Watch Me

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Alias, or any of its characters. If I did, do you really think I’d be getting off on writing about them?

Watch Me

He took a long draw off his cigarette and closed his eyes while he inhaled the sweet smoke.
“You know I hate that.”
He didn’t bother opening his eyes to answer her. “Yeah, I know.”
“But you don’t care.”

He opened his eyes a slit, just enough to see that her face was flushed, her eyes opened wide and wondering. He smirked, just a little, and saw her breathe just a little bit faster. “I don’t care about anything.”

She rose over him, straddling his waist. Her hair swung in a tangled mass around her face, covering her chest. She pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and ground it into the bedside table. Before anger could replace his hot arousal, she tossed her head, exposing her breasts. Her eyes flashed as heat made black overwhelm the pale blue in his eyes. She leaned forward with hungry enthusiasm, almost pressed her lips to his, only to find herself trapped beneath him, with his hand pressed to her mouth.

“We don’t do that,” he snarled, and she thrust her hips up to his, her eyes wide with arousal. She didn’t try to suppress her soft moan. His snarl turned into another smirk, and he thrust back, letting her feel his arousal against her belly. She shut her eyes briefly, trying not to let him see how much she wanted him in that moment, and was jarred by a slap stinging her cheek. She winced, her eyes snapping open, and he growled. “You look at me,” he said in a murmur, “you watch while I do this.”
Her voice came out hoarse and rough and not at all like her. “Do what?”

He smirked again, that smirk that made her wet and warm, and before she could recover, he had slid down her body and had his mouth pressed to the part that she ached the most. Her back snapped back into an arch, and her eyes rolled back, and his mouth was gone, and it was worse than it was before he had started. She managed to let her eyes clear enough to see him, crouching over her with his eyes dark and his fair hair tousled, and she could hear him. “You look at me,” he said, and she nodded, mumbled an agreement, because she would have done anything in that moment to make him lean back over her and press his cool mouth to her hot, soaking cunt—

He did, and she groaned, and she didn’t look away as he let his tongue slide over and around where she ached. She didn’t look away as he fucked her with his mouth as she moaned and panted, and spread her legs for him as he licked and lapped and swallowed.

She didn’t look away as her hands fisted around the tangled sheets and her back snapped into an arch, and she pleaded, “Fuck me, oh god, just—fuck, fuck, get inside me, Sark, fuck, just want to feel—you—inside—“

And she screamed as he stopped, just before she might have come from just his quick tongue and cold lips. He was leaning back on the foot of the bed, propped up by his elbows, and he was smirking with lips that shone and glistened.
“My turn, now.”
She screamed at him, cursed at him, and finally just slid her fingers over her wet cunt, just trying to come, come, finally come. This time, when he slapped her, it took a minute before the pain pulsed over her cheek, and when it did, she knew she’d have a bruise.

“I will finish it.”
She let all her breath out in a sigh. “God, thank you, Sark, thank you, I need to come, I need to come so bad—”
“Afterward.”
She stared at him, blankly, with eyes that were so dilated with need that the brown was gone.
“I will finish it afterward,” he said again. He smirked, and let his hand slide down his stomach suggestively.

And she was there, taking his long cock between her open lips. He let out a strangled groan and thrust up into her mouth. She let him. She always let him.

She let her hands form a tight ring around the top of him as she licked the head and formed a tight suction with her lips, swallowing the precum. His eyes watched her as she lapped and nibbled up the sides of his cock before finally taking him deep, deep, deeper into her throat, her lipstick leaving red stains on her pale fingers. He groaned again, and tangled his hands into her long hair.

“Suck it, Sydney, just suck it deep, suck it—oh, God, do that, do that. I’m in your mouth, fuck, I’m in your throat—bloody, bloody, fucking—Sydney!” He groaned and whimpered and finally just held her head steady and fucked her mouth with long, hard strokes. She let him, let him because she always let him, and couldn’t wait until he fucked her cunt like he fucked her mouth.

He thrust into her, his eyes wide as he watched himself slide in and out of her mouth, her hands looking so tiny wrapped around him. He went faster, faster, losing his rhythm, until finally, with a deep groan, he spilled into her mouth, dripped over her chin. She pumped him as he came with a guttural groan, his hands pulling painfully on her dark hair.

When he was done, he lay still for a moment, enjoyed the afterglow as he lay, spent and languid. She let him slide out of her mouth. Her throat ached, and her voice was gravelly and strangled as she spoke. “Now?” She tried again, and managed to say in a more recognizable voice. “You’ll fuck me now?”

He gave a small sigh, and pushed her off of him. He wrapped one of the sheets around his waist as he stood. He didn’t bother glancing behind him as he walked towards the bathroom.
“Sark? You’ll do me now?”
He paused, his hand on the bathroom doorknob, and answered her without turning around. “I’m going to take a shower now. Don’t join me.”
The door shut, leaving Sydney lying sprawled on the stained sheets, unsated, unspent, and alone.