Lost Fanfiction: The Shades of Grey (Alex/Richard)
Title: The Shades of Grey
Rating: PG-13 (for mild sexuality)
Pairing: Alex/Richard
Words: 1,000
Summary: Late at night, Alex comes home from an encounter in the jungle.
Prompt: 50ficlets #1 black & white
Two o'clock in the morning, maybe three. The torches have long been extinguished, battle plans set, rifles cleaned. Alex paces through the DHARMA bunkers silently, her bare feet cooled as they brush the dewy night grass. The breeze swirls around her, still oppressively warm despite the lateness of the hour, densely humid and thick with the scent of smoke and pheromones: Richard's scent. Alex can taste him on her lips, feel him in the places where his eager kisses bruised. She's sore, exhausted, but glad all the same. Now, the task is not getting caught.
She watches a similar shadow pace slowly through the trees; Richard, coming in from the other direction. Alex doesn't dare exchange a meaningful glance, let along a cautious touch, in case anyone is watching. Nearly everyone else is asleep at this hour, waiting for the mundane morning. There are vans to fix, research to conduct, supplies to log. The radio transmissions must be recorded. There are spies on the mainland in need of work. However, a few windows remain dimly lit: insomniacs curled up with books, staring at the ceiling, dreaming of life back home. Alex sees a candle burning in Juliet's bedroom, sees a slow moving figure that isn't Juliet lean across the bed. The flirtatious laughter is muffled but audible through the open window. More trouble, Alex predicts.
"Goodnight Alex," Richard tosses out. His eyes are warm for the instant that he looks at her.
They cannot get caught. Alex understands this as well as Richard does. She forces herself to wave non-committally, thinking of the seam Richard tore on her sleeve, the underwear she lost somewhere in the wilderness, too satiated to expend her energy looking for them. Her body is still hot, still wet, wanting more, but she knows better than to take the risk and follow Richard home, even though his expression extends the invitation. Alex thinks of the way he took her, down on the ground in the twilit valley, his shirt as a blanket beneath them, his mouth warm and needy on her skin. She shivers, watches Richard, then turns away. The look she throws over her shoulder is a promise and a question: tomorrow? Richard nods: same time, same place. "See you tomorrow," Richard adds, unable to help himself, and Alex shrugs as if it doesn't matter, though their stolen encounters mean the world.
The lights aren't on at the house she shares with her father, but as soon as Alex opens the door she can feel someone watching her. Ben's up late, sipping liquor he never normally touches, his hands splayed across the silent piano. There are pictures out, memories Ben never allows Alex to see. She stares sullenly at the box, at him, at the framed photograph of her deceased mother, who Ben will never talk about.
"I'm home," Alex announces, turning to go. She needs a shower, to wash the sweat and smell of sex from her body. She needs to slip into bed, dream of the encounter.
"Alex."
“Ben?” She replies with cold indifference.
"I was hoping we could talk," Ben tells her. This is the way he behaves when he's feeling sentimental, missing Annie or his mother. Alex knows about his losses, though he rarely talks to her about them.
She shrugs, and this time she's not faking her lack of concern. "Tomorrow. It's late. I’m tired.”
"And how is Karl?" Ben's anger is a sharp edge beneath the façade of calm. His expression shows no mercy when he turns to her. The moonlight makes his features more angular, pale. He looks dangerous. In all her years, Alex has seen him try to place his limitations on her, try to hem her in with pointless rules, but she’s never seen him turn on her the way he can to other people. Her certainty that he won’t makes her brave.
“No idea,” Alex responds breezily. It’s the truth.
Ben scowls. “I told you I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”
“I haven't seen him all day!”
“Alex -”
But she’s already gone, striding down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door. Alex sinks down onto her bed and waits for the tears to come, but the tantrum fades as quickly as it came. So what, her father doesn’t trust her? She gulps water from a bottle she’d left on her dresser earlier, but it doesn’t quench her thirst. When she hears Ben go to bed, Alex knows what to do. She changes clothes, hides the torn shirt in the closet to wash sometime when Ben isn’t hovering, then opens the window and is out in a flash. A few seconds later, she’s knocking on Richard’s door.
As though Richard read her mind, he’s standing there with his shirt open, an eyebrow cocked. He’s drinking red wine. The rich smell of it fills the front room.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Trouble with Ben?” Richard guesses, and when Alex nods he steps back to allow her entrance. When he shuts the door, he twists the lock. “It’s late, Alex. I was just getting ready for bed.”
“Me too?” Alex tries, and is rewarded with Richard’s gleaming grin.
“Sure.” His eyes reflect the heat Alex feels, and he reaches for her, pulling her into a kiss that tastes of sea and Merlot, then walks her back to the bedroom, his arm possessive around her waist. It’s a risk, but the danger adds something to the excitement.
“You’re sure it’s all right?” Richard asks as he slides off Alex’s jeans. “You’re sure you want to?”
Alex nods, not convinced she knows the meaning of the word “right”. She’s read Kant, Aristotle and Adam Smith, and still morality goes out the window when Richard slips his hand inside her shirt, looks warmly down at her with obvious wanting. She lives on an island where things are seen in black and white, and still, watching Richard unbuckle his trousers, Alex can decipher nothing through the shades of grey.
