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Roslove Part Three: Michael Love

Reply to Matthew Haldeman-Time or visit his website

Added to the Roswell Slash Archive November 14, 2000

Roslove, a slashfic in three parts
Copyright April 30-August 2, 2000 by the writer known as Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex
Pairing: Kyle Valenti/Max Evans/Michael Guerin (not really a pairing, then, I suppose)
Disclaimer: "Roswell," with its related characters and themes, does not belong to me.  I make no money from this venture.
Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor.
Wherein Max takes up finger painting; Michael admits that he's too sexy for his own good; and Kyle puts the "fuck" in "Fucking Max Evans."
Notice: The obvious quotation bookending this slashfic is from William Shakespeare's Hamlet 3.1.  Also, I ripped off the opening story idea from Annie's "The Genesis Series" without her knowledge.

        Kyle stood by his locker and watched Fucking Max Evans.  Max was doing that "I'm perfect and everyone wants me but I'm oblivious" routine again, talking with Liz, Michael hovering protectively and glaring across the hall at Kyle.

        He'd kissed Max once, really fast, outside of Max's house.  And then in the locker room, he'd kissed Max and Max had sucked him off, which he really hadn't expected but really had liked, beacuse aside from being terrifying it had been good, great, wonderful, awesome.   Of course he knew that blow jobs were supposed to be the best thing ever for a guy, but he'd never had one before, and he hadn't imagined how good it would feel, how perfect, to be inside that hot wet mouth, all of that licking and sucking.

        Could he count the dream?  The one dream where Max, real Max, had come to him?  They'd kissed, kissed real and deep, and he'd kissed over Max's neck and chest and nipples, and they'd been naked together, and Max had touched and groped all in his crotch, and he'd come in Max's hand, and he'd...sucked off Fucking Max Evans.  He'd given Fucking Max Evans a blow job.  He'd fucking serviced the local alien.  He, Kyle Valenti, SuperJock, had sucked off Evans.


        Skinny, funny-eared, freakish alien boy.

        Kyle's eyes narrowed.  He glared back at Michael as Michael glared at him.  If Fucking Max Evans had told Trailer Trash Guerin about the locker room, or, worse, about the dream, he'd kick some serious alien ass.



        Kyle's dad sat beside him on the sofa.  "You all right?"


        "Liz Parker's a nice girl."


        "Smart, too."

        "Yeah.  She's really smart, she's really nice."  He looked at his father, suspicious.

        "I'd hate to see her hurt."

        "I'm not hurting her."


        "What's going on?" Kyle asked his father.

        "I'm not accusing you of having ill intentions towards Liz," Sheriff Valenti said.  "I'm sure that you wouldn't hurt her on purpose.  But if she's looking for a long-term commitment and you aren't planning to give that to her-"

        "Why wouldn't I?" Kyle asked.  "You think I'm not the settling down type?"

        "I don't think that Liz is your type," his father said.

        "What, I don't like smart nice people?"

        "You don't like smart nice girls."

        Kyle glared at his father.  "What's your point?"

        "Kyle, I know that you're gay.  I know that you know that you're gay.  Were you going to tell me?"

        "I'm not telling you anything.  It isn't true."

        "Kyle, you need my help."

        "Why?  I'm not gay!  And if I were, so what, I need counseling or an exorcism or-"

        "There's nothing wrong with being gay.  It's as natural as being straight.  Kyle, I'm a small-town cop, but this isn't 1950 anymore.  Give me some credit.  If you want my support, you have it.  But you need my help with Max Evans."

        Kyle stared.  "Evans?"

        "I'm your father, Kyle.  I'm also the sheriff.  So I have a vested interest in you, and I have a vested interest in Max Evans.  How many times have you been to his house?"

        "You're spying on me?"

        "I'm spying on Evans.  Kyle, tell me what's going on."

        "It's not a big deal.  I'm not going over there again."

        "I've kept things from you for your own good, as your father and as a law enforcement official.  Have you been keeping things from me, for my own good?"


        "I can respect that, Kyle.  But I want you to be up front with me.  How involved are you with him?"

        "It's nothing."

        "When did it start?"

        "Nothing started."

        "When you're ready to talk about this, any part of it, you come see me."

