- Valley of the Kings -
Aug. 30th, 2010 01:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
notasuggestionHelga Sinclair
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
1470 words
The Valley of the Kings expedition marked more than one "first" for nineteen-year-old Helga Sinclair.
From the top of the sand dune, nineteen-year-old Helga Sinclair saw the desert fade, turn green, and meet the powerful Nile. The setting sun stained the once blue sky red, orange, and purple. Shadows crept ever nearer, and the light breeze ghosted across her face. She breathed in the hot, dry air and almost gasped.
For the first time in her life, she had no desire to be anywhere else.
Everything was almost perfect.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The man’s voice in her ear startled her, but she never looked away from the horizon. Her breath caught in her throat.
“I’m in love,” she whispered.
He chuckled without insult. “Should I leave you alone?”
“No.” The word came quickly, and she spun around, as if to grab him if he’d stepped away. The lack of distance between them surprised her.
Helga looked up at him. He was her mentor and employer, even if he gave her the distinct impression that she worked with him rather than for him. All too recently, he’d become her protector as well. He’d killed a man, a longtime employee, to save her. She didn’t know how she’d ever properly thank him for that.
Commander Lyle Rourke towered over her. His wide shoulders gave him a build twice, if not three times, her size. She knew what it felt like to press against his firm chest, have his strong arms around her. He’d held her a week ago, cradled her like a child, until she’d ceased to tremble and been able to wash her assailant’s blood off her. He’d known exactly what to do, how to soothe her and calm her fears.
But she had one father. She didn’t need another.
He wasn’t supposed to see her as a daughter. She’d fought for her place in Fort Dix. She’d pushed herself to the edge to not only survive basic training but conquer it. She’d refused to be anything less than his most accomplished combat student. She’d practiced until she couldn’t stand in order to excel at marksmanship. And she’d ruined it all but forgetting she was a soldier the first time her mettle was tested.
Her shoulders fell, and he saw it. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry.” Helga turned away from him, back to the Nile. Less than half the sun remained over the horizon.
“For what?” he asked.
She tensed and said, “Losing it. The whole point of my training was for war—death. And I—do that the first time I’m threatened.”
“By a coworker and while you were half asleep.” Rourke signed, and she swore she felt his breath on her neck.
“I should have—”
“But you didn’t,” he cut in. His voice was gentle, full of a paternal warmth that made her want to scream. “Think about ‘next time,’ not ‘last time.’ Next time, you won’t need me.”
“I’ll always need you,” she said, automatically. He chuckled again, low in his throat, and Helga tilted her head at the sound. She saw one of his hands move out of the corner of her eye and let herself pretend he’d almost touched her.
“Alexander still calls you his little girl,” the man said. She refrained from answering. Why shouldn’t he talk about her father, remind her that they were friends? Wishing he would let her forget was worse. “I don’t think he realizes how much you’ve grown.”
She forced a chuckle. “You make it sound like you’ve known me since I was a child.”
“I have,” he said. Before she could turn around, he continued. “A child got on that train with me—willful, stubborn, argumentative, temperamental. But I’ve watched you.” She felt his breath on her neck, and his voice made her want to beg. She needed to feel his hands on her. “You’ve grown so much. You’re strong, self-reliant, determined, and disciplined.”
“Commander,” she whispered.
He took his time answering. “What is it?” She heard something in his tone—something expectant, prompting. At least, she thought she heard it.
“Oh.” She hesitated. Her thoughts swirled together, and she couldn’t untangle them. All she could think about was him. Perhaps, she briefly considered, the day’s heat had caught up to her. “I—”
“Yes?”
Helga tilted her head back again, half trying to find an angle that would keep her legs from giving out beneath her. She saw his hand, no more than an inch from her hip, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Commander,” she said again.
“Hm?”
It was the heat. She knew it. How very close he was, the way he seemed to stop just before he put his hands on her, the tone of his voice. All of it was a fevered mind coupled with a girl’s fantasy, caught up in a setting that freed her from so many conventions and loosened what bonds of propriety it couldn’t break. At best, he’d laugh at her. At worst, he’d send her back to Maryland. But, like the flood waters from the life-giving Nile, the words could not be held back.
“Touch me.”
The older man behind her said nothing, and Helga felt like an idiot. Any respect these last two years had earned her, she’d just thrown away. She turned toward him, unable to even glance up. Her imagination filled in his expression, and she knew seeing the real thing would be more than she could handle. Before she could step around him, he caught her arm. His face seemed completely neutral when she willed herself to look, and she waited for the scolding. Or perhaps a lecture on virtue.
None came.
