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Reply to Calla

Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list September 5, 2002

ARCHIVE: Yes to list archive
PAIRING: Max/Michael
SUMMARY:Michael doesn't want Max. Really, he doesn't.
Semi-nonconsensual sex. Possible character assassination, but it makes sense to me.
NOTES: Australian spelling and punctuation used.
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me. Written for love, not profit
FEEDBACK: Any and all feedback is very welcome
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Thaks to Jud for beta

        "I don't want you", Michael says, his voice choked. Max stands behind him - a silent presence - as he kneels, crumpled, on the floor. He feels Max bend down close to his ear. Michael bursts out defiantly, "I don't", before Max can speak.

        There's a pause, rent only by the sound of Michael's breathing. Although he can feel Max's breath on his neck there's no sound from Max at all, and Michael thinks that perhaps he's managed to forestall him. He finds himself praying to nothing he's ever believed in that Max won't speak again. Praying that Max will go and leave him here, broken on the floor. Perhaps he'll never have to hear Max speak again.

        Michael's arm is wrenched behind him suddenly, and he goes forward to the floor, weight pressing into the middle of his back. He gasps and closes his eyes, and feels the carpet rough against his cheek. The darkness is welcome after the light of his apartment. "I hate you", he mutters, reflexively.

        Max says, "Yes". And then, "You need me". Max's voice is colder than perhaps Michael has ever heard it, but worse than that are the words.

        Michael wonders why he's not fighting back. "Let me go you bastard", he says, twisting slightly. The grip on his arm tightens.

        "Say it".

        Michael feels his own body shudder, trapped between Max and the unyielding floor. Max won't let go, he knows that. Undeniably faced with the words, those words, he opens his eyes again, stares across the carpet, and whispers, "I need you".

        The pressure's gone instantly. He yields to the pull of Max's hand on his arm, still painful, and rolls onto his back.

        Max is above him, looking down into his face. Motionless, like some statue, and Michael feels himself as so much less, less than he's ever been. His own breathing harsh in his ears.

        Max leans down close to Michael's face. He says quietly, "You need me". Michael closes his eyes against it, feeling as though he'll never be rid of the shame. He feels the floor against his back, the burn in his released arm, and then Max's lips touching his own.

        He clenches his eyes shut harder, wishing to be anywhere but here, as the kiss deepens, and Max's tongue meets his. Max's body slowly presses along the length of his own, and his body welcomes it, even as his mind recoils.

        It's tough, though, remembering that he doesn't want this when Max's arms come around him. He feels the desire sparking in his body, and wonders if it's possible to hate himself more. He slides his hands up Max's back, and feels heat through Max's t-shirt. It's all happening in darkness, like some dream. He can almost believe he's asleep.

        His eyes are open, though, right at the worst part - when he sees Max's face soften. The cold, implacable king, he could almost stand, but he suddenly sees his brother again. Max, who's always been there, almost as long as he can remember. Max's eyes are warm again, and almost shy, as he says, "Michael...." One hand strokes the side of Michael's face.

        Michael gazes back, blinks, and hesitantly answers him. "Max". He can't do anything else.

        Max smiles at him, and he can remember when he'd do anything for that smile. It still has its power. Max kisses him again. Michael feels the warmth, the softness, and it's like melting into darkness.

        In a flash he realises that it's true. He needs Max. He really does.

        He doesn't know what Max wants. He only knows that they'd argued - once too often, perhaps. Michael had sensed the boundaries, and recklessly shoved past them. Max doesn't want that.

        Max's fingers are at the first button of his shirt. Max lifts his head to meet Michael's eyes, and says softly, "Tell me yes". Michael twists his head to the side, but there's nothing there, nothing he can do.

        Tell me yes

        He feels the word thick in his mouth. "Yes".

        Max's hands are undoing the buttons of his shirt, and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to feel the slide of Max's legs - rough through denim against his own thighs. He doesn't want any of this. Max's mouth is pressed against his again, and he feels like he's losing himself to it. There's nothing else.

        Michael gets a flash of Max's memories, of Max watching Michael disappear into the darkness of the desert. He feels, too, what Max felt, the horror and grief, and realises the lengths to which Max will go to keep Michael, to avoid losing him again.

        He realises, in a shock, He's doing this for me. He'd never imagined it could get worse.

        Max might know, might understand, if he could see what Michael felt, but he can't. Michael's never let anyone in to his mind, and he definitely isn't going to start now. He brings his hands up to hold the back of Max's head, to hold Max to him as they kiss. He doesn't want to, but he does.

        Max's hands are removing his clothing, and he's letting Max, he's collaborating in this. He feels Max's skin along his own body at last. It's wrong. Max is his brother, his leader. Max isn't his.

        Michael feels as though his body is lying to Max, lying to himself.

        He knows that Max is pretending too. Max doesn't want him, couldn't possibly... Michael pushes Max to the side, and Max lets him.

        He's on top of Max now, feeling Max's body twist under his hands. He doesn't feel anything any more. Just desperation. He's got to get this over with. He says, "Max", and Max meets his eyes. "Do anything", and right now, at this moment, he means it.

        There's more, so much more; the slide of hands over skin, the wetness of their mouths, the heat of their human blood.

        Max is pushing inside him, and now he fights back, he really does, but it doesn't make any difference any more.

        There's darkness, and flashes of light, as Michael opens his eyes, as he gasps for breath. There's nothing any more, nothing but his surrender to Max. And eventually it's over, and he wonders what happens next.

        Max whispers, "I love you, Michael", and holds Michael's body as he shakes and then finally cries.

        He cries, like he did in Maria's arms, what seems like a lifetime ago.

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