AN: Long time no see. :) This is another Not!Jack story, you'll see where it's going pretty soon. I have the whole thing written, so if there's interest, I'll post the rest. Brownie points for those who will guess who the other guy is. ;)

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I have a surprise for you.

That's what he said when Alice hushed into her phone that no, she can't be his booty call whenever he damn pleases, part annoyed, part amused and part regretful, because she was at a work function that could forward her career, or at the very least maintain it, while he insisted for her to come meet him in some club she had never heard of.

Was he offering a date, all of a sudden, she asked, rubbing her forehead in the exasperated manner she picked up from him; they don't do dates. He just laughed, told her he was sending a car to pick her up and disconnected.

Curiosity winning the battle with reason, that's where she is. Some place not exactly dingy but not refined either, making her way through a crowd of loud, droopy-eyed hipsters, some overgrown and some baby-faced, some wallowing in exaggerated and most probably unreasonable gloom, others merrily drunk, most clad in black and swaying to the background thumping indie rock music as they nurse their beers. She's definitely overdressed, with her – fortunately black, so she doesn't stand out too much – little dress and all-business jacket. London. The incubator and cradle to all things avant-garde in music. Of course he'd want to make the most out of his stay in the town. Alice chuckles to herself, searching the mass for his face and faultlessly locating the distinctive shape of his skull, towering over his vicinity. More intrigued than vexed why he couldn't just come to her hotel, she stops, suddenly aware of her whole body, of every square inch of skin, just like every single time she's in his presence. Worn black t-shirts don't normally look as good as on his broad, muscled back.

Does this place have any hidden dark rooms? She's going to ask him when he makes a half turn toward her, as if sensing her presence, and breaks into an impish grin. But then he steps to the side and the words die on her mouth. Right beside him, leaning casually against a bar, wine glass in hand, is the other man, the man she had all but asked him to give her.

At first, he doesn't even seem to notice her. Staring pensively into his drink, he says something that she can't hear and now it looks like he's talking to himself and Alice bites back a giggle because that would probably be very much in character for him. She walks slowly up to them and Mr. Sexy Back greats her with simple hey, never coming anywhere close to touching her or in any other way disclosing the nature of their… relationship? That's a ridiculous thought, Alice decides, it would be more like marking his territory. But she has the attention of the other man now too. And it's full attention, because with a polite smile, not necessarily with deliberation, she unbuttons her jacket and slides it down her shoulders, slowing down when she sees his blue eyes pin her in place. Maybe this is going to be easier than she expected.

"And this…," he looks her over appreciatively, stepping aside to get a fuller view, "…is Alice." It sounds more like a presentation than introduction, all that's missing is him twirling her around and a slap to her butt, but there's so much… pride in his tone, that she's just amused. Did they talk about her?

The blond man shakes her hand and offers his name and she feels a little shiver down her spine to be so close to the voice that can make her feel dreamy and sexy and completely horny and is her favorite new obsession.

It was just a few days ago. He called, like he normally does when they both happen to be at the same location, to get her to his place. Not tonight, she said, I'm busy. I'm going to a concert, she offered, excited. He was curious what concert and when she told him, he said to have fun and that was it.

Until she nearly jumped out of her skin when a strong arm circled around her waist in the yelling crowd as the show had been coming to its end.

"Still busy?"

His stubble tickled her ear where he murmured very close to it. Alice gave him a cheeky smile, flattered with his determination to seek her out when he could have just gone into any local meat-market bar to get himself pussy for the night. But of course, he's a fan too.

"How did you get here?" She asked. "The gig was sold out." She'd never took him for someone who would exercise the do you know who I am? attitude.

"I know the guy," his chin pointed to the stage where the singer twitched and stumbled, trying to hold on to whatever was left of the microphone stand while balancing a surprisingly elegant wine glass in his other hand.

"You know him?" If the darkness concealed the spark of excitement in her eyes, her rushed, breathed out reply certainly didn't. She shouldn't have been surprised, in show business everybody knows everybody, even though – she's sure of that – both of the men would heartily deny celebrity status. No, they are artists, Alice thought in amusement.

"Couple of drinks a couple of times," he shrugged and took a long hard look at the performers; Alice would call that look adoring. "They're pretty awesome. Couldn't miss it."

"They are," she agreed. "Even when he's hammered," she laughed, watching the singer almost knock himself out with some piece of stage equipment.

