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Fic: Are Written On The Subway Walls (Wizards Of Waverly Place, Justin/Alex)
Title: Are Written On The Subway Walls
Fandom: Wizards Of Waverly Place
Pairing(s): Justin/Alex
Word Count: 1952
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Justin and Alex sneak out. Or at least, they try to.
Notes: Written for this prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
omgjustinalex.
Alex bumps into a table ahead of him, setting off a series of crashes he thinks could probably be heard two blocks away, never mind upstairs, and for roughly the thousandth time, Justin swears that he's done following Alex into trouble.
She glances back at him, as if in question, do you think they heard?
He raises an eyebrow, of course they heard it, everyone in the city heard it, and this was a stupid plan to begin with, so can we just go back upstairs now, before we get caught?
At least, that's what he means to convey. But Alex just shrugs, and sets off again after a moment's hesitation, so maybe she either doesn't notice or doesn't understand.
Or maybe she's ignoring him, as usual.
So -
"Alex," he whispers, and he thinks he can probably risk that much; if the crash didn't wake their parents up, his whispering isn't going to do it.
"What?" she whispers back, only on Alex, it isn't so much a whisper as a really quiet yell.
He rolls his eyes. "We shouldn't be sneaking out."
She takes a few steps back to where he is, and when she sighs, he swears he can almost feel it, just below his throat. "Justin, we've been over this."
Yeah, but that was before. When it wasn't actually happening. When they hadn't probably just woken up half the neighbourhood. When he still thought he might be able to talk Alex out of it.
(Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. What's the rule when it happens every day of your life?)
"Mom and dad are probably awake," he says, and that seems as good a time as any to hear footsteps on the stairs. Of course.
Alex, for all that she's way more experienced at this than he is (as in, he assumes she's done this before), freezes. So Justin grabs her arm, his hands closing over the skin just above her wrist, and pulls her back towards the kitchen just as the restaurant fills with light. Not enough to blind them, which is maybe the only thing saving them at this point, but enough for a flashlight or two, moving in haphazard circles as the footsteps get louder.
He tugs Alex into the corner as far as he can manage, trying not to bump into anything, warning her with a look not to speak. And it's not like the light is bright or anything, but he knows she can see him, so she has no excuse, any more, for not being able to read his expression.
"What are -" she starts, before he puts his hand over her mouth to shut her up. Apparently she doesn't need an excuse to ignore him, which really shouldn't surprise him.
It probably shouldn't surprise him, either, when she bites his hand, but it does.
He bites back a startled yelp of pain (or something more manly, like a groan, or a grunt), and glares at her. She's staring back at him with her most innocent expression, the one that says butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, the one that always sets him immediately on edge. And it's almost like she wants to be caught, because their parents are probably standing a dozen feet away, and she's making more than enough noise to alert them to her and Justin's presence.
"Stop -" she says, and he puts his hand back over her mouth.
This time, she doesn't bite him.
She licks him.
Her name is a fraction of a second away from escaping his lips, Alex (almost like Alex, that's disgusting, but not quite, and he doesn't think about what it's exactly like). Instead, he pulls his hand away again, and hopes the thudding of his heart isn't actually as loud as it sounds inside his head.
As much as they fight, sometimes it surprises him how much they can say without words, but in the next few seconds, it feels like they're having an entire discussion in the silence. And he knows how his side of the conversation goes, shut up, don't say anything, keep still, maybe they'll go away.
Alex's side of the conversation is mostly a mystery to him, except for the clear look of defiance in her eyes.
Still, for a minute, it almost seems to work. He can see the glow of the flashlights bouncing off the walls, plastered with fliers for the party he and Alex were planning to attend. (Okay, for the party Alex was planning to attend, before he somehow got roped into following her.) It feels like bad luck, fate, karma, whatever, but their parents don't suddenly burst into the kitchen and pin them with accusing glares, so maybe it isn't.
And then, because something had to go wrong, Alex moves.
At first, he thinks it's an accident, or that she's trying to get comfortable. But then her hand brushes low on his waist - really low, to the point where it isn't really his waist any more - and the movement is slow, deliberate, and there's no way she doesn't know exactly what she's touching.
(Well, okay, maybe she doesn't. But as much as he'd like to think it, Justin doesn't honestly believe his sister is that innocent.)
Alex, he has to stop himself saying again, because he wants nothing more than to ask her what she thinks she's doing, really, but maybe the only thing worse than being caught by their parents a moment ago would be being caught by their parents now.
He tries to back away, without disturbing anything, but the bench is already digging into his hips, and there's really nowhere for him to go.
