Alyse

For ma Claire!

2008-09-30T17:01:43Z

We's BFFs. I noes this cuz Troy sed so.

::nods srsly::

Plagiarism update

2008-05-03T13:34:58Z

A return - briefly - to my previous post here.

The stop_plagiarism post is here and has now been updated to reflect everything I could find in the comments, identifying and linking to the plagiarised fic.

The reason I'm posting again is that it's now clear that wickedplotbunny has also lifted from SGA fic as well as SG-1, namely Forgiveness by trialia. I don't know if anyone has alerted her yet - so I'm off to do that now - but it does mean that those on my flist who write and read in SG:A - and there are rather a lot of you ::g:: - might want to double check those stories that haven't been identified yet.

Also, I wanted to acknowledge that aelfgyfu_mead was the one who first alerted me to my story being ripped off - I didn't want to out her without checking with her first :)

And now I'll shut up about it :)

And in other, completely unrelated news...

2008-04-29T22:55:08Z

Okay, it's not unrelated. It is completely related to my previous post here.

The stop_plagiarism post is here. In the comments to the post, spiralleds has put together a list of all of the fics that wickedplotbunny 'wrote' together with their correct attribution where it's known. However, there are still a number of fics where the correct author (and given how many fics she's ripped off, it's looking less and less likely that she's written anything herself) has yet to be identified.

If anyone thinks that they can help, could you go and have a poke around and see if you can recognise anything, please? Maybe pass the word on to people who wrote in SG-1 and may be at risk of having been plagiarised if you're so inclined?

Thank you!

How to know you've arrived in fandom...

2008-04-29T17:25:13Z

So, today started well. Was on my way to a breakfast seminar when someone ran into the back of my car. I was stationary, waiting for the lights to change, and apparently she had her head in the clouds. Thankfully no one was hurt, and there doesn't appear to be any damage to either car - not even a scratch on my bumper - but it didn't half give me a shock.

Then I come home and find an e-mail informing that I've been plagiarised. Yep. Someone took my story, Silence (which was written in 2001 or 2002 - in any case, it was nominated for an SG Fan Award for Best Story in 2002) and filed the numbers off, reposting it as a Torchwood fic.

I only read the first couple of paragraphs - I couldn't bear to read any more even though I'm not particularly precious - and it is literally a word for word copy/paste job from what I can see.

Just in case she deletes it now that I've posted, I've saved it to my hard drive and here's a comparison of the first few paras of the two:

Silence by alyse

Warmth sank into him, soaking into his very bones. The water he floated in cushioned him, isolating him from the environment around him. From outside, from distraction, from the 'real world'. From everything that mattered.

He let his head slide underneath the surface, leaving only his face exposed to the cool night air. His ears filled, muffling the sounds around him, blanketing him from it all. The steady plink plink of the tap as it dripped into the bath. The groaning of the pipes. His own heartbeat. They were the only noises he could hear, and even then not clearly. Everything else was distant, drowned out by the silence.

He needed that.

He let his limbs float, heavy in the water, the feeling strangely disjointed. His eyes were tightly screwed shut. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd opened them, not really. He'd turned off the lights as soon as the door closed safely behind him and it was late now, very late, the only illumination coming through the small frosted window, dim and soothing. He was eight floors above the streetlights, and the sound of what little traffic there was at this hour was as dimmed by distance as anything else.

Soothing silence, blackness held him, cradled him as gently in its grasp as the water around him.

It should have left him terrified, fearing for his sanity, his very soul following recent events. That darkness shouldn't have been welcome - he should have craved the light, longed for it with the same intensity as he'd longed for other things in his life. Love, happiness, peace. He'd craved it once - an eternity ago. Before that eternity, when minutes, hours, days had stretched forever and he'd been lost. Isolated. Cut-off. So terribly, completely alone. Deaf, blind, numb - on the outside at least. The inside was different. He'd never been anything less than utterly petrified, silent screams echoing in the vaults of his own mind. Oh yes, this darkness should have left him with that same sense of fear.

Isolation, nominally by wickedplotbunny but also by alyse

Warmth sank into him, soaking into his very bones.

He let his head slide underneath the surface, leaving only his face exposed to the cool night air. His ears filled, muffling the sounds around him, blanketing him from it all. The steady dripping of the tap into the sink, the groaning of the pipes beneath him, his own heartbeat; they were the only noises he could hear, and even then, they were muffled and distorted. Everything else was distant, drowned out by the silence.

He needed that.

His eyes were tightly screwed shut, although it wouldn’t have mattered a great deal if he'd opened them, not really. He had turned off the lights as soon as the door closed safely behind him and it was late now, very late, the only illumination coming through the small frosted window, dim and soothing. He was six floors above the streetlights, and the sound of what little traffic there was at this hour was muted by distance. He thought of the whirl of activity outside, even at this hour; clouds rushing the sky, frenzied traffic dipping in and out of the motorways, the sun plummeting below to the horizon, with another day over. Time rush. Blood rush.

It should have left him terrified, fearing for his sanity following recent events. That darkness shouldn't have been welcome - he should have craved the light, longed for it with the same intensity as he’d longed for happiness, peace, redemption. He'd craved it once - an eternity ago. Before that eternity, when minutes, hours, days had stretched forever and he'd been lost. Isolated. So terribly alone. Deaf, blind, numb - on the outside at least. He'd never been anything less than utterly petrified, silent, harsh screams echoing wildly in the vaults of his mind. Yes, this darkness should have left him with that same sense of fear.

Yep. The bold bits were written by yours truly. And I have erred on the side of caution - the only things bolded should be direct lifts. I haven't bolded anything that's paraphrased rather than word for word, even though in many cases there's very little difference.

Honestly. What's the point in ripping off someone else? Apart from anything else, every single complimentary comment must ring hollow and it's not like you can tell anyone who says they didn't like it that that's okay. You didn't bloody write it!

ETA: And, lo, she hath deleted her LJ. Because that's the sign of a clear conscience.

ETA2: But, lo, because I am an ex-archivist and therefore sneaky as a sneaky thing, I have the html page and lots of lovely screencaps:

http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism1.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism2.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism3.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism4.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism5.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism6.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism7.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism8.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism9.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism10.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism11.jpg
http://www.alyse.info/plagiarism/plagiarism12.jpg

ETA3: From ljseek: the cached version of the post and a list of places that linked to it.

Fic: Symphony for the Devil (Dark Angel, Max/Alec, PG13)

2008-03-31T18:49:27Z

Title: Symphony for the Devil
Author: alyse
Pairing: Max/Alec, established relationship
Word Count: ~5,000
Rating: PG13
Warning: None
Spoilers: Set post Season 2
Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel or its characters. I'm just borrowing them and will put them back, possibly a little more worn than they were before.
Author's notes: Written for yourlivewire for the Winter 2008 jam_pony_fic Ficathon. Prompt used was Max/Alec. Max catches him playing piano and they talk, leading to kissing, leading to wherever you want to take it. This can be with an established relationship or not, but I think it would make more sense if it were with one. (You don't have to explain how they got together.)

Thanks to aithine for the beta.

