Title: Cold Working A/N: This was written for the Eric Weiss Ficathon |
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And into another dimension. You’re not really surprised to see them here, though you are surprised when you see them; crowded up against the bar, Sark grinding his hips against your friend’s ass. Your friend’s head back and leaning against the collarbone of the person who you thought was his enemy. You watch as Sark grips Vaughn’s hips and spins him around. Jack told you, that you would find them here. He just didn’t tell you that you would find them quite like this. Twisted, demented. Wrapped up in each other’s arms. Oblivious to chaos around them. But then, your conversation with Jack suddenly seems like a memory of a very strange dream. Because this harsh world is the one that you’re now immersed in, and it’s seeping into your pores, while the world you left behind, the one of starch, clean shirts, ties, traffic and café lattes seems like the fading memory of a surreal reality. And yet, the incongruity you see before you refuses to settle in your mind. It’s like looking at an equation and seeing one plus one equals three. Sark is biting Vaughn’s lower lip and you watch transfixed as Vaughn lowers his hand until he’s rubbing at Sark’s crotch through his dark jeans. Vaughn who was always so righteous. Sark who never stood for anything. What reasons could they possibly have to work together, let alone…let alone want to suck each other’s tonsils out? You have no idea. But they haven’t noticed you yet. Well, you suppose they’re a little preoccupied. And so you move to the side and somehow you hear the crunch of something broken underfoot. Or maybe you just felt it because no one else seems to have noticed. You force another foot forward until you’re a little bit in front of the bar, but still several feet away from them. And now you’re so close, but that doesn’t make them anymore real. Or maybe they’re too real. Either way, you can’t stop yourself from staring. Because it’s like some kind of freak show, or maybe a train wreck. Grotesque and yet mesmerizing. You can’t remember the last time you’re seen that much intensity in Vaughn. (And intensity and Vaughn go together like birds of a feather.) But right now, as you watch him grasp Sark’s face, and grip his hair in a fist, you realize that this is something else entirely. This is animalistic. And for some reason, you vaguely remember watching those tapes of him and Sydney having sex. Maybe you’re trying to superimpose what you know of your friend’s sex life with what you’re seeing. But it still doesn’t add up. With Syd, he was hot, and sweet and intense but it was like he could still stop at a moment’s notice and jump in front of a moving train to save her. And if you think about it, maybe that requires someone to hold something back. But Vaughn isn’t holding anything back now. You don’t think he gives a shit if Sark wears bruises on his face when this is done, but right now, he’s taking everything he wants. You’d never admit, even under pain of death, but up until tonight, thoughts from those stolen scenes in Sydney’s house, still occasionally enter your mind when you’re jerking off. But they have nothing on the scene going on in front of you. Sark has ripped his mouth away and is sucking on the side of Vaughn’s neck. Again you ask yourself why. Sark, who hated Vaughn enough to try and kill him. Several times. Sark who fucked Vaughn’s wife. Sark who until recently, worked for an enemy of the United States and undermined them at every opportunity. Until recently of course, when Vaughn helped him escape from custody and flee the country. You move closer like a moth to flame and you wonder briefly if this will kill you. Instead you clear your throat. Vaughn’s the first one to look up and meet your eyes. Part of your brain registers that he’s wearing eye makeup but the other part of your brain is trying to recover from the look in his eyes while at the same time dealing with a sudden realization that has finally dawned in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you’ve been going about it all wrong this year. Maybe it wasn’t the Sydney part of the Sydney-Vaughn relationship that you wanted. You try and shove that thought right out of your mind because it’s making you sick, but some part of it can’t help but ring true. At least truer than the bullshit reasons you’ve been trying to feed yourself about Syd being your best friend’s ex-girlfriend for why you haven’t taken advantage of the situation. Your dick takes this moment to answer roll call and it takes all of your will power not to adjust yourself. You’re just glad that the rest of your body seems to be on autopilot. But suddenly things are happening around you that have nothing to do with your dick. Vaughn’s staring at you and so he’s