"Didn't peg you as a fan," he gave her a curious look, smiling.

"Are you kidding me? I'd listen to him recite a phone book!"

"And you would do him for that, wouldn't you," he observed, studying her face.

"If he fucks the way he sounds…" Alice mirrored his cheeky smile. If he sounds like that when he fucks, would be more accurate. "What would you say?" She challenged, probing his possessiveness.

There was a moment of silence before he let go of the grip on her waist. "Only if I'd get to watch," he laughed, seemingly not making much out of it.

But later that night, when she was braced against a wall in his rented apartment in Marylebone while he held her by the hips thrusting into her extra hard from behind and she closed her eyes, oblivious to anything but the pleasure of this wild beast unleashed on her, he grazed his teeth along her throat.

"Are you wishing it was him?"

Her eyelids fluttered open and it took a few seconds to get what he was coming at. She turned her head to look at him, eyes dark and jaw set, and it was impossible to tell if the idea infuriated him or turned him on.

"No," she said after a long pause. "But I wish he was here, too."

xxxxx

His hands are like all of him: pale and skinny, with long slender fingers of a man who spends days locked up in his head. But they aren't small and there are some nice veins and Alice takes that as a good sign, along with the relatively firm handshake.

Her head is buzzing as the emotional responses to her current reality battle for primacy: disbelief, amusement, panic. Looking up to the man passing her a drink – a fancy cocktail glass with her sea-water flavored favorite – she searches his eyes for confirmation or denial, mouthing a silent are you serious? A smile and a shrug are what she gets back.

"It's your call." Bastard. He'll make her decide on her own and make this happen. Or not.

A while ago, she had asked him if he'd want to see her with another man. If he'd want to watch. He never gave her a serious answer, but she sensed that the idea turned him on. He's not one to obsess about his prey and can afford to be non-possessive. But with all his libertarian, uninhibited ways, he never disrespected his prey either and as much as he toys with her, he wouldn't be interested in sharing her with a lesser man. That's why the subject laid dormant until Alice discovered the voice that poked at the exact same areas of her dirty brain that his entire presence does. And he happens to want to be the other guy.

She situates herself strategically by the counter, next to the other guy, while he backs up a little, taking on his trademark splayed stance, glass of wine in one hand, as if watching them interact is entertainment.

The blond man reminds her of an overgrown nerdy college student, complete with ragged, mud-colored clothes and a week-long scruffy reddish-blond beard; full of resent at the world that it is what it is and full of confusion and pent-up anger, at least that's the impression she gets from his serious eyes, and she is having a hard time keeping a straight face, but she also laughs because he's actually not all somber and says something wonderfully sarcastic and funny and Alice's mind gives him extra points on sexual attractiveness scale because she likes men who are intelligent enough to make fun of themselves.

At the same time, she's having a hard time staying focused on the meaning of whatever he says because the timbre of his voice is too distracting and to be honest, she'd rather close her eyes and delight in it, but that would be impolite, she thinks, as he nods sympathetically to the information about her corporate job.

Small talk. Alice wants to burst out in nervous giggles at the surrealistic clash of her vague fantasy soaked in heat and intensity and sensory overload with the improvised, somewhat awkward scene she's in the middle of, because she can't see how and if she can make the two merge.

"I used to have a corporate job," he says, and Alice wonders if that's the right moment to confess that she's known his name long before this night or if the inevitable fangirly outburst following would ruin everything. So she cocks her head in an imaginary question mark and hopes he continues.

"It's show business now," he laughs, and she knows it'd be a huge insult coming from anybody else.

Alice isn't particularly good at flirting, but emboldened by her drink and prompted by adrenaline this-may-be-your-only-chance-ever!, she's trying. The momentary awe that this guy is real after all is finally wearing off, thank God, and she arches her back and touches her throat as if readjusting an imaginary necklace. She turns her body slightly towards his and focuses her attention on him only, seemingly ignoring the man behind her - and he doesn't interrupt.

It's her interlocutor, Mr. Sexy Voice, that makes sure his… friend? Are they friends by now? isn't excluded and Alice finds that cute: will he make sure that he's not monopolizing her too? The thought alone makes her bite back a grin.

She should probably feel more turned on and less weirded out, more sensual and less Machiavellian, her mind feverishly looking for a key word, gesture, expression that would turn her sense of… uneasiness? fluster? into confidence and assertiveness that she's normally not lacking.

