I don't own Alice, or anyone related to the Alice franchise.

Curves
by: Bee

It started as a joke. For one of her birthdays – thirteenth, or fourteenth, maybe – a friend had given her a bra. A dark blue bra, decorated with black lace. It was about two cup sizes too big and traumatizing beyond all get out. Alice had stared at the offending garment for a full five minutes before said friend, laughing and apologizing, produced a small envelope containing her real present – a gift card of some sort.

Alice had accepted the gift card begrudgingly, and tossed the bra into the back of her underwear drawer. It was not to be heard from for some time. Flash forward about two years. Alice is rushing to get ready for school. Her bag is packed with useful text books. Her stomach is full of muffin. Her teeth are brushed. Her shoes are tied neatly on her feet.

She isn't wearing a shirt. Or a bra for that matter.

She stands, topless, surrounded by undergarment rejects. They don't hug her right. They're too tight. The straps hurt. She crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her hip. Her breasts are giving her some serious trouble. How annoying. She glares down at them for a moment before sighing and sifting through her undie drawer one more time. Maybe there's a bra tucked back there she missed.

Her fingers brush against something satiny, which is unusual, as almost all of her undergarments are cotton. She frowns, wondering if she somehow got something of her mom's (which: ew, by the way) mixed up in her drawer. She pulls out a slightly rumpled bra that she acquired a few years back. Humming thoughtfully, Alice reads the tag. It's a little bigger than every other bra she's tried on thus far, so maybe it'll fit her.

"Couldn't hurt," she comments aloud, as she slides the straps over her shoulders and reaches around to fasten the clasp. A little shifting and adjusting, and the bra fits her perfectly. She smoothes her hands over the swells of her breasts and down her rib cage, as she turns around to check the floor length mirror. "Not bad," she compliments herself with a small smirk.

Flash forward about ten years. Alice has developed into a capable young woman with an impressive sets of ass-kicking skills, a hat-and-tea obsessed boyfriend, a flat to call her own, and a new sense of well-being and accomplishment. And, not to mention, a comprehensive collection of saucy undergarments.

All in all, not a bad set-up.

Alice hurries her way out of the shower, somehow managing to towel off her hair and pull on a pair of jeans in the same moment. She and Hatter are supposed to be going out – she pauses to check the clock – ten minutes ago, and she knows she doesn't have much time before he comes barging into her room to complain. Sighing in exasperation, Alice lets the towel drop to the floor as she stares down her closet.

They don't officially live together, she and Hatter, as he's still playing a major part in the reconstruction of Wonderland, and she's still trying to figure out life on her own in the Other World, as he calls it; but they spend enough time mingling in each other's worlds that they may as well be living together. Just on different planes, depending on the week.

She sighs again, finally deciding on maybe wearing a modestly cut orange sweater, when her bedroom door goes flying open. Alice rolls her eyes as she turns to face him. She crosses her arms under her breasts, unconsciously pushing them up, and quirks an eyebrow.

"What could be possibly taking you this long oh my God." Hatter stands frozen in the doorway, eyes glued on her chest. He almost forgets to swallow at the sight of her, all supple and pale and creamy and curvy and covered in red and lace.

"Up here, hon." She chides, pointing to her face. He makes a sound akin to huh-buh, and his jaw drops a little. "Hatter," she tries again, a little more sharply, and snaps. He blinks, makes another confused noise, but manages to drag his eyes away from her assets and up to her eyes.

"Yeah?" She can almost feel him trying to look at her breasts without actually looking at her breasts.

"I'll be done in just a few minutes." He nods dreamily, and Alice sighs. "You can go watch TV or something." He nods again and it takes a couple seconds before he starts moving. Alice rolls her eyes and turns back to her closet.

"Maybe this one," she mutters, staring down a red and tan striped sweater with a square-cut neck. "I just can't decide."

It in fact takes more than a few minutes for Alice to finish getting ready, as, once she decides on what top to wear – a black button down with red piping along the collar and cuffs – she remembers that she not only needs to fix her hair, but she should probably put on some make-up, at least. Alice emerges from her room, fifteen minutes later, with her hair pulled back into a nice pony-tail and her eyes lined with smudges of black.

Hatter is sitting on her couch, fiddling with his hand and not staring at anything in particular. He glances up as she pads down the hall, and immediately looks away, face flushing. Alice smiles fondly and tilts her head. "Ready to go?" He nods stiffly, and places his hat crookedly on his head, eliciting a round of amused laughter from Alice. She laces her fingers through his, and tugs him down the hall towards the door. "Come on, let's go get some lunch."

The walk to the café is adorably awkward. Hatter hazards a few peeks at her, eyes flicking down from her eyes to her chest and back up again, before staring down at the sidewalk with his cheeks flushed. Alice shakes her head, laughing, before kissing him on the cheek. He smiles shyly and glances over at her through his eyelashes, before holding open the door to the restaurant.

"Always the gentleman," she compliments as she sashays past.

They sit down at a small, circular table, right next to a window. Hatter makes a show of scanning his menu – he gets such a delight out of Other World foods – and Alice leans her elbow on the table. She already knows what she's going to order – a club sandwich with provolone cheese and a side of French fries – so she lives vicariously through his childlike wonder.

After ten minutes, however, the routine gets old and Alice starts to pointedly drum her fingers. Hatter raises his eyes from his menu for a brief second, before lowering them again to scan over the salad section. "All right," she breaks the silence, "what's got you all tight lipped?"

"Pardon?" He asks, his accent catching on the last syllable. His hands fiddle with the silverware. Alice tries not to be charmed.

"Why are you so quiet?" She clarifies; "you're never quiet. Especially when there's food in the conversation." He shrugs, still fumbling with the fork and knife, which he managed to unwrap from their napkin cocoon.

