Fandom: Dark Angel
Summary: Max/Alec, set post transgenic conflict - Manticore left one last little present.
“Where’s Alec?” Max asked, leaning over Normal’s partition to see if he was hiding in the office somewhere. She could smell him, although she wasn’t sure if that was her or not.
“Came in early, took as many packages as he could carry and skeedaddled,” Normal said, pushing her back. “There’s a boy who knows how to work.”
“Why don’t you just marry him and get it over with?” Cindy asked. “You’re about two steps away from declarin’ yo undyin’ love anyway.”
“We don’t all swing the same way you do,” Normal told her, shoving a package in her face. “Here. Hot run to Sector Six.”
“Any for Terminal City?” Max peered over the counter again as Cindy took the package.
Normal rummaged under the piles of packages around him.
“Mm…no, I think Alec took them all – Oh wait, here’s one.” He unearthed it and passed it over to her. “Remember you’re there to deliver it, not socialise with all your mutant buddies on company time.”
“Whatever,” Max said cheerfully, shoving the package in her bag and heading out.
“Jam Pony Messenger!” Max’s voice filtered through the control room as she came closer.
“Shit!” Alec hissed, hopping off the table he was sitting on and sprinting to the exit on the other end of the room. “Remember, if she asks, I wasn’t here.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Mole grunted. Alec flashed him a cheeky grin, then slipped out the door, moments before Max sauntered in at the other end.
She froze, eyes narrowed. Alec’s scent was everywhere in here.
“Is Alec here?” she asked.
“Nope,” Mole said, not looking up from his book. “Just left when he heard you coming.” He jerked his thumb towards the door Alec had escaped out of.
“Alec!” she bellowed, tossing the package aside and sprinting after him.
Mole glanced after her.
“Whaddya think he did now?” he asked, glancing at the others in the room.
“Alec smelled of Max,” Joshua said slowly, as if something odd was finally clicking into place. “And Max smelled of Alec.”
Mole grinned slowly.
“Ohohoho,” he chuckled. “Excellent. I’ll open the betting up.”
She’d been trailing Alec all day, and she was beginning to feel more than a little frustrated. Initially, she’d just wanted to talk to him, to see if he knew anything that Manticore could’ve done, but after a day following his scent that intention had been pushed gradually further back in her mind.
Now she was practically aching with need. Alec’s scent was clouding her thoughts and she wanted - needed more. She needed it fresh, hot. She needed to taste it on him as they writhed and ground their way into mindless pleasure, needed him over her, under her, so deep in her that he wasn’t coming back out. She needed it hard, rough and dirty.
And she needed it now.
She hammered on the door to his apartment.
“Alec!” she hollered. “I know you’re in there!”
“Well hey there, Maxie,” came his voice from the other side of the door, irritatingly cheerful. “Isn’t this a nice surprise!”
“Let me in!”
“Ah.” He sounded apologetic. “You see, I’m afraid that won’t be happening.”
She was about two steps away from humping the door – the things his voice was doing to her…It was almost sinful when she was in this state.
“Why not?” she asked dangerously.
“’Never Again’, remember? I thought that was the plan?”
“That didn’t seem to bother you last night,” she snarled, still tugging violently on the doorknob.
“That’s true,” he allowed. “Of course, Maxie, last night you said some things that hurt my feelings a little. And my neck’s fine by the way, thanks for showing concern.”
Max gave up and started trying to knock the door down, ramming it with her shoulder.
“You are such an ass!” she told him.
On the other side of the door, Alec grinned idly, lounging in an easy chair on the other side of the room, holding a small, glass bottle in his hand, filled with a clear oil-like substance. He wafted it under his nose lazily.
The door juddered on its hinges violently, but the large chest of drawers, bookcase and sofa piled up behind it prevented it from opening.
“Alright,” came Max’s voice again, tense. “I know my pheromones are going nuts. How come you’re not fighting to get to me?”
“You sure think highly of yourself, don’t you?” he chuckled, enjoying this greatly.
Max’s reply was lost as she slammed against the door again, but Alec was sure it wasn’t very nice.
“Camphor oil, Maxie!” he called happily. “Clears the sinuses like nothing else! Unfortunately, smell’s so strong, you can’t get a whiff of anything else while it’s there.”
There was silence on the other side of the door.
“Given up? Maxie, I’m hurt. If you really loved me, you’d’ve broken through by now!” Still silence. He frowned. “Max?”
His window shattered artfully as Max leapt through it and lunged at him, knocking the bottle of oil from his hand viciously, straddling him and kissing him with barely-suppressed violence.
Alec responded eagerly, hands tearing at her clothes, knocking off her cap and ripping her t-shirt over her head, while she kicked off her shoes and reached for the hem of his shirt.
He stood, lifting her bodily, legs wrapped around his waist as she attacked his neck with harsh bites, carrying her into the bedroom and pressing her down firmly on the bed.
She let him force her hands over her head, more occupied instead with grinding her hips into his, and licking his neck where she’d split the skin, tasting the blood that was starting to slide, mingling with the sweat.
