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Reply to Sara or visit her websitePosted to the RoswellSlash mailing list July 16, 2001
Title: Gold Dust
Category: Liz POV, UC
Summary: Sometimes it's about the journey, not the destination. Or: Liz fantasizes, boys kiss boys, and uh-oh, threesome sexual tension!
Note: Midsummer, past three a.m., and I had "Any Time, Any Place" on repeat. These things happen.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but if I could just have a few hours with Liz...
Spoilers: I'm ignoring everything about Departure except for Tess leaving.
Distribution: My site, GP, BD, HWM, RSA, FFN, otherwise send feedback and ask.
Feedback: I want it, I need it, oh baby oh baby. firstname.lastname@example.org
Dedication: To Christine, Whiteotter, Plu, Nicola, Leta, bubbles, dae, Peachy, and Erin for cheering me up after the flaming incident. You guys are the best.
Thanks to: Plu for being an awesome beta.
BGM: "Any Time, Any Place" by Janet Jackson, "Hey Pretty" by Poe, and "Island in the Sun" by Weezer.
"My mind is starting to burn
With forbidden thoughts
Strangers all around
With the light down low
I was thinkin' maybe we could
"Any Time, Any Place"
* * *
The low, solid snap awakens me from my activity of staring off into space. I vaguely register the light hiss of carbonated air before Maria slides the Coke bottle down my way. I look up at her, meaning to say thank you, but sighing instead.
She sends me an amused smile. "Liz. You awake?"
"No." I lean back from the counter and stretch. "Because when I'm awake, I realize where I am. In Roswell. In one-hundred degree heat."
With a light smile of commiseration, Maria takes a swig of her own Coke. "You know, it was even hotter than that in Florida last summer, and you never complained," she points out reasonably.
"Ah, but Florida has beaches. With water. Oceans of it, as a matter of fact. Cold, wonderful water that you can swim in." I briefly lose myself in daydreams of cool waves, soothing breezes, and hot sand.
"Well, the Sheriff and Kyle just put in a pool. I seriously don't think they would mind you coming over to hang out there."
"Yeah, but-" I gesture to my uniform.
Maria rolls her eyes. "Liz, you only have an hour left of your shift. Get out of here. There are no customers. Jose and I will do just fine without you. Besides, Max is going to meet me here after we close, and if you're gone we can skip the small talk and get straight to the making out portion of the evening."
"Thank you for the unnecessary and very disturbing information." I frown, still feeling the need to protest, albeit weakly. "But-"
"Get out, Liz. Get out, get out, get out."
I sigh, then give in and hit her with my brightest smile. "You're the best. I'll see you later."
"Yeah yeah," she says. "Go on."
I giggle and head for the back room.
Ten minutes later, I'm in a red bikini topped with khaki shorts and a red tank top, heading out the door. Kyle's house isn't that far away, and I'm in the mood for a nice, introspective walk.
The streets are deserted; it seems most people have better things to do at ten past seven on a Thursday night than take a stroll in the blistering summer heat. No, that doesn't seem right. It's not blistering exactly, more...what's the word? Sultry, I guess. Less oppressive than enveloping. It's still early, but the sun is dimming, falling beyond the horizon to let dusk take over. I can feel the lingering pain of my sunburned shoulders ease as a thick summer breeze meanders by. An old Janet Jackson song hums through my head, and I'm suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am, walking around town alone with darkness quickly approaching. Anyone could just jump out of the bushes and push me against a tree, then have their wicked way...
...and perhaps the summer heat is getting to me worse than I thought. I speed up a bit, trying not to think of the heat. Must think cool thoughts. Okay. Popsicles. A picnic on the grass. Lying back on the cool, green grass, sucking on a cherry popsicle, slowly until it starts to drip, and then licking around the edges as drops fall onto my bare skin, and someone slowly licks them off, tongue tracing up my stomach, closer and closer and closer and-
Damn it. I wonder if Kyle is single.
Speaking of, that was a fast walk; I'm at his house already. I raise my hand to knock, when I catch a murmured sound through the open window four feet to my right. "Hello?" I call softly, then carefully approach the window.
