Fic: Routine | Dark Angel | Alec/Max | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Routine
Fandom: Dark Angel
Pairing: Alec McDowell/Max Guevara
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,047
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: motorcycles, victory, slick, race, heat, rough, leather, alley
Summary: It's that time of the year again.
Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII.
Routine
The race isn't even half over when Max becomes acutely aware of the lightning singing along her nerves, her biology telling her that the whole reason she got herself into this idiotic stunt in the first place is because she's primed to fight and fuck, and not necessarily in that order. They've been through this before, her heat cycle getting in the way of standard operating procedures, causing her a world of grief, but at least Alec's not so cocky about it anymore, and that's a little relief to Max as she kicks her bike into a higher gear and roars around a curve, nearly cutting Alec off in the process.
If this is gonna end the way she suspects, then she'll be damned if she lets him win. No reason to stroke his ego, especially when he'll be between her legs in approximately five more minutes.
Counting down those minutes, Max shifts gears again and shoots forward, keeping her solid lead as they work their way through the city. A few more turns, a shortcut they both know about and take without hesitation, and they finally approach the finish line, a blind alley concealing the entrance to the compound.
Max shoots into the alley first-as if there was ever any doubt-bringing her bike to a stop with a turning skid, and by the time Alec shows up, she's already dismounted the bike and taken her helmet off. “What took you so long?” she taunts him, feeling the fire curling in her belly and the tendrils of tingling want snaking down her arms and legs.
Alec doesn't miss a beat, sniffing the air as soon as his helmet's off and giving her a sideways look with a raised eyebrow. “That time of the year again?” he ventures, knowing damn well that it must be. “No wonder you said 'yes' to this.”
But Max isn't having any of it. “Just shut up,” she orders him, grabbing him by the jacket and slamming him up against a brick wall, following with the press of her body against his and a searing kiss to make herself perfectly clear. “You know the routine,” she pants breathlessly against his lips, smelling and tasting the heat of his skin, the leather of his jacket, the bikes, all of it swirling together and driving her completely out of her mind with lust.
A light chuckle, and Alec nods, working his hands down to get his pants open before starting on hers. “You sure you want to do this here?”
“Fuck yes,” she answers before biting at his neck, little nips that are sure to leave marks-just the way she wants it. “Let 'em watch if they want.” The way she figures, if the people watching the camera feeds from the alley get an eyeful, so what? There's a distinct lack of good entertainment to be had these days, and a quick fuck in an alley is as good as high-quality porn, even if the audience does know the stars personally.
But all those thoughts go out the window when Alec flips their positions, pinning her against the wall as he tugs her pants down, pulling them off over one boot, and maneuvers her legs around his waist. She gasps when he slides into her, hot and slick and hard-thank fuck for pheromones-and starts to move quickly, shoving her up against the wall with every thrust.
She isn't gonna last long, the way her body is responding, skin on fire and muscles aching with need, every nerve ending sparking and flaring, but she doesn't even care, not when Alec is fucking her hard enough to hit nerve clusters deep within her that send waves of euphoria spreading through her body on top of the fire. It's too much, so fast, she can't even get enough breath to scream when her orgasm hits her, the world seeming to explode in a shower of light.
She's peripherally aware of Alec's tensing then, his cock buried so deep that she can feel the pulse of his release as he comes, his shout barely enough to cut through the whining static of her own blood rushing in her ears. The world tilts to the left, awash in a haze of pleasure, and it takes Max a long time to regain her senses, everything slow to return to normal as she shivers against Alec, around him, clutching at him desperately through the little quakes that follow.
When things finally right themselves, she realizes she's wrapped up in his arms, his hand stroking her hair as she nuzzles into his neck. Fuck, she curses herself, pulling back enough to catch Alec's gaze, his hazel eyes bright, even in the dim alley, and his expression concerned. “Not a word,” she warns him, wincing as he slips out of her and gently settles her back on her feet.
“Wouldn't dream of it,” he shoots back with just the barest quirk of his lips, helping get her pants back in place and tucking himself back into his own before dropping a quick kiss on her forehead and stepping away.
Running a hand through her hair as if to erase his touch and ignoring the way she feels suddenly bereft without it, Max watches him as he grabs his helmet and starts to wheel his bike into the concealed entrance, behind the tarps hung up at the end of the alley, his eyes still on her until he disappears inside. They won't speak of this again, especially since Alec's learned not to harp on her weakness, and for that, she's grateful. If somebody got an eyeful at their security station as well, they won't mention it, either. As of now, it's over. It never even happened.
And yet, regardless of the heat in her cheeks from both the encounter and her embarrassment at how easily it happened this time-again, dammit, how many times now she doesn't even know-she can't help wondering if maybe, just maybe, this might not be the end of it after all. With her heart still thundering in her chest, try as she might, she can't deny her hope, despite everything she is and everything she knows to be true, that this time, it might be more than the usual routine.