Instead, his other hand caught her jaw. He angled her head up with the same gentle force he’d used to position her hands when he’d taught her how to shoot. She tensed, unsure of what he planned to do. She saw him smile and listened to him chuckle under his breath.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
He kissed her. His hand held her jaw as his lips covered hers. Her knees threatened to buckle under the weight of the kiss, so she seized his shirt, clutching the cloth and his shoulder to keep herself standing. Rourke released her arm to curl his fingers around her side. He tugged her closer, right against him. Hesitantly, she reached up to set her hand against the back of his neck. When he broke the kiss, Helga looked up at him. She pulled her hand back and let go of his shirt, but his hands never moved.
She stared. Twice, her mouth opened and closed without a sound leaving her. She started to speak again, but he bowed his head to claim another kiss. He slid his hand to the small of her back, drawing her even closer to him. The kiss deepened, and she wrapped her arm around his neck. He let go of her jaw to touch her side, but his hand didn’t stay. It slid up, against her ribs, then over to grope at her chest. The girl groaned into his mouth and tightened her hold on him.
Rourke pulled back again before dipping his head to press his lips to her jaw. She tilted her head, and he followed the curve of her neck. He pressed her back while his other hand lightly squeezed her breast through her shirt. She trembled, and he chuckled against her throat. Finally, he drew back, and Helga watched him, breathing hard.
“Commander,” she managed. The word came out, but her voice was strained. Her eyes didn’t leave him as he smiled.
“Haven’t seen you speechless in awhile, Sinclair.”
“I—” She hesitated. How could he do that then talk so casually? He was mocking her. He had to be. She watched him, waiting for the laughter. All of this had to be a joke. The only sign of any such thing, though, was the way his smile had twisted into a smirk, and even that didn’t seem to be really at her expense somehow. “What was that?”
“You aren’t that innocent,” he replied.
She glared, and he chuckled.
Rourke stepped closer as he said, “Sounded like you wanted me to do it.”
“I did!” She opened mouth, closed it, and narrowed her eyes as she realized what had come out. “It’s just—I—Why me?”
“Told you that.” He kissed her again, harder than before. “Any more questions?”
He silenced her first thought by bringing his lips to hers as soon as her mouth opened. Every time, she only wanted him to do it again that much more. “I—” she finally managed, “It’s just—I—“ Another, heavier kiss, and his hand gripped her hip, drew her in. “I don’t know what to do.”
She felt him chuckle again against her lips. “You’re a good student. I’ll teach you.”
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
1470 words
The Valley of the Kings expedition marked more than one "first" for nineteen-year-old Helga Sinclair.
From the top of the sand dune, nineteen-year-old Helga Sinclair saw the desert fade, turn green, and meet the powerful Nile. The setting sun stained the once blue sky red, orange, and purple. Shadows crept ever nearer, and the light breeze ghosted across her face. She breathed in the hot, dry air and almost gasped.
For the first time in her life, she had no desire to be anywhere else.
Everything was almost perfect.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The man’s voice in her ear startled her, but she never looked away from the horizon. Her breath caught in her throat.
“I’m in love,” she whispered.
He chuckled without insult. “Should I leave you alone?”
“No.” The word came quickly, and she spun around, as if to grab him if he’d stepped away. The lack of distance between them surprised her.
Helga looked up at him. He was her mentor and employer, even if he gave her the distinct impression that she worked with him rather than for him. All too recently, he’d become her protector as well. He’d killed a man, a longtime employee, to save her. She didn’t know how she’d ever properly thank him for that.
Commander Lyle Rourke towered over her. His wide shoulders gave him a build twice, if not three times, her size. She knew what it felt like to press against his firm chest, have his strong arms around her. He’d held her a week ago, cradled her like a child, until she’d ceased to tremble and been able to wash her assailant’s blood off her. He’d known exactly what to do, how to soothe her and calm her fears.
But she had one father. She didn’t need another.
He wasn’t supposed to see her as a daughter. She’d fought for her place in Fort Dix. She’d pushed herself to the edge to not only survive basic training but conquer it. She’d refused to be anything less than his most accomplished combat student. She’d practiced until she couldn’t stand in order to excel at marksmanship. And she’d ruined it all but forgetting she was a soldier the first time her mettle was tested.
Her shoulders fell, and he saw it. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry.” Helga turned away from him, back to the Nile. Less than half the sun remained over the horizon.
“For what?” he asked.
She tensed and said, “Losing it. The whole point of my training was for war—death. And I—do that the first time I’m threatened.”
“By a coworker and while you were half asleep.” Rourke signed, and she swore she felt his breath on her neck.
“I should have—”
“But you didn’t,” he cut in. His voice was gentle, full of a paternal warmth that made her want to scream. “Think about ‘next time,’ not ‘last time.’ Next time, you won’t need me.”
