Thank you to everyone especially Fanatic!  Your feedback has been going so much of the time.  This was a *monster* to me. 

Whoa, landi.  Thanks.  OMG, I'm an idiot.

Part Eight

With the heavy curtains drawn, Sark's bedroom was pleasantly shadowed.  It was a spacious, minimally furnished room with a dark wood floor.  The bed itself was king-sized and very soft; the amber linen complimented the scrolled wrought iron of the bedframe.  Sydney bounced on the mattress experimentally and decided she liked it.  It was more than suitable for her purposes.

And the fireplace was a nice touch, too.

When Sark finally left the bathroom, Sydney was thrilled to see he was wearing a towel around his waist and nothing more. 

He had shaved.  His blonde hair was still wet and she was inordinately pleased to see he was more disheveled schoolboy than straggly dog.  She let her gaze stray southward as a droplet of water skimmed down the plane of his cheek, past his neck, to fall on his broad bare chest.  Sark had to be one of the most well-made men she'd ever seen.  He was, as Ana said, rather beautiful.  She considered his chest, first appreciating the effect of the whole and then concentrating on the advantages of its discrete elements such as his nipples and muscle definition. 

She was still deliberating on the manifold benefits of Sark he when cleared his throat.

Sydney slowly brought her eyes back up to his, though she lingered at the crux of his neck and shoulder for a short time, and was further delighted to see that beneath the veneer of suspicion, Sark also appeared shaken by her behavior.  It seemed that things were going to go her way this time. 

She let it show in her smile.

He smiled back tentatively before speaking formally.  "Ms. Bristow, are you lost?"

It's much too late for formality, Sydney thought.  Lacking makeup and seductive lingerie, Sydney had been concerned about his response.  Apparently, she shouldn't have worried.  She'd seen his eyes pop out of his head as they'd traveled the full length of her body on his bed.  She lay on her side, propped against the pillows, artfully situated so that her long legs were shown to advantage even in ill-fitting jeans.  She'd left a bit of space between herself and the edge.  She crooked her finger at him and then patted the bed, clearly inviting him to join her.

Sark set his jaw with visible strain.  "Ms. Bristow, are you ill?  My doctor won't be available for house calls until later this evening.  I insist you see him then."

In a sinuous move that simultaneously shifted several of Sydney's more salient features to interesting effect on Sark's Adam's apple, Sydney sat up to expose the items behind her: salve and bandages.  Her voice was smoky when she finally answered him, "Sark, I feel fine.  I was just thinking of you."

There it was again.  His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

Again, Sydney invited Sark to the bed.  She let herself chuckle, it looked like Sark couldn't decide whether to jump on the bed or run away quickly.  "I just want to check your leg and other...injuries.  You said the doctor will get here later but I think you deserve more immediate attention."

"It does hurt a bit," Sark bit his bottom lip as he lay down beside her on the bed, careful to keep the towel in place.

He's still wary, Sydney thought. This will never do. 

"Let me look," she whispered, not really asking for permission.  With another flowing movement, Sydney repositioned herself at the foot of the bed.  Facing him, she bent her head and took his left foot in her hands, massaging gently.  Inexorably, she moved her hands up to his ankle, at one point taking her nails and lightly scratching along the side of his foot.  He shivered so slightly Sydney would have missed it if she wasn't touching him.  She let her fingers delicately probe and found swelling.  Leaning down, she blew a warm breath across the area.  Then she slipped her hands further up, liberally extending her tender ministrations to his calve and knee.  When she rubbed his thigh just beneath the edge of the towel, she leaned herself forward teasingly almost pressing her breasts against his knee.  She lingered there briefly, letting her fingertips explore before returning downward to caress his muscled leg with firm, even strokes.  Again, she lavished attention on his ankle. At the same as Sydney's finger drew small circles on the sensitive underside of his foot, she blew across his ankle and let her mouth hover above almost kissing it.

Foot still cradled in her hands, she sat up to look in his eyes.  They were hooded, and completely bare of anything but desire.

Rather than giggle with the delight success brought, Sydney let her voice drop to a husky, dark depth.  "I think it's swollen."

She absolutely refusing to drop a glance down to the towel.

"Turn over," she told him.  "I want to take care of your back."

Sydney's plan was simple; she would render Sark's mental faculties inoperative by a surfeit of physical stimulus.  Although he might academically know better than to lose control around Sydney, she was going to do her damnedest to make him ignore reason.  If she couldn't keep him completely interested, Sark's mind would wander into alternate scenarios and possible ulterior motives.

