d a r k e r
by bulletproof (bulletproof_android @ yahoo.com)
characters owned by jj abrams.
somewhere in the missing two years. written for the secret sarkfic santa project.
hope you like it, zara.

Let's see: Dear Secret Santa, for Christmas I want...mmm... pretty much Sark/Weiss. Or, failing that, anything but Sark/Vaughn. In fact, my basic request would be something *without* Vaughn in it. I'm cool with anything else, and make it as twisted as you want, but maybe stick with tension? No consummation? I like frustration and maybe some shoving around. A cut lip? Darkness? Backlighting? Hmmmm.... even Sark alone / watching someone would be all right. I'm easy.

It had been so simple: Cuff Sark, put him on a plane and let him lead them through an underground Chinese facility which now held five live American nukes.

Not so simple now was the fact that the bastard had run, that there had been a dozen M16-11's trained on the door, awaiting their arrival, and that the entire team, bar one, is now dead.

Weiss pauses for a breath, the humidity high and rolling in waves, feeling it dripping out of every pore before he picks up the pace and continues running after the sinewy shadow that he has been chasing for what seems like hours.

He can't let this one get away, cannot cannot cannot because he is the last one standing and isn't that getting familiar?

Weiss knows that he shouldn't be letting these thoughts preoccupy his mind, shouldn't be thinking about his team or their families or the fact that he'd had death licking at his heels again, but he can't help but let them seep into his mind a little, seep through his body as adrenaline, guiding his movements, adding speed and force to every step.

His sights trained on him, sizing him up, he can't help but notice Sark's grace in movement, the sleek build of his body and the way he moves as if he is liquid. Weiss knows only that he needs to command this force, to hold it in his grasp, and he rises to the challenge, going just that little bit harder, faster so he can be within reach of him.

Sark is quick and wiry around the skinny streets of downtown Shanghai, but Weiss is quicker, throwing his weight around the bends, throwing every last fucking breath into it, and before long he is within sight, within arm's length of the target. Weiss lunges at him, catching Sark by the scruff of his neck before he has the chance to launch himself into a sprint. He makes a sick, satisfying choking noise in the back of his throat as Weiss pushes him against the unforgiving brick of the alley wall, pushes him harder when he feels Sark react against him and the words rush hot and harsh against the back of Sark's neck, "Don't even think about it, blondie."

Sark bucks, angles and planes colliding into Weiss and he throws him off long enough to twist around to face him, "Or you'll what? Throw me into solitary?"

The punch strikes fast, faster than either have the time to register it and Sark's head snaps back with the unexpected force of the blow.

"Or I'll make sure that pretty little face of yours never smirks again," Weiss's voice is low enough to make Sark notice the steel that laces it, low enough to recognise the authenticity of the threat lying just below the tight coil of the set of Weiss's body and he feels himself stepping up to it, instinctively pushing himself against the imposing press of Weiss into him who is now, very literally, breathing down his neck, "Those guys in the warehouse were waiting for us; my entire team is now fucking dead. That was you."

Sark spits the blood out of his mouth, his lip split and his eyes defiant, "May I remind you that I've been in the CIA's custody for the past six months. How exactly is it that you propose I contacted them prior to your arrival?"

"God, Sark, you tell me," Weiss sneers back, shoving harder, and relishes, for a split second, the feel of having this lithe body under him, under his control, every line of Sark's body lain bare, every piece of hard and soft flesh made known to him, "Guy like you could manage to weasel his way through the cracks no matter how tight the leash was. Besides, that group is known for its ties with Derevko."

Sark's bark of laughter grates along Weiss's every nerve, "You give me entirely too much credit. I'm not the only one with a history with Irina."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"And here I was thinking you worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. I believe it starts with a J..."

Sark pushes back only to have himself shoved further against the wall, his shoulders digging into brick, his neck rasping against the rough surface, "Cute, but you don't have to spell it out for me. And you're wrong. I don't know how you did it, but you're responsible for the death of five intelligence agents-"

"And until you can prove that, you can't lay a finger on me." Sark smirks, as he is still able to, and his smug tone says it all, "As it stands, I believe I am your asset, and as such, Agent Weiss, I'd suggest you handle me with care."

"Gladly," Weiss murmurs, leaning in even closer, his hands running down the line of Sark's arms, sliding them between the slight space between the wall and Sark's back before producing a pair of cuffs and clicking them shut with a flick of his wrist, "but I get the feeling you like it rough."

They share a knowing look. If every inch of Sark's body is no longer a secret to Weiss, then the same can be said of the reverse.

"Let's go, blondie." Weiss grumbles, finally letting Sark up, and leading him by the small chain of the cuffs, out of the alley to await extraction.

END

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