        Kyle watched the ceiling.  Fuck.  Dad knows about Max.  Do I tell Dad what I know?  Do I tell Max that Dad knows?  Do I keep my mouth shut?  Now Dad thinks that I'm queer and having an affair with Fucking Max Evans, the Extraterrestrial Extraordinaire.

        It was hard to stare down Michael.  Michael just stared right back at him, simultaneously blank and extremely hostile.  He adjusted his stance and leaned forward a bit, getting in Michael's face.  "What do you want, Guerin?"

        "What are you doing to Max?"

        "I'm not doing anything to him.  I have nothing to do with him."

        "Is that why you were in the locker room with him?"

        "What did he tell you?"

        "Max didn't tell me anything.  I was there."

        "You were there?!  What are you doing, lurking around-"

        "You're stupid, SuperJock.  You think that you can have sex in a locker room of a public high school and no one's going to notice?  I was there.  I didn't see all of it, but I heard, and I can fill in the blanks.  Max Evans is not your semen dumping ground, so back the fuck off."

        "He offered.  I didn't even know he was going to do it.  If he wants me, that's his business.  If he can't keep his hands off of me, that's his business.  You can back the fuck off."

        "Figure it out, Valenti.  Are you going to treat him right or are you going to leave him alone?  This back and forth, this 'love me adore me worship me but don't touch me, okay, touch me but only when I want you to, leave me alone but only when I want you to' - - it's old.  It's sick."

        "What's he been telling you?"

        "Max doesn't talk much about you anymore," Michael said.  "I think it hurts too much.  Do you like that, Superjock?  Do you like it that you're fucking up his head?  He hates himself, and he hates you."

        "He doesn't hate me."

        "I do."

        "I don't care what you think," Kyle snapped.

        "You should."

        "Why?  You mean nothing.  You're nobody in this town, and obviously you can't even afford a comb.  No one care what you think.  I don't care what you think."

        "Max cares what I think."

        "When it comes down to it, he picks me.  He already has."

        "If I'd wanted to stop him from saving your sorry ass life, I would have.  I could have."

        "Should I be grateful to you, too, now?" Kyle asked sarcastically.

        "I don't want your gratitude.  I want you to give Max what he wants."

        "Now you're asking me to fuck him?" Kyle asked, half incredulous, half mocking, entirely confused but trying to hide it.

        "He loves you.  I want to see him happy.  If Max isn't happy, I blame you.  Make him happy."

        "I don't want him, I don't like him, I sure as hell don't love him, and that's what he wants."

        "So fall in love with him."

        "It isn't that easy.  God, have you paid any attention to earthlings over the past years?  You can't just fall in love with someone."

        "Sure you can.  He's good-looking, he's smart, he's nice, what's not to like?"

        "Then you fuck him."

        "I can't."

        "Sure you can."  Kyle walked away.

        His father thought that he was with Max.

        Michael wanted him to be with Max.

        Liz wanted him to be with Max.

        The sexuality issue he shelved.  He had other problems right now.  Problems like whether to worry about Michael.  He'd pretty much dismissed Michael as an impotent threat.  However, Michael had never looked at him like that before, either.  Michael could cause him some problems, and Michael seemed pretty dangerous.  Did his father know about Michael and Isabel?  Probably.  He hoped so.  Then when they discovered his body, his father would know whom to blame.

        He was dreaming.  Dreaming about kissing Max.  Clothed, standing in the empty school lobby, hands on Max's sides, Max's hand in his hair.  Kissing Max.

        "This is interesting."

        He jerked away, turning, startled.  "Shit!"

        "I've never dreamwalked before.  This is pretty much Isabel's territory."

        "Get the fuck out of here!"

        "Sorry.  I didn't know you would be having a private moment."

        "It's not, I don't...  It's a dream thing."

        "So you don't want to kiss Max for real."

        "Of course not."

        "He's very good-looking.  It could be the eyes."

        "It's not the ears."

        "You noticed that too, hunh?" Michael asked, briefly amused.  "So, SuperJock, what are we going to do about this?" Michael asked, strolling in his direction.

        "About what?"

        "You kissing Max.  I didn't know that you still dreamt about it.  And you say that you don't want him."

        "I don't.  It's just that-"  He closed his mouth.

