fic: Stirred (Dark Angel; Max/Alec; adult)
Stirred
Dark Angel; Max/Alec; adult; 3,530 words
In which Alec puts his money where his mouth is. So to speak.
Thanks to minim_calibre for betaing and making this a better story. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
Stirred
Max is going to kill Alec, if the smell doesn't kill her first. He's sitting behind her on her bike, his arms around her middle and his cheek against her shoulder. He raises his head occasionally to mutter thankfully unintelligible things in her ear. He's groggy and his voice is slurred from whatever drugs they gave him, but otherwise he's in pretty good shape for someone who was captured and worked over by a bunch of Familiars.
Unfortunately, during her amazing rescue of him, which he's totally going to pay her back for in some painful and humiliating way she hasn't figured out yet, they both got dumped in a vat of some kind of industrial sludge that reeks like manure and is currently drying on their skin and hair in disgusting brown-black clumps.
They've been driving for about half an hour when the putrid smell and the slimy feel of whatever-it-is finally forces her to take the exit and follow the sign pointing to the Come'n'Sleep Motor Lodge. She hopes it's still in business, and if not, that the squatters who've taken it over are hooked up with running water.
The place is still standing, neon vacancy sign only half lit and blinking over a hand-written poster listing hourly, nightly, and weekly rates. There are a couple of cars parked in the lot, so she figures it's still open. She reaches into Alec's pocket and he gives her a wicked grin she'd like to punch off his face, but that can wait until they're home and safe, because he sways a little as he does it, and his eyes are overly bright, pupils still dilated almost completely. She thinks about offering him her sunglasses, but his eyes flutter closed against the bright overcast before she gets the words out.
"Hey," he protests when she grabs his wallet and pulls out some cash, but he makes no move to stop her. He leans against her bike like standing up takes too much effort, and she thinks maybe she should pay for a couple of hours more than she'd planned, let him get some sleep.
She doesn't look back, pushes her way into the motel office, surprised to feel air conditioning on her sludge-covered skin. The clerk doesn't even raise his head, just hands her a key in return for the wad of cash she shoves at him.
"You have hot water?" she asks.
The clerk shrugs. "Working shower costs extra."
She's tempted to reach across the desk and strangle him, but they're already ridiculously conspicuous for two people who are supposed to be lying low, so she just takes the rest of Alec's money and slaps it down on the desk.
"That'll do," he says, offering her a different key and taking back the one he'd given her originally. "Lucky number seven."
"Whatever."
She heads back out to the parking lot, hoping Alec hasn't gone wandering. He's still leaning against her bike, chin resting on his chest like he's asleep, but he jerks alert when she gets close.
"Come on," she says. "I got us a room."
He squints at the sign and the dilapidated building and murmurs, "You always take me to the nicest places."
"Hey, at least this time, it's not the sewer." She grabs his arm and slings it over her shoulder; the fact that he lets her tells her he's not all there yet, because she doesn't think he's too badly hurt. Or maybe he thinks he's going to cop a feel. She wouldn't put it past him; he probably flirts in his sleep.
He sniffs at her hair and wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Can't prove that by me."
He's not wrong, but Max won't give him the satisfaction of saying so. Instead, she props him up against the door to room number seven and then walks her bike over and parks it in the assigned spot, right over the faded white seven painted on the pockmarked asphalt.
Once she's got the door unlocked, she pushes Alec into the room ahead of her, and he goes easily, but not quietly. "Ready to have your wicked way with me?" he asks when he sees that the room only has one large bed, covered in the tackiest heart-studded red velvet comforter it's ever been Max's misfortune to see. The walls are also covered in moth-eaten red velvet, bordered with chipped gold paint. It looks like something out of a pre-Pulse porno, a genre Max is only familiar with thanks to Alec.
"Shut up."
He stalks towards her, tries to corner her against the bed, but all she can smell is fertilizer. Even if she were interested, which she's not, she wouldn't be right now.
"You like to be in charge. Why am I not surprised?"
