"Fuck him."
Sark's words struck him like two deadly bullets. Jack Bristow felt his blood run cold; the hairs on the back of his neck bristled in cold dread.
"What?" was all he could manage in a sharply exhaled breath.
Sark smiled languidly; he waved his hand toward Vaughn, who was standing utterly still, backed up against the farthest corner of the enclosed room — as if pressing himself as far away from the other two men could somehow make him believe that this wasn't real, that it was just a nightmare.
"You heard me," Sark said, his voice calm, his icy eyes warming with a gleam as he cut a glance at Vaughn and savored the desperation in the agent's eyes. It was such moments that Sark lived for: to look upon his prey and see their horror, their fear.
"No," came Jack's low reply; his voice was tight, stretched with forced calm.
Sark looked back at Jack. The older man still looked composed, although Sark could sense the ripples just beneath the surface, although the emotion was barely perceptible in those gray eyes that met his in cool defiance. Sark privately conceded that Jack Bristow was a worthy opponent to be reckoned with.
And he was going to make the best of it.
Sark allowed a smirk; then he strode towards Jack and leaned in, very close, until he could smell the spicy-musk scent Jack's cologne that still lingered on his collar.
"Oh, yes you will," Sark said in a silky tone, loud enough for Vaughn to hear; glancing aside, he gave Vaughn an angelic smile before turning back to Jack. "And do you know why, Mr. Bristow? Because I have the key to unlock this room." He lifted his palm in front of Jack's face. "My fingerprint on that DNA reader over there will open the door and he can walk right out of here."
"I don't believe you." Jack's voice was flat. "I have no reason to trust that you won't kill him. Or us both."
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, Jack." Sark shook his head in mock disappointment. "Considering how we are all about to be intimately acquainted with each other, I think it's a good idea for you to start trusting me. Very soon."
To Jack's surprise, as Sark spoke he stepped backwards and began to unbutton the front of his shirt. He shrugged it off his shoulders and let the fabric drop carelessly to the floor, and then started to undo his pants. Sark noted with satisfaction the stunned look on Jack's face, which the older man could not disguise in time.
"But seeing that you still seem to have certain issues, I will graciously show you some proof." Sark raised his arms in an expansive gesture, perfectly at ease with being completely naked. "I don't have a gun. It's a little harder to kill you without one of those. But," and a note of coyness crept into his voice, "you may frisk me if you'd like to be... absolutely sure."
Jack cleared his throat; his manner seemed slightly more ruffled and Sark took the chance to advance, a predator closing in on his prey.
His order remained simple, unchanged. "Now fuck him. Show me that you are no longer loyal to SD-6."
"He is not from SD-6. I know that for a fact," Jack answered, the spiderweb cracks in his voice almost audible. "He has nothing to do with this. Leave him alone."
"I don't care whether he's from SD-6," Sark replied nonchalantly. "What matters is that if you claim to be on my side, then I demand proof of your loyalty. So prove it."
"No." Jack's voice held steady; the single word was filled with vehemence. "I won't do this."
Anger flared in Sark's eyes.
"Very well then." He stalked towards Vaughn, snatched him by the collar and dragged him to the center of the room, roughly flinging him down. Vaughn crashed onto the floor and Sark seized him, pushed him face down and began tearing his clothes from his body. Vaughn put up a struggle, but Sark viciously kneed him in the abdomen and he gasped, winded.
Standing a few feet away Jack stared at the horrible scene unfolding before his eyes — he was frozen, unable to react, as if his quick reflexes had deserted him at this time of need.
Vaughn.
The number of times he and Vaughn had clashed, the distantly aloof way he always treated the CIA agent — that was all a mask, Jack realized now, too late. It was all a defense mechanism, because the truth was that there was something about Vaughn he found innately attractive. He remembered how he had pushed the CIA agent against the wall and held a gun to his head in the Chinese restaurant on their first meeting — and how much he had secretly relished the brief proximity of Vaughn's body.
"Since you have trouble with the idea of fucking him," Sark's cruel voice broke into Jack's troubled thoughts,
"then I'll just have to fuck him myself." Sark seemed exceptionally strong for his lean built, and Vaughn could barely move under him. "Gladly."
"Jack, help me," Vaughn choked out desperately.
Jack closed his eyes — everything in his mind dissolved at the sound of Vaughn's voice, the helplessness in his words. And now nothing else mattered anymore, except that he knew he could not let Sark hurt Vaughn.