        "It's just that what?" Michael asked.

        "I've never really had someone love me before.  Except my dad.  And that's great, it means a lot, having someone love me, but I've never had anyone else care about me.  Max is in love with me, and it feels good."

        "And this good feeling has nothing to do with wanting to stick your tongue down his throat."

        "He kisses really well."  Kyle shrugged.

        "I don't have a father who loves me.  I don't have jack shit except Max and Isabel.  I want to see them happy and cheerful and safe.  If that means putting you in his bed, that's what I'm going to do."

        "Is that a threat?"

        Michael shrugged, graceful, negligent.  "I do what I have to do."

        "For Max."

        "For Max."

        Kyle could see it in Michael's face, this intense level of friendship, this commitment.  Michael would do anything, anything at all, for Max.  And that meant that anyone fucking with Max was going to get payback from Michael.  That meant that Kyle was in seriously deep shit.  "I didn't start off wanting to hurt him.  I didn't know that he was in love with me.  And when I did know, I still wasn't trying to hurt him.  I helped him when he was sick, remember?  I went there, I stayed, I did what I could.  And he wants me, he touched me, it felt good, I wanted to see what it would feel like to have more, and when it was just a dream it didn't mean anything.  In the locker room, I kissed him, I didn't expect it to go any farther.  And now I am staying away from him.  I don't want this getting any worse for anybody.  I'm not a bad guy."

        "Prove it."  Michael was gone.  Kyle woke up.


        "Hi," he said, lounging beside Max's locker.

        "Hi," Max said, looking at him.

        Michael was right, it was the eyes.  He'd known it all along, really, since he'd looked into-

        "You're staring again," Max said.

        "Sorry.  Could I ask for a favor?  Two favors."

        "All right."  Max closed the locker and looked at him, waiting.

        "Ask Michael to leave me alone.  Invite me to your house."

        Max smiled a little.  "All right.  I'll talk to Michael.  You're welcome to come over any time you want.  What's Michael said to you?"

        "He...really...I've never known anyone who feels like that for anyone else without it being a parent or something."

        "When it comes down to it, Michael and Isabel and I are all we have.  We're each other's family."

        "He said that he could have stopped you from saving me."

        "I don't know.  I'm glad that he didn't try, because I would have had to decide."

        "Between him and me."


        He saw Michael coming up behind Max.  "I gotta go.  I'll see you after school."

        "All right."

        When he pulled up in the Evans' driveway, Michael was leaving the house.  He got out, and Michael came over to him.  "What're you doing here?" Michael asked.

        "Max invited me."

        Michael took off Kyle's sunglasses.  "Is this for another round of mind games, or are you here to read sonnets and swap spit?"

        He reached out to snatch back his sunglasses.  Their fingers touched, and he felt an electric jolt through his body.  Not one of those romance novel things, but an actual electric shock.  He jerked back, cursing.  "Don't do that!"

        Michael looked surprised, too, but suspicious.  "I didn't do anything."

        "Then what was that?"

        "I've never had that happen before."

        "So it's my fault?  What is with you people?  You turn me silver, you shock me, and you act like it's totally new.  Do you have any idea at all of your own little superpowers?  Don't you ever experiment?"  Michael poked his shoulder and it happened again, an electrical surge from his shoulder down his spine.  "Stop it!"

        "I don't make a habit of touching people, but I've never had this result when I did."  Michael walked to the house and opened the door.  "Are you coming?"

        He glared and followed.  They walked in and found Max in the bedroom.  Max rose, seeing them.  "Hello.  Michael, you're back."

        Michael put his hand on Max's shoulder.  "Nope.  Touch Kyle."

        "It won't happen," Kyle said.

        "Try it," Michael insisted.  "It could be a temporary state."

        Max gently put fingers to Kyle's forearm, then drew them away again.  "Nothing," Kyle said.

        "What have I missed?" Max asked them.

        "Those electric jolts that you get from static electricity and carpets," Michael said.  "When I touch Kyle, we get that times five."  He poked Kyle in the chest and Kyle slapped his hand away, so they got two jolts and glared at each other.

        "We wouldn't have this problem if you'd stop touching me!" Kyle snapped.  "Give me my sunglasses!"  Michael handed them to him, but when he touched one end as Michael held the other, a visible flicker of electricity ran across the sunglasses and cracked a lens.  Kyle tossed them in the trashcan and said, "You owe me a new pair of sunglasses."

