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It was amazing to the Hatter how one article of clothing--or rather, the lack thereof--could lead to the situation he found himself in.
The day had started usually enough. He’d woken early, and brushed his suit out, making minor repairs that were needed as he went along. His right pant leg always did insist on falling down to cover his ankle (which was ridiculous, as that was what his stocking were for, to cover salacious ankles--but oh, he was getting ahead of himself, to be thinking of ankles and stockings and salaciousness all at the same moment. Best to not start in on the stockings, not quite yet.)
He repaired the hem to the best of his ability (which, as someone whom did not delude themselves with the Sin of False Modesty, was quite well indeed, despite the hem’s most stubborn insistence on falling down. That had nothing at all to do with his own ability, just the hem itself’s lack of amiability), even knowing that he should be about making himself a new suit, instead of constantly repairing just the one he owned.
Creating new items for others to wear was ever so much pleasanter, though, than crafting anything for himself. Making something for one’s own sake smacked of such rampant pomposity that he’d never quite been able to allow himself to do so, never minding the necessity it was becoming. (For whom else would tailor his clothing? There were no other Hightopps about to make it, after all, and a Hightopp born could not wear a stitch that was not Hightopp made.)
Bathing was next on the agenda; he took extra care with his eyebrows. For what young lady likes a gentleman with sparse eyebrows? No, he mustn’t even entertain the idea of young ladies and his eyebrows and their impressiveness. To entertain it would be to invite it to stay, and it couldn’t stay, not today, for today was an Alice day, and if young ladies, his eyebrows, and the hopes of them being impressive stayed on an Alice day…
It would be bad.
So he shoved those thoughts of Alice away where all the similar Alice thoughts went--into the box in his mind labeled simply with an ‘A’, for no other label was needed. Alice began with an A, you see, and as A was the first letter of the alphabet, he didn’t need to wait to get those breath-stealing, stomach clenching ideas away in their proper place--he could simply shove them into the first box he came across. Her box, the first box, the A box; they were all the same.
That isn’t to say he didn’t still think about her; he most certainly did. There were just certain thoughts involving Alice and himself that just were Not Allowed. He treasured her far too much as a companion and member of the ‘family’ he’d created for himself after the eradication of his Clan to risk making her…Family.
Yet oh, how he wanted to.
Bathing done (and his eyebrows looked ravishing, if he did say so himself) the Hatter took himself to the kitchen next. Alice was coming to tea that day, and he wanted to have plum puffs waiting for her.
During her last visit (the day before the previous day, for although he’d like her to be at Tea every day, the silly girl insisted she had other obligations she had to fulfill, and was only able to accept his constant invitations perhaps thrice a week--she, with her eternal things that needed doing!) he’d presented a plate of the treats to her for the first time. She’d mentioned in passing the visit before that one that she dreadfully missed the puffs her mother’s cook had made for their teas, so he’d had McTwisp go Above, snatch the recipe, and bring it back Under for him.
He’d had the devil of a time finding some of the ingredients (he still wasn’t quite sure what wheat flour actually was, other than expensive) yet had scraped together what he had hoped was a close approximation of the treat she missed.
A delighted cry had been her initial response; then when she bit into one, she’d made the most delicious noise of contentment…
Well, that noise had been enough of a reward on its own that he vowed Alice would have plum puffs each time she sat at his table.
So he baked, and he prepared (for Thackery had taught him that in order to have anything turn out well, the ingredients must be baked before preparation--he’d told Alice such when she asked him how he was able to make her puffs and she’d been exceedingly confused, poor thing. No talent for cookery at all!) and all too soon it was Tea time.
Too soon, for he had not quite evicted the unwelcome (just for her visit! Afterwards, in the privacy of his room, they would be welcome indeed) guest thoughts from his mind--and he heard her voice out in the garden, calling for him.
He dusted himself off (as he’d managed to coat himself liberally with the mysterious flour), placed the puffs upon a tray, put the tray on the cart, and then pushed the tea service outside. She’d jumped up to help him, but he waved her away. She was a welcome and invited guest, after all.
