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Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (Max)

Reply to MyrnaLynne

Added to the Roswell Slash Archive December 31, 2000

Title: Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (Max) Author: MyrnaLynne
Summary: UC/ Nasedo POV - Max/Nasedo Max slash fic
Setting: The night before "Max to the Max"
Rating: NC-17 /Slash
Disclaimer: No infringement meant to holders of Roswell copyrights. No offense meant to the wonderful JB either.
Distribution: Anybody else, ask permission.
Dedication: This is for my two E friends, Elizabeth and Elliott, who wanted to see Evil Easy E in action!

It's the middle of the night. As I often do, I roam my darkened house, getting used to this new place. I feel restless. I need sleep of course, I need to regenerate my energies, but I don't need to do it often, and I don't need the amount of rest that humans do. I don't even need as much as Tess. I catch sight of myself in a mirror and Ed Harding's face looks back at me - balding, big features, a goofy harmless face, fine for my current needs. The used car salesman you might actually trust. The uncle who tells funny jokes at parties. Good old Ed. This face has served me well. I pat my own cheek fondly in the mirror for a moment, before I realize how strange that looks.

I stop in the doorway of Tess's room and watch her face relaxed in sleep, her lips slightly parted, and listen to her gentle measured breathing. How often have I watched her sleep these past 10 years? I wonder why I take pleasure in the sight of her sleeping.

I was alone for so long... watching over the pods, awaiting the uncertain time of their emergence. I often went exploring, learning about this planet. And then, when I returned that last time to check on them... I felt something... horror. When I realized that my mission had failed, I was horrified. It was an interesting feeling.

Three of the ones I was supposed to watch were already gone, their pods cracked open and empty as discarded eggshells. Only Tess remained. Timing was everything, I realized then, and this one miscalculation cost me dearly. How long and frantically have I searched for the precious missing three? How much wasted time and energy, how many wasted years, how much have they missed out on learning, being raised as humans, by humans? Humans are as inept at child rearing as they are with almost everything else. Even the simple creatures on their planet are better, more attentive, more consistent parents, through instinct alone.

At least I had Tess with me, which made things better, although the logistics of raising her have often been difficult. But worst of all is the silence, the silence of all those years since the crash. No other minds to touch, only awkward imprecise human speech to communicate with, and then only dull bovine humans, thought blind and of limited imagination, to talk with anyway. Or to kill when necessary.

Although the silence was a relief for awhile, at first. After listening to the horrifying painful mental screaming of my companions, being studied, tortured, isolated, slowly driven insane, and finally killed and dissected. That was a deafening cacophony, and my constant mental companion those first three years on Earth. I was glad when it stopped. 'Glad' did not begin to describe the emotion - it was like an addict in withdrawal finally getting his fix and blessed release/oblivion. The silence was a comfort, a drug, and I sometimes try to remember how at first, I felt the silence was a good thing.

I had been driven nearly to the edge of insanity by what my mind was forced to witness (or perhaps beyond, I am not sure anymore - who is there on this primitive planet to measure myself and my normality or lack of it against?). But the silence had grown and expanded over time and become a constant ache, like the tingling itch of a vanished limb, like a blind man's nostalgia for his sight. I am Other. I am alone. I live in silence. But I have my tasks and my responsibilities to keep me going.

I walk around the house, touching our souvenirs. Moving as often as we do, our belongings begin to signify home (such as is it) more than any actual place. How many homes have we lived in? I have lost count. How many different lives have we inhabited among the humans, in all these long dark years on earth?

I find myself gazing up at the skull and antlers decorating the wall. Human life is not the only source of fascination on this planet. I traveled the world in those dark years and I remember meeting this animal, taking its life, dissecting it to study the play of muscle and bone, caressing the still-warm brown fur, studying the entrails, the contents of the stomach, like an ancient seer. When I was done I stepped back and watched the scavengers and opportunists come and devour the meat with greed and pleasure, deliriously happy in their good fortune. I recall the sound of their lips smacking, their muzzles gory with blood. I kept the skull. The antlers please me. They are not human either.

But enough of these pleasant and unpleasant memories. There is work to be done! I walk over to the piano, stop to rest my hand on the statue Liz shattered and Tess had just as easily repaired. I feel Ed Harding's lips twitch into an ironic smile. We have never had to buy a single tube of Superglue in all our travels. Tess' skills are limited compared to mine, but very handy around the house.

