Disclaimer: Not mine.

Notes: Written for Finding Beauty, and not quite yaoi though there are implications. Little interlude set during Honour. The female is Player E -- or Cyr from Gunshot Romance -- my favourite of the Before Crisis Turks 'cos she's hot and male enough in behaviour to suit my needs.

Undone

He doesn't know why he accepted her invitation. Perhaps it was her all but indifferent nature, asking him back to her flat in the fourth district for a drink simply because he looked like he could use one, no strings attached because they are Turks and Turks never admit to weakness.

She's beautiful in a different way, he supposes. All hash lines and angles, a bit rough around the edges like an uncut stone. But he finds that to suit him just fine as she pours herself a gin and tonic and tells him to help himself.

They sit for what might be hours, watching the skyline in near silence save the small, uncommitted attempts at half conversation. It is a quarter past twelve when she finally rises from the sofa. Ungentle hands going to his shoulders to work at the knot of tension. Her dark hair tickles his ear as she leans closer, breath balmy. Their lips touch in the dim reflection of city lights.

He rises ungracefully, hands fumbling against navy lapels as she laughs. Deft movements toward the bed, clothing discarded in drapes of navy and white, and all lips and teeth and hands.

He falls against the bed, long dark hair splaying across the pillow he lies there strangely vulnerable. Wanting nothing more than the release of pent up terrible, unattainable desire for each day is an increasing strain to play the part of the loyal subordinate, and Turk while the great general razes his homeland, and the President's young heir schemes. He knows with certainty that either, or both, shall be his undoing.

And then there is no time for thought as she suddenly, completely, surrounds him. Slender fingertips trailing along his toned torso, she moves against him. She tells him to relax, her lips touching his, tongue caressing in cadence with her hips. He sees the flash of cat-like eyes and silver, the petulant curve of full lips and alabaster skin, blue eyes fading to crimson flecked grey as she tightens around him, her nails a pinprick of pain along his shoulders. She does not cry out his name when she comes, only muffles a soft sigh of pleasure as she coaxes him toward release. Arching into her a few times more, he joins her with a harsh gasp and an unraveling of tension.

She lights a cigarette in the darkness, taking a long drag and hands it to him, the nicotine and cloves numbing to the senses. Her breath warm against his collar as she tells him to get some sleep, and curls away from him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

She makes coffee the following morning, black and scalding. No words pass between them as she straightens his tie, and smoothes away errant strands of ebony. She offers to drive him to the tower where they linger a few moments before he thanks her and slides from the leather confines.

Sixty-nine stories up and a short walk down the hall, he finds his undoing. Pale and irritable in the dull morning light, and everything he fears.

fin