A/N: Sry it took me so long and all.I've limited my excuses to two a.) high
school sucks, b.) TNT is EVIL!!!
Chapter 3
"Miss, you really shouldn't be here.."
Slipping back into public servant mode Ian mentally berated himself for coming up with such a lame reply. She probably thinks I work here! Who knows if I'll ever see her again, I just botched my chance to introduce myself.. At the mention of introductions anther part of his complex mind joined the argument. It's not as if she was exactly forth coming herself. I mean what chick just goes up to a guy and tells him he's magnificent! While the more egotistical side of Ian Nottingham was greatly taken with this reflection logic won out in the end: Idiot, she wasn't talking about you but about the gauntlet. How thick are you? You must be really desperate for ::some:: kind of a relationship if you think a gorgeous chick like that would go out with you. Now get over yourself and think of something better to say before she leaves!
While the awkward silence stretched out Sara was waging her ::own:: internal battle. He must think me terribly forward; I can't believe I spoke to him! Mistress will have a fit.if she finds out. With this new, rebellious thought a honey slow grin lazily climbed across her face. Unbeknownst to her Ian had started to feel quite flushed by the mere presence of the smile that put the Mona Lisa to shame.
"Uh, myname'sIanNottinghamdoyouwanttogotothemovieswithmeonSaturdaynight?" Oh, shit! Ian gasped realizing how stupid he had just made himself sound. I can't believe that I said that out loud! Faced with that sensuous, and knowing smile he had completely lost control.
What the fuck! This time it was Sara's turn to gasp at both her language and the soon to be Wielder's request. Had he just asked her out?! Watching the flush crawl up his neck and over his forehead she swallowed tears. He was embarrassed and regretted asking someone as ugly as her out on a date. Her pervious euphoria fleeing she dejectedly completed the motion of lowering her head in order to hide the hurt now all too clearly reflected in her eyes.
Confused, Ian watched as the hope died in her eyes and was replaced by the expression he had often witnessed in the eyes of the prostitutes and abuse victims that crowded the precinct. Beyond her lowered head, an annoying habit she seemed to have, he caught a glimpse of his prey: Vespuci.
Before Vespuci could spot him he ducked down behind the case, belatedly remembering the green-eyed goddess. Not sure what to do he started to reach for her ankle.
"Come on get down before puts some lead into you!" Ian urgently whispered.
"I'll be fine Sir. Bullets do not hurt, much." A slightly suicidal Sara replied.
"Stubborn bitch, get down here now!" Fearing for her life Ian lost control. Lightening fast he grabbed her ankle and pulled her onto the floor beside him.
"You fucker!" Angry and hurt by the name-calling she pulled a small razor sharp knife from her wrist sheathe and threw it at the right side of his head.
"Ouch, bitch!" Gasping Ian held his hand to the right side of his head in a feeble attempt to stem the trickle of blood and searing pain that accompanied the wound. "What was that for?" An extremely pissed off Nottingham questioned while trying to tug the weapon out from the side of the display case. It was a futile effort; the deadly blade was embedded deep within the wood. "I save your life and you attempt first degree? You really need to lighten up."
"You called me a stubborn bitch!" Sara pouted in a fashion reminiscent of a hurt teenager.
"Yeah, because you almost got both of us killed! You are coming into the station for questioning, end of discussion. Anyone that carries around illegal throwing knives, and that (pointing to the knife sprouting out of the side of cabinet) certainly qualifies should not be let loose on New York's streets."
Thoroughly annoyed with this new turn of events Sara simply shook her head and attempted to calm herself in order to reason with him. Words of apology half formed on her lips she suddenly registered a clinking sound, but it was too late. Ian Nottingham future Wielder of the Witchblade had handcuffed her to himself!
Smirking, Ian enjoyed the look of utter shock on her lovely face. "You are not going anywhere. Got that Bright Eyes?"