Jack's voice was weary, defeated. "Stop."
For a brief moment everything was still — the tension in the room was palpable, like a physical presence sharpened to a knife-point. Sark slowly turned his head towards Jack; a smile of triumph curled his lips.
"So you finally heard him," Sark said; he still held Vaughn down on the floor, poised above him.
"Get away from him," Jack said through clenched teeth.
Sark made no move to retreat; he laid his palm on Vaughn's back, and Jack could see the unsteady rise and fall of his shallow breathing.
"He called out for you," Sark said, his voice filled with dark glee. "So what will it be, Jack?"
At this moment Vaughn raised his head slightly and turned to look back: first at Sark, and then his eyes moved to Jack.
Jack met his gaze — Vaughn's eyes were filled with despair, pained acceptance, and the unspoken message in them was clear: Please.
Jack closed his eyes; he felt distinctly sick. He knew what he had to do, but the very thought made his stomach turn — he couldn't bear to look at Vaughn anymore, not when he knew what he still had to put Vaughn through just to save him from a worse fate at Sark's hands.
"He's asking you," Sark's smooth voice cut through the air once again; Jack opened his eyes and caught Sark's serene smile. "You can see it in his eyes, Jack. He wants you to take him, to fuck him —"
"No he doesn't!" The anguished words spilled from Jack's mouth.
"Perhaps." Sark's voice was even. "But the question is, do you?"
Jack stared at Sark; he felt transparent, exposed under the knowing gaze of the smirking young man who seemed to see things that Jack thought he had so successfully hidden. And from the way Sark's smile broadened, Jack could tell that Sark also knew he had struck a raw nerve.
Jack's voice was hoarse, frayed on the edges. "Don't you dare touch him."
"No, of course not." Sark finally moved away from Vaughn, and Jack could see Vaughn relax slightly in relief, however short-lived. Sark nodded towards Vaughn, still lying prone on the floor. "The pleasure is all yours."
Jack stood rooted to the spot. Every part of him was strung so tightly that he thought he was going to snap any moment, that he would lose his grip and do what he so badly wanted: lunge forward and choke the life out of Sark, the little bastard, who was redefining how it felt to be in hell.
But Jack knew that too much was at stake. He knew it was critical for him to continue playing his role; he recalled what the CIA director Devlin had said to him before this mission: "Do anything you have to do to win Sark's trust."
But Jack never imagined it would come to this.
"You're sick," Jack spat the words, meaning it with every fiber of his being.
"I know." Sark shrugged casually. "And you know what the best part is? You're in my playground now. This is my game, and you will play by my rules." Sark moved forward and kicked Vaughn's legs apart. "So check your morals at the door, and stop wasting my time."
With great effort Jack took a single step forward. His hands were clenched tightly into fists and his conscious mind curled in on itself as a new instinct rose in place — and Jack was horrified by the wave of arousal that swept through him as he gazed down at Vaughn's naked body.
"Go on, Jack." Sark's voice encouraged, spurring him on to darker heights. "Help him."
Jack found himself moving closer, undressing himself from waist down; he kept his shirt on. His movements ruled by a voice in his head that he could barely recognize: a voice that whispered of forbidden yearning and breathed new life into desires long stifled, which now burning like liquid fire in his veins.
Jack looked down at Vaughn, vulnerable and defenseless, on his hands and knees; Jack could hear Vaughn's ragged, labored breathing, and the delirious thunder in Jack's mind subsided. He reached out and gently placed his hand on Vaughn's back, trying to convey what he could not put into words. He hesitated for what seemed like an eternal moment —
"Do it," Sark commanded sharply. "Now."
— and the stillness shattered, and there was no turning back.
Jack slowly leaned forward, covering Vaughn's with his own. He felt the dampness of Vaughn's back soak the front of his shirt; he carefully held himself up on either side of him, making sure he wasn't crushing Vaughn with his weight. Then he reached his left hand around and slid his finger into the cleft of Vaughn's ass to prepare him. The intimate movement elicited a flinch of surprise from the younger man, but he did not pull away. Jack withdrew his fingers, and then inched forward and pressed his rising erection against the entrance to Vaughn's body.
