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shallownessTitle: Mileage may vary
Author: shallowness
Rating: PG-13
Show: Dark Angel
Pairing: Max/Ninja
Summary: Max Guevara – by the one who knows her best.
It's about 800 words long. Originally posted in June 2004.
Disclaimer: Don’t own or profit from the characters, only playing with them.
Spoilers: Before The Dawn, season 2 until Love Among the Runes. (The Ninja didn’t like Freak Nation either.)
Warning: Bessie-bashing.
Author’s notes at the end.
Mileage may vary: shallowness
I wait for your thighs to surround me.
I learnt to be patient, knowing the moment you jump me with no warning makes it worth it. When you settle on top, depending on me to get you where you need to go. Don’t I always deliver?
You know it. Nobody else gets to touch me. You’d scratch the eyes out of anyone who scraped me. Nobody dares to look at me the wrong way – they know you’re my girl.
You know you couldn’t make it without me. I like to think you were crying under the cussing when you fetched me after your little sister shot me on that knock off easy ride of hers.
Like always, you found me, took me, showed me a good time like I’d never had before. I know you grumble ‘bout my expensive thirst, but you always pay up for me. Nobody else has been with you so long, or traveled up the seaboard with you. When you’re planning a journey, you wouldn’t think of taking anyone else with you first.
We both learnt that you needed me that time you kinda died. When I waited for you to return, believing you would for me, wouldn’t let me rust from disuse, with no loving hands on me to make me glow. OC and me, we waited for ya, that should have brought us closer together but there were days, weeks when she looked at me sideways. And her caress was always sad. Because she was afraid that some day when somebody asked her if she was gonna give me up or finally learn how to ride me, Cindy wouldn’t have a comeback.
You repaid our trust and waiting, revved me up to wake her, came to me first. Hey, people hear the bike, they know it’s you. That’s just the way it is.
I always let you have me, push me further than ever before. Speed me up so that the wind is pressing down on my windscreen. Go for Max, isn’t that your motto? Mine too.
We heat up, ignite the tarmac and each other.
I’m the one who takes you to clear your head, either to the Needle or out of the city. You tilt me, rev me up, leave the others behind. I wanted so much for you to escape the Seattle city limits. It could have been just us, not the screw ups and complications that dog your existence. But you turned, and at the slightest touch I rolled over and let you. Soft touch that I am.
I just don’t want to share you. I know you get uncomfortable when we’re a threesome, there’s only tension in your voice, none of the purring when it’s you and me riding it out. They always turn to you to rescue them, even the Johnny come lately, who has his own machine now, always hovering behind or on your side. But I don’t think that’s who he calls baby at night.
He’s around too much, with that lurid green monstrosity, and I hear you mutter and plot to get him away, but he still finds his way to get close, holding on to your waist. I liked it better when Motor Pony meant I got to be with you all day. Don’t tell me you didn’t like it. Don’t tell me you didn’t know you and I were the best team. The lookers.
The other bike was your work clothes, I’m the little black number you slink on to feel special.
Although the slinky black garb you normally wear clings down your calves, covers you up good and proper for whatever misdemeanor you’re up to. You’re no ordinary, I’ve willingly carried grappling hooks, ropes and explosives for you. You’re light enough to carry wherever you need to go.
That’s why I didn’t understand when you used to ditch me for the Aztec, for its owner’s precious missions. When you snuck me around the back of the apartment building. What kind of name is Bessie anyway? Some cozy, chuckling, white haired round woman baking cakes. ‘Trusty old Bessie.’ Not you at all. Who needs a sturdy gray four-wheeler boxing you in when you’re a revved up no-holds barred girl? My girl.
On the nights I was left behind, I imagined Bessie’s eventual end in explicit detail. A metal husk clinging to a magnet, feet above the piles of other wrecks. Dropped mercilessly because nobody wants it no more.
Admit it, you always had more fun when those missions were with me, when we were whipping past the watching hoverdrones, too fast to register, almost skimming down streets. Free.
A dark angel and her baby.
END
Feedback – pretty shiny please.
A/N: Influenced by a Johnny Depp/Camera fic and any Dark Angel episode and fic involving transgenics and motorbikes.