        "Is anything a conduit or only metal?" Max asked.

        "I'm not here to play science experiment," Kyle said.  "And don't start calling Liz for lab help, either."

        Max handed him a sheet of paper.  Before he could protest, Max let go and Michael took the other end.

        Once they put out the fire, Kyle said, "From now on, you stay away from me forever."

        "Gladly," Michael said.  "Max, what are you doing?"  Max put one hand on Michael's elbow and the other on Kyle's.  Kyle tensed, waiting for Max to explode or something.  He felt a jolt slam through his body, and every bit of hair stood on end.  His palms tingled and his cock went hard.

        As quickly as it had happened, it was gone.  He turned and saw Max sitting on the bed, looking dazed.  "You okay?" he asked.

        "Maximilian, don't ever do that again," Michael said.

        "I wish I felt that when I touched you," Max told Kyle.  "Michael, this has never happened with anyone else, has it?"

        "No," Michael said.  "Maybe it's SuperJock's ego.  Wonder if I can paint him pretty colors, too."

        "Don't try it," Kyle said.

        "Is it the initial touch, or long-lasting?" Max asked.

        "Let's see."  Michael grabbed Kyle's arm.  Kyle stepped on Michael's foot.  Michael's grip tightened.  They had a glaring contest.  After a moment, the shock was down to a low tingle which, to be honest, was settling in his balls and making him hard again.

        "It's sexual electricity," Max said.

        Michael let go and moved back.  "Terrific.  Is that your official diagnosis?"

        "I don't know what else to call it," Max said, standing again.

        "All of those romance novel cliches about passion igniting have come true," Kyle muttered, glancing at the paper ashes.  "Come on baby light my fire."

        "Are you sure you're both straight?" Max asked.

        "Positive," Kyle said.

        "I'm asexual," Michael said.

        "Meaning what?" Kyle asked.

        "Meaning, I refuse to mate with the locals, and that leaves Max and Isabel, and I'm not getting it on with them, either."

        "The locals," Kyle muttered.

        "You and Isabel would make a nice couple," Max told Michael.

        "Are you straight?" Kyle asked Michael.

        "Max thinks so, and Max is always right," Michael said.

        "Aren't you?" Max asked Michael.  "Michael, I thought..."

        "It doesn't matter whether I am or not.  I'm never going to have a girlfriend or a boyfriend," Michael said.

        "Humans aren't good enough for you?" Kyle asked.

        "They're not my type," Michael said, sullen superior attitude out in full force.

        "And Max and Isabel?"

        "Max has you, and Isabel has herself.  How could I ever compete?" Michael asked with a smile.  One hot glare at Kyle, and Michael left.

        Kyle looked at Max, who was staring at the doorway.  "What?"

        "He didn't want me to choose."

        "Between him and me," Kyle said.  "Don't start reading into it, Max.  Let it go."

        "Do you want me to choose?"

        "You'll choose him, won't you?"

        "I don't know.  I sort of have to, don't I?  Michael's-"

        "You said that you weren't attracted to him."

        "I wasn't allowed to be attracted to him," Max said.  "Because he was my best friend, and he was straight."

        "So you fell for me because you couldn't have him?"


        "He loves you, doesn't he?  And you love him."

        "I love you."

        "You love him more.  He's your best friend, he's your species, he's the only person you have besides Isabel."

        "Don't make me choose."

        "You've chosen."  Kyle turned to go.  What was this, some stupid soap opera?  He turned around again.  "You don't really think that you can be in love with two people, do you?"

        "I don't see why not."

        "If you want me to stay here and make out with you, I could."

        "All right."  Max stroked a hand down his neck and kissed his mouth.

        Kyle didn't know how it had happened.  He'd come to the Crashdown to see Liz, and Maria and Alex had been hanging around too waiting for Liz to close up, and then Max dropped by a minute later, and then Michael and Isabel came looking for Max, and now the seven of them were sitting around the tables talking.  Maria and Alex were at one table, and Michael and Isabel at another, and Max and Liz at a third, and he was straddling a chair backward, closest to Isabel.