Their bodies were in complete contact now, from Jack's ankle brushing against Vaughn's shin to Vaughn's hair touching the side of Jack's cheek. Jack rested his chin on the curve of Vaughn's shoulder; he could almost smell the scent of fear emanating from the younger man, and he felt a pang of terrible regret.
"Vaughn, I..." Jack began softly in Vaughn's ear. Then he did something that surprised even himself — he pressed his lips against Vaughn's shoulder. His voice was tight with agony. "I'm so sorry."
Vaughn heard Jack's anguished words, felt the brush of Jack's lips on his cheek — and for some reason it brought him a strange sense of calm. Just hearing Jack's voice seemed to have that effect on him; the frenetic rise of panic in his mind ebbed and in that moment Vaughn believed he could ride out this terrible storm with Jack, that there was no one else he would trust himself with.
"It's all right," Vaughn whispered back, trying to reassure him, to take away the guilt that fractured Jack's voice. Vaughn closed his eyes, and repeated the words over again in his own mind like a fervent mantra: It's all right. It will be all right. Jack would make it all right. Jack would—
And then Jack thrust himself into Vaughn with a single, firm stroke.
Vaughn's vision abruptly blurred as an explosion of pain tore through him. He cried out and the strength went out of his arms — his elbows buckled and his upper body lurched to the ground. He was vaguely aware of Jack's hands supporting him; it took him a while to realize, through the blistering haze in his mind, that Jack was holding completely still.
Jack looked down at Vaughn, watching him shudder in pain as he grew accustomed to the feeling of Jack's cock inside him — and at that moment, caught between anguish and pleasure, Jack hated himself for what he was doing. For hurting Vaughn even though he didn't mean to; and worse, for feeling this dark, exquisite pleasure of being sheathed inside Vaughn, and actually... enjoying it.
His grip on Vaughn's waist remained firm, keeping his lower body upright, even though the younger man had faltered, unable to hold himself up any longer. Vaughn was gasping, trying to breathe evenly — Jack could see Vaughn's hands alternately clenching and relaxing, grasping for elusive control. Jack wondered if he had been too rough entering him all at once — he admitted to himself that he had been quite out of touch with the art of lovemaking, even though that wasn't what this was.
Vaughn buried his face in the crook of his arm, biting down on his own flesh. The searing sensation gradually lessened — he took several deep breaths and finally managed to get a grip on himself. He began to feel the warm fullness of Jack's cock inside of him, buried to the hilt — the pain gave way to a strangely titillating discomfort, which wasn't so unpleasant at all.
"Start fucking him, dammit." Sark's voice cracked like a whip through the tense air. "Get on with it!"
Vaughn heard Sark's footsteps circling around him, and then Sark dropped to his knees beside him and tilted Vaughn's face upwards, forcing him to meet his gaze..
"And you," Sark spoke to Vaughn, a twisted smile on his lips. "How does it feel? Does it hurt? Or are you enjoying this as much as Jack clearly is?"
"Shut up, Sark!" Vaughn heard Jack hiss from behind him, his voice filled with anger, hatred, and... guilt? "Leave him alone!"
Sark glanced up at Jack. "Leave him alone?" he repeated, feigning surprise. "Right. You mean... just like the way you're doing, now?"
Jack clamped his teeth down on his lower lip and tasted the coppery tang of his own blood — and deep down inside he knew Sark spoke the plain, bitter truth. He closed his eyes, unable to watch the terrible violation he was a part of — and then, with agonizing slowness, he began to move.
He drew himself back, and then pushed forward again, sliding himself in and out with a measured rhythm. He kept his eyes shut, although he could still feel Sark's eyes watching them.
Vaughn shivered as Jack began to move. The contrary sensations coursing through his body soared to new heights and the intimate heat of Jack thrusting into him rose over the pain. Vaughn had never felt anything like this before — the rush of pleasure even in being taken.
He found himself subconsciously pressing himself backwards in counterpoint to Jack's thrusts. He could feel their movements becoming quicker and deeper, spiraling towards the inevitable — gathering all the strength he could muster, Vaughn finally pushed himself back against Jack, taking him as deep as he possibly could.
Jack let out a ragged growl as he poured himself out inside Vaughn's body; Vaughn gritted his teeth and held still as Jack emptied himself until there was nothing left.
When finally Jack withdrew, Vaughn suddenly felt exhausted, as if he could no longer hold himself up. But Jack's firm hands prevented him from collapsing; instead, he felt Jack slowly lower him to the floor.