"Dunno what you're talking 'bout." He mumbled, taking a sip of water and staring fiercely out the window. Alice rolls her eyes again – she's been doing that a lot today, she realizes – but knows Hatter well enough to recognize that she's not about to get anything out of him. He didn't survive, or flourish, in Wonderland because he didn't keep his mouth shut. Besides, Alice smirks around a sip of water, she's almost positive she knows what's got him so rankled.

The remainder of lunch is tense, but Alice doesn't mind. She's more amused by it than anything else, and leaves the restaurant with a slight bounce in her step. Hatter shuffles next to her, mind clearly on other things – and Alice can only guess as to what those things are – but he holds her hand nonetheless.

Back at her flat – she really has been spending too much time with him – they settle on her couch, Alice comfortably, Hatter awkwardly. Almost casually, Alice undoes the top few buttons on her blouse, and leans back with a graceful sigh. "What should we do now?" She asks him, raising an eyebrow.

"Hm?" He hums, eyes almost automatically drifting down the open collar of her shirt and focusing on the tantalizing hint of red lace. He hears her question a few seconds after she asks it and furrows his brow as he forcibly brings his stare back up to her face. "Sorry, what?"

"What should we do now?" She repeats, before elaborating. "We could watch a movie... go for a walk. I don't know," she punctuates this with a shrug, which only makes Hatter whimper quietly. She almost feels bad for him. "What do you think?"

She glances over at him, only to find that he's covered his eyes with one hand. Never mind that he's peeking out from between his fingers. "Oh, Hatter," she laughs, and pulls his hand away from his face. Keep his hand trapped snugly between her own smaller two, she snuggles close, resting her head on his shoulder. "What ever am I going to do with you?"

Hatter shrugs, snaking an arm around her waist, and curling his free hand around her hip. She smiles softly, as he begins to stroke gently at the exposed flesh of her waist. The mood shifts subtly as his fingers dip just-so into the waistband of her jeans. She shivers and bites her lip as she lifts her head from his shoulder.

"Hatter?" His name almost dies on her tongue when she catches the look he's giving her – giving all of her. His eyes are liquid, nearly black with dilated lust, and it's Alice who forgets to swallow this time. Slowly, he extricates his hand from her loose grip and brushes a loose piece of hair behind her ear. He cups the back of her head, cradling her, really, and she licks her lips.

He follows the motion with his eyes, before raking her graze down her chin, along the column of her throat, across her clavicles, and settling on the shape of her breasts. Alice exhales, sharply loudly, and his eyes widen at the jump of her chest. His hand moves from her hip to hovering, just above her heart. He glances up, his eyes suddenly clear, and she nods.

It starts with just his fingers, grazing along the quiet swell of her breast, and she sucks in a breath. He's so gentle, so delicate – it's not what she's used to. Even Jack, one of the more attentive lovers she'd had, wasn't very interested in simply studying her. Because that's how she feels, as if Hatter is studying and mapping ever subtle piece of her. He's worshipping her, just with his fingers and eyes. Alice sighs, feeling something akin to blissful wonder bubble up inside her, and tips her head back against the couch.

Hatter, to his credit, is mesmerized by the still-clothed curves. He gazes reverently at her chest, finally palming and cupping her breast in his hand; she has to hold back a gratified moan. Alice stiffens as he strokes his thumb over her nipple; it hardens immediately and she blushes despite herself. Hatter glances up at her again, "may I...?" And his voice is so rough, so barely controlled, that she can only nod wordlessly.

A smile nearly splits his face as he leans forward, brushing his lips against hers. Alice laughs quietly to herself, threading her fingers through his short hair, effectively knocking his ever-present hat off his head. Hatter's hands seem occupied by the buttons on her blouse, when Alice finally takes pity on them and their owner.

"Hold on," she whispers, punctuating her request with a quick kiss. She leans back a little, and Hatter rests his hands on her hips again, idly stroking over revealed skin with his thumbs. He watches, mesmerized, as Alice slowly and deliberately unfastens each button. Inch by torturous inch, his eyes trace the path of her clever little fingers. He exhales a sigh of relief as finally – finally – she shrugs the garment off her pale shoulders.

Quirking one eyebrow, Alice lets the shirt fall to the floor as she settles back on the couch. Hatter swallows, borrowing a moment to drink in the sight of her. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, soft, supple, oh-so-delicious skin... All his for the taking.

Still awestruck, he slides his hands up her ribcage, over her breasts, to cradle her face. She laughs, staring up at him with bright eyes, and Hatter grins, kissing her once, before dipping his head to nibble on her clavicle. Alice whines, arching into him and loosely wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Feeling all too proud of himself, Hatter smiles wickedly against her skin and just relishes in the sharp, clean smell of her.

He traces the subtle dip between her collar bones with his tongue, and she drops her head back, unconsciously tangling her legs with his. Groaning, he grinds against her, relishing in the friction of their bodies. She matches him step for step, hips rolling.

"Just, wait... wait a minute," she gasps, even as he licks languidly at the valley between her breasts. Laughing, she threads her fingers through his short, fine hair. "Hatter, stop, come on."

"Yes, my love?" He raises his head to meet her stare, all the while rolling his eyes, as if she's interrupted something very important – which, in his opinion, she has.

"We should really, ah," she pauses, as he does something interesting with his tongue. "We should really relocate this." Alice points out, glaring at him.

"What's the matter with where we are?" Hatter pouts, resting his hands on her ribcage and staring up at her through his lashes. "I quite like the sofa."

"As do I," Alice concedes. "But people sit on the sofa."

"So?"

"Hatter," Alice rolls hers eyes. "My mother sits on the sofa."

"Oh," he purses his lips. "Good point."