not sucking on Sark’s face, so Sark eventually realizes that you’ve intruded in their little private party. Your mind finally registers that Sark’s dyed his hair black. It’s a good look on him - if you like gothic, death warmed over keeping your bed warm. “What do you want, Agent Weiss?” Sark asks eventually as he moves so that his back is no longer towards you. You notice that at the same time, he’s slipped an arm around Vaughn’s waist. You briefly wonder if his question is loaded. But then you shake yourself out of it, even though you realize that Sark’s lips are swollen and pouty and that he’s also wearing makeup. You think that maybe they’re just a couple of little queers aren’t they? You try to ignore the hard on pressing awkwardly in your pants as you force the words out of your throat. “Jack Bristow sent me here to find you both.” Sark raises an eyebrow as if this is nothing but a hoity-toity tea party and you’ve just said something uncouth. You want to laugh but then he waves his hand up in the air and turns away dismissing you. Vaughn on the other hand bares his teeth in a snarl. “Jack Bristow can go to hell,” he spits out. You stand there shocked. Neither of those reactions were ones you were expecting. You expected to see some guilt, maybe some gratitude, at least from Vaughn that you’ve come here to help. “You should be happy that he didn’t just have you guys arrested.” Sark glances back at you and rolls his eyes. “And why do you think that would be? Do you really think Jack Bristow ever feels compassionate?” Vaughn turns his head to Sark and you can’t really make out the look he’s giving him. They spend a few minutes locked in this silent battle until finally Sark cedes and throws his hand up. “Fine, not here. Go. I’ll go take care of it.” Sark spins around and starts to walk towards the back of the club. Vaughn meets your eyes and they look much harder than they used to be. “If you want answers, come with me. If you don’t want to know, and it would be better for you if you didn’t, turn around and walk away.” He doesn’t wait for your response but rather heads towards a small door on the other side of the club and you have to move quickly to catch up. But the crowd seems to be thicker and you almost lose sight of him a few times, but you manage to follow him down the proverbial rabbit hole. But on the other side of the door, you don’t find yourself tumbling. Instead, the door opens up into a small alleyway. But there’s no wave of fresh air to relieve you. Instead, the smell of urine hits you like brick wall. The crowd is less, but here the people are even dirtier. The night is dark and two men are huddled in the corner, hidden in gloominess. The waft of a familiar sweet smell emanates from them. It feels like the walls are closing in on you, so you run even faster after your friend’s disappearing shadow. You follow him up an old rickety staircase which leads you to another door that opens up to a long, dark hallway. Vaughn never looks back as he makes his way to the third door on the left and you can do nothing but follow. A part of you expects that the insanity will end soon, probably when you enter the room, but another part of you hopes that it won’t. And it doesn’t. Vaughn closes the door after you enter and its audible click doesn’t lift the veil that’s been hanging over you. Instead Vaughn approaches you, and you instinctively move back until you hit the wall. There’s something feral in his eyes and there’s nothing there that you recognize. Well, that’s not entirely true. You’ve been seeing his boundaries fray slowly over the last eight months. But unlike the insanity you would expect to see, you see a brittleness that’s developed and you imagine that it’s not unlike the process of work hardening a metal. You keep pounding it to make it harder, but at the same time, it looses its ductility. And you can see that there’s no elasticity left in him. He’s been shaped and forged and he’s ready to strike. He’s momentarily taken aback when he notices you hit the wall, like it’s just occurred to him that you’re scared or don’t trust him. He doesn’t pursue you any further. “Julian will be back as soon as he meets the person we were expecting and then we’ll be gone.” You inhale sharply. “So it was all a ruse?” You ask and you can’t believe the disappointment curdling in your stomach. But Vaughn gives you a hard look and then the corner of his mouth turns up in a small smile. “No. Not all of it.” Your breath is shaky when it finally leaves you and you know that you’ve just confessed to something dangerous. “But…why?” the words tumble out of your mouth and you’re just happy that you refrained from anything more incriminating. That half smile is still curled around his mouth for a moment before it disappears. “There are things here that you don’t understand.” “Try