Part Two
Author: kinkynicky
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Max/Alec (Dark Angel)
Summary: It’s not surprising really, that they go into heat at the same time. They were paired by Manticore for reproduction, perfect for one another, at least in a physical capacity.
Written for onelittlesleep
Beta’d by lunaserenade
Part One
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Part Two
And I'm out of reason to believe in me, I'm out of trying to defy.
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He’s not curled around her again when she wakes up, her back is cold and something’s missing - she can’t believe she shoved him away the morning before - but he’s still there, just across the bed with his back to her, breaths not deep enough for him to be sleeping, not quick enough for him to be fully awake.
Scooting closer, she wants to touch him, and while the feeling isn’t new, the reality of it is, the reality that she can touch him if she wants. That it’s okay.
So she does, presses her front up against his back, her cheek to his shoulder blade, and takes his half-hard cock in her hand. It jumps a little and then so does he, snuffling and reaching down to find her fingers, confused.
“Max?”
He shudders at the first stroke, grows even harder and then moans, slides his hand up her arm a little and just holds on, rubbing his thumb in circles at the soft skin of her wrist and thrusting into her palm. He opens his mouth like he’s about to question her again but loses his words on a stutter, grips her wrist tight and whispers, “Fuck.”
And that’s good, because usually he doesn’t say a lot and she’s not all that experienced at this, sex out of heat and the other things that come with it.
The first time, with a boy, with her hands, she didn’t really know, had all the basic instincts down, the general idea, but she wasn’t really sure. She got him going well enough, got herself going too, the look in his eyes, the way his mouth hung open a little, and then he’d winced. Not a good wince, either. Made her stop, tucked himself away with a sour expression and kept looking at her like she’d hurt him. And maybe she had. Back then she wasn’t so sure of her strength.
So when Alec moans raggedly, pulls at her wrist a little and mutters “Not so tight…” she’s glad he can’t see her face, can’t see her hide instinctively closer behind him, whispering sorry and letting go a little, pulling. He’s nodding then, thrusting more and moaning louder, more awake.
He must get it, that she hasn’t spent ten years out in the world doing this, so he starts to tell her, what he likes, right there, and just like that, yeah. Guides her hand, talks, helps her quicken the pace when he’s close, with that hand on her wrist, mutters, “That’s good…yeah, that’s…fuck.”
He comes on her hand, a little up her wrist and some part of her, whatever part it is driving her to watch children play, laments the waste. She doesn’t feel better until he collects himself enough to slide in between her legs and press himself deep inside.
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She gets used to the deep-down feeling, it doesn’t go away, gets more intense with each heat, each time he’s inside her, but she promises not to let it get out of hand. They can’t have kids, not here, not now, probably not at all with each other. They’re still testing it out, the whole idea of being mates, of a relationship, of the compatibility she was blind to before.
They try not to be weird in work. Sketchy isn't as oblivious as he seems, he’s caught the looks, gives Alec a non-subtle smile the first time they get in together. They don’t get too close around Normal in case he tries to employ a new set of anti-relationship rules, they just eat and talk and work like usual, only it’s better now.
She knows he isn’t innocent, has a few notches in his bedpost that represent some Jam Pony girls. One of them looks at her like she’s a fool, the other clenches her jaw whenever Max passes. It all fades away when Alec brushes past her at her locker, throws her a wink and a smile when she glances his way.
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The next heat hits early, something to do with the moon he tells her from where he’s sat, between her legs. His chin is wet with her already and he’s got his own legs spread as he kneels, jacking himself. He licks her with surprising precision considering how frantic he usually gets, one hand teasing at her opening while he presses kisses and licks into her folds, the other slowly pulling at his cock.
Just as she’s about to come a second time he pulls her up out of the chair and sits in her place, pulls her down quickly to straddle his lap ‘cause she’s not all that steady on her feet. He grins at her raised brow, holds his cock upright.
“You wan’ it, you gotta ride me for it,” he slurs, sex-crazy, his hands at her hips encouraging.
