Title: Nightly

Author: Lusmeitli

Rating: PG-13

Show: DA

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue and we’re cool

Genre: Romance - I think

Type: Standalone

Pairing: The only one possible

Summary: We learn a little about what Max is doing (and thinking whilst doing it) when she thinks no one’s looking.

 

A/N:  A tiny something, inspired by jetlag insomnia. Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

He was fast asleep when she was doing this. She usually got an hour or two of sleep after their lovemaking, before her shark DNA condemned her to be awake for the rest of the night. But she didn’t mind. Not with Alec lying beside her.

 

Every time she woke up, she took in his presence. The taste of his salty skin still lingering on her lips, the rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin on hers, his musky smell that was a mixture of leather, bourbon, sweat, freedom – and something uniquely Alec. Whenever she got lost in ‘girly’ thoughts – which officially never happened – she liked to think that it was the good man Alec was, his cocky grin, his arrogantly raised eyebrow, his sensuous smile (reserved only for her – and it damn well better be or she’d kick the other chic‘s ass and then Alec‘s) that made up his typical scent.

 

Yet, the not so girly nights floored her and she rationalised then that it all had something to do with their messed up DNA and the fact that Manticore had paired them off as breeding partners. Having a little experience with the wickedness that was Manticore, she was certain they had taken every precaution when planning that, so it wouldn’t really surprise her if they had ‘contributed’ as much as possible to ‘ensure a successful reunion’.

 

Max smiled at the thought of that. The one thing that Manticore actually hadn’t managed to fuck up was lying right next to her, his arm lazily slung around her waist, hand resting on her hip. They were right insofar that he was her perfect partner. For no one could read her like Alec did. None of her tricks worked with him; one look into her eyes and he knew what was really going on inside of her. Which sometimes scared her. It was almost as if he knew her better than she knew herself.

 

During all the years outside, running and hiding from Manticore, all she’d ever wanted was to taste freedom. She had no idea it would actually be so sweet. Freedom she didn’t find in any city she ran to, but in his arms, she did. The light in his eyes when he looked at her. The softness of his touch. The taste of his lips on hers. His protectiveness and possessiveness (which was flattering and sent a warmth-wave through her, mind you, but the Blue Lady knew that sometimes Max just wanted to kick his macho ass for it, old habits die hard). It was his lips on hers. That was what freedom tasted like.

 

Alec stirred in his sleep, his face now turned to her, his arm instinctively pulling her closer to assure she was still there. And it was when he was sleeping that she looked at him, studied his face. He was a totally different Alec then. He looked younger, vulnerable, almost angelic when he was peacefully lost in his dreams. As if he were without a care in the world and wasn’t sharing the heavy burden of responsibility over TC and its inhabitants with her.

 

That was one of the reasons why this time had become… sacrosanct to her. Because it belonged only to her, it was only Alec and her in that room then. Nothing else mattered and for a couple of hours, the world was left outside the door.

 

Another reason was that she wanted to imprint every single inch of his face into her mind. The curve of his jaw, the delicate contours of his lips, the little birthmark right above his left eyebrow, nearly hidden by the hair, the little dent in his right cheek that only showed when he smiled - every detail she had memorised.

 

Soon, looking wasn’t enough anymore, she had to touch him and her fingertips feather-lightly trailed down the same path her eyes did.

 

She always touched his cheek, shyly at first. She didn’t want to startle him. Max felt the softness of his skin, the roughness of his stubbles as her fingers traced toward his mouth. Her hand then softly cradled his cheek, her thumb barely touching his skin. He felt warm, soft – so… real.

 

She moved on to his lips. She loved feeling them underneath her fingertips: soft and yet firm, sometimes gently parted in his sleep. When her digits rested on his lips, she could feel his breath softly puffing against her skin.

 

On she travelled, down to his throat. When he had his head bent to the side like now, she could clearly see that pulsating vein. Unable to resist, every time, she had to feel his heartbeat. It was strong and steady. It reassured and comforted her, taking away her only real fear these days.

 

He wasn’t going anywhere. And yes, he was real.

 

It was all real: their feelings for one another, their lovemaking, their kisses, their silly and childish disputes (always followed by heated make-up sex), their bodies spooned against one another, hands intertwined, their ‘accidental’ touches during the day – for their love was still too precious, too new, too fragile and not ready yet for the public eye. All this was actually real.

 

And she needed to feel his strong heartbeat to confirm this to her. Even if mornings almost always took away the romantic thoughts of the night and shed daily-life-light onto their relationship. Underlined particularly when he, for example, just scattered his dirty clothes all over the bathroom floor, instead of dumping them in the bin in the corner.

 

Or when after shaving, the sink would be covered in his stubbles. Why he just couldn’t reach for the cup – sitting about an inch away from his hand on the sink – fill it with water and rinse the remains of his facial hair off was beyond her.

 

And why he couldn’t dry himself off properly after showering, but walked with a towel around his waist (mind you, very nice view) through the entire flat into the kitchen, leaving droplets and small puddles of water on the floor (which she of course stepped right into, barefooted and mesmerised by his dropping wet body), was altogether a mystery to her. Of course she could just put on socks and shoes, but that was beyond the point. She had walked around barefoot in that flat before he had started flooding her floor on a daily basis. When she had talked to him about it, that git had just grinned, said “and you love me for it” and kissed her speechless. For once, she had let him get away with it.

 

It was amazing how little things that she normally would just shrug off with other people suddenly mattered and with him actually bothered her. She wondered why. Was it because he wasn’t allowed to be anything but perfect? Or maybe they were just getting over the first stage of being in love where they couldn’t or didn’t want to see the flaws in the other, but now… they started to show and it bothered her. Sometimes.

 

But then again, when he handed her a cup of coffee with a kiss, tasting of shaving foam and toothpaste, looking at her as if she were the most wonderful thing in the world and there’s no other place he would rather be than with her, standing in a puddle of water in the kitchen, she felt so… content and complete. And she forgot all about his flaws.

 

Max loved tracing her fingers across his face. He was all hers then, at her most intimate and vulnerable and sometimes a tear would steal its way down her cheek. A happy tear.

 

The first couple of times she had touched him, he had nearly jumped out of bed and she had stopped immediately, startled as well. But in time, he seemed to have gotten used to her doing it and now he just kept on sleeping. How she cherished these moments.

 

Eventually, he stirred in his sleep, murmured something about being ticklish and bloody revenge and pulled her closer to his chest. She suppressed a giggle and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. And just before the movement of his rising and falling chest lulled her back into sweet slumber, she fluttered a kiss against his skin.

 

* * *

 

That was when Alec’s eyes slowly opened. Oh yes, he knew of his lover’s nightly habit. But far was it from him to let her ever know. This was something very special to her and far too enjoyable for him.

 

Alec felt most vulnerable in his sleep. He guessed that was what growing up at Manticore and a couple of very bad experiences during missions would do to you. Not one of his flings had ever seen him asleep. After monkey business was over and done with, he had usually left or shooed them out (depending on what the answer had been to “your place or my place?”). The first few times when Max touched him, he had nearly jumped her throat. But he knew if there was any person in the world whom he could trust entirely, even in his sleep, it was Max. He soon realised that it was something she needed for whatever reason women have. He would lie there, pretending to be asleep, feeling her fingers ever so softly travel across his face and still every now and then for closer inspection.

 

She always stopped at his throat, feeling his pulse. He could feel how she relaxed then and he could almost smell her relief. As if she were afraid he was but a dream and needed some sort of proof he was for real. He loved feeling her fingers on his skin. Sometimes, however, it got too much for him to bear. Either her fingers stirred up his passion or the emotion behind the gesture nearly made him sob. Alec had never known such an appreciating, gentle, loving, admiring, almost worshipping touch. And it wasn’t just a touch; it was as if her fingers reached right through his skin and bones to the very core.

 

Instead of letting her know he was awake, he would mumble something silly and pull her closer to him to stop her touch. She would place a tender kiss on his chest and go back to slumber. He then would open his eyes and think about how he had come to need these nightly touches just as much as she had.

 

Sometimes, he watched as a silent tear made its way down Max’ cheek. He hated it when she cried, but this was different. This tear, he allowed to drop onto his chest and dry on his warm skin, long after he had fallen asleep again, content to hold her in his arms.