This a two-parter and no more. Just some fluffy(and a little bondage) Sarkney fic taking place in the two years Syd was gone. The first part is pretty tame, but it's the second part that bumps up the rating. As I said, it's this part and one more and then it's done! (Yeah, it might be mean, but it's all the Sarkney I can take right now! 
)
The rain crashed down on the sidewalk, splashing water in every direction, covering Sydney as she ran down the street. She looked around for shelter and reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. Even though the ink was smudging, she squinted to read the writings.
Damn London! She thought bitterly as she read. With your stupid rainstorms and your stupid accents and your stupid citizens.
She turned the corner and looked at the house at the end of the street.
Holy s***! How can one man possibly occupy that whole building? She ran down the street and arrived at the front door of the manor. Oh, geez, I probably look like felgercarb. Sydney rang the doorbell. I don’t wanna do this anymore...please, God, help me...
“Hello,” A tall man answered the door, dressed in a suit. ”How may I help you?” His thin English accent had a snooty tone to it, obviously springing from Sydney’s lack of composition.
“Hello, is Mr. Sark in?”
“You must be Irina!” The man ushered Sydney inside.
“Actually, I’m her daughter, Sydney.” She was embarrassed as the man took her sopping wet coat.
“Well, Miss Derev-“
“It’s Bristow. Sydney Bristow.” Her voice had an edge to it. How can this guy think I’m Irina? I guess he’s never met her. “Is Mr. Sark at home?”
The man handed her a towel. “If you could stay here and dry off, I’ll alert him to your presence,”
“Thank you, Mr...”
“Duncan. Please call me Duncan.”
“Thank you, Duncan.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss.” He walked down the hallway, disappearing when he turned right.
Wow! Being an intelligent, charming, power-hungry, 20-something criminal really pays off! Sydney walked into the study, towel wrapped around her like a cape. She went behind the desk and picked up what looked like a journal.
“Admiring my estate, I see.” Sydney looked up, and put down the journal.
My, what sight you are. Sydney eyed Sark, who was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a pair of khakis and a navy blue dress shirt.
“What can I say? Inquiring minds need to know!”
“Yes, but curiosity killed the cat.” Sark walked to his desk and pocketed the journal. “And to be inquiring, one must ask questions, not just stick her nose into someone else’s business.”
“How can our business be separate when we work together?” Sark let out a small laugh.
“So, you’ve decided to take me up on my offer.” He grinned at Sydney. “Although, if we are going to be partners, you’ll need a new wardrobe.” He surveyed her one more time. “On second thought, some of my clients may like you wet.” Sydney was disturbed by his last comment.
“Let’s make something perfectly clear. I’m not your little prostitute. I refuse to perform any sexual acts of any kind. I am a trained agent, with many skills. Blowjobs not being one of them.”
“That’s a pity. I know many men who would pay a pretty penny to spend one night with you.”
“I’m not in this to be exploited, Sark. Which brings me to my next point. I find it alarming how much you know about my family and me, and yet I don’t even know your first name!”
“It’s Julian.” Sark looked at his feet, almost embarrassed. Sydney grinned at his candidacy.
“Julian?” Sydney tried not to laugh. “I now understand why you go by Sark.” He was starting to get angry towards her.
“I hope that the purpose of your visit is more than to pry into my personal life.” He walked to a cabinet behind the desk and pulled out a bottle of scotch and a tumbler. “Would you like a drink?”
“Uh, no, thanks.” She stared at him fixing his beverage.
He grasped the ice tongs with his left thumb and forefingers and plunked some ice cubes into his glass. He then grabbed the bottle with his right hand while the fingers of his left hand turned the cap with ease and set it up on the shelf. The amber liquid poured over the ice cubes until it was barely covering the top of the ice. He swished his glass around a few times then took a drink. It was very standard and not extraordinary, but some how it made Sydney feel warm inside.
“Now, back your clothes.” He sat down in a black leather chair facing the still standing Sydney. “Unfortunately, I do not have any women’s wardrobe stored here, but you are free to go shopping tomorrow if you like. There also should be a robe in the closet of your bathroom.” Sydney looked at him, arms crossed, trying to read his expression.
“You’d love to see me in a bathrobe, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t think you’d look horrible in one.”
“Especially if it were yours.”
“Sydney, anything would look better on you than what you have on now.”
“Then why don’t you lend me some of your clothes?”
“That would be unprofessional of me.”
“And so it would be more appropriate if I were dressed in a robe?”
“I never said anything about appropriateness. Only professionalism.” Sydney stared at him in disbelief.
“Professionalism and appropriateness go hand in hand!” Sark looked at her.
“Well, that’s your opinion.” He smirked at her as he took another drink.
“I’m certainly not going shopping in only a robe tomorrow.”
“I do have laundry facilities. Your clothes can simply be washed and dried.”
