ilovetommy
Tommy's
Okay, so this story is absolute insanity. My dear friend on the SD-1 boards, agent share-bear and I were talking one day about our Sark/David Anders fantasies, and mine were a little... *crazy* so I made a comment about turning it into a fic. Needless to say, she talked me into it, and here it is. :lol:
The first chapter is short, because you shouldn't start a fic with background- it should start with plot! So enjoy, and please, please reply. More should be up relatively soon.
Visualize
PG-13/R
ilovetommy
Chapter One
Ego Booster
What the **** have you gotten yourself into? Sark thought. A ****ing leather Speedo, in the middle of Key West, on the ultimate mission from hell.
Three days ago it hadn’t seemed that bad. Infiltrate a local modeling agency whose top advisors were dealing in weapons trade with K-Directorate.
He thought it would be simple, fill out a form, pay a ridiculous sum of money to have pictures taken, and go back to his hotel and sleep.
He did not expect to be wearing a leather Speedo on a beach, with people barking orders at him.
“Does it not fit?” an accented voice came, accompanied by a rapping on the makeshift tent.
“No it fits, I’m just…” Sark trailed off. I’m just pretty sure these things were not made for humans to wear. In fact, this may serve as a form of torture. Poison, needles of fire, and parading around in leather Speedos.
“Come on, come on Tyler! There is no reason to worry. We have picked you to do this because you can do it. Now come on out,” the man cried, swinging open the tent flaps and exposing a very vulnerable Sark. “See, it looks perfect! Now, for the first few shots I want you just standing, with the boardwalk behind you. Sexy, yet understated.”
Because Speedos are the ultimate version of understated. Sark snorted. In fact, I may wear one to the casual dinner my mother invited me to next week.
Sark stood in front of the boardwalk and looked expectantly at the photographer.
“Well?” Dominique questioned. “Move your body. Strike a pose! Sexy… ooze sex appeal.”
“I thought we were going for understated,” Sark muttered. He looked over his shoulder at the boardwalk, and the photographer snapped several pictures.
Dominique made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Don’t just stand there, Tyler. I know this is your first time… but use your imagination. You are posing for your beautiful girlfriend; you are showing off your muscles in your brand-new swimsuit. Would you just stand there? No! You move. Move!”
Sark changed positions, this time moving his arm up to flex his bicep.
“Attitude! You are the best out there! Give me more!”
I could get used to this, Sark thought. What an ego booster.
“You are not working hard enough!” Dominique cried, snapping his fingers in front of Sark’s face. “You must move. We cannot have the same picture twice! Something must change- your expression, your pose… anything! These last pictures have been nothing! I want expression. You are sultry, sweaty, and everyone on this beach wants you! Now give them what they want!”
Okay, maybe not such an ego booster.
This time, Sark got a little more into it. He moved his body each time, and tried to think up every pose and facial expression that would be appropriate given the situation. Pouty, sexy, smug, angry, he tried them all.
“Tyler, the roll is jammed. While we fix it, why don’t you go get a drink of water? And maybe put on some suntan lotion. You look like you’re getting burnt,” Dominique’s assistant, Carmen, said smiling at Sark.
Of course I look like I’m getting burnt. I’m Irish, and for the last three days I’ve spent hours in a tanning bed. And now I’m out in the middle of the sweltering heat in nothing but a Speedo. Without suntan lotion.
Smiling back at her, Sark turned and went back to the makeshift tent, and peeled back the flap. There on a table sat several bottles of water, and a large bottle of suntan lotion that promoted its invisibility once rubbed in.
“I sure as hell hope you don’t expect me to do your back,” came a voice behind him.
Without turning around, Sark replied, “I wouldn’t expect it, Miss Bristow.”
Reply, por favor.
The first chapter is short, because you shouldn't start a fic with background- it should start with plot! So enjoy, and please, please reply. More should be up relatively soon.
Visualize
PG-13/R
ilovetommy
Chapter One
Ego Booster
What the **** have you gotten yourself into? Sark thought. A ****ing leather Speedo, in the middle of Key West, on the ultimate mission from hell.
Three days ago it hadn’t seemed that bad. Infiltrate a local modeling agency whose top advisors were dealing in weapons trade with K-Directorate.
He thought it would be simple, fill out a form, pay a ridiculous sum of money to have pictures taken, and go back to his hotel and sleep.
He did not expect to be wearing a leather Speedo on a beach, with people barking orders at him.
“Does it not fit?” an accented voice came, accompanied by a rapping on the makeshift tent.
“No it fits, I’m just…” Sark trailed off. I’m just pretty sure these things were not made for humans to wear. In fact, this may serve as a form of torture. Poison, needles of fire, and parading around in leather Speedos.
“Come on, come on Tyler! There is no reason to worry. We have picked you to do this because you can do it. Now come on out,” the man cried, swinging open the tent flaps and exposing a very vulnerable Sark. “See, it looks perfect! Now, for the first few shots I want you just standing, with the boardwalk behind you. Sexy, yet understated.”
Because Speedos are the ultimate version of understated. Sark snorted. In fact, I may wear one to the casual dinner my mother invited me to next week.
Sark stood in front of the boardwalk and looked expectantly at the photographer.
“Well?” Dominique questioned. “Move your body. Strike a pose! Sexy… ooze sex appeal.”
“I thought we were going for understated,” Sark muttered. He looked over his shoulder at the boardwalk, and the photographer snapped several pictures.
Dominique made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Don’t just stand there, Tyler. I know this is your first time… but use your imagination. You are posing for your beautiful girlfriend; you are showing off your muscles in your brand-new swimsuit. Would you just stand there? No! You move. Move!”
Sark changed positions, this time moving his arm up to flex his bicep.
“Attitude! You are the best out there! Give me more!”
I could get used to this, Sark thought. What an ego booster.
“You are not working hard enough!” Dominique cried, snapping his fingers in front of Sark’s face. “You must move. We cannot have the same picture twice! Something must change- your expression, your pose… anything! These last pictures have been nothing! I want expression. You are sultry, sweaty, and everyone on this beach wants you! Now give them what they want!”
Okay, maybe not such an ego booster.
This time, Sark got a little more into it. He moved his body each time, and tried to think up every pose and facial expression that would be appropriate given the situation. Pouty, sexy, smug, angry, he tried them all.
“Tyler, the roll is jammed. While we fix it, why don’t you go get a drink of water? And maybe put on some suntan lotion. You look like you’re getting burnt,” Dominique’s assistant, Carmen, said smiling at Sark.
Of course I look like I’m getting burnt. I’m Irish, and for the last three days I’ve spent hours in a tanning bed. And now I’m out in the middle of the sweltering heat in nothing but a Speedo. Without suntan lotion.
Smiling back at her, Sark turned and went back to the makeshift tent, and peeled back the flap. There on a table sat several bottles of water, and a large bottle of suntan lotion that promoted its invisibility once rubbed in.
“I sure as hell hope you don’t expect me to do your back,” came a voice behind him.
Without turning around, Sark replied, “I wouldn’t expect it, Miss Bristow.”
Reply, por favor.