Jack found himself moving mechanically as he reached for his pants and pulled them back on, and he felt nauseous and dizzy as he straightened. The waves of pleasure subsided, and now detached horror flooded in its place. Vaughn was still lying on the ground; Jack glanced at him, and then quickly turned away. It hurt, it hurt too much to look at him.
Jack knew that he'd had to take Vaughn — but it was no excuse for his actually enjoying it, even up to the point of... Jack couldn't even bear to think about it.
He turned to Sark, his heart heavy with self-loathing along with hatred for the man who had made him do this.
"There. Are you happy now?" Jack said bitterly. "You got what you wanted."
"Yes." Sark smiled, drinking up the moment with dark satisfaction. "And so did you."
The spasm of pain that twitched across Jack's face was enough to tell Sark he had won.
"So you think I'm sick, do you?" Sark resumed, drawing closer to Jack like a graceful cat on the prowl. He nodded toward Vaughn, who had gingerly eased himself into a sitting position. "In that case you're just as sick for enjoying that so much."
"I did not enjoy it." The conviction in Jack's voice was weak.
"Of course you did." Sark laughed scornfully. "You betrayed yourself, Jack. That's your problem — in your mind you have all these idea of what's right, of what you believe in —" Sark let the word slide off his tongue, dripping with sarcasm, "— but deep down inside, you know all you really wanted was fuck him until he screamed your name."
Jack closed his eyes — it felt as if someone had thumped a fist into his gut. And he hated Sark, even more than he hated himself.
"Admit it, Jack," Sark continued, clearly relishing the anguish he saw in the older man. "You enjoyed fucking him... as you so admirably proved." Sark let his mocking words linger in the air. "You know for a moment back there, I almost believed you didn't really want to fuck him. But that was just the denial talking, wasn't it, seeing how quickly you... rose to the occasion."
Sark turned towards Vaughn — he let his gaze rake over Vaughn's exposed body, a dark gleam in his eyes. Vaughn's eyes widened and he instinctively slid backwards as Sark took a menacing step forward.
"Now it's my turn." Sark's voice was filled with cruel glee.
But before Sark could take another step, Jack had lunged forward, shoving him away from Vaughn. The momentum sent the two men staggering across the room, crashing against the wall. Jack's hands tightened around Sark's neck in a chokehold.
"If you lay one finger on him," Jack hissed into Sark's face, his features contorted with something beyond anger, "I will make sure that's the last thing you ever do."
Even in his compromised position, Sark still maintained his air of dignity; he gave Jack a thin smile. "Dominant, aren't we?"
"I mean it, you son of a bitch," Jack said through clenched teeth. "Touch him and you're dead."
"What's he to you?" Sark asked steadily. "Why are you protecting him?"
The room was utterly still, the tension in the air was stifling; even Vaughn, who had been hastily getting dressed, was now watching Jack, unable to disguise the surprise in his eyes.
"It's none of your business, Sark." Jack's voice was dangerously soft. "What matters is, I did what you told me. And we had an understanding that if I went through with it, you'll let him go." Jack paused briefly. "So your only concern now should be that, if you don't let him out of this room in the next five seconds, you may soon find yourself missing a left hand because I am going to twist it off and let him out myself. Are we clear?"
A slow smile spread across Sark's face as he looked at Jack and something else flickered in his eyes — approval, along with renewed respect.
"Very well," Sark said, a wry tone in his voice. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Bristow. I like that in a business partner. I don't doubt that you will relieve me of my left hand as you have threatened, so I'll save your effort and my expense — get off me and I'll open the door."
Jack glared at Sark for a moment longer, and then roughly pushed him away. Sark casually dusted himself off before he looked at Jack again — their eyes met, and Sark broke into a secret smile as he turned and went to the door.
Jack was immediately at Vaughn's side. Vaughn had already dressed, although his shirt was badly torn in several places. Jack took off his own shirt, and put it on Vaughn's shoulders; he knew Vaughn was looking at him, trying to catch his eye, but he staunchly avoided the other man's gaze as he led him to the door.
Jack and Vaughn came up beside Sark — Vaughn looked thoroughly exhausted, while Jack wore a grim, closed expression. Sark placed his thumb on the DNA reader and with a beep-beep the reinforced metal door hummed on its track as it slid open.
Vaughn stared down the empty corridor outside — he felt dizzy with relief. He never imagined he would make it out of this room alive.
