Doc Day Afternoon (NC-17) 1/4
TITLE: Doc Day Afternoon
AUTHOR: Save Vs. Magic
RATING/CONTENT: M/NC-17 for explicit depictions of consensual incest between siblings (eventually, I promise), fairly strong language, references to underage drinking, and general shenanigans. First-time, non-angsty Jalex, from Alex's POV.
WORD COUNT: Um, 16K+ in 4 parts. Because apparently I can’t even write smut without a three-act structure. If you appreciate a long, slow burn and some character study in your porn, though, this Bud’s for you.
DISCLAIMER, THE FIRST: I don’t own Wizards of Waverly Place nor any of the characters contained herein, no copyright infringement is intended, this is just a work of fanfiction, yadda yadda yadda, please don’t sue.
DISCLAIMER, THE SECOND: My first (released) Jalex fic, so please be kind. I'm also fairly new to LiveJournal and learning as I go. If there's anything I'm doing blatantly wrong (other than, y'know, going on for sixteen thousand freaking words!), please let me know.
SPOILERS: Up to Episode 3.23, Captain Jim Bob Sherwood.
SUMMARY: A sequel/continuation of sorts of Episode 3.22, Delinquent Justin. Seemingly out of the blue, Justin announces that he wants to go to med school after college. Alex thinks he’d make a terrible doctor. Justin naturally disagrees, Alex challenges him to prove it, and sexy hi-jinks ensue. Written for this prompt at omgjustinalex.
i.
It’s 1:30pm on the Saturday after Justin graduates, so naturally Alex is just now waking up. Yawning, she untangles herself from her sheets, swings her legs over the side of her bed, and tries to stand up. She lurches as the room spins around her, and she realizes she’s still more than a little tipsy from that house party last night. She grabs the edge of her desk to steady herself and burps, wrinkling her nose as she re-tastes one of the three rum and cherry Cokes she put away the night before. (Well, the three she remembers, anyway.)
Rum and cherry Coke has always been her kryptonite. Her yummy, yummy kryptonite.
She stands there immobile for a few seconds, waiting for the room to stop spinning and willing herself not to throw up. She looks down at herself, clad only in last night’s underwear-a sleep-creased white camisole and her lucky Little Miss Naughty panties-and debates for a moment whether she should get dressed and make herself semi-presentable before venturing out into the loft.
Let’s see: her parents are at a supplier’s convention in Atlantic City for the weekend. Harper’s visiting her parents in Chicago. Max is camping upstate with Alfred and his dad. And Justin…Justin is probably not home, but even if he is, he practically has an aneurism at the sight of girl underwear, even if she isn’t in it at the time. Which is always fun to watch, not to mention a great way to chase him out of the room so she can have the TV all to herself for the day.
So clearly, she smiles to herself, that’s a no.
She does take a moment to pull on her Uggs, though-because holy crap, even in the summer the friggin’ hardwood floors are like ice with the air conditioning-and makes a pit stop in the bathroom to pee, wash off last night’s make-up, brush her teeth and make absolutely sure she doesn’t need to puke, not necessarily in that order. Then, gathering her hair into a sloppy ponytail on top of her head, she staggers down the hallway towards the spiral staircase. Still pleasantly buzzed, careful to hold the railing, she peers over it into the living room, not sure whether she wants Justin to be there or not.
“You broke curfew last night,” he says from the couch without looking up. His voice positively drips with condescension.
Alex grins briefly, wickedly, at the top of his head, then schools her features into an expression of bored nonchalance as she pads the rest of the way down the stairs.
“Well duh,” she snorts as she crosses behind him to the kitchenette. “I’m seventeen, and Mom and Dad are out of town. Do the math, egghead. Is there coffee? Please say there’s coffee.”
