Dark Angel: Doing Business
Doing Business [[1019 Words]]
Dark Angel
Normal/Alec (sex), Max/Alec (friendship/maternalism, sorta)
Mixed-up timewise, so sorta AU.  Set shortly after Alec starts work at Jam Pony.  
Prostitution (sorta), Angst

Alec uses every advantage available.  An aspect I'd imagine incorporated into X5 training.

Alec was not a romantic. As far as he was concerned, “love” (Ordinaries’ word, not his) was nothing more than a chemical, biological process. Desire was hormonal, spurred on by the instinct to breed. Sex was just an act, a tool like the martial arts to be used against one’s enemy. 

Alec knew this; he’d learned it well at Manticore. Lust made humans weak, easy to manipulate with a look or a touch—It was just another aspect of his training. Intimacy was so easily gained: you let them use you, and suddenly you had an infinite advantage. 

That’s probably why he didn’t object when Normal pushed him up against the counter after work, groaning breathlessly about golden musculature and Roman gladiators. Those fucking daydreams, and it was sick, but Alec considered. By the time Normal was groping at his “sword,” Alec had run over the pros and cons of the scenario in his mind. As far as he was concerned, it was worth the pay and favors to allow the man closer, ready and wanting. 

Normal’s hands moved over his chest and shoulders, feeling. “You’re so firm...”

Alec stifled the urge to smirk, as though he’d never heard that awed tone before. Instead, it was easy to choke back a moan and lean forward, letting Normal breathe him in. “What do you want me to do, boss?” Open, ready.

When he spoke, his lips grazed the man’s ear; Alec felt him shudder pleasurably at the touch. This was too easy. Getting Normal off would take minutes—nothing, compared to the handlers who’d first trained and drilled him in this capacity. 

This one was at a loss for words, dumbfounded by the question. He couldn’t blame the guy, when he knew each option seemed equally enticing. Alec helped him decide, nosing Normal’s neck and jawline in a way that elicited another soft noise. “What about my mouth?”

He watched the reaction, licking his lips in what Normal presumed was anticipation. Normal’s hands on the sides of his face; Normal’s hips twitching convulsively against Alec. His voice, low and wondering. “I’ve dreamed about this...”

Alec couldn’t help the laugh. “Oh, this is one time the reality’ll be better.”

“You are a god.” Again with the awe, and Normal was pushing him down. Alec fell to his knees with practiced grace, reaching for buttons and trying not to think of Manticore. This was not about the familiarity of this routine, so effective on his deep-cover espionage missions and so unvarying in technique. Alec knew this suck, hum, tongue roll like he knew Morse Code and Mandarin. But this wasn’t about that—this was about overtime pay and the stereo or television or booze he could buy tomorrow. This was about easier shifts, longer lunch breaks, and job security. 

“Oh, shit, Alec—Monty Cora—fucking magnificent—“

He didn’t like the hands fisted in his hair, but he didn’t hate them, either. It was predictable; it was normal, as was the salty-sweet taste flooding his mouth as Normal jerked him closer. 

Alec let him ride out his orgasm before pulling away. He spat white into the wastebasket and stood, scrubbing a hand over his mouth and combing fingers through his mussed hair. 

“I, uh,” his voice was rough and his throat sore, but that was to be expected. Alec relished it, knew that husky was sexy, like the bruised, swollen look of his lips as he continued, “I can stay late again tomorrow if you need me to, sir.”

The “sir” came out reflexively and Alec kicked himself. This wasn’t Manticore. Manticore was gone. 

Normal paused in the process of tucking in and rezipping is pants to regard Alec. He could almost see the scenarios running through Normal’s head when the man blurted, “Why don’t you come by my place tomorrow? On the clock, of course.”

Alec grinned in what could’ve been enthusiasm (it wasn’t.) and hopped over the divider that separated Normal’s office from the rest of Jam Pony. “Cool. I’ll see you then.”



He stepped outside with his bike by the handlebars, not expecting to see Max. She was leaning against the building, arms crossed and glare crosser. “I’ll see you then,” she mimicked. “On the clock, of course.”

“Whatever, Max.” It was the best retort he could come up with and he walked away, his face burning. “Mind your own business.”

She kept up with him, wheeling her motorcycle behind. “I just caught you blowing the guy who runs my business, dumbass.”

“Still not your problem.”

“Don’t you have any self-respect?” Max snapped, stopping in the middle of the street. A passing rider flipped her off; she ignored him. “I didn’t let you out of Manticore to be some kind of hooker.”

Manticore. It always came back to Manticore, somehow. It was beyond Alec to understand—this wasn’t even about Manticore. He gritted his teeth and turned back to the girl, working to keep his voice level. “You yell at me for stealing, you yell at me for trying to find a legal job, and now this. I’m not getting in your way or hurting anyone. I just need money, Max, and he’s easy!”

“You’re pathetic.” Max mounted her cycle and sped off with the last word. Hypocrite. She would fence a stolen item, but making a profit off his perfectly-engineered body made him a whore. Using his assets made him a whore.

Alec sighed and got onto his own bike, pedaling for Crash. Whiskey would be just the thing to flush out the bitter taste in his mouth. 



The next day Alec came in to work an hour late. Normal handed over his clipboard with something like glee—his scheduled deliveries had been halved. Today was gonna be great. 

He passed Max—probably shouldered with the deliveries he wouldn’t be making—on the way to his locker and was surprised when she shoved a wad of bills into his hand. “Max, what—“

“You need cash?” she hissed, contempt in her eyes and tone, “Here’s easy: I’m buying you. 

"Try and stay off your knees for a while.”