Her thighs are shaking by the time he finally comes but it’s worth it to see the look on his face, worth it because his fingers find her right away, while he’s still hard inside her, and work her until she comes, cries out when she clenches around his sensitive cock. She slumps against him and thinks maybe she could fall asleep.
They try to eat without touching, like it’s a game, and she outlasts him, knows he’s going to pounce maybe even before he does. She doesn’t expect him to pull her up onto the table, sweep his arm to knock their plates and things away before laying her down, crawling over her to find her mouth. “God, you make me want…”
He doesn’t finish, bites at her full lips as he bunches her shirt up beneath her armpits, moving down to suck blotches around her nipples before finally teasing them into hard peaks. Her knees are pressed into his sides, the throbbing between her legs becoming too much again. When she pulls at his hair he looks up at her, his eyes that darker shade she’s used to seeing now.
“I wanna…” He’s not asking permission, already got her legs spread and his fingers inside her before he finishes it but the want is clear in his voice and she knows he’s trying to tell her; show her how much he really does. “God, Maxie. Look how wet you are. Wet for me.”
“Yeah,” she nods, tries to wrap her legs around him and pull him in. He chuckles, finds her mouth again as he frees his cock, rubs himself against her wetness. “Need…”
He knows what she needs, pushes into her in one deep thrust. “Gonna make you come so hard.” He tells her and she moans, nods, pulls at him to do it. “Yeah, fuck you ‘til you can’t take anymore.”
His dirty mouth comes out of nowhere, like a broken dam now he knows he’s allowed to say this stuff, he’s a talker in daily life but months of him restraining himself left her unprepared for the flood of things he can think of to say when he’s inside her. How good she feels, hot and wet, tight around him even now, and so perfect, so fucking perfect, Maxie. And he asks too, wants her to tell him, You like my dick, huh? Need it, don’tcha?
It’s not until their heat that he starts it though, saying other things she didn’t know she needed to hear, things that make her dizzy, elated and somewhat distraught all at once.
His cheek is damp against her own, his hair more-so between her fingers, he’s thrusting deep and steady, she can feel him clenching his jaw, his knuckles. When he pulls his face away it’s to look down between their bodies, see where he’s moving in and out of her, and she looks too, can only really see how the muscles of his abdomen clench with each thrust. When he catches her eye, there’s fire in his.
“Gonna fuck you so full, Max, gonna fill you up.” He says, stares at her, bores into her. “You want that? Want my come?” It shouldn’t make her muscles clench around him, shouldn’t make her whine low in her throat and beg him for it, but it does. “Yeah, gonna do it, make a baby.”
When she comes the words are like a stamp on her brain, he follows right after while she’s still clenching, her muscles milking him for all he has, and he’s still whispering to her, lips against her neck, breath warm.
Yeah, you want it all don’t you? Squeeze me dry, Max, take it…
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It’s Friday night, she’s in his kitchen and he isn’t even home yet. They’d have gone to Crash, maybe, but around three she’d started to get that lazy feeling, told him so. Alec isn’t even here yet, but that’s alright, she found his spare key months ago.
They’ve stopped fucking every single day but she doesn’t think about it, doesn’t really want to process that fact that tonight they’ll probably just curl up and watch whatever vintage movie he’s got lined up, doesn’t want to find herself wondering again if this is what it feels like to have a boyfriend, or a partner, or a husband. She always gets the distinct feeling that complicating this will ruin it, so she lets him wrap his arms around her waist and nuzzle her neck when he gets home and finds her in the kitchen, just leans back and whispers hi.
Two months later it gets complicated.
She doesn’t go into heat when he does. He’s there rutting against her, waiting for her to heat up because it always takes a little longer to hit her, but she just doesn’t. Doesn’t feel the hotness swelling in her gut, spreading around her body to throb between her legs. His already-desperate breath against her neck feels good, familiar, but aside from that? Nothing.
And he can tell, whispers, “Max, are you-? ‘Cause I can’t…I can’t smell you or anything. I need…fuck, where is it?”
He doesn’t hold back because she makes him or out of some recently-discovered courtesy. It’s because he thinks it’s hotter when they’re both as wild as each other, when she’s shaking for him and clinging to his clothes, tearing at them as he tears at hers. He likes her riled up from the starting line not warming up when he’s halfway to collapsing.
