Title: Wet/Red

Author: Syn

E-Mail: veruca_werewolf@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.

Rating: R

Summary: Dylan has a stalker.

Spoilers: Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle

Couple: Dylan/Thin Man

A/N: Yeah...I'm completely obsessed with Dylan/Thin Man right now, especially the Thin Man. He's just so...nummy. I wrote this for the multifandom1000 community on LiveJournal, where the stories are between 200 and 1000 words long. Enjoy!

****



Dylan Sanders is being followed, though he doesn't think she realizes it. He walks so softly, blends in so well with the shadows that she can't see him when she peers back at the dark, rain-swept street.

He matches her step for step, his lean frame falling easily in with hers as rain lashes the street where they're walking. There aren't many people out on such a horrible night and he's thankful for that. He doesn't like people. He likes her.

He likes her hair, a sinful shade of red that flashes across the inside of his eyelids, taunting him, teasing him. He has three locks of her hair already, saved and treasured above all others in his collection. Sometimes, when he can't see her, he takes them out and trails it over his face, the soft tickle calling to his mind forbidden thoughts and desires. Sometimes he almost says her name, his voice a plaintive, rusty murmur through the labored sighs of his breathing.

Now, as he watches her, the sinful dark red of her hair wet and plastered to the columb of her neck, water trickling down her bare arms as she walks, he feels the urge to grab a handful and pull her to him. He doesn't just want her hair, he wants to feel her skin, soft and delicious, her lips like crisp red apples, sweet against his. He almost dares...

But he can't. He just watches her as she walks in the rain. He doesn't know why she does it, but whenever it rains, she finds an excuse to walk outside her small apartment in North Hollywood and drink up the wet sky, her feet pounding through puddles like a child. He always makes an excuse to watch her too, his fascination growing despite himself.

He takes a drag off the wet cigarette in his fist; blue-gray smoke curling around his face and dissipating in the rain, eyeing her from beneath the coal-black strands his own hair. Water drips off the end of his nose and he licks his lips, tasting ozone with relish. He wonders how long she's going to walk today or if she has a case to work on. He worries when she's gone for longer than a day. Sometimes he follows her, watching her and the other two as they fight. Sometimes, if he thinks he won't get caught, he enters the fray. He hopes to get close enough one day to snag a strand of her hair while she's preoccupied.

Ahead of him, she disappears around the corner, leaving him with an empty feeling in his stomach. His impassive face twitches and he puts on speed, tossing his wet cigarette to the side with a flick of his wrist. Just as he starts to round the corner, something red flashes across his vision and he's thrown against the wall of the building to his left.

Pain explodes in his chest and he grimaces, a scream prepared on his lips. He looks down through his wet hair and sees a flash of red and a surprised mouth. Its her. His heart gives a leap against the misery in his chest.

"You. You're alive? How?" Dylan says, her eyes wide, beads of water on her long, dark eyelashes.

He just stares at her, the feel of her hand in the middle of his chest warm and frightening. He didn't want to get this close. This is way too close. He can smell her hair, see the roots, see the light red interlaced through the dark, wet auburn, the ends curling slightly. Too close...too close...

"I saw you fall...Seamus stabbed you."

He glances downward at his chest, the half-healed wound throbbing against her palm. He takes a breath, his mouth opening; as if he could tell her his story, tell her a million things. Her face is anxious, haunted and eager. Her lips part and he leans forward, rain tumbling from his nose to her lips, his whole world filled with the view of her face.

His hand lifts as she presses her own into the center of his chest, unaware of the pain she's causing, not just from her touch, but also from being so near. He touches her face, his hand like a spider walking over the smooth line of her jaw. Her hair is so close...

Her eyes close of their own accord, her mouth parting, a whisper of air expelled against his lips as he leans down. Gently, he pushes his hands into the dark red folds of her hair as she tilts her head upward, throat exposed. He closes his eyes, basking in the heat of her skin as they fall together. His fingers clench in her hair.

"Anthony..." She whispers, her fingers curl against the lapel of his pinstriped suit. His eyes fly open in surprise and panic. Too close...she's too close...

With a cruel tug, a strand of her wet hair comes way in his fingers. She gives a cry and clutches her scalp, eyes flying open. Too late. He's gone, melting back into the shadows with ease.

Dylan Sanders is cold, wet and shaking, but not from the cold. She knew he was there and has been there many times before. She doesn't know why tonight was different, why she suddenly decided to end the game. Maybe she just wanted answers from his silent mouth. She doesn't know.

But, as the rain pours down harder than ever before, the distant sounds of the city falling on her ears, she smiles and clutches the outline of his necklace through the thin material of her drenched t-shirt.

He'll come back and when he does, she'll be ready for him.



(end)

****