A Mused (1028 words) Rating: Mature Relationships: Alan Wake/Alice Wake Characters: Alan Wake, Alice Wake Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Fluff, Hand Jobs Summary: Alan gets distracted during a phone interview. Notes: saw this post on tumblr. got inspired. short, sweet and spicy. (I'd say it's been a while since I wrote smut but I did start a sorjonen one way back in 2024 so. not entirely untrue)
read on ao3 in link above or read below:
He hated a lot of things about being a celebrity. So much so that it made him question why he ever wanted to be one in the first place. Why he wanted to share his works for others to read, to think about, to discuss.
To worship.
And the worst part of it all was the interviews. The nonstop questions not just about his work, but about himself. He didn’t care what Stephen King’s favorite color was when he was growing up, so why should anybody care about his? Only a privileged few got to know him to that detail, and one of them was sitting right next to him.
“I bet Stephen King didn’t have to do this many interviews,” Alan grumbled under his breath, flexing his back out as he rubbed his legs impatiently.
Alice stroked a curl of hair behind his ear on the other side of his face as she leaned into his shoulder.
“Can you blame the public for falling for such a stud like you?”
He exhaled deeply with a slight eye roll, waiting for the phone to light up.
“The phone interviews usually aren’t long,” she added as if she had to convince him to go through with this. Her free hand met his own on top of his knee.
“Yeah, but I feel like you just lose so much speaking through a phone, you know? Does the person on the other end really know I’m being genuine? How can I tell if they’re even listening? What if they think I’m not even the real Alan Wake, that I’m some sort of…fraud.”
“Would you rather be getting stuck in traffic halfway across town for longer than the actual interview?”
He turned to look at her, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes as she tested him.
In more ways than one, as her hand started to glide down and over his arm, onto his thigh.
Slowly.
“Well…no,” Alan blinked obliviously.
“The phone’s ringing,” she smiled as he squirmed to reach it.
He cleared his throat, but didn’t bat her hand away as he answered.
“This is Alan Wake.”
“Mr. Wake, hi, you’re on the air with NYC 106.65! I’m Jamie Tyler, how are you today?”
“A radio show? Didn’t know those were still a thing,” Alan chuckled to mask the growing sensation between his legs.
“Well, your Agent wanted it to be a surprise. Said a busy man like you would be perfectly happy with a short, sweet, to the point interview in between some good tunes.”
That wasn’t the only thing surprising him at that particular moment.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” he threw on the funny guy charm. He was grateful nobody could see the pooling drool in his mouth as Alice reached his crotch.
“So you got your fourth book coming out, ‘The Things That I Want,’ hitting store shelves next week. Rumor has it that our favorite private dick might be getting entranced by his own femme fatale, is that right?”
She spread her fingers wide across the fabric, searching for his zipper.
“Femme fatal is more like it,” Alan laughed in an almost embarrassing fashion as Alice slipped through with a light, tickling touch. He could hear the sound clip of a wolf whistle come over the speaker. He briefly wondered if Barry was in the studio.
“So tell us, what’s the process behind this thrilling series?”
She was full on groping him now, her fingers pressing so deep he could almost feel the tips of her nails penetrating the sensitive flesh.
“Mr. Wake?”
“Mm-hmm?” Alan squeaked.
“Your creative process, what is it?”
“It, uh…It’s uhmmmmmm,” Alan fumbled to Alice’s satisfied fit of giggles. He steered his head away to hide her from the world in the palm of his hand, but her grip proved she was the core of his own.
“Well, I guess we’re gonna have to pick your brain some other time, Mr. Wake. Don’t forget to stop by your local bookstore to pick up the next installment in the best selling Alex Casey series, ‘The Things That I Want.’”
He wanted her to release him, more than anything.
But not completely let him go, either.
“As a jazz aficionado, I bet you’ll enjoy this next one, Mr. Wake.”
The phone had already fallen to the floor, any last words he’d give to the disembodied voice and its listeners were lost in Alice’s mouth.
“Man of many words,” Jamie chuckled. “Once again you’re listening to NYC 106.65, and this is ‘Moanin’’ by Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers.”
The phone played the first couple notes of the song before it disconnected. His own moaning filled the apartment with arrhythmic music. Alice started to lap his face with kisses and licks to remind him of what she was working on; a brand new masterpiece.
He wasn’t to touch it. Not yet. He was just a conduit for the act of creation. He amused her with the various noises coming out of the instrument of his body as she had often performed as a muse for himself.
And by God, was she a talented artist.
Without much of a warning, he exploded in a burst of inspiration, his body seized in the most pleasant spasm he’d ever had on this couch.
Exhaustion kept him seated rather than running to his writer’s room. Looking at her face, studying the shape of her cheeks, the contour of her nose, the softness of her lips…
The color of her eyes.
This feeling wasn’t something he’d ever forget.
She removed her hand, now glistening and reached for a nearby napkin as he chased her with kisses of his own.
“I changed my mind. I think I should do more phone interviews, especially radio ones,” he panted as he zipped up.
“So not a complete waste of time, then?”
“They still are, but trust me, babe…” Alan slid off the couch and onto the floor. Holding her in place with his hands gripping her waist, he rested his chin on top of Alice’s knees. “I want to waste all of my time with you.”