I squat down and lift the lid off the brown storage box marked "Photos." I slowly flip through the black and white photographs of the boy - Max Evans, studying and savoring each image as I have on so many occasions. Tomorrow is going to be difficult - things have to be handled just right.

The Other One is getting closer. I feel a flush of anticipation at the prospect of meeting my nemesis again, this one is worthier and more of a challenge than those they sent in the past. I feel the joy of a chess master who has finally found a worthy opponent, someone to match wits against and to defeat in battle. Timing is critical and it is time to prepare for my next role...

I select a photo of Max Evans and Liz Parker from the box. The two of them are standing out on a street in Roswell. Max is much taller, his head inclined toward her, listening. Liz is looking up into his face... Yes, that will do.

I settle Ed's body into a comfortable chair and relax my mind, focusing my considerable powers. (False modesty is not one of my faults.) I place the tip of my index finger lightly on the photo of Liz Parker and close my eyes, drift into her dream....

Interesting... Liz Parker is seated in some sort of dreamlike seraglio, wearing a scanty costume of gauzy colorful fabrics, familiar from Disney's "Aladdin." Hoof beats resound on the cobbled pavement below. Arabian Liz gets up from her pillows on the floor and hurries to the window. I smile at the upturned toes of her slippers as she crosses the room. I am Nasedo now; I have left the guise of Ed Harding behind. She cannot see me here, unless I choose.

"Liz... it's me... Max," a voice drifts up to the window. I move my vantagepoint behind her, looking over her shoulder out the window to the darkened street below. Max Evans sits astride a beautiful white horse with an ornate bridle with red tassels. He is dressed as an Arabian prince, and a small cap perches on the back of his dark hair.

His eyes are enormous, gazing up at her. Again, I find the resemblance striking to the boy in the animated film. I had taken Tess to see that movie, against my better judgment and to my lasting regret, but it was so hard to deny her a few simple girlhood pleasures. But really, it is better not to pollute her mind with human popular culture. She had loved the film, daydreamed about it, even wanted me to take part in her make believe games! It was a mistake, letting her see that film.

"Liz... come on.. Let's go," Max says, urgency in his voice.

"No.. I can't! It's too high!" Liz replies. "I'm afraid!"

"Then I'll come up." Max smiles, then stands on the saddle (I'm amused by the gold boots he is wearing) and grabs a vine. He pulls himself up the side of the palace, muscles straining in his arms to pleasant effect, yet no effort is revealed on his face. Instead, he looks upward adoringly at Liz, his love for her plain to see, shining in his green gold eyes as he draws himself upward, closer and closer... Well, this is her dream, after all.

I step back as Aladdin Max gracefully pulls himself into the large stone window and takes Liz into his arms. He studies her face for a moment and then kisses her passionately. When they break apart, both panting for breath, Liz says, "Max.. it's not safe... someone will come."

"I'm not leaving without you, Liz." Max turns to the window and whistles. A flying carpet appears and hovers just outside, level with the broad windowsill.

I shake my head in amusement - teenage girls!

"Max, I'm scared... I don't know... OH!"

Liz is interrupted by Max scooping her up into his arms and carrying her out the window. He sets her down gently on the magic carpet, and off they fly....

So, this is the Max she wants... confident and masterful, someone to take charge and control her, to carry her away. Interesting...

The palace dissolves and I open my eyes. I reach for a chocolate from a candy dish on the table. Tess calls it an "end table." My work requires a lot of energy and I have found that sugar is very quickly burnt by my alien metabolism. And chocolate tastes good. I study the photo again, and put my finger on Max's picture, idly tracing the outline of the boy's dark hair with my fingertip, stroking his cheek....

What kind of a boy is this Max Evans? How will he treat my Tess? Tess thinks I saved all the photos of Max for her, to strengthen their bond, so she could 'get to know' her intended mate, grow to love him. But I keep these photographs for my own purposes as well. These photos please me, these pictures of Max and of the others.

I close my eyes again and the room dissolves...

Max Evans is standing on a busy playground. A group of children are running, playing crack the whip and Red Rover. Then Liz and Tess appear. Liz grabs Max's right hand and Tess grabs Max's left, and they began to tug back and forth on Max is if he were the rope in a game of tug-of-war. At first, all three of them are laughing, but Liz's and Tess's faces become more set and determined, and Max looks more and more distressed and confused as the two girls begin to battle for him in earnest.

