|RSA Main||Fiction by Title||Fiction by Author||Fiction by Partners||Slash Subplots||Familiar Faces||Links|
Reply to Bennie or visit her websiteAdded to the Roswell Slash Archive August 8, 2001
Title: Love Me
Disclaimer: Own nothing. Need benefactor. Applications available.
Character Focus: Liz/Isabel
Spoilers: The future will happen. I have it on good authority. This future? Highly doubtful.
Author's Note: And the PWP lives on. What can I say? Sometimes you just gotta go with the lust. I mean, love. UST? Whatever it is -- it's there, lol. And thanks, Debbie!
"Do you really love me?"
Something about her tone caught my attention.
She didn't sound wistful or uncertain. Anyone walking by would see a light, teasing smile on her face accompanied by elegantly raised eyebrows and a flash of white teeth.
I knew better.
Without saying a word I stood, and held out my hand. After a moment, she took it.
She followed me out of the booth and across the diner floor. I took a moment to appreciate the desert view outside large plate glass windows, thinking that the Crashdown had never had that great a view. Well, we weren't in the Crashdown. In fact, we weren't even in Roswell. We were about three hours away, on our way to spend spring break with our parents. Last year we visited Maria out in L.A. Next year I vote for Mexico.
But right now I had a more immediate destination in mind.
We made our way to the back, following the sign into a washroom so small it only had room for one stall and a sink. But it was clean and it was vacant. It would do.
With a tug she was in front of me, leaning against the sink counter, favouring me with a sly smile and a silent question.
Very seriously, I pressed the button on the knob to lock the door behind me.
"Ask me again," I said, softly.
"Do you really love me?" she asked dutifully, smiling but a little more serious now that we were alone.
In a moment I had her pulled to me, my hands tangling in her hair, our bodies pressed tightly together.
Breaking away, I reached out to open the stall door. She blinked, clearly wondering what I was doing.
"Trust me," I said, and she followed me inside.
In a flash I had her up against the metal divider, my hands running along her sides, marvelling at the coolness of painted metal against the heat of her skin.
Her lovely, satiny skin.
When she reached her arms to pull me to her I backed away instead, running my palms down her arms until I held her hands in mine. Then, slowly, I raised them over her head, my hands running back down her arms as she got the idea and continued to stretch against the wall until her fingers hooked over the top.
I took my time then, kissing her lips, her face, her eyelids, her neck, even as my hands roamed over her, exploring her, glorying in the feel of material over skin, of skin over muscle and bone.
Latching my lips onto the side of her neck, I let my hands drop to her waist, teasing the small patch of skin laid bare when her upraised arms lifted her shirt.
I pushed it up further, luxuriating in the smoothness of her stomach and the round heaviness of her breasts, releasing the clasp between them with a practised twist.
Unable to resist, I worked my way down her throat until I reached her collar and then I stood back to see her, study her.
Her eyes were closed. Her magnificent chest rose and fell rhythmically as she breathed through moist, parted lips, the pace quickening as she felt me watching her.
"Please," she said.
Lightly I leaned forward, bringing my hands up to cup each breast as I touched my tongue to first one and then the other nipple, pulling back to admire the way they hardened under my touch before latching on to her right breast, taking as much of it as possible into my mouth, sucking even as I used my tongue to press against her.
As she tensed I switched to her other breast, memorizing the taste and the texture of her until she moaned, low and almost inaudible. But I heard it. I felt it vibrate under my fingertips, against my cheek.
Encouraged, I sucked wetly and then released her.
But I never lost contact. My hands migrated to where my mouth had been moments ago, working and squeezing and rolling her flesh between my fingers as I moved downward.
I could feel her tensing beneath my mouth, and I nibbled a path down her stomach, alternately pressing my tongue into her flesh and then sucking it in as hard as I could.
I knew I would leave marks. I didn't care. I sucked harder. She moaned.
Before I reached her waist I brought my hands down to slip open the button below her navel, slowly pulling open the small zipper, and then working the artfully worn jeans over her hips, slowly, kissing small circles into her belly.
As they slid down I was careful to pull her underwear as well, running my hands around her waist and cupping her ass before lowering her jeans over and down.
I deliberately licked and kissed her belly and her hip and her thighs as I dropped the worn material to pool around her ankles, the button clicking as it hit the tiles, almost unbearably loud in the hushed serenity of soft panting and the occasional misting of a commercial air freshener.
Her eyes still shut, she wiggled one sandal-clad foot free, lifting it to rest on top of the toilet beside us.
Her pelvis thrust at me in anticipation, and I had to laugh, a low, throaty chuckle that prompted yet another moan.
Finally I let my fingers wander between her legs, opening her to me.
My fingers explored her inside and out, touching and thrusting inside her even as my mouth and tongue teased wherever they could reach. I attacked her mercilessly, intimately, lapping at her, licking her, blowing on her, stroking her until I felt her tense and her breath grow ragged.
It didn't take long. The daring of our surroundings added to the excitement, and I worked harder and faster as she writhed before me, sometimes rocking her hips, sometimes widening and then squeezing her thighs around me. Once or twice she stilled altogether, and then I would prod or squeeze and I would feel her clench and then relax around me.
"Oh," she panted suddenly, and I could feel the added warmth against my fingers, a welcome slickness that flowed smoothly over them. I took a moment to breathe then, to rest my forehead against her thigh and cup her gently in my palm, gently soothing overstimulated nerves and skin.
She could never bring herself to scream the way I did at times, to release all the pent-up energy and petty frustrations in satisfying abandonment. But I knew her. I knew what it meant when her entire body shook with tiny aftershocks, when she bit her lip, when she sighed, when she moaned.
I loved it when she moaned. She had a low, sensual voice, and it rasped seductively in my ears. Her voice alone could make me come sometimes, although her body never failed.
I felt her shift against me as her foot lowered, and I helped her push it through the pile of material around her ankles.
I could feel the cold tiles under my knees now and I stood slowly, pulling her underwear and jeans up with me, occasionally leaning forward to place light, languid kisses along flushed skin.
When I was upright and working her clothes over her hips her arms came down and hugged me to her. I rested my head on her shoulder as we held each other, and I noticed that the metal behind her was now warm where she had been pressed against it.
Silently, solemnly, I zipped her up and she manoeuvred herself back into her bra. I insisted on holding and kissing her a little before I let her lower her shirt again, and then wrapped my arms around her waist as she wrapped hers around my shoulders and rocked me against her.
We swayed there in that washroom in the middle of nowhere, dancing to music only we could hear. And we didn't let go until someone knocked on the door, asking if anyone was in there.
I didn't wash my hands after leading her out of the stall. I liked the smell of her on me. It reminded me, as always, of how much I had changed, no, not changed exactly, but how I had grown into myself, with her. Because of her.
She was right behind me when I opened the door, and we filed silently past the woman who stood there, blinking owlishly in surprise. I wondered briefly if she would be able to smell our lovemaking over the weak scent of air freshener, but didn't really care.
It was her turn to pay and she left a generous tip. Years of hanging around the Crashdown had instilled in her a healthy respect for waitresses, and I always smiled at any proof that she was serious when she said she'd been watching me for a long time.
We'd come a long way since then. It had only been a few years, but it felt like another lifetime.
We didn't speak until we were on the road again, and then she leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder. It was my turn to drive, and I shifted automatically to make room for her without losing my light grip on the wheel or easy access to both brake and pedal.
Softly, so softly I almost couldn't hear her over the sound of the wind rushing past us, she murmured into my ear.
"You never answered my question."
I smiled. I loved this playful side of her. I didn't see it often enough.
"Yes, I really, really love you, Isabel."
I felt her smile against me in response.
"I love you too, Liz."
Send comments to the author
Return to Top