She ignores him, slips away easily--he's still a step slow from whatever they drugged him with--and storms into the dingy bathroom to turn the water on. The tile in the shower is grimy and cracked, the clear plastic curtain has yellowed with age, and the grout is full of mold, but the water pours out of the tap in a clear, tepid spurt, so she won't complain too much. She's just glad it doesn't have a heart-shaped tub.
She pulls out her phone, calls Mole, and gives him their coordinates. "We'll be here a couple of hours. We got anybody in the area who can bring us some clean clothes?"
Mole grunts. "We'll find someone."
"Thanks." She's surprised he hasn't made some sort of smart remark, but he's probably saving it for when they get back to Terminal City. More of an audience that way.
She's stripped down to her underwear and is sliding the straps of her bra down when the door opens and Alec is standing there in his underwear.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I wasn't sure there'd be enough water for two showers," he says, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his black boxer-briefs, "and even I can't stand the way I smell right now."
She catalogues his injuries--the burn marks and bruises all over his torso, already beginning to heal--and the still-glassy look in his eyes.
"Fine," she says with a huff, sliding her bra straps back into place. "But keep it in your pants."
His mouth curves in a half-grin. "Killjoy."
"Whatever." Max rolls her eyes, shoves the shower curtain aside and climbs into the tub, keeping her back to him as she fiddles with the taps and turns the shower on. The lukewarm water feels good against her skin and she's so caught up in that moment of enjoyment that she's startled when Alec climbs in behind her, crowding her against the tile.
"You forgot this," he says, sliding the bar of soap, which is white and smells strongly of flowers, over her shoulder. His fingers trail across her wet skin and his chest is warm and solid against her back; she can smell soap and Alec even over the reek of sludge in her hair. She closes her eyes and swallows hard, trying to ignore the twist in her belly and the rush of heat between her legs. A deep breath fills her nose with the stink of fertilizer and as crazy as it sounds, that's better because it doesn't make her stomach squirm except in disgust.
She tells herself it's not Alec specifically who's turning her on, it's the fact that he's a hot guy and she hasn't had sex in a really long time. She hasn't even had the cold comfort of Logan's latex-covered hands in months, their "not like that" relationship sputtering out under the demands Terminal City has placed on her time and energy. She even mostly believes it.
She grabs the soap with a grunt of annoyance and starts lathering her hair. A quick look over her shoulder shows her he's washing his with the lather left on his hands, has it standing up in a faux-hawk like a little kid before the shower spray flattens it. For a second she thinks maybe cutting hers short might not be so bad. She turns away and doesn't bother to hide her grin.
"Lemme help," Alec says, moving closer, one of his legs pressing up between hers, hard muscle of his thigh brushing the wet crotch of her panties. His hands settle on her shoulders, thumbs slowly stroking her jaw, and she shivers, breath and words both caught in her throat.
Before she can let him know in no uncertain terms that she doesn't need any help, let alone his, he takes the soap back. She can hear him working it into a lather, and then he gives it back to her, his hands moving to her scalp to massage the soapy foam through her hair. It feels good. She's missed those girlie nights with Original Cindy. She can't hide a smile at the idea of asking Alec if he'd like to paint her toenails when he's done washing her hair. She quickly washes the rest of her body while he's occupied with her hair.
Sharp pain breaks her daydream. "Ow." Max jerks her head away when his fingers snag on a knot.
"Sorry." He sounds like he might even be a little sorry, underneath the amusement. He works the tangles out with more patience than she'd ever have given him credit for--sometimes even she doesn't have the patience for it--and rinses it out thoroughly when he's done. He leaves it draped over her left shoulder in a heavy, wet mass.
She concentrates on breathing, on trying not to freak out at the strange intimacy of it. She's glad she's got her back to him, hopes he's still out of it enough not to notice her body's response while he gives himself a quick once over with the soap before letting it drop to the bottom of the tub.
Of course, she's not that lucky.
"You smell good," he murmurs, his mouth right by her ear. She forces herself not to flinch at the way his warm breath ghosts over her skin. His fingers, warm and slick from the soap, slide over the bare skin of her neck, tracing her barcode briefly before moving over her shoulders and down, heading for her chest. "Do you taste as good as you smell?"
