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Reply to Mala or visit her websiteAdded to the Roswell Slash Archive January 26, 2002
Title: "The Vessel"
Rating/Classification: 'R', K/T, M/T, K/M, slash implications, angst, smut.
Disclaimer: I don't own them...but I wish I did! Lyrics from Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20.
Summary: Two people drown in their desire for what they can't have.
everyone here knowsThe girl above him was rocking into his hips with a look of utter concentration. Her dark blond brows were furrowed, her lips parted to allow her soft gasps egress. She was doing all the work. Work. Since when had sex become work? Since when had he taken to drowning in a dark and mutual nothing? His lower body clenched and unclenched as his eyes fixed on the ceiling...seeing something, anything, but the mercenarial feelings inside him mirrored on her pretty face.
everyone here is thinking about
it's best if we all keep it under our heads
I couldn't tell if anyone here
was feeling the way I do
but I'm lonely now, and I don't know how
to get it back to good.
Anything to silence the questions...the uncertainties...the frustration. Anything to erase the shadow of Max Evans.
She had slammed the door to the bedroom with such intensity, rounding on him with the look of a hungry lioness, and he had given up in an instant. He'd pulled off his shirt, like he had for Liz mere hours before, and let her push him down. Her whispers of "I can't do this...I can't keep running to him" had made him wince, but he'd kept his own thoughts quiet. His own grievances about supposedly heroic aliens had faded quickly into the slight pain of her tight, virginal, depths.
And now she was no longer pure for her destined mate. She was wild. She was faithless. Grinding into him so hard that he wanted to beg her to stop, but he couldn't...because this was just one more cycle that had to be completed. One more turn of the karmic wheel.
His body was a vessel.
His mind was elsewhere.
In the same place as hers, he realized, suddenly.
He shut his eyes against the dimmed lights, against the vaguely soiled ceiling, against her gleaming gray-blue eyes, and he was pulled forward. A swirl of galaxies. And a face. A sober face with dream-dazzled dark eyes. A poet's eyes. Below the face was a slender neck...a firm body just a bit more muscled than his own. When he opened his eyes again, his hips were jerking. His body was shouting out to the vision.
And his throat echoed the cry.
Tess simply nodded as she slumped against him. Her hand gentle on the side of his face. "Even here, we can't escape him," she murmured, voice edged with bitterness and a fate she couldn't run from.
He wrapped his hand in her damp hair, found himself kissing her forehead and sighing. "Do you want to?"
"Do you?" she countered, resting her chin on his chest and staring at him with dispassionate appraisal.
He swallowed hard. Tasted her scent on his tongue. And every fiber of his being screamed for one moment...just one moment of something blissful and sensical.
"No," he whispered. "No, I don't want to escape."
And in one swift movement, he flipped her beneath him.
It was her turn to stare up.
His turn to concentrate.
And he waited for the flash. The glorious flash of Max Evans naked.
It was bliss.
It was sense.
It was everything.
And one more cycle was complete.
The wheel turned with an audible click.
And the sound of his own voice.
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