I concentrate then, and in a flash of light, I assume the form of Max Evans.

"Girls, girls, no need to fight... there's one for each of you," I say as I step into the dreamscape.

Both girls stop their tugging and look from one Max to the other. Max looks relieved, happy that his dream mind had finally formulated a solution to his problem of what to do about Tess and Liz. Or perhaps he is just glad they have stopped fighting over him, and stopped yanking on his arms.

Tess throws her arms around Max's neck, standing on tiptoes. I look at Liz speculatively. She is lovely. But the real Max takes Tess's arms down from around his neck and says, "I belong with Liz."

So I must walk over to Tess... I watch myself as I reach out Max's young right hand and caress Tess's cheek, look into her beautiful blue eyes. His other hand comes up and laced itself into her blonde curls. I study her red lips, her wide happy smile. I feel desire stir in my body - Max's body. I glance over and see Max holding Liz in his arms. Interesting....

I lean forward and kiss Tess. It is what she expects; it is what she is waiting for. Humans have taboos against this sort of thing, perhaps? I do feel some strangeness stirring in me. Or maybe it is just the arousal of the boy's body. I have never thought of Tess in quite this way before... I concentrate on the sensation - the scent of her, the warmth and pressure of her mouth opening under mine, her tongue slipping out to slide back and forth teasingly across my lips (where did she learn this?). I have raised her, but she is not my child. Humans have rules to abide by. These rules do not apply to me. I am alien, I am other. This is not my world and man-made rules do not apply. I never kissed Tess before because it did not suit my purposes, and might do her harm. I feel the link opening between us. I see Tess's eyes begin to widen at the realization... does she recognize me?

This will not do. And although this is interesting and new, this is not why I have come....

I hold up my hand and focus and the dream changes...

It is dark in Max Evan's bedroom. Max is lying curled on his side in bed. He looks very peaceful, relaxed in sleep. There is a vague happy expression around his mouth, still in the last dream about Liz.

I pull back the light blanket and sheet to study the sleeping boy. I rake my eyes across the black T-shirt, the powerful shoulders, the flannel boxers. Yes, dreaming of Liz. The tented front of the boxer shorts tell the tale of his happy dreams...

His eyes snap open as he feels the air on his skin, the subtle movement of the sheet over his body. He rolls onto his back, and blinks. He brings his hand up to rub his eyes. He is looking at me... at himself... standing over him in the dark, dressed exactly like he is...

He must be wondering if he is really awake or if this is one of those dreams where you dream that you are awake, but you're really not.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"I'm you, of course," I answer, sitting down in one fluid motion at the side of Max's bed. I like the way this body moves. "I've come to help you with your... problem."

He watches as his twin's hand (my hand now) reaches out and barely brushes the front of his fading dream erection. His eyes close involuntarily at the touch. When the dark lashes rise again, his eyes look confused.... but aroused. "Don't we usually take care of these problems in the shower?" Max asks himself (me), his voice huskier and softer than usual.

"We can go there if you'd like," I say, trying to capture his tone of voice - the voice is always the hardest to duplicate. "I can scrub your back," I add and then wonder if that was the wrong thing to say to him.

He narrows his eyes. His sex fantasies have never involved himself before. He wonders if maybe this has to do with Tess and the strange tricks his mind has been playing lately. Maybe he is still asleep and dreaming. "It's less messy in there," he says, telling himself (me) what he already knows. What is it called when you have multiple personalities, Max wonders. But this other him... he seems more self-assured, more.... sexy was the only word he can think of, and it embarrasses him to apply the term to himself.

I reach out my hand and take him by the hand and pull him up to a sitting position. "You want to please your girlfriend, don't you?" I ask.

"What's Liz got to do with it?"

"Maybe you need some... practice, " I suggest, trying out the illogical logic of dreams.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to practice on her?" Max asks reasonably. He is a smart boy.

"True. But she's not here... and I am." I reach out and grab the bottom of the black T-shirt he is wearing and lift it over Max's head and off. I study the boy's powerful build and broad chest. I reach down and lifted off my own T-shirt in one quick motion. I watch Max studying me...studying himself. Almost at the same moment, each of us reaches out a hand, placing it on the other's chest. I feel the pounding of his heart and quickly adjust my pulse rate to match. I rub a thumb speculatively over his brown nipple and feel it harden slightly under my touch. A beautiful shade of brown, the skin there. On some it is much pinker.