Of course there’s coffee, because he's Justin: a full, freshly-brewed pot waiting just for her, and it smells heavenly. As she pours herself a gigantic mug, and fills it nearly halfway with sugar, she also notices a just-washed frying pan, spatula, and breakfast dishes in the sink. The corner of her mouth quirks up a little, and she pulls open the fridge to find a plate made up for her: scrambled eggs, two pancakes, greasy sausage and bacon, otherwise known as Alex Russo’s Patented Hangover Cure.
God, he’s such an absolute doll, sometimes. She’d love him to pieces if she weren’t obligated by sibling law to, y’know, hate his guts and all.
But she merely grunts in acknowledgement, as though she were expecting it to be there (which she kind of halfway was), then tears the saran wrap off the plate and tosses it onto the counter without comment. Because that’s what they do.
“You’re going to be grounded again,” Justin says, still not looking away from the TV. “You know that, right? Probably for life, this time.”
“Only if you rat me out,” Alex replies. She tosses the plate into the microwave and sets the timer.
Justin snorts. “Well, I think we both know that’s a given.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Justin! Pull the stick out of your ass, for once. If you actually had a life, you would have been out partying last night, too. That’s what normal people our age do, not-”
She frowns at him over the rim of her coffee mug, noticing for the first time that he’s got a yellow legal pad propped up on one knee, his pen scribbling furiously across it as he stares intently at the screen.
“Are you taking notes?” she asks, incredulous. “Ohmigod, are you actually so boring that you’ve turned TV into homework?!”
“Alex-“ he sighs, turning to give her a long-suffering look. But then his jaw drops, and his face flushes, and his breath whistles in his nose as he breathes in sharply. His eyes go wide as dinner plates as they travel all the way down her body and back up, taking in for the first time what she’s got on. Or, y’know, what she doesn’t.
(They linger a nanosecond or two on her chest, she notices. Because, hi, thin camisole plus standing in front of an open refrigerator equals perkiness. Which she totally can’t help and didn’t do on purpose, or anything. She didn’t invent biology.)
She struggles to fight the grin that threatens to split across her face as she cocks an eyebrow at him, as if to ask him what his damage is.
“Alex,” he says again, in that breathy, gravelly, scandalized voice that lights up the pleasure centers of her brain like a Christmas tree, “what the hell are you wearing?!”
Alex shrugs one shoulder lazily as she takes another gulp of coffee. “Just what I wore to bed last night. I didn’t want to get dressed, I haven’t showered yet.”
“So go shower!” he demands.
“In a minute, jeez!” Alex growls back. The microwave’s timer beeps, and she walks around the island to pull it open. “I just need to eat first! I’m starving!”
“But…you’re…it’s….I’m…” Justin stammers, then wrenches his eyes shut (finally) and shakes his head. “Can’t you at least go put a robe on, or something?”
“Meh, can’t be bothered,” she says, grabbing some silverware out of a drawer and closing it with her hip. Balancing it and her coffee in one hand and the steaming plate in the other, she pads her way into the living room and plops down on the couch next to him, swinging her legs up into his lap. Immediately, he jumps up and scootches over to the absolute opposite edge, as far away from her as he can get without standing up.
“Jesus, Justin, watch it! You almost made me spill!”
“Go eat in the kitchen, then!”
She glares at him levelly over a mouthful of sausage, eggs and pancakes. “I always eat my Hangover Cure with my feet up on the couch, Justin. You know this. It’s a very important step in the healing process. If you don’t like it, leave.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he scolds her automatically. His face is still three shades of red, and his eyes keep darting around the room as though he doesn’t know where to put them. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Look, I’m in the middle of something, here. You’re distracting me.”
Alex allows herself a small smile of triumph at that as she shovels another forkful into her mouth. “Ugh, I hate the way the bacon gets all rubbery after you nuke it.”
“Well maybe if you’d actually been awake when I made it, you wouldn’t have had to nuke it,” Justin says, sounding vaguely hurt.
She looks up at him again, and wipes the back of her mouth with her hand. “Well maybe if you actually made it at a decent hour, I would be,” she says, but nudges him playfully with the toe of her boot to take the sting out of it.
