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Resolve, Part Three

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Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list September 12, 2001

TITLE: Resolve
AUTHOR: Maude M.
FEEDBACK: Please :)
WEBSITE: A New Plan and Zeno's Paradox can be found at my website
DISTRIBUTION: List Archive. Others, I would be honored. Just let me know where.
SPOILERS: The Departure
DISCLAIMER: Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, et al. They definitely aren't mine.
SUMMARY: Sequel to A New Plan/Zeno's Paradox. Kyle gets tired of hiding.
NOTES: Big-time thanks to Aunty Mib for the beta.

        I'm sneaking around. I think I've officially become Kyle Valenti: Stalker. I am actually *lurking* in Max Evans' bushes, waiting for a light to come on in his bedroom. It's been 53 minutes. It's usually him waiting for me, coming for me, and now here I am, acting all desperate to see him. God, I feel desperate.

        Why didn't it ever occur to me that he has so much more at stake than I ever did? He's in a position to lose Liz, all of his friends, everything. My friends would probably be a little grossed out, but they have no idea what Max really is. And it's not like I've ever been warm and fuzzy with the rest of Roswell's alien population. And god, I've already lost Liz.

        Okay, maybe I should just go. I'm starting to creep myself out here. There's only so much lurking you can do before you start to become scary.

        But there it is. His light comes on. Just swallow your pride and go tell him you're sorry, forget it, you just want him back. I cross the yard, and go to his window; knock softly on the glass.

        There he is. He looks up from his desk; the only light in the room is coming from that small desk lamp. He looks at me, and my stomach churns a little. It's not that half-grin that he usually has for me. It's not that, "I've been dying to touch you for hours, and now you're finally here," look that just makes me nuts. It's a concerned look. It's a dark look.

        He crosses the room, tugs the window open. "What's wrong?"

        I shake my head. "Nothing. Can I..."

        He nods and I step through the windowpane. I'm in his room. I haven't ever been here before, but it's very Max. Very orderly. Very simple. Dark colors. I don't say anything. I don't know where to start.

        He sits down on the bed. "Why are you here?"

        Oh god. He's mad. I knew he'd be mad. "I just... I'm just..."

        He frowns, his eyes clouding over. "Are you alright? Did something happen?"

        I nod. It's hard to say. I don't usually communicate with him in words. "Jesus Evans, I just came here to tell you that I'm sorry. About this afternoon. I was being selfish, just thinking about what I want, and didn't think at all about what you have to lose, and I'm sorry, and if you want to just keep this under wraps, then fine with me, but I really don't want us to... end. I don't care what we are, or what this is as long as we can be... together."

        I take a deep breath, replacing all that oxygen that I just spent with that masterpiece of rambling oratory.

        He looks at me. There's a flicker of... something. Oh shit. He's going to say it's too late. "I broke up with her. Today. A couple of hours ago."

        I let out my breath in a loud gasp. I was *so* not expecting this. I feel... light. "What?" Is all I manage to say.

        "I broke up with her. I want to be with you," he says so quietly. He's standing up and pulling me into his arms, pressing his face against mine.

        "What did you tell her?" I'm running my hand through his hair, letting it slip through my fingers, and then doing it again.

        "I couldn't tell her. I lied. Said I needed some time apart to think. She was mad. Really mad," he breathes into my ear, his warm breath causing me to shiver.

        "I'm sorry."

        "I'm not."

        His mouth against mine: this time it's different. It's urgent. It's overwhelming.

        I remember when I was a kid on vacation; my Dad took me to the beach. I was standing in the waves, chasing them out and running from them as they chased me back in. As the tide came in, they shifted so suddenly; reaching farther onto the shore than I was used to. The sand slid out from under my feet, I got pulled under and the waves began to drag me out to sea. I knew that I was so much smaller than the ocean, so I didn't even try to struggle; I just accepted that this was the end of me, and washed along until some girl pulled me back out.

        That's what this kiss is like. It's like getting pulled out to sea, and there isn't a damn thing I could do about it, even if I wanted to. Max's mouth is so encompassing, so warm and wet; it's like drowning in heat. He pushes farther and farther until I break free, gasping, wondering where I gathered the sense to remember to breathe.