Judging by his stumbling – somewhat hazily – through the random conversation, Alice concludes that he has no idea why she's here or who she is. He's thrown a confused glance to the other man once or twice, but Alice gets a general impression that he doesn't mind the confusion because he'd rather appreciate her cleavage, albeit discreetly. And this is good, this is really all that's necessary.

She reaches mentally to the core of her fantasy, summoning the image with all its imaginary sensations, of having two naked male bodies surrounding her, everything amplified, caressing her everywhere at once, lips on her flesh, hips pushing at hers, words of lust murmured against her skin – And it's all that she can do to not touch the man in front of her.

Maybe she should, Alice debates, or maybe that's too early. Because she's made up her mind that she will; if there are two men who she could trust to do this with, these are them. She isn't sure why she trusts this particular combination to get it right, but she does.

By the time she suggests a cigarette break, she has Mr. Sexy Voice intrigued with her at the very least; he's just a man and they all respond, consciously or not, to visual stimuli and the kind of femininity she's been playing up. She gives Mr…. Sex a look and he smiles, leading the way to the murky backyard for all nicotine addicts while she gives her hips an extra sway, feeling the pair of blue eyes linger on her behind.

Her slim cigarette barely touches her lips when she sees two lighters, lit up, held out for her.

This. Is. It.

Her key, the one that she's been begging the patron of sluts for! Her languid smile growing wider, she stands still, observing the semi-awkward chuckling and shuffling as they disappear and reappear before settling in the original display, as if challenging her to choose.

He's a complete stranger, Alice thinks in renewed astonishment with her actions, as she grabs Mr. Sexy Voice's slender hand but leans towards the one of Mr. Sex, leaning away slightly as he follows her movement and enables her to pull the other man's arm out enough for the lighters to touch and the flames to fuse for her to suck on her cigarette and light it up.

Letting go of the hand she's been holding, Alice straightens and smiles at the stupefied expression behind the shaggy beard and the widened eyes, glancing up to the dark ones on the other side, mirroring his coy smirk.

"That was kind of hot, Alice," Mr. Sex drawls. She can tell that he's both appreciative and amused; her gesture might have been a lame one, but it's something, and she knows he wants the night to end the same way she does, for more reasons than one.

"That's…," Mr. Sexy Voice clears his throat like a nervous teenager, chuckling and scratching the side of his head. "Did you mean what I think you meant?" Oh, but his voice gets the gravelly edge that enhances its depth.

"I don't know," Alice offers him another sweet smile, not letting her own nervousness creep up back on her. "What do you think I meant?"

Lighting up his own cigarette, the tall lanky man takes a long drag out of it and shakes his messy-haired head as if to clear it from possibly far-fetched ideas.

"Okay, let me clarify that for you," Alice lets the impulse take over before her mind rejects the boldness as ridiculous. She turns to Mr. Sex, grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls down. And she kisses him. Hard, prying his mouth open with her tongue, relishing the familiar taste and responsiveness. But this is not yet the time to bask in the carnal pleasures – the warm weight of his hand on the small of her back forces her to break the kiss before she gets lost in it.

As expected, the face she turns around to has shock and arousal painted over it in equal proportions, mixed with a bit of discomfort and something akin to disappointment and possibly a hint of guilt, but there's no resistance when, slowly, she curls her fingers around his wiry hand and pulls it up… Absolutely no resistance when she wraps her lips around the forefinger, sucking it in her warm, wet mouth, swirling her tongue around it, all the time holding his mesmerized stare.

A myriad of emotions flash in his eyes, she can't even decipher them all, but the notion that he shouldn't probably be letting this happen doesn't come first, no. It gives way to the look thrown towards the other man, as if checking if he minds.

"Alice here, would like to be shared," she hears the words almost growled behind her and Mr. Sexy Voice doesn't move, accepting one last lick to his finger and weighing his excitement and desire against his morality and restraint. God! Alice would love to help him, don't try to be such a saint, she wants to tell him but doesn't, as he glances down at his palm, wet from her saliva. His skin tasted faintly of cigarettes but nothing distinct yet. She's sure it'll be very distinct in… other places… Mmmm, the thought of having this flavor selection is making her wet.