I see someone on the couch. I'm struggling to see through the screen when I realize it's two people, just so close together they're practically one. One is obviously Kyle (guess that answers that), and the other is - frustratingly hidden slightly behind him. I bite down the urge to yell at Kyle to move, feeling faintly disturbed by my newfound voyeuristic tendencies, but nonetheless unwilling to leave until I've found out who Kyle is attacking with such ferocity.
Several things happen at once.
The unknown person shifts beneath Kyle, he falls off the couch, the other person sits up and bursts out laughing and an unmistakably male voice says "Kyle, you geek!"
I blink, then focus on curly hair and a half-removed leather jacket. Kyle leaps up and tells the guy on the couch to shut up, then kisses him soundly.
I realize, at that moment, that my ex-boyfriend Kyle Valenti is making out on the couch with my former fling Sean DeLuca.
With a sigh, I turn around and head home.
"What is it about summer nights?"
The voice is unmistakable. "Hey Isabel." I look to my left, where I see Isabel and Michael in her new convertible. "What's up?"
"Get in." The old ice-princess tone has crept into her voice, and I don't even consider refusing.
Shooting her a quirky grin, I climb in the back seat. "Everything all right?"
Michael looks back at me. "You hungry?"
The casual question catches me off guard, but I recover quickly enough. "A little bit. What's going on?"
Isabel puts the car in gear and rolls away from the curb. "Stop thinking so much. I've decided-" She glances at me from the corner of her eye. "We need to have fun."
I think about that. She's right, of course, and it's not like I have anything better to do than ride in a convertible with two of the most attractive...beings...in town.
Okay, that was definitely the heat-induced delirium talking.
"Relax," Isabel calls back to me as she speeds up and heads out of town. Then she turns up the radio, blasting "Hey Pretty."
I lean back and enjoy the ride.
"I want a popsicle." I don't even mean to speak, but somehow the words slip past my lips. We're in a 7-Eleven off Route 285, having stopped to get nourishment. Isabel is standing in the candy aisle, undoubtedly debating whether or not she'll be able to button her leather pants tomorrow if she indulges in a Mars bar. I'm staring at the Pop-Tarts, and Michael is- smiling sardonically at me from two feet away.
"A popsicle? Go crazy, Parker," he says with a smirk.
"I thought you were going to wait outside," I reply, slightly annoyed.
He reaches across me and grabs a box of Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tarts. "I got hungry."
I'm momentarily distracted by his arm in front of me; it's lightly tanned and sprinkled randomly with freckles. I want to lick them.
All right, that's it. I'm going to go stick my head in the freezer.
"Liz? You still there?" Michael looks at me, seemingly amused by my brief bout of spaciness.
"Popsicles," I mutter, and head for the freezer case.
I'm rummaging through the ice-cream sandwiches when I realize he's behind me again.
"Get some cherry ones," he says softly.
I jerk back and crash into him, and his hands come up to grip my forearms. Breathe. Just breathe. I look up at him over my shoulder. "Cherry?"
"Yeah, cherry popsicles. I like those."
"Me too." Our eyes lock, and I swear the heat we're generating is enough to melt the entire ice-cream freezer. I smile slightly, and-
"You ready to go?" Isabel raises an eyebrow at us.
Exhale. Damn it. She looks at me, then at Michael, apparently having caught the vibe.
I glance once more at Michael. "Yeah," I say slowly. "We're ready to go."
About twenty miles later, Isabel pulls off the road and starts driving northeast through the desert. A few minutes later, we end up at Desperation Lake, having avoided the usual route which would have taken us over Highway 67 and to the opposite side of the water. I used to swim there when I was a kid, but over the years it's gotten shallower, and nobody really comes around anymore.
I lean over to the front seat. "What are we doing here?"
"Having a picnic," Isabel says, as if it's perfectly normal to have a picnic with two aliens at half past eight o'clock at night by a deserted lake. She smiles at me, then grabs the bags from Michael and gets out of the car. I scramble out after her, and Michael follows moments later, carrying a blanket I assume came from the trunk.
The sun is low on the horizon, draping the sand in shadows. A light wind has sprung up, sending my hair fluttering out from my face, and I'm suddenly overtaken by the urge to kick off my sandals and spin around until I can no longer see straight. I do an experimental twirl. Hm. Nice. Another one, the momentum brings me forward a few feet. What the hell. With an absurdly girlish giggle, I throw my arms out and spin wildly, around and around until my vision blurs, and the darkening sky bleeds into the sand, which fades into the water, and I slip out of my sandals, and the sand is soft beneath my feet, like tiny grains of silk.