Summary: Planning is for amateurs.

---

Max hadn't planned on a lot of things in her life. She'd planned on surviving, sure, but that had been a nebulous thing, not so much a concrete plan as state of being or some such crap. She was more than capable of planning, of course - Manticore had designed her to be many things but most of all they'd designed her to be a good soldier, and a good soldier needed to be able to plan his or her campaigns.

No matter what the newscasts said she was more than the sum of her DNA, but she was still a good solder; there was no fighting that. But even Manticore hadn't planned on her being a leader - that role had been reserved for Zack. And yet, here she was, three months after the Jam Pony siege, leading a rag tag bunch of transgenics; straight into hell it felt like some days.

Life never ended up the way you'd planned. She got that now, but then Manticore had also made their little toy soldiers adaptable. All in the name of the game, and the name of the game was survival. Max was used to rolling with the punches, and life threw a hell of a lot of those at her and hers.

She hadn't planned on letting anyone in but that had happened too. It had taken her years to get past that element of her Manticore conditioning, but it had happened. Slowly at first, Original Cindy and Kendra being the first to breach her defences. Her girls had a way of sneaking past her guard unnoticed that would do a transgenic proud. They were the first to make themselves at home in her heart, but they weren't the last. Others had followed after them - Logan, Joshua. Alec.

Maybe that was why she could step up to the plate now. Some new age crap about how she'd grown as a person. Once she'd let one in, the rest came flooding after. Maybe she just hadn't had a choice.

She'd never planned on letting her guard down and some days it felt like the whole world was crowding her, wanting things she didn't know how to give. Joshua, with his constant need for reassurance. Logan, with his constant need to hover just within reach, even though it could get him killed. Would get him killed if she didn't watch herself every single second of every single day.

It was exhausting. She'd pushed him away and he was still there for her, a constant presence and a constant pressure.

Some days it felt like she couldn't breathe.

She'd never planned for any of it - Logan, friends and family. But then when life threw you a lemon what was a girl to do but make lemonade? That was an Alec saying, had to be, except for the 'girl' part. Only Alec could come out with crap like that, stuff he'd picked up from Common Verbal Usage and hadn't managed to let go of entirely. Max was more of the opinion that if life threw you a lemon, you threw it back. Hard.

She'd never planned on letting Alec in and she still wasn't sure how that had happened. Except that even with his stupid little common verbal usage phrases, he'd had more Manticore training than she had - something he never tired of reminding her about. That got real old, real fast, and that right there was an OC saying. She worried less about her girl getting under her skin than she worried about her boy doing the same.

Her boy. That was another OC phrase and it was one she'd grown tired of fighting, not when there were so many other, more important things to fight for. That battle was over and she'd have to concentrate on winning the war even if she wasn't quite sure where or why the war was being waged. But Alec would have a field day about being 'her boy' if she were ever stupid enough to let the phrase slip out. She wasn't nearly that stupid, no matter what else she'd let slip recently.

But she was forced to admit that Alec had more skills than she'd first given him credit for. He was even more of a chameleon than she was in some ways, once he'd learnt to be a little less stupid. Took his time about that as well. But he'd wormed his way in, making himself indispensable. Alec was good at reading people, good at giving them what they wanted. He knew how to cut a deal, too, that silver tongue smoothing the way for many of TC's underground transactions.

Good at infiltrating. Boy, was her boy good at infiltrating and that - that was a Kendra thought. It wasn't a thought that Max would have entertained, not before Alec and his stupid sayings, but then a lot of things were changing and not always for the better.

But not always for the worse either, and Max could never have planned on that.

Three months in and they were all getting a little stir crazy, pinned up in TC. Transgenics were - usually - disciplined so there'd been few fights but the tension hung in the air anyway, like the faint taste of smoke in the back of the throat, the one that had you looking for the fire. No one had been stupid enough to light one. Yet. There was enough hostility coming from all sides to douse any flames before they took hold. Two men - humans - fought over nothing but too little sense and too much testosterone and they were idiots.

Two transgenics fought over nothing and the 'animal' comments hit a little too close to home.

So they found other ways to ease that tension. Alcohol worked, for some transgenics anyway and given the rotgut being brewed from potatoes by some of the transhumans, even an X5 like Max could come away from a drinking session with a pleasant buzz.

She couldn't blame everything on the alcohol though. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was here instead of hiding in a dark corner in one of the jerry rigged bars in the more populated sectors of TC. It had nothing to do with the way that she was staying in the shadows either, holding onto the doorframe with one hand while she listened to Alec play.

Some days a girl wanted something more than just something to deaden the pain.

Some days a girl wanted a 'someone' to do that, and Alec…

Yeah, Alec had skills in that department too.

This place had been a bar too, once. It had that upmarket feel about it, even now that the paint was peeling off the wall and the panelling was warped with damp. The piano in the corner helped her picture what it must have been like back before the Pulse, crowded with ordinaries after a long day working in the biotech firms that had dotted this part of Seattle. Back before those same biotech firms had poisoned several city blocks, made the whole area terminal, at least for ordinaries.

It must have been a sight, once. Bustling with people without a care in the world, flocking around the piano like brightly coloured birds. She'd lay odds, though, that none of the crooners who'd sat where Alec was sitting now had played so well.

Her boy had skills, and in more than just ass kicking and being an ass.

"You going to stand there all night?"

"Maybe." She couldn't feel too bad about being spotted. She'd stayed in the shadows, and there was a faint smell of mould overlaying everything, but he was transgenic, just like she was. And she wasn't going to ask what had given her away.

"How did you know I was there?"

Except for the fact that she totally was.

He snorted, running his fingers over the keys so that they sounded a soft, discordant note. "Could hear you thinking." He finally twisted his head to look up at her where she hovered on the steps before he looked back at where his fingers rested on the keys. "You should probably stop doing that."

She echoed his snort with one of her own. "I think one of us not thinking might be enough."

She couldn't read his face, turned at angle like he was to her, but she could tell from the way one of his shoulders hitched up slightly that he'd be smiling, maybe a little bitter, but smiling anyway. That was another thing she hadn't planned on - the fact that her bitching at him could make Alec smile. It was… not as annoying as it should be.

"So what brings you to this part of TC?"

She thought about lying but Alec wasn't stupid and she was tired of it anyway. There were more important battles to be fought, and she'd already called a strategic retreat on this one. She shrugged, even though he couldn't see it, and said, "Looking for you."

"Ah." He ran his fingers across the keys again, the sound softer this time. "What have I done?"

"I don't know." She moved closer, letting her fingers trail over the panelling. It felt a little weird under her fingertips, bubbles in the covering where the rain had got in and the varnish had blistered. "What have you done?"

Now he turned to face her, one eyebrow raised and a familiar smirk playing around the edges of his mouth. "Depends. What's going to get my ass kicked and what's just going to get me spanked?"

She knew she was expected to glare, and far be it for her to disappoint. There was no heat in it, though, and the smirk he wore didn't slip. But she was good at adapting quickly and it was strangely effortless to switch streams on him, to let her expression slide into one of patently false sweetness. She'd grown to enjoy this, this give and take with him that meant nothing and meant everything both at the same time, even if some days it seemed as warped as the wood she was touching.