"There," Sark said, as if he were bidding farewell to a guest. "He's free to leave. My security team will ensure his safe passage out onto the main street."
Jack's expression remained impassive. "If anything happens to him along the way, I hope you understand that losing one hand will be the least of your concerns."
Sark arched an eyebrow; Jack fixed him with a hard stare, although he knew there wasn't much else he could do for now except trust that Sark would release Vaughn as he said he would.
Jack watched Vaughn step through the doorway; then Vaughn turned and looked back at him. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments before Jack dropped his gaze. Then Sark hit a button on the side panel and the door slid closed, sealing Vaughn from view.
Sark turned to face Jack. They were standing very close together, and Jack remembered why the young villain had caught his eye the very first time he saw him; it was as if every movement of his body was a come-on.
Now Sark spoke again; his tone was coy, knowing.
"Like I said," Sark's eyes danced suggestively, "you drive a hard bargain, Mr. Bristow." His hand boldly snaked down to grab Jack's crotch — Jack flinched, and Sark smiled. And I like that... in a partner."
"What do you want, Sark." It was a statement, not a question.
Sark took Jack's hands and placed them on his own bare chest. "The same thing you do."
"You don't have a fucking clue what I want," Jack said fiercely; all the same his hands slid across Sark's skin and his fingers brushed against his nipples, and a heated flush of arousal ran through him again.
"Maybe I do," Sark answered in a low whisper. Jack felt Sark's hands unzipping his pants, diving inside — he jerked as Sark's fingers closed over his cock and began to stroke, slowly, deliberately. A low groan escaped Jack's lips before he could bite it back.
"Everything you were too afraid to do to him," Sark gazed up at Jack through half-lidded eyes. "You can do to me."
And Sark's invitation was the last thought that went through Jack's mind before he finally gave in — a black rage whirled up within him, punishing him, liberating him, damning him.
Jack slammed Sark against the wall; his hands raked down Sark's slender body, his fingernails marking their path. Sark threw his head backwards, exposing his neck, and Jack's mouth closed upon the curve of his shoulder, his teeth breaking skin.
And he knew what he wanted.
He wanted to hurt Sark. He wanted to make Sark pay for what he had put Vaughn through — for forcing him to do it. Jack wanted revenge, and he wanted it to hurt.
Jack abruptly yanked Sark away from the wall and threw him on the floor, the same way Sark had done to Vaughn. He saw Sark grimace as he struck the hard tiles; but when Sark raised his eyes to Jack, they were filled with desire, which fueled Jack's anger even more.
Jack stalked closer, dropping to his knees behind Sark; he pushed the younger man's thighs apart and shifted forward until his cock was nudged up against Sark's ass.
For a moment Jack paused; he knew he was on the brink of no turning back, and a rational thought ran through his mind: would he regret this?
"Come on, Jack," Sark purred, breaking into Jack's thoughts. "I want it. Hard."
Jack gave it to him exactly the way he wanted.
He penetrated Sark roughly, pushing deep into him in a single, brutal stroke. Sark jerked in response to the harsh intrusion, but he moaned in unmistakable pleasure as Jack began to thrust, swiftly working up a violent rhythm, fucking him with such bruising force that Sark's body slid a couple of inches on the smooth floor each time Jack slammed into him.
"Is this what you wanted to see just now?" Jack hissed in Sark's ear as he thrust mercilessly into him. "Is this how you like it? Is it?"
"No." Sark's lips parted, and then he uttered a single word: "Harder."
He felt Sark arch upwards to meet his pounding rhythm, taking him deeper, challenging him still. And Jack let the exhilaration of dominance sweep through him, taking away his own pain through this dark pleasure. Jack closed his eyes, and in his mind rose an image of Vaughn's face: his dark brown eyes, his boyish grin, and Jack dug his fingers into the flesh of Sark's thigh, keeping his eyes closed.
He finally came inside Sark, and his mind went blank as he emptied himself inside him. When he finally withdrew, his muscles already began to ache; he felt sore and the dull throb of a migraine was starting at the base of his skull.
"So did you enjoy that?" Sark carefully arranged himself into a sitting position, and then raised his eyes to Jack.
Jack looked at Sark, and his eyes widened in shock. There was a pattern of darkening bruises all over Sark's body, and the imprint of a hand, fingers splayed apart, was clearly visible on the insides of Sark's thighs. Traces of blood were smeared on the white floor tiles beneath him.