“Oh, whatever,” he says, smiling ruefully as he looks down to nudge her foot with his elbow. Then his smile begins to fade as his eyes trail their way up her legs, until they finally get to the image of Little Miss Naughty, smiling at him, situated directly over his sister’s cameltoe.
(Which is also smiling at him, kind of, but sideways. And OK, maybe she presses her thighs together just a little to emphasize it, but again: biology. Not her fault.)
Justin jerks his head away, jostling her again, and Alex growls at him. “Justin…”
“Look, seriously,” he cuts her off, reaching up to scrub the back of his neck. “I really am trying to watch this, sooooo…”
“Fine, then we’ll watch it together. Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” she says, enjoying the way he flinches when she says ‘panties’, even though it causes half a sausage to roll off her plate onto the floor. She glances down at it, shrugs, then looks up at the TV. “So what’s this nerd show that you’re spazzing out over, anyw-“
And then the next few seconds become a blur as her stomach heaves, and three rum and cherry Cokes and half of her Hangover Cure jostle each other to be the first to make a return appearance. She swings her legs off the couch to the floor and thrusts her head between her knees, eyes wrenched shut. It’s only Justin’s quick reflexes that keep her from dumping the plate out of her lap onto the floor.
“JESUS FUCK, JUSTIN!” she shouts between gulps of air.
“I know, I know, sorry,” Justin mutters, one hand warm and soothing on the skin between her shoulder blades, while the other snatches the remote up off the coffee table, and mercifully shuts the TV off.
“THE FUCK’RE YOU WATCHING?!” she shouts, willing the image out of her brain. “Christ!”
“It was a…medical program,” he says lamely. His thumb brushes against one of her camisole’s spaghetti straps as he rubs her back, blessedly tearing her attention away from her roiling stomach.
“Medical-? It looked like the motherfucking Wizard of Gore!”
“Uh…sorry,” he says again, the reference clearly lost on him. “Surgical documentary. I should have warned you, I guess. I just thought you had a strong stomach when it came to stuff like that.”
“Not while I’m hung over and eating my breakfast, doofus! God!”
“Sorry,” he says a third time, his hand still massaging her back. “Uh, do you want me to get a bucket or, um, hold your hair back, or something?“
“No,” she hiccups. “Just keep doing that. It helps.”
His hand hesitates for a second, as though he weren’t even aware what it was doing, but only for a second. “Um, alright…”
They sit quietly for a few moments, with only the sound of their breathing to break the silence, until finally her nausea passes. Alex takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then pulls herself upright to fix her brother with a glare. “OK, you can stop now.”
“Oh, right,” Justin says, snatching his hand back and laying it awkwardly in his lap. “Are you alright?”
“Fine, fine,” she grunts, waving a hand dismissively. “It just caught me off guard, is all. How are you not puking all over right now, though? You couldn’t even get through the red band trailer for Halloween Sorority Party Disaster 4 without having to leave the theater…”
“That’s different. That’s gore for gore’s sake.” He gestures at the television. “This is science.”
Alex rolls her eyes and tilts her head to the side. “Justin, please. When they made you dissect that fetal pig in junior year, you fainted.”
Justin flushes deeply. “Oh, for like, a second…”
“And you hadn’t even cut into it, yet.”
“Alright, so maybe I took a couple Dramamine before I sat down to watch this, OK?” Justin snaps. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, what the hell are you doing watching surgical documentaries? For fun? On your summer vacation?” Alex juts her chin at the legal pad, forgotten on the floor next to the couch. “And why are you taking notes while you do it?”
“I told you the other day,” Justin says, leaning over to pick up the pad and place it neatly on the coffee table, face down. “I’m seriously thinking about going to med school after college. I was just…I dunno…trying to get a head start, I guess.”
Alex blinks at him, then rolls her eyes again, because that is just so Justin, it isn’t funny. “Really? You were serious about that? I thought you were trying to make a joke.”