I like the color and want to taste it. I reminds me of chocolate. But I must go slowly.

"This is weird," Max says, his fingers exploring my chest with the tentative gentle touch of a blind man.

"Very," I agree, and slide my hand up to wrap around the back of the boy's neck. "We are strong," I say admiringly, kneading the muscles at the back of his neck.

"Strong enough," Max agrees modestly. He tilts his head back against my strong fingers that have found exactly the right spot. He closes his eyes and gives a sigh of pleasure.

"Ready for that shower yet?"

"Won't the water running wake up Mom or Dad?" Max asks, still thinking, but his thoughts becoming hazy and distracted.

"Since this is a dream, it shouldn't disturb them," I point out, "Or we can stay here... and shower afterwards. It's your dream."

"That's true... but even if it's a dream - I still might need new sheets..."

"Always considerate of others," I say softly. "Lie down, Max, " I push him back down on the bed. I have decided. "You can be Liz, and I'll show you what to do to please her..."

"How come I have to be Liz?" Max complains petulantly, but lies back obediently, expectantly.

"We can take turns if you like... You know how fair you are..." I say to him, feeling his smile on my face. How odd to joke with oneself. "Where to start? Let's see...You usually start with kissing. She likes that."

"I like it too," he says, his eyes studying my face as I lean toward him.

I touch the side of his face with my palm, as I have seen him do. I feel the slight stubble of beard on his face. Nothing like Tess at all. "Close your eyes and think of her," I say softly, and as he closes his eyes, I lean in to kiss him on the mouth. I am surprised there are so many sensations attached to this simple act of touching lips. It starts gently and explodes into a great hunger. I explore his lips with my tongue, slip along his teeth. I could spend days just on this mouth alone, but there is no time.

I sit back regretfully, mouth feeling slightly bruised and raw. I put my hand on his broad shoulder. "Then you can take off her shirt... if she doesn't mind." I have taken his off already and I content myself to stroke the muscles of his shoulders, sliding my hand down his arms.

"I had my shirt off with her once... It was wonderful. I was... glowing... She was lying under me... trusting me. The feel of her against my skin... I wanted to feel her.. everywhere." Max groans at the recollection. Or was it my touch?

"And you should pay attention to her breasts. Girls are funny that way - they don't want you touching their breasts, but at the same time, it is one of their most... um.. sensual areas." I bend and run my tongue over one brown nipple. I did not expect chocolate, but it tastes of him and that is enough. I suckle and kiss one side and then the other, feeling the tiny nubs harden against the onslaught of my tongue and the gentle rake of my teeth. His body stiffens with tension, trembling...

I suddenly remember inhabiting one life that was especially interesting, that taught me about human females and about the peculiarities of human sexuality. That beautiful black prostitute. I remember admiring her ebony skin - my skin - the fullness of her lips, the springy nap of her curly hair, the large full breasts, the full hips and long, strong limbs. Oh, I had learned so very much from that particular agent, using that body... I did not leave a handprint on that body. I just 'loved him to death.' He died almost without fear, except at the last instant, his senses were so overloaded with pleasure. Such an easeful death is too good for my enemies. I did not make that mistake again.

But Max is not my enemy. I will be gentle with him. He is mine, after all...

I rub my hands down his ribs, down over his hips, and caress the muscular thighs... I see his erection has found its own way out of the opening in the boxers and is arching up, firm and proud. I realize that my body is responding in kind, and exerting a building pressure.

I study the long white penis and fleetingly regret not coming to him as Liz. I want to feel the sensation of that sliding into me. Somehow in this body, I know I will need to play the aggressor. I would have to overcome quite a lot of artificial cultural resistance or else drive him quite insane with need before he would willingly fuck me. I like the human term, it is so expressively harsh and direct. Such interesting terminology I learned from that black woman. But Max and Liz are much too attuned to each other for me to deceive him as her for long. And they are both probably virgins. Quaint human custom.

I bend and run my tongue down the line from his breastbone to his belly, brushing the faint line of hair, swirling the tip of my tongue inside his belly button. He gasps. I am amused by this primitive reminder of human birth, find it quaint that he has one too, never having been nourished by a mother or born of woman, but this is how he was designed. Everything in the right place. His belly button tastes sharp. The down of fine dark hair thickens on the stomach below. Pathway to pleasure...

