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Beauty of the Blistering Sky	By : UltraVioletSoul Category: +S through Z > Splinter Cell Views: 1828 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell or its characters. Neither do I own the song "Bullets" by Archive. No copyright infringement intended. I am just trying to provide entertainment, and by no means do I have lucrative purposes.

Chapter List
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Chapter VIII
He did not know for how long his mind had been dozing off but, as the hinges of the door to your bathroom screeched, his green eyes lazily opened to see the silhouette of your body disappear in a square of white light. Sam quickly checked the wristwatch attached to him— feeling the discomfort of the rubber band squeezing his wrist— the numbers in the glowing LED marking 4:17 in the morning, before he rolled on his side and stared at the black sky through the window. Tired of the soreness the device caused, he grumbled as he unfastened the clasp and tossed it on top of the night-table, by his side, enjoying the freedom his skin felt. It would be ridiculous wondering why the hell he had not felt such rawness before, seeing as he had been too busy with you a few hours ago.

He knew this could have been the perfect chance to disappear, but he would feel like a prick for doing so. He could not bring himself to be that cruel. Even if this had been nothing more than fantastic sex— and it was— he thought that at the very least he should make sure to say ‘good-bye, thanks ma’am’. That would be the decent thing to do after a one-night stand– that is, if there had been anything decent in seducing you and making his way to your bed, at all.

The sound of the toilet flushing made him roll on bed, again. You surely were taking your sweet time, but that was understandable. After the mess you two had made, and the feeling of sticky and sweaty sheets, you would want to make some cleansing on you to be more comfortable. He would have to, also; just the feeling of fluids on his thighs and lower stomach was enough to make him sit up and place his feet on the wooden floor, beneath. His back was still damp with perspiration and his body felt sore in places that had not felt like that in some time. With a heavy sigh, he brushed a hand from his forehead to his right cheek, and smiled at the indiscreet memory of your pleasured face as he took you and you yielded to his wishes.

He had to admit that he felt very tempted to do it, again. He wanted to do you again– scratch that, he needed to. However, as soon as his desire took form, a red light went off and the short hairs of his nape stood on end, making his blood painfully run cold and paralyzing his muscles all at once. Sam suddenly could not move; his stomach roiled and he felt like smashing his head against the wall. Never in his life had he overlooked things as important as this one. Alright; he made mistakes— he was human, after all— but he had never messed up so bad before, in a way that made him want to jump off a cliff at that precise moment.

He had not used any protection. What the hell was he thinking? It was evident that he had not been thinking, at all. He had let his animal instincts take over like he was just a dog drawn to a bitch in heat. His mind had gone dizzy the moment your body was close to his, and the testosterone levels had dulled his capacity to reason and foresee disasters. He wanted to rip his hair from his scalp; he wanted to take back what he had done. He really wished to wake up and find himself alone in his bed, laugh and think that this had been nothing more than a bad dream.

But why should he care when you did not? He was going to disappear— you were not going to see each other again— so why should he? You had not even voiced your concern regarding the matter. You just went along with him, and he wanted to believe that you had your own backup plan if something undesirable happened– not that he was going to be here to hear the bad news. No, no. He was making way too many assumptions and the road of assumptions was always lined with coffins; that was the Fisher Law. Still, at any rate, it too had been your choice to make by being aware of the risks.

He felt like a dick for thinking like that.

He had just wanted to say sorry when he dropped by your place. Sorry about what; the kiss; the intimate moment? Sam knew it was only an excuse to get close to you. Truth be told, he had been too weak to stay away, and he realized he still was vulnerable to you when the door opened again and he found himself staring at you, in all your naked glory. His body had a mind of its own, as it began to get aroused again at the sight of your nude skin and curves. It begged him to reach for you and pin you to the bed, and make you scream again. He wanted to feel the skin of your back against his chest, feel it arch against him in time with his thrusts. Kissing your sweaty skin, and smelling arousal as he was enveloped by your heat, he wanted that so bad. It took more than willpower to calm down and restrain his inconvenient breeding behavior that had made him do stupid things with you.

Someone help him, because you were going to be his downfall.

“Oh,” was all you could say when you spotted him sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Hello there.”

“Hey.” His voice came off gravel-like and he had to clear his throat, trying to make his aroused state less obvious to your eyes. The silence was awkward, so you merely turned around to close the door and he got to see the curve of your buttocks, and the outline of your beautiful profile before you clicked the light switch off.

You sluggishly padded to the bed, hands reaching for the bedding to straighten it a little. It was a total disarray of sheets, you thought a little displeased. You surely would have to do the laundry this weekend– and you had better do something with that red stain marring the tones of light-blue soon. Glancing at his immovable shadowed figure, out of the corner of your eye, you wondered what he could be thinking about before turning your back to him and slowly stretching out on the mattress.

This felt more than awkward, to be honest.

It was not long before he got up and walked to the bathroom, leaving you to your thoughts. His dismissive behavior made you feel a little out of place, ignored, and you already sensed despondency growing in the pit of your stomach. But what could you have been expecting from him, at the end? Affectionate words and promises of everlasting love? If that were to happen, it was not going to be in this life-time, for sure. You did not know what you had gotten yourself into, but you had a strong hunch that it would be better if things were like this. Maybe it would be easier to let go, in this way– but easier for you or for him? It was true you had never expected for him to give you the cold shoulder, but you were in no position to be making demands. He had already warned you about what was to come, so it would be futile thinking that there was going to be a happy ending for you.

You only hoped to have the chance to say goodbye this time, at the very least.

SAM’S hand found the switch and, at the same time, closed the door before a flood of pale light revealed a familiar face in the mirror. He looked at the man returning his gaze, green eyes pale and hair carrying ten more shades of silver than yesterday. It was not the kind of sight he was expecting, exactly, but he had not been surprised at it.

Splashing some cold water on his face, he heaved a sigh and considered the opportunity of leaving, immediately, before he began making up an excuse to hit the road as soon as possible. He knew it was downright cruel, but he could not afford staying a minute more with you in the same room. Maybe he would just go down on you, again, and make sure you ended up exhausted and fast asleep. The lone idea was enough to make him contradict himself and wish he could stay, for as long as the chances allowed it, to enjoy the wonders he had relived in your arms.

Focus, Sam.

Some cold water should help clear his mind and cool down the rushing heat in his body. As eager as he might have been to go at it, again, the pretended honeymoon had to come to an end and, the sooner the better for you two. He had to make it clear that there could not be any more to this than a physical relationship. Actually, there could not be more at all and you knew this very well, or so he believed. For your own good, it was better if you did.

Wiping the beads of water from his face with a towelette, hanging next to the mirror, Sam proceeded to the shower area. Rubbing the back of his neck, he swiftly spotted a spare towel though he had no idea why would there be one for him, in the first place. Still, it would come in handy once he was done with his bath. He paid no more attention, instead focusing on finding some much needed shampoo and soap. He was sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids and, surely, smelt bad. Not the type of glamorous image that romance novels cracked it up to be, with smell of roses and lavender. However, he had to admit that, even if musk was not the scent he would like to sniff on a daily basis, it surely was the one he wanted to feel in his woman in the heights of pleasure– not only smell, but also taste.

He did not want to go back to his days as a teenager, jerking off in the shower. Then again, if he wanted to get scrubbed at all, down there, he would have to fight off his urges and keep what little dignity he still had or, eventually, give in to them and look out for you, again.

He could not afford doing that.

The first streams cascaded upon him, promising to take his heat away. Sam did not even flinch at the coldness that greeted him; in fact, he welcomed it with a satisfied yet furtive sigh as he closed his eyes. Cold water was his new friend– one that would surely thrust some sense into his mind, and some decorum into his body. Still, the images of the previous hours he had spent with you kept coming back to his memory and his muscles twitched to feel you again; to worship you with the same hunger he still retained for you. He wanted to hear your moans and screams as your legs held him close by the waist; to have your hips moving in unison with his, and your insides squeezing him in time with his thrusts. Sam wanted to feel your teeth on his shoulder; your nails scratching his back, fingers tracing the very scar that had caused all this to come about.

It was that scar which reminded him of you. Even the man who tried to kill him had not occupied his thoughts as much as you did. He surely had not forgotten about him, but it was always you who infiltrated his dreams, making him feel like a young man all over again. He did not think he had woken up to a boner for a long time, and it had felt excruciating for him to find relief.