From the look in Alex's eyes, she knows it.
"Alex," he says, so quietly he almost breathes it. His hand hovers somewhere around his waist, almost reaching for her, not quite.
"Shh," she whispers, leaning close enough that her breath tickles his ear, and then her hand is pressing, again, more insistent.
(And he was right. She knows exactly what she's doing. Somehow, it isn't much of a comfort.)
But he really, really doesn't want to get caught now, so he bites his lip, and turns his head just enough so that he can still see the restaurant out of the corner of his eye.
Neither of them move.
Justin waits, seconds that feel like hours, and eventually the light fades and disappears, and they're alone again.
He expects Alex to stop as soon as their parents are gone, like it was all some stupid game, seeing how far she could push him when he couldn't, or wouldn't, fight back. But she doesn't; she stays where she is, almost exactly, and then, instead of releasing the pressure, she increases it.
"Alex," he says - still quietly, because their parents are upstairs, but not asleep, and probably won't be for a while - and he can feel his whole body go rigid.
Okay, so one part of his body in particular, but her hand is right there, and he's a guy, after all. And it may be his sister touching him (and, god, he can barely look her in the eye), but it's only his brain that knows that, and his brain really isn't in charge any more.
And maybe he should have stopped this already, now that he can. It would be easy enough to pick her up, to move her hand, to move her out of his way.
So ...
Yeah. He doesn't know why he hasn't, either.
"Justin," she says, and it's almost a mockery of his tone - that's exactly what he thinks it is, at first, and if this really is just a game to her, maybe he can stop it, after all - but there's something underneath it, too.
Something decidedly not-Alex. Uncertainty. Need.
So he reaches for her, but instead of pushing her away, he pulls her closer, runs a hand down over her hip, back up her inner thigh. She's dressed for summer, even though the weather isn't quite there yet, and his fingertips trace bare skin as he touches her.
And then she arches into him, and moans, the sound muffled against his neck, and -
Well, he's being reckless tonight already, right?
His fingers find the elastic of her underwear and slip inside, and then he pauses, for a minute - for her to stop him, if she doesn't want to go this far, if this is all just a joke gone horribly wrong. But she doesn't say anything, just looks up at him, lips slightly parted, and a look in her eyes he doesn't think he's mistaking for anything.
And, okay, it's not like he's massively experienced at this or anything, but he knows, roughly, what he's looking for. And when he finds it, he circles, flicks gently (and that makes her shudder against him, so he does it again), and avoids the temptation, barely, to spread her legs, to fuck her with his fingers until she's screaming his name.
Because, okay, there's still that whole 'parents just upstairs, probably waiting for an excuse to come back down here' thing. And the fact that this is Alex, and she's his sister, and -
Okay, so he's mostly past caring about that one.
But even taking it slow, controlled, measured, he still stumbles upon something that makes her whole body tense, and then she's melting into him, sighing into his collarbone. And he's hard, like, achingly hard against her, so when her hands start moving again, fumbling at the button of his jeans, he doesn't stop her, doesn't tell her that it's okay, that she doesn't have to do anything for him in return.
(Honestly? He's not sure he trusts himself to speak. And he can't remember the last time Alex did anything she didn't want to, so maybe there's that.)
And then she's kneeling in front of him, and oh, god, okay, so they're doing that. And he counts backwards from a hundred in his head, mentally recites pi to ten decimal places, and bites his tongue, hard, because he can actually hear their parents moving upstairs, and if he can hear them -
He thinks he could probably calculate exactly how thick the floorboards are, how much noise it would take for them to realise something's wrong. (Not a lot, probably.) And their parents have probably already been to check on them, make sure they're still in bed, and he thinks, remembers, edgebono utoosis, and hopes Alex's clone doesn't bark instead of snoring.
And then he's just thinking about Alex, in bed, as his hands curl in her hair, and it's way too late to stop himself sliding over the edge. (He doesn't have a chance to warn her, and maybe that's bad form, but he's not entirely sure he cares.)
He's almost convinced himself he can hear her swallowing (and he's half hard again, just from that), and then she rises to her feet, smiles at him in a way that's all Alex and trouble and shows no sign that she's just finished giving him head.
He does his own fly back up, because, well. She's probably done enough.
"Come on," she says - whispering, like, now she's being careful - and takes his hand. She pulls him back out towards the restaurant, and he goes with her easily. "We still have a party to get to."
He experiences a brief flash of indignation - like, maybe that's all this was about, or maybe not, but either way, he's still pretty sure she's playing him. But it vanishes almost as soon as it comes, and he squeezes her hand a little tighter, instead.