“What’s so funny about me maybe wanting to be a doctor?” Justin asks with a frown. “As Plan B’s go, it’s not bad.”
“I said I thought you were trying to make a joke. I didn’t say it was funny,” Alex retorts. “And Plan B is our band, remember?”
“No, that’s Plan C,” Justin corrects her. “As in ‘See if Max actually has it in him at to beat both of us in the Wizard competition.’”
Alex scowls at this, the idea that her blueprint for their lives without magic is being relegated to ‘Plan C’. But he has a point, so she doesn’t argue. Because, duh, Max.
“Can’t we just watch something else?” she asks instead. “At least ‘til I’m done my breakfast?”
Justin turns his eyes skyward, and huffs, and shakes his head….but then he picks the remote up off the coffee table and hands it to her. Grinning, Alex snatches it from him, turns the TV back on and begins flipping channels before he can change his mind. “Let’s see…Scooby-Doo, or a Buffy rerun?”
“Aren’t they essentially the same show?” Justin asks flatly.
“Uh, given that one of them often features sexy, half-naked vampires, I’ma say no,” Alex says, and that makes up her mind for her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Alex sees Justin go rigid at the words ‘sexy’ and ‘half-naked’. She feels his eyes trailing over her again, until he clears his throat and makes as if to get up.
“Watch whatever you want,” he sighs, resigned. “I think I’m just gonna go to the library, and-“
And though chasing him off and getting the TV all to herself is kind of the whole point of this little exercise, Alex suddenly surprises them both by swinging her Uggs back up into his lap, effectively trapping him in his seat.
“You are not going to spend the first Saturday of your summer vacation at the freakin' library, egghead," she explains, when he looks at her in askance. “That's too nerdy, even for you. Besides, this is a good one: Angel and Buffy finally get it on after, like, an entire season and a half of forbidden love, ‘will-they-or-won’t-they’ UST, and it-well, I won’t spoil it for you, but it’s hot. SO hot. Also, he’s shirtless a whole lot, which just contributes to the hot.”
“Alex…” Justin sighs. He moves to pick her legs up out of his lap, but hesitates, realizing that would mean he’d actually have to touch her legs. After a moment’s indecision, he finally settles on grabbing her Uggs by the ankles…but before he can lift them, she slides one foot out of his grasp, lifts it up over his head, and slides it down between him and the back of the couch.
(And if spread-eagling herself practically right in his face for a split second distracts him enough that she actually gets away with it...well, whatever works, right?)
“Alex, c’mon…” Justin pleads, his voice cracking, as she locks her ankles together at his side. “Don’t. Let me up.”
Alex smiles back sweetly, and holds out both hands to him, palm up. “Plate? Coffee?”
Justin stares at her, openly confused. And because Justin has always been an open book to her, she can see his inner debate play out in his eyes as plain as day. He can either try to force her to release him-which means tickling her, they way he used to when they wrestled as kids-which runs the risk of escalating things, and even Alex doesn’t know what she’ll do if that happens. Or, he can play along, waiting her out until she inevitably gets bored, loses interest or falls asleep. She holds her breath for a second, curious to see which it’ll be, and oddly unsure which she’s hoping for more.
Unsurprisingly, Justin decides to play it safe. With a grunt, he narrows his eyes at her, leans over to grab her plate and coffee mug from his end of the table, and thrusts them into her hands. She beams as she takes them from him, takes a huge swig from the mug, then digs into the remains of her breakfast, her appetite having returned with reinforcements.
Justin watches for a second, then shakes his head slightly, and turns his attention to the TV. Unsure of what exactly to do with his hands, he finally settles on leaning back and lacing his fingers together behind his head, desperately struggling to look more relaxed than he is.
“Y’know, I hate the way they handle magic on this show,” he says conversationally, his voice only breaking once. “It’s so fake and hamfisted and cheesy.”
“Shhh!” Alex shushes him around a mouthful of pancake. “Shirtless vampire talking!”
