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Just Add Oil, Part One

Reply to FehrKitten

Sent to the Roswell Slash Archive September 29,2000

Title:Choklit Cake
Pairing: Michael/Kyle
Rating:NC 17
Status: New
Archive: Yes to CKoS
Installment: 1/2
Disclaimer:I own nothing but a Corolla that eats alternators like candy. Lyrics are courtesy of Hardline. I have to heap praise upon Jim Dunlap, webmaster of the Hardline site, for providing the lyrics! and Tabasco of course belongs to the McIlhenny Co., Avery Island, in my beautiful home state of Louisiana!
Author's Note: Feedback! Please!
Summary: Ready-bake choklit cake? Just add oil...

Michael was idly sketching as he ate his lunch when a commotion across the quad caught his attention. He looked over the top of his sketchpad and was unimpressed at the sight of some of the school's jocks walking in a group with some people with photo equipment, but his interest was piqued when he spotted Kyle's dark head amongst the group. He watched, appearing to be absorbed in his sketching, as the group set up a low riser while the photographers set up their cameras.

"What's all that noise about?" he asked as Max dropped to the ground beside him.

Digging through his lunch bag, then Michael's, Max shrugged. "Some kind of calendar they're doing for school sports," he was intent on finding something, but Michael didn't wait to let him. Smacking Max's hand, he removed his lunch bag. Max rewarded him with a big hurt look, and Michael laughed as he produced a bottle of Tabasco from his jacket pocket.

"Wasn't in there anyway, ya mooch," he said, eyes still following Kyle's progress as the group of athletes milled about, waiting for the shoot to commence. "Where's your shadow?"

"Liz," Max stressed, "went with Maria and Isabel to 'do something girl-like' and I was informed that that was all I needed to know," he grinned, remembering the mini-lecture he'd gotten when he'd made the mistake of asking about their plans.

Michael snorted, and Max eyed him. "Whipped," was the spiky-haired boy's only comment, and he leaned away as Max swatted at him. They grew silent as they companionably ate their lunches, idly watching West Roswell's finest get photographed for the calendar.

In the middle of a deep dark night
Your body's soaked in sweat
Well outside it's cold as ice
But you're burning up the bed
You've got a nasty little fever and it's climbing up high
Nothing you can do to stop the aching inside
I can relieve you, you know that I could
You've got it bad, baby I'll make it good

Michael felt his palms grow clammy when Kyle stepped to the front of the group. His field of vision seemed to narrow down to exclude everything except the dark-haired boy. Michael struggled to appear nonchalant as he watched Kyle strip off his shirt in a smooth motion and toss it casually aside. He remembered all too well the taste, texture and smell of that satiny skin, and heat prickled throughout his body as he thought about it. Kyle poured oil into his hands and rubbed it over his arms and chest, making his muscles gleam in the sun. "Oh dear lord," Michael muttered under his breath, and Max looked over at him.

"What?" Max raised a brow at Michael, and Michael shook his head.

"Forgot about a project I have due," he said, closing his sketch book and polishing off the remainder of his sandwich in one bite. "Later, Maxwell," Rising, he tousled Max's hair and headed for the art room.

Michael planted himself in a corner of the art room, back to the wall, where his sketchpad could not be viewed by anyone but himself. He had to get the image that was burned into his brain down on paper. He drew, smudging here and there with the eraser or a finger, capturing the curve of a muscle, the tilt of a proud head, the soft wave of hair, the gleam of the sun on oiled skin...

Voices in the hall interrupted his reverie, and he made ready to shut his sketchpad if needed.


Kyle felt pleasantly tired. Doing a photo shoot was not just standing around and being still; it actually involved a bit of work, which surprised him. He'd ended up enjoying the experience. From the moment he'd stepped outside with the photo crew, he'd been aware of Michael's presence on the edge of the quad, and the feel of that burning stare made him tingle all over. Seeing Michael leave had disappointed him just a little. Kyle had finally stopped beating himself over the head wondering why the hell he was attracted to Michael Guerin, and he'd decided to just see what was going to happen.