Sark smiled at the horror on Jack's face. "Don't look so surprised." He remained unruffled. "I can bleed too, you know. I'm only human." He paused significantly. "Just as you are."
Jack stared at Sark's body — had he actually inflicted all this damage? What — what had possessed him?
"Of course, I know you were punishing me," Sark continued, seeming to read Jack's thoughts. "For what I made you do. You think that by hurting me, you've somehow redeemed yourself. You've fucked twice within an hour, yet you refuse to admit that you enjoyed it either time." He paused for effect. "But you're wrong, Jack. You didn't punish me. You didn't hurt me, either. It felt fucking good. And if you ask me, I think you did Mr. Vaughn a great favor by giving him what's probably the best fuck he's ever had in his life."
"Nobody's asking you, Sark." Jack turned away as he zipped up his pants. He was in no mood to argue with Sark; he just wanted to get the hell out of there. He looked for his shirt, and then remembered he had given it to Vaughn
Sark stretched out his legs like a satisfied cat; he seemed perfectly fine remaining naked. He looked at Jack calmly.
"You'll be wanting a shirt before you leave, I suppose. Unless, of course," he added slyly, "you'd like to make it three times in an hour?"
* * *
CIA Headquarters, Los Angeles
Vaughn entered Devlin's office for the post-mission debrief.
"Morning, sir." He slid into one of the two empty chairs opposite Devlin's desk, and then handed him the report.
Devlin began leafing through the pages and remarked, "Jack mentioned that there were a few rough spots."
Vaughn tensed. What had Jack told Devlin about the mission? Vaughn had completely excluded his sexual encounter with Jack from the report; but now he was worried that his report would not corroborate with Jack's.
"What did he say, sir?" he asked stiffly. "Did he, uh, mention anything in particular?"
"Only that Sark proved somewhat more cunning than we had expected," came Jack's voice from behind them.
Vaughn turned and saw Jack standing in the doorway, looking every bit the calm, composed senior agent that Vaughn had always privately admired. Only now... admiration didn't quite adequately sum up his feelings toward the older man.
Jack stepped into Devlin's office and closed the door. Vaughn couldn't stop himself from staring at him — he hadn't seen Jack since he left him with Sark in that room, and a part of him was dying to know what had happened after that; although another part of him wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Agent Bristow," Vaughn said softly.
Jack looked at him, although his gaze was wiped clean of emotion.
"Agent Vaughn. I was just telling Mr. Devlin that Sark intercepted us on our way in and detained us for an hour in a locked room." He gave Vaughn a meaningful look before he turned back to Devlin. "But then he released Agent Vaughn first while I stayed behind and convinced him I would be willing to give proof of my allegiances."
Devlin looked pleased. "Good. Jack, give me your debrief report as soon as you can. So can we safely say this mission was a success?"
Vaughn stole a glance at Jack and caught the slightest ripple in his calm expression. But then it was gone, like a trick of the light.
Jack nodded. "Yes, I think we can."
Devlin looked satisfied. "Good job, both of you."
Vaughn wondered how Jack could talk about what had happened in such an unaffected manner. What did he think about what they both did not put down in their mission debrief? Jack would probably never speak about it, and Vaughn would never really find out the truth.
"Vaughn." As he stepped outside the director's office, he heard Jack's voice behind him.
Vaughn stopped and looked back at Jack. There was a troubled look in Jack's eyes; he cleared his throat and hesitated for a brief moment before he spoke.
"I just wanted to... apologize. For what I did." Jack shook his head regretfully. "Please believe that it was never my intention to hurt you." His voice was strained with forced calm as he continued, "And I wanted to let you know that when you lodge an official complaint, I won't contest it."
Vaughn stared at Jack, uncomprehending. "What are you talking about?"
Jack glanced away briefly before he raised his eyes to Vaughn again.
"What I did to you..." he said in a low voice. "I committed a serious breach of professional conduct during that mission, and you have every right to report me to Devlin for what I did." He paused. "And when the case is mentioned before the disciplinary board, I give you my word that I will plead guilty to any charges you bring against me."
"You think I'm going to report you?" Vaughn repeated in disbelief. What was Jack saying?
"Yes — in fact, I strongly urge you to do so," Jack replied; his voice softened slightly as he added, "It would only be fair to you."