Thanks as ever to FridayAngel for the beta - any mistakes are mine.
Author: shallowness
Rating: PG-13
Show: Dark Angel
Pairing: Max/Ninja
Summary: Max Guevara – by the one who knows her best.
It's about 800 words long. Originally posted in June 2004.
Disclaimer: Don’t own or profit from the characters, only playing with them.
Spoilers: Before The Dawn, season 2 until Love Among the Runes. (The Ninja didn’t like Freak Nation either.)
Warning: Bessie-bashing.
Author’s notes at the end.
I wait for your thighs to surround me.
I learnt to be patient, knowing the moment you jump me with no warning makes it worth it. When you settle on top, depending on me to get you where you need to go. Don’t I always deliver?
You know it. Nobody else gets to touch me. You’d scratch the eyes out of anyone who scraped me. Nobody dares to look at me the wrong way – they know you’re my girl.
You know you couldn’t make it without me. I like to think you were crying under the cussing when you fetched me after your little sister shot me on that knock off easy ride of hers.
Like always, you found me, took me, showed me a good time like I’d never had before. I know you grumble ‘bout my expensive thirst, but you always pay up for me. Nobody else has been with you so long, or traveled up the seaboard with you. When you’re planning a journey, you wouldn’t think of taking anyone else with you first.
We both learnt that you needed me that time you kinda died. When I waited for you to return, believing you would for me, wouldn’t let me rust from disuse, with no loving hands on me to make me glow. OC and me, we waited for ya, that should have brought us closer together but there were days, weeks when she looked at me sideways. And her caress was always sad. Because she was afraid that some day when somebody asked her if she was gonna give me up or finally learn how to ride me, Cindy wouldn’t have a comeback.
You repaid our trust and waiting, revved me up to wake her, came to me first. Hey, people hear the bike, they know it’s you. That’s just the way it is.
I always let you have me, push me further than ever before. Speed me up so that the wind is pressing down on my windscreen. Go for Max, isn’t that your motto? Mine too.
We heat up, ignite the tarmac and each other.
I’m the one who takes you to clear your head, either to the Needle or out of the city. You tilt me, rev me up, leave the others behind. I wanted so much for you to escape the Seattle city limits. It could have been just us, not the screw ups and complications that dog your existence. But you turned, and at the slightest touch I rolled over and let you. Soft touch that I am.
I just don’t want to share you. I know you get uncomfortable when we’re a threesome, there’s only tension in your voice, none of the purring when it’s you and me riding it out. They always turn to you to rescue them, even the Johnny come lately, who has his own machine now, always hovering behind or on your side. But I don’t think that’s who he calls baby at night.
He’s around too much, with that lurid green monstrosity, and I hear you mutter and plot to get him away, but he still finds his way to get close, holding on to your waist. I liked it better when Motor Pony meant I got to be with you all day. Don’t tell me you didn’t like it. Don’t tell me you didn’t know you and I were the best team. The lookers.
The other bike was your work clothes, I’m the little black number you slink on to feel special.
Although the slinky black garb you normally wear clings down your calves, covers you up good and proper for whatever misdemeanor you’re up to. You’re no ordinary, I’ve willingly carried grappling hooks, ropes and explosives for you. You’re light enough to carry wherever you need to go.
That’s why I didn’t understand when you used to ditch me for the Aztec, for its owner’s precious missions. When you snuck me around the back of the apartment building. What kind of name is Bessie anyway? Some cozy, chuckling, white haired round woman baking cakes. ‘Trusty old Bessie.’ Not you at all. Who needs a sturdy gray four-wheeler boxing you in when you’re a revved up no-holds barred girl? My girl.
On the nights I was left behind, I imagined Bessie’s eventual end in explicit detail. A metal husk clinging to a magnet, feet above the piles of other wrecks. Dropped mercilessly because nobody wants it no more.
Admit it, you always had more fun when those missions were with me, when we were whipping past the watching hoverdrones, too fast to register, almost skimming down streets. Free.
A dark angel and her baby.
END
Feedback – pretty shiny please.
A/N: Influenced by a Johnny Depp/Camera fic and any Dark Angel episode and fic involving transgenics and motorbikes.
Thanks as ever to FridayAngel for the beta - any mistakes are mine.
