"denial" challenge
Title: Callous
Fandom: Dark Angel
Characters: Max Guevera and Logan Cale
Prompt: Denial
Word Count: 620
Rating: R
Summary: It could have been any male touching her skin to make her feel weak in the knees. It could have been any combination of scents to make her go crazy. It could have been any male's voice, asking her what was up, to make her heart melt, touched that he cared.
Author's Notes: Taking place in season one, probably at some point after Rising.
She doesn't care.
Max keeps telling herself that as she rides on her motorcycle to Logan's apartment after he's called her and told her that he's got some information about her siblings and she should come over right away to check it out. She protested, knowing it wouldn't be a good idea to see him right now because she's in heat and doesn't want him to see her wild-eyed and crazed and filled with lust. Worse yet, she doesn't want to lose the little self control she's holding onto with a death grip and jump on him, attacking him with her mouth as soon as she sees him.
She gets to his apartment and inside and her already strung-out senses are heightened and she can see everything, smell everything, hear everything, she can almost even almost taste and feel everything that is him. She breathes through her mouth as he comes closer to her because she knows if she smells him - the combination of his sweat and skin and shampoo and the detergent he uses to wash his clothes - she'll completely lose it.
He speaks and she doesn't listen, can't listen to a word he's saying. He notices and asks her what's wrong, frowning, concerned.
She says it's nothing, she's not about to tell him about this little side effect of her genetics. She says something along the lines of "I'm just not feeling so hot" and turns to go, saying she'll back tomorrow to look at whatever it is he's trying to show her.
She's almost to the door when he grabs her, reaching for her arm but getting her wrist instead, and she can feel her knees buckle as his fingers brush the bare skin there.
She doesn't look at him, but hears the concern in his voice as he asks her again what's up. She says it's nothing, she's fine, and to please just leave her alone.
He backs off, letting her go, and as she closes the door she gets a glimpse of his eyes, seeing confusion, rejection, sadness there.
She gets back on her bike, intending to ride far and long, to run away from him and his damn concern and blue-green eyes and spiky blonde hair and warm, slow smile.
She doesn't care, she doesn't care, she doesn't care.
It could have been any male touching her skin to make her feel weak in the knees. It could have been any combination of scents to make her go crazy. It could have been any male's voice, asking her what was up, to make her heart melt, touched that he cared.
She doesn't care. Can't care. Won't care.
To prove this to herself she goes out late that night to a club in a part of town not for the faint of heart. Finds a guy with black hair and nearly black eyes and tanned skin and a tribal armband tattoo on his bicep, someone who doesn't look or sound or smell anything like Logan. Takes him to a sleazy motel and nearly fucks him into the mattress. It is what it is, hard and fast and desperate, lacking any sort of passion or caring.
Because she doesn't care.
And she tells herself that again and again, as she leaves and goes home and cries as she showers, trying to scrub herself clean, trying not to hear his words, his voice, asking her what was wrong, repeating in her head.
Even if she did care, she couldn't let him in, couldn't let him care. Because once he found out the truth, who she really was, he was bound to run away.
And that would hurt too much for her to let it happen.
Fandom: Dark Angel
Characters: Max Guevera and Logan Cale
Prompt: Denial
Word Count: 620
Rating: R
Summary: It could have been any male touching her skin to make her feel weak in the knees. It could have been any combination of scents to make her go crazy. It could have been any male's voice, asking her what was up, to make her heart melt, touched that he cared.
Author's Notes: Taking place in season one, probably at some point after Rising.
She doesn't care.
Max keeps telling herself that as she rides on her motorcycle to Logan's apartment after he's called her and told her that he's got some information about her siblings and she should come over right away to check it out. She protested, knowing it wouldn't be a good idea to see him right now because she's in heat and doesn't want him to see her wild-eyed and crazed and filled with lust. Worse yet, she doesn't want to lose the little self control she's holding onto with a death grip and jump on him, attacking him with her mouth as soon as she sees him.
She gets to his apartment and inside and her already strung-out senses are heightened and she can see everything, smell everything, hear everything, she can almost even almost taste and feel everything that is him. She breathes through her mouth as he comes closer to her because she knows if she smells him - the combination of his sweat and skin and shampoo and the detergent he uses to wash his clothes - she'll completely lose it.
He speaks and she doesn't listen, can't listen to a word he's saying. He notices and asks her what's wrong, frowning, concerned.
She says it's nothing, she's not about to tell him about this little side effect of her genetics. She says something along the lines of "I'm just not feeling so hot" and turns to go, saying she'll back tomorrow to look at whatever it is he's trying to show her.
She's almost to the door when he grabs her, reaching for her arm but getting her wrist instead, and she can feel her knees buckle as his fingers brush the bare skin there.
She doesn't look at him, but hears the concern in his voice as he asks her again what's up. She says it's nothing, she's fine, and to please just leave her alone.
He backs off, letting her go, and as she closes the door she gets a glimpse of his eyes, seeing confusion, rejection, sadness there.
She gets back on her bike, intending to ride far and long, to run away from him and his damn concern and blue-green eyes and spiky blonde hair and warm, slow smile.
She doesn't care, she doesn't care, she doesn't care.
It could have been any male touching her skin to make her feel weak in the knees. It could have been any combination of scents to make her go crazy. It could have been any male's voice, asking her what was up, to make her heart melt, touched that he cared.
She doesn't care. Can't care. Won't care.
To prove this to herself she goes out late that night to a club in a part of town not for the faint of heart. Finds a guy with black hair and nearly black eyes and tanned skin and a tribal armband tattoo on his bicep, someone who doesn't look or sound or smell anything like Logan. Takes him to a sleazy motel and nearly fucks him into the mattress. It is what it is, hard and fast and desperate, lacking any sort of passion or caring.
Because she doesn't care.
And she tells herself that again and again, as she leaves and goes home and cries as she showers, trying to scrub herself clean, trying not to hear his words, his voice, asking her what was wrong, repeating in her head.
Even if she did care, she couldn't let him in, couldn't let him care. Because once he found out the truth, who she really was, he was bound to run away.
And that would hurt too much for her to let it happen.