Title: Evolution, Part 1: Denial
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: To episode 3.03 Reuion
Disclaimer: The character and Alias universe
belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
Summary: Lauren learns her place in the relationship.
Sydney had barely been back two weeks and Michael had run right to her.
Of course she had read their files. In fact she had spent hours after she first met him pouring over old mission debriefs trying to understand exactly who Sydney Bristow was and how she had captured this man's heart so completely. She had to know the woman behind this great love. The portrait that emerged was a wonderful fairy tale. A handler and agent meeting only under the most clandestine circumstances, and in spite of all the restrictions placed on them, falling in love.
The fairy tale was just that - a good story. She never expected to be confronted with a flesh and blood Sydney Bristow. One that was full of life and risen from the dead. One that immediately commanded her husband's attention without even the bat of an eyelash. And she definitely did not expect to be confronted with this woman in their bedroom, sitting in front of her husband's straddled legs on their bed.
When he told her that he had been unfaithful, she was livid. She wanted to rail against him and pound her fists into his chest. But he did not give her any quarter, any room for reaction. He told her of the affair in simple unapologetic facts. His tone stated to her that Sydney was back in his life, and he had no intention of abandoning again a love that he once thought would be denied forever. So where did that leave her?
After their first debrief, she was drowning in emotions, gasping for air. She had foolishly tried to assert some control over the situation and had failed miserably as Sydney challenged her at every turn. And when her husband told her that Sydney would be joining them for dinner, her greatest fear preyed upon her - that she might have to accept that this situation was beyond her control.
And so she finds herself in their bedroom standing in front of them as if she were a nervous schoolgirl called in front of the headmaster.
They are captivating to watch. They have this shorthand - they communicate with an economy of words, instead letting their desires be known in an ocean of touches, glances, and barely uttered sighs. Together, they possess a surety, a confidence that is greater than their separate parts. She had never thought of Michael as particularly strong, until she saw him in the context of Sydney. It scares her that her husband could be such a different person with someone else.
They look so beautiful sitting on the bed together. His arms are wrapped around her, and his chin rests on her shoulder. She might even revel in their beauty if she could turn off the shrieking voice in her mind - the one that tells her that this is so so wrong and makes her want to scratch Sydney's eyes out.
She watches as he caresses Sydney, finally taking her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles. They pause and look at each other - a silent conversation passing in front of her eyes that she cannot begin to comprehend.
Finally it is Sydney who breaks the collective silence.
"Lauren, do you want to join us?"
No no no NO! Her immediate reaction is that she doesn't want to join anything. She wants her husband for herself. She wants Sydney Bristow to disappear back down that rabbit hole and never come back. But she watches as her husband brings the hand he has been caressing to his lips and cherishes it with the tenderest of kisses. Their emotion, their connection is seductive. She bites her bottom lip and tears spring to her eyes as she finds herself thinking thoughts she has never had before.
She opens her mouth to speak, yet it feels like her voice is blanketed in thick cotton, and the word sticks in her throat. Her assent is too silent.
Sydney cocks her head as if to encourage her, but also at the same time insist that she vocalize her answer loud and clear.
"Yes," her voice rasps. The single word leaves her throat raw, as if it were surrounded with barbed wire, and the wire has scraped her mercilessly on its journey to be heard.
"Then get undressed."
She wants to protest - to point out that they are still fully clothed, that she can't be the only one naked. But Sydney is firm in her instruction; no deviations will be accepted. She looks to her husband, to try and plead her case to him. But there is something strangely foreign in his eyes - a hunger. A hunger that is dark and dangerous. It is a hunger which she has never seen.
Her mouth is dry as she feels each breath rasping through her. She is not prone to hyperventilation, but her breaths become quick and short. She feels faint, not knowing what to do, how to handle this request. They watch her intently for a moment, patiently waiting, but she is caught, she can't move. She can't give in, and she can't turn around and run away.
And as if to say that her reaction doesn't make a difference to them one way or the other, Vaughn focuses back on Sydney and draws her into a languid kiss. That is the worst of it. Not only can they command her, but they can also pointedly remind her that her presence is unnecessary.
Finally she decides to take fate in her own hands. Whatever may happen, she refuses to lose her connection to her husband. They have not made love since Sydney's return, and she is struggling to maintain his attention. So she shrugs out of her suit jacket, smoothing out the day's wrinkles and moves to hang it up.
She thought that she had lost them, that they had tossed her aside like an old plaything, but then as she turns towards the closet, she hears Sydney's voice. "No. You can worry about the suit tomorrow - that's what cleaners are for."