His expression grew wary and she had to damp down on the urge to smirk back at him, to treat him to his own look for once. But that was a little too close for comfort, a little too like she was adopting more than just a few of his sayings.

She moved closer still, sauntering across the floor towards him, not missing the way that his eyes dropped slightly, watching her hips sway.

She could kick his ass now, while he was distracted, but that wouldn't do anything to improve her mood, which still hovered a little too close to melancholy for her peace of mind.

"What were you playing?"

He shrugged, eyes now focused on her face, watching her. Reading her. It would have made her pissed, once, but there was something weirdly comforting about the way that he wasn't running his mouth off about nothing. Even if that meant that she had to break the silence again.

"It was nice."

It was an awkward and kind of stupid thing to say and he snorted, which set the embers of her temper flickering.

"The piano needs tuning. Badly." He ran his fingers over the keys again, harder this time, and yeah, now that she listened she could pick out the sour notes in the sequence. "Surprised you couldn't tell."

Maybe she would kick his ass. Kick his ass and leave him here, on the damp floor next to his out-of-tune piano, and high tail back to the centre of TC where at least there'd be something like not-quite-scotch to burn everything away.

Only… Only it was dim here, down below street level, the grimy windows high in the walls not letting much light in. Even so, she could pick out the twist to his mouth, nothing to do with a smirk this time and as bitter and sour as the notes he'd just played.

"You okay?"

That was something she hadn't planned on either, this concern for Alec, not just whether or not he was breathing but whether or not he was… happy.

"Just peachy." He turned to face her fully, smirk back on his face and leaned back on the keys with his elbows. The cacophony of notes that rose from the piano made her wince, her teeth aching with the sound of it, and he smiled, no amusement in it. "Why did you want me?"

'Why did you want me?' not 'Why were you looking for me?' and, knowing Alec, he'd chosen the words deliberately. Although, maybe not, the way his eyes tracked her face as she bit her lip and turned away, not wanting him to see… whatever the hell there was showing on her face.

That was another thing he was better at, another thing that Manticore had driven home to him harder than it had had time to do with her. Hide what you're feeling at all costs, or someone will use it against you.

Alec could use it against her. He just… didn't seem to want to most of the time. Not any more.

He was still watching her and she shrugged, not able to give voice to whatever the hell was going on with her. And, for once and unlike him, he didn't push her on it. Instead he half turned back to the piano. She thought she'd lost him for a moment, that he was going to shut her out entirely the way he did sometimes when she pushed him too hard, but he merely shut the lid, hiding the keys, and then turned back to face her.

This time when he leaned back on his elbows, it was blessedly quiet, nothing but the sound of his breathing and the faint sound of water dripping somewhere in the corner.

He gave her time to recover her equilibrium and she was stupidly grateful for that, for the fact that for once he wasn't pushing her when it felt like that was all the rest of the world knew how to do. Eventually she shrugged, looking up at the grey light outside rather than at him, and commented lightly, "Figured hanging with you was a better option than watching Mole and Frosty having another one of their pissing contests."

She could feel the weight of his gaze, watching her for a long moment before he finally said, "They still cracking out the fridge and space heater?"

Yeah, there it was again, that little warm nugget of gratitude, sitting in her chest. Weird beyond belief to be feeling that way towards Alec, but he had a way these days of smoothing her path.

"Something like that," she said, meeting his eyes now. She smiled, slow and predatory, and his eyebrow twitched again, the smirk coming back to rest on his lips. He leaned back further, sliding down on the stool until he was all studied nonchalance. His eyes didn't leave her face, however, and they were anything but studied and cool.

She gave into temptation and smirked, letting her eyes trail along the length of his body the way that he'd eyed her so many times. It didn't seem to faze him; when she returned her gaze to his face he was watching her, matching her smirk for smirk.

She could fight him on this, throw out words as weapons and leave him, if not bleeding, then closed off. For an hour or two, until he was back in her space again like he'd never left. He'd push her, she knew, crowd her every step until she swiped at him like they were cats bickering over a place in the sun but it was weird how when the pressure of Alec was there, the pressure of everything else just went away for a while.

Or she could give in, bask in the warmth of the sun for a little while, curled around him.

Plans changed and she just had to change with them.

He wasn't surprised when she straddled his thighs, knees on either side of him on the wide piano stool. He was still smirking at her, but it wasn't quite as annoying this time as it usually was, warmer somehow, less smug than pleased.

Maybe she was projecting, seeing what she wanted to see instead of what was there. She didn't care. She'd still kick his ass if he stepped out of line and as long as he understood that, it was all gravy.

She curled her fingers, dragged her nails lightly over the nape of his neck where his barcode was etched into his skin, and he hissed against her mouth. It turned into a huff of laughter when she arched against him, fingers now digging into his hair.

His hands settled on her waist, one thumb gliding lightly over her skin where her top had ridden up. Sometimes he grabbed and scratched and nipped as hard as she did. Other times, he was slow and sweet and she came close to hating him for it, the way he slipped under her defences and made her ache and want and moan in a way that had nothing to do with friction.

This time was going to be slow, she could tell, and it did nothing to suppress the urge to undulate against him, pull him closer and closer until there was nothing but him, until he was crowding her, in her space and never going to leave.

She hated him a little for that too, but it didn't mean she wanted him to stop. But even transgenics had to breathe sometime.

His mouth was swollen when she pulled back, from where she'd nipped at his lips. He watched, almost quizzically, as she stared down at him, and she let her tongue slide out to lick at her lips. That got a reaction, his eyes darkening, pupils widening like a cat's until there was just a sliver of green around black. And now she could have fast, she wanted it slow, wanted to stretch out each beat to its max.

"You okay?"

Now he asked. Now, when she just wanted to lose herself in the rhythm they would set together, whether that was fast and furious or slow and tortuous.

"Just peachy," she ground out, diving in for another taste of his mouth. The hands he had on her waist stopped her, and he pulled his head back, staring up into her face like he could see everything she wasn't telling him written there.

Maybe he could. Who knew with Alec?

"What's wrong?"

She should get up, leave him there with his goddamned piano and the hard on she could feel when she ground down against him. It didn't distract him, though. His eyelids fluttered closed for a beat but then he was back to holding her away from him, watching her like she was going to cave just because he asked her to.

"What's wrong," she snarled, "is that I want sex and you're not putting out."

This time she felt his laughter rock all the way through her. He pulled her down for another kiss, tongue sliding past her lips, kindling fires that made her whine embarrassingly and writhe against him the way she didn't - never did with a guy - unless she was in heat. She could still feel the smile on his lips, taste it in the curve of his mouth, and she nipped roughly at his lower lip until he yelped then smoothed it with her tongue while she indulged in a smile of her own.

"Hellcat," he murmured against her mouth and she should so kick his ass for that comment except for the fact that she had other plans for him, ones that involved him being fully functioning.

When she pulled back this time, he looked like he'd finally got with the programme. His mouth was even more swollen, and his eyes were dark and stormy under lowered lashes.

He looked good enough to eat and she'd worked up a hell of an appetite.

