Masseur
Author: kate jones
Email: katejoneslives@yahoo.com
Summary: Sydney is tense and full of emotion. PWP :-)
Spoilers: S1
Rating: PG-13
Ship: S/V
Dist: Cover Me, Allies, SD-1, anywhere really. review/email me: katejoneslives@yahoo.com
Author's Note: Honestly, I've never written anything like this. My stuff is usually hard-core, straight up angst, with a bit of smut on the side. This is crazy talk.
Francie knocks on the door, and Sydney looks up. "Are you okay sweetie?" she asks as she makes her way to the bed.
"I'm fine." Sydney's fingers slide across the edges of the pewter picture frame, outlining the raised pattern.
Francie furrows her brows and eyes her best friend, knowing that when someone stays in bed the entire day staring at a photograph something is up. "Who's the picture of?"
Sydney starts. "Hmm? Oh, me and my dad."
Alarm. "Did something happen to your dad?"
"No! No, he's fine. I just—it's hard to explain. I just need some time to think."
A silent 'About what?' hangs in the air as Francie says, "Well, you know I'm here for you, honey."
"Thanks, Fran." She watches her friend leave the room and her eyes fall on the frame once more. A fresh river of emotion flows through her, again leaving her wondering exactly what it is she's feeling. Francie's question about the photograph had startled her; it isn't until then that she realizes she had been staring at the frame and not the picture.
Well, that answered something. Vaughn had given her the frame for Christmas.
But what does that mean to her? Yes, everyone knows that she and Vaughn have feeling for one another, no matter how hard one tried to be nonchalant around the other. But those feelings are definitely not that strong; not strong enough for her to actually feel depressed about never actually giving in to his advances or creating her own.
God, she needs some tequila.
Sydney puts the frame on the table beside her and slides further beneath the bedcovers. Something inside her wants to see him.
The thought is banished almost as quickly as it returns with more questions than answers. How? When? Where?
Here. She can't leave; doesn't want to.
She can't bring herself to leave.
Pulling herself up and out of the bed, Sydney walks over to her vanity, where her CIA sanctioned cell phone is plugged into its charger. Dialing the number from heart (though she's actually called him very few times), her heart begins to race as the ring sings in her ear.
"Hello?"
"Vaughn?"
The shock is eminent in his voice. "Sydney? What are you—are you okay?"
"No, I—"
"I'll be at the pier in ten."
"Can you come over here?"
"Can I—are you crazy? Sydney, if Sloane finds out I visited you he will have us both killed—"
"Can you get to a massage table?" She ends the call before listening to his reply. That last remark is the fruit of exasperation; she honestly could think of no other way that he could come to her home unnoticed. And she was feeling quite tense.
She puts the phone down and lies on the bed, wondering if he'll actually come. If he doesn't, she can't actually hold it against him; it's not like he wants to die. If he does-and the slightest chance exists-she can't even imagine what she'll do.
"Hey Syd; there's someone here to see you—says he's a masseur?"
Her eyelids flutter open—sleep had taken her over for a few minutes. "Let him in." She says nothing else as she gets off her bed (pulling the sheets and comforter taut against the headboard) and goes to the bedroom door.
And there is Vaughn, standing in front of her in all his glory, with massage table in hand. "Hey."
"Hi." And there is the giddy smile that he puts on her face. She can see the grin spreading across his features as she lets him in and closes the door behind him. She turns to him once more. "You came."
"I came." He looks down at the folded table in his hand and asks, "Were you serious about the massage table?"
"Not at the time." There's a pause as both just stand there smilling at one another. "I can't believe you came."
"You thought I wouldn't?"
"There was a very large possibilty that you wouldn't—"
"—but you didn't leave a margin of error."
"Well, not a big enough one at least."
"So, let's do this," he says, unfolding the table and setting it up.
"What?"
"This massage thing."
"You're serious?"
"You don't want a massage? Who doesn't want a massage—Who doesn't want a free massage?"
"I am not one to turn down a free massage—"
"Oh, I think you are."
She pulls off her tank in answer. He stares at her topless state.
"Okay. That's a step in the right direction."
"Let me grab a towel." She hurries off to the bathroom, returning with three towels clutched in front of her.
"Modest."
