![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kethniName: Trouble Sleeping
Fandom: Alias
Pairing: Sark/Weiss
Rating: 15
Warnings: Sexual imagery
Note: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
naty_neko for the prompt.
Word count: 1450
Summary: Sark and Weiss take what moments together that they can get.
I’m having trouble sleeping
You’re jumping in my bed
Twisting in my head
Leave me
Weiss closed his eyes and let his head fall forward as hands rubbed his shoulders. The hotel room was large and airy. Huge windows let in the darkness of the night sky and the distant, cold moonlight. This far up the city glittered demurely and the sea was nothing but an inky slash across the horizon. This far up they could see no people, no cars, no signs of life outside themselves. This far up they could pretend.
‘Come to bed,’ Sark said, and now his hands were in Weiss’s hair, running his fingers through the dark strands.
‘That all you think about?’ Weiss asked, looking up. Sark was younger, on paper at least, but he had a coolness, a cynicism, a pragmatism, and a dignity that made him seem years older. He didn’t talk like any twenty-somethings that Weiss had ever met, there was no uncertainty, no lack of confidence, and no sense of a man developing. Sark appeared to be a complete, and completed, person.
‘Certainly not,’ Sark said, and Weiss smelled the perfume of his skin under the tang of the aftershave. ‘I have plots and counterplots to keep me busy.’
‘Right, those.’
‘Don’t sulk, Eric,’ he said gently. ‘I’ve come a long way.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ Weiss said quietly.
Sark slapped the back of his head and smiled as Weiss turned and glared at him. ‘Anything to get you out of this mood.’
‘You can’t just turn up!’ Weiss protested. ‘I have a life, I’m seeing someone...’
Sark turned the chair so Weiss was facing him. ‘Come to bed, lamb, let Uncle Julian kiss you better.’
‘That’s a creepy image. I’ll hold it dearly to my heart when you’re getting 150 years in prison and I’m executed for treason.’
‘I’m not going to let you get executed,’ Sark chuckled, as he led Weiss over to the bed. ‘If anyone gets to kill you it’s going to be me.’
‘Well now I feel so much better,’ Weiss said sourly. ‘Julian...’ he caught Sark’s wrists in his hand. ‘We’re going to get ourselves killed. You and me both.’
Sark rolled his eyes. ‘You do this every time, Eric. Rend your clothes, cover yourself in ashes, bewail the terrible state of our souls, and proclaim our eternal damnation. Well, love, I have news for you; it doesn’t make an iota difference to how I feel about you.’ He pulled his hands free. ‘I don’t believe it makes a jot of difference to your feelings either. We play the hands we’re dealt Eric, and there’s no point complaining to the dealer.’ He wrapped Weiss’s tie around his fist and pulled him down into a kiss.
I’m having trouble breathing
You’re sitting on my chest
I sure could use the rest
Leave me
‘Where does this one come from?’ Weiss asked, stroking his fingers over a fresh pinkly-blushing scar on Sark’s back.
‘That one was... an acid burn.’ Sark looked over his shoulder at his lover. ‘Some people have no patience at all.’
‘It would be useless, of course, for me to ask you to be more careful?’ Weiss asked, his fingers tracing over Sark’s ribs.
‘I’m always careful, Eric, you know that there is nothing and no-one I have greater consideration for than my own safety,’ Sark said sweetly. ‘Of course what you mean is, would it be useless for you to ask me to put on a leash and a collar and be a good little boy?’
Weiss bit the shell of Sark’s ear. ‘I know better than to ask that.’
‘Shall I ask you to leave your terribly responsible position fighting evil doers and join me in a life of crime?’
‘You’re always saying that,’ Weiss laughed.
‘But I never expect you to say yes,’ Sark said easily. ‘You’re far too much of a boy scout.’
‘So here we are,’ Weiss said. ‘You’re too bad and I’m too good.’
Sark turned and tugged Weiss’s hair. ‘I rather think that makes us just right.’
It’s you
Why’s it always you
and never me?
I’ve never dared to let
my feelings free
Why’s it always you
and never me?
never cared
too much about honesty
His blond curls had been shorn. When he looked up all Weiss saw were his huge blue eyes.
‘Agent Weiss,’ he said, putting more into the two words than Nadia put into whole discourses.