        "Who's the best-looking alien you can think of?" Maria asked.

        "Isabel," Alex said.

        "Max," Liz said.

        "Maxwell Demon," Isabel said.

        "Who?" Alex asked.

        "Obi-Wan Kenobi," Kyle said.

        "Darth Maul," Michael disagreed.

        "Max?" Liz prompted.  "Maria?"

        "I asked the question, I don't have to answer," Maria said.

        "Yes you do," Alex said.

        "Fine.  Michael," she said.

        "Max?" Liz asked.

        "Michael and Isabel," Max said.

        "You can't name two," Alex said.

        "Who's the best-looking non-alien person you can think of?" Max asked Alex.  "In your opinion, not in popular terms."

        "Sarah Michelle Gellar," Alex said.

        "David Boreanaz," Liz said.

        "Seth Green," Maria said.  "No, James Marsters."

        "That woman in the Irish dancing thing," Kyle said.

        "The short Backstreet Boy, the pixie one," Isabel said.

        "You asked," Maria told Max, "you have to answer."

        "Kyle," Max said.

        Michael shrugged.  "Kyle."

        "You two are so full of shit," Isabel said.  "And you three spend way too much time watching the WB.  I'm changing my answer to Nick Lea."

        "Just because he has fuck-me eyelashes," Michael said.  "Like some other people I could name."

        "Excuse me, did you just say fuck-me eyelashes?" Alex asked.  "Who are you...oh."

        "What are you talking about?" Max asked.

        "You," Isabel said.

        "Me?" Max asked.  She handed him her compact; he turned red and peeked at himself in the mirror.  "I do not have...those."

        "Yes, you do," Michael said.

        "You do," Liz said.

        "Yep," Kyle agreed.

        Max returned the compact to Isabel, blushing harder.

        "Well, I'm leaving," Alex said.

        "Drive me home," Isabel said, rising.

        Alex looked at her.  "Me?  Okay."

        "Take your time," she told Max, and left with Alex.

        "I'll go, too," Maria said.  "You all have a nice night."

        "Bye," Liz said.  Then she turned to the three of them.  "What is going on here?"

        "What?" Kyle asked.

        "What?" Michael asked.

        "I don't think that we should be anything more than friends," she said to Kyle.

        "You're dumping me?"

        "Kyle, you have a hickey that I didn't give you."

        "Where?" Michael asked.

        "Michael," Max said.

        "Okay," Kyle said.  "Sorry."

        "I don't get what's going on here," Liz said.  "Max loves Kyle.  Kyle's been kissing somebody.  And now Michael's...being strange."

        "That would be different from regular Michael behavior how?" Kyle asked.

        "He thinks that you're the most attractive person, and no offense, but speaking completely objectively, you probably aren't," Liz said.

        "Kyle and I have our own special chemistry," Michael said.

        "I was hoping that the two of you would be together," Liz said to Max and Kyle, "but are you trying a...threesome?  I can't believe I just said that, I don't mean it like that, I'm just...God, what am I asking you?"

        "I'm in love with Kyle," Max said.  "And I'm in love with Michael, too.  Kyle seems to like me, and I don't know what Michael's thinking."

        "Michael's leaving," Michael said.

        "Michael," Liz said.

        "Excuse me," Max said, and followed Michael.  Kyle got up to follow Max, ignoring Liz calling him back.  He reached the sidewalk as Max turned down an alley.  He followed.

        "Michael!" Max called.

        "You tell Liz that you're in love with me?" Michael demanded.  "If you are, Maximilian, you should be telling me.  Didn't you think that I might like to hear it?"

        "You know that I meant it.  You know that I'm in love with you," Max said.

        "You have SuperJock now," Michael snapped.

        "You love me, Michael.  I know that you love me as much as I love you."

        "More," Michael said.

        "What about Kyle?"

        "I don't even know him," Michael said.

        "You want him.  The same connection I have with him, you have it, too.  That spark, it means something."

        "I'm just too sexy for my own good," Michael muttered.  "I don't want him."

        "Don't lie to me, Michael."

        "He has you.  You have him.  Leave me out of it."

        "We love each other, you and I.  We can be together."

        "With Kyle.  I've never had anything of my own.  I've never had anything at all.  And now I have to share you with him.  I have to share him with you."