"Alec?" It should be a warning, but it comes out a breathless question.
"Hmm?" His lips follow the trail blazed by his fingertips, and heat flares beneath her skin.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding out." He licks her barcode and nips at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She shivers and gasps. "Mmm, yeah. Probably better without the flowery soap, though," he says, like he really is just doing some weird taste test. With Alec, who the hell knows sometimes?
She laughs. "Thanks. I think."
"Did I say that out loud?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." He sounds confused for a second, but that's gone when he speaks again. "Been thinking about this a lot." He cups her breasts and thumbs her nipples, which are already hard and aching, through the thin cotton of her bra, his hands way warmer than the water. The touch sends another jolt of pleasure through her.
"What?" Max knows she could pull away if she really wanted to--he's not holding her and it's not like she can't kick his ass on any given day anyway--but she wants to know where this is going. Wants to know what it will feel like to get there. Curiosity killed the cat and all.
"All the things I want to do to you," he answers, his voice low and thick with desire and whatever drugs they pumped into him. He starts telling her, in the kind of serious, minute detail that would be disturbing if it weren't so hot. Max remembers being annoyed by his ceaseless yapping, but that seems like a very long time ago when he's whispering dirty-hot promises in her ear.
"You've got an active imagination," she says when he pauses. She closes her eyes and imagines some of the stuff he's said. Despite what some people might think, she's got a pretty active imagination herself.
"While they were torturing me, I just thought about you and how much fun we could have if you ever admitted you want me as much as I want you."
"You want me?" At least this time she manages the sarcasm, even if it's still breathier, huskier, than she'd like. She can't help it, though, with his mouth so close to her ear and his hands sliding down to rest on her hips, thumbs slipping beneath the elastic of her waistband to tickle her.
"Don't play dumb, Max. It's not becoming." He presses closer, and she can feel his dick against her ass. She pushes back against him, likes the way he gasps in response. He holds her there, rolls his hips and moans a little bit. "Been thinking about this for a long time now. You have too, if you'd just admit it."
"I--" One of his hands makes a break for it, slides down inside her panties to stroke her cunt. She arches into it, pressing her head back against his shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he murmurs, fingers teasing her. She can hear the grin in his voice. "Just don't tell me to stop."
She thinks about it, knows she could and he would, knows it's probably the smart thing to do, for any number of reasons, starting with the fact that he's Alec and she's Max and this has the sort of inevitability to it that makes her want to not give in just on principle.
"I should," she whispers.
"Where's the fun in that?" His thumb brushes over her clit and she has to close her eyes and bite her lip to keep from moaning.
"Okay," she manages. "Good point."
"I am an excellent debater," he says, his other hand coming up to turn her face towards him, so he can kiss her. "I'm good with my mouth." His kiss proves he's telling the truth.
"Not so bad with your hands either," she says, thrusting her hips to emphasize the point.
"See? I always knew you'd eventually learn to see my good points." He kisses her before she can argue, and she lets him, enjoying the way his tongue moves over hers, the way his fingers curl inside her, thumb still brushing rhythmically over her clit.
It's like the feeling she gets when she's riding her bike as fast as it goes through the empty streets, better even (though she'll never tell Alec that), the pleasure building inside her like a tidal wave, higher and higher, before it finally crashes over her, leaving her panting and shivering as she clenches around his fingers.
The water has gone from tepid to cool, but Max doesn't care--it feels good on her heated skin.
Alec turns her around to face him, cups the back of her head, and kisses her fiercely before pulling back, breathing heavily. She takes a good long look. He's perfect, of course, despite the burns and bruises currently covering his chest and belly. She knows this, intellectually--the X5s are all beautiful, and he's no exception--but that's different from knowing it like this, from being allowed to lick the pale freckles on his chest and touch the flat muscles of his stomach. She brushes her hands gently over his bruises and burns. He doesn't flinch, still the good soldier beneath his nonchalance. He stops her, brings her hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to her palm, his eyes hooded and dark.