“I’m not taking my clothes off.”
“We’ll see about that.” Sark got up and started to walk out of the room.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He turned around.
“We’ll see.”
)The rain crashed down on the sidewalk, splashing water in every direction, covering Sydney as she ran down the street. She looked around for shelter and reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. Even though the ink was smudging, she squinted to read the writings.
Damn London! She thought bitterly as she read. With your stupid rainstorms and your stupid accents and your stupid citizens.
She turned the corner and looked at the house at the end of the street.
Holy s***! How can one man possibly occupy that whole building? She ran down the street and arrived at the front door of the manor. Oh, geez, I probably look like felgercarb. Sydney rang the doorbell. I don’t wanna do this anymore...please, God, help me...
“Hello,” A tall man answered the door, dressed in a suit. ”How may I help you?” His thin English accent had a snooty tone to it, obviously springing from Sydney’s lack of composition.
“Hello, is Mr. Sark in?”
“You must be Irina!” The man ushered Sydney inside.
“Actually, I’m her daughter, Sydney.” She was embarrassed as the man took her sopping wet coat.
“Well, Miss Derev-“
“It’s Bristow. Sydney Bristow.” Her voice had an edge to it. How can this guy think I’m Irina? I guess he’s never met her. “Is Mr. Sark at home?”
The man handed her a towel. “If you could stay here and dry off, I’ll alert him to your presence,”
“Thank you, Mr...”
“Duncan. Please call me Duncan.”
“Thank you, Duncan.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss.” He walked down the hallway, disappearing when he turned right.
Wow! Being an intelligent, charming, power-hungry, 20-something criminal really pays off! Sydney walked into the study, towel wrapped around her like a cape. She went behind the desk and picked up what looked like a journal.
“Admiring my estate, I see.” Sydney looked up, and put down the journal.
My, what sight you are. Sydney eyed Sark, who was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a pair of khakis and a navy blue dress shirt.
“What can I say? Inquiring minds need to know!”
“Yes, but curiosity killed the cat.” Sark walked to his desk and pocketed the journal. “And to be inquiring, one must ask questions, not just stick her nose into someone else’s business.”
“How can our business be separate when we work together?” Sark let out a small laugh.
“So, you’ve decided to take me up on my offer.” He grinned at Sydney. “Although, if we are going to be partners, you’ll need a new wardrobe.” He surveyed her one more time. “On second thought, some of my clients may like you wet.” Sydney was disturbed by his last comment.
“Let’s make something perfectly clear. I’m not your little prostitute. I refuse to perform any sexual acts of any kind. I am a trained agent, with many skills. Blowjobs not being one of them.”
“That’s a pity. I know many men who would pay a pretty penny to spend one night with you.”
“I’m not in this to be exploited, Sark. Which brings me to my next point. I find it alarming how much you know about my family and me, and yet I don’t even know your first name!”
“It’s Julian.” Sark looked at his feet, almost embarrassed. Sydney grinned at his candidacy.
“Julian?” Sydney tried not to laugh. “I now understand why you go by Sark.” He was starting to get angry towards her.
“I hope that the purpose of your visit is more than to pry into my personal life.” He walked to a cabinet behind the desk and pulled out a bottle of scotch and a tumbler. “Would you like a drink?”
“Uh, no, thanks.” She stared at him fixing his beverage.
He grasped the ice tongs with his left thumb and forefingers and plunked some ice cubes into his glass. He then grabbed the bottle with his right hand while the fingers of his left hand turned the cap with ease and set it up on the shelf. The amber liquid poured over the ice cubes until it was barely covering the top of the ice. He swished his glass around a few times then took a drink. It was very standard and not extraordinary, but some how it made Sydney feel warm inside.
“Now, back your clothes.” He sat down in a black leather chair facing the still standing Sydney. “Unfortunately, I do not have any women’s wardrobe stored here, but you are free to go shopping tomorrow if you like. There also should be a robe in the closet of your bathroom.” Sydney looked at him, arms crossed, trying to read his expression.
“You’d love to see me in a bathrobe, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t think you’d look horrible in one.”
“Especially if it were yours.”
“Sydney, anything would look better on you than what you have on now.”
“Then why don’t you lend me some of your clothes?”
“That would be unprofessional of me.”
“And so it would be more appropriate if I were dressed in a robe?”
“I never said anything about appropriateness. Only professionalism.” Sydney stared at him in disbelief.
“Professionalism and appropriateness go hand in hand!” Sark looked at her.
“Well, that’s your opinion.” He smirked at her as he took another drink.
“I’m certainly not going shopping in only a robe tomorrow.”
“I do have laundry facilities. Your clothes can simply be washed and dried.”
“I’m not taking my clothes off.”
“We’ll see about that.” Sark got up and started to walk out of the room.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He turned around.
“We’ll see.”