She lowered her head to kiss him again and he let her, matching the movement of her mouth with his. His fingers, however, stayed where they were on her waist, drawing little circles against her skin when by now he'd normally be grabbing at her ass, pulling her closer. She pulled back a third time and he was still watching her, still hungry, but that hunger was tempered now by what seemed almost like concern. For her.

She wasn't going to get away with changing the subject and that just pissed her off. Just not quite enough to get off his lap. Not yet anyway.

"What?" she demanded. Her tone earned her another raised eyebrow and since he actually slept sometimes, unlike her, one of these days she was going to sneak in and shave both of them off when he wasn't looking.

He didn't say anything and that was the most frustrating thing of all, Alec being quiet and waiting her out like that was going to do any good. His fingers were still stroking slowly over her skin and she resisted the urge to lean into his touch, let him soothe and pet her like she was the cat her DNA said she was.

"It's just…" Apparently that not letting him wait her out thing wasn't working for her either. "Stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Stuff, crap…" She took one hand off his shoulder long enough to wave it in the air, staring over his shoulder towards the windows on the back wall rather than meeting his eyes. "Real girl drama."

He snorted again. "As in, you're actually a real girl or it's drama only for girls?"

She glared at him again, for real this time, and his face softened slightly. His fingers tightened on her waist and he shook her slightly, mostly to get her attention, she thought. She didn't know. This was all new to her, her and Alec, and she wasn't used to it yet. Wasn't used to letting anyone but Original Cindy crawl in this far below the surface, and there were things that Alec got, that Alec understood, that OC, no matter how much Max loved her, never would.

"Let me guess." Alec had obviously tired of waiting for her. "Logan?" There was a tightness to his mouth now that hadn't been there before. It stung - that and his question both. She made to pull away but the grip he had on her waist stopped her. She could fight him - would probably win too if previous experience was anything to go by - but the look on his face stopped her.

It… She didn't want to examine it too closely, but it made her feel all squirrelly inside, fight and flight fighting for dominance. And then his face softened again, became the usual Alec mask, unconcerned. Friendly even.

The squirrelly feeling didn't go away. Not entirely. But the urge to move eased.

She shrugged, not sure that she wanted to talk about it, not to Alec. But he was waiting still and she had that nagging feeling that she might owe him… at least some of the truth.

It was easier to tell him the truth when she wasn't actually looking at him.

"Yeah, maybe. Everything. Everybody. Always wanting… stuff. Me to make decisions…"

She trailed off, and he moved his hands so that they were resting in the small of her back, his forearms draped over her hips. It was… nice. Comfy even. Comfortable enough that she could look back at him now.

"Perils of leadership," he said lightly, but his eyes never left hers and there was a hint of seriousness in them, the one he let shine through when he wasn't concentrating so hard on being a smart alec. "You got seconds - me, Mole." He shook her again. "Learn to delegate."

"You actually volunteering for stuff? I thought Manticore taught you better than that."

He smiled again. "Depends. Will it put you in a better mood?"

She huffed, looking down at him, and his lips curled up again, never serious for long. Not her boy. Not unless…

She hadn't thought about what might have driven him to the piano tonight. And… it didn't feel right to ask him about it now. They still had their secrets, she and Alec. They probably always would, no matter what happened with this weird thing between them.

He was still watching her, and she let one finger trail down his cheek. That - that tenderness - wasn't them, and it took him by surprise. His eyes widened a little but he didn't pull away. Neither did Max - she was learning to take her small victories where she could.

That was something else she hadn't planned on.

"Logan…" She swallowed, clearing her throat and letting her finger trace the line of his mouth, more just to touch him than to keep him quiet. It would take more than a finger to his lips to keep Alec quiet when he didn't want to be. "Logan knows it's over, but he's still… It's not safe for him here but he won't leave. And I don't know how to make him."

"Yes, you do."

Yeah, it took more than the desire on her part to shut him up to keep him quiet. She pulled her finger back but he caught it, turning her hand over to stroke his thumb along the line of her palm.

"Yes, you do, Max."

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked angrily. "He doesn't believe it."

"He will." Alec was merciless, eyes never leaving hers, holding her there even as his thumb continued to caress her skin. "You believe it, he will."

The urge for flight, fight was warring in her again, and she jerked her hand back, resisting - just - the urge to smack him around the back of his head with it. It wouldn't be playful - not this time. She started to pull away, to stand up, but he grabbed the back of her head, pulled her down for another kiss, this time hard and bruising.

She grabbed at his hair, pulling hard and swallowing his hiss down. It would be easy - so easy - to give in to this, to make it hard and fast and angry. To punish Alec for daring to tell her the things she didn't want to hear, the things that no one else would.

His hands loosened their grip on her face, his thumbs smoothing down over the skin of her cheeks. His kiss softened too, mouth opening under her onslaught, taking whatever the hell she threw at him and rolling with it.

Sometimes it was too easy to hate him. Sometimes it was too easy to feel other things for him too, things she wasn't ready for. Things she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready for, not from Smart Alec, even if he had wrangled his way into being her boy just like he'd wrangled his way into her bed.

When she pulled back this time - when he let her - his lip was split and she could only watch as his tongue darted out to lick at the cut. He was still watching her, though, head tilted to the side and eyes unreadable. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say, wasn't sure if there was anything that could be said.

He didn't push it, hands dropping to her waist again, sliding underneath her top to smooth their way over her skin.

"So," and there was his smirk, although his eyes stayed watchful, a little wary. More for her reaction, she thought, than her anger. "Anything else you want to get off your chest?"

As he spoke, he slid his hands further under her top, fingers gliding up her sides until they were touching the fabric of her bra.

Now she could give into the urge to smack him around the back of his head. He'd given her a reason for it, a reason that had nothing to do with whatever was twisting its way around inside her. She kept it light though, fingers sliding through his hair after her hand had made contact, down, once again, to trace over the barcode on his neck. He'd given her an out for that too.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked, fingers now idly twisting in the tendrils of hair that curled down over his nape.

He smirked again, but there was a light in his eye. "You, me and a piano." His hands moved up over her back, curling over her shoulders and pulling her down until their lips were mere fractions of an inch apart. She could feel the heat of his smile, taste the sweetness of his breath. "How about we say to hell with the rest of the world for a while and make some beautiful music together?"

She rolled her eyes but kissed him anyway, which was probably what he'd intended. He had a point, she thought, as the kiss turned from heated to hold a tempo that was closer to slow and sweet.

If even a clapped out piano in a desolate abandoned bar could hold a tune some of the time, maybe they could too.

The End

Fic: A Walk in the Park (Primeval, Abby/Connor, PG-13)

2008-03-24T17:24:41Z

Title: A Walk in the Park
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Connor
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Set just after Season 2, so there are some references to what happens
Word Count: ~2,000
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Author's Notes: I have this thing about Abby and Connor kissing, and I just have to share. Thanks to temaris for the beta read.

Summary: Her only excuse is that she might have seen a few too many secret agent movies when she was a kid.

