Rating/Classification: PG-13, humor, Ric/Alexis, ficlet, implied sexual situations.
Disclaimer: Nope! These characters don't belong to me.
Summary: I admit it. I've succumbed to the Rexis, Reckless, Smart Alics,
whatever. This is just taking their current banter one step farther.
n : a wrongful act that the actor had no right to do; improper professional
She was neurotic. Unapologetically neurotic. She carried paper sacks
around in her briefcase. In case of hyperventilation, break glass. He'd seen them. He knew. She was the only other person in Port Charles as obsessed with Sonny as he was... not that he considered that a good basis for a relationship...but, luckily, he wasn't *planning* to have a relationship with Alexis Davis. He just wanted to unsettle her enough to find out what her Deep Dark Sonny-Related Secret was.
These were the things he told himself.
His cautionary tales.
And he still ended up in her bed.
Well, to be specific, *his* bed. With her.
Ric wanted to blame it on the wine. She'd gotten him. She'd gained
ground back, turned the tables, given him his comeuppance, all thanks to a
very good Italian red from the Cellar's cellar. And she'd driven him home. Appropriately smug about it, too.
"We have an early court date tomorrow, Counselor...please make sure your shoes match," she'd said at the door to his apartment...in that hoity-toity
tone that sounded like somebody had crammed a gavel up her...legal briefs.
He knew when to admit he was bested. He did. Really. Round Two to Alexis. In an attempt to win Round Three...he'd kissed her.
That was where the wine came in.
Because he'd kept kissing her. Even when her hands came up to push him away. He'd just grabbed them and slid them beneath his suit jacket and
once she had hold of him, well, she wasn't going to let go. And that left him free to kiss her, free to rub the velvet of her dress between his fingers and contemplate just how quickly he could get it off her.
The only Deep Dark Secrets he wound up discovering over the course of the night were that she wore decadent silk legal briefs, liked oral sex a LOT,
and that she preferred the left side of the bed.
That was his side. He liked it, too.
So, they'd *cuddled*.
Well, until they'd both realized how ridiculous that was and moved to
separate sides. Which was where they were now. Come to think of it, it
was where they always were.
"This doesn't change anything, you know," she said, calmly, reaching for
"Well, of course not. The State is still going to send Skye to prison,"
he shrugged, leaning back against the headboard.
Alexis laughed, and he averted his eyes politely, as she stepped back into
her impossibly sexy underwear. "See, I was right. It doesn't change anything. You're still unbearably arrogant."
"I didn't hear any complaints last night," he pointed out, as pompously as he could. In fact, all he'd heard was a chorus of breathy four-letter-words. The general public would, no doubt, be shocked to hear that Ms. Davis had a mouth like a truck-driver. She was totally filthy and a complete turn-on. At least for him. Maybe her Deep Dark Secret was that her language had given Sonny a case of erectile dysfunction? Imagine that headline... "Alleged Mafia Kingpin Dethroned by C--t."
"You're despicable," she said, yanking her dress up over her waist. "I
suppose you're going to call Sonny at the first opportunity and tell him you're working your way through his little black book?"
If he and Alexis were both obsessed with someone...did that make their
night of passion a threesome? Moreover, since said someone was his half-brother, just how sick did it make him?
"I wasn't aware my brother *had* a little black book. Why, thank you,
Alexis," he said, cheerfully, despite the beginnings of a killer headache. "I'll have to steal it from him and put it next to your diary. I especially loved that entry you wrote about my smug smile and how much it turns you on."
"Might I remind you, Ric, that you were the one who kissed *me* last
night? Any and all sexual activity was purely your initiation." Alexis was now hunting for her shoes, apparently not suffering from the wine OR the 'any and all.' "I felt sorry for you," she informed, waving a sensible summer sandal.
"You felt *sorry* for me?" he repeated, sputtering, "What?"
"You're pathological. Unapologetically pathological. You take every
chance you can get to needle me in some sort of sad attempt to show up
Sonny and now that I'm on to you, well, despite any enjoyment on both our
parts, this need never happen again."
He watched her twist her hair up into a knot, remembering how it had felt, loose, against his face...how she'd trailed it down his chest, his stomach..,
"Never again?" he echoed, huskily, pushing aside the sheets he'd
tastefully pulled up to his waist.
She made the mistake of looking back at him instead of heading for the
door. Just as he knew she would.
Round Four...game, set, and match.
"I hate you," she whispered, as she came back to him.
Her cautionary tales were exactly like his.
Just as ineffective.
June 14, 2004.