"I'm fine," he says, turning her hand over to kiss her knuckles, making her shiver again, need easily rekindled.
She slips her other hand inside his boxer-briefs, curls her fingers around his dick, which is hard and heavy against her palm, and strokes.
"Fuck," he groans, hanging his head. "No condoms."
She takes the opportunity to swing them around so he's got his back against the grotty tile, and slides to her knees. She grins up at him, hiding her uncertainty. It's one of the things he talked about, and she wants to, but she's still having a hard time wrapping her head around what's happening.
"Christ, Max." He tips his head back against the wall, exposing the long curve of his throat.
"I haven't even done anything yet."
"But you're going to. And I've thought about it a lot."
She laughs, pleased. "So you said."
"If I'd known that was all I needed to do to get you to--" Max leans forward, sucks the head into her mouth. "Jesus fuck."
She wraps a hand around the base, slides her lips up and down the shaft, teasing him with her tongue, and pays attention to what makes him moan and thrust into her mouth. Her cunt clenches tight at the sounds he makes, and she wonders vaguely if there are condoms somewhere in the room--the place is called the Come'n'Sleep for fuck's sake.
She's not going to think about what happens after they leave here. Instead, she concentrates on making Alec moan and beg.
He puts a hand on her head and she glares up at him forcefully enough to keep him from pulling her hair, for the moment at least. He smacks the palm of his other hand against the tile a couple of times, digs short nails into old grout, the only place he can get any purchase. She can feel how tense his thighs are, knows he's close. She concentrates on not choking when he comes in her mouth, warm and bitter, and she swallows what she can, generously ignoring for the moment the way his hand has fisted in her hair.
Max glances up, sees his face slack with pleasure, and can't help but feel another spark of desire, as well as something warmer she'd rather not think about.
He strokes her cheek gently, and she thinks maybe he's feeling it too, and then she brutally cuts off that train of thought.
She turns her face to the slow stream of water and washes, then shuts off the water. She stands up, her soaked underwear a heavy drag against her skin. "Well?"
"What?" He still has that dazed look, but it's probably less from drugs and more from sex now.
She gestures vaguely, fluttering her hand between them. "Was it as good as you'd imagined?" As soon as the words are out she wishes she could take them back, because there's no way this can go well.
He just gives her a cocky grin. "Better." He wraps a hand around the nape of her neck and pulls her in for another kiss, his tongue licking gently into her mouth. She sighs, relaxing into him, and they make out for a while, slow and warm and lazy, until the chilly air gives them both goose pimples.
He picks her up and carries her back into the bedroom and she lets him.
"Mole's sending someone with clean clothes," she says as he strips off her wet underwear and then his own. They lie down on the bed and she wraps herself in the sheet (plain white cotton, thank God), ignoring his amused expression.
"Good." Alec waves a hand at the pile of dirty clothes. "I don't suppose they're bringing condoms, huh?"
She can feel heat under her skin, the banked ache between her thighs. "Yeah, Alec, that was the first thing I thought of asking for."
He shrugs and she watches the play of muscle under his skin, reaches out to run her fingers over it. He catches her hand and brings it to his mouth, places wet, smacking kisses on her fingertips.
She laughs, which makes him preen, so she swats his shoulder. "Jackass."
"Hey, take it easy. I'm an injured man."
"You'll live," she says, though her hand is gentle as she moves it over the marks on body. "Whatever they gave you must have been powerful. You were pretty out of it for a while."
He shrugs again. "I guess. I didn't exactly have a chance to ask."
She snorts. "Well, it certainly made you chatty, even more than usual."
His forehead creases in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"All that talk," Max waves a hand, willing herself not to blush, "about stuff and, and things."
He grabs her hand and kisses it again, grinning. "That's got nothing to do with drugs, baby. That's all Alec."
"Ugh." She yanks her hand away, even though she's trying not to laugh.
"You know you love it."
"Whatever, Alec."
He's quiet for almost a minute, and then, "How much time do you think we have? Because I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time." There's a wicked glint in his eye.
