DISCLAIMER: All DARK ANGEL characters belong to James Cameron and Charles Eglee (Cameron Eglee Productions) and DARK ANGEL itself belongs to FOX.
ARCHIVE: No
The following short story is based on characters
created for the television series DARK ANGEL,
and is set in the time frame following the Max Allan Collins novel AFTER THE DARK. -- author's note
With Logan she'd always shaved, and primped, and perfumed, and put on make-up ... but not with Alec ... no need to be something she wasn't with Alec ...
Max tugged the blanket higher, and cuddled closer to the warmth of her peacefully slumbering bed partner, not minding the arm that cradled her nakedness to his smooth bare chest. The Terminal City bedroom was Seattle December cold and 494's body heat was welcome ... comforting even.
Turning her head on the pillow, she glanced back at her sex partner's face, dark pupils irising wider in the gloom. With those keen hazel-green eyes closed the smart-ass looked deceptively vulnerable, not to mention beautiful, his breathing soft and regular punctuated now and then by the faintest of tiny snores as he enjoyed the sleep she, herself, was deprived of.
It was raining outside. He hadn't been going to stay. He never stayed -- part of their unspoken deal ... their no promises, no commitments, friends with benefits relationship. But tonight she'd felt sorry for him ... seen the longing and loneliness in his eyes ... and she'd relented. Now, her insomniac self envied him.
X5-494 hadn't been designed for night fighting. The warrior in Alec, not to mention the boy, needed regular sleep. He always dozed off after the sex, usually to be awakened rudely by her poking him in the ribs and kicking him out of her bed and apartment. But tonight it felt good just lying here, safe in the arms of a man whom she didn't have to worry about ... a man who didn't want to change her in any way or for her to be something she wasn't.
A man as different from Logan Cale as night was from day ...
The rain drops pelting the window began to freeze, turning to sleet, the sound of its patter mesmerizing. Pulling the soft fleece blanket up to her chin, Max could see her breath in the chill air, and once again took comfort in the body heat of the male beside her. This could become a habit ...
She thought then about that pretty blonde waitress, the one at Crash Bar. She and Alec had met Sketchy and O.C. there earlier in the evening, the first time in quite awhile that either of the two transgenics had been back to their old haunts.
The scantily clad girl had been all over Alec while he played pool with Sketchy, cooing and simpering and her blue eyes ogling his decidedly nice ass. Alec liked blondes ... was partial to them, although Max wasn't sure why. Maybe brunettes reminded him of Rachel ... of pain ...
Or maybe brunettes remind him of me ...
There was a time Max would have scoffed at the waitress' flirting, not caring in the least who or what the big jerk bedded. But tonight had been different. Tonight, damn it, he wasn't going home with a blonde. Tonight he's mine.
And Alec knew it. O.C. caught the sly grin and the playful glint in 494's eye as he glanced their way. "What's up with your boy?" she asked.
"Nothing," Max lied.
"Boo, is he your new squeeze? Come on now, be righteous with Original Cindy. I can tell you've been gettin' some. You've got that glow that only comes from havin' a fire lit in your furnace, and I'm guessin' that Alec's got a mighty fine match stick, if you get what I mean."
Max had laughed off the question and hidden her blush, but she didn't deny Cindy's observation (about Alec's "match stick") as she watched her man.
The blonde pouted prettily when Alec brushed her off with a wink, a sexy smile, and a shake of his head, only to return to their table with his eyes riveted on the one he really wanted to sleep with tonight.
Max grinned into the pillow at the memory of them coming back to her place, tearing off each other's clothes, the hot passionate kisses and naughty touching, then him throwing her down on the bed and climbing her body ... hard ... on her ... in her ...
They were good together, the sex exquisite and the lack of annoying pillow talk a refreshing change after her months with a man who'd done nothing but angst over their relationship.
Alec made a little sound, and Max realized he was dreaming ... twitching in his sleep. The fact she found it endearing annoyed the hell out of her. But then he murmured her name, and she snuggled closer, his arm around her tightening, his fingers finding her breasts and roaming lower as he half awakened and grew hard against the small of her back.
Many nights they did it twice, or even three times. Sometimes he'd drift into slumber only to awaken to pleasure her (and himself) again, turning the erotic fantasies of his dreams into reality for both of them.
Like now.
Max's hand reached around, and touched him there, giving permission, guiding, then came back to rest on her ever-so-slightly bulging belly as he slowly ... slowly ... slid deep inside ... pressing, and finally -- as she panted and his breath and lips caressed her bar code -- to gently thrust, making love Alec-style.
Closing her eyes, moving with him, Max clutched the blankets as she simply enjoyed, thinking how glad she was that she'd let him stay tonight ... how glad she was that she was going to have his baby.
And how glad she was that she didn't need to shave her legs ... not for him ... not for Alec.