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV
AUTHOR: Save Vs. Magic
RATING/CONTENT: M/NC-17 for explicit depictions of consensual incest between siblings (eventually, I promise), fairly strong language, references to underage drinking, and general shenanigans. First-time, non-angsty Jalex, from Alex's POV.
WORD COUNT: Um, 16K+ in 4 parts. Because apparently I can’t even write smut without a three-act structure. If you appreciate a long, slow burn and some character study in your porn, though, this Bud’s for you.
DISCLAIMER, THE FIRST: I don’t own Wizards of Waverly Place nor any of the characters contained herein, no copyright infringement is intended, this is just a work of fanfiction, yadda yadda yadda, please don’t sue.
DISCLAIMER, THE SECOND: My first (released) Jalex fic, so please be kind. I'm also fairly new to LiveJournal and learning as I go. If there's anything I'm doing blatantly wrong (other than, y'know, going on for sixteen thousand freaking words!), please let me know.
SPOILERS: Up to Episode 3.23, Captain Jim Bob Sherwood.
SUMMARY: A sequel/continuation of sorts of Episode 3.22, Delinquent Justin. Seemingly out of the blue, Justin announces that he wants to go to med school after college. Alex thinks he’d make a terrible doctor. Justin naturally disagrees, Alex challenges him to prove it, and sexy hi-jinks ensue. Written for this prompt at omgjustinalex.
i.
It’s 1:30pm on the Saturday after Justin graduates, so naturally Alex is just now waking up. Yawning, she untangles herself from her sheets, swings her legs over the side of her bed, and tries to stand up. She lurches as the room spins around her, and she realizes she’s still more than a little tipsy from that house party last night. She grabs the edge of her desk to steady herself and burps, wrinkling her nose as she re-tastes one of the three rum and cherry Cokes she put away the night before. (Well, the three she remembers, anyway.)
Rum and cherry Coke has always been her kryptonite. Her yummy, yummy kryptonite.
She stands there immobile for a few seconds, waiting for the room to stop spinning and willing herself not to throw up. She looks down at herself, clad only in last night’s underwear-a sleep-creased white camisole and her lucky Little Miss Naughty panties-and debates for a moment whether she should get dressed and make herself semi-presentable before venturing out into the loft.
Let’s see: her parents are at a supplier’s convention in Atlantic City for the weekend. Harper’s visiting her parents in Chicago. Max is camping upstate with Alfred and his dad. And Justin…Justin is probably not home, but even if he is, he practically has an aneurism at the sight of girl underwear, even if she isn’t in it at the time. Which is always fun to watch, not to mention a great way to chase him out of the room so she can have the TV all to herself for the day.
So clearly, she smiles to herself, that’s a no.
She does take a moment to pull on her Uggs, though-because holy crap, even in the summer the friggin’ hardwood floors are like ice with the air conditioning-and makes a pit stop in the bathroom to pee, wash off last night’s make-up, brush her teeth and make absolutely sure she doesn’t need to puke, not necessarily in that order. Then, gathering her hair into a sloppy ponytail on top of her head, she staggers down the hallway towards the spiral staircase. Still pleasantly buzzed, careful to hold the railing, she peers over it into the living room, not sure whether she wants Justin to be there or not.
“You broke curfew last night,” he says from the couch without looking up. His voice positively drips with condescension.
Alex grins briefly, wickedly, at the top of his head, then schools her features into an expression of bored nonchalance as she pads the rest of the way down the stairs.
“Well duh,” she snorts as she crosses behind him to the kitchenette. “I’m seventeen, and Mom and Dad are out of town. Do the math, egghead. Is there coffee? Please say there’s coffee.”