"I got.Oh my God! It was the poisoned one!" Frantically, only because she hated anything that was a physical manifestation of her chains of servitude, Sara crawled across the floor bridging the remaining gap between them. One day she had seen Lilith use a similar move on a lawyer she fancied. Only that time her Mistress had been wearing a miniskirt and low cut top. Oh, and she had been on top of the giant oak table decorating the study too. Slinking toward him she plastered a look of concern onto her face (learned also by observing Lilith, but this time during her annual Cure for Cancer Charity Auction).
"I might have to suck the poison out of the cut." She purred suggestively, knowing that if any of the security cameras recorded this she would be in for it. Distractedly she observed that Ian was blushing again and trembling slightly. Too bad that he's so afraid of the 'poison', she thought not knowing that ::she:: was to blame for his sudden lack of control.
Dammit, snap out of it Nottingham, you're about to die from a poisoned knife~ stop thinking about how she would look in her bra and panties! Hmm, I wonder if she's the type to wear a thong.
Noses to nose with a now sweating Ian Sara prepare for her guiltiest pleasure~ pretending to suck the 'poison' out of his wound. Knowing she'd have to get quite a bit closer to him in order to pull it off she prepare to test the limits of her training. With feline grace she straddled his lap and brought her hand, cuff and all up, to his head.
With his breathing harsh and eyes out of focus Ian found his left hand, the one attached to Sara's, enfolded by her silken tresses. His eyes went wider when he felt her lips on the side of his forehead and her tongue drawing circles on his now fevered skin. If this was the way he went he had no complaints.
The taste of his blood was potent and heavy like the sip of red wine Lilith had allowed her on her twenty-first birthday. It seemed like the few traces of it on her tongue were an exilier of pure power, immortality. In the distance recesses of her mind she heard a deep masculine laugh and felt the power in her ring awake. Through her daze she sensed someone, no Ian, wrap an arm around her neck and roughly her mouth to his. It felt like passion and fire, like lightening shot through her when their lips met. That was how she knew it was wrong, it was too perfect and she would be punished for it. Snaking her free hand into his shirt pocket her gloved hands found her ticket to freedom. The soft sound of concealed footsteps on tile cleared the cobwebs from her mind. In a flash she was free and had reclaimed her knife. In one twist of the ring upon her finger she was invisible, too.
Chapter 3
"Miss, you really shouldn't be here.."
Slipping back into public servant mode Ian mentally berated himself for coming up with such a lame reply. She probably thinks I work here! Who knows if I'll ever see her again, I just botched my chance to introduce myself.. At the mention of introductions anther part of his complex mind joined the argument. It's not as if she was exactly forth coming herself. I mean what chick just goes up to a guy and tells him he's magnificent! While the more egotistical side of Ian Nottingham was greatly taken with this reflection logic won out in the end: Idiot, she wasn't talking about you but about the gauntlet. How thick are you? You must be really desperate for ::some:: kind of a relationship if you think a gorgeous chick like that would go out with you. Now get over yourself and think of something better to say before she leaves!
While the awkward silence stretched out Sara was waging her ::own:: internal battle. He must think me terribly forward; I can't believe I spoke to him! Mistress will have a fit.if she finds out. With this new, rebellious thought a honey slow grin lazily climbed across her face. Unbeknownst to her Ian had started to feel quite flushed by the mere presence of the smile that put the Mona Lisa to shame.
"Uh, myname'sIanNottinghamdoyouwanttogotothemovieswithmeonSaturdaynight?" Oh, shit! Ian gasped realizing how stupid he had just made himself sound. I can't believe that I said that out loud! Faced with that sensuous, and knowing smile he had completely lost control.
What the fuck! This time it was Sara's turn to gasp at both her language and the soon to be Wielder's request. Had he just asked her out?! Watching the flush crawl up his neck and over his forehead she swallowed tears. He was embarrassed and regretted asking someone as ugly as her out on a date. Her pervious euphoria fleeing she dejectedly completed the motion of lowering her head in order to hide the hurt now all too clearly reflected in her eyes.
Confused, Ian watched as the hope died in her eyes and was replaced by the expression he had often witnessed in the eyes of the prostitutes and abuse victims that crowded the precinct. Beyond her lowered head, an annoying habit she seemed to have, he caught a glimpse of his prey: Vespuci.
