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Reply to Amatia or visit her websiteAdded to the Roswell Slash Archive November 13, 2000
Disclaimer: Not mine! Characters belong to the WB. But can I buy Max on installment, pretty please, with sugar on top?
Archiving: Whatever archives list stuff...all others, drop me a line so I know where it's at. Thanks!
Summary: A slightly angst-flavored PWP with the boys.
Note: The stanza at the beginning is from the poem "Stanyan Street", by Rod McKuen, from his book "Stanyan Street and Other Sorrows". I found it at home over break and decided some stanzas were good brain food for my new-found Roswell muse. This may or may not end up part of a series - depends on feedback. *blinks innocently*
"I could die against your side
and never make a warning sound
content to suffocate
within the circle of your back."
- Rod McKuen, "Stanyan Street"
I turned around, and he was there. Standing just inside the door of the apartment.
My Max. He had a key, of course.
"Yeah?" I managed.
"There's no one else here."
He walked toward me, his honey eyes holding mine, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I don't suppose you planned this...alone thing."
"Of course not, Maxwell."
He reached out for me at the same instant that I reached for him. I melted against him with a sigh, and felt him exhale into my hair. "I'm glad there's no one else here," he murmured, kissing my forehead, then down my face until he reached my lips. "Very glad." His lips caught mine, and I lost myself in his mouth for a moment. We fumbled backwards toward the couch, landing in a heap of arms and legs and warmth.
"Michael," Max whispered against my lips.
"Hm?" I pushed his leather jacket off his shoulders and tossed it aside.
He nuzzled my neck. "We really should break this habit."
"Uhhuh." I slid my hands underneath his shirt.
"I can't come over here every time you call," he said as he reached for the fastenings of my jeans.
"I know. And your mom doesn't like it when I call at midnight, either." I tugged his shirt over his head. "Can we stop talking?"
"Oh, one more thing."
"What?" Max stopped unzipping my jeans long enough to look at me.
"No mentioning the girls, okay?"
"Okay," he said quietly. "But that would mean talking, and we weren't going to do that anyway, right?"
I grinned at him, and popped the button on his jeans. He leaned forward and kissed me. I wanted to tell him how much I ached for him, but kept quiet. We both wiggled out of our jeans, and I slid my fingers inside the waistband of his briefs. He licked my earlobe, then bit it gently. I groaned, and tugged his briefs off. He did the same to me, then trailed his fingers up my leg. I grabbed him by the arms and pulled him on top of me. "Hurry..."
So much meaning in that little word.
His hard cock rubbed against mine, and we both moaned. Our skin stuck together with sweat. His hands roamed over my body as we slid against each other. "Max," I panted, thrusting my hips up against his. I couldn't stop loving him any more than I could stop breathing.
He bit my neck, and I came. He followed seconds later, then collapsed against me. I loved the way he pressed me into the dusty cushions. I needed his weight against me. I didn't care about the cooling semen glueing us together. If I could stick to him forever, I would.
"Michael," he whispered, a long time later.
"I'm not crushing you, am I?"
"Maybe a little," I admitted, and he rolled off, pressing against the back of the couch. I arranged myself against him. His hands brushed lightly over my skin, and he pressed a kiss to my neck.
"Why do we keep doing this?" he asked after awhile.
"We need it. We need each other."
"But like this, Michael?"
"Yes." I didn't want him to argue with me anymore, and it was late. "Go to sleep, Maxwell."
He sighed into my hair. "You're right. Maybe we do need each other like this."
I raised his hand to my lips, and kissed each finger. I needed him like I needed tabasco sauce with chocolate cake. Some part of me couldn't function without it, just like I couldn't function without Max. I turned over, and his arms encircled me. I brushed my lips over his, then tucked my head into the crook of his neck, content.
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