        "Michael, I've always tried to give you everything that I have.  I've always tried to share.  Let's share one more thing.  Our bodies, our love, and Kyle."

        "That's three things, Maximilian.  And don't you want to ask him what he thinks about it?" Michael asked.

        "I know he's listening.  If he wants to say something, he can.  Michael, come home with me."

        "Wouldn't want to interrupt Isabel and Alex."

        "Michael, please, don't run off."

        "Go back to your boyfriend.  Live long and prosper."

        Kyle heard Michael's footsteps as Michael left the alleyway.  He turned and went to his car.

        He was dreaming again.  He was standing in his own bedroom, watching Max, who was lying on his bed kissing Michael.  They were kissing, and kissing, and kissing.  Still dressed, Max partially on top of Michael, mouths fitting together perfectly.  He watched, hoping they'd start to undress each other.

        Suddenly he was in the bed with them, and he was pulling up Max's shirt and licking Max's nipple while Michael rubbed his crotch through his jeans.  He stayed there, just licking all over Max's nipples, letting Michael rub him harder until he came in his pants.

        He awoke with a sticky mess in his boxers.

        Kyle leaned against Max's locker.  "Hi."

        "Hi," Max said, and they just looked into each other's eyes, and it was like having sex, secret dirty sex right there in the hallway.  Max just made him melt.  He smiled and moved out of the way so Max could open the locker.  He rested against the next locker.  "You busy tonight?"

        "Yes, he is."  Michael was right there, looming out of nowhere, looking at him hard and narrow-eyed.  If Max made him melt, Michael set him on fire.  Michael also pissed him off.

        "Kyle's welcome to join us," Max told Michael.

        "Since when?" Michael asked.

        "Isabel's bringing Alex."

        "I'm not here to start a fight," Kyle said.  "Max, I'll see you later."

        "Wait," Max said.  "Come to my house tonight, at eight."

        Kyle flicked a glance over Michael.  He looked at Max, wanted to kiss, said, "Sure," and left.

        Max opened the door.  "Hi."  He walked in and Max kissed him soft and quick.  "Come in."

        "So what are we doing?" he asked, as Max took his jacket and hung it in the closet.

        "We don't do things like party and drink and do drugs, so we do inane things like watch movies."

        "Then can we bake brownies, paint our nails, and hold meaningful conversations?"

        "Well, I don't want the fun to get too out of control," Max said.

        "What's the movie?"

        "Being John Malkovich."

        "You're actually watching a good, intelligent, creative film?" Kyle asked.  "I'd better go.  My American small town high school jock brain may not handle this."  They walked into the living room, where Alex was sitting tensely close to Isabel while Michael lounged in the doorway to the kitchen.  Kyle sat on the end of the sofa opposite Alex while Max started the tape.  Michael disappeared into the kitchen and Max took the armchair.  Michael returned and handed Max a soda, then leaned over the sofa, resting his forearms on the sofa back between Isabel and Kyle, and tilted his head to one side to look at Kyle.  "You want anything?"

        You, you, I want you, oh my god I'm insane.  His heart was beating way too fast.  He met Michael's gaze levelly.  "No thanks."

        Isabel snorted.

        Michael's look simmered in his balls.  And god, that mouth.  Kyle turned his head and caught Max watching them.  Max hesitated, then looked to the TV screen.  Michael left the room.  Kyle tried to remember to breathe regularly.

        When the movie ended, Michael was lounging in the entrance to the hallway that led to the bedrooms.  Isabel took Alex outside.  Michael went into the kitchen again.  Max moved to the sofa and said, "Kyle, look into my eyes."

        "What are you going to do?"

        "Make a connection."

        "No.  No way."

        "Every time you stare at me, we connect.  You just don't realize that we're doing it."

        "Can Michael do that, too?"



        "I don't know if he has."

        "He has."  Fuck.  "Why do you want to do it now?"

        "I want it to be conscious and voluntary."

        "No way.  I don't want you inside my head."

        "Are you hiding something?"

        "I'm keeping my privacy, what little of it I have left.  Are you looking for something?"



        "I want to know if you're in love with me and Michael."

        "Fuck no."

        "Then what is this?"