She froze when she felt something solid click around her wrists, and Alec sat back, chest heaving, and stared at her. Max tugged desperately, needing to touch him, taste him, stop him from getting off the bed, but her hands wouldn’t move. Craning her neck, she saw that he’d handcuffed her to the metal bed head, and she turned to scowl at him.
“You ass,” she hissed, distracted momentarily by the movement of muscles under skin as he lifted his hand to his neck, wiping away the blood.
“You know the best thing about Camphor Oil?” he said tightly, watching her strain against the cuffs. “You apply it to the skin – rubs in, smell’s there, everywhere you go.”
He walked out the room, locking the door behind him.
Max’s relief when he returned not too long later was almost palpable.
“Camphor oil finally worn off?” she asked snidely, tugging against her bonds again.
“Put some more on,” he said simply, moving over to the bed. She felt herself growing warmer as he came nearer. He straddled her hips and leaned forward, kissing her just barely, gently. She tried to move her head to deepen it, harshen it, but he pulled back to the limit of her reach. He cradled her head softly and kissed her slowly, leisurely, heartbreakingly sweetly. And it did nothing to cool the flames licking through her blood.
He pulled away finally and before she could respond she felt fabric forced into her mouth and tied around the back of her head.
She stared at him wildly, demanding.
“Don’t want you biting, Maxie,” he said, stroking his thumb across her cheek. “Thought we’d try something different. You’re normally up for mixing it up a bit, hm?”
He leaned down and kissed her neck, and as he moved she caught a sharp, piney scent mingled with his. His neck and chest shone slightly with oil – Camphor oil.
He was moving down her, exploring, exploiting, seeing what made her writhe and moan and arch towards him. Taking it slow; slow and careful. Like he had all the time in the world, as he eased her pants over her hips and down her legs.
She was burning, slowly, from the inside out. He was driving her insane with wicked lips and clever fingers. She wanted him to go faster, she wanted him to slow down, for it to finish, for it to never, ever end.
By the time he finally pushed into her, inch by oh-so-wonderful inch, she was trembling, short of breath, flushed and hotter than she thought it was possible to get. Little more than a boneless pile of need and desire and pleasure that he could mould and manipulate as he wished. She arched up towards him helplessly, and he watched her face intently, learning how he made her feel.
And then he twisted his hips like that somehow, and she was gone.
When she came back to herself, he was still rocking inside her leisurely, and he grinned at her, sweat running down his face.
“We’re not done yet, Maxie,” he rasped, and she felt a thrill run through her, at his voice and the thought itself.
Max woke up the next morning, still feeling boneless, warm and with the scent of something odd tickling her nose. She stretched languidly, and caught sight of the bruises on her wrists, pausing as the memories of last night came flooding back.
“Sorry ‘bout those,” came Alec’s voice from the doorway. “Didn’t have time to hunt down my fuzzy pair.”
She frowned at him, sitting up.
“What’s that smell?” she asked finally.
“Camphor oil,” he said. “Put some on you last night, after. And some more this morning. Should keep us sane – well, saner until we can find a cure for this puppy.”
“Yeah, speaking of,” Max said, pulling the sheets around her and swinging her legs off the bed. “What the hell was all that about?”
“All what, Maxie?” Alec shot her a look of studied innocence, and tossed her clothes to her.
“You know what!” she snapped, gesturing for him to turn around so she could get dressed. He raised an eyebrow, which clearly meant ‘Dude, after what we’ve done you don’t want me to see you putting your clothes on? Freak.’ But he obliged anyway. “The handcuffs and the gag and…everything!”
“Told you Maxie,” he said to the living room as Max pulled her clothes on. “Just wanted to try something different. I was fed up of coming out of sex looking like I’d been combat training.”
“Yeah, right,” Max snorted. “I bet you just get off having girls tied up and at your mercy. I wouldn’t put it past you to like something twisted like that.”
“How many times did you come last night?” Alec asked, turning to face her again as she did the button on her fly.
“Why? Need an ego boost? Excuse me if I don’t start writing sonnets to your technique.”
“How many times, Maxie?” he asked again, insistently. Max didn’t answer. She didn’t know. Towards the end it had been difficult to tell where one orgasm had ended and another began. “I came four times.”
“Whoop-de-doo.” Max folded her arms. “Am I supposed to be impressed by your stamina?”
“You’re missing the point!” Alec snarled, slamming his fist into the wall, and despite it all Max flinched slightly. “Last night wasn’t about me getting off. You seem to have gotten it into your head that I’m some kind of rapist. That I don’t care about anything but me. I told you at Manticore, and I’ll tell you again. I’m not that guy. I hope you’ve learned, Maxie, because I’m learning one hell of a lot about you.”
He turned and disappeared into the living room, Max trailing behind him.
“Like what?” she demanded, as he pulled his jacket on. He shot her a glare.
“I used to like you, Maxie,” he said, “but it turns out the girl I liked is just hiding the psycho you really are.” He grabbed his keys and jerked his head towards the door. “Come on. I’ve got somewhere to be.”