She has no answer for him, tells him to give it a minute, licks - bites - distractedly at his neck, but she already knows it isn’t coming, and she knows she can’t fake it.
She wants to anyway, tells him its okay, takes his cock in her hand, always gets off on the sounds he makes. His hands are fists against the wall and he nods, groans as he pushes himself off, drags her to bed.
He can’t smell her and it frustrates him, he fucks harder and longer - which isn’t awful because it takes her longer too without the heat - and whines into her neck. She’s sore this time because she’s not as ready for him every time he wants her, and he knows, apologises into the crook of her neck before he comes, crawls down between her legs to lick gently at her in apology even though she doesn’t want him to, can’t come again without him inside.
He falls asleep with his head pillowed on her stomach and she runs her fingers through his damp hair and tries not to think about what it means.
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When she realises, it’s so obvious, so glaringly obvious that she can’t believe it took her this long, can’t believe Alec hasn’t realised too, and she clutches at her stomach and stares, stares at how flat it still is, while water from the shower drains down around her, stays there long after the water’s run cold and the fingers resting on her stomach are turning pink.
OC comes crashing into the apartment, heavy on her feet and tired, knocks Max out of her trance. She stumbles from the shower, not shaking but cold, pulls on her clothes without really drying. Barely grabs her shades as she leaves.
She thinks maybe she should find him, tell him, but instead she ends up on the space needle, thoughtful - watches the grim world they live in move around beneath her. Everything in her thrums with the need to fulfil this, get big and give birth, be a mother - months of her body working her up to this, leaving her begging Alec for it. But in her mind she can’t not wonder what they were thinking, purposely fucking around with the idea of bringing a child into a world like this.
On her way back to the bike she senses him somewhere close and takes off in a run, jumps on and kick starts. It’s not even almost time for their heat, his heat, but he’ll look for her anyway, they’re more than that now, not content to stay away and pretend to hate for twenty something days of each month, they’re bonded in a way she’s never been with anybody.
Back at home she barricades herself inside.
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“Did I do something wrong?”
He’s on the other side of the door, banged a few times before giving up. He’s not tearing himself apart with the heat so there’s no need to burst inside. If she wants privacy he can give her some. Told her so after his third knock went unanswered.
She hates that she’s hiding, doesn’t know what else to do. She needs time to think without having to look at him, think about time off work and cribs and toys and crying babies with his eyes, or alternately, terrifyingly, back door mock-surgeons with dirty tools and black-market pills.
“I just need you to go away.” She hasn’t been crying but it sounds kind of like she has, her voice is dull and cracked, hours of clenching her jaw shut and having nothing to say. “Figure stuff out.”
“Oh, fuck you. You’re gonna start fighting this all of a sudden? What, you bump into Logan or something?” she doesn’t answer, hates that he’s annoyed, hates even more that he’s on some high-horse. “You know the heat comes in two days?”
It’s the last thing he says before he leaves.
Next time he shows up, antsy, heated, ready for her, she’s waiting for him, not shut in, not hiding. She’s more dressed than she’d usually be, leaning up against the far wall, arms crossed.
He smiles, probably figures they’re alright now, she’s over her funk, and he makes to lunge, tackle her amidst giggles and moans like months before. He stops an inch from her, hands against the wall, a frown marring his forehead as he stops and just listens, feels. Wide eyes meet hers, his mouth falling open as his stares move down her body in a way they never have before, not hungry for her, but studious, curious.
She’s staring back, weary of his reaction. The last thing she expects is for him to slide down to his knees, press his face into her.
“Maxie, Max…” he’s breathing out against her stomach, his hands moving gentle and slow as if he can feel something there, he can’t, she knows because she can’t feel anything, not there. It’s everywhere else she feels it, the buzz in her head, her chest, the itchy need to use her hands, be responsible, make things more appropriate for this. She wants to push Alec away as much as she wants to press him closer, wants him inside her as much as she know that is how they ended up here in the first place.