Of course there’s coffee, because he's Justin: a full, freshly-brewed pot waiting just for her, and it smells heavenly. As she pours herself a gigantic mug, and fills it nearly halfway with sugar, she also notices a just-washed frying pan, spatula, and breakfast dishes in the sink. The corner of her mouth quirks up a little, and she pulls open the fridge to find a plate made up for her: scrambled eggs, two pancakes, greasy sausage and bacon, otherwise known as Alex Russo’s Patented Hangover Cure.
God, he’s such an absolute doll, sometimes. She’d love him to pieces if she weren’t obligated by sibling law to, y’know, hate his guts and all.
But she merely grunts in acknowledgement, as though she were expecting it to be there (which she kind of halfway was), then tears the saran wrap off the plate and tosses it onto the counter without comment. Because that’s what they do.
“You’re going to be grounded again,” Justin says, still not looking away from the TV. “You know that, right? Probably for life, this time.”
“Only if you rat me out,” Alex replies. She tosses the plate into the microwave and sets the timer.
Justin snorts. “Well, I think we both know that’s a given.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Justin! Pull the stick out of your ass, for once. If you actually had a life, you would have been out partying last night, too. That’s what normal people our age do, not-”
She frowns at him over the rim of her coffee mug, noticing for the first time that he’s got a yellow legal pad propped up on one knee, his pen scribbling furiously across it as he stares intently at the screen.
“Are you taking notes?” she asks, incredulous. “Ohmigod, are you actually so boring that you’ve turned TV into homework?!”
“Alex-“ he sighs, turning to give her a long-suffering look. But then his jaw drops, and his face flushes, and his breath whistles in his nose as he breathes in sharply. His eyes go wide as dinner plates as they travel all the way down her body and back up, taking in for the first time what she’s got on. Or, y’know, what she doesn’t.
(They linger a nanosecond or two on her chest, she notices. Because, hi, thin camisole plus standing in front of an open refrigerator equals perkiness. Which she totally can’t help and didn’t do on purpose, or anything. She didn’t invent biology.)
She struggles to fight the grin that threatens to split across her face as she cocks an eyebrow at him, as if to ask him what his damage is.
“Alex,” he says again, in that breathy, gravelly, scandalized voice that lights up the pleasure centers of her brain like a Christmas tree, “what the hell are you wearing?!”
Alex shrugs one shoulder lazily as she takes another gulp of coffee. “Just what I wore to bed last night. I didn’t want to get dressed, I haven’t showered yet.”
“So go shower!” he demands.
“In a minute, jeez!” Alex growls back. The microwave’s timer beeps, and she walks around the island to pull it open. “I just need to eat first! I’m starving!”
“But…you’re…it’s….I’m…” Justin stammers, then wrenches his eyes shut (finally) and shakes his head. “Can’t you at least go put a robe on, or something?”
“Meh, can’t be bothered,” she says, grabbing some silverware out of a drawer and closing it with her hip. Balancing it and her coffee in one hand and the steaming plate in the other, she pads her way into the living room and plops down on the couch next to him, swinging her legs up into his lap. Immediately, he jumps up and scootches over to the absolute opposite edge, as far away from her as he can get without standing up.
“Jesus, Justin, watch it! You almost made me spill!”
“Go eat in the kitchen, then!”
She glares at him levelly over a mouthful of sausage, eggs and pancakes. “I always eat my Hangover Cure with my feet up on the couch, Justin. You know this. It’s a very important step in the healing process. If you don’t like it, leave.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he scolds her automatically. His face is still three shades of red, and his eyes keep darting around the room as though he doesn’t know where to put them. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Look, I’m in the middle of something, here. You’re distracting me.”
Alex allows herself a small smile of triumph at that as she shovels another forkful into her mouth. “Ugh, I hate the way the bacon gets all rubbery after you nuke it.”
“Well maybe if you’d actually been awake when I made it, you wouldn’t have had to nuke it,” Justin says, sounding vaguely hurt.
She looks up at him again, and wipes the back of her mouth with her hand. “Well maybe if you actually made it at a decent hour, I would be,” she says, but nudges him playfully with the toe of her boot to take the sting out of it.