My toes skim over a fuzzy surface; before I can realize what's happening, I'm falling to the ground, feet twisted in the blanket. I land hard on my butt, and as if my dignity could possibly shrink any further, the back of my head collides with Isabel's lap. Blinking, I focus on the strands of blond hair that are tickling my nose as Isabel gives me an amused grin.
"Hey Liz," she says. I brace myself for the inevitable sarcasm. "You want a Pop-Tart?"
Either she's way better with double entendres than I am, or she's laughing with me. The second option looks better, so I go with an embarrassed laugh and casual "Yeah, sure." Carefully, I lever myself off of her and accept the proffered pastry. "What's Michael doing?" I can see him kneeling at the edge of the water, running his hands over the sand, and I cannot figure out why.
She glances at him. "He's playing in the sand."
"Playing?" I'm intrigued. "Michael never struck me as the playing type."
"We used to come up here once and awhile, just the two of us," Isabel offers. "And he always loved to sit at the edge of the water and turn the sand different colors. On the rare occasion that I could drag him into the water, he would change the lake into this sea of purple, or silver, or red. He'll still do it, if I ask him nicely enough."
Enthralled, I lie back on the blanket as I imagine floating on rose-red waves. "What if I ask him?"
She looks down at me, surprise written in her brown eyes. "I don't know."
I turn to look at him again, but he's approaching us now. He gives Isabel and me a look of appraisal, probably wondering what we were talking about, though he says nothing. A silence settles between the three of us, amplified by the stillness of the surrounding desert. Finally, Michael breaks it. "The popsicles are probably sugar water by now." With that, he sits down beside me and reaches into one of the bags, then hands me a popsicle and takes one for himself. I peel off the wrapper, pleased to find it still fairly solid.
"That looks good," Isabel comments randomly.
"You want one?" I ask her, sucking lightly on the icy confection.
A quirky smile. "Can I have a bit of yours?"
She scoots closer to me, her hip pressing against mine.
Before I can quite figure out what's happening, she grasps my hand and pulls the popsicle towards her mouth. As I stare in stunned fascination, her tongue darts out and she takes a long, slow lick up the side, her face inches from mine. "It's starting to melt," she tells me, then licks around the bottom of the popsicle, causing her lips to ever-so-slightly brush my knuckles. I suddenly recall my earlier fantasy, only now it seems the tongue I imagined gliding up my stomach is peeking out from between lips that are obviously feminine as well as very, very familiar.
A small drop of cool liquid hits my leg; the shock of it tears my eyes away from Isabel's. "It's dripping," I say nonsensically.
I jump slightly at the low, masculine voice near my ear. I turn to see Michael looking intently at the fallen drop. To my immense surprise and dawning delight, he extends his hand and swipes up the drop with a finger, tongue sweeping over the fingertip and almost delicately closing his lips around it. His eyes rise to meet mine. "Tastes good," he says.
"Yeah, I've always loved the taste of-" Isabel grips my hand tighter, and I turn to see her still enjoying my popsicle. "Cherry," I finish.
"So have I," she says, and rests her other hand on my thigh.
"I can't believe how hot it is out here," I murmur. I am, of course, talking about the temperature, which despite the late hour feels like it's around eighty degrees.
"I can definitely feel the heat," Michael responds, and I'm pretty sure *he's* not talking about the weather.
My popsicle is almost gone by now, and Isabel's lips have turned a fetching cherry red color. After one last bite, the stick is bare, and I toss it aside when she releases my hand.
"I wonder how the water is," I almost whisper.
"It's always nice this time of year," Isabel tells me. She glances at Michael, then back at me. "Do you wanna go for a swim?"
"Okay," I answer, needing to get away from the tension I can feel like a blade pressed to my skin.
Slowly, I rise, enjoying the kiss of wind against my heated flesh. Their eyes are on me as I pull off my tank top and start to unbutton my shorts. "Do you guys already have your suits on?"
Isabel looks at me, her eyes sliding from my hips, up my stomach, over my breasts, lingering on my neck, and finally to my lips. "We didn't bring our suits," she says casually.
My hands still. "Oh."