"You've seen me in less."
"I think I would remember seeing you in less." He winces at the slip of tongue and she smiles even bigger. She wraps a towel around her body and turns, pulling off her shorts and panties and throwing them in the hamper.
"How do we do this?"
He takes a towel from the bed where she has placed them and spreads it along the length of the padded table.
"We don't have to actually use the table..."
"Are you implying that I brought it for nothing?"
"No, I'm implying that we could use the bed." There is a slight silence between them as she takes the towel from the table and puts it on the middle of the bed. She then lies on it, undoing the towel around her and pushing it down so it covers only her buttocks. She puts her hands under her head and turns towards Vaughn, who is standing awkwardly several feet away.
"Sydney, this is kind of weird."
The exasperation returns. "Oh, come on, Vaughn. It's a massage. Yes, you'll touch my bare skin, but don't tell me that you never wanted to do this. We both knew it was coming."
"You knew I was going to give you a massage?" A smile breaks out on his face. "How long have you been keeping this from me, Sydney?"
She plays along. "Ever since the day I met you, Vaughn. Those doughnuts just screamed, 'I want to give you a massage!' "
"Hmm, come to think of it, I got that from the hair..."
She laughs, "And the holster."
"The holster?"
"Gotta love the holster."
"I do now."
"Don't we all." She closes her eyes and turns her head so she faces away from him.
Silence.
"I could use some alcohol right now."
Vaughn smiles at her. "It would make this so much less awkward."
She can hear him talking off his shoes, walking towards her. Her skin prickles and she feels a chill just before his hands make contact with her. Suddenly, she can feel his leg press into the bed as he brings the other over her back and sits on his heels. His fingers start sliding across her back and he's pressing ever-so-slightly with the heel of his palm. She melts under his touch and sinks deeper into the bed as she feels him leaning down, his stomach on her back, hands next to her sides, lips pressing into the top of her back. A moan slips past her lips as his kisses continue along the side of her neck, her jawline, until finally he reaches the side of her mouth.
Sydney opens her eyes and sees him above her. She finally realizes what it is she has been searching for the whole day as she turns on her back and leans up to kiss him.
Author: kate jones
Email: katejoneslives@yahoo.com
Summary: Sydney is tense and full of emotion. PWP :-)
Spoilers: S1
Rating: PG-13
Ship: S/V
Dist: Cover Me, Allies, SD-1, anywhere really. review/email me: katejoneslives@yahoo.com
Author's Note: Honestly, I've never written anything like this. My stuff is usually hard-core, straight up angst, with a bit of smut on the side. This is crazy talk.
Francie knocks on the door, and Sydney looks up. "Are you okay sweetie?" she asks as she makes her way to the bed.
"I'm fine." Sydney's fingers slide across the edges of the pewter picture frame, outlining the raised pattern.
Francie furrows her brows and eyes her best friend, knowing that when someone stays in bed the entire day staring at a photograph something is up. "Who's the picture of?"
Sydney starts. "Hmm? Oh, me and my dad."
Alarm. "Did something happen to your dad?"
"No! No, he's fine. I just—it's hard to explain. I just need some time to think."
A silent 'About what?' hangs in the air as Francie says, "Well, you know I'm here for you, honey."
"Thanks, Fran." She watches her friend leave the room and her eyes fall on the frame once more. A fresh river of emotion flows through her, again leaving her wondering exactly what it is she's feeling. Francie's question about the photograph had startled her; it isn't until then that she realizes she had been staring at the frame and not the picture.
Well, that answered something. Vaughn had given her the frame for Christmas.
But what does that mean to her? Yes, everyone knows that she and Vaughn have feeling for one another, no matter how hard one tried to be nonchalant around the other. But those feelings are definitely not that strong; not strong enough for her to actually feel depressed about never actually giving in to his advances or creating her own.
God, she needs some tequila.
Sydney puts the frame on the table beside her and slides further beneath the bedcovers. Something inside her wants to see him.
The thought is banished almost as quickly as it returns with more questions than answers. How? When? Where?
Here. She can't leave; doesn't want to.
She can't bring herself to leave.
Pulling herself up and out of the bed, Sydney walks over to her vanity, where her CIA sanctioned cell phone is plugged into its charger. Dialing the number from heart (though she's actually called him very few times), her heart begins to race as the ring sings in her ear.