The last time he had such dreams Regan was very much alive in his head. It should be her; not you. He would never look at another woman who was not his late ex-wife. That notion sounded sad– his life was really sad. He had held onto her memory for so long, trying to be faithful to a woman who did not even love him the way he wished she would. She had left him, turned her back on him, but he would never blame her for that. Regan had her reasons for this good-bye; it simply was not working and, as painful and cruel as it sounded, it was time for them to decide and stop the suffering they and their kid were going through. It was time to stop the arguments; the hurtful words; the sadness of Sarah; the long nights of absence and drinks. It was time for them to stop destroying each other–for them to become better persons and parents– and the only way they could do so was going different ways.

Regan understood he could not give up his duty, so she had made the decision for both. She had made all the arrangements for the divorce, and the only thing he had to do was signing the papers. She had said it was for the best; that she would never make him decide between his family and his country, because she knew it would not be fair.

Their separation should have stopped the pain. It certainly stopped hers, but it only made his greater. Had Victor Coste not been with him, Sam did not know what would have become of him. Immersed in a world of alcohol and smoke, he isolated himself in a dismal room. He still could remember the grimace on his best friend’s face when he saw his apartment was a mess of whisky bottles and cigarette butts– floor covered in dusty ashes. The room reeked of sweat, alcohol and blonde tobacco, and Vic told him he was surprised he had not died from suffocation. Sam’s neglected appearance had been no better; sprawled on bed, semi naked, he sported a beard he had not shaved in weeks, and his longer hair was covered in grease. He had lost weight; self-esteem; reasons to live now that Regan took his little girl away from him. It had been a miserable and sad sight, to be honest. Remembering the wretched appearance of that stranger whose green eyes returned his gaze in the mirror made him cringe, now.

And Sam still could not blame her, after that. Regan had almost destroyed him, but he still loved her. He had loved her until her last breath, and his love had gone beyond death after her demise. She was one of the women he loved dearly and his heart would always be linked to hers; his heart would always be hers, no matter what.

So what the hell was he doing here with you? Why all of a sudden he was reliving the pain? Why could he not stop thinking about you? Why these feelings had him confused? Were those eyes of yours which took his breath away? Was it because he saw something of her in you? Had he been so oblivious to everything that he could not see he had been actually looking for her in you all this time? Searching for the first sign of love they had shared under the Georgian rain, when Regan told him to return safe and sound. They had poured their souls into that first kiss, ignoring the wolf-whistles of his companions, and he could not help but feeling the same when your lips touched his for the first time that night. It had scared him, somehow, to find that the fire of desire had never been extinguished, even after long years.

Desire he had felt in your arms, again. He wanted to be in your arms, again. His body was eager, still willing; need rushing through his veins and heat scorching under his skin.

No. He had to stop; stop this madness right and then. It was complicated as it was; relationships were always complicated, and that was the reason he had stayed clear of them until now– until he met you. After all this time, he had never pictured himself getting involved with another woman. Surely, there had been the occasional date and flirt, but things had never went beyond a simple casual treatment that left females confused as to why he was yet to make any advances on them.

It was different with you, however. Ever since that night in the seaport, there had been something going on with him but he had not been able to put a finger on it, his mind having been too concerned about other matters that needed to be seen to. And now it seemed like he had placed more than a finger on the affair, during the little episode between you two when he cornered you and made his intentions clear. He had built the courage to actually assume that he wanted you, like a man wanted a woman, albeit wishing you would stop him.

His heart had raced at the anticipation of making love to you; at the feeling of your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Sam wanted to listen to his heart for once and forget about the cold logic that had confined him in a prison of loneliness and sorrow– his heart; his stupid heart which, until now, had not known better and pushed him to make all those stupid mistakes he now regretted.

There’s a reason I never listen to you when it comes to ladies, little punk. You’ll end up killing me one of these days.

Perhaps sooner than you expect it, it mocked him.

The bundle of muscular fibers rhythmically pulsing inside his ribcage stopped when he caught sight of spots of blood on his still erect member, being carried away by lazy streams running down his skin. A faint red stained the liquid crystal beneath his feet, and he had to fight the urge to draw in a sharp breath lest he choked. His green eyes squinted and, suddenly, all he could feel was panic and guilt. The remorse that had begun to surface had blown into a painful regret that was burning a hole in his chest. It all came down to one thing, and the agony of the shame he now felt was something that no miraculous water could cleanse.

He should not have come here; he should not have let his guard down; should not have made the stupid mistake of getting involved with you. There was only one thing he could think of, and you were going to get hurt.

But the damage was already done.

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Remember that this is fiction! NEVER have sex with someone you don’t know without protection. Not every guy out there is Sam.
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Beauty of the Blistering Sky