Max/Alec heatfic (Complete)
Title: Hold Me Now (I Need To Feel Relief)
Author: kinkynicky
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Max/Alec (Dark Angel)
Word Count: 9,213 - Posted In Three Parts
Summary: It’s not surprising really, that they go into heat at the same time. They were paired by Manticore for reproduction, perfect for one another, at least in a physical capacity.
Warnings: If the idea of people going into heat, having lots of unprotected sex, nesting and eventually procreating rampantly makes you uncomfortable…blame Heidi and remember I am undeniably innocent in all of this.
Notes: Canon Dark Angel states that Max goes into heat three times I year. Well, I say screw that…because once a month makes for more porn.
More notes: I really am innocent in all of this.
Written for onelittlesleep
Beta’d by lunaserenade
Banner made by candycentric
Manip by ellashy
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Part One
Hold me now I need to feel relief, Like I never wanted anything.
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The first time it happens she thinks it’s just her, like it’s always been, doesn’t think to assume otherwise, just shuts herself away and tries to wait for it to pass, clenches and unclenches her fists, keeps them by her sides. She used to fill the bath up cold and climb inside, teeth chattering, fingers and toes going numb, but it’s no use, the swell and throb of heat between her legs doesn’t calm, doesn’t shift at all, and the cold isn’t even a distraction from it anymore.
Now she barricades the door, shoves all her furniture against it, a make-shift dam between her and a flood of men. All of them; doesn’t matter who they are, she wants and she needs and her instincts tell her it’s something they can give.
She can’t do that to herself, refuses to, and the barricade works, mostly. She’ll claw and pull when she gets really desperate, when the throbbing and the need gets too much, but it doesn’t take long for her to come back to herself, catch her breath and shove it all back into place, not even halfway out.
She thinks it’s sturdy, thinks it’s safe.
Then he bursts in.
Alec. Looking startled, scared; vulnerable like she’s never seen him but when his eyes land on her it all falls away, his gaze darkening, his jaw clenching as he just stands and stares at her from amidst a pile of broken drawers, bed panels. She can’t help but stare back, throbbing between her legs worse than before, can’t help but notice the width of his shoulders and the line of his jaw.
“Fuck.” He says it under his breath but it echoes around her and then he’s tackling her down onto the floor and attacking her with his mouth, pulling at her clothes and she’s right there with him, can feel his heat, just like her own, overpowering, hungry.
The look in his eyes tells her he came for help but his plans have changed, he fumbles with his belt and hers, mutters something about girls in belts and why not just wear a damn skirt? She wants him to shut up, needs him inside - she’s burning up and it hurts. His mouth seers against hers and it’s Alec, for fuck’s sake, but it’s impossibly perfect and he tastes and feels and wants just like she needs him to.
There’s no prep once he’s got her open to him, he can see she’s wet, can smell her all around him and he just wants inside, shoves and tugs at her hair and she yelps and shudders when he’s all the way in, lets out a low, rumbling groan and wraps her legs around him, squeezing.
“Fuck, fuck…do it, move, now, now...” she could cry, thinks she might be already but it doesn’t matter, none of it matters because the throbbing is building, the heat climbing finally, going somewhere for the first time in hours, heading, thankfully, for what feels like release.
It’s frantic and hard, there’s no finesse, no cute words or caressing, no real kisses, but he’s mouthing at her neck and snapping his hips fast and determined, holding one hip, gripping a bruising force into her skin and pulling hard where his other hand is tangled up in her hair.
She comes around a strangled, desperate moan, refuses to let it be his name that leaves her lips, lets out pleased, keening whines of yes and fuck instead, feels him tug even harder on her hair as her muscles tighten around him. He keeps up the tight hold even after she’s finished and it stings, aches even, but she doesn’t have the energy to make him let go.
Alec doesn’t stop the fast-paced thrusts, doesn’t slow or quicken or look as if he’s anywhere near close to coming and, momentarily sated, she thinks about shoving him off but then it hits her again, either the heat or the look on his face but she’s ready to come again all of a sudden.