        This time is different. This time, he doesn't have Liz in the back of his mind. He doesn't have anything holding him back, and he doesn't hold back. His hands are up under my shirt, tugging it up over my head, and then roaming over my chest, leaving burning tingling trails across my skin, and I don't know if it's some alien thing, but I don't care, it feels *good*.

        I nervously glance to the door, gathering up my wits just enough to realize that messing around + boyfriend's parents/sister = problem, but I don't need to tell him, and he doesn't say a word, but in an instant I know he's got things covered. So I grow a little bolder as well. I yank that black tee shirt over his head and mirror what he's doing to me, tracing patterns in his skin with my fingertips, and he makes this noise with the very back of his throat, almost as if maybe there would be sound if human beings could hear things like dog whistles, but it's vibrating and it feels so good against my mouth.

        It's subtle this time, subtle at first, but when I realize that he's doing it, it's unbelievably poignant, and here's what it is: I am outside of myself. And he's outside of himself, and I only realize because I am watching us, tangled up in each other, blindly groping and moaning, and I realize that I can't be in two places at once. That's when I see him, and the room fades away and we are someplace else, somewhere so far beyond physicalities and yet somewhere primal, and the only way I could possibly describe it is tactile emotion.

        It's a complete understanding of emotion, and I feel so lucky to understand it, but at the same time I'm a little sad (which, in this place is a beautiful, beautiful thing), because I realize that if I were an artist or a musician of some sort, this would tie so many things together, because I understand now, but I can't do anything with it. But maybe that's the whole point of this place, selflessness; maybe that's the whole point of contentment, and I feel so profound, and so enlightened, so of course, he snaps me back into my body so fast that I am dizzy, literally dizzy and just clinging to him.

        Maybe that's all he wanted to get out of it.

        And fine by me. I'm aware of what he's doing, his hands all over me, he's brushing me *down there*, and Jesus, he's done that before, but *shit*, now he's unbuttoning my pants and God help me, I'm unbuttoning his.

        You might think that two curious and sexually inclined teenage boys might have spent many a night exploring the physical possibilities of this relationship, but you'd be wrong. There was exploration, but usually of the mental/spiritual/emotional variety, and besides, you can't be gay if you haven't actually *done* anything...

        Watch out, gay, here I come.

        His hand is now in my boxers, his hand touching me, tentatively; he's no more experienced than I am, but believe me, he's doing just fine. His hand grasping me firmly, his touch is so, so hot, so I do the same, I reach into his boxers and touch him, and *shit* I am touching another guy's cock, and I feels so damn good. Soft. A little sticky with pre-come. But it's fleeting, because he's dropping to his knees.

        He's on his knees.

        His mouth is on me, and if I thought his hand was hot, then I don't have a word to describe this, because this is too goddamn much. His mouth is so hot and wet, and I can't last very long, not when he's doing *that* with his tongue on the tip. And I steady with my hands on his head as his fingers dig into my hips, and he just keeps going, swirling his tongue, and licking along the bottom of it, and how on earth does he know how to do this?

        I gasp as he draws the orgasm right out of me, I come into his mouth, and he just swallows it, and I don't know why that matters, but it does, and I'm glad he did. I'm moaning, and I don't even realize it until he's back onto his feet and kissing me, and he tastes like *me*, and the old Kyle thinks that should be so gross, but whoever the hell it is that I am now just loves knowing that my taste is in his mouth.

        And I reach down again. Tug his boxers down only halfway, and wrap my hand around him; pump. A vague thought ripples through my mind that I should reciprocate, but I just don't know that I can at this point, and besides, I *know* that this is okay with him, because he's just moaning my name harshly against my neck as I pump faster. When he finally comes, he pulls the hair on the back of my head a little and says my name into my ear with such hot breath. And it's just so sexy that here I am, getting hard again.

        But this has been a crazy night, and we're both a little wobbly, so we collapse onto his bed and he pulls me into his arms. I don't care if it's girly, it feels good. And my last thought is that I should probably go home, but he feels awfully warm, and I'm so tired all of the sudden.


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