Right now, it's kind of hard to care.
Fandom: Wizards Of Waverly Place
Pairing(s): Justin/Alex
Word Count: 1952
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Justin and Alex sneak out. Or at least, they try to.
Notes: Written for this prompt at
omgjustinalex.Alex bumps into a table ahead of him, setting off a series of crashes he thinks could probably be heard two blocks away, never mind upstairs, and for roughly the thousandth time, Justin swears that he's done following Alex into trouble.
She glances back at him, as if in question, do you think they heard?
He raises an eyebrow, of course they heard it, everyone in the city heard it, and this was a stupid plan to begin with, so can we just go back upstairs now, before we get caught?
At least, that's what he means to convey. But Alex just shrugs, and sets off again after a moment's hesitation, so maybe she either doesn't notice or doesn't understand.
Or maybe she's ignoring him, as usual.
So -
"Alex," he whispers, and he thinks he can probably risk that much; if the crash didn't wake their parents up, his whispering isn't going to do it.
"What?" she whispers back, only on Alex, it isn't so much a whisper as a really quiet yell.
He rolls his eyes. "We shouldn't be sneaking out."
She takes a few steps back to where he is, and when she sighs, he swears he can almost feel it, just below his throat. "Justin, we've been over this."
Yeah, but that was before. When it wasn't actually happening. When they hadn't probably just woken up half the neighbourhood. When he still thought he might be able to talk Alex out of it.
(Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. What's the rule when it happens every day of your life?)
"Mom and dad are probably awake," he says, and that seems as good a time as any to hear footsteps on the stairs. Of course.
Alex, for all that she's way more experienced at this than he is (as in, he assumes she's done this before), freezes. So Justin grabs her arm, his hands closing over the skin just above her wrist, and pulls her back towards the kitchen just as the restaurant fills with light. Not enough to blind them, which is maybe the only thing saving them at this point, but enough for a flashlight or two, moving in haphazard circles as the footsteps get louder.
He tugs Alex into the corner as far as he can manage, trying not to bump into anything, warning her with a look not to speak. And it's not like the light is bright or anything, but he knows she can see him, so she has no excuse, any more, for not being able to read his expression.
"What are -" she starts, before he puts his hand over her mouth to shut her up. Apparently she doesn't need an excuse to ignore him, which really shouldn't surprise him.
It probably shouldn't surprise him, either, when she bites his hand, but it does.
He bites back a startled yelp of pain (or something more manly, like a groan, or a grunt), and glares at her. She's staring back at him with her most innocent expression, the one that says butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, the one that always sets him immediately on edge. And it's almost like she wants to be caught, because their parents are probably standing a dozen feet away, and she's making more than enough noise to alert them to her and Justin's presence.
"Stop -" she says, and he puts his hand back over her mouth.
This time, she doesn't bite him.
She licks him.
Her name is a fraction of a second away from escaping his lips, Alex (almost like Alex, that's disgusting, but not quite, and he doesn't think about what it's exactly like). Instead, he pulls his hand away again, and hopes the thudding of his heart isn't actually as loud as it sounds inside his head.
As much as they fight, sometimes it surprises him how much they can say without words, but in the next few seconds, it feels like they're having an entire discussion in the silence. And he knows how his side of the conversation goes, shut up, don't say anything, keep still, maybe they'll go away.
Alex's side of the conversation is mostly a mystery to him, except for the clear look of defiance in her eyes.
Still, for a minute, it almost seems to work. He can see the glow of the flashlights bouncing off the walls, plastered with fliers for the party he and Alex were planning to attend. (Okay, for the party Alex was planning to attend, before he somehow got roped into following her.) It feels like bad luck, fate, karma, whatever, but their parents don't suddenly burst into the kitchen and pin them with accusing glares, so maybe it isn't.
And then, because something had to go wrong, Alex moves.
At first, he thinks it's an accident, or that she's trying to get comfortable. But then her hand brushes low on his waist - really low, to the point where it isn't really his waist any more - and the movement is slow, deliberate, and there's no way she doesn't know exactly what she's touching.
(Well, okay, maybe she doesn't. But as much as he'd like to think it, Justin doesn't honestly believe his sister is that innocent.)
Alex, he has to stop himself saying again, because he wants nothing more than to ask her what she thinks she's doing, really, but maybe the only thing worse than being caught by their parents a moment ago would be being caught by their parents now.
He tries to back away, without disturbing anything, but the bench is already digging into his hips, and there's really nowhere for him to go.
From the look in Alex's eyes, she knows it.