Those words stop her in mid-stride. She remembers how as a teenager lust overtook her and clothes ended up on the floor. But these days, everything is put away in its proper place - passion is restrained in her adult world.
Finally she moves back in front of them, not wanting to test their patience again, and her fingers go to work on the button at her collar.
"Take off your skirt next," Sydney says gently guiding her. She is almost serene, perfectly adept at the situation. Her confidence is annoying and untouchable, just like in the meeting.
She has no choice but to obey and is left in a long sleeve button down shirt that barely reaches her thighs, her heels, and her pantyhose. She feels their anticipation hanging in the air and wonders how she can live up to expectation.
As she starts on the buttons, she recalls a time when she stripped for just Michael. She was trying to get him to be a bit more adventurous in bed. For such a handsome man, he was always pretty staid. He had smiled at her performance, and she knew he took pleasure in it, but she has never seen him driven by his libido.
Lost in that thought, she only realizes that she has stopped when Michael prompts her in a firm yet reassuring voice to keep going. She slips out of the shirt and feels a strange innocence wash over her. It is like being asked to disrobe for a doctor. The doctor always bears a detached authority, making the situation a professional one despite the fact that the actions are inherently intimate.
She lets the shirt fall to the floor, joining her other clothes, and finally steps out of her heels. She usually wears heels to make up for her petite stature and taking them off makes her feel surprisingly bereft of her identity. Her shoes have always defined her. A different style for each new social situation. There are no shoes she can wear for this.
Here she pauses in her beige underwear, embarrassed by their mundane functionality. She had chosen them that morning believing no one else might see them. She is waiting, waiting, hoping that this is where they will call her bluff, but they don't. She doesn't know if she can take much more of this, but they wait calmly while she vainly grasps at her courage.
She takes the waistband of her pantyhose in her hands and realizes that there is no graceful way to take them off. The material pulls awkwardly and she stumbles trying to maintain balance on one leg as she frees her other leg.
Slowly, she reaches behind her back and releases the hooks of her bra. Her breasts feel heavy now that they are unrestrained and bearing there own weight.
She is left in only her panties, and she feels a blush spread over her skin. The room is cold but Sydney is surely warmed by Michael's touch. The absence of his touch on her own skin sends a shiver over her and her nipples tighten in response to the cool air, their usual pale pink deepening to a dusky rose as they betray her arousal.
She doesn't want to take the next step. She feels suddenly flushed and hot, but their unrelenting stares bore into her until she knows she has no choice but to surrender her panties as well.
They shimmy down her hips, and she stands there bare with nothing to hide her except the curls between her legs. She feels so naked standing there with her too white skin mercilessly exposed.
Sydney and Vaughn look at each other and then back to her, taking in every inch of her. He whispers something in her ear, which elicits a laugh. After what seems like an eternity Sydney stands up and walks in front her.
Sydney brushes her hair back from her face and then slides two fingers over the curve of her right breast. Her touch is surprisingly cool, and she is soon lost in the sensation of the fingertips. Sydney looks straight into her eyes and uses a knee to nudge between her thighs, insisting that she spread her legs and exposing her pink flesh hidden beneath.
The fingers graze her thigh and even pinch her outer lips, but she is thankful that they do not explore her more intimately. Her eyes slip closed in sin and shock. She does not want to betray the pool of moisture that she knows has gathered between her thighs, but she still cannot stop herself from shifting uncomfortably.
Before she registers the absence of the exploring hand, she feels Sydney's soft, soft lips against hers, their warmth infusing her cheeks with a heady flush. She tenses as Sydney slips her tongue between her lips, and she is in shock as Sydney slips a hand through her hair and caresses her tongue. Her own tension dissipates as she is drawn in by the subtlety of their kiss, but just when she finally allows herself to enjoy it, Sydney pulls back and watches her.
"Syd, she's not ready," he says and with that Sydney looks disappointed and turns back to him on the bed. Lauren almost breathes a sigh of relief as her husband has final stepped in to save her. But she realizes this is only the beginning as his next words condemn her. "Give her time, she'll come around."
Now that the decision has been made for all, they waste no time moving on to their own pleasure. They remove each other's clothing with tantalizing caress. Their embraces are infused with the undeniable tension hanging in the air. Vaughn lays back against the mattress guiding Sydney to him. She wastes no time in uniting them and rides him triumphantly and changes their angle every so often to increase both of their pleasure.
She wants to look away, but she finds herself mesmerized by their coupling. Sydney brings out a stamina that she has never seen in Michael before, and when they both collapse into each other, she has never felt more inadequate.