~*~

Abby spots him first. It's not surprising she's the one to see him because Connor is wittering on about something or other and not paying any attention to anything except what's going on in his head and, possibly, Abby. As for Abby, well, it's not really fair to say that she's tuned Connor out. She hasn't, exactly. It's just that she's letting the words wash over her, a constant litany of excitement that says he's there, just beside her, thrilled about something. It's a nice day, all in all. The sun's shining, dappling the grass under the trees in the park, and they're finally heading home, away from the ARC, where everything at the moment just seems dark and depressing.

Compared to that, the precise details of the 'what' that Connor is excited about don't seem important.

What is surprising is that when she catches a glimpse of the figure striding down the path towards them, he's weirdly familiar; the scowl, the way he takes up most of the path even when it's not necessary. It takes a second for it all to click into place and then she freezes, as though that's going to do any good. Connor - being Connor - remains oblivious. He doesn't even notice that she's stopped - just continues talking, managing to walk straight into the back of her. She rocks on her feet, hand automatically reaching behind her to push Connor off her heels; this would be why she wears Doc Martens to work.

"Abby?"

She's got a split second before the man looks up and sees her - sees them, and it's him seeing Connor that scares the hell out of her. God only knows why. Except…

Except if it is who she thinks it is - the guy they saw at the shopping centre, the one Connor thought he recognised in the ARC and who they've not seen since - then there's only one reason he would have been in both of those places.

He's one of Leek's.

That would be why it scares the hell out of her.

He's still heading towards them, all business and no bullshit. His head starts to come up. Any second now he'll see them. Any second.

"Abby?"

Her only excuse is that she might have seen a few too many secret agent movies when she was a kid. Certainly it's a move worthy of James Bond, only Bond would probably have shot the bloke heading towards him while he was doing it, and that would be strangely appropriate given that he reminds her of the generic Bond thug - all brawn, no brains and a face like a thousand fists.

Napoleon Solo then. Yes, this is a move he'd have pulled.

At least that's her excuse and she's sticking with it.

Connor lets out a muffled squawk when her mouth settles over his and she pushes him back into the shade. He stumbles slightly until his back hits the tree trunk but she doesn't let their mouths break contact, following him every step of the way until it's the weight of her body holding him there, pressed against the bark. He doesn't fight it - he's probably too surprised - but his hands do this weird clutching type thing by her shoulders without ever making contact. At least not at first. Then one of his hands settles tentatively on her shoulder and his mouth softens under hers.

Now that there's no need to pin him in place, she can bring her hands up to cup his face, holding his head steady. She tells herself it's so she can hide Connor's face from any curious eyes, from anyone who might recognise him. And so Connor can't pull away, ask any awkward questions before she's ready for them. But he's not pulling away. He's not doing anything except letting her in.

The hand on her shoulder moves slowly down her arm. Connor doesn't grab at her; instead, it's almost like it slips, like the weight of it is too heavy for Connor to keep it in place. She doesn't close her eyes, listening for the footsteps she knows are coming up the gravel path towards them, but it means that she's left watching Connor's face instead.

Connor's eyes are closed. He's so near she could count his eyelashes, one by one. They're long for a man's, sweeping down towards his cheeks. His eyelids are almost translucent, strangely vulnerable; there's a faint furrow between his brows and dark shadows beneath his eyes.

They've not been sleeping well recently, either of them. It's probably why she's so on edge.

She lets her thumb stroke gently over his cheekbone and that furrow smoothes out. That reaction, that trust, twists something in her chest and she shouldn't, she knows she shouldn't, that it's pushing both of them out into deeper water, but she gives into the temptation and lets the tip of her tongue trace the line between his parted lips.

Now his fingers clutch at her arm but it's not painful; Connor would never hurt her. He pulls her closer instead, his head tilting a little more to the side, mouth opening under hers. This time the tip of his tongue touches hers and it's soft, hesitant.

There are finally footsteps behind her and they pause, move on. She sinks her fingers into Connor's hair, closes her eyes and kisses him back until they've faded into the distance again, until they're long gone and the only sound left is birdsong.

Only then does she step away.

Connor's watching her, heavy lidded, mouth slack and shiny. He still has one hand resting on the bark of the tree, and he uses it to push himself back upright. It's…

She can't look at him anymore, not when something too large to cope with is twisting inside her; she looks away instead, glancing up and down the path and trying not to be too obvious about it.

There's no sign of the not-cleaner and she frowns, wondering how the hell he got so far so fast. Admittedly, she'd been a little distracted...

"Um…" It's Connor who breaks the silence, sounding a little stunned, and her attention snaps back to him.

"Did you see where he went?"

Connor blinks at her, thrown completely off track. "What? Who?"

"That guy." Her tone might be a little exasperated, but that's because the bad guy might have got away - assuming that it was who she thought it was and not just some poor bloke having a nice walk in the sunshine and then being confronted by spontaneous kissing breaking out all around him. It's got nothing to do with the way that she can't seem to take her eyes off Connor's mouth now that she's facing him again. And even if the rapid rhythm of her heart has something to do with it, it's adrenaline, that's all. That's got to be all, right?

Although for someone who she thinks hasn't had much practice, Connor's kisses were slow and sweet and, God help her, she wants more of them.

"Guy? What guy?"

Now Connor sounds - and looks - totally bewildered.

"The cleaner from the shopping centre. The one you said you saw in the ARC. Didn't you see him? C'mon, Connor -"

And there she stops. Connor's far from stupid. Okay, he can be a little dense sometimes when it comes to actual living, breathing people rather than dinosaurs, but that doesn't mean he can't put two and two together and come up with four eventually. She can see the exact moment when he gets it, and that's what stops the words in her throat. He gets that look on his face - that closed in, miserable one. It's exactly the same as the one he got when he finally twigged to the fact that his girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - was an evil bitch.

Only this time Abby's the evil bitch who's put that look on his face, not Caroline.

"Oh."

Connor looks away, up and down the path, avoiding her eyes. His face has flushed red and she was wrong; it's not exactly the same look. It's worse. He didn't look anywhere near this hurt when it was only Caroline stomping on his heart. But then, he didn't love Caroline, did he? Abby knows - just knows - that she'd heard him right, back on the other side of that anomaly. She just hasn't known what to do about it.

"I can't… I can't see him." That's Connor - putting a brave face on it again. "Are you sure…?"

She can't stand it. She hates that she's hurt him. She feels about two inches tall and Connor will forgive her anyway. And all for something she can't say for sure isn't a paranoid fantasy.

She can't hurt him. Can't leave him hurt. She knows how he feels and now - finally - she knows what to do about it.

What is it they say about being hung for a sheep as well as a lamb?

He's not quite as stunned this time but he still doesn't fight her. It should make her feel better but it doesn't, not really. When she pulls away this time, he just stares at her mouth for a split second, his expression edging into something wistful, then jerks away, eyes darting left and right as the colour moves up into his cheeks again.

"Is he…?"

"Hmmm?" she hums, moving for the kill in again. The pounding in her chest is starting to ease into something slow and steady; the feeling is nearly as sweet as he tastes. He's still not fighting her and she can take comfort in the fact that Connor's smart, even about people sometimes. He'll get it eventually.