"Alex," he says, so quietly he almost breathes it. His hand hovers somewhere around his waist, almost reaching for her, not quite.
"Shh," she whispers, leaning close enough that her breath tickles his ear, and then her hand is pressing, again, more insistent.
(And he was right. She knows exactly what she's doing. Somehow, it isn't much of a comfort.)
But he really, really doesn't want to get caught now, so he bites his lip, and turns his head just enough so that he can still see the restaurant out of the corner of his eye.
Neither of them move.
Justin waits, seconds that feel like hours, and eventually the light fades and disappears, and they're alone again.
He expects Alex to stop as soon as their parents are gone, like it was all some stupid game, seeing how far she could push him when he couldn't, or wouldn't, fight back. But she doesn't; she stays where she is, almost exactly, and then, instead of releasing the pressure, she increases it.
"Alex," he says - still quietly, because their parents are upstairs, but not asleep, and probably won't be for a while - and he can feel his whole body go rigid.
Okay, so one part of his body in particular, but her hand is right there, and he's a guy, after all. And it may be his sister touching him (and, god, he can barely look her in the eye), but it's only his brain that knows that, and his brain really isn't in charge any more.
And maybe he should have stopped this already, now that he can. It would be easy enough to pick her up, to move her hand, to move her out of his way.
So ...
Yeah. He doesn't know why he hasn't, either.
"Justin," she says, and it's almost a mockery of his tone - that's exactly what he thinks it is, at first, and if this really is just a game to her, maybe he can stop it, after all - but there's something underneath it, too.
Something decidedly not-Alex. Uncertainty. Need.
So he reaches for her, but instead of pushing her away, he pulls her closer, runs a hand down over her hip, back up her inner thigh. She's dressed for summer, even though the weather isn't quite there yet, and his fingertips trace bare skin as he touches her.
And then she arches into him, and moans, the sound muffled against his neck, and -
Well, he's being reckless tonight already, right?
His fingers find the elastic of her underwear and slip inside, and then he pauses, for a minute - for her to stop him, if she doesn't want to go this far, if this is all just a joke gone horribly wrong. But she doesn't say anything, just looks up at him, lips slightly parted, and a look in her eyes he doesn't think he's mistaking for anything.
And, okay, it's not like he's massively experienced at this or anything, but he knows, roughly, what he's looking for. And when he finds it, he circles, flicks gently (and that makes her shudder against him, so he does it again), and avoids the temptation, barely, to spread her legs, to fuck her with his fingers until she's screaming his name.
Because, okay, there's still that whole 'parents just upstairs, probably waiting for an excuse to come back down here' thing. And the fact that this is Alex, and she's his sister, and -
Okay, so he's mostly past caring about that one.
But even taking it slow, controlled, measured, he still stumbles upon something that makes her whole body tense, and then she's melting into him, sighing into his collarbone. And he's hard, like, achingly hard against her, so when her hands start moving again, fumbling at the button of his jeans, he doesn't stop her, doesn't tell her that it's okay, that she doesn't have to do anything for him in return.
(Honestly? He's not sure he trusts himself to speak. And he can't remember the last time Alex did anything she didn't want to, so maybe there's that.)
And then she's kneeling in front of him, and oh, god, okay, so they're doing that. And he counts backwards from a hundred in his head, mentally recites pi to ten decimal places, and bites his tongue, hard, because he can actually hear their parents moving upstairs, and if he can hear them -
He thinks he could probably calculate exactly how thick the floorboards are, how much noise it would take for them to realise something's wrong. (Not a lot, probably.) And their parents have probably already been to check on them, make sure they're still in bed, and he thinks, remembers, edgebono utoosis, and hopes Alex's clone doesn't bark instead of snoring.
And then he's just thinking about Alex, in bed, as his hands curl in her hair, and it's way too late to stop himself sliding over the edge. (He doesn't have a chance to warn her, and maybe that's bad form, but he's not entirely sure he cares.)
He's almost convinced himself he can hear her swallowing (and he's half hard again, just from that), and then she rises to her feet, smiles at him in a way that's all Alex and trouble and shows no sign that she's just finished giving him head.
He does his own fly back up, because, well. She's probably done enough.
"Come on," she says - whispering, like, now she's being careful - and takes his hand. She pulls him back out towards the restaurant, and he goes with her easily. "We still have a party to get to."
He experiences a brief flash of indignation - like, maybe that's all this was about, or maybe not, but either way, he's still pretty sure she's playing him. But it vanishes almost as soon as it comes, and he squeezes her hand a little tighter, instead.
Right now, it's kind of hard to care.