Max grins and shifts so she's on top of him. "So can I." And the best part is, what she's got in mind will keep his mouth too busy for talking.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
Dark Angel; Max/Alec; adult; 3,530 words
In which Alec puts his money where his mouth is. So to speak.
Thanks to minim_calibre for betaing and making this a better story. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
Stirred
Max is going to kill Alec, if the smell doesn't kill her first. He's sitting behind her on her bike, his arms around her middle and his cheek against her shoulder. He raises his head occasionally to mutter thankfully unintelligible things in her ear. He's groggy and his voice is slurred from whatever drugs they gave him, but otherwise he's in pretty good shape for someone who was captured and worked over by a bunch of Familiars.
Unfortunately, during her amazing rescue of him, which he's totally going to pay her back for in some painful and humiliating way she hasn't figured out yet, they both got dumped in a vat of some kind of industrial sludge that reeks like manure and is currently drying on their skin and hair in disgusting brown-black clumps.
They've been driving for about half an hour when the putrid smell and the slimy feel of whatever-it-is finally forces her to take the exit and follow the sign pointing to the Come'n'Sleep Motor Lodge. She hopes it's still in business, and if not, that the squatters who've taken it over are hooked up with running water.
The place is still standing, neon vacancy sign only half lit and blinking over a hand-written poster listing hourly, nightly, and weekly rates. There are a couple of cars parked in the lot, so she figures it's still open. She reaches into Alec's pocket and he gives her a wicked grin she'd like to punch off his face, but that can wait until they're home and safe, because he sways a little as he does it, and his eyes are overly bright, pupils still dilated almost completely. She thinks about offering him her sunglasses, but his eyes flutter closed against the bright overcast before she gets the words out.
"Hey," he protests when she grabs his wallet and pulls out some cash, but he makes no move to stop her. He leans against her bike like standing up takes too much effort, and she thinks maybe she should pay for a couple of hours more than she'd planned, let him get some sleep.
She doesn't look back, pushes her way into the motel office, surprised to feel air conditioning on her sludge-covered skin. The clerk doesn't even raise his head, just hands her a key in return for the wad of cash she shoves at him.
"You have hot water?" she asks.
The clerk shrugs. "Working shower costs extra."
She's tempted to reach across the desk and strangle him, but they're already ridiculously conspicuous for two people who are supposed to be lying low, so she just takes the rest of Alec's money and slaps it down on the desk.
"That'll do," he says, offering her a different key and taking back the one he'd given her originally. "Lucky number seven."
"Whatever."
She heads back out to the parking lot, hoping Alec hasn't gone wandering. He's still leaning against her bike, chin resting on his chest like he's asleep, but he jerks alert when she gets close.
"Come on," she says. "I got us a room."
He squints at the sign and the dilapidated building and murmurs, "You always take me to the nicest places."
"Hey, at least this time, it's not the sewer." She grabs his arm and slings it over her shoulder; the fact that he lets her tells her he's not all there yet, because she doesn't think he's too badly hurt. Or maybe he thinks he's going to cop a feel. She wouldn't put it past him; he probably flirts in his sleep.
He sniffs at her hair and wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Can't prove that by me."
He's not wrong, but Max won't give him the satisfaction of saying so. Instead, she props him up against the door to room number seven and then walks her bike over and parks it in the assigned spot, right over the faded white seven painted on the pockmarked asphalt.
Once she's got the door unlocked, she pushes Alec into the room ahead of her, and he goes easily, but not quietly. "Ready to have your wicked way with me?" he asks when he sees that the room only has one large bed, covered in the tackiest heart-studded red velvet comforter it's ever been Max's misfortune to see. The walls are also covered in moth-eaten red velvet, bordered with chipped gold paint. It looks like something out of a pre-Pulse porno, a genre Max is only familiar with thanks to Alec.
"Shut up."
He stalks towards her, tries to corner her against the bed, but all she can smell is fertilizer. Even if she were interested, which she's not, she wouldn't be right now.
"You like to be in charge. Why am I not surprised?"