It’s rapid and not a chore, not a struggle to reach the next climax. She’s hot and this, it’s working, the feel of him and his smell, the noises he’s making, the noises they’re making as he pulls out and slams back in, unapologetic and still so him in every sense.
“Alec…” she doesn’t realise she’s lost that battle until his name’s already left her lips too many times and then she whines, annoyed with herself and lashes out a little, turns her head to bite, hard, at his forearm, hears him hiss, whines as he curses and pulls his hand away from her head, his fingers catching only slightly on the damp hair they’d tangled up in.
He gets rough in return, his newly-unoccupied hand sliding between his hip and her thigh to shift her leg, hold her open for him as his thrusts get more furious, more frantic. They’re both breathing hard, laboured, like they’re normal, like nothing about them is inhuman and this wasn’t all brought on by animal instinct genetically spliced into their DNA.
She doesn’t want to think about it, but thinking of anything else - laid out underneath him, sweating and panting and coming again just from having him inside her - would involve acknowledging the feeling of completion she keeps catching waves of, more than release, more than satisfaction. Something that’s never been there before.
He takes so long she thinks maybe he can’t come but then he does, loud and hard, lets go of her thigh to slam his fist down to the floor, his face twisting from the snarl to an angry frown and then softening completely. Eyes closed he holds himself above her, tiny rivulets of sweat dripping from his hair as if he’s been stood in the rain.
When his eyes open they meet hers like a slow burning fire and he blinks, twice and leans down to nuzzle, contented, at her throat before pulling out with a lazy roll to lie beside her.
They say nothing for what feels like hours, but it’s comfortable, relaxing, and if she feels the need to slide closer, just be near and touch him a little, she doesn’t voice it, stays where she is until it gets too much again.
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They fuck again four times before the nights over and he leaves in the early hours of the morning. They don’t say anything or even really look at each other, part of her wishes she was asleep already so he could slip away without the awkwardness, but he doesn’t make a joke or throw sarcasm in her direction and she wants to thank him for it but knows she won’t.
Sleep comes easy even on the hard floor and she barely hears the shift and click of him leaving the apartment. She doesn’t wake until the middle of the following afternoon. She’s hours late for work but Normal doesn’t mention it and she frowns when she picks up her clipboard and realises that Alec’s taken all of her morning deliveries on top of his own.
He doesn’t mention it the next time they see each other, so she doesn’t either. Cindy watches them with a quiet curiosity but Max shrugs her off before she can even ask.
They all stop for lunch on the dingy tables in the back room and without thinking Max answers one of Sketchy’s questions with a dig at Alec, too harsh maybe, and she’s hit with the sudden horrific notion that he might announce what happened last night just to spite her, but instead he tears off a piece of his food and flings it in her direction, nudges Sketchy for laughing.
It’s uncomfortably normal that nothing seems to have changed and Max wonders when the fallout will arrive.
Twenty nine days later he’s at her door before the heat even hits, holds her against the wall breathing her in, waiting, and this time she thinks maybe she wants him in a way that’s more than just heat, thinks maybe he knows it, and she doesn’t fight when he works his hands inside her jeans.
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Five months later it’s become routine, an occurrence that seems almost natural.
It’s not surprising really, that they go into heat at the same time. They were paired by Manticore for reproduction, perfect for one another, at least in a physical capacity. She likes to say she hates him, loves to say it to his face, throw that out there so he knows - but then they’re in heat and for a while, she’s not capable of pretending.
So they fuck, lots, and she’ll come three times while he fucks her hard, desperate, biting and rambling, groaning and sweating. It’s not that he’s an expert who just hits her spot; she doesn’t come three times before him because he knows exactly where to touch her. It’s just that it takes him so long when they're like this, every time.