Soon after the others arrived, (imagine that, Alice had been early!) and they had a wonderful afternoon. Too many sweets were eaten, riddles were told, and tea had been drunk until they were all fit to burst. Thereafter Mally and Chess went to their home (and how that relationship worked the Hatter firmly Refused to Think About), Thackery hopped off with McTwisp, and he and Alice were alone.
“Thank you so much, for such a lovely tea,” she’d said, and she laid her just-right sized Alice hand on his arm. He’d nearly sat bolt upright at that, and did manage to bang his knee on the underside of the table. She’s fussed over him for several moments, and when he’d guilted himself into believing that he’d soaked up enough of her affection, finally stopped the litany of worry.
“I’m quite fine, I assure you, Alice,” he’d said, his heart nearly stopping in his chest when she’d looked into his eyes, very closely. As if she were weighing and measuring him, to see if his words held the same heft as the truth.
“If you’re very sure…” she demurred, and he replied, “Yes, quite.” Neither said anything for several moments, a suddenly awkward silence filling the air. He didn’t know what caused it to be so, but he didn’t like the air being anything other than pleasant for Alice. He was relieved when she spoke again, as he was afraid anything he said would just make it awkward more still.
“Might I impose on you just a bit longer, Hatter?” she asked, and it took every bit of him to not scream “Yes, please!” A copper tang filling his mouth told him he’d bit his tongue in his quest for silence, and it hurt a bit as he said, much more calmly than he thought possible, “I would be pleased to assist you with whatever you require, Alice. What is the trouble?”
She started a bit at that. “Trouble? Oh, no,” she laughed, a nervous trill. Why was she nervous in his presence? Was it possible she was feeling much the same way he was?
“It was not an issue of trouble at all, unless you count the lack of reading material at Marmoreal as such.” Reaching for a well worn knapsack, she held it aloft, and the Hatter understood then, but she continued with anyways, “I have the last few volumes I borrowed to return. May I borrow a few more?”
A smile overtook him. Alice was simply so curious about Underland, and he had many volumes that were history as well as entertaining, complete with pictures and conversations. There were a great many things he would like to satisfy her curiosity on, and not just about Underland…
Right. How had that idea managed to escape the box?
“Of course you may, Alice. You should know by this time that I will allow you access to whatever that is mine that you should desire.”
The phrase tumbled out before he could give it the proper consideration, and even to his own ears his voice sounded raspy and wanting. Oh, what must she think of him?
She flushed, very prettily, the faint pink trailing from her cheeks, down her neck, and rested upon her chest, what he could see of it before it was unfortunately covered, that is. He did wonder how far down the flush went. Alice simply said, “Thank you, Hatter,” before rising and heading indoors.
He followed her to his small library (small, because no one in Underland had a very large one, with books and parchment in general being as rare as it was; the Hatter was not a wealthy man, but what material riches he did possess were in this form--books) and settled into one of the well-worn armchairs as he watched Alice pour over the titles on his shelves. Only one wall was covered with books, about eight shelves total; yet these shelves were twelve feet high, so a rolling ladder was needful for his mini-stacks, and one rested against the third shelf.
Hatter enjoyed watching Alice make selections from his books. He knew she’d seen much more impressive collections of learning (as she’d told him of libraries so large in London as would make his seem pathetic) yet she still acted as though each title was precious, and she would debate, sometimes for hours, on which one she would take back with her to Marmoreal after her visit. It had become a little ritual between the two of them, and one the Hatter cherished, as it was one of the few for just he and she.
It was when she’d climbed two steps up his rolling ladder that he saw it; one right-sized foot had lifted just high enough on the ladder for her skirts to hitch up the smallest bit. The smallest bit was all that was needed.
Alice, it seemed, was not wearing any stockings.
Her slender ankle was bare, the cream colored skin not having anything separating it from his vision save the inconvenient layers of skirt. If that ankle was bare, that meant that which was above the ankle was bare, which meant her knees were bare (the idea of seeing the backs of her bare knees nearly underdid him, right then), and her thighs…
It was the last semi-coherent thought he had for several moments. Vital moments, he realized, as when the semi-coherence returned, he had Alice pressed against the wall closest to the book stacks, and her skirts up as high as they could go…and he was…
He had to get the buttons of his trousers unfastened, post haste. Half were done, the other half fought against him, and he ripped them right off, throwing them to the ground in his haste. Whatever had happened in those blank moments, it must not have frightened her too badly, as she was still there, and had allowed him to--was allowing him to…The badness told a hold of him then, and he only had fleeting impressions of what was happening.