And it’s Alec. He’s not so bad, sure, and she’s beyond trying to tell herself that she isn’t in love with him, doesn’t want or need him all the damn time, but he’s still Alec, no more responsible than he was before, no less impressive at the act of shifting blame. And it’s not like she’s forgotten - Gonna fuck you so full, Max, gonna fill you up, make a baby - but she’s not sure she really thought it would happen either.
She whispers his name, can’t form the words any louder in her throat. He doesn’t hear or he doesn’t listen, presses his mouth against the line of her hip and holds her. Her fingers in his hair tugging aren’t enough to shift him either and she needs him to let go, needs to think and make plans and be responsible.
“Alec.” This time she has enough panic in her voice to make him stop, make him turn to look at her, to see. Unshed tears and clenched fists, worry. “What are we gonna do?”
He’s up and in her space again, breath on her cheek as he pulls her to him slow and careful like she’s a skittish animal. The smell of him is enough to calm her, make her feel safe for now, but she needs to know what they’ll do, needs desperately for him to tell her its okay and he has plans.
He lays kisses along her cheek, down her neck and back up until he reaches her mouth. He kisses her long and deep, lets her clutch at him a little tighter before pulling back just enough to take her face in his hands. “We’re gonna have a baby.”
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“Max.” it’s barely an hour later, her bed is back where it belongs, in the middle of the room not up against the door, and they’re laying on it, her head on his chest. It’s sweet, relaxing like she needs, calm. And then, “I’m so fucking horny.”
She’d forgotten about that, why he’d come to find her. His heat.
“Alec, I’m not-”
“I know.” He counters, shrugs the shoulder she’s not leaning on. “I just thought you should know. In case I start humping a pillow or something.”
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By some miracle of restraint - and many unsubtle trips to the bathroom - he gets through his heat. She offers to help but her expression relays the unspoken “if you really want me to” loud and clear. He shakes his head but the idea of her help gets him going again and this time he’s in the bathroom for half an hour.
The heat seems shorter than normal, maybe because they’re not feeding it, and he’s exhausted when he finally crawls into bed beside her. She thinks he’s done, thinks he’s sleeping, so she presses her fingers experimentally between her legs.
He rolls over with a groan and holds her down, ruts against the soft curve of her abdomen, the dip where hip meets thigh, until he comes on her stomach. She’s in the bathroom cleaning up when he tells her it was her own fault. He’s asleep before she can come up with anything to say.
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A week after the next heat she’s at his place, feet up, empty popcorn bowl resting on her thighs. He’s making more in the kitchen behind her while she watches the old DVD he found flicker at a pause on the screen. Her jeans feel tighter than usual, maybe due to all the popcorn, but maybe not.
“Do I…” he stops what he’s doing and looks at her through the hatch he has, blinks when he finds her poking at her stomach. “Do I look puffy to you?”
“Puffy?” He squints like she’s a mile away and shakes his head. She’s not sure he really even looked. “No. You’re what…ten weeks? You can’t be showing yet.”
She nods, stops prodding and goes back to watching television. She’s kind of pleased about him knowing how far along she is. The noises in the kitchen stop again and she looks up to find his face thoughtful. “Unless it’s twins.”
“Alec.” He just stares at her like he’s not joking. “That’s not funny.”
Joshua pretty much confirms it a few days later, rambling about “Two beats! Two!” when he leans down to say hello. His hand is huge pressed against her stomach, she knows the babies are too small for him to feel a thing but he grins like he can and stands to full height.
Over macaroni and cheese he decides he’ll make them a crib, talks excitedly to Alec about getting wood and tools. Max looks around at his artwork, intriguing but messy and frowns a little. She can’t say no though.
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Things become almost a blur, telling people - telling Logan, that’s a fun day - and preparing for the first ultrasound. Doctor Shankar is somebody Logan knows, the only medic Max has ever known who didn’t view her as a test subject, who wasn’t poking her with needles and playing with her DNA for their own purposes, the only doc she trusts.
Max watches Alec’s face as the screen is filled with a picture, blue-ish blobs of nothing with no definable no shape…but it’s an expression she’s never seen him wear before.
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Part Three and Epilogue
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