"Girls are very reluctant to let you put your mouth on them down here... They are squeamish and shy, embarrassed by odors and tastes. But once they overcome their embarrassment, their reluctance, they will discover what they have been missing. You will make her very happy." I hook my fingers into the elastic waistband of the flannel shorts and slide them down over his hips, over the strong erect penis. I stroke it and he arches up, making it easier to slide the shorts out from underneath him. I push them down his legs, over his narrow feet, and onto the floor. Then I slide my hands back up his legs, caressing them. I need to see all of him. Touch all of him. His legs are trembling.

He reaches out blindly and grabs onto my thigh. His hands are strong and hot. "What... about.. you?" Always thinking of others...

"I think it's easier to concentrate on one thing at a time. There is pleasure in giving pleasure as well as in receiving it. Besides, that 69 might work for us, as we are the same person and the same height. Liz is so diminutive, it would require some contortions on your part..." Diminutive - that is not a word in his vocabulary - I must be more cautious, but it is difficult with his beautiful body laid out like a banquet before me, with his fingers moving from my thigh to my straining erection that mirrors his own.

I see a smile on Max's face, eyes closed as he contemplates the logistics of mutual pleasure with his petite girlfriend. I bend down and take his penis into my mouth, not giving him time to think about it, savoring the sweet saltiness, the musky smell of his body. My tongue swirls and glides around the smooth firm flesh, then adding some suction. His body is almost rigid with coiled tension. I comb my fingers through his dark pubic hair, caress his balls...

But he is just a boy and it is all too much for him and over so soon. He comes explosively in my mouth, unsuccessfully trying to push me away, trying but failing to stifle a cry. Another interesting combination of sensations...

I really should have taken more time with him, prolonged it, but the hour is late. Tomorrow will be a very busy day.

He lies spent, chest heaving for breath, sweaty.

"Come on, let's take that shower now."

"I certainly... need one," he agrees, still panting, unable to move.

I slip out of my boxer shorts and help him up. His legs are rubbery and weak and I put his arm around my shoulder and walk him toward the bathroom. I imagine we must look like a soldier helping a wounded comrade off the field of battle.

I adjust the water and help him into the shower. He throws back his head and closes his eyes, enjoying the stream of warm water over his body. I take the soap and begin to wash him, as promised. Not just his back, but all over, like a child. I remember bathing Tess when she was small. I have not bathed anyone in a very long time. I have never bathed anyone quite like him before.

Then he looks at me standing before him, still holding his arm in case he needs support. He looks at the erection I have not willed to subside jutting out and up. I see the decision in his eyes. His eyes look older suddenly and I feel regret to have caused this. Max sinks to his knees before me and looks up. "You don't have to do this," I tell him, and I feel old inside, the weight of all my dark empty years on this planet rising up inside me. And then he is touching me with his hand, and then, tentatively with his lips, and then I am in his mouth, trying mightily not to thrust myself down his throat and strangle him. He stops for breath, the water I have forgotten all about making it difficult for him to breathe. I push him aside and let myself release at last, violent contractions pumping hot liquid over his shoulder and down his back, quickly washed away by the water. He looks up at me with questions, but I just smile and shake my head and pull him to his feet and into my arms. For the first time in 50 years, I do not feel quite so alone...

I scrub his back and he scrubs mine and we are playful and relaxed together, two sides of a coin, two halves of a whole - identical, but in reality nothing alike. He grabs some shampoo and begins to wash his hair, his back to me. I see he is already getting aroused again. As I said, he is young...

The water pours down as he soaps and rinses his hair. His eyes are closed. With one soapy hand he begins to stroke himself. He does not see the flash of light behind him, and then my hands join his, small perfect hands with delicate bones and exquisite nails. He startles, looks down at the second set of hands. "Liz?" he cries - and comes explosively, pumping out his special seed into the streaming water with a harsh cry.

I end it here, before he can turn around. He is back sleeping in his bed again... or did he ever leave it? And I am Ed Harding again, awakening in my easy chair, a photo of Liz and Max lying on my lap. I get up slowly to put the photo away in the box, and am surprised that I am so stiff, and my legs feel weak. I take another chocolate from the end table and stretch luxuriously. There will be time for some sleep, and then, tomorrow... I will be ready.

- End -

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