by Eiluned
(wildcat@topsurf.com)
DO NOT ARCHIVE OR LINK
DISCLAIMER: Alex belongs to whoever created him. :`
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: You and Alex.
NOTES: Alex fic! Post Shallow
Grave. Ibiza is a Spanish island, basically the party capitol of Europe. This is
for Monica, who has inspired me to new depths of Alex depravity :~, and for
Kathy, my Ewan-lovin’ friend.
You let yourself into the apartment with the key you know Alex hides behind his mailbox. He isn’t expecting you to be here tonight. All the better for you.
You close the door against the warm Ibiza night, locking the deadbolt. The apartment is cool, air-conditioned. The stereo in the living room, to your right, is blaring heavy techno. Listening for a second, you decide that it’s Massive Attack. Mezzanine.
The faint noise of the shower catches your attention. You make quick work of closing the drapes and head into his bedroom. The bathroom door is closed and you pull the drapes there, too. You toss your duffel bag onto his bed and unzip it, wincing at the noise of the zipper. You reach in through the haze of spicy scent and pull out several tall pillar candles, arranging them on his nightstand. The patchouli votives go on his dresser.
You duck out of the bedroom and set his CD player on repeat. Ducking around the bar into the kitchen, you pluck a book of matches out of a drawer. Tucking them into your pocket, you open the refrigerator and search for the ever-present bottle of white wine. Pulling it from the very back, you pull two glasses from the rack and head back into the bedroom.
Setting the bottle down on the dresser, you right the wine glasses. Circling the room, you light the candles, and the bedroom fills with the scents of patchouli, sandalwood, musk and the pungent tang of sulfur. The flames from the votives flicker in the mirror, casting dancing shadows over the beige carpet.
You carry the wine bottle out of the bedroom and coax the cork out. It leaves the neck of the bottle with a loud pop. Tossing the corkscrew onto the counter, you go back into the bedroom and fill the glasses halfway. You take a sip from one and smile. Bless the boy, he found your favorite. Kinheimer Rosenberg Spätlese. A nice, sweet German Riesling. Mosel valley, 1997. You make a mental note to find some way to thank him for his thoughtfulness.
You pick up his bottle of cologne from the dresser and take a long sniff. God, it smells good. Giorgio Armani is a great man, you think, for making such fantastic cologne. It smells better on Alex, though. The heady fragrance of cedar and sandalwood mixed with sweat and the distinctly male scent of his body, the scent that overwhelms you when you press your face against his skin.
Digging into your bag one last time, you pull out your little velvet bag of goodies and lay it on the floor beside the bed. Preparations finished, you pull your loose dress over your head and step out of your sandals. You tuck them into your bag and hide it in the closet.
Smoothing down your sheer Calvin Klein slip, you nudge the bathroom door open. The lights are keyed down low and steam hangs heavily in the air. You step inside and the door closes behind you with a soft snick. Alex has his back to you, his face turned up into the spray. You pause a moment to admire the view through the steamy glass shower walls. His long hair is slicked down on his neck, trailing water down his back. You shift your thighs together, feeling the twinges of arousal. You’ve been looking forward to this all week.
Love, love is a verb
Love is a doing word
Feather's on my breath
Gentle impulsion
Shakes me makes me lighter
Feather's on my
breath
The music seeps through the walls, encouraging you. You silently pad across the tile floor and slide the glass door open, stepping into the steamy shower.
"Ah!" Alex exclaims, jumping and whirling around.
Teardrop on the fire
Feather's on my breath
You give him a sly smile, letting one finger slick down the smooth, wet muscles of his chest. "You scared the fuck out of me," he says shakily, his eyes raking over you.
"Paranoid?" You lick your lips and press yourself against him, letting the shower spray over you, soaking your slip and plastering it to your body. He groans, moving his arms to touch you. You dodge his hands, sliding down his front, your tongue catching droplets of water that cling to his skin, sucking a particularly stubborn drop from his nipple.
He shudders, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing over your slickened skin, hooking under the spaghetti straps of your slip. The straps slip over your shoulders, but the fabric is wet enough to stay in place, outlining every curve of your body.
Nine night of matter
Black flowers blossom
Feather's on my
breath
Black flowers blossom
Feather's on my breath
You sink to your knees, running your damp lips over his hardening cock. He groans and leans back against the fiberglass wall of the shower. Slowly, you let your mouth drift across to his hip, giving the nicely defined muscles a few experimental nips. Glancing up, you watch amusedly as he blows a breath out through pursed lips. "So," he says, his voice husky, "What’d ya come by for?"
Teardrop on the fire
Feather’s on my breath
You roll your eyes at him. You have yet to find a way to shut the cute little smartass up. Sliding your hands around, you give his ass a squeeze. "I really love your ass, Alex," you purr, running your nose over the crease that separates his leg and his body.
He laughs, a choked sound. "Well, I’ve been wor... ah..." he stammers when you flick your tongue over the smooth spot between his legs, "Ahem... working on... on... itahhhhhhh..." he loses all ability to speak when you slide the flat our your tongue all the way up the underside of his cock and suck the tip into your mouth.
‘This is much, much better,’ you think. His entire body stiffens, everything in him focusing on the heat of your mouth. You circle the tip of your tongue around the swollen head a few times before letting him slide down into your throat. His harsh moan echoes off of the shower walls, blending with the roar of the shower and the pulse of the music.
Water is my eye
Most faithful mirror
Feather's on my breath
Teardrop on the fire of a confession
Feather's on my breath
Most
faithful mirror
Feather's on my breath
You let one hand drift around to caress his balls, weighing them in your palm. His fingers flex on your shoulders, and you press your breasts against his thighs. His whole body seems to thrum; you can feel it with every stroke of your mouth.
Teardrop on the fire
Feather's on my breath
His moans become more insistent and you know he’s close to coming. Just when he’s about to hurtle over the edge, you pull away, holding him just right to keep him from climaxing.
Alex’s face contorts in a mask of pleasure and pain, tossing his head back. He huffs a few breaths, his eyes tightly clenched shut. "Tease," he breathes.
You're stumbling in the dark
You're stumbling in the dark
You smile wickedly at him. "Not yet," you singsong, "I have plans for you, my boy."
TBC
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