Why was she not stopping him? He needed her to talk to him, to calmly call his name in that special way that it seemed only she could do anymore, and pull him from the madness that would hurt her. He desperately did not want to hurt her…
He sprung free from the confines of his pants, he knew, and with one thrust, sheathed himself inside of her. He’d held still for a moment, feeling her body spasm around him, and he gasped, the sensation of her like this more than he ever expected it to be. His hands unclenched themselves from the handfuls of fabric they’d grasped, and slid their way to her own.
Why hadn’t she stopped him? She should have stopped him. Yet oh, the slurvish part of him was so very glad she had not. He and his Alice were joined together now, and they were Family, all of his good intentions gone, the A box kicked open and the ideas running free.
Pushing upward gently, he placed her hands on either side of her face. He withdrew a bit, slowly, drawing out the feeling of her warmth on every bit of his arousal. Unlike the usual fury and spontaneity of the Badness, this he felt was slow, as he remembered pulling out of her and pushing back in at a horrible, teasing rate.
Was it possible she was not repulsed by the idea of them, like this? For he knew enough of Alice’s temperament to know that if she was not desirous of a certain situation to occur, she was vocal in her disappropriation of it. (A certain incident with Thackery and thistle tea came to mind--oh, how fierce she had looked!)
Yet still he also knew that she would do much more than she should to save him. (Her behavior during the time of the Red Queen told him such; that she would come to Salazum Grum with the single intent of him told him as much. Chessur had informed him of the Alice’s true intent in going to the seaside Castle when they traveled back together towards Marmoreal, as he had heard it from Bayard, whom Alice herself had ordered to lead her there for that purpose.) He never, in any of the ideas he had that he Should Not Have about Alice, had one that involved her saving him, or her pity.
Please, do not let this be about pity.
Afraid to look at her face, the badness directed him to bury his face in the crook of her neck. The Hatter didn’t mind this so much, as he could smell her very well here, roses and clover and Alice sweat. He moaned, and her entire body tensed around him. The need to taste her then was too strong too deny, and he dragged his teeth as gently as he could manage in his fevered state down the small hollow just behind her ear.
She moved against him then, slightly, and it was only then that he realized even a bit that she hadn’t been moving much at all. Her hips rose slightly, the action uncertain, her inner muscles clenching his organ tightly. Her tentative movements were all he needed--she was responding to him now, but if she was now, that meant she wasn’t before, which meant--
It was too late for him to stop now, though, Alice wishing him to or not. The idea that she may not came to him at the same moment he did, and as he spurted into her depths that were just becoming so welcoming he felt a shame unlike any other he’d ever felt before overtake him. He took a few moments to breathe, and then the full impact of what he had just done came upon him as the badness chose then to lift from him.
He had taken without express permission something most precious from Alice. Taking without express permission was stealing.
He’d stolen Alice’s virtue. Against the wall in his library, that wonderful special fantastic place where they had their post tea time ritual that was just for he and she. The girl (no, young woman, he corrected himself) deserved more than that. She deserved more than him.
“Alice?” he asked, a part of him hoping that this entire afternoon had just been a dream, and he’d wake up, his seed spent against the sheets of his own bed again, (as it often was after dreaming of Alice) instead of here, still buried inside of her. Softening and coated in his own release, knowing that he’d taken what he’d wished, without the slightest expectation of it ever actually happening, she would give him of her own accord.
“Hatter,” she replied, and he winced, knowing that it most certainly was true then. He was a thief, of the most deplorable kind. He pulled away to look into her eyes (her perfect right shining glistening Alice eyes) and saw shock there. Snatching his hands away from where they were still traitorous clenching in her own, he ripped his gloves off. Those would have to be burnt; his whole suit would have to be burnt. It seemed he would be making himself a new suit after all; for what was the selfishness of making oneself a new suit compared to the slurvishness of the act he’d just perpetuated? If he was going to be the worst sort of person, he’d be the worst sort in a new suit.