She ignores him, slips away easily--he's still a step slow from whatever they drugged him with--and storms into the dingy bathroom to turn the water on. The tile in the shower is grimy and cracked, the clear plastic curtain has yellowed with age, and the grout is full of mold, but the water pours out of the tap in a clear, tepid spurt, so she won't complain too much. She's just glad it doesn't have a heart-shaped tub.
She pulls out her phone, calls Mole, and gives him their coordinates. "We'll be here a couple of hours. We got anybody in the area who can bring us some clean clothes?"
Mole grunts. "We'll find someone."
"Thanks." She's surprised he hasn't made some sort of smart remark, but he's probably saving it for when they get back to Terminal City. More of an audience that way.
She's stripped down to her underwear and is sliding the straps of her bra down when the door opens and Alec is standing there in his underwear.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I wasn't sure there'd be enough water for two showers," he says, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his black boxer-briefs, "and even I can't stand the way I smell right now."
She catalogues his injuries--the burn marks and bruises all over his torso, already beginning to heal--and the still-glassy look in his eyes.
"Fine," she says with a huff, sliding her bra straps back into place. "But keep it in your pants."
His mouth curves in a half-grin. "Killjoy."
"Whatever." Max rolls her eyes, shoves the shower curtain aside and climbs into the tub, keeping her back to him as she fiddles with the taps and turns the shower on. The lukewarm water feels good against her skin and she's so caught up in that moment of enjoyment that she's startled when Alec climbs in behind her, crowding her against the tile.
"You forgot this," he says, sliding the bar of soap, which is white and smells strongly of flowers, over her shoulder. His fingers trail across her wet skin and his chest is warm and solid against her back; she can smell soap and Alec even over the reek of sludge in her hair. She closes her eyes and swallows hard, trying to ignore the twist in her belly and the rush of heat between her legs. A deep breath fills her nose with the stink of fertilizer and as crazy as it sounds, that's better because it doesn't make her stomach squirm except in disgust.
She tells herself it's not Alec specifically who's turning her on, it's the fact that he's a hot guy and she hasn't had sex in a really long time. She hasn't even had the cold comfort of Logan's latex-covered hands in months, their "not like that" relationship sputtering out under the demands Terminal City has placed on her time and energy. She even mostly believes it.
She grabs the soap with a grunt of annoyance and starts lathering her hair. A quick look over her shoulder shows her he's washing his with the lather left on his hands, has it standing up in a faux-hawk like a little kid before the shower spray flattens it. For a second she thinks maybe cutting hers short might not be so bad. She turns away and doesn't bother to hide her grin.
"Lemme help," Alec says, moving closer, one of his legs pressing up between hers, hard muscle of his thigh brushing the wet crotch of her panties. His hands settle on her shoulders, thumbs slowly stroking her jaw, and she shivers, breath and words both caught in her throat.
Before she can let him know in no uncertain terms that she doesn't need any help, let alone his, he takes the soap back. She can hear him working it into a lather, and then he gives it back to her, his hands moving to her scalp to massage the soapy foam through her hair. It feels good. She's missed those girlie nights with Original Cindy. She can't hide a smile at the idea of asking Alec if he'd like to paint her toenails when he's done washing her hair. She quickly washes the rest of her body while he's occupied with her hair.
Sharp pain breaks her daydream. "Ow." Max jerks her head away when his fingers snag on a knot.
"Sorry." He sounds like he might even be a little sorry, underneath the amusement. He works the tangles out with more patience than she'd ever have given him credit for--sometimes even she doesn't have the patience for it--and rinses it out thoroughly when he's done. He leaves it draped over her left shoulder in a heavy, wet mass.
She concentrates on breathing, on trying not to freak out at the strange intimacy of it. She's glad she's got her back to him, hopes he's still out of it enough not to notice her body's response while he gives himself a quick once over with the soap before letting it drop to the bottom of the tub.
Of course, she's not that lucky.
"You smell good," he murmurs, his mouth right by her ear. She forces herself not to flinch at the way his warm breath ghosts over her skin. His fingers, warm and slick from the soap, slide over the bare skin of her neck, tracing her barcode briefly before moving over her shoulders and down, heading for her chest. "Do you taste as good as you smell?"