“I’ll always need you,” she said, automatically. He chuckled again, low in his throat, and Helga tilted her head at the sound. She saw one of his hands move out of the corner of her eye and let herself pretend he’d almost touched her.
“Alexander still calls you his little girl,” the man said. She refrained from answering. Why shouldn’t he talk about her father, remind her that they were friends? Wishing he would let her forget was worse. “I don’t think he realizes how much you’ve grown.”
She forced a chuckle. “You make it sound like you’ve known me since I was a child.”
“I have,” he said. Before she could turn around, he continued. “A child got on that train with me—willful, stubborn, argumentative, temperamental. But I’ve watched you.” She felt his breath on her neck, and his voice made her want to beg. She needed to feel his hands on her. “You’ve grown so much. You’re strong, self-reliant, determined, and disciplined.”
“Commander,” she whispered.
He took his time answering. “What is it?” She heard something in his tone—something expectant, prompting. At least, she thought she heard it.
“Oh.” She hesitated. Her thoughts swirled together, and she couldn’t untangle them. All she could think about was him. Perhaps, she briefly considered, the day’s heat had caught up to her. “I—”
“Yes?”
Helga tilted her head back again, half trying to find an angle that would keep her legs from giving out beneath her. She saw his hand, no more than an inch from her hip, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Commander,” she said again.
“Hm?”
It was the heat. She knew it. How very close he was, the way he seemed to stop just before he put his hands on her, the tone of his voice. All of it was a fevered mind coupled with a girl’s fantasy, caught up in a setting that freed her from so many conventions and loosened what bonds of propriety it couldn’t break. At best, he’d laugh at her. At worst, he’d send her back to Maryland. But, like the flood waters from the life-giving Nile, the words could not be held back.
“Touch me.”
The older man behind her said nothing, and Helga felt like an idiot. Any respect these last two years had earned her, she’d just thrown away. She turned toward him, unable to even glance up. Her imagination filled in his expression, and she knew seeing the real thing would be more than she could handle. Before she could step around him, he caught her arm. His face seemed completely neutral when she willed herself to look, and she waited for the scolding. Or perhaps a lecture on virtue.
None came.
Instead, his other hand caught her jaw. He angled her head up with the same gentle force he’d used to position her hands when he’d taught her how to shoot. She tensed, unsure of what he planned to do. She saw him smile and listened to him chuckle under his breath.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
He kissed her. His hand held her jaw as his lips covered hers. Her knees threatened to buckle under the weight of the kiss, so she seized his shirt, clutching the cloth and his shoulder to keep herself standing. Rourke released her arm to curl his fingers around her side. He tugged her closer, right against him. Hesitantly, she reached up to set her hand against the back of his neck. When he broke the kiss, Helga looked up at him. She pulled her hand back and let go of his shirt, but his hands never moved.
She stared. Twice, her mouth opened and closed without a sound leaving her. She started to speak again, but he bowed his head to claim another kiss. He slid his hand to the small of her back, drawing her even closer to him. The kiss deepened, and she wrapped her arm around his neck. He let go of her jaw to touch her side, but his hand didn’t stay. It slid up, against her ribs, then over to grope at her chest. The girl groaned into his mouth and tightened her hold on him.
Rourke pulled back again before dipping his head to press his lips to her jaw. She tilted her head, and he followed the curve of her neck. He pressed her back while his other hand lightly squeezed her breast through her shirt. She trembled, and he chuckled against her throat. Finally, he drew back, and Helga watched him, breathing hard.
“Commander,” she managed. The word came out, but her voice was strained. Her eyes didn’t leave him as he smiled.
“Haven’t seen you speechless in awhile, Sinclair.”
“I—” She hesitated. How could he do that then talk so casually? He was mocking her. He had to be. She watched him, waiting for the laughter. All of this had to be a joke. The only sign of any such thing, though, was the way his smile had twisted into a smirk, and even that didn’t seem to be really at her expense somehow. “What was that?”
“You aren’t that innocent,” he replied.
She glared, and he chuckled.
Rourke stepped closer as he said, “Sounded like you wanted me to do it.”
“I did!” She opened mouth, closed it, and narrowed her eyes as she realized what had come out. “It’s just—I—Why me?”
“Told you that.” He kissed her again, harder than before. “Any more questions?”
He silenced her first thought by bringing his lips to hers as soon as her mouth opened. Every time, she only wanted him to do it again that much more. “I—” she finally managed, “It’s just—I—“ Another, heavier kiss, and his hand gripped her hip, drew her in. “I don’t know what to do.”
She felt him chuckle again against her lips. “You’re a good student. I’ll teach you.”