Warm cheeks filled his then-bare hands, as he cupped her face with his ruined flesh. The contrast of his scarred hands and her perfect skin made him want to weep.
“You’re fine.” Alice said, voice rough, with pain or emotion, he couldn’t tell. She rubbed her cheek into his hand, then, like a Cat begging to be petted before opening her eyes. They focused on his unruly hair, and she reached up and smoothed it down a bit. Her fingers then glided over his eyebrows (oh, she did like them then! He’d so hoped she would) taming them from there no doubt wild state.
Cupping his face in her hands they way he had done to her just moments before, she said again, “You’re fine. I’m fine. We are both fine.”
The tears that had wanted to shed filled his eyes then. She should not be comforting him, not after his most foul thievery! He withdrew from her, unable to even look upon her as his member slid free of her body and hung loosely. Tucking himself back into his pants without care or concern of cleaning himself of the blood and spunk that was there (her blood, the blood of Alice) because after all, he was to burn this suit anyways, he buttoned only as many buttons as it took so she would not be subjected to his indecency, before turning his attention back to her.
He smoothed and straightened her skirt, taking extra care to make sure the petticoats fell just as they should, and what creases he’d managed to press into her skirt were as brushed out as his hands alone could make them. This done, he knew there was no more avoiding it. He needed to look at her, his Alice, and see if she was really as she said she was, as he would not live with himself if she were not.
“We’re…fine?” he asked, hating the fear in his voice, yet not knowing how to sound anything but fearful.
She nodded, her loose blonde curls framing her face making her seem an angel giving him benediction for his sin. “You took your gloves off,” she said, simply.
He fell then, his knees no longer able to support him. The tears that had threatened to fall earlier actually did so now, and he sobbed, for the ruined day, the blood on his manhood, the shed gloves upon the floor--but mostly for Alice herself, as she should have been the one crying, and she was not. Instead she wrapped her arms around him, and that made the tears come harder, as shame threatened to immolate him.
“Hatter…Hatter!” Alice called to him, and he’d looked up at her, and he was sure he looked a fright, but she just gazed at him as if he were wonderful, which he knew most certainly he was not. Wiping away his tears, she asked, softly, “Why?”
A bitter chuckle burned up the back of his throat. “Ye werena wearing stockings, lass.”
Confusion made two small furrows appear between her brows. “And that made you cry?”
“Nay.” He dared to look into her eyes again, and saw only acceptance in them. No fear, no loathing. Was this an impossible thing she’d chosen as one of her six for the day? “That is what…nay, that is not right, either.” He had been going to say that her lack of stockings had made him succumb to his lust, but that made it sound as if she would have been able to prevent it in some way, and he knew that she was not at fault, not in any form.
“My lack of stockings made you want to make love to me?”
Her muchness was not lacking now, he noted.
“Aye. Inflamed my lust, as it were.” They stared at each other for a moment, and then the corner of Alice’s mouth hitched up in the hint of a grin. “My bare ankles inspired all of this?” she pressed, gesturing faintly between the two of them. Not waiting for an answer, she began to giggle, covering her mouth with the back of her hand in an attempt to smoother her laughter.
It failed. Soon she was laughing outright, and despite himself, the Hatter found himself giggling too, as the absurdity of it struck him.
“My mother always told me that I wasn’t properly dressed unless I was wearing my stocking; she said I’d inspire unwholesome thoughts if it were known. I don’t know if she’d be gratified to be proven correct, or scandalized by it.”
They both laughed then, and Alice ran her hand down the back of his neck. “Oh, dear Hatter.” she said, fingers teasing his curls. “I am most gratified to see you smile.”
The smile stayed, though it turned shy as he said, “Are you certain you are fine?”
“Indeed.” she replied. “In fact, I was pondering something, and I would like to hear your opinion on the matter.”
“Whatever you desire,” he said, eager to do something, anything for this woman who had given him so much.
“What, exactly, do you think your reaction would be to the lack of a corset, if the absence of stockings inspires this much passion?”
No, her muchness was not lacking at all.
“I think I would hardly know what to make of it, my Alice,” he rasped.
“Well, then,” she said, and, reaching for his hand, took it and placed it upon chest, just under the curve of her breast, where the distinct lack of a corset could be felt through the fabric. “Why don’t we find out?"