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Hiedra, Part Four
Reply to Scynneh or visit her websitePosted to the RoswellSlash mailing list March 12, 2001
Title: Hiedra 4/?
Feedback: Give the cauldron a little love... (right Melissa? *g*)
Disclaimer: *peals of laughter*
Dedication: Y'all who write 'porn', and consider it something more...
Distribution: Aelita, you want it hun? Just ask, and I'll say yes.
Rating: Not for the tots.
Author's Notes: Parts 1-3 have been leading up to something, and I'm just along for the ride...
Spoilers: Give me chocolate...
Knowing someone better than all the rest can be a very good thing, bit it can also be not so terrific in the long run. Years down the road, no one else may remember how the individual in question behaved. The ruthless general Kasender, who served under a certain renowned king, couldn't walk past a statue of Alexander without shuddering.
Kyle didn't see himself parading around the Martian's home planet, telling tales anytime soon, but the next time someone talked about Michael's 'lack of focus', he'd have to leave the room and fast. Because he had the experience to dispute that, and it was a tough decision- share this, or be selfish, and keep those talents hidden and to himself?
When Michael's fingers clasped his wrist, easing him into closer quarters, Kyle's breath caught. IT was the confidence that was so fucking good. Michael had little or no control over his powers, but there had to have been some reason that Maria was willing to put up with the crap he put her through. Sure, love, but even an epic love needed some good sex to make amends for the rough times.
Kyle was sure of one thing: some people should be delivered with warning labels. Not 'Mr. Yuck' stickers for Michael since there wasn't anything disagreeable about his effects on a person, but the general populace should at least think that he was to be avoided - the more for his inner circle.
Usually, when someone has the word 'great' attached to their name, they've stepped over a 'great pile of corpses,' be they brought low by iron or verbal means. Here, those who had encountered Mr. Guerin were nothing more than satiated and sweaty tangles of limbs, incapable of any higher brain functions, more was the order of the day for them. The best way to take over the planet would be to spread his talents among any departments that were at all suspicious.
Michael continued his commentary as he figured out the catches on the letterman's jacket obstructing his progress. Kyle thought that he heard something about Minoan architecture, and tuned him out until a hand untucked his t-shirt and slipped under the wrinkled cotton.
"Juvenal wrote biting satire of Roman aristocrats; especially the women, whom he thought were very out of control."
One portion of Kyle's brain took note of the fact that Guerin knew and exercised proper use of grammar, as the larger mass of cells verbalized themselves in a garbled, "Who the hell..." he abandoned his intellectual inquiry as a second hand worked his shirt up and his bare chest was exposed to Michael's eyes. Those sleepy eyes, whose owner's clothes managed to be exasperatingly dingy, and yet fitting at the same time: gray jacket, worn by years of growth to threadbare senility over the shoulders lay exhaustedly over a shirt of some indeterminable color, the accompanying design of branches, Celtic, maybe, done in a 'middle of the rainforest green' suggested a blue to set off the stitching, but Kyle wasn't sure. The loose shirttails fell below the hem of the coat, and led to pants that were clearly chosen for their toughness as opposed to some class maxim, and the chain connecting to back- pocket and wallet seemed likewise practical. Not what a critical observer might consider the most likely expert at seduction, but life had taken enough turns and loops that few things shook Kyle anymore. This didn't so much unnerve him as it was part of something that had begun the first time he had learned what was living under the noses of the farsighted town of Roswell. Take things as they come, or, he hoped could.
Kyle had fooled around with girls, had sex, liked foreplay as long as he got what he was after, really was excited by his partners' responses, the way nipples tightened and soft skin turned the shade of carnations newly blooming. Now he was wondering how much like the male and female bodies were. He'd rarely had a girl who wanted to study how he felt, what he liked best; Michael was making up for that several-fold.
Nails scraped along ribs, found the chilled small of his back, supporting the spine, giving warmth, reassurance.
As his reservations were peeled back with each pass of callused fingers, Kyle found that he was no longer an observer on one side of the screen, but in the center of the drama. His arms twined around Michael's waist, beginning his own experiments.
Pressure on the ass equaled an arch that brought their hips together, and Kyle felt the erection of another for the first time He would have been shocked if someone had suggested what happened next- after that person's teeth had been relocated to the back of their throat, he would have gone after anything with tits and a skirt. A rhythm emerged, cautious on the human's part, he didn't know how it would be received; he need not have worried, the friction of denim and corduroy soon produced a rough jerk and rolling motion that had both males gasping for release.
One of Michael's legs had shoved itself between Kyle's, and the hand underneath the dark-haired boy drew him closer, while skidding into the waistband of his jeans, briefly teasing the swell of firm muscle found there. Preceding the automatic tensing of uncertain virgin body, the intruder withdrew.
Swearing as the confinement of his cock slid from the background to raging agony, Kyle took the initiative, wrapping his legs around the lean hips above his, begging for more contact.
Michael obliged by reaching down and undoing the fastening of Kyle's pants, tearing away his boxers, and freed the aching flesh that jutted out into the slightly cool air beyond the safety of undergarments. Catching Kyle's mouth in another kiss, this one communicating aims of the evening, Michael thrust his tongue into the painfully empty mausoleum of Kyle's mouth, then stroking his cock with a touch that was practiced, even to Kyle's addled senses. The theft of mind and faculties at once sent Kyle from rational and reasoning into the irrational and unreasonable dimension that Michael regularly inhabitant, and this without regret. He knew now, what he was winding himself around, and he perceived the splinters that would not converge with his life as neatly as other choices might have. And, as he wriggled closer, he knew that he didn't give the future much thought. Planning was tiresome, and nothing certain had made him as happy as this bizarre situation had in the last few minutes. Riders on the storm indeed.
Continue to Part Five
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