        "The fuck it is," and Michael was standing behind the couch again, standing there and glaring at him.  He stood, and Michael reached out a hand and he grabbed Michael's wrist, and electric sex flared and sparked all through his body, and he forgot to let go, just stared into Michael's eyes and felt hot sex lust fire electric fireworks.  It started to burn low in his balls, juicing his system.  Michael was staring hot and hard into his eyes, until it was like he was being fucked - - not like making secret love with Max, it was like being fucked - - he jerked back, shoving away Michael's arm.

        "Wait," Max said, standing.  "Kyle, when I dreamwalked, you didn't turn silver.  It could be because I wasn't trying to, or it could be because I couldn't.  Maybe if Michael-"

        "I don't want you freaks fucking around in my head or in my dreams," Kyle said.

        "Just try it," Max said.  "Please.  Michael?"

        "I could use the practice," Michael said.

        Max took Kyle's hand.  It was oddly intimate, and when Max's thumb brushed across the back of his knuckles he felt like he'd follow Max anywhere.  Where had his brain gone?  Must've turned to mush and leaked out his cock.  He went with Max to Max's bedroom, Michael following.  Max sat on the bed, scooting over, making room for him.  They laid down on their backs on the bed, closing their eyes.  Michael was on the floor.  Kyle tried to breathe and relax, his fingers twined through Max's.

        He was dreaming.  He was wandering around a house with white walls and no doors, no furniture, just white-washed rooms of varying dimensions.  He wandered and wandered, and he couldn't get out, and he wondered if this were a maze.  Finally he turned a corner and smacked into Max.



        He held out his arm.  "Paint me."

        Max smiled.  "All right."  Max's fingers trailed down his arm, leaving a circular winding path of silver.  When Max got to his wrist, he turned his palm to trap Max's hand, leaning in to kiss Max.  That fringe of bang, those even liquid eyes, those ears, what was it about Max that was so damned fascinating?

        "Should I take a number?"

        "Michael," Max said, pulling away from Kyle guiltily.  Kyle saw it too fast flash across Max's eyes, a naked hunger for Michael's sexual potency.

        Michael stepped closer and ran a negligent, warm, strong hand up Kyle's arm, sliding his palm over the silver tracks.  No electric jolt, just heat.  "You weren't the first to kiss Kyle, Maximilian.  Do you want to be the first to kiss me?"

        "Yes," Max said.

        "Do you want to kiss me first, earth boy?" Michael asked Kyle, leaning in close, staring into his eyes like the dangerous and intimidating person that Michael was.

        "Yes," Kyle said, not backing down an inch.

        Michael dropped his hand and stepped back.  He raised a hand and cupped it, urging them both closer.  He backed up, and they walked toward him.  He paused and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the white floor.  Kyle did the same.  Max took a moment longer, then gave in and stripped to the waist also.  Michael unbuttoned his jeans one-handed.

        Max dropped to his knees.  It shocked the hell out of Kyle.

        Michael reached out a hand and pulled Kyle close, up against his body, his thigh between Kyle's, and kissed Kyle.  Hot and wet, lots of tongue from the start, a dirty sex kiss.  Kyle rested a hand on Michael's naked side, couldn't believe that this was naked warm skin Michael.

        Michael released Kyle, let Kyle go, quirked a finger in Max's direction.  Max was right there, pressing hot moist kisses over Michael's flat stomach, licking at Michael's navel, opening and tugging down Michael's pants.

        Michael didn't wear underwear.  Well, hell.

        Kyle stared in perfect fascination as Max licked and kissed and sucked and mouthed and teased and loved and swallowed.  Michael had one hand on the back of Max's head, firmly warm and encouraging, not forcing.  Max looked in as much ecstasy as Michael was over it.  Max sat back, sliding a hand down Michael's naked thigh, as Michael came down from the high.


        Kyle jerked awake.  He sat up fast, seeing Isabel in the doorway.  Damn it he was hard; it hurt.  Max sat up next to him as Michael sat up on the floor.

        "What are you doing?" Isabel asked, obviously able to figure it out on her own.

        He glanced down; no silver marks on his arm.  Just a dream.  He was sure Michael'd really come, though.

        "Sleeping," Max said.  "Dreaming."

        "Together," she accused.  "Max, this is serious.  Don't play with it."

        "It was an experiment," Kyle said.  He'd kissed Michael.  Or, more accurately, Michael'd kissed him.  Was that what it felt like for girls, to be possessed and plundered when they kissed?  Michael had been so aggressive, so hungry, and so fucking good.

        "Get out of my house," she said.

        He stood.  "Bye, Max."  He kissed Max, right in front of her, who cared if it pissed her off, Max was his to kiss.  So sweet, so perfect.  Then he turned and crouched in front of Michael.  Michael's hand came high on his inner right thigh, pulled it around until he was kneeling astride Michael.  God this guy was good.  And the electric charge was gone.  Michael's hand slid up, over his groin, past his navel, until Michael rubbed a thumb over his right nipple through his shirt and kissed his mouth, hot and wet.  He groaned into Michael's mouth, knew he was doing it and didn't care.

        "I'm not here for a live sex show," Isabel said.  "I want you out of my house."

        "Let me fuck you," Michael said.

        "Fuck Max," Kyle suggested.

        "That too," Michael said.

        "I'd better go."

        Michael ran a knuckle along his jaw, and it left a trail of sparks in its wake.  Apparently Michael now controlled the effect and could set him on fire at will.

        He rose, kissed Max again, and left the house.

        It was strange, after that.  But very, very good.  He played basketball and went to class.  He hung out with his friends and went to practice and did his homework and tried to see his dad once in a while.  And he went over to Max's house to make out with Max and Michael.

        Some nights they showed up in his dreams; some nights they didn't.  Sometimes it was just one of them; sometimes it was both.

        He didn't know who they were.  They didn't know, either.  His father didn't know.  He got them to talk to him, and he got his father to talk to him, and even though he could tell that all three were holding back something, he could figure out that his father didn't have any more information than they did.  That made him feel better.  If his father had known something more, he would have had to tell them.

        Isabel didn't approve.  She didn't think that aliens and humans should be romantically involved.  Max and Michael agreed with her, but they couldn't help themselves, and Kyle wasn't about to be self-sacrificial and back off for their sakes.

        Max was romantic.  Max made him melt.  Max made love to him, sweet and loving and erotic until his entire body turned to liquid heat and he was in a whole new world.

        Michael was lust.  Michael set him on fire. Michael fucked him, hot and passionate and pornographic until his entire body went up in flames and he was in a whole new world.

        Max had those eyes.  Max's every kiss, every caress was loving.

        Michael had that mouth.  Michael's every kiss, every caress was stimulating.

        They both loved him.  They both wanted him.  One didn't love him or want him more than the other.  But the ways that they showed him were very different.

        Max was quieter about it, now, a little reserved, that caution coming through again.  And Michael was a typical guy, happy just to get off, not worried about the rose petals and violins part of it.  But Kyle knew that they needed affection, they needed love, they needed acceptance.  So he gave it to them.

        There was some concern at first about the exchange of bodily fluids aspect of their shared sex life.  After all, cum was semen, and semen had sperm, and sperm were living organisms.  Swapping spit was one thing, but actually shooting off in the mouth or ass of someone not of one's own species might cause some problems.  They didn't know how their species' DNA might interact.  Dreams didn't count, but Max had sucked him off that one time in the locker room, and they didn't know that at this moment, because of that one time, Max wasn't growing a third arm or getting some horrible disease or even carrying Kyle's love child; they couldn't be sure.

        So they used condoms.  Kyle figured that at least three people at West Roswell, then, had learned something from health class.

        Kyle couldn't believe that he, all-American small-town SuperJock, was in love with two male aliens.  Son, student, jock, hunter, friend, and Michael Guerin's personal sex toy.  Max Evans' lover.

        He was sure that it was love.  Because Max had looked into his soul and said so.  Because Michael needed him in a way that he'd never thought that he could be needed.  Because he looked into their souls, sitting in Max's bed, naked, looking first into Max's eyes and, three days later, into Michael's, seeing right inside them and feeling it all.

        It was profound to the point of devastation.

        They loved him.  They wanted him.  They needed him.

        What was a small-town jock to do?  He loved them right back, wanted them right back, needed them right back, and made sure that he got the recommended eight and a half hours of sleep each night.

 To sleep: perchance to dream...

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