"I can't believe you're even telling me this!" Vaughn stared at Jack. "Why would I want to bring a complaint against you? For saving me from that sick bastard? For helping me get out of there alive?"
"For what I did to you, Vaughn!" Jack said intensely. "Please don't make this harder than it already is. Just submit the complaint."
"No," said Vaughn in defiance. "I'm not going to report you for doing the right thing."
"Don't you understand?" An unnamed emotion flickered across Jack's face, like a shadow of light. "I took matters into my own hands and I did — I did something terrible to you." Jack's words faltered, but he pulled himself together with some effort. "Yes, I did what I thought would protect you from Sark. But it doesn't matter what I thought — the bottom line is, I took away a choice that was yours to make."
"I made my choice," Vaughn answered; he faced Jack squarely. "I chose you."
The stunned look on Jack's face made Vaughn take a deep breath.
"Look," Vaughn said, glancing down the corridor. "Let's go someplace else to talk. We can grab lunch and go down to one of the empty rooms in the basement."
Jack regarded Vaughn for a moment. "I'm not hungry."
"Fine," Vaughn replied without missing a beat. "Then we'll go straight there now."
Jack didn't move; Vaughn gave him a measured look. Come on, Vaughn asked silently, his eyes gazing into Jack's. Come with me.
"Lead the way," Jack finally said quietly, and a relieved smile lifted the edges of Vaughn's lips.
They fell in step together, but didn't speak or look at each other. They drew several curious looks as they walked down the corridors; Vaughn nodded a greeting at a few agents as he passed by. Jack ignored them all.
Finally they reached the basement. Vaughn chose an empty meeting room and held the door open for Jack. Then he shut it behind them; on an afterthought, he furtively locked it. Then he turned around. Jack was facing away from him; the air was charged with tension and words unsaid, and Vaughn chose to remain silent. He waited.
"Why?" Jack finally asked, speaking to the wall; the single word spoke volumes more.
"Because it wasn't your fault," Vaughn said simply.
Jack turned around to face him.
"I raped you," Jack's voice was anguished. "That's what it was, Vaughn. Rape. I didn't think you would ever want to see me again; I even though of asking Devlin to debrief us separately, but I couldn't tell him the reason why. So when you lodge the formal complaint —"
"Will you stop talking about the damn complaint!" Vaughn exploded, unable to control himself any longer. Jack looked startled; Vaughn glowered at him, and then continued, "Let me get a few things straight here. First, stop blaming yourself for what happened. You didn't have a choice either. Second, it wasn't rape. I probably liked it as much as you did, so we're even." Vaughn paused, noticing the astonishment on Jack's face. "And finally, I am not going to lodge any complaint against you. Period."
Jack stared at him in disbelief. "You... liked it? Even though I — I hurt you?"
"You didn't hurt me." Vaughn shook his head. "It was absolutely nothing compared to what I would have gone through if you hadn't stepped in. What that son of a bitch Sark was going to do to me... that would've been rape. And about my consent — if you recall, I did express it verbally."
Jack closed his eyes, letting himself fall back into that dark chasm of memory. "You said, 'It's all right.'"
"Yes." Vaughn boldly moved forward until he was standing in front of Jack, and then repeated deliberately, "It's all right." He paused. "So let go, Jack." He raised his right hand and tenderly touched Jack's face. "Let it go."
Then he leaned forward and kissed Jack on the mouth.
Vaughn felt Jack's lips part in surprise; he took the opportunity to let his own tongue flicker out. A heartbeat of stillness; then he felt the initial shock dissolve, and then Jack was kissing him back. He felt Jack's hand on the back of his head, holding him still as they kissed, thoroughly and deeply, and by the time they finally pulled apart they were both breathless.
Jack took a step backward; but there was no awkwardness as they looked at each other in an entirely new light. Vaughn was the first to break the silence.
"I also wanted to let you know, ah, that it was — that was my... first time." Vaughn paused and felt his cheeks flush with heat. "In that way."
"I'm sorry it had to be like that." There was a note of sadness in Jack's voice. "The first time... should have been with someone special."
Vaughn let a moment slide by, and then raised his eyes to level Jack's gaze.
"It was," he replied steadily, not breaking eye contact.
And from the rare smile that spread across Jack's face, Vaughn knew that for everything they had lost, something far more valuable had been gained.
The game was over.
And they had won.
- fin -