She’d be sore, maybe, if she were human, but her body can handle him, can just keep rolling with it as he ruts desperately, comes a few times usually and then he’s done, groaning with a look on his face so intense she’s sure he’s hurting a little.
Tonight she made him stop, shoved him to his back and took him in her mouth, the taste of her on him, their smell. Had to use her strength to stop him thrusting up, choking her, and when he came he had that look, that maybe-pain written all over his face.
So now she’s making him breakfast in the middle of the night.
Only cereal, that’s all she has, and she tells herself that’s all she’d make him anyway, even if they had other stuff, but that’s probably a lie like the rest of it. He didn’t ask her for food but she kind of wants to get some for him, he’s so tired now and the idea of the maybe-hurt, it makes her want to…take care of him a little. But it’s only pity.
And if she thinks about telling him he can bring some stuff here sometimes, make himself a little more at home, that’s only because of the need, because of the way they were designed. It has nothing to do with anything else, nothing to do with her or him.
He shifts on the bed, breathes in deep and she’s aware, her heightened sense of hearing and her temporarily heightened sense of him. He smiles when she takes the food to him and gives her this look but she ignores it, turns her back to him and pulls up her knees.
Tomorrow will be better, they’ve fucked it out of their systems now, probably, so they can go back to normal for another month, can avoid each others eyes when conversation turns serious, and they’ll both ignore the way she clutches at him when she comes, tells him how well they fit. They’ll both pretend.
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She wakes up to find him curled around her, his breath against the back of her neck and one warm, protective hand pressed into her stomach. The thought makes her panic, the idea of him wanting to touch her there, to guard that part of her and the reason for an instinct like that.
Because they’re just not that. They’re not. Maybe it’s more than something they’re just dealing with together but he’s supposed to leave when it’s over and let her pretend. There was a time when she envisioned making normal with kids and a better job than what she has now, in a better world, but it wasn’t with Alec, it was with Logan. Except that its not Logan she wants anymore and she’s confused and really not as heartbroken about that as she thinks she should be. The callousness of it makes her feel less human than she already does and she can’t hold the surge of frustration in when Alec starts to wake, can’t help but want to kick him out of her bed and hold him at arms length while she finds an answer.
“Jesus, Alec. Get off.”” she breathes, huffing and shouldering him away. The annoyance leaks out in her voice and he makes a half-awake sound as he pulls away.
He looks resigned instead of angry and she feels a swell of guilt, watches him roll out of her bed with weary eyes. His clothes are pulled and torn, dirty enough that, if it was her, she’d refuse to wear them, but he tugs them on and leaves without looking at her, and for some reason it makes her want to cry.
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She’s supposed to be over it this morning, back to normal like every other month. He won’t really look at her, still annoyed about getting kicked out, but she can’t help but sway towards him when he gets close, follow him to his locker as he pulls out his gear. He ignores her, slams the metal door shut so hard it rings across the entire floor and then he’s gone, brushing past her and scooping up his deliveries without even a glance.
She does the same, feigning disinterest and watches him ride away in the opposite direction. Since she’s known him it’s always been her holding the grudges, offering ignorance instead of support - she doesn’t know how long he can keep this up for.
After so long working for Jam Pony she knows her way around, usually works on a kind of autopilot from one address to another, but today it’s not the same, she can’t concentrate, rides three blocks before realising she’s missed a delivery back where she just came from, stands too long outside of one place without even knocking for a signature because she can hear a baby crying inside. It’s not the kind of thing that’s ever distracted her until now.
It gets worse when she passes the run-down park; rusty slide and climbing frame, blonde little twig of a boy chasing a girl twice his size while other kids do the rounds from the creaky swings to the seesaw. There’s a woman bouncing a little bundle on her lap while she watches another boy, blonde tufts sticking out from the blanket and then two little arms, reaching blindly for their mother.