“Oh, whatever,” he says, smiling ruefully as he looks down to nudge her foot with his elbow. Then his smile begins to fade as his eyes trail their way up her legs, until they finally get to the image of Little Miss Naughty, smiling at him, situated directly over his sister’s cameltoe.
(Which is also smiling at him, kind of, but sideways. And OK, maybe she presses her thighs together just a little to emphasize it, but again: biology. Not her fault.)
Justin jerks his head away, jostling her again, and Alex growls at him. “Justin…”
“Look, seriously,” he cuts her off, reaching up to scrub the back of his neck. “I really am trying to watch this, sooooo…”
“Fine, then we’ll watch it together. Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” she says, enjoying the way he flinches when she says ‘panties’, even though it causes half a sausage to roll off her plate onto the floor. She glances down at it, shrugs, then looks up at the TV. “So what’s this nerd show that you’re spazzing out over, anyw-“
And then the next few seconds become a blur as her stomach heaves, and three rum and cherry Cokes and half of her Hangover Cure jostle each other to be the first to make a return appearance. She swings her legs off the couch to the floor and thrusts her head between her knees, eyes wrenched shut. It’s only Justin’s quick reflexes that keep her from dumping the plate out of her lap onto the floor.
“JESUS FUCK, JUSTIN!” she shouts between gulps of air.
“I know, I know, sorry,” Justin mutters, one hand warm and soothing on the skin between her shoulder blades, while the other snatches the remote up off the coffee table, and mercifully shuts the TV off.
“THE FUCK’RE YOU WATCHING?!” she shouts, willing the image out of her brain. “Christ!”
“It was a…medical program,” he says lamely. His thumb brushes against one of her camisole’s spaghetti straps as he rubs her back, blessedly tearing her attention away from her roiling stomach.
“Medical-? It looked like the motherfucking Wizard of Gore!”
“Uh…sorry,” he says again, the reference clearly lost on him. “Surgical documentary. I should have warned you, I guess. I just thought you had a strong stomach when it came to stuff like that.”
“Not while I’m hung over and eating my breakfast, doofus! God!”
“Sorry,” he says a third time, his hand still massaging her back. “Uh, do you want me to get a bucket or, um, hold your hair back, or something?“
“No,” she hiccups. “Just keep doing that. It helps.”
His hand hesitates for a second, as though he weren’t even aware what it was doing, but only for a second. “Um, alright…”
They sit quietly for a few moments, with only the sound of their breathing to break the silence, until finally her nausea passes. Alex takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then pulls herself upright to fix her brother with a glare. “OK, you can stop now.”
“Oh, right,” Justin says, snatching his hand back and laying it awkwardly in his lap. “Are you alright?”
“Fine, fine,” she grunts, waving a hand dismissively. “It just caught me off guard, is all. How are you not puking all over right now, though? You couldn’t even get through the red band trailer for Halloween Sorority Party Disaster 4 without having to leave the theater…”
“That’s different. That’s gore for gore’s sake.” He gestures at the television. “This is science.”
Alex rolls her eyes and tilts her head to the side. “Justin, please. When they made you dissect that fetal pig in junior year, you fainted.”
Justin flushes deeply. “Oh, for like, a second…”
“And you hadn’t even cut into it, yet.”
“Alright, so maybe I took a couple Dramamine before I sat down to watch this, OK?” Justin snaps. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, what the hell are you doing watching surgical documentaries? For fun? On your summer vacation?” Alex juts her chin at the legal pad, forgotten on the floor next to the couch. “And why are you taking notes while you do it?”
“I told you the other day,” Justin says, leaning over to pick up the pad and place it neatly on the coffee table, face down. “I’m seriously thinking about going to med school after college. I was just…I dunno…trying to get a head start, I guess.”
Alex blinks at him, then rolls her eyes again, because that is just so Justin, it isn’t funny. “Really? You were serious about that? I thought you were trying to make a joke.”