me,” is the only response you can think of. He looks away and you notice that his fist is clenched tightly. “Jack Bristow played us all.” His voice comes out harsh and low. “Everything was a set-up from the beginning. He knew about Lauren far ahead of anyone else. He used it to make me his sword. He knew more about the Covenant than he let on, and he used Sark as his mole from the moment he was released from the CIA. Now because of Jack, Sydney has disappeared again, and we’re tired of being pawns.” “We’re trying to find her—” But Vaughn isn’t feeling kind. “This isn’t about her anymore. She’s taking care of herself. This is about me and Sark and the secrets we’re owed. The life we’re owed. We’re tired of living life with blinders and a bridle on.” Sark suddenly enters the room and his eyes immediately take you in, up against the wall, a few feet away. “Did you get it?” Vaughn asks without turning around to look at him. Sark pulls out an envelop from his back pocket, reaches around Vaughn’s hips and tucks it into his waistband. “I got it. Found him in the john doing opium of all things.” “You didn’t pay him?” Sark shrugs and you can finally see what he’s carrying in his other hand. The blade reflects the cheap white bulb-light coming from further inside the room. “I cut his neck instead.” To your surprise, Vaughn laughs. “Good thinking. He was just going to use the money to buy more drugs anyways. You just sped up the process.” Sark smiles and the white of his teeth reminds you of the knife he’s holding. He’s still standing behind Vaughn, but leans forward so that his mouth is near Vaughn’s neck. He whispers loud enough so that you can hear it. “Well, you know how much I despise inefficiency.” Vaughn laughs again, and leans his head back offering his neck. You watch transfixed as Sark’s pink tongue traces up towards his face until he’s sucking on his earlobe. This would be fine…well, as fine as it could be given the circumstances, except for the fact that Sark’s eyes have never left you. Eventually, Vaughn rolls away and untucks the envelope Sark put in his pants. Your eyes follow him and finally notice that there’s a decrepit old double bed in the middle of the room. You watch as Vaughn tosses the envelop on a nearby table, kicking up dust as he does so, and you notice that underneath the table are two duffle bags. Your eyes are following Vaughn religiously now, because that saves you from having to look at Sark, who is still standing in front of you (with no Vaughn barrier in the way now) and staring. Well, maybe not staring. Staring implies a vacant gaze and there’s certainly nothing vacant about the look on his face. If you had to describe it, you’d say that Sark looked hungry. You make a slight move to push yourself away from the wall, when suddenly Sark’s throwing you back against it. Between blinks, the steel blade is suddenly in the air and coming towards you, and you don’t have time to do anything but cringe and think that yes, this really is going to kill you. Instead of a fatal blow though, Sark grips the left shoulder of your shirt and stabs the blade through it, nicking your flesh in the process. “Fuck!” You can’t help but swear. You saw your life flash before your eyes and now it feels like your legs are going to buckle. You try and go after Sark to strike out at him or something but the knife has pinned your shoulder to the wall, through your shirt. Sark steps away smiling and walks over to the duffle bags. You immediately turn your head towards Vaughn, who is now sitting on the edge of the bed. “He could have killed me!” You accuse. Vaughn looks at you for a moment as if he’s considering the statement. Then he turns his head towards Sark who has just found what he was looking for. Sark turns back towards you all the while stretching out a thin red scarf between his hands. You start to panic. Sark’s obviously going to gag you and kill you and Vaughn’s just going to sit there, watching from the bed. When Sark is within your reach, you try and swing out with your right arm to deck him, but he merely catches your fist and uses it to propel the right side of your body, back against the wall. You struggle with all your might, but a quick glance to your left shows that the knife is buried at least a few inches into the wall and not likely to give soon. Your shoulder is starting to sting because Sark doesn’t have that good of an aim, and you can see some blood seeping through your shirt. But Sark is quick and you never had much hope of stopping him when you weren’t bound, let alone one-handed, and soon he is slipping a hangman’s knot over your right wrist and tying the other end of the scarf to the doorknob. With a final tug before he knots it and you realize that your back is flush against the wall. You think that your right shoulder might just pop out of its socket; he’s tied the scarf so tight. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at Sark. Sark looks over his handiwork, and apparently satisfied with the results, ignores you and walks over to the bed, draping his arms across Vaughn’s shoulders. Vaughn smiles, welcoming him back. They seem immune to your flabbergasted expression because the way they’re looking at each other leaves them no room for any consideration about you. But then, Vaughn keeps surprising you. “Eric wants to know why?” he tells Sark. Sark just nods. “I know. That’s why I tied him to the wall.” Vaughn smiles and you’ve had just about enough. You struggle some more. “I don’t know what kind of fucked up games you guys are playing, but just let me go and you can keep playing them without me.” They finally both turn and look at you, and you get the sinking feeling that maybe you were better off when you were beneath their notice. Instead they’re both getting up off the bed, and coming towards you like predators stalking their victim. You try and cower against the wall. Vaughn reaches you first and now he’s standing well into your personal space. You can feel his breath tickling your left cheek. Sark moves so that he’s standing to your right and the claustrophobia returns with a vengeance. “But I thought you wanted to know why,” Sark drawls, leaning forward so that he’s whispering the words in your ear. There’s something almost sensual about his warm breath and it scares the hell out of you. “Have you ever woken up to realize that all your life, you’ve been dead?” Vaughn has stepped closer and his tongue almost tickles your ear. “Have you ever gone to bed and felt that your dreams are more real sleeping than awake?” Sark’s hand is on your chest, pressing against your heart as if calling it forward to beat against him. Your heart complies and you can feel it pounding. “All our lives we’ve been programmed and manipulated…” “…from birth someone else has decided the role we’re supposed to play…” “They’ve dulled our senses…” “But how much can you trust senses that have been programmed to tell you what they want you to know.” It’s uncanny the way they finish each other’s sentences, as if they can hear each other’s whispers through your ears. But you don’t know what they’re talking about. You’ve lived your life normally and without regrets. Sark starts to suck on your neck and his hand moves lower, and you start to tremble when you realize that if he travels much further your secret is out. Vaughn caresses your cheek. “Sydney found out something she wasn’t supposed to. She sent me a letter. She doesn’t want to be found. I’m a chain around her neck and my presence forces her to be what she doesn’t want to be.” Sark puts his hand on your crotch and your dick throbs at the contact. Your secret is found and the shame starts to heat your face. Sark throws his head back in a laugh. Vaughn takes this moment to break away from you and attack Sark’s open neck. The two of them claw at each other like they’re trying to get under each other’s skin. Sark starts to rub himself against Vaughn’s body and Vaughn grips Sark’s ass as if trying to bring him even closer. They break apart a few minutes later, their chests panting, and their eyes full of lust. Eventually Sark turns his eyes back to you and before you know it, he’s dropping to his knees and opening your pants. It doesn’t take him much effort to free your dick and you barely have time to register what’s happening before you feel a delicious warmth encircling you. Your head whips down to see Sark sucking you off but Vaughn distracts you by running one hand under your shirt and along your chest and the other into your hair. He flicks your nipple with his fingers. “Sark and I are meant to be counterbalances. We were designed to keep Sydney locked into this life.” A wave of pleasure courses through your body and you can’t help but want to buck into Sark’s mouth. Sark retaliates by reminding you of his teeth. Pleasure and pain swirl together in a cacophony of sensations. Your left hand finds Vaughn’s hip and after a short struggle, you find his skin buried underneath his shirt. You think your fingernails draw blood as you clench your hand around him, but Vaughn just grimaces and smiles. “I can’t do that to her anymore. I don’t want to. We don’t want to. But he’s so damn good with his mouth, isn’t he?” You nod vigorously, staring at Vaughn’s lips. They have you mesmerized. “We’re not going to live our lives as Jack Bristow’s or Irina Derevko’s or Arvin Sloane’s stooges any longer. We’re going to live, for the first time in our lives. Can you understand that?” You nod again but the tension deep in your stomach has reached a breaking point and the pleasure explodes. Your eyes are locked tightly shut as your back arches up off the wall. You can feel Sark