Before Vespuci could spot him he ducked down behind the case, belatedly remembering the green-eyed goddess. Not sure what to do he started to reach for her ankle.
"Come on get down before puts some lead into you!" Ian urgently whispered.
"I'll be fine Sir. Bullets do not hurt, much." A slightly suicidal Sara replied.
"Stubborn bitch, get down here now!" Fearing for her life Ian lost control. Lightening fast he grabbed her ankle and pulled her onto the floor beside him.
"You fucker!" Angry and hurt by the name-calling she pulled a small razor sharp knife from her wrist sheathe and threw it at the right side of his head.
"Ouch, bitch!" Gasping Ian held his hand to the right side of his head in a feeble attempt to stem the trickle of blood and searing pain that accompanied the wound. "What was that for?" An extremely pissed off Nottingham questioned while trying to tug the weapon out from the side of the display case. It was a futile effort; the deadly blade was embedded deep within the wood. "I save your life and you attempt first degree? You really need to lighten up."
"You called me a stubborn bitch!" Sara pouted in a fashion reminiscent of a hurt teenager.
"Yeah, because you almost got both of us killed! You are coming into the station for questioning, end of discussion. Anyone that carries around illegal throwing knives, and that (pointing to the knife sprouting out of the side of cabinet) certainly qualifies should not be let loose on New York's streets."
Thoroughly annoyed with this new turn of events Sara simply shook her head and attempted to calm herself in order to reason with him. Words of apology half formed on her lips she suddenly registered a clinking sound, but it was too late. Ian Nottingham future Wielder of the Witchblade had handcuffed her to himself!
Smirking, Ian enjoyed the look of utter shock on her lovely face. "You are not going anywhere. Got that Bright Eyes?"
"I got.Oh my God! It was the poisoned one!" Frantically, only because she hated anything that was a physical manifestation of her chains of servitude, Sara crawled across the floor bridging the remaining gap between them. One day she had seen Lilith use a similar move on a lawyer she fancied. Only that time her Mistress had been wearing a miniskirt and low cut top. Oh, and she had been on top of the giant oak table decorating the study too. Slinking toward him she plastered a look of concern onto her face (learned also by observing Lilith, but this time during her annual Cure for Cancer Charity Auction).
"I might have to suck the poison out of the cut." She purred suggestively, knowing that if any of the security cameras recorded this she would be in for it. Distractedly she observed that Ian was blushing again and trembling slightly. Too bad that he's so afraid of the 'poison', she thought not knowing that ::she:: was to blame for his sudden lack of control.
Dammit, snap out of it Nottingham, you're about to die from a poisoned knife~ stop thinking about how she would look in her bra and panties! Hmm, I wonder if she's the type to wear a thong.
Noses to nose with a now sweating Ian Sara prepare for her guiltiest pleasure~ pretending to suck the 'poison' out of his wound. Knowing she'd have to get quite a bit closer to him in order to pull it off she prepare to test the limits of her training. With feline grace she straddled his lap and brought her hand, cuff and all up, to his head.
With his breathing harsh and eyes out of focus Ian found his left hand, the one attached to Sara's, enfolded by her silken tresses. His eyes went wider when he felt her lips on the side of his forehead and her tongue drawing circles on his now fevered skin. If this was the way he went he had no complaints.
The taste of his blood was potent and heavy like the sip of red wine Lilith had allowed her on her twenty-first birthday. It seemed like the few traces of it on her tongue were an exilier of pure power, immortality. In the distance recesses of her mind she heard a deep masculine laugh and felt the power in her ring awake. Through her daze she sensed someone, no Ian, wrap an arm around her neck and roughly her mouth to his. It felt like passion and fire, like lightening shot through her when their lips met. That was how she knew it was wrong, it was too perfect and she would be punished for it. Snaking her free hand into his shirt pocket her gloved hands found her ticket to freedom. The soft sound of concealed footsteps on tile cleared the cobwebs from her mind. In a flash she was free and had reclaimed her knife. In one twist of the ring upon her finger she was invisible, too.