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Reply to Kristin

Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list December 10, 2000

Title: Floodland
Author: Kristin (kwilcox@e...)
Disclaimer: "Roswell" belongs to its creator, the WB, and a bunch of other people who are not me. No copyright infringement intended. Not for profit.
Distribution: Roswell Slash Archive. Others, Just email me for permission.
Fandom: Roswell
Content: Alex/Max
Spoilers: pretty much none. (which is very rare for me)
Summary: Max has this habit of visiting Alex...
Dedication: To all my fellow posters on the UC thread at the FanForum Roswell board.

Push the glass, stain the glass
Push the writer to the wall
It may come but it will pass
Some say we will fall
Dream of the flood

-The Sisters of Mercy, "Flood"

Rain never really gets to me. Maybe I'm just used to discomfort, or maybe I instinctually block it out. Or maybe it's some strange alien thing. I'll have to ask Isabel tomorrow morning. Maybe I'm not alone. But the rain is pouring right now, soaking my jacket and jeans as they suck it up like thick sponges. Yet I don't mind. Not really.

Every time I to go to see him it rains.

The window is always closed tight against the wind and the cold, and I have to concentrate for a moment, focusing my energy on unlatching and lifting the smooth glass. It's the heat that hits me first... the dry wave of heat. And then his smile, innocent and still so pure. I think its my favorite part of these visits--the easy affection just *flowing* my way. He's so beautiful in these moments. But he didn't smile the first time.

It was a crazy impulse, really. I was just wandering, letting myself get lost in the night. Anger coursed through my body, directing itself at nature so that Michael could still remain on this earth... in existence... Yes. I was *that* mad. And the window was just hanging over my head... calling to me. My mind whispered, "Why not?" Insanity.

Alex flinched as I lifted the latch and entered, clothes creating a puddle in his carpet. I had to get them off.

"Max? Wh-wh-wh-..."

He froze, wide-eyed, as I stripped off my shirt and threw it out on the grass. (No reason to leave a mess.) And he backed away slowly... cautiously... panic brewing under his skin.

"Alex." The name felt like desire between my lips, and I nearly shivered as the tip of my tongue brushed lightly across the roof of my mouth. Alex.

Approaching, I could feel the abject fear rolling off of him, and then utter confusion as I brought my mouth to his chest... feeling his rapid heartbeat under my lips-lightening quick, like a terrified rabbit. Delicious. My tongue snaked up across his shirt and to his neck, tasting the salty sweat and tender skin underneath. A playful nip, and he jumped as I laughed. Intoxicating.

Before Alex could offer any complaint or prayer I was upon him, licking at his sweet mouth and demanding entrance. And he melted, like ice thrust into a furnace. Tentative, passive open-mouthed kisses turned into powerful strokes of his tongue. I was lost in his mouth, savoring his soft whimpers that buzzed against my lips. He had melted clear into me... found his way *inside* of me.

So I stopped. I had to. Before I couldn't tell who was who and what was what. But I would be back. That was necessary too. And as I crawled out the window I sent him a smile-one of those all too rare real ones. The ones that make promises, that tell the future, tell that I'm coming...

Yes. I always come back.


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