A feral grin crosses her face, and she lifts her shirt off, revealing a crimson-colored bra. "It's just skin, Liz." She stands, unzips her shorts, and slides them down her legs. Dear God. Matching panties.
"Right," I say in the coolest voice I can manage, trying not to watch as Michael discards his shirt and jeans. My eyes betray me, and I glance at him quickly.
Boxers. I knew it.
My ordinarily modest sensibilities seem to have disappeared as I finish removing my shorts and toss them aside. A smile tugs at my lips as I walk to the water's edge, feeling them trailing behind me. I wonder idly if either of them are checking out my ass, and add an extra little swish to my step, just in case.
And I *know* I did not just do that.
I can hear Michael and Isabel murmuring to each other behind me. I step tentatively into the water, which is comfortably cool, and I strain to catch their whispered words. They stop just as they get close enough for me to hear them. "So..." I say, anxious to fill the possibility-laden silence, "do you guys wanna play Marco Polo?" And I'm sure I could sound more like a sixth-grader, but I don't know how.
Michael just sends me an amused glance. Isabel looks tempted to say yes, but instead she tells me to close my eyes, which I do, covering them with my hands.
The water ripples slightly around me, growing warmer, then cooler, then warmer again. When I'm prompted to uncover my eyes, I'm greeted by the sight of miles of deep gold water, shimmering and reflecting the moonlight. Before I can stop myself, a delighted giggle escapes me. I turn to say thank you and stop dead at the sight of Isabel Evans, shining like some sort of sun goddess, golden drops spilling down her collarbone as she bounces softly up and down. She's smiling at me, and so is Michael, who looks equally deity-esque standing there with the swirling gold water up to his shoulders. "Do you like it?" he asks.
"It's beautiful," I answer, not sure if I'm referring to the water or to them. "Is this why you brought me here? To show me?"
"We thought you needed a little help," Michael says mysteriously.
"...With seeing what's right in front of you," Isabel finishes for him.
They come closer, I reach out, and suddenly my only problem in the world is deciding who to touch first.
Michael's hands are suddenly surrounding my waist, lifting me up and holding me to him. We stare at each other for a few moments, then his mouth is on mine and I feel every rational thought leave me. There's nothing but my wet, water-cooled skin against his; nothing but his lips, soft and begging to be teased; nothing but Isabel, pressed to my back as she kisses my neck and caresses my hips. Michael's lips transfer to my shoulders, nipping at the tanned skin. I take the opportunity kiss Isabel, fully on the lips, and I'm pleased to note the same cinnamon sugar Pop-Tart and cherry popsicle flavors that I tasted when I kissed Michael. She tastes sweeter, though, and I wish there was a way to kiss them both at the same time.
I chuckle at my own greediness, causing Isabel to move back a little as Michael nibbles at my neck. "What?" she asks softly.
"What are we doing?" I inquire in an equally subdued tone.
Michael pulls away from me, looking as uncertain as Isabel. "Liz-" he starts.
"No," I interrupt. "What are we doing out here when there's a perfectly nice blanket on the shore?"
Twin looks of puzzlement, then pleased realization cross their faces.
"You mean..." Isabel says carefully.
I give her my best devilish grin. "I'll race you back to the blanket."
She smiles. He chuckles. I raise my eyebrows suggestively.
We race back to shore, splashing in the shining gold water and laughing all the while.
Michael lost, so Isabel and I have custody of the back seat while he drives us back to civilization. We tickle each other in between kisses, and I occasionally lean forward to try and distract Michael from the road. It works as I get him to pull over and drag us into the front with him, though maneuvering around the gearshift is a bit more difficult than I anticipated. It's three o'clock in the morning before we finally get back to my house.
"Goodnight," I whisper as I climb out of the seat, with Michael aiding me chivalrously and taking the opportunity to pinch my butt. "Michael!" I squeak.
"That was me," Isabel giggles.
"I wish I'd thought of it," Michael says.
I grin and give him a kiss, then her. "I had a great time."
"So did we," Isabel speaks for both of them. "Maybe we can do it again sometime."
"Count on it," I answer. With an exaggerated wink, I reach up and start climbing my ladder.
The last thing I hear is Michael stage-whispering "Nice ass, Parker," and Isabel smacking him and laughing.
I smile to myself, and head off to bed.
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