"The guy… is he?"

"What guy, Connor?"

This time she closes her eyes, taking her time, savouring it. And this time, Connor's hand settles on her waist, pulling her closer, his fingers flexing slightly against her skin. She licks at the corner of his mouth and he opens up to her again, meeting her tongue with his. It's…

Yeah. It just is. Her and Connor, and it feels like this is the way it should be.

When she pulls back, his lips are parted, swollen and shiny again, and his eyes are bright. That look's gone and the one on his face now just makes her want to smile back. Do nothing but smile. Nothing except maybe kiss that smile again until she's swallowed it down, let it light her up from the inside the way that just looking at her is lighting Connor up now.

No, Connor's far from stupid but now even Abby gets that one and one make two. Eventually.

They're alone in their little secluded corner of the park, no sign of anyone else, no bad memories or paranoid little fantasies. It must have been her imagination, and even if it wasn't…

Leek's taken too much from them. He's dead now, and he's staying dead. He's not going to take anything else.

He's not going to take this.

It's a beautiful day. The sun's shining through the leaves of the tree they're under, and the air is still, heavy with the scent of summer. The birds are singing and, in the distance, she can hear the low rumbling of traffic. It's a whole other world away. They'll join them soon enough; head home, together. But for now…

For now, Connor's hair is warm underneath her fingers and Connor's kisses are slow and sweet.

The End

Fic: Perfect (Primeval, Abby/Connor, 15)

2008-03-08T16:09:46Z

Title: Perfect
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Connor
Rating: 15
Spoilers: Set just after Season 2, so there are some references to what happens
Word Count: ~4,000
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Author's Notes: I appear to have acquired a habit of either writing or posting fic on my birthday. And why break with tradition this year?

Many thanks to temaris and moonlettuce for both the enabling and the read through. The title comes from a Fairground Attraction song. The rest, for better or ill, is all me.

Summary: It's Connor's birthday today, and Abby's been planning it for weeks.

~*~

It's Connor's birthday today, and Abby's been planning it for weeks.

Actually, that's not strictly true. It's Connor's birthday today, and Abby had formed some vague plans around possibly getting some beer in, actually agreeing to watching some really bad science fiction DVDs picked up from Blockbuster without protesting (too much) just to watch Connor enjoying them and maybe cooking Connor something that didn't come from the chippy around the corner.

That had been the plan, but plans change. Things change. The last few months have driven that lesson home to her and driven it home hard. First there was Cutter and his ranting about some woman Abby's never heard of but is supposed to know. Then Connor, actually getting a girlfriend even if she was an evil witch. Especially when she was an evil witch. And then Stephen…

Yes, things change and not always for the better. But deep down, Abby's not averse to changing things as long as she can change them on her terms. She doesn't want casual anymore. Doesn't want 'buddies' or 'mates'. She wants…

She wants 'buddies' and 'mates' and her best friend back, and she wants Stephen back too and Cutter not looking like someone ripped half of him away, leaving the rest a gaping wound that Connor and she just aren't enough to staunch. She wants Connor to smile more, like he used to, and not be still and quiet half the time while the other half is spent frantically energised, like he suspects that's what people expect him to be, what they need him to be.

She wants all of that, with an ache that surprises her. She wants Connor here, home. Happy. Celebrating turning twenty-four like any other young man out there - with too much booze and a kebab on the way home from the pub, or chilling with friends or...

Well, there's another way to celebrate, and it's about time some things changed for the better.

Her and Connor… it's been kind of weird these last few weeks, the way they've been all careful and polite with each other. Strangers moving around the same space, always watching what they say, always watching what they do. It's left her off balance and unhappy and unsure how she could miss someone so much when they're still there, in the same room just an arm's length away.

They used to touch all of the time, her and Connor - nothing in it, at least not on her side, not back then - but now they barely touch at all and she's sick of it. She misses the casual comfort of it, the ache stronger than almost anything, and finds herself reaching out constantly just to brush his fingers or his arm and, once, even his hair. Just for a second, just so she knows he's still there, still breathing. And then her fingers drop and they go back to that space between them, measured in inches and feeling like miles.

She doesn't know what's been stopping her from crossing it, just getting right in Connor's space and never getting out of it again. Caroline - thank God - is off the scene apart from a couple of hesitant (and possibly evil) voicemail messages. Connor deletes them from his phone after only listening to them once. She's sure it's just once, because she watches him do it, silently and an arm's length away. Caroline doesn't try again after the first couple of weeks, which Abby takes to be her finally getting the message. It's just as well because Connor's got a security pin number on his phone and Abby's hacking skills are pretty much non-existent. She'd guess 42, but that's probably too short because these things are normally four digits, so maybe it's 1138 because even she knows enough to know that's a Star Wars film buff reference and that's probably only because she's been spending far too much time with Connor, but after that she'd be stuck. And it's not like she's been thinking about it too often or anything. Really. She hasn't.

Knowing Connor, it will probably be 1138 anyway. She hasn't tried it. Yet. Because if that woman leaves a third message, she will come to know the Wrath of Abby, and this time it will make getting her arse kicked in an abandoned warehouse seem like a walk in the bloody park. She hurt Connor. She hurt Connor and Abby's beginning to realise that she might be a little irrational about things like that.

So it's not Caroline, and she doesn't think it's Stephen, not really, not matter how much it hurts (and it does; it aches and twists and bleeds, for all of them not just Cutter), but things are… they're just different. And if they're going to be different… Well. Abby's going to have a say in it, make sure that things change in the right way for once. She's never been the type to sit around and wait for things to happen to her, not Abby, and she's grown used to having to react quickly to whatever the hell life throws at her, even when it comes armed with teeth and claws.

After that, dealing with Connor should be easy. He's a pussycat, not a sabre tooth, although puppy dog is probably closer to the mark. The Scrappy Doo to her Daphne, Lester called them, which wasn't very fair to Connor, who's nowhere near that annoying. Usually.

So if things are going to change, she's going to be the one to change them, starting with her plans. The plan for Connor's Birthday Mark II is much simpler then the first plan, much more direct. She's tired of things just happening to them, so now she's going to happen to Connor.

Sorted.

Knowing Connor, he won't even see her coming. He'd better not object either, not with the way he's been chasing after her for over a year. And if he's been chasing, that means that she won't so much be throwing herself at him as… letting him catch up for once.

That's the new, improved plan, and she's busy putting it into motion.

There's wine breathing on the table - just a bottle of reasonably priced red, nothing flash, nothing too heavy. She's lived with Connor for almost a year. She knows he's a lightweight and she doesn't want him drunk, not tonight, not matter how tempting it is. Connor's an affectionate drunk, and cute - cuter - with it. When he's had a couple, everyone's his best friend, especially Abby who probably really is his best friend these days. But there's a squirmy thought in the back of Abby's head that if they have more than a couple of glasses Connor might start thinking… well, that she had her beer goggles on or something. As though she couldn't drink him under the table and then stay sober enough to put him to bed.

And that sets up a squirmy thought again, but it's not a bad squirmy. More a sort of tingly until she focuses, pulling her belt tighter and concentrating on triple checking everything.

There's something tasty in the fridge, ready to put into the oven. Something quick and simple and it's possible that she might have cheated and popped into Marks and Spencer's on her way home. She knows where her strengths lie, and it's not in the kitchen. Connor can cook but he's not going to cook tonight. Not in their kitchen, anyway.

She stifles a grin, recognising the giddiness in the thought. Her heart is beating faster, and she places her hand over it, feeling the warmth of her skin, already flushed. When she pulls her fingers away again, they brush over her robe - Connor's robe. It's big and warm on her and the smell of him clings to it but in a good way, not in an 'it needs a wash' way. It's a little scratchy against her skin, but that just makes it better, makes every inch of her shiver and tingle.

She knows that Connor's not exactly good at picking up nuances and she's leaving nothing to chance. She's wearing Connor's robe and she's not wearing anything underneath it. Even Connor should get the message from that, and as these things go it's definitely more practical than the alternative. She loves Connor, she really does and she's finally accepted that, but with the best will in the world, while he might be rendered speechless by the idea of her in sheer black underwear or something just as cliché, she doesn't want to ruin the mood by having him fumble to undo her bra straps.

Besides, if she stood there in her underwear he might just think she'd run out of clean clothes or had turned the thermostat up for her lizards again rather than that she was doing her very best to seduce him. For a really, really smart guy, he can be amazingly thick sometimes. And that can be annoying but also… kind of cute.

Yeah. She definitely loves him.

She's getting a little impatient now, small shivers running through her. She hasn't put anything in the oven yet because part of her is hoping that they won't get as far as dinner. Just in case, she's also pulled out the leaflet for the local pizza parlour out as well, as a backup plan. It's quick, it's cheap and she quite fancies the idea of Connor and pizza in bed when they've worked up an appetite.

Another grin, but this time there's nothing to hold it back, not that she really wants to. She's double and triple checked everything and she can only wait, nothing to distract her until she hears it - the sound of his key in the lock.

"Abby?"

It's now or never. Her stomach is fluttering, butterflies and more, and her heart is beating hard and fast but this is Connor, Connor who loves her and God only knows what she did to deserve that.

She can hear him clattering up the stairs, sounding suddenly so Connor-ish that he'd put a herd of elephants - mammoths even - to shame. It just makes her sort of melt inside, soppy item that she's become where he's concerned. She takes a deep breath and eases open the loose knot of her belt. It slides apart easily, and her hands move up to the lapels, pulling the robe off, letting it slither down over her skin until it's caught on her elbows and she's framed by the dark red fabric. She looks good - she should do. She's practiced the move in the mirror a couple of times, just because she wants this to be perfect for him.

"Abby," he calls again, and she waits a little impatiently - and a little nervously if she's honest - for his head to appear above the banister. Her heart is pounding and her mouth is dry and there's a little voice in her head suggesting that perhaps she'll end up looking less like Venus rising from the waters and more like someone who's completely desperate and maybe even a little tacky. She swallows, throws her shoulders back. Hell, if she's going to come across as desperate and a little tacky, she's going to do it with style.

She takes another deep breath, holding it as Connor bounds up the stairs. His hand appears first, ever present fingerless gloves sliding easily over the metal railing. Then his hat, jauntily perched on top of his head, and finally his face, turning towards her with a smile.

He stops dead, eyes widening and smile faltering and she's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing and please let that be a really, really good thing. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. He swallows, brown eyes sweeping up and down her form and…

And there's another face, just behind Connor's, round cheeks and round glasses and round eyes.

"Bloody hell!"

Oh, crap!

She's not sure who moves the fastest - whether it's her scooting backwards, pulling the robe up haphazardly as she tries desperately to cover herself up, or Connor suddenly snapping out of his daze, hand coming up to cover his friend's eyes as he pushes Duncan - yes, Duncan, she remembers the name and now it's going to be seared forever in her memory and, God, could this be any more embarrassing? - back down the stairs.

There's muttering and the door slamming - she thinks - and she really hopes that Duncan's on the other side of it rather than heading back upstairs to make awkward conversation now that she's no longer naked. She doesn't know, didn't quite catch what was said because it was drowned out by the constant litany inside her head of, 'Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Oh. Shit.'

Connor's head appears above the banister again, hat pushed back and eyes still wide and wild.

"Um," he says.

Yes, Connor, that was really helpful, she thinks. She's still got the robe wrapped tightly around her, fingers clenched in the fabric and her heart is hammering in her chest.

"Is that my robe?"

She's going to kill him. She loves him, but he is so dead. There's dense and then there's Connor and…

She doesn't think she's ever been so embarrassed in her life.

She doesn't say anything, just glares at him, and his eyes drift away from hers, down towards her chest before what little sense of self-preservation he has kicks in and he drags his gaze up again to somewhere over her left shoulder.

"So," says Connor, a little high pitched. "That was Duncan…"

"Yes," she grinds out through gritted teeth. "So I gathered."

Connor winces. "Sorry. I… it's my birthday today."

"No? Really?"

The sarcasm is lost on Connor, who finally looks back at her, keeping - she's pleased to note - his eyes firmly above collar bone level. "We kind of have a tradition - me, Duncan and… well, Tom really, only this year... Kind of a beer and games night, you know?"

"Yeah, um…" She should have checked. She didn't think… she was so used to it just being her and Connor, it had never occurred to her that perhaps Connor had plans of his own.

"He's… um… we've had a rain check until tomorrow." Connor's almost as red as she must be, still avoiding her eyes. "I'm sorry." He winces again, face twisting in embarrassment, coming slowly up the last few steps until he's standing at the top of the stairs, fingers wrapped around the post, which now has most of his attention. "I should have checked. I never thought that you might have…" His eyes dart to the left, where the wine is open on the table and there are flowers in the vase. "… plans."

He gives her one of those looks of his, head tilted, watching her from under his lashes. "Anyway, you… you look nice. So… I take it you're… um… expecting someone?"

"Yes, Connor." His face falls, a moment of stillness that hurts in spite of the fact that she's still a little pissed off at him for something that's not his fault. "I was planning on entertaining West Ham."

"Really?" He takes another step forward, his expression now morphing towards hopeful because that's Connor - the Connor she knows anyway, the one that's always, always upbeat and optimistic, not the strange one she's been sharing a space with recently who's been so subdued. He's like one of those inflatable punching bags, the ones that bounced back up again no matter how hard you hit them. Normally, anyway. "That's funny. Never figured you for WAG material."

"Ha ha." He smiles at her, dimples flashing and her heart twists again because that smile just does something to her. "Happy birthday, Connor."

He glances at the table again, takes in the fact that she's dimmed the bulbs to something a little warmer, less bright. Finally takes in the fact that she's wearing his robe… and nothing else. She can see it click, see the bright hope dawning in his eyes and it goes some way towards making up for her hideous humiliation. Providing she never, ever has to set eyes on Duncan again.

"West Ham, eh?" he asks, familiar cocky smile reasserting itself. There's something watchful in his eyes, though, almost like he wants to believe it but can't quite make himself, not just yet. "Thought you had taste, Abby."

