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Post by Terry Sheridan on Jun 2, 2004 14:18:15 GMT -5
“As I remember it, the first offer had been a couch.” Both were beginning to sweat, each pushing the other closer to the edge. Sheridan was struggling to keep focus. Breath staggered as they moved against each other and as Sara turned her head he kissed against her neck and collarbone. That’s when she took control.
Breath came out through his teeth, while cheek muscles tightened slightly. He could feel her touch her movements, her own power. with arms above his head, the brit just lie upon his back looking up at her, taking as deep of a breath in as he could. Hips moved upwards against her pressure. When he felt himself coming close, eyes would shut and he’d think of some kind of weapon. Both were doing the same things, trying to hold back, which would make it all the more invigorating.
Eyes opened and he looked up to Sara, but somehow, something didn’t feel right. He felt watched. Twisting his wrist he freed it from her grip sliding it under his pillow. “Love…” breath pulled from his lips ragged. He couldn’t shake the feeling he had, nor did he want this romp to end anytime soon. “…Somthings not right.” Grayed eyes looked up towards the detective wondering if she had that feeling too. Too many years with MI-6 and the Royal Marines, he couldn’t deny intuition. Sliding his other arm down some against the pillow and the bed, her hand still holding onto his wrist. Though he turned his wrist slightly so hand could rest upon the mattress and give him some leverage to push up.
Left hand pulled back from under the pillow, fingers curled around the grip of a black 9MM. He’d shifted they’d still been moving against each other and now he’d changed to a slightly sitting position, chest pressed against Sara’s the gun moved scanning the room, the safety being removed in the process.
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Post by Sara Pezzini on Jun 8, 2004 16:17:29 GMT -5
Even before Sheridan reacted Sara felt the disturbance. And in one beautiful moment, the scene dramatically changed. As Terry sat up the tendrils of Witchblade were already halfway up Sara’s arm, and by the time his weapon was drawn, it had worked it’s way up her throat and into her hair. The metal would feel unnaturally cold to the touch, but to Sara it felt as though it was on fire. “I feel it too… “ She acknowledged with alarm.
“Shadow Team engage the target, disable courier, and acquire package. Use of deadly force is prohibited… repeat, use of deadly force is prohibited.” With that the leader of the team snapped off the radio and nodded to his team. Grabbing hold of the repel line, he leapt from the building’s roof and swung into the room along with a half a dozen black-clad men. Glass sprayed in and boots hit the carpet, lines discarded as they closed in on the couple.
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Post by Terry Sheridan on Jun 8, 2004 21:59:28 GMT -5
When Sara shifted as well it was obvious she knew something was wrong as well. The Witcheblade’s movements had been quicker than his own, sensing the danger he was sure, from everything he’d learned thus far of it. With a scowl Sheridan rolled over with Sara to the far side of the bed with himself on top, before pushing up. Bare feet hit the ground as windows shattered. “You…bloody wankers..” growled the brit grabbing the rumpled sheets tying a corner around his waist.
Suddenly the evening was going from fantastic to a mess. The spy was not happy about the broken windows, even less enthused about the interruption. Perhaps that’s what fired him up the most, not that using his skills wasn’t an adrenalin rush, but rather the fact no one should ever disturb a mans shag. A shot rang out followed by another, and one black clad man lie against the ground.
“Do you know what a ruddy mess, blood is to clean up…” two of the men started for the detective, as the other three proceeded towards him. Shifting the brit rotated his torso with the guns aim towards his next intended target. “Don’t you know…interrupting someone’s shag makes them very agitated. Especially if that someone happens to be a former marine, who’s going to bloody blow your head off.” Body weight shifted as he was attacked by a knife, the other two readied their guns. In the darkness of the room the brit and team member moved, attacks coming one after another.
Blood began in a thin line against his right arm, and the brit’s scowl became all that more. as the next downward slash came towards him left hand gripped his attackers wrist and pushed it skywards as he moved forwards, the 9mm moved up against the mans throat. Bang. He could feel the warm spray against him and he shoved the man backwards down the stairs leading up to the loft. 4 left from the first initial team. He was sure Sara and the Witchblade would easily take care of the two heading for her.
He’d turned to look towards Sara but all he ended up seeing was black. Eyes opened and his cell was ringing, and Sara was gone. “What the bloody hell…” his temple throbbed and a bit of blood lined the side of his face and hair from it, while fingers opened the phone. “Bout bloody time you picked up Sheridan. Must have had a number done on you ‘ey?” brow twitched slightly, despite the splitting headache “Boswell?” the voice came over once again. “How many times do I have to tell you not to mix business and pleasure…” then the line went dead.
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Post by Sara Pezzini on Jun 8, 2004 23:58:03 GMT -5
Her voice sounded out again, but this time it wasn’t due to the raptures of the bedroom, but in fear and shock at being thrown to the side and protected (for the moment) by the secret agent. But when she heard the team members begin to close in, her fear helped to fuel her into detective mode. Modesty aside, Sara was on her feet in seconds, standing in a ready position as the Witchblade moved like green liquid across her flesh to cover her unmentionables; sparse though her coverings were. Her green orbs were wild and she scanned the area for her discarded weapon, then the cold dread of horror washed over as she remembered it was downstairs, discarded in the hallway with barely an afterthought that it might be needed.
They were closing in on Sheridan and for an instant she forgot that he was able to protect himself, forgot that he was a secret agent for the Queen of England and her mind pictured the horror that could potentially unfold. “Look out!” she screamed in warning as her trained eye noted the movement to her left. He had a gun and it was aimed in Sheridan’s direction. (Little did she knew it only contained tranquilizer darts) Dashing to the left, Sara ducked the fist that was launched in her direction and then disarmed the black-clad brute with a downward hammering fist to his forearm. He snarled and countered the blow by kneeing Sara in the stomach and then as she was falling kicking her in the chest, braking two ribs in the process.
Sara cried out, her hands immediately nursing her side. A crumpled expression met with Sheridan’s for an instant as she saw the man with the knife slicing at him repeatedly. “You mother fuckers!” she tried to curse, but her breath was all but a whisper as breathing was excruciating. Her attacker was reaching behind his back for something, while his partner closed in on Sara’s other side. A snake like tendril shot out from Sara’s wrist, ensnaring the ‘kicker’ about the throat, the edges of alien metal slicing though meaty flesh like a hot knife though butter. He gurgled and drew a secondary weapon, popping several darts into her neck.
She released him, her fingers searching out the darts and angrily ripping them from her flesh. Groggily, the hard as nails cop began to push to her feet and actually tried to continue to fight. The Witchblade, no doubt, lent some assistance. Blinking against the intense urge to sleep, Sara stumbled to get herself between the intruder and Terry, again smacking a weapon from the intruder’s hands. This time Sara didn’t give him time to retaliate, her body moved fluidly as she allowed herself to fight for what it meant… life and death. The butt of her palm met with his nose in a swift upward strike sending shards of bone into the brain and killing him instantly. The crunch was similar to that of a melon being cracked open on a hot summer day, but this time, the melon yielded grey-matter.
Her eyes widened as she saw Terry take the hit and then fall to the carpet. Sara was just about to pivot to take care of the second attacker when his taser gun met with the exposed flash at the back of her neck. The electrical pulse that branched out throughout her body was enough to disable her, but unfortunately for the detective, damp sweat soaked skin, mixed with the conductor of alien metal, enhanced the shock and it was more then enough to knock her unconscious. As her eyes rolled backward her lips parted a little as she breathed, “Don’t hurt… him…“ But moments thereafter all Sara knew dark.
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