not exactly what you had in mind, (1/1)
title: not exactly what you had in mind
rating: pg-13
pairing: alice/hatter
spoilers: all
disclaimer: do i give credit to lewis carroll or nick willing? either way, they're not mine.
writer's note: taking a break from studying for statistics (blech).
summary: hatter is pretty sure how he likes alice best.
He likes her best when she's barefoot, in one of his shirts. That's not true; actually, he likes her all the time, whatever she's wearing, but he prefers it when she's not wearing much, and his favourite is when she's not wearing shoes. He's not sure why, except that when she moves, she looks a little like she's dancing. Which she is, or at least she eventually is, but that's moot, because he's usually the one who starts it, and he's willing to admit such when his hand is on her waist and they're spinning through her apartment.
He likes her best all the time, but he really likes it when she's laughing like this, hair flying, carefree, not being chased by Suits or the Jabberwock or even Charlie, ass-backwards on Guinevere, trying to figure out how he mucked it up. When she's looking at him like he's crazy, but that's all right, because he's been mad as a box of frogs since the first day she met him and he's never yet led her astray - well, not on purpose, at least. When he knows, with the head-spinning, one step from flying, utterly convincing clarity that must be Confidence, that he's the reason she's smiling.
He likes her best when she's breathing, whether deep and evenly in the comfortable arms of sleep or quick and labored when his lips are on her neck or long and laughing with a trill and a giggle that makes her look like a little girl. He likes her best when she's smiling, or pulling his hair, or calling him names, or asking if he's lost his mind, or not saying anything at all. When they're watching television, which he is unequivocally obsessed with, on the sofa, with her feet curled and tucked and her shoulders under his arm, her head against his neck. When she dozes during the boring shows that he watches just because there are people! in the box! doing silly things! and he still can't figure out how. When she tells him it's time for bed by taking off her shirt. Yes. He likes that best of all.
He likes her best right now, with one of his hats on her head, tipped a little bit sideways because she hasn't moved it from where he dropped it an hour ago. She's cooking, which is weird, because usually she doesn't, but whatever she's doing smells really good and she's barefoot which means he's not going to say anything about the relative normality of the activity, mostly because he thinks she might look at him funny and then he'll have to forget about it anyway. The fact that she's cooking also means he can't make her dance with him, but really, it smells really good, and he'd rather sit on the counter and kick his legs about and be a general nuisance in other ways, if it means she will feed him soon. Which she does, spoonfuls of this, and that, and ooh, beans - which are delicious, and shouldn't be that good, it's criminal. When she's done, there's soup, and he's not quite sure how it got there, but she wears his hat to the table, and that's enough for him.
Later, when he's clearing up the last of the tea things, she catches his arm and kisses the inside of his wrist, just once, before letting go, and he revises again how he likes her best, which he seems to do at least twenty times a day. He used to think he would never feel as much as the Oysters, never be capable of knowing all of their emotions. But Alice, knowing Alice, loving Alice, whether or not he'll admit that to himself or her, has him feeling more than he was ready for, and he's not sure how to tell her that. What does he say? How does he start? I like you best when you're not wearing pants doesn't seem to be the most favorable option, but for a while it's all he's got.
In the end, she beats him to it - catching him right out of the shower with a muttered "I like you best, you know, when you're only wearing a towel," and it's the most blissful thing he's ever heard. He kisses her against the doorjamb, one hand holding his towel around his waist and the other on her cheek, and thinks that perhaps he likes her best like this, with him, of all.
rating: pg-13
pairing: alice/hatter
spoilers: all
disclaimer: do i give credit to lewis carroll or nick willing? either way, they're not mine.
writer's note: taking a break from studying for statistics (blech).
summary: hatter is pretty sure how he likes alice best.
He likes her best when she's barefoot, in one of his shirts. That's not true; actually, he likes her all the time, whatever she's wearing, but he prefers it when she's not wearing much, and his favourite is when she's not wearing shoes. He's not sure why, except that when she moves, she looks a little like she's dancing. Which she is, or at least she eventually is, but that's moot, because he's usually the one who starts it, and he's willing to admit such when his hand is on her waist and they're spinning through her apartment.
He likes her best all the time, but he really likes it when she's laughing like this, hair flying, carefree, not being chased by Suits or the Jabberwock or even Charlie, ass-backwards on Guinevere, trying to figure out how he mucked it up. When she's looking at him like he's crazy, but that's all right, because he's been mad as a box of frogs since the first day she met him and he's never yet led her astray - well, not on purpose, at least. When he knows, with the head-spinning, one step from flying, utterly convincing clarity that must be Confidence, that he's the reason she's smiling.
He likes her best when she's breathing, whether deep and evenly in the comfortable arms of sleep or quick and labored when his lips are on her neck or long and laughing with a trill and a giggle that makes her look like a little girl. He likes her best when she's smiling, or pulling his hair, or calling him names, or asking if he's lost his mind, or not saying anything at all. When they're watching television, which he is unequivocally obsessed with, on the sofa, with her feet curled and tucked and her shoulders under his arm, her head against his neck. When she dozes during the boring shows that he watches just because there are people! in the box! doing silly things! and he still can't figure out how. When she tells him it's time for bed by taking off her shirt. Yes. He likes that best of all.
He likes her best right now, with one of his hats on her head, tipped a little bit sideways because she hasn't moved it from where he dropped it an hour ago. She's cooking, which is weird, because usually she doesn't, but whatever she's doing smells really good and she's barefoot which means he's not going to say anything about the relative normality of the activity, mostly because he thinks she might look at him funny and then he'll have to forget about it anyway. The fact that she's cooking also means he can't make her dance with him, but really, it smells really good, and he'd rather sit on the counter and kick his legs about and be a general nuisance in other ways, if it means she will feed him soon. Which she does, spoonfuls of this, and that, and ooh, beans - which are delicious, and shouldn't be that good, it's criminal. When she's done, there's soup, and he's not quite sure how it got there, but she wears his hat to the table, and that's enough for him.
Later, when he's clearing up the last of the tea things, she catches his arm and kisses the inside of his wrist, just once, before letting go, and he revises again how he likes her best, which he seems to do at least twenty times a day. He used to think he would never feel as much as the Oysters, never be capable of knowing all of their emotions. But Alice, knowing Alice, loving Alice, whether or not he'll admit that to himself or her, has him feeling more than he was ready for, and he's not sure how to tell her that. What does he say? How does he start? I like you best when you're not wearing pants doesn't seem to be the most favorable option, but for a while it's all he's got.
In the end, she beats him to it - catching him right out of the shower with a muttered "I like you best, you know, when you're only wearing a towel," and it's the most blissful thing he's ever heard. He kisses her against the doorjamb, one hand holding his towel around his waist and the other on her cheek, and thinks that perhaps he likes her best like this, with him, of all.