Title: First Christmas
Author: Lusmeitli
Rating: PG-13
Show: DA
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue and we’re cool
Genre: Experimental
Type: Standalone
Pairing: Alec/Max
Summary: What will Alec get Max for Christmas?
A/N: This is my present for Roonblah.
This is my way of saying thank you – for everything. *hugs* I’ve tried to
fulfil your wish. :) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, luv!
A/N2: The format’s an experiment.
“So… what are you
gonna give me for Christmas?”
“Hmm?” Muffled from her neck.
“Christmas, you know,
the celebration of love?”
“Of what?” Complete stop of actions, eye contact. Part of foreplay or serious girlfriend-boyfriend-stuff?
“I love it when you play dumb Alec,
but I’ll find out anyhow what you’ll give me. Something
special.” The latter. Damn.
“Why do you think I’d give you
something?”
“Because I know you will, baby.” Sexy pout.
Favorite pastime? Challenging Max. “What if I
won’t?”
“Denial. Cute. Only…”
Keep poker face, despite her hands--
”…it doesn’t work. Because I…”
--a kiss to the earlobe, poker, uh,
thingy--
“…tiger…”
--breathed
into ear with immediate visible physical reaction in lower region, damn
traitor--
“…have powers over you…”
--traitorous hands
being swatted away.
“…as you can see…”
Alert: hands in very touchy
area. “Max…” A husky plead.
“Come on, tell me.”
Evil, evil
hands.
“Unless…“
Hands stop. NOO! A
questioning look shot from narrowed eyes.
“You haven’t forgotten about it,
have you?”
Lying
professionally 101: Magna cum laude. “Me? Never, babe.”
Content smile. Phew. “Well, it’s the thought that counts anyways,
you know?”
* * * * *
Later, in hushed voice. “Lingerie?”
A click on the
other end. Definitely a
lighter. Can you chain smoke cigars…? “Well, she’s a chick and them
chicks like lingerie.”
Max in lingerie. Tempting…
but risky. “Maybe too much too soon?”
“Okay, then. Let’s see. How about poetry?”
Utter disbelief. “This
– from you?”
Shuffling and an
audible puffing of smoke. “Hey, you
little punk, just because I ain’t got no feline DNA don’t mean I don’t know how
to, to woo a woman.”
“Woo…?” How easy things were when it
was just about ‘getting it on’. A drink, a well placed line, a tactically well
placed touch, a calculated look – and off to her bunk. Fun ensues. Fin. Now? Ever changing rules.
“You could write her a poem. Poetry
wins over a chick’s heart. Compliment her. Expressing mushy things like, uh, ‘I
like your eyes’ only you mean her boobs.”
“In case it slipped your mind: I
ain’t Cyrano de Bergerac, o dearest of friends.”
“Okay, so no poem. Well… Did you two go shopping lately?”
Shudders. Very painful memory. “U-huh.”
“Did she never stop somewhere and go
‘oh Alec, I’d love to have that dress’?”
Very painful memory. Hurting feet, aching back, shops a blur, constant yapping of
significant other duly ignored and commented with random ‘u-hu’s
and ‘yeah, babe’s.
“Or ‘oh Alec, look, what a won-der-ful bracelet’? That kind of thing?”
“I stopped listening when we entered
the first shop.” A silent admission.
“Fair enough.” Could it be understanding? Sympathy?
“Yeah.” Men’s logic setting in. ”Well,
but if she wanted those things she could go get them for free after closing
time.”
“Not the same,
buddy. Women’s logic. It has to come from you. Something to do with some lovey-dovey shit.”
Girlfriend-boyfriend-stuff. Talking about feelings and such.
Gaaah! Desperate. “I need
your help.”
“You know, I…
could get you something.”
Utter gratefulness. “Great. Get to
it.”
“I warn you though. She might not
like it.”
“Look, I don’t care what you get me,
just,” a wary look towards bedroom door. Still closed, great.
“Just contact my, uh, contact and buy something, okay?”
Can one hear a smile over the pone? “From the Korean? You sure?”
Notice or ignore bad feeling in
stomach? Hm... Ignore. Ooze confidence. “Yeah, later.”
“Okay, bye.”
* * * * *
Crumpling
wrappings. Silence.
Awkward silence.
Some more awkward silence and
finally some sign of life from her. She must be awed then.
“Why thanks, baby. I, uh…”
Pause.
“…love the… err… flat iron. Thank you babe.”
Smooches. Girlfriend happy, ego stroked, crisis averted. Who
rules? Yeah.
Max lying professionally to Alec
101: Magna cum laude. Too.