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Reply to Ender or visit her websitePosted to the RoswellSlash mailing list December 2, 2001
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.
Category: Slash, Liz/Tess
Author's Notes: Tess POV. This is a companion piece to a fic I did a while back called "Touch." Back then I did a Tess POV to go with it but I wasn't really satisfied with it and it didn't really match "Touch" stylistically.
[Archivist's note: Seduction was posted as the second story in the "Master of Touch" series in January 2001. "Listen" replaces it in the series. "Seduction" is now a standalone Liz/Tess story.]
Rating: NC17, because of the smuttiness.
Feedback: I like any and all feedback as long as it's not of the "Ewww, gross" variety.
I've always loved the night. Growing up, it was my time to be alone, to think. It was a game when I was little, to see if I could creep so quietly through the house that Nasedo couldn't hear me. Slide silently through the door and into the backyard where I could listen to the crickets and look up at the stars and imagine what it was like to be a queen. Wait until I heard the shriek and groan of the screen door opening behind me, letting me know that he'd caught me. Sometimes he'd just stand there and look at the stars with me. Other times he'd seem almost angry, pull me up by the arm and tell me that I shouldn't do these things. People might notice, might wonder about me.
I don't sneak out to look at the stars anymore. Now I sneak out of the house to go to her. Nasedo isn't here to catch me. He isn't here to watch me or follow me and tell me not to attract attention to myself. When I leave, I go through the front door and I don't count the minutes until I can hear the swish of his footsteps in the grass.
I still love the sound of the crickets, though. But now I'm so much more aware of other sounds. The soft clang of the ladder as I climb up to her balcony. The scrape of the window as I push it open. The faint stir of her breath drawing me across the room to her bed. Sometimes if she's asleep I just close my eyes and listen. I wonder if Max has ever been here like this. Ever stood by her bed for hours at a time just to hear the hiss and whistle of her breath pushing in and out of her body.
Sometimes she's awake when I get there, waiting for me on crisp, clean cotton sheets that whisper as I pull them slowly down her body. She gasps when I do that, as if it's my hands touching her instead of the fabric.
And then I crawl onto the bed, springs groaning slightly under my weight. My fingers start to glide over her skin, making no sound except the muffled whimpers my touch startles out of her. Then the rasp of my tongue across her nipple. The almost strangled gasp as my fingers slide into her. The creak of the bed as her hips jerk in response to my mouth replacing my fingers. My tongue moving in rhythm with her panting, the slap of skin against skin as I grab her hips to hold them in place.
Her voice and her breathing guide me on these nights. They tell me where to go and when, how fast. Ragged puffs of air coming and going faster and faster until she's groaning and her voice cracks over my name. Husky and sweet, like a boy's voice that is just starting to change. And I move up so I can get as close to that sound as I can, so close that the moans she stifles so that her parents won't hear ring in my ears, almost painful, deafening. My fingers moving faster and harder until she cries out and I have to smother her mouth with my lips, swallowing the sounds. Swallowing her.
And when it's over and her breathing starts to slow and steady, I lay my head on her chest and listen to the thunder of her heart until it's as slow and steady as her breathing.
And sometimes I can almost imagine that he's still here watching over me, the slow creak of the door opening, the tap of his shoes on the wood floor. Would he come and listen with me? Or would his voice be harsh and angry, accuse me of betraying my king and my world because I don't want to look at the stars anymore. Because all I want is to just lie here and listen to her breathe.
Continue to "The Fifth Sense"
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