‘Sark,’ Weiss said, as he put down a tray of food. The CIA cell was stark and cold, bare metal bars and a thin mattress on the bed. CCTV cameras in the corridor tracked across the corridor and the cells. There were no windows, no sign of the outside world, and no clock. The cell could be imagined as its own unique world, separate but parallel to the world outside.
‘Your hands are shaking,’ Sark said under his breath. ‘Dear boy, don’t change the habit of a lifetime and let your feelings carry you away. No use us both being locked up is there?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean, smart ass?’ Weiss murmured.
‘Only that in our assigned roles as villain and hero, I have a considerable amount of freedom not afforded to you.’ Sark rattled his chains. ‘Metaphorically speaking.’
‘Meaning what?’ Weiss asked.
Sark looked up and smiled at him. ‘You know what it means. Don’t worry yourself, dear heart; I don’t hold it against you. I trust that can you think of other things to hold against me than my relative freedom,’ he said as he inclined his face away from the cameras and fluttered his eyes.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m bored, the food is terrible, and the clothes they have me in are deeply, deeply unattractive,’ Sark sulked. ‘But worst of all, I’m in continual contact with my secret lover and I can’t do anything with him.’
‘Yeah,’ Weiss agreed, stepping away. ‘Tell me about it.’
I’m having trouble sleeping
I’m thinking of what you said
About the tears been shed
Leave me
This room was inappropriately luxurious: overstuffed sofas, huge throw cushions, deep rugs, and even large art prints on the walls, although they were screwed so securely to the walls that they were impossible to remove by hand. Not that Weiss could have tried at that moment: he was sat fixed in a cross position, arms splayed out and chained to a metal bar, legs parted by a spreader bar and chained down at the ankles. His shirt was ripped and bloodied, a huge welt was glimmering on his forehead, his right eye was a blackened, swollen mess, and his mouth was cut and bleeding.
‘Well, this is terribly inhospitable isn’t it?’ Sark said as he tipped up Weiss’s face. His tone was light as always but his eyes were dark and stormy.
‘Eh, the room will do at a pinch,’ Weiss croaked.
‘Ah, witty repartee!’ Sark said as he gently cleaned Weiss’s mouth, dabbing away the blood. ‘Do they teach you that in CIA training school?’
‘Yeah but I was a slow learner, had to take a summer school in it too.’
Sark picked up a water bottle up and popped a straw into it. ‘Water, agent Weiss? It’s not quite the cocktail hour.’ He slipped the straw between Weiss’s lips and Weiss gulped gratefully but frowned at the unfamiliar after taste.
‘Something for the pain,’ Sark murmured.
‘To cause it?’
‘Cute, Eric, very cute.’
‘What do you want Sark?’ Weiss asked as Sark took the bottle away and wiped Weiss’s mouth dry. ‘You going to nursemaid me?’
‘You’re no use to anyone dead,’ Sark said cheerfully, turning his attention to Weiss’s eye and putting a blissfully cold pack on it. ‘Besides which, if you consult your dangerous Big Boy’s Book of heroic clichés you’ll find the villain coming in to offer succour to a captured goodie is a classic.’
‘Doesn’t one of us have to be a chick for that?’
‘Times move on, Agent Weiss,’ Sark said sadly. ‘Times move on.’
It’s you
Now and always you
but never me
I’ve never dared to
let my feelings free
Why’s it always you
and never me?
never cared
too much about honesty
This was a different hotel in a different city, a different country, a long way from anywhere that either of them was known. The heavy, hazy sun filled the bedroom with shifting, uncertain, golden light.
Weiss, from his supine position on the bed, saw Sark backlit: a golden-haired seraph caught mid-fall from heaven.
‘How long can we keep doing this?’ Weiss asked, walked his fingers along Sark’s sternum.
‘Forever,’ Sark said, stretching. ‘Forever and ever.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
The end
Fanfic very angst based on the song "trouble sleeping" of The Perishers … it is a so beautiful and sad song. I am sure that you will be able to do something fantastic with it. Ah, that is something slash… Weiss and Sark?
Fandom: Alias
Pairing: Sark/Weiss
Rating: 15
Warnings: Sexual imagery
Note: Thanks to
naty_neko for the prompt.Word count: 1450
Summary: Sark and Weiss take what moments together that they can get.
I’m having trouble sleeping
You’re jumping in my bed
Twisting in my head
Leave me
Weiss closed his eyes and let his head fall forward as hands rubbed his shoulders. The hotel room was large and airy. Huge windows let in the darkness of the night sky and the distant, cold moonlight. This far up the city glittered demurely and the sea was nothing but an inky slash across the horizon. This far up they could see no people, no cars, no signs of life outside themselves. This far up they could pretend.
‘Come to bed,’ Sark said, and now his hands were in Weiss’s hair, running his fingers through the dark strands.
‘That all you think about?’ Weiss asked, looking up. Sark was younger, on paper at least, but he had a coolness, a cynicism, a pragmatism, and a dignity that made him seem years older. He didn’t talk like any twenty-somethings that Weiss had ever met, there was no uncertainty, no lack of confidence, and no sense of a man developing. Sark appeared to be a complete, and completed, person.
‘Certainly not,’ Sark said, and Weiss smelled the perfume of his skin under the tang of the aftershave. ‘I have plots and counterplots to keep me busy.’
‘Right, those.’
‘Don’t sulk, Eric,’ he said gently. ‘I’ve come a long way.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ Weiss said quietly.
Sark slapped the back of his head and smiled as Weiss turned and glared at him. ‘Anything to get you out of this mood.’
‘You can’t just turn up!’ Weiss protested. ‘I have a life, I’m seeing someone...’
Sark turned the chair so Weiss was facing him. ‘Come to bed, lamb, let Uncle Julian kiss you better.’
‘That’s a creepy image. I’ll hold it dearly to my heart when you’re getting 150 years in prison and I’m executed for treason.’
‘I’m not going to let you get executed,’ Sark chuckled, as he led Weiss over to the bed. ‘If anyone gets to kill you it’s going to be me.’
‘Well now I feel so much better,’ Weiss said sourly. ‘Julian...’ he caught Sark’s wrists in his hand. ‘We’re going to get ourselves killed. You and me both.’
Sark rolled his eyes. ‘You do this every time, Eric. Rend your clothes, cover yourself in ashes, bewail the terrible state of our souls, and proclaim our eternal damnation. Well, love, I have news for you; it doesn’t make an iota difference to how I feel about you.’ He pulled his hands free. ‘I don’t believe it makes a jot of difference to your feelings either. We play the hands we’re dealt Eric, and there’s no point complaining to the dealer.’ He wrapped Weiss’s tie around his fist and pulled him down into a kiss.
I’m having trouble breathing
You’re sitting on my chest
I sure could use the rest
Leave me
‘Where does this one come from?’ Weiss asked, stroking his fingers over a fresh pinkly-blushing scar on Sark’s back.
‘That one was... an acid burn.’ Sark looked over his shoulder at his lover. ‘Some people have no patience at all.’
‘It would be useless, of course, for me to ask you to be more careful?’ Weiss asked, his fingers tracing over Sark’s ribs.
‘I’m always careful, Eric, you know that there is nothing and no-one I have greater consideration for than my own safety,’ Sark said sweetly. ‘Of course what you mean is, would it be useless for you to ask me to put on a leash and a collar and be a good little boy?’
Weiss bit the shell of Sark’s ear. ‘I know better than to ask that.’
‘Shall I ask you to leave your terribly responsible position fighting evil doers and join me in a life of crime?’
‘You’re always saying that,’ Weiss laughed.
‘But I never expect you to say yes,’ Sark said easily. ‘You’re far too much of a boy scout.’
‘So here we are,’ Weiss said. ‘You’re too bad and I’m too good.’
Sark turned and tugged Weiss’s hair. ‘I rather think that makes us just right.’
It’s you
Why’s it always you
and never me?
I’ve never dared to let
my feelings free
Why’s it always you
and never me?
never cared
too much about honesty
His blond curls had been shorn. When he looked up all Weiss saw were his huge blue eyes.
‘Agent Weiss,’ he said, putting more into the two words than Nadia put into whole discourses.
‘Sark,’ Weiss said, as he put down a tray of food. The CIA cell was stark and cold, bare metal bars and a thin mattress on the bed. CCTV cameras in the corridor tracked across the corridor and the cells. There were no windows, no sign of the outside world, and no clock. The cell could be imagined as its own unique world, separate but parallel to the world outside.
‘Your hands are shaking,’ Sark said under his breath. ‘Dear boy, don’t change the habit of a lifetime and let your feelings carry you away. No use us both being locked up is there?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean, smart ass?’ Weiss murmured.
‘Only that in our assigned roles as villain and hero, I have a considerable amount of freedom not afforded to you.’ Sark rattled his chains. ‘Metaphorically speaking.’
‘Meaning what?’ Weiss asked.
Sark looked up and smiled at him. ‘You know what it means. Don’t worry yourself, dear heart; I don’t hold it against you. I trust that can you think of other things to hold against me than my relative freedom,’ he said as he inclined his face away from the cameras and fluttered his eyes.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m bored, the food is terrible, and the clothes they have me in are deeply, deeply unattractive,’ Sark sulked. ‘But worst of all, I’m in continual contact with my secret lover and I can’t do anything with him.’
‘Yeah,’ Weiss agreed, stepping away. ‘Tell me about it.’
I’m having trouble sleeping
I’m thinking of what you said
About the tears been shed
Leave me
This room was inappropriately luxurious: overstuffed sofas, huge throw cushions, deep rugs, and even large art prints on the walls, although they were screwed so securely to the walls that they were impossible to remove by hand. Not that Weiss could have tried at that moment: he was sat fixed in a cross position, arms splayed out and chained to a metal bar, legs parted by a spreader bar and chained down at the ankles. His shirt was ripped and bloodied, a huge welt was glimmering on his forehead, his right eye was a blackened, swollen mess, and his mouth was cut and bleeding.
‘Well, this is terribly inhospitable isn’t it?’ Sark said as he tipped up Weiss’s face. His tone was light as always but his eyes were dark and stormy.
‘Eh, the room will do at a pinch,’ Weiss croaked.
‘Ah, witty repartee!’ Sark said as he gently cleaned Weiss’s mouth, dabbing away the blood. ‘Do they teach you that in CIA training school?’
‘Yeah but I was a slow learner, had to take a summer school in it too.’
Sark picked up a water bottle up and popped a straw into it. ‘Water, agent Weiss? It’s not quite the cocktail hour.’ He slipped the straw between Weiss’s lips and Weiss gulped gratefully but frowned at the unfamiliar after taste.
‘Something for the pain,’ Sark murmured.
‘To cause it?’
‘Cute, Eric, very cute.’
‘What do you want Sark?’ Weiss asked as Sark took the bottle away and wiped Weiss’s mouth dry. ‘You going to nursemaid me?’
‘You’re no use to anyone dead,’ Sark said cheerfully, turning his attention to Weiss’s eye and putting a blissfully cold pack on it. ‘Besides which, if you consult your dangerous Big Boy’s Book of heroic clichés you’ll find the villain coming in to offer succour to a captured goodie is a classic.’
‘Doesn’t one of us have to be a chick for that?’
‘Times move on, Agent Weiss,’ Sark said sadly. ‘Times move on.’
It’s you
Now and always you
but never me
I’ve never dared to
let my feelings free
Why’s it always you
and never me?
never cared
too much about honesty
This was a different hotel in a different city, a different country, a long way from anywhere that either of them was known. The heavy, hazy sun filled the bedroom with shifting, uncertain, golden light.
Weiss, from his supine position on the bed, saw Sark backlit: a golden-haired seraph caught mid-fall from heaven.
‘How long can we keep doing this?’ Weiss asked, walked his fingers along Sark’s sternum.
‘Forever,’ Sark said, stretching. ‘Forever and ever.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
The end
Fanfic very angst based on the song "trouble sleeping" of The Perishers … it is a so beautiful and sad song. I am sure that you will be able to do something fantastic with it. Ah, that is something slash… Weiss and Sark?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 03:44 am (UTC)And the scene with Matt all tied up, blooding and chained up with his legs parted by a spreader bar, Yeah that has to happen more often in fics. :D
Loved this!! <3333333
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 09:35 am (UTC)I have a longtime thing for foeyay, especially the lightness vs the angst, mmm :)
<333
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 02:18 pm (UTC)Sark appeared to be a complete, and completed, person.
‘Certainly not,’ Sark said, where Sark is actually replying to a question Weiss asked him at the top of the paragraph but the reader, having been privy to Weiss's musings in the meantime, sees it as a response to those.
Weiss seeing Sark as an angel was very nicely done--poor guy can't help coming back to him time and time again, even though he knows that view is skewed. Damn my love for this pairing now; I'm addicted! <333
no subject
Date: 2009-12-26 02:29 pm (UTC)Damn my love for this pairing now; I'm addicted!
Yes, we'll have to huddle together in Sark/Weiss dens scrabbling over fragments of fic to feed our habit...
Thanks hon!
<333