“What’s so funny about me maybe wanting to be a doctor?” Justin asks with a frown. “As Plan B’s go, it’s not bad.”
“I said I thought you were trying to make a joke. I didn’t say it was funny,” Alex retorts. “And Plan B is our band, remember?”
“No, that’s Plan C,” Justin corrects her. “As in ‘See if Max actually has it in him at to beat both of us in the Wizard competition.’”
Alex scowls at this, the idea that her blueprint for their lives without magic is being relegated to ‘Plan C’. But he has a point, so she doesn’t argue. Because, duh, Max.
“Can’t we just watch something else?” she asks instead. “At least ‘til I’m done my breakfast?”
Justin turns his eyes skyward, and huffs, and shakes his head….but then he picks the remote up off the coffee table and hands it to her. Grinning, Alex snatches it from him, turns the TV back on and begins flipping channels before he can change his mind. “Let’s see…Scooby-Doo, or a Buffy rerun?”
“Aren’t they essentially the same show?” Justin asks flatly.
“Uh, given that one of them often features sexy, half-naked vampires, I’ma say no,” Alex says, and that makes up her mind for her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Alex sees Justin go rigid at the words ‘sexy’ and ‘half-naked’. She feels his eyes trailing over her again, until he clears his throat and makes as if to get up.
“Watch whatever you want,” he sighs, resigned. “I think I’m just gonna go to the library, and-“
And though chasing him off and getting the TV all to herself is kind of the whole point of this little exercise, Alex suddenly surprises them both by swinging her Uggs back up into his lap, effectively trapping him in his seat.
“You are not going to spend the first Saturday of your summer vacation at the freakin' library, egghead," she explains, when he looks at her in askance. “That's too nerdy, even for you. Besides, this is a good one: Angel and Buffy finally get it on after, like, an entire season and a half of forbidden love, ‘will-they-or-won’t-they’ UST, and it-well, I won’t spoil it for you, but it’s hot. SO hot. Also, he’s shirtless a whole lot, which just contributes to the hot.”
“Alex…” Justin sighs. He moves to pick her legs up out of his lap, but hesitates, realizing that would mean he’d actually have to touch her legs. After a moment’s indecision, he finally settles on grabbing her Uggs by the ankles…but before he can lift them, she slides one foot out of his grasp, lifts it up over his head, and slides it down between him and the back of the couch.
(And if spread-eagling herself practically right in his face for a split second distracts him enough that she actually gets away with it...well, whatever works, right?)
“Alex, c’mon…” Justin pleads, his voice cracking, as she locks her ankles together at his side. “Don’t. Let me up.”
Alex smiles back sweetly, and holds out both hands to him, palm up. “Plate? Coffee?”
Justin stares at her, openly confused. And because Justin has always been an open book to her, she can see his inner debate play out in his eyes as plain as day. He can either try to force her to release him-which means tickling her, they way he used to when they wrestled as kids-which runs the risk of escalating things, and even Alex doesn’t know what she’ll do if that happens. Or, he can play along, waiting her out until she inevitably gets bored, loses interest or falls asleep. She holds her breath for a second, curious to see which it’ll be, and oddly unsure which she’s hoping for more.
Unsurprisingly, Justin decides to play it safe. With a grunt, he narrows his eyes at her, leans over to grab her plate and coffee mug from his end of the table, and thrusts them into her hands. She beams as she takes them from him, takes a huge swig from the mug, then digs into the remains of her breakfast, her appetite having returned with reinforcements.
Justin watches for a second, then shakes his head slightly, and turns his attention to the TV. Unsure of what exactly to do with his hands, he finally settles on leaning back and lacing his fingers together behind his head, desperately struggling to look more relaxed than he is.
“Y’know, I hate the way they handle magic on this show,” he says conversationally, his voice only breaking once. “It’s so fake and hamfisted and cheesy.”
“Shhh!” Alex shushes him around a mouthful of pancake. “Shirtless vampire talking!”
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV