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crack_van2004-03-29 07:54 pm
daera23.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-03-29 07:54 pm
Pomegranate by aliasrlm (R)
Fandom:ALIAS
Pairing: Sydney / Sark UST
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aliasrlm
Author Website: n/a
Why this must be read:
The imagery! This fic is so vivid you can taste it. And the sparring between Sydney and Sark is dripping with cold and calculated tension. Sarkney at its best!
“Pomegranate.”
It was a whisper, a hoarse one at that, but loud enough for Sark to hear. Definitely loud enough for her to realize she had actually spoken.
“Pardon me?” Sark leaned in, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What in the world are you talking about?”
There were two obvious ways she could have handled the situation. She could’ve given Sark the truth and explained why she said the word aloud. Or she could lie, fabricating some flimsy excuse as to why she was talking to herself about fruit.
She didn’t consider either option. With a sideways glance at Sark, she just cautiously stated, “Pomegranate…a fruit.”
Sark stopped his eyes in mid-roll, consciously attempting to keep the atmosphere as friendly as possible. “Yes, I am aware of what it is. But I fail to see the connection to Wetzel.”
“Have you ever had one?” Her voice had taken a dreamy, contented quality, one that caused Sark to narrow his eyes and exhale long and loud, his exasperation evident.
“Sydney, are you on some sort of medication?” He sounded seriously concerned, his hands moving forward, off the steering wheel, to rest on the center console, inches from her feet. “You’re acting odd. No – you’re acting downright insane.”
Sark’s words hardly penetrated Sydney’s vivid thoughts of Wetzel, a queen-sized bed and a bowl of pomegranate seeds. She imagined tasting the sweet-tart juice, squirting crimson dots onto the white linens, onto Wetzel’s bare chest. Using her tongue to smear the rivulets of red over his hard abdomen, her hands greedily exploring his lower back, dipping lower to smooth over his ass…
“They stain,” she continued, eyes glazed over, lost in her fantasy. “A deep red…the kind of stain that can’t be removed. It’s best, some say, to eat the fruit while nude, so as not to ruin clothing,” She paused, remembering how she foolishly once wore a white dress shirt while attempting to cut the fruit. The blotchy stains rendered the shirt a throw-away, looking vaguely like… “A lot like blood stains.”
Pomegranate
Pairing: Sydney / Sark UST
Author on LJ:
aliasrlmAuthor Website: n/a
Why this must be read:
The imagery! This fic is so vivid you can taste it. And the sparring between Sydney and Sark is dripping with cold and calculated tension. Sarkney at its best!
“Pomegranate.”
It was a whisper, a hoarse one at that, but loud enough for Sark to hear. Definitely loud enough for her to realize she had actually spoken.
“Pardon me?” Sark leaned in, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What in the world are you talking about?”
There were two obvious ways she could have handled the situation. She could’ve given Sark the truth and explained why she said the word aloud. Or she could lie, fabricating some flimsy excuse as to why she was talking to herself about fruit.
She didn’t consider either option. With a sideways glance at Sark, she just cautiously stated, “Pomegranate…a fruit.”
Sark stopped his eyes in mid-roll, consciously attempting to keep the atmosphere as friendly as possible. “Yes, I am aware of what it is. But I fail to see the connection to Wetzel.”
“Have you ever had one?” Her voice had taken a dreamy, contented quality, one that caused Sark to narrow his eyes and exhale long and loud, his exasperation evident.
“Sydney, are you on some sort of medication?” He sounded seriously concerned, his hands moving forward, off the steering wheel, to rest on the center console, inches from her feet. “You’re acting odd. No – you’re acting downright insane.”
Sark’s words hardly penetrated Sydney’s vivid thoughts of Wetzel, a queen-sized bed and a bowl of pomegranate seeds. She imagined tasting the sweet-tart juice, squirting crimson dots onto the white linens, onto Wetzel’s bare chest. Using her tongue to smear the rivulets of red over his hard abdomen, her hands greedily exploring his lower back, dipping lower to smooth over his ass…
“They stain,” she continued, eyes glazed over, lost in her fantasy. “A deep red…the kind of stain that can’t be removed. It’s best, some say, to eat the fruit while nude, so as not to ruin clothing,” She paused, remembering how she foolishly once wore a white dress shirt while attempting to cut the fruit. The blotchy stains rendered the shirt a throw-away, looking vaguely like… “A lot like blood stains.”
Pomegranate