Max doesn’t really think about it, lets one hand slide up underneath her tank top to rest on her stomach, mimic Alec’s hand there earlier, feel the skin, smooth and warm, wishes she didn’t hate how empty it feels in there. She aches, but it’s different, not sex but fullness that she wants, craves, feels the inkling of something maternal inside her that’s maybe been building for a while.
This world isn’t what it should be, isn’t the kind of place for a baby; but she could do it, could protect the way a mother is supposed to, and love. She has no memory of motherly love, nothing to go on except her body and her gut, but she could do it.
Her instincts about Alec mean nothing then, standing in the street with her empty womb, aching, because she doesn’t know how he’d react if he could hear her thoughts, doesn’t know if his hand on her meant what she thinks it meant. Can’t be sure, even as in touch with him as she is.
And all of a sudden he’s there, she senses him a few feet behind her instead of where he’s supposed to be, across town. The thought of him there, watching, it makes her shake a little, makes her breathing quicken. When she turns he’s just standing there, head cocked; not leaning, no crossed-arms and raised brow, he’s just watching, hands by his sides.
He says “I can smell you.” Has a curious look on his face when she just nods, turns back to the kids she was watching. She can feel his eyes on her, knows they won’t shift to the kids, won’t soften at the sight of the toddler holding her arms out to her mother. The heat affects them differently like that.
“You’re supposed to be better now.” He’s closer, just a step behind her, reaching out but not quite touching, his hands clenching, unclenching, fingers barely brushing her clothes. Doesn’t know if she wants him to.
She does.
“I think we’ve…” her voice breaks and she has to take a breath, her confusion fuelled by his, rolling off him as he just stands there. She’s never felt so in touch with him before, or any other transgenic, and all at once it worries and thrills her, makes her want to cry and he looks odd, concerned. “I think we’re mated.”
It sounds so stupid out loud and a few months ago that would’ve been his cue for something witty and sarcastic, something cutting that she could only respond to with her fists, instead when she turns back to him his eyes are open and honest. “D’you think we should stop?”
She’s not sure she could, doesn’t remember how to feel like she doesn’t want him, doesn’t remember how to pretend that he’s not what she needs. She hasn’t seen Logan in weeks, wants to miss him but she can’t. Alec’s scent, his shampoo, his cologne, the salt of his skin, it all surrounds her, makes her need in a way she’s never experience out of heat.
“I think…I need…” His name follows in a whisper and then she’s got him by the neck, forceful but not rough, pulling him, whining under her breath, curling into him as his hands find her waist. He’s moving, pulling her with him until she’s up against the wall, cold bricks digging into her back as his mouth opens against hers.
There’s people and children yards away, they’re not hidden from view, not being discreet, he’s pressing into her, their mouths clashing and it’s not desperate-needy with heat; it’s desperate-needy with actual need and she’s aware of those children, of their innocent eyes, but she can’t make herself let go, doesn’t want to stop his hands clenching at her sides, or his tongue, exploring her mouth and unapologetically tasting her.
It’s just kissing. Frantic and a little sloppy, yes, but it’s still just kissing. After six months of fucking him with his mouth at her neck, shoulder, hairline, she’s surprised how much it’s enough to just have his lips on hers.
When he pulls away it seems like hours have passed, her bike’s leaning up against the wall a few feet from them where she left it and his…well, she doesn’t know where his is and he doesn’t give her room to care, presses himself into her again, his nose in the crook of her neck, his hands smoothing along her sides. “It’ll be okay.”
She believes him, is surprisingly grateful for him once again. He takes her packages, her clipboard, shoves her in the direction of home and, tired, she goes with little protest.
She waits for him, tries to gather her head, pokes at her stomach for answers to this new feeling. He’s back quicker than she expected, no bike, no packages, no clipboard, stands in the doorway and looks at her. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he gives up and grabs her, pulls her to him. This time they don’t kiss, they don’t fuck. He just whispers questions she can’t answer while he removes their clothes, pulls her into bed in the middle of the day and wraps himself around her. She falls asleep like that, a reversal of the way she woke up.
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Part Two
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