He lay on his stomach and Sydney stood over him to readjust the towel so that it covered the curve of his ass to mid-thigh, showing only the barest hint of sculpted hip.  His back was smoothly planed and fair as fine alabaster.  Pleased with the presentation, Sydney slid her right hand over his neck down to his shoulder as she moved to straddle him.  Sure enough, the bruises and abrasions were highly visible against the relative paleness of his skin.  She put her left hand on his other shoulder and then let both hands knead his back.  He grunted with pleasure as she relaxed him, sometimes tracing ever so lightly on his sensitive injuries.  Purposefully, she pressed down along one meandering scar and Sark hissed.  She tilted down slightly, again pressing herself down to his bare flesh.  She licked the scar while dipping her fingers in the jar of salve.  Then she straightened and began to apply the antibiotic cream with a gentle circular motion.  She took a bandage and smoothed it over the wound tenderly.   When she was done, she kissed the top of the bandage.  It wasn't normally part of the first aid process but she didn't much care.  She repeated the action several times and Sark had thrust his hips forward several times by the end.  Sydney pretended not to notice. 

He had only stilled his last surreptitious movement when Sydney leaned forward to whisper in his ear.  She braced herself inches over his body by laying one palm flat on the bed; she tangled the fingers of her other hand at the nape of his neck and pulled a little at the soft curls there.  Nuzzling against his earlobe, she murmured a new order.

"Turn over, so I can take care of the rest of you."

She dismounted and stood to the side of the bed to let him up.  Sydney figured the knot must be nearly Gordian; it was a miracle the towel remained around his lean hips.  She licked her lips when he arranged himself against the pillows.  Again, she placed her hand on her shoulder preparing to sit astride his lap but as she began to slide her fingers down his side, he grabbed her wrist and forced her to look him in the face.

His face was serious.  Damnit.

Her foot hung in the air.  Gravity and the awkward position forced her down, but Sydney held herself up by sheer force of will.  It wouldn't do to collapse clumsily on top of him.

His grip on her wrist was firm and forceful.  "Ms. Bristow, what are you thinking?"

"Just wanna see what all the fuss is about," Sydney kept her reply playful, referencing Ana's obsession with him.

Sark pursed his lips in deep thought.  He frowned, and then began to bite his bottom lip again.

Let's make this choice easier on you, Sydney thought.  She knew it was formulaic, but she was going to do it anyway.  She really couldn't help herself.  She leaned forward and offered huskily, "I could do that for you."

His eyes threw sparks.  Sark released her wrist but kept firm contact on her arm, guiding Sydney down to meet his body.  As promised, she nipped at his lip.  It was soft this time, and so was their second kiss.  It quickly grew in passion.  Sark didn't need to be convinced to let her in; soon their tongues tangled together and his thoughts were lost in a maze of moist warmth.  She settled against his hips and Sark drew his hands up and down her back, locking their bodies in a natural rhythm.  The she moved along his jaw and face, strategically kissing and caressing every one of the scars and injuries he'd suffered in the last few days.  Soon she had him begging.  His moan of pleasure became a snarl when Sydney removed herself from his mouth to suck hard at his neck.  His complaint faded when she moved to meet his lips, confident she had left her mark on him.   Licking the new bruise, Sydney slid herself down the length of his body, careful of his ankle, so that their legs became entwined.

"Why are you still wearing clothes," Sark gasped out as Sydney did something exquisite to his collarbone.

She was glad he had finally asked.  She lifted herself up to meet his eyes.  "Because, Sark, I wanted you to undress me."

Sydney knew that Sark would doubt her intentions unless she let him dominate her.  She offered him a semblance of control so that he couldn't think of slow or long term but only the moment.  In response, his eyes smoldered.  Incongruously, Sydney remembered what she learned about fire in high school chemistry, blue flame burned hotter than red.  She burned, too, and let it show. 

The sweater came off first.  He inched it upward, kissing each new expanse of skin revealed.  He had taken special care laving the area between her breasts and brushing his hand slightly beneath them.  She moaned as he played his hands up and down her body.  Finally, he'd thrown the sweater over her shoulder and somewhere across the room. 

She braced herself against the bed, one hand flat to each side of his shoulders so he could get a good look at her.  He proved to be enthralled, not moving but only staring hard as if to memorize everything. 

When his eyes finally returned to hers, Sydney decided he was taking too long.  She sat up and grasped his hands in hers.  "I want you to touch me," she explained.

"I am touching you," he smiled but indulged her.

"Not enough."  She hoped the desperate need shone in her eyes but ground her hips down to emphasize the point.

He was quiet as she led their hands behind her back to the clasp of her bra.  Blue to brown, they kept eye contact the entire time.  When the garment was successfully unfastened, Sydney slid the straps down.  She stretched her arms up luxuriously, the bra clutched tight in one fist when Sark bucked against her and she gasped.  Then she leaned into him so their bare skin touched. 

He proved to be as fascinated as ever and bent his head down to capture her with his mouth.

Sydney took the opening to knee him in the groin and drag their still entwined hands up to the top of the bed.  Before Sark knew what she was doing, Sydney had knotted his wrists to the headboard with her bra.

A look of panic appeared on Sark's face, so swiftly replaced by coy seduction she wasn't sure it had really ever been there.  "Sydney, I'd rather save these games until after we've been more traditionally sated."

Sydney slid off his body to the bottom of the bed.  She secured Sark's sprained ankle to the footboard with the handcuffs from K-Directorate.  Then she shimmied back into the sweater he'd discarded.  Fully dressed, she took the rifle she'd stowed beneath the bed earlier and held it to his side.

"You should really stop struggling.  That bra is made out of a super durable plastic polymer Marshall designed to resist the highest forces.  Support is very important," Sydney told him as if revealing a state secret.  "Can't have cleavage failure during an important mission.'

"You might also want to consider that the underwire is made of razor sharp metal.  There's a hidden release; if you keep thrashing like that you're bound to slice your wrists.  And we wouldn't want that, would we?'

"Now tell me where the disk is or you'll be losing that extra kidney Satan gave you."

Sark went very still.  He looked at Sydney, no hint of emotion evident in his eyes.  "Whatever happened to that moral compass, Sydney?  You indict me with using sex as a weapon only to do the same.  That's scarcely what I'd call a high moral ground.  Could it be that I've corrupted you?"

"Actually, we've discussed this.  There's a difference between sex and sex appeal.  I never intended to have sex with you and it's hardly my fault you find me sexually appealing."  She nudged the rifle into his side.  "The disk?"

"Sydney, really, weren't we having a good time?"

"It was beautiful," she said with false sincerity.  "Where's the disk?"

He sighed theatrically, "You've been in contact with the CIA, haven't you?  I'm rather disappointed.  I thought if you just experienced for yourself what satisfaction our partnership could bring, you wouldn't deny it.' 

Sark managed to look heartbroken, "I never expected you would deny us."

"Satisfaction?  I was kidnapped and tortured!  This is the last straw.  I've been putting up with your crap for days," Sydney finally said, exasperated.  "Before Tuesday, I already thought you were a nefarious, evil bastard.  But now?  I don't even think you're human."

"I'm just a man, Sydney.  You have proof of it."  He looked pointedly down at the towel.  "I think you even liked it."

She shook her head.  "The disk!"

"Alright," Sark relented.  "Because of the affection I have for you and what could have been.  The disk is in the dresser, second middle from the bottom.  There's a secret compartment; the catch is a thorn in the woodwork."

Sydney backed up to open the drawer, gun still trained on him.  She opened it and picked up the small disk.  "No booby traps?  Thanks.  Pleasure doing business with you.  Well, not perhaps a pleasure until this moment."

"Please, Ms. Bristow, do us both the favor of not lying to yourself.  You may have used your 'sex appeal' like a bludgeon-"

"Bludgeon!"  Sydney was offended.  "If I was so transparent, then why did you fall for it?"

"Because," he said patiently with his trademark smirk in place.  "Because I like you, Sydney Bristow."

"That's great.  You keep to those truth-telling ways; it'll make you very popular with the CIA officers assigned to interrogate you."

"That truth will be unvarnished, I warn you.  Do you want your precious handler to know what you've been up to these past few days?"

Her face was stony; Sark changed tactics.

"I know Irina is in CIA custody, Sydney.  She walked in, leaving me to do the outside work.  You trust your mother, don't you?  And if you arrest me, I can promise the only one who will benefit is Arvin Sloane."

"Why am I even still standing here," Sydney asked herself aloud.  "You're right, we do have my mother.  You'd be redundant and I don't believe I could stand another minute in your company.  I have plane to catch."

She turned to Sark.  "We're even now.  Don't tell Sloane who I really work for and I won't tell him about your attempted double-cross."

"Even," Sark rolled the word around in his mouth to see if he liked the taste.  "Nothing lost, nothing gained.  I'll live.  See you in the office tomorrow then?"

He looked remarkably composed for a half-naked man handcuffed to a bed.  She would have to make amends.

"Well, that depends," she said with a smile as she opened the bedroom door, "on if you can get yourself out in the next twenty minutes.  Dad isn't the only person I called; Ana's on her way.  Have fun explaining why you're tied up with my bra and be grateful I didn't take the towel.  Even though it was really more for my sake than yours.'

"Bye bye now."  Sydney waved merrily and shut the bedroom door.  Her smirk was huge; maybe she had picked something up from Sark but, hey, she was feeling pretty good.

There may have been a strong strut in her walk as she exited the safehouse; Sydney figured she earned it.  She'd been lying about Ana, but Sark didn't need to know that.  She had bested Ana; she had kicked Sark's butt; and she had successfully accomplished her mission. 

Oh, yeah, Sydney thought as she spun the disk in the air watching it turn in silvery circles before catching it in her other hand and sticking it in her pants' pocket with a certain triumphant flair.   I am a Spying Badass.