Hate Me in the Morning
Disclaimer: I lay no claim to Dark Angel or its characters. I do this only for fun.
Summary: Alec can never seem to do the smart thing when Max is around.
A/N: First of a couple or three unrelated DA oneshots to clear my head before I start on the sequel to The Friggin' Cure. I'm sure this has been done before, but everybody's got to have a heat fic, right?
Warning: Swearing, suggestive language, and adult situations. Nothing overly graphic. And absolutely no angst… at least I think. It may have tried to sneak in there when I wasn't looking.
I am so dead.
I wish I'd known earlier that this would be the last night of my life. I wouldn't have let Biggs talk me into taking his last run. I would've spent my last hours living the good life instead of slogging around in the damn Seattle rain and beating up a bunch of dumbass chemiheads who happened to take a liking to my bike. By the time I'd gotten home, I was tired and cranky and definitely not on top of my game.
If I'd been on top of my game, I would never have opened the damn door.
Maybe I've gotten lax since I was set loose in the big, bad world. When I heard someone beating down my door at 1:00 AM, instead of grabbing my trusty nine millimeter and preparing to defend the fort like the epitome of genetically-engineered soldier I am, I shuffled out of bed with my eyes still half closed to find out exactly who the soon-to-be-dead person was that had the cojones to wake me up.
I opened the door, growling out the words, "Look, pal…," but that's as far as I got. A wave of pheromones hit me, so strong that it set my head reeling.
I knew that smell. That smell meant trouble.
I gripped the doorframe hard to regain my balance, trying to fight the instincts that were telling the little soldier it was time to stand up and salute. I closed my eyes tight, thinking if I didn't look, maybe she'd disappear, like a figment of my imagination or something.
After a few seconds, I hesitantly opened one eye, then the other. Standing there--all hot and bothered and looking like my worst nightmare and my ultimate fantasy all rolled into one--was Max.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I should never have opened the door.
So now I'm standing here, hard as a rock, hanging on to the doorframe for dear life because if my hands are on it, they can't be on her, right? Hands on Max equals bad.
God, I really want to be bad right now.
She takes a step toward me, all fluid and sexy, and my breath catches in my throat. She looks like she wants to eat me alive. Worse yet, I'm pretty sure I want to let her.
I am so very, very dead.
Please, don't let him be home. I swear, I'll never steal another thing as long as I live if he can just be out drinking somewhere, working his way into some girl's pants. Some other girl's pants, not mine.
I'm not sure how I ended up at Alec's door. Okay, strike that, I'm pretty sure how I ended up at his door. My heat cycle--which frickin' Manticore was supposed to have fixed, dammit--hit me like a ton of bricks this morning. It hadn't been so bad, before, when there weren't any other transgenics around. I could resist… well, for the most part, anyway. But now there was Alec and Biggs and Alec… I'd caught one whiff of him--Alec, not Biggs--outside of Jam Pony that morning, and I knew I had to hightail it out of there. Thank God I'd been downwind.
Of course, that was this morning. Damn, was it only this morning? Feels like it's been days. Days of fantasizing about those full lips and those eyes that went real green when he got excited and the cute little freckles he pretended he didn't have. Not to mention the way his t-shirt clung to his chest, or the way his ass fit into his jeans. And those hands… God, I wanted them on me.
After days (hours, honestly) of thinking about Alec and being pissed that it had to be him, of all people, starring in my currently triple-X-rated fantasies, I decided a little ride would clear my head.
Apparently, my head was thinking of a different kind of ride.
I'm pounding on his door before I even realize that I'm doing it. Once I realize what I'm doing, I get all panicky because it's his door, but that doesn't stop me from pounding. I could break in, but then that would be admitting that I want him, and I don't want him. Not him, specifically. He just happens to have a Y chromosome I desperately need right now. Could be anybody's door. Really.
I'm so hot, and, knowing Alec, he's probably finagled air conditioning somehow, and he's probably in there right now, between the nice cool sheets…
I shouldn't be doing this. Not at all. This is Alec, for God's sake. I don't even like Alec.
Fine. So I like him a little. So what?
So I'm knocking because I figure that gives me an out. If he doesn't answer, I can go home, take an ice cold shower or three, and pretend this never happened. We can continue on like we always have, with him being a supreme pain in my ass and me graciously putting up with his shit.
Oh, hell. He's opening the door.
He's standing there, looking all fine with his hair mussed and sexy and no shirt and a pair of thin sweatpants that leave little to the imagination. He smells so good--all male and cat and absolute yum--that my brain pretty much melts into a worthless pile of goo.
His pupils dilate until there's only a hint of green around the rim. He'd holding on to the doorframe so hard I think I can hear the wood cracking. He's looking kind of panicked, but I don't take it personally, because those thin sweats can't disguise the fact that he's very happy to see me.
Alec wants me. I want him. You do the math. Personally, I was no longer seeing the problem with the equation.
I take a step toward him, and his breath does this little hitching thing; I have no idea why, but it's incredibly sexy. Hell, he could probably hiccup and I'd find it sexy right about now. He bites his bottom lip, and, Jesus Christ, if he's not inside me in the next five minutes, I am going to die. I am literally going to die.
As skewed as Alec's morals are, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want my death on his hands. Surely, he'd wanna help a girl out.
It makes what I am about to do so much easier.
She's inside and has me up against the wall before I know what's happening. Her hands are everywhere at once and it feels so good, but then, some tiny part of my brain that somehow seems to still be functioning even though the blood supply has been routed due south reminds me that this was Max.
I can't do this. Not to Max.
I try to grab a hold of her hands, but she's fast. Real fast, like, Speedy Gonzales fast. Didn't help that I was fighting her and my own instincts at the same time. I'm basically outnumbered, here. Give a guy a break.
"Come on, Max, cut it out," I tell her, barely able to get the words out 'cause I'm trying not to breathe in the scent of her. Hands on Max equals bad. Hands on Max equals bad.
"I don't wanna cut it out," she practically growls. Her hands are still moving, and, holy shit, I will never make jokes about Max being a prude again.
"You're in heat, Max."
"Yeah. So?" she says as she writhes against me. I try not to whimper.
"So we shouldn't be doing this," I gasp, weakly trying to push her away, but she's doing this thing with her tongue to the side of my neck now, and, I swear, it's like she's sucked the strength right out of me.
God. Don't say suck.
"Why not?" she murmurs against my neck as her hands slip inside the waistband of my sweatpants and start to travel south.
My eyes roll up into my head, and all coherent thought fizzles away to nothing. "Ummm..."
"Give me a reason, pretty boy."
It takes a couple of seconds, but I manage to reroute enough blood to my head to come up with something that might actually make sense. Just as I open my mouth to answer, her hand closes over me, hard, and the word comes out in an embarrassing squeak. "Logan?"
Max pulls her hand away, and I'm thinking I've won the battle… though, seriously, the rest of me is none too happy about the victory. But then she reaches down and pulls her shirt off in one swift movement, and I realize just how totally screwed I am. Or about to be.
She's not wearing a bra.
She moves against me until her bare breasts are crushed against my chest, and her hands move around to grab my ass. She's rubbing her body against mine, and just how I am possibly supposed to think when she does that? She runs her tongue over my bottom lip and purrs, "We're not like that. Try again."
Before I can think of something, she kisses me, though those three words hardly seem to do justice to what she's doing to me. It's lips and teeth and tongue, frantic and demanding and more than half desperate, and, at that moment, I almost forget my own name.
The name she gave me.
I push her away, or try to, anyway. I only manage to put a couple of inches between us, because she's ridin' high on adrenalin and raging hormones, while I'm seriously being conquered by them.
In a last ditch effort, I place my hands on her cheeks and force her to meet my eyes. She's so hot, and not just hottie kind of hot, but literally burning up, even for one of us. I want her so bad, but I shouldn't. I shouldn't. She doesn't want me. Not me. Just what I can do to her. It don't want to say it, because honesty has never been the best policy in my book, but I have to. "'Cause you'll hate me in the morning."
She doesn't even flinch. "I already hate you."
"Good point." Shit. There's that argument out the window.
I take a deep breath, and I shouldn't have, should've known better. You would think that I forgot every harsh lesson I ever learned at Manticore. The smell of her steals away whatever resistance I have left.
She takes a step back from me and kicks off her boots, then strips out of her pants. Her underwear quickly joins the pile.
"Ah, hell," I mutter, and there's this glint of triumph in her eyes at my words, 'cause she knows I'm giving in.
She's staring at me, and I'm staring at her, and we're both breathing heavy like we've been going at it for an hour.
An hour is so not gonna cut it for what I plan to do to her.
We must be in tune or something, because at the same moment, we lunge for each other. Our bodies crash together, and I would not have been surprised if there were sparks. Frankly, I suspect there is a very serious chance that we might set the room on fire.
I am going to die. Max is going to kill me, slow.
I'm thinking it's going to be worth it.
It's early. I never get up this early.
I woke up in Alec's bed (naked), with Alec (also naked), and his strong arms were wrapped around me. The need was gone. I could think again, and I remembered everything, so I pretty much freaked. I wormed my way out from under his arms, careful not to wake him, and quickly slipped into my clothes. I was about to make a tactical retreat (more like haul ass before he woke up so I wouldn't have to face him), but something stopped me. Guilt? I don't know. Something.
I'm sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at him. I've been sitting here, staring at him on and off for about an hour now, wondering why I'm not leaving. I even went to make myself a cup of coffee.
He's still sleeping. I don't know how he can sleep when I'm staring at him like that. You'd think he'd sense it, supersoldier he supposedly is and all. But he's completely oblivious, facedown on the bed and snoring softly, like he doesn't have a care in the world.
Last night was… unexpected. Not that it wasn't great; I never doubted that Alec could rock my world, if I ever gave him the chance. I just didn't think it would be… well, if I want to be honest with myself, I didn't think it could be more than that. More than just sex.
Round one had been fast and furious--enough to take the edge off, but it left us both wanting more. Round two had been almost as wild, though not so rushed. We'd both struggled for dominance, neither of us gaining the upper hand for very long. It wasn't until an hour or so later that we both passed out, completely wasted.