She snorts. "In case you hadn't noticed, Connor, I'm throwing myself at you." There's no point in hedging around. Being Connor, he sometimes needs hitting over the head with a two by four before the message finally sinks in.

"Yeah?" He edges closer, fingers coming up to catch hold of the belt now wrapped firmly back around her waist. His smile is blindingly bright, catching his eyes, lighting them up. "That right?"

She's not sure what she expects - probably for him to just pull the robe open to get another look at her, because Connor doesn't exactly have a firm grip on subtle. And she's not actually convinced he's ever seen a girl naked before - at least not in the flesh and probably not before five minutes ago, so she can understand the temptation.

He doesn't though. Not right then. He tugs her closer, his eyes still doing that hopeful thing, the one that makes her melt, makes her want to kiss him until he moves from hope to certainty.

The first brush of his lips against hers is sweet and tentative. When he pulls back a hairsbreadth to look down at her, his gaze is still watchful, maybe even a little wistful. Something twists painfully in her chest again and she pulls his head down, fingers tangled in the ends of his hair and the scent of him surrounding her as she presses her lips against his.

It's better this time, more like a real kiss. She keeps it light at first, gentle until his mouth opens under hers and their tongues touch. It hits her like a jolt, all the way down her body, settling heavily below her stomach, leaving her aching and wanting more.

It's a good ache this time though, one that she knows Connor can make better. All she has to do is get him naked and in her, and she shivers at the thought.

Connor pulls her closer, melting into her, arms around her back, fingers tightening in the fabric of her robe until she's pressed up against him, every inch of her. His hands feel bigger than she thought they would, and she's imagined them on her more than once as she watched his fingers dance over his keyboard. But she's never really appreciated before now the fact that he's almost a head taller than her.

She likes it. It feels good. Beyond good to be held like this, by Connor, Connor's fingers moving up into her hair. Connor's body presses against hers, one hand staying nestled in the small of her back. He's breathing the same air she's breathing, mouth moving slowly over hers, making soft sounds as she kisses him, sounds that leave her wet and wanting.

She knocks his hat off, fingers digging into his scalp while the other hand wraps around his bloody stupid scarf, fingers burrowing in his shirt, clutching him close, closer until she can't tell where she ends and he begins. It's not enough - she wants to crawl inside his skin, have him crawl inside hers. Her leg's wrapped around his, his thigh pressed up between hers and she's rubbing against him like a cat in heat.

The need for air finally wins out and she pulls back, gasping. When she licks her lips she can still taste him and she has to make a conscious effort to release her grip on his shirt. Her fingers are white knuckled before she smoothes them out, lets them press flatly against Connor's chest.

She looks up and meets Connor's eyes again, his pupils blown dark and wide, his mouth slack and swollen.

"So…" His voice breaks on the word, his expression stunned, and she doesn't bother to hide her smile even though she knows she must look like the cat that got the cream.

"So…?" It comes out gravelly, her throat dry and her whole body thrumming with the need for him. It sounds dark and sexy - at least to her - and Connor swallows convulsively.

"Is this…is this my birthday present? Because I have to say if it is? I like it so much better than the game Duncan got me."

She has to laugh, burying her face in his chest, and his arms wrap around her again. She fits perfectly; if he tilts his head he can rest his cheek on her hair. She doesn't need to see his grin to feel it, to picture it even. It will be broad and smug and, most of all, happy.

She loves him and that's all she wants; Connor, happy.

He kisses the top of her head and her grip on him tightens for a moment. So does her throat, her eyes burning a little with everything. She swallows it down, beating the tears back through sheer force of will. He's there and she's there and everything else can go hang for a while.

"Happy birthday, Connor," she says again when she can keep her voice steady. She looks up at him as she says it, and his eyes soften, no longer smug. Now he's looking at her as if she's everything he's ever wanted and, for Connor, that might well be true.

He glances down then back up through his lashes, the move familiar, the way it borders on bashful. One arm stays wrapped around her but he brings up his other hand, just so he can run his fingers down the length of her lapel, watching her carefully as he does so like he expects her to slap him away, even now.

She reaches up and kisses him instead, catching his hand in hers and moving it so that it rests against her bare flesh instead of her robe. His fingers flex against her skin and it's her turn to watch him carefully, taking in the way his eyes follow where her fingers lead. She guides his hand under her robe, down until he's cupping her breast. His lips part, huffing out a gust of air, stunned, like this is amazing, like this is better than any amount of wondrous, prehistoric creatures could ever be.

She pulls her hand away, leaving his there, his fingers warm against her skin, the wool of his glove prickling a little in contrast. He moves his thumb, stroking tentatively over her nipple, and it's her turn to gasp in amazement, to bite at her lip.

It takes him a long second to drag his gaze up from the curve of her breast and meet her eyes again. He takes a deep breath and she sees everything - everything - in his eyes.

He's the whole world to her just then, and she thinks it might be mutual.

He swallows and leans closer to her, closing the gap between them until his breath comes as warm gusts against her face. She turns her head instinctively, and her lips are just an inch from his, so close she can almost taste him when he speaks.

"So…" It comes out slowly, Connor sounding almost drugged with pleasure. His fingers are still stroking feather-light against her skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. "If this is my present… is it okay to unwrap it now?"

It's more than okay.

It's perfect.

The End.

I come bearing icons

2007-09-13T20:36:20Z

medie asked me if there would be icons based on the Wraithbait pirate skin.

I said I'd think about it, which is Al speak for 'my icon making fu is weak'. My icon making fu is still weak, but, hey, I made the original manip so I shouldn't be too hard on myself ::g::

Also, she asked so nicely.

So here are some icons. They're fairly basic (icon making fu = weak) but I've provided some blanks, which are basically crops of the skin with the faces sharpened up to take account of the shrinking in image size so it's not (too) blurred. Do with them what you will, including tarting up the blanks if you're so inclined. I've got a big jpg of the manip as well if anyone is feeling particularly artistic.

I'm not precious about icons, so use whatever you want, no credit necessary (although pimping the site if you're asked what they're about would be nice :))

[Crossposted to alylicious at IJ and alyse at GJ and JF]

Fic: All the King's Horses and All the King's Men (DA, Alec/Logan, R)

2007-09-03T09:46:17Z

Title: All the King's Horses and All the King's Men
Author: alyse
Pairing: Alec/Logan
Word Count: ~17,600
Rating: Hard R (for non-explicit sex)
Warning: None
Spoilers: Set post Season 2
Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel or its characters. I'm just borrowing them and will put them back, possibly a little more worn than they were before.

Author's notes: Written for feline_feral for the Summer jam_pony_fic Ficathon. Prompt used was Alec having seizures and Logan helping him through it.. Lyrics quoted are from either Downfall or Unwell, both by Matchbox Twenty. They fit.

Thanks to davechicken for the quick and dirty beta that enabled me to - just - slip it under the wire. ::smooch::

Summary: Logan had grown used to the quiet in the evenings, but that was before he took a sharp left into Surrealsville, population two.

Part 1 of 2

Part 2 of 2

So, I'm testing this multiple post thing

2007-08-04T20:03:34Z

And this is what I'm trying to post.