swallowing you deep in his mouth until you finally collapse back against your restraints. You hardly notice Sark standing back up and Vaughn going to him and kissing him violently on the mouth. Your heart lurches and you think that you just might crack unless you can shut your mind to everything right now and let the world right itself on its axis. Some time later you open your eyes and see Vaughn and Sark picking up their duffle bags. The light seems brighter in the room. They turn to you, their faces are washed, their hair is combed and Sark’s is back to its natural color. They’re both in casual clothes and there hardly seems anything left to tie them to what just happened a little while ago. Your pants are still undone however, and your arm is starting to ache. Sark walks over to you and with a hard tug, the scarf is loosened from the doorknob and your arm collapses against your body. Indifferently, Sark picks up your wrist, unties the knot and pockets the scarf in his bag. He then opens the door and exits, leaving only Vaughn in front of you. “If you want to pretend that this was all a dream, I’ll understand. But then do yourself a favor and don’t come looking for us again. Tell Jack that you tried but that you couldn’t reason with us. Tell him that we’re unstable now. I think that perhaps that should make him a little wearier of trying to come after us again. We won’t be worth the risk if he can’t predict our actions.” You eye him wearily and he just gives you a lopsided smile. Then he flicks off the light, turns and follows Sark out the door, leaving you trapped with the knife still pinning your shirt to the wall. You close your eyes and wonder if it really was all a dream. You feel oddly inconsolable that they have left the room without you. You reach over with your right hand and keep working the knife until it finally comes out of the wall and clatters to the ground. The noise is startling and you realize that now the room seems eerily quiet and devoid of life. Where as before it seemed to be closing in on you, now it feels desolate. And again, you want to ask yourself why? You close your eyes again and slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the floor. The pictures of their lust and hunger still echo in your mind. You crack open your eyes and you notice a spider crawling towards you along the baseboard, and you swear it’s almost leaving footprints in the dust. You weren’t lying before. You have lived your life normally and without regrets. You enjoy putting on a clean shirt in the morning. You like your car. You like your dog. You enjoy your job. But sitting here on the dirty floor of a vacant hotel room, everything suddenly feels muted. And you don’t necessarily want to go back to your bagels and light cream cheese though you don’t know what it is about you that has suddenly changed. You’ve always been a bit player surrounded by giants. Unlike Vaughn and Sark however, you wear a different type of restraint that has controlled how you interact with the world. You may not have been played your entire life, but you’ve never really lived it either. The best friend. The CIA partner. The dog sitter. The drinking buddy. A slight anger curls in your stomach as you realize that when you were younger, you expected a lot more from your life than just that. You wanted to be a hero and a player and someone important. You wanted love and lust and hunger to consume you. You want what Vaughn and Sark have. You lean down and pick up the knife off the floor. It feels so heavy in your hand but you turn it over admiring the fine working in the blade. On the other side of the handle though, you see a set of numbers carved into the handle. You bring it closer to your face and squint so you can read them in the darkness. And you realize that they’re co-ordinates. Vaughn and Sark want you to follow them. You suddenly feel like laughing and crying and you wonder how much of tonight has been a set-up. And then you wonder just how much you really care. Your fingers trace the edge of the blade and you can’t help but testing it to see exactly how sharp it is. You prick your finger and watch as the blood starts to pool in a drop. Steel is sharp and deadly because of the way it’s been forged. The way they’ve been forged. The way they want to forge you. You look at the knife and you know your choice is to leave it or take it. They tied you down and forced you to recognize the emptiness in your life, but this last move they left to be made entirely by you. You walk over to the bed, grab a pillowcase and use it to wrap up the knife. You tuck the precious waddled package underneath your arm and open the door. The smell of dirt and sweat assaults you again and you realize that it hasn’t killed you. It has made you alive.
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