Then there had been round three... and that's what really has me thrown for a loop. My need was totally sated; the pheromones were gone. There was no reason for us to turn to each other in the dark, but we did.
It was unlike anything I have experienced, ever. Not that I've had much experience, outside of my heat-induced escapades, but I knew this was different. Special. I've never felt so connected to a person like that. It's sounds kind of corny, like something out of a soap opera or something, but we didn't have sex; we made love. It was slow and sensual and giving, and when it was over, I fell asleep in his arms.
I didn't know he could be like that. How is it possible that he could make me feel so special, like there was no one in his world but me? I mean, this is Alec we're talking about. I always took him for a self-centered asshole.
As I sit here and watch him sleep, I decide I might just have to rethink that.
When I wake, it's to a dry mouth, an aching body, and a pounding headache. Keeping my eyes closed against any light that might try to assault them, I reach up to massage my forehead. And then it hits me. Why I feel like I've been run over by a bus. Everything that happened last night. Max.
I groan and move my hand to cover my eyes. Damn pheromones always gave me a hangover.
I don't need to see her to know that she's sitting there, watching me. I can smell her. Not the pheromones she'd been putting out last night, but her. Maxie the Destroyer, probably waiting for me to wake up before she rains destruction down on me.
I sit up and groan again as my head seriously objects to such a poor decision. I cautiously peek out at her from under my hand, just in case she can kill me with a look.
We're Manticore. It could happen.
"Can you at least wait until I've had a cup of coffee before you kill me?" I ask with the cool detachment of a man who has accepted his fate.
I'm thinking she's going to pounce any second (pounce, get it?), but instead she holds out her coffee mug to me. She looks surprisingly calm, considering what we did last night, so I eye the mug suspiciously, trying to figure out how she's going to kill me with it.
She frowns at me and holds the mug out farther. "I'm not going to kill you, Alec."
I take the cup warily, never taking my eyes off her. I was about to take a sip when a thought hits me, and I freeze. "Wait. I get it. You've poisoned it, right?"
She gives me this look--one I've seen before, when she thinks I'm being particularly stupid--and reaches out to poke me in the leg with her foot. "No, dumbass. If I was going to kill you, I'd do it with my bare hands so I could be sure to get the maximum amount of enjoyment out of it."
I nod, conceding the point. "Very true." I take a sip of the coffee, but I still don't take my eyes off her. Could be she's trying to keep me off guard, so she can strike when I least expect it.
I may be crazy, but something about her posture, or maybe the look in her eyes, makes me think she's being straight with me. I probably look like a idiot, because she's got me completely spun. "So, why don't you want to kill me?" I ask warily, just in case she decides to change her mind.
She narrows her eyes at me and tries to look stern, but it's not working. "Maybe I'm just taking a rain check."
I can't help it. I smirk at her. "A rain check, huh?"
"Yeah," she says, poking me with her foot again, a bit harder this time. "So don't get all cocky."
I put on a look of fake shock, totally overdoing the dramatics on purpose. "Me? Cocky? Please. As if that would ever happen."
Max rolls her eyes at me, then gets up off of the bed. I finally notice that she's completely dressed. Probably has been for a while, I'm thinking. But she didn't leave.
She grabs my jacket--without asking to borrow it, I might add--and shrugs it on. I think about making some smartass comment, but then I change my mind. I kind of like the idea of her in my jacket. She walks over to my bedroom door and pauses, turning back toward me. Her lips twist in a little half smile, like she's trying to stop herself from smiling at me and can't.
"See you around, Alec," she says softly, then turns and walks through the door.
Needless to say, I am in complete shock. I just had sex. With Max. Mind-blowing, earth-moving, life-altering sex with Max and I'm somehow still breathing. The smart thing to do would be to quit while I'm ahead.
I set down the coffee mug and scramble after her, wrapping the sheet around my naked ass.
Funny, how I can never seem to do the smart thing when Max is around.
"So Max…" I call out, stopping at the bedroom door, almost turning back, but I figure I'm on a roll, so what the hell? "…you, uh, think we could do this again sometime?"
She stops and turns. Then she's walking back toward me, slow and sexy, those oh-so-feminine hips swaying in a way that's totally turning me on. She's probably doing it on purpose.
Holy shit, is she doing it on purpose?
She stops a half a foot from me, grabs the sheet wrapped around my waist and tugs me to her. My eyes should fall right out of my head to land at her feet, they're so wide. We stare at each other for a minute, the back of her hand burning like fire against me, where it touches my lower abdomen.
I'm ready to take her on the floor right then and there, rain check be damned.
She leans into me, and I think I'm going to get to do exactly that, when she reaches up and pats me on cheek. She smiles wickedly at me and says, "Don't press your luck, pretty boy."
She flips her hair over her shoulder, turns her back on me, and walks away. I watch her stalk out of my apartment, watch her slam the door behind her. Five minutes later, I'm still standing there, wrapped in a sheet and grinning like a fool at the closed door.
Oh, I'm going to press my luck, Maxie. Definitely.
A/N: First person POV is a new thing for me. I thought I'd give it a shot. Reviews are always appreciated.