Somehow he managed to get volunteered to help clear the shoot, so he found himself carrying the broken down riser back to the art room. Shirt slung over his shoulder, Kyle shouldered the halves and headed into the building with them, chatting with one of his basketball teammates who was carrying some things back to the media department.

"Ok, see you later," Kyle called down the hall after his buddy, then pushed the art room door open with a foot. Surprised blue eyes met inscrutable dark ones, and Kyle immediately felt flushed at the sight of Michael lounging in the corner working. "Hi," he said with an unsteady voice, mentally kicking himself for sounding like a prepubescent kid. He stowed the riser against the wall and rose, dusting his hands off.

"Hi yourself," Michael returned, dropping his gaze from Kyle back to the page in front of him. His heart was hammering and he was determined not to let his sudden nervousness show. Frowning at the page, he raised his eyes and frowned at Kyle, then again at the page. "C'mere," he beckoned, and curious, Kyle wandered over. Michael reached out, eyes intent on Kyle's face, and lightly traced the dark-haired boy's jawline with a fingertip. Chewing thoughtfully on the end of his pencil, Michael used the side of his hand to smudge a line on the paper, then sketched another in. "I couldn't see all that clearly across the quad," he offered by way of explanation, and Kyle took that as an invitation to look at the work in progress.

Kyle's breath caught in his throat when he looked at...himself. The reproduction was amazing. "Wow," he blinked, speechless, and just looked at Michael, who looked back intently. Fleetingly, the thought crossed his mind that Michael probably looked intently at everything, and Kyle wondered briefly if the guy ever slept. Thinking about Guerin sleeping gave Kyle some very detailed ideas about just how his lean body would look and feel in repose, and his thoughts must have flickered across his face, because he saw Michael's attention shift to his mouth.

Your pretty head is spinning 'round
Your heart beats out of time
I'm gonna wear your body down
With what's been on your mind
You've got a dirty little secret and it's killing you slow
Nothing you can do to cool the fire down below
I can relieve you with a touch of my hands
I'll feed the fever, baby I am your man

Michael watched Kyle's eyes darken as his thoughts turned blatantly sexual, and he thought to himself amusedly that sometimes humans were transparently easy to read. It gave him a bit of an advantage, because the other boy did not have the benefit of knowing whether or not Michael was thinking the same way, so Michael evened the odds the best way he could think of. He closed the small distance between them and dropped a soft kiss on Kyle's mouth. A maddeningly soft sigh left Kyle's throat and his hand slid over Michael's rear, giving a gentle squeeze. He licked at Michael's full lips, wanting more, and Michael deepened the kiss, his fingers sliding over Kyle's gleaming skin, teasing one dark rose nipple to aching hardness, then the other. "We shouldn't do this here," he murmured softly against Kyle's mouth, and Kyle slowly pulled back.

"You're right," he said, smoky gaze locked on Michael's mouth. Every nerve in his body was screaming for more; he wanted nothing more at that moment than to relive the completion he'd felt before in Michael's apartment. "Where?" His eyelids fluttered closed as Michael traced one long finger down his belly before withdrawing his hand. Voices were once again approaching in the hallway and Kyle retreated to the other side of the room.

"Come by later, I'll be home," Michael gathered up his pencils and sketchpad, shooting a dark "I want you" look at Kyle as he did so. Two guys, looking for Kyle, crowded into the room as Michael was leaving and he squeezed past them through the doorway and was gone. Recovering, Kyle tried to act normal, cracking jokes with his friends and tentatively planning to meet them at the Crashdown in a little while. He knew, however, that his plans for the evening had him nowhere near the cafe.

Time is the healer so they say
Don't you believe you can wait
You need me right away
The night is dark, as dark as shame
But I will heal you, treat your pain
Until you call my name

*** TBC..

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