Rating: PG-13 (for mild sexuality)
Pairing: Alex/Richard
Words: 1,000
Summary: Late at night, Alex comes home from an encounter in the jungle.
Prompt: 50ficlets #1 black & white
Two o'clock in the morning, maybe three. The torches have long been extinguished, battle plans set, rifles cleaned. Alex paces through the DHARMA bunkers silently, her bare feet cooled as they brush the dewy night grass. The breeze swirls around her, still oppressively warm despite the lateness of the hour, densely humid and thick with the scent of smoke and pheromones: Richard's scent. Alex can taste him on her lips, feel him in the places where his eager kisses bruised. She's sore, exhausted, but glad all the same. Now, the task is not getting caught.
She watches a similar shadow pace slowly through the trees; Richard, coming in from the other direction. Alex doesn't dare exchange a meaningful glance, let along a cautious touch, in case anyone is watching. Nearly everyone else is asleep at this hour, waiting for the mundane morning. There are vans to fix, research to conduct, supplies to log. The radio transmissions must be recorded. There are spies on the mainland in need of work. However, a few windows remain dimly lit: insomniacs curled up with books, staring at the ceiling, dreaming of life back home. Alex sees a candle burning in Juliet's bedroom, sees a slow moving figure that isn't Juliet lean across the bed. The flirtatious laughter is muffled but audible through the open window. More trouble, Alex predicts.
"Goodnight Alex," Richard tosses out. His eyes are warm for the instant that he looks at her.
They cannot get caught. Alex understands this as well as Richard does. She forces herself to wave non-committally, thinking of the seam Richard tore on her sleeve, the underwear she lost somewhere in the wilderness, too satiated to expend her energy looking for them. Her body is still hot, still wet, wanting more, but she knows better than to take the risk and follow Richard home, even though his expression extends the invitation. Alex thinks of the way he took her, down on the ground in the twilit valley, his shirt as a blanket beneath them, his mouth warm and needy on her skin. She shivers, watches Richard, then turns away. The look she throws over her shoulder is a promise and a question: tomorrow? Richard nods: same time, same place. "See you tomorrow," Richard adds, unable to help himself, and Alex shrugs as if it doesn't matter, though their stolen encounters mean the world.
The lights aren't on at the house she shares with her father, but as soon as Alex opens the door she can feel someone watching her. Ben's up late, sipping liquor he never normally touches, his hands splayed across the silent piano. There are pictures out, memories Ben never allows Alex to see. She stares sullenly at the box, at him, at the framed photograph of her deceased mother, who Ben will never talk about.
"I'm home," Alex announces, turning to go. She needs a shower, to wash the sweat and smell of sex from her body. She needs to slip into bed, dream of the encounter.
"Alex."
“Ben?” She replies with cold indifference.
"I was hoping we could talk," Ben tells her. This is the way he behaves when he's feeling sentimental, missing Annie or his mother. Alex knows about his losses, though he rarely talks to her about them.
She shrugs, and this time she's not faking her lack of concern. "Tomorrow. It's late. I’m tired.”
"And how is Karl?" Ben's anger is a sharp edge beneath the façade of calm. His expression shows no mercy when he turns to her. The moonlight makes his features more angular, pale. He looks dangerous. In all her years, Alex has seen him try to place his limitations on her, try to hem her in with pointless rules, but she’s never seen him turn on her the way he can to other people. Her certainty that he won’t makes her brave.
“No idea,” Alex responds breezily. It’s the truth.
Ben scowls. “I told you I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”
“I haven't seen him all day!”
“Alex -”
But she’s already gone, striding down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door. Alex sinks down onto her bed and waits for the tears to come, but the tantrum fades as quickly as it came. So what, her father doesn’t trust her? She gulps water from a bottle she’d left on her dresser earlier, but it doesn’t quench her thirst. When she hears Ben go to bed, Alex knows what to do. She changes clothes, hides the torn shirt in the closet to wash sometime when Ben isn’t hovering, then opens the window and is out in a flash. A few seconds later, she’s knocking on Richard’s door.
As though Richard read her mind, he’s standing there with his shirt open, an eyebrow cocked. He’s drinking red wine. The rich smell of it fills the front room.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Trouble with Ben?” Richard guesses, and when Alex nods he steps back to allow her entrance. When he shuts the door, he twists the lock. “It’s late, Alex. I was just getting ready for bed.”
“Me too?” Alex tries, and is rewarded with Richard’s gleaming grin.
“Sure.” His eyes reflect the heat Alex feels, and he reaches for her, pulling her into a kiss that tastes of sea and Merlot, then walks her back to the bedroom, his arm possessive around her waist. It’s a risk, but the danger adds something to the excitement.
“You’re sure it’s all right?” Richard asks as he slides off Alex’s jeans. “You’re sure you want to?”
Alex nods, not convinced she knows the meaning of the word “right”. She’s read Kant, Aristotle and Adam Smith, and still morality goes out the window when Richard slips his hand inside her shirt, looks warmly down at her with obvious wanting. She lives on an island where things are seen in black and white, and still, watching Richard unbuckle his trousers, Alex can decipher nothing through the shades of grey.