer things in his life. Most of his nights were spent keeping tabs on SD-6 surveillance or verifying the limited private intel that he had received on Irina Derevko's whereabouts.
Not tonight, he told himself.
One night without a thought of his former boss would be difficult, but he was way overdue for a break. Especially after the five dead air phone calls that were made to his private line over the past two weeks, the most recent being less than five minutes ago. Something was in the works, he felt it, but could do little about it. He took a moment to swirl the liquid around in the glass, mixing the parts of melted ice, with the strong liquor.
Amber, the color of some moderately priced, but sometimes antique, woman's jewelry. The same color of light from the two candles that barely lit his flat. The color that frequently represented autumn in a good part of the world and of a Roman vase his mother used to keep her fresh flowers in. One of the few memories of the past he allowed himself to keep near and dear.
It was the color of her real hair. Not the many wigs she wore when they traveled the world, sent out to retrieve an object or information. Her hair as it was strewn across his bare chest as she slept, or as it was intertwined in his fingers. Even when it changed to a darker hue when they showered, to him it was still amber.
As he finished the last of his drink, he checked the time. Only a few minutes remained, causing one corner of his mouth to turn up. He no longer needed to cut the surveillance in his building. Sloane had the cameras removed over three months ago. The scheduled set of men that parked near his building almost all day and night, were also discontinued. Given the fact that Sloane gave him complete control over the mission in Greenland, he knew that he had finally gained his trust. He was still careful of course, other people had their own need to keep an eye on him, but he worked diligently to ensure his privacy.
After placing three more ice cubes in his glass, he poured another. Then he waited. Seated at the dining room table that was barely used, he waited for the time to come.
His anticipation, or sometimes he believed it to be concern, abated every time he heard the click of the lock, followed by the sound of the metal doorknob being turned. She could be caught alone in an abandoned warehouse with five guards to out wit and he wouldn't be the least bit worried. She could always hold her own. But every time she escaped her life to meet him at his flat, the risk seemed greater. Part of him detested being the object she jeopardized everything for. The other part didn't want to imagine it any other way.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He heard her voice softly ring out from just inside the door.
Sark watched as Sydney slowly appeared from behind the wall that was separating her from the dining area where he sat. Amber. This time it was her low cut spaghetti strap tank top, combined with a knee-length taupe and amber skirt that flowed around her. He watched her walk to him, her hands gathered behind her back. Each step her strappy amber sandals took, set off a different kind of alarm, blaring deep in his gut.
She stopped less than three feet away from him and tilted her head slightly to the side, a playful look in her eyes. "Everything okay?"
He didn't speak immediately, since his heart seemed to be choking him. Sydney had yet to find out about the phone calls he'd been receiving. Even though he was almost positive of the caller, he didn't want to see her worry about it. Any nonsensical action she made afterward would weigh too heavily on his conscious.
"Some impudent twit told me to remove my head from my ass today." His husky voice didn't shake, although it came close.
Sydney stepped closer to him, unable to suppress the smile that formed on her face. "If I remember correctly, it was supposed to be a pompous head. Plus, I'm sure you had it coming."
"So, you're saying I was the instigator." It wasn't a question for him.
Again she took another step to him, stopping within arms length. "Well, if I was this woman and had to follow directives given by some cocky young man, such as yourself, I would use a few choice words too."
Sark swallowed hard, attempting to keep his heart where it belonged. "Well, she restarted a war that had died weeks ago. One that she isn't going to win." He grabbed her wrist with one hand, pulling her over to him.
Sydney threw her leg over him to straddle his lap. Sark watched as her skirt rode up her thigh. He ran his hands over the exposed flesh, feeling the softness of her fresh tan skin. He missed her. Almost two weeks had gone by since they were last together, and her feel and smell had almost escaped his memory.
Her dimple was still present, although her smile wasn't the brightest that he had seen. He could tell that the initial stages of her seduction were serious. Slowly, she brought her hands to his already loosened tie, and wrapped her fingers around the burgundy and taupe silk, untying it, and then discarding it when she was finished.
"You know this color drives me crazy." Her quiet voice had a hint of sultriness.
He knew that when he chose the taupe suit that morning. It was just as powerful to her, as amber was to him. She continued her exploration by reaching for the top buttons of his burgundy shirt, and slowly freeing them with her fingers. Sark kept his hands on her legs, trying his best to keep his breathing even. He always welcomed when she took control - although those times were few and far between.
After freeing the first half of the buttons, Sydney pushed back the material, bringing her lips to his neck. The warmth her lips brought was equal to the burn that the liquor produced earlier. Each kiss was strategically placed. She followed down the center of his throat, over his Adam's apple, and then down to the center of his chest.
As her lips moved south, so did her hands. First they stopped at his waist, but then found their way to his belt. Once she unhooked it, she slid the tips of her fingers barely inside his waistline. Her goal was to release the clasp of his slacks. After succeeding, she found his zipper and momentarily fumbled with it before sliding it down.
Her gaze returned to his face to whisper, "Just for the record, she fully plans on winning this one."
With little warning, Sydney slammed her lips on his, dominating them with a seldom seen roughness. He took her force as a symbol that she too, missed him. Sark brought his hands up to her face, but as he touched her cheek, she pushed them back down to her waist. Her tongue wildly danced with his, mixing a hint of peppermint with the vanilla aftertaste that was left from his drink.
When her hands found their way through the opening of his slacks and into his briefs, Sark tensed. Her touch was pleasing enough to produce a moan from deep within him, since it had been sorely missed these past few weeks. The heat in his body began to rise as she massaged him. Her hand expertly moving up and down, with her thumb grazing the head.
Sydney felt his hardness form in her hand, and when she was sure he was ready, broke free from his lips. Slowly she rose from his lap, and lowered herself to her knees. Sark exhaled, preparing for the sensation she was about to bring.
With him still in her hand, Sydney wrapped her lips around the tip, and slowly circled her tongue over the surface. Sark let a drawn-out hum escape when she slid him in further, almost covering the entire length of his shaft. His breath immediately became jagged and his stomach jerked, as he felt the wetness of her mouth. He kept his hands by his sides, clutching the underside of the chair he was seated in, even though he really wanted to grab her hair and string it through his fingers.
Her movements were as strategic as her kisses were. The way she took in his length and caressed it with her tongue was causing his body to boil. That combined with the amount of suction she placed on him was unbearable. He couldn't recount the things he had said during the time she was working him, but he knew it was in Russian or maybe it was German.
Sark began to feel he was closer to the end. This wasn't going to work. He was determined to not see her win. His thoughts were short, but decisive. He ripped his hands from their grip on the chair, and pulled her head up.
"You're not getting off that easy." Completely out of breath, his voice barely made a sound as he spoke.
Through low eyes, he watched her smile again, batting her eyes flirtatiously. "I wasn't aware that I was the one who was getting off."
Sark successfully kept from laughing, and grabbed her hand to stand her up. Taking over, he started by caressing her cheek, then bringing her lips to his. He began to pull at the hair he'd been longing to touch since she had first walked in the door. His tongue softly stroked the inside of her mouth, still tasting peppermint. He began to move the two of them backward into the kitchen, both of them stepping somewhat clumsily as they entered.
Once his back reached the countertop, Sark grabbed Sydney around the waist to lift her up to the counter. After sitting her down, he slid his hands up her thighs again, pushing back her skirt. She shivered at his touch, but still wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. When his hands finally reached their destination, he smoothed his thumb over her slit, barely penetrating it through her undergarment. The moisture he felt as he rubbed her through the fabric, aroused him that much further.
Moments later, he felt her moan in his mouth when he slid the garment to the side, and slowly inserted two of his fingers. Sark realized that he couldn't hold out much longer, as he felt the wetness surrounding them. Swiftly, he removed his hand from her skirt and moved it to the strap of her tank, sliding it off her shoulder. Finally, he stopped their kiss, just long enough to remove her underwear.
His face was only a few inches from hers. The distance allowed him to keep the volume of his voice to a minimum. "I've missed you."
Sark rarely spoke candidly, or opened up to her with any amount of feeling, like he just had. Neither did she. It was like they had made a silent agreement to not speak the words that scared them. He almost regretted saying it immediately after the fact. Although he could tell what it meant to her, as he watched her eyes light up and a slight smile break. It wasn't that he didn't feel anything for her, it was quite the opposite, but he didn't want to curse anything by admitting it outright.
After he hiked her skirt the rest of the way up, he pulled her waist to the end of the counter. Sydney showed her readiness by grabbing his hardness and placing it near her entry. Before he entered her, he brought his face to her neck, kissing it softly. The smell of vanilla, similar to the taste of his liquor, was abundant just under her ear. Intoxication at its finest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him and finally allowing himself to feel her inside.
His hips move slowly at first, savoring the wetness that was generated by his entry. But as he explored deeper in her, he found the control he wanted to have fleeing his body. He dug his teeth into her exposed shoulder, which caused her to shriek in pleasure and some pain.
God, I missed her.
Sydney arched her back as Sark brought his hand to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. He heard her breath become short moments later, as he kept grinding his hips into her. He knew she was near her release, so he roughly massaged her breast while continuously sucking on different areas of her neck. The whimpering he barely heard coming from her, drove him to shove harder in her, wanting to hear the pleasure.
Soon after, he felt the muscles contract over him. Pulling him in a little deeper as they did. He kept moving in her, so close to his.
God I l…
He let out a powerful groan as he spilled himself inside of her. This was what he needed to take his mind off of everything, escape the day, and the concern around the woman he believed to be calling his phone.
But this wasn't just about the sex, his silent near admission told him of that.
As they both tried to slow their breathing back to normal, Sydney wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him. In an effort to slow his body, he brought his hand up to the amber strands that started the upturn in his evening. He watched as they wrapped around his fingers, gently hugging them.
He loved to watch her as she slept. The way her head found that spot on his chest, allowing her to quickly drift off was comforting to him. Her hand, as it softly played with his hair right before she fell. The feel of her skin under his hand was soft as he soothingly ventured the length of her back. It was calming, especially after a long day or week.
Over the year, they had grown completely comfortable with each other. She would visit him usually two nights a week and every other weekend. To keep her safe, they would of course ensure the day of the week would change. Too routine could prove to be detrimental. Still, those nights always ended the same, with her in his arms.
What was most surprising to him was how at ease in his own skin he had become, something that for many years he had to master the illusion of. He had no regrets of his life before, but he realized that something just wasn't right, wasn't there. He hated to speculate on what was missing, since the company of a woman didn't list too highly in his priorities before Los Angeles, but in the back of his mind, he was aware.
Sark took his hand from Sydney's back and softly played with her hair.
Another sleepless night, he thought as he checked the time. Only two hours until his five AM wake up. Sleep was eluding him, and his mind kept spinning with thoughts of what it all meant. Anxiety consumed his aching stomach, knowing all too well that something dreadful was about to happen. Not only did he receive another phone call from his ex-boss, he was drowning in the irony that he had also fallen for the one person she loved in life -- her daughter.