"Alec?" It should be a warning, but it comes out a breathless question.
"Hmm?" His lips follow the trail blazed by his fingertips, and heat flares beneath her skin.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding out." He licks her barcode and nips at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She shivers and gasps. "Mmm, yeah. Probably better without the flowery soap, though," he says, like he really is just doing some weird taste test. With Alec, who the hell knows sometimes?
She laughs. "Thanks. I think."
"Did I say that out loud?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." He sounds confused for a second, but that's gone when he speaks again. "Been thinking about this a lot." He cups her breasts and thumbs her nipples, which are already hard and aching, through the thin cotton of her bra, his hands way warmer than the water. The touch sends another jolt of pleasure through her.
"What?" Max knows she could pull away if she really wanted to--he's not holding her and it's not like she can't kick his ass on any given day anyway--but she wants to know where this is going. Wants to know what it will feel like to get there. Curiosity killed the cat and all.
"All the things I want to do to you," he answers, his voice low and thick with desire and whatever drugs they pumped into him. He starts telling her, in the kind of serious, minute detail that would be disturbing if it weren't so hot. Max remembers being annoyed by his ceaseless yapping, but that seems like a very long time ago when he's whispering dirty-hot promises in her ear.
"You've got an active imagination," she says when he pauses. She closes her eyes and imagines some of the stuff he's said. Despite what some people might think, she's got a pretty active imagination herself.
"While they were torturing me, I just thought about you and how much fun we could have if you ever admitted you want me as much as I want you."
"You want me?" At least this time she manages the sarcasm, even if it's still breathier, huskier, than she'd like. She can't help it, though, with his mouth so close to her ear and his hands sliding down to rest on her hips, thumbs slipping beneath the elastic of her waistband to tickle her.
"Don't play dumb, Max. It's not becoming." He presses closer, and she can feel his dick against her ass. She pushes back against him, likes the way he gasps in response. He holds her there, rolls his hips and moans a little bit. "Been thinking about this for a long time now. You have too, if you'd just admit it."
"I--" One of his hands makes a break for it, slides down inside her panties to stroke her cunt. She arches into it, pressing her head back against his shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he murmurs, fingers teasing her. She can hear the grin in his voice. "Just don't tell me to stop."
She thinks about it, knows she could and he would, knows it's probably the smart thing to do, for any number of reasons, starting with the fact that he's Alec and she's Max and this has the sort of inevitability to it that makes her want to not give in just on principle.
"I should," she whispers.
"Where's the fun in that?" His thumb brushes over her clit and she has to close her eyes and bite her lip to keep from moaning.
"Okay," she manages. "Good point."
"I am an excellent debater," he says, his other hand coming up to turn her face towards him, so he can kiss her. "I'm good with my mouth." His kiss proves he's telling the truth.
"Not so bad with your hands either," she says, thrusting her hips to emphasize the point.
"See? I always knew you'd eventually learn to see my good points." He kisses her before she can argue, and she lets him, enjoying the way his tongue moves over hers, the way his fingers curl inside her, thumb still brushing rhythmically over her clit.
It's like the feeling she gets when she's riding her bike as fast as it goes through the empty streets, better even (though she'll never tell Alec that), the pleasure building inside her like a tidal wave, higher and higher, before it finally crashes over her, leaving her panting and shivering as she clenches around his fingers.
The water has gone from tepid to cool, but Max doesn't care--it feels good on her heated skin.
Alec turns her around to face him, cups the back of her head, and kisses her fiercely before pulling back, breathing heavily. She takes a good long look. He's perfect, of course, despite the burns and bruises currently covering his chest and belly. She knows this, intellectually--the X5s are all beautiful, and he's no exception--but that's different from knowing it like this, from being allowed to lick the pale freckles on his chest and touch the flat muscles of his stomach. She brushes her hands gently over his bruises and burns. He doesn't flinch, still the good soldier beneath his nonchalance. He stops her, brings her hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to her palm, his eyes hooded and dark.
"I'm fine," he says, turning her hand over to kiss her knuckles, making her shiver again, need easily rekindled.
She slips her other hand inside his boxer-briefs, curls her fingers around his dick, which is hard and heavy against her palm, and strokes.
"Fuck," he groans, hanging his head. "No condoms."
She takes the opportunity to swing them around so he's got his back against the grotty tile, and slides to her knees. She grins up at him, hiding her uncertainty. It's one of the things he talked about, and she wants to, but she's still having a hard time wrapping her head around what's happening.
"Christ, Max." He tips his head back against the wall, exposing the long curve of his throat.
"I haven't even done anything yet."
"But you're going to. And I've thought about it a lot."
She laughs, pleased. "So you said."
"If I'd known that was all I needed to do to get you to--" Max leans forward, sucks the head into her mouth. "Jesus fuck."
She wraps a hand around the base, slides her lips up and down the shaft, teasing him with her tongue, and pays attention to what makes him moan and thrust into her mouth. Her cunt clenches tight at the sounds he makes, and she wonders vaguely if there are condoms somewhere in the room--the place is called the Come'n'Sleep for fuck's sake.
She's not going to think about what happens after they leave here. Instead, she concentrates on making Alec moan and beg.
He puts a hand on her head and she glares up at him forcefully enough to keep him from pulling her hair, for the moment at least. He smacks the palm of his other hand against the tile a couple of times, digs short nails into old grout, the only place he can get any purchase. She can feel how tense his thighs are, knows he's close. She concentrates on not choking when he comes in her mouth, warm and bitter, and she swallows what she can, generously ignoring for the moment the way his hand has fisted in her hair.
Max glances up, sees his face slack with pleasure, and can't help but feel another spark of desire, as well as something warmer she'd rather not think about.
He strokes her cheek gently, and she thinks maybe he's feeling it too, and then she brutally cuts off that train of thought.
She turns her face to the slow stream of water and washes, then shuts off the water. She stands up, her soaked underwear a heavy drag against her skin. "Well?"
"What?" He still has that dazed look, but it's probably less from drugs and more from sex now.
She gestures vaguely, fluttering her hand between them. "Was it as good as you'd imagined?" As soon as the words are out she wishes she could take them back, because there's no way this can go well.
He just gives her a cocky grin. "Better." He wraps a hand around the nape of her neck and pulls her in for another kiss, his tongue licking gently into her mouth. She sighs, relaxing into him, and they make out for a while, slow and warm and lazy, until the chilly air gives them both goose pimples.
He picks her up and carries her back into the bedroom and she lets him.
"Mole's sending someone with clean clothes," she says as he strips off her wet underwear and then his own. They lie down on the bed and she wraps herself in the sheet (plain white cotton, thank God), ignoring his amused expression.
"Good." Alec waves a hand at the pile of dirty clothes. "I don't suppose they're bringing condoms, huh?"
She can feel heat under her skin, the banked ache between her thighs. "Yeah, Alec, that was the first thing I thought of asking for."
He shrugs and she watches the play of muscle under his skin, reaches out to run her fingers over it. He catches her hand and brings it to his mouth, places wet, smacking kisses on her fingertips.
She laughs, which makes him preen, so she swats his shoulder. "Jackass."
"Hey, take it easy. I'm an injured man."
"You'll live," she says, though her hand is gentle as she moves it over the marks on body. "Whatever they gave you must have been powerful. You were pretty out of it for a while."
He shrugs again. "I guess. I didn't exactly have a chance to ask."
She snorts. "Well, it certainly made you chatty, even more than usual."
His forehead creases in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"All that talk," Max waves a hand, willing herself not to blush, "about stuff and, and things."
He grabs her hand and kisses it again, grinning. "That's got nothing to do with drugs, baby. That's all Alec."
"Ugh." She yanks her hand away, even though she's trying not to laugh.
"You know you love it."
"Whatever, Alec."
He's quiet for almost a minute, and then, "How much time do you think we have? Because I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time." There's a wicked glint in his eye.
Max grins and shifts so she's on top of him. "So can I." And the best part is, what she's got in mind will keep his mouth too busy for talking.
end
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Feedback is adored.
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