"Hello?"
"Vaughn?"
The shock is eminent in his voice. "Sydney? What are you—are you okay?"
"No, I—"
"I'll be at the pier in ten."
"Can you come over here?"
"Can I—are you crazy? Sydney, if Sloane finds out I visited you he will have us both killed—"
"Can you get to a massage table?" She ends the call before listening to his reply. That last remark is the fruit of exasperation; she honestly could think of no other way that he could come to her home unnoticed. And she was feeling quite tense.
She puts the phone down and lies on the bed, wondering if he'll actually come. If he doesn't, she can't actually hold it against him; it's not like he wants to die. If he does-and the slightest chance exists-she can't even imagine what she'll do.
"Hey Syd; there's someone here to see you—says he's a masseur?"
Her eyelids flutter open—sleep had taken her over for a few minutes. "Let him in." She says nothing else as she gets off her bed (pulling the sheets and comforter taut against the headboard) and goes to the bedroom door.
And there is Vaughn, standing in front of her in all his glory, with massage table in hand. "Hey."
"Hi." And there is the giddy smile that he puts on her face. She can see the grin spreading across his features as she lets him in and closes the door behind him. She turns to him once more. "You came."
"I came." He looks down at the folded table in his hand and asks, "Were you serious about the massage table?"
"Not at the time." There's a pause as both just stand there smilling at one another. "I can't believe you came."
"You thought I wouldn't?"
"There was a very large possibilty that you wouldn't—"
"—but you didn't leave a margin of error."
"Well, not a big enough one at least."
"So, let's do this," he says, unfolding the table and setting it up.
"What?"
"This massage thing."
"You're serious?"
"You don't want a massage? Who doesn't want a massage—Who doesn't want a free massage?"
"I am not one to turn down a free massage—"
"Oh, I think you are."
She pulls off her tank in answer. He stares at her topless state.
"Okay. That's a step in the right direction."
"Let me grab a towel." She hurries off to the bathroom, returning with three towels clutched in front of her.
"Modest."
"You've seen me in less."
"I think I would remember seeing you in less." He winces at the slip of tongue and she smiles even bigger. She wraps a towel around her body and turns, pulling off her shorts and panties and throwing them in the hamper.
"How do we do this?"
He takes a towel from the bed where she has placed them and spreads it along the length of the padded table.
"We don't have to actually use the table..."
"Are you implying that I brought it for nothing?"
"No, I'm implying that we could use the bed." There is a slight silence between them as she takes the towel from the table and puts it on the middle of the bed. She then lies on it, undoing the towel around her and pushing it down so it covers only her buttocks. She puts her hands under her head and turns towards Vaughn, who is standing awkwardly several feet away.
"Sydney, this is kind of weird."
The exasperation returns. "Oh, come on, Vaughn. It's a massage. Yes, you'll touch my bare skin, but don't tell me that you never wanted to do this. We both knew it was coming."
"You knew I was going to give you a massage?" A smile breaks out on his face. "How long have you been keeping this from me, Sydney?"
She plays along. "Ever since the day I met you, Vaughn. Those doughnuts just screamed, 'I want to give you a massage!' "
"Hmm, come to think of it, I got that from the hair..."
She laughs, "And the holster."
"The holster?"
"Gotta love the holster."
"I do now."
"Don't we all." She closes her eyes and turns her head so she faces away from him.
Silence.
"I could use some alcohol right now."
Vaughn smiles at her. "It would make this so much less awkward."
She can hear him talking off his shoes, walking towards her. Her skin prickles and she feels a chill just before his hands make contact with her. Suddenly, she can feel his leg press into the bed as he brings the other over her back and sits on his heels. His fingers start sliding across her back and he's pressing ever-so-slightly with the heel of his palm. She melts under his touch and sinks deeper into the bed as she feels him leaning down, his stomach on her back, hands next to her sides, lips pressing into the top of her back. A moan slips past her lips as his kisses continue along the side of her neck, her jawline, until finally he reaches the side of her mouth.
Sydney opens her eyes and sees him above her. She finally realizes what it is she has been searching for the whole day as she turns on her back and leans up to kiss him.