"I'll see you inside" Alice ditches her cigarette, smiling what she hopes is a seductive smile at each of the men and finding Mr. Sex still looking smug. Slowly, she walks away hoping, no, anticipating that whatever doubts her shiny new-found plaything may have left, will be cleared away by the master in this art himself. And he doesn't disappoint, she can still hear their brief exchange as it's fading away.

"Who is she?"

"You'll see."

"I don't… I can't really – "

"You don't say

no to a woman like Alice."

It's with different eyes that Mr. Sexy Voice looks at her when they return to the bar, not hiding his admiration, or probably having just embraced it, as much as he still looks dazed and the decision that has been made – to be a naughty boy – is still a fragile one. But his mouth does twitch in a lopsided smile when she casually inches up her skirt a little bit, perched on a bar stool. No one has harassed them in this hipster basement, and public recognition is probably the last thing on Mr. Sexy Voice's mind at that moment, but he is a public face and Alice will spare him evident displays of… lust, it's in her interest too. That's the quiet understanding she's always had with Mr. Sex.

"I think I need one more," the tall blond man gulps the rest of his wine and stares into the empty glass, chuckling, looking for the well-practiced stage freight remover, clearly.

"There is plenty of wine where we're going," she entices, sympathizing with him in a way, but worried that all his wine may well ruin all her hard work. "Right?" She looks up to the tall dark one, who's taken the back seat that night and doesn't seem to mind the slightest.

"Absolutely," he grins.

"You are way too excited for this, you know," she murmurs to him, grinning herself, when he helps her put her jacket back on.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Oh, as long as I'm not left out… Help yourself!" She winks and then gasps, because he gives her buttock a hard pinch followed by a mock-stern look. Not that she would blame him, Alice giggles, suspecting that in this particular case, some accidental cock rubbing would so not be a problem.

Mr. Sexy Voice never asks where they are going. Hands shoved down his jeans pockets in a sort of mirror to the other man as they make their way outside, he follows. She turns her head once, with a smile, making sure that he doesn't change his mind.

And that's how she's at the back of a big black car, with a plush inside, seated between the two men after Mr. Sex held the door open for her in a perfectly gentlemanly manner, away from the public eye, but there's a driver that she doesn't necessarily trust, so all that she does is placing a hand on the skinnier of the two set of thighs, tracing the inner seam of his jeans with her fingers, feeling the muscle underneath tense.

His features look more rugged and his eyes dark in the dimness of the car. He studies her face and remains passive, not touching her once; she recognizes the deer-in-headlights paralysis and the lingering fight to not want to want this. Want her.

"Relax," she whispers, soothingly.

She feels a hand on her own thigh, the warm, big, sure one, slowly pulling the hem of her dress up, until the lacy rims of her flesh-colored stockings are revealed. Stockings that she has put on for the extra-sexy-equals-extra-empowerment boost, dressing up for the work function and that she's now congratulating herself for, even if she's only wearing elegant but simple underwear, not her sexiest selection. There was no way of knowing how the night was going to end; Alice would pinch herself if she could: her favorite fantasy is becoming reality.

"That's sexy, Alice," the voice attached to those large hands rumbles on her right side, no less affecting really than Mr. Sexy Voice's, bringing the other man's focus to the view. "Hold-ups for a business meeting… Were you planning to give all the suits hard-ons?"

"Am I giving one to you?" She mutters, playfully grazing his forearm, tracing a prominent vein through the dark hairs sprinkled there.

"You can't wait to find out, huh?"

Alice smiles at him, they slip into the well-practiced dance with ease, the tension quickly rising and surging and him knowing exactly which buttons to push and in no mood to restrain himself. But it's a different kind of tension from the other man, challenging and thrilling her for the kill. She looks at him looking at her lap, where more skin is exposed as Mr. Sex bunches up the skirt of her dress almost at the crease of her thigh.

"Do you like it?" She asks Mr. Sexy Voice softly.

"Yes." God. His voice sounds even deeper when he's turned on; Alice feels a coil tighten up somewhere inside her in anticipation.

"You can touch," she encourages and for the first time, with just a hint of hesitation in the unsteady gesture, he does. His hand lands gently on her left thigh, experimentally feeling up the lace. His finger pads are soft but warm and where those belonging to Mr. Sex tease her, his savor her, reveling in the texture of nylon hugging her leg and the texture of her naked skin. A shaky breath escapes her lips when he presses his whole palm to her thigh and rubs slowly: he's getting into it and she's getting not one but two men that she wants and the fantasy didn't prepare her for the level of excitement.