That this time, it could be something real.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Dark Angel
Pairing: Alec McDowell/Max Guevara
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,047
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: motorcycles, victory, slick, race, heat, rough, leather, alley
Summary: It's that time of the year again.
Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII.
Routine
The race isn't even half over when Max becomes acutely aware of the lightning singing along her nerves, her biology telling her that the whole reason she got herself into this idiotic stunt in the first place is because she's primed to fight and fuck, and not necessarily in that order. They've been through this before, her heat cycle getting in the way of standard operating procedures, causing her a world of grief, but at least Alec's not so cocky about it anymore, and that's a little relief to Max as she kicks her bike into a higher gear and roars around a curve, nearly cutting Alec off in the process.
If this is gonna end the way she suspects, then she'll be damned if she lets him win. No reason to stroke his ego, especially when he'll be between her legs in approximately five more minutes.
Counting down those minutes, Max shifts gears again and shoots forward, keeping her solid lead as they work their way through the city. A few more turns, a shortcut they both know about and take without hesitation, and they finally approach the finish line, a blind alley concealing the entrance to the compound.
Max shoots into the alley first-as if there was ever any doubt-bringing her bike to a stop with a turning skid, and by the time Alec shows up, she's already dismounted the bike and taken her helmet off. “What took you so long?” she taunts him, feeling the fire curling in her belly and the tendrils of tingling want snaking down her arms and legs.
Alec doesn't miss a beat, sniffing the air as soon as his helmet's off and giving her a sideways look with a raised eyebrow. “That time of the year again?” he ventures, knowing damn well that it must be. “No wonder you said 'yes' to this.”
But Max isn't having any of it. “Just shut up,” she orders him, grabbing him by the jacket and slamming him up against a brick wall, following with the press of her body against his and a searing kiss to make herself perfectly clear. “You know the routine,” she pants breathlessly against his lips, smelling and tasting the heat of his skin, the leather of his jacket, the bikes, all of it swirling together and driving her completely out of her mind with lust.
A light chuckle, and Alec nods, working his hands down to get his pants open before starting on hers. “You sure you want to do this here?”
“Fuck yes,” she answers before biting at his neck, little nips that are sure to leave marks-just the way she wants it. “Let 'em watch if they want.” The way she figures, if the people watching the camera feeds from the alley get an eyeful, so what? There's a distinct lack of good entertainment to be had these days, and a quick fuck in an alley is as good as high-quality porn, even if the audience does know the stars personally.
But all those thoughts go out the window when Alec flips their positions, pinning her against the wall as he tugs her pants down, pulling them off over one boot, and maneuvers her legs around his waist. She gasps when he slides into her, hot and slick and hard-thank fuck for pheromones-and starts to move quickly, shoving her up against the wall with every thrust.
She isn't gonna last long, the way her body is responding, skin on fire and muscles aching with need, every nerve ending sparking and flaring, but she doesn't even care, not when Alec is fucking her hard enough to hit nerve clusters deep within her that send waves of euphoria spreading through her body on top of the fire. It's too much, so fast, she can't even get enough breath to scream when her orgasm hits her, the world seeming to explode in a shower of light.
She's peripherally aware of Alec's tensing then, his cock buried so deep that she can feel the pulse of his release as he comes, his shout barely enough to cut through the whining static of her own blood rushing in her ears. The world tilts to the left, awash in a haze of pleasure, and it takes Max a long time to regain her senses, everything slow to return to normal as she shivers against Alec, around him, clutching at him desperately through the little quakes that follow.
When things finally right themselves, she realizes she's wrapped up in his arms, his hand stroking her hair as she nuzzles into his neck. Fuck, she curses herself, pulling back enough to catch Alec's gaze, his hazel eyes bright, even in the dim alley, and his expression concerned. “Not a word,” she warns him, wincing as he slips out of her and gently settles her back on her feet.
“Wouldn't dream of it,” he shoots back with just the barest quirk of his lips, helping get her pants back in place and tucking himself back into his own before dropping a quick kiss on her forehead and stepping away.
Running a hand through her hair as if to erase his touch and ignoring the way she feels suddenly bereft without it, Max watches him as he grabs his helmet and starts to wheel his bike into the concealed entrance, behind the tarps hung up at the end of the alley, his eyes still on her until he disappears inside. They won't speak of this again, especially since Alec's learned not to harp on her weakness, and for that, she's grateful. If somebody got an eyeful at their security station as well, they won't mention it, either. As of now, it's over. It never even happened.
And yet, regardless of the heat in her cheeks from both the encounter and her embarrassment at how easily it happened this time-again, dammit, how many times now she doesn't even know-she can't help wondering if maybe, just maybe, this might not be the end of it after all. With her heart still thundering in her chest, try as she might, she can't deny her hope, despite everything she is and everything she knows to be true, that this time, it might be more than the usual routine.
That this time, it could be something real.
~*~*~*~