Fic: DA - Mr. Sexy
TITLE: Mr. Sexy
FANDOM: Dark Angel
CHARACTERS: Max, Biggs, Alec & OC
TYPE: Humor/Gen
WORD COUNT: 654
RATING: PG
STATUS: Ccomplete!
SUMMARY: "She now had full view of a sight Max knew wouldn’t be forgotten even with years of extensive therapy. This was the stuff nightmares were made of."
Authors Note: Written for the Weekly Prompt Challenge - 'Wrong' - over at Raising Hell.
Typically only requiring two or three hours a night of rest, Max knew it wouldn’t have even been a problem on another day. But, today wasn’t just any other day. She hadn’t gotten a solid two hours of sleep in a week and a half due to the recent influx of new Transgenics and subsequent food and water shortages. Dead tired didn’t even begin to cover the lethargy she felt, until today had finally quieted down enough for her to take a short break from playing Commander in Charge. All morning she had been looking forward to those six beautiful hours of ‘rack time’ she had decided to treat herself with. It all went according to plan until - what felt like only moments after laying down - a steady, thumping beat had woken her up from her much needed afternoon nap.
Max was not a happy camper.
She tore down the hallway and stormed down the stairs, vowing a lifetime of latrine duty to whoever had decided to throw their own personal concert at three-in-the-freaking-afternoon. Like they needed the exposure anyway. People already thought they were nuts, no reason to go giving them more ammunition to throw their way.
And what in the hell was that asinine music?
Continuing to plot unfathomable revenge against whoever had planned this impromptu jam session, she started to slow as she suddenly got an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. In fact, if she didn’t know, she’d swear that voice belonged to-
She didn’t get a chance to finish the thought. The final building had been passed and she now had full view of a sight Max knew wouldn’t be forgotten even with years of extensive therapy. This was the stuff nightmares were made of.
Alec. Was on stage. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Alec. Was on stage. Wearing gold pants. Gold pants that looked like they had practically been painted on they were so snug. Letting her eyes slowly work their way from the combat boots and past his muscled thighs, they again stopped to take in his chest, which was partially covered by a neon blue, sleeveless shirt - also skin tight - which did not reach the top of his pants, allowing a good three inches of toned stomach to show through. Each wrist had a studded leather band wrapped around, his eyes were lined in black and the entire ensemble was topped with a cowboy hat perched over his head.
Max dazedly took a few steps forward, but didn’t attempt to push through the array of screaming, jumping and - is that one crying? - girls all trying to get to the front of the line. Instead, she stayed towards the back of the large group, ending up right between Biggs and OC, whose faces still held the shocked and astonished looks that had been there since seeing Alec walk out in from behind the temporary tarp set up for the occasion.
Biggs looked toward Max and struggled to find the right words to say in such a situation, until finally settling on ones that again portrayed his baffled wonder of seeing his ex CO dancing and jumping around in skin-tight gold pants. "I told him what you said," he started. "About needing to somehow raise money. And thinking outside the box, instead of stealing anymore, but . . . I never thought . . ." He shook his head lightly in bewilderment, at a complete loss for words.
"That is just so . . ." Max grimaced, and stood with wide eyes and dropped jaw as Alec proceeded to drop to his hands and knees, bumping and grinding on the floor.
OC finally stepped in to help her. "Wrong, sugar. The word you’re looking for, is ‘wrong.’"
Biggs could only nod as Alec started into the last verse:
"I’m. Too sexy for my shirt. Too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts . . ."
FANDOM: Dark Angel
CHARACTERS: Max, Biggs, Alec & OC
TYPE: Humor/Gen
WORD COUNT: 654
RATING: PG
STATUS: Ccomplete!
SUMMARY: "She now had full view of a sight Max knew wouldn’t be forgotten even with years of extensive therapy. This was the stuff nightmares were made of."
Authors Note: Written for the Weekly Prompt Challenge - 'Wrong' - over at Raising Hell.
Typically only requiring two or three hours a night of rest, Max knew it wouldn’t have even been a problem on another day. But, today wasn’t just any other day. She hadn’t gotten a solid two hours of sleep in a week and a half due to the recent influx of new Transgenics and subsequent food and water shortages. Dead tired didn’t even begin to cover the lethargy she felt, until today had finally quieted down enough for her to take a short break from playing Commander in Charge. All morning she had been looking forward to those six beautiful hours of ‘rack time’ she had decided to treat herself with. It all went according to plan until - what felt like only moments after laying down - a steady, thumping beat had woken her up from her much needed afternoon nap.
Max was not a happy camper.
She tore down the hallway and stormed down the stairs, vowing a lifetime of latrine duty to whoever had decided to throw their own personal concert at three-in-the-freaking-afternoon. Like they needed the exposure anyway. People already thought they were nuts, no reason to go giving them more ammunition to throw their way.
And what in the hell was that asinine music?
Continuing to plot unfathomable revenge against whoever had planned this impromptu jam session, she started to slow as she suddenly got an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. In fact, if she didn’t know, she’d swear that voice belonged to-
She didn’t get a chance to finish the thought. The final building had been passed and she now had full view of a sight Max knew wouldn’t be forgotten even with years of extensive therapy. This was the stuff nightmares were made of.
Alec. Was on stage. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Alec. Was on stage. Wearing gold pants. Gold pants that looked like they had practically been painted on they were so snug. Letting her eyes slowly work their way from the combat boots and past his muscled thighs, they again stopped to take in his chest, which was partially covered by a neon blue, sleeveless shirt - also skin tight - which did not reach the top of his pants, allowing a good three inches of toned stomach to show through. Each wrist had a studded leather band wrapped around, his eyes were lined in black and the entire ensemble was topped with a cowboy hat perched over his head.
Max dazedly took a few steps forward, but didn’t attempt to push through the array of screaming, jumping and - is that one crying? - girls all trying to get to the front of the line. Instead, she stayed towards the back of the large group, ending up right between Biggs and OC, whose faces still held the shocked and astonished looks that had been there since seeing Alec walk out in from behind the temporary tarp set up for the occasion.
Biggs looked toward Max and struggled to find the right words to say in such a situation, until finally settling on ones that again portrayed his baffled wonder of seeing his ex CO dancing and jumping around in skin-tight gold pants. "I told him what you said," he started. "About needing to somehow raise money. And thinking outside the box, instead of stealing anymore, but . . . I never thought . . ." He shook his head lightly in bewilderment, at a complete loss for words.
"That is just so . . ." Max grimaced, and stood with wide eyes and dropped jaw as Alec proceeded to drop to his hands and knees, bumping and grinding on the floor.
OC finally stepped in to help her. "Wrong, sugar. The word you’re looking for, is ‘wrong.’"
Biggs could only nod as Alec started into the last verse:
"I’m. Too sexy for my shirt. Too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts . . ."