| Title: Red Riding Hood Riff Author: automatic_badgirl Ships: - Syd/Sloane Rated: NC-17 Timeline: S3 Summary: Dirty little fairy tale featuring the Special Hell that is "Sloadney". Disclaimer: Not mine--No profit intended. Author's Notes: Wrote this whilst visiting the family in order to save my mind from imploding from the constant diet of reality television....Just a wee bit of smut based on the Little Red Riding Hood story...Written March 2004 Set in the dark and twisted Season 3 that JJ never developed fully.... | ||
The rain taps against the hood of the cheap plastic raincoat Sydney is wearing. Candy apple red and slickly vinyl, its garish artificiality was the finishing touch for the alias she had assumed tonight: a clubber, one more anonymous raver dancing their youth away in warehouses and bars. It was perfect cover for the meet she had gone to earlier. It had gone well, information exchanged in the strobe-lit smoky darkness, but the music, the sweaty press of bodies around her had stirred-up something inside. Sydney walks in the hissing rain through the dark streets of Zurich searching for release. There is movement behind her, the scrape of booted feet on pavement. She glances behind her and sees a figure emerge from a shadowed doorway. The smell hits her first—unwashed flesh and vomit—then he steps into the glare of light cast by a neon sign. He is corpse white and jittery, coated in a film of greasy junkie sweat. He grins, lips loose and slobbery, knife held low by his thigh. The junkie doesn't have to threaten yet, he is sure she is easy prey. And Sydney does back up a few steps, drawing him out into the open. "Where are you going little girl?" He is speaking in Swiss but she understands. She keeps moving away from him, widening her eyes for effect. "Pretty girl like you should know better than to wander alone at night...bad things could happen..." He laughs and waggles the knife, getting ready to pounce. Sydney's hand slips into her coat and she sets the trap. "Look mister I don't want any trouble...Please just let me go!" She injects just the right note of fear and naiveté into her voice. His eyes gleam when he hears her speak English—tourists make for easy pickings. He laughs and flicks his dripping bangs out of his eyes and brings the knife up. He lunges expecting her to stumble backwards. Instead Sydney holds her ground and brings her hand out from under her coat. The Glock nine-millimeter is leveled right at his face. The junkie stops—blearily peering at the gun—addled brain not really aware of how rapidly things have gone south for him. Sydney can practically smell what few remaining synapses he has frying as he tries to deal with his sudden reversal of fortune. His eyes flick back and forth, searching for hers within the darkness of the hood. Only her mouth is visible. Lipsticked lips glossy crimson as her voice drifts out—cool and amused. "You sure know how to pick 'em asshole..." She says sweetly. She pulls the trigger. She shoots him in the throat—the crack of the gun muffled by the rain. She has learned to enjoy the sound of desperate gasps for breath as the blood bubbles up and fills the lungs. She crouches over him watching as he twitches and bleeds out. She only moves once—out of the path of a runnel of blood that looks black against the wet pavement—she doesn't want to wreck her pretty new shoes. "My, my...what a big gun you have my dear." That familiar voice over her shoulder, she turns and watches as Sloane walks up the deserted street towards her. He is on time, like always whenever they meet. She stands and nudges the body. "All the better to kill a piece of garbage like this with." he returns her gun to her holster and regards him with a chilly smile. "What a magnificent creature you are, stalking the city streets playing at innocence, a wolf amongst the lambs." Sloane's voice is all warmth and bonhomie as they stand talking over the dead man. "You're one to talk—you've taught me everything I know..." Sloane's lips quirk in rueful acknowledgement and opens his arms to her. She kisses him hard—one need has been met and she's ready to take care of the other right now. He backs her into a nearby alley. He pushes the hood back, he wants to see the rain soak into her hair and slide down her face and flavor her kisses. She is so alive in his arms. Her heated breath and body such a contrast to the icy killer of moments ago. He loves this about her—her tremendous appetites for any experience—right or wrong. Those missing two years were a crucible that burned out all of the memories of the woman who was. Now she is creating the woman who she can be, moment by moment. Sydney's shoulders feel the rough press of the bricks through the cheap plastic raincoat. She stands legs spread wide, thigh muscles tight and quivering from the height of her heels and the slow stroking of Sloane's hands. He places kisses like gifts down her neck, onto the delicate lines of her collarbone. His hand presses hard against her breast, feeling her heart beat against his hand like a struggling bird. She bucks her hips when he presses up against her; the heavy ache between her legs can be soothed so easily by him. Any layer of fabric barring him from her is an insult when she's like this. Sloane obeys the mute urgings of her body and pushes her skirt up, eager to yank down her underwear and slide into that slippery warmth. His hands find only soft tender skin and wetness. His voice is a pleased growl rumbling against her neck as he frees himself and drives hard into her. "Sydney my dear dirty girl...did you forget your panties elsewhere or was this intentional?" He teases her, stroking slowly in and out, knowing she craves harder use from him. She throws her head back, words weak and breathless—all power gone to the wanton moans and cries she is making. "You like? I did that on purpose..." "Oh? And why is that?" He can feel her getting ready to go as her pleasure mounts. His slow deliberate fucking had concentrated the intensity for both of them. Pressure builds at the base of his spine, coils up in his gut. He's close and he wants to go with her. He shifts her, hooking her leg over his arm opening her wide for him and takes her hard. Sydney's answer is hoarse and ragged as the orgasm overtakes them both. "All the better to fuck you with my dear..." END
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