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Matters of the Parts

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Added to the Roswell Slash Archive November 3, 2000

Matters of the Parts
By: Pilar, Courtney, and Miri
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Roswell, the characters, and situations are owned by the WB. No infringement intended.
Summary: Michael is written by Pilar, Max by Courtney and Maria by Miri. This story is an exploration on what happens when each writer controls one person. You'll love it or you'll hate it...
Authors Note: NC-17 Love Triangle Michael/Maria/Max.


Staring up at the ceiling, I can't help but watch the paint peel. Another sleepless night, I've tossed and turned every night this week. I don't know what's up with me, but whatever it is, I can't shake this feeling. Nothing works to help me get to sleep, and I've tried absolutely fucking everything. Hot milk, a couple of bong loads, even a long pull off that cheap rotgut bourbon Hank's been drinking lately.

The night is hot.

I open my window and let the warm air breeze through, but still nothing. The air is completely still, and warm. I can feel the sweat on my neck and my chest.

I drag my fingers across my body and feel the moisture pool beneath them. One last shot at getting to sleep. Turning on the small light on my bedstand, I reach over and pull a copy of "Barely Legal" from between the mattress and the box spring. My hand instinctively goes to my cock and I stroke it to alertness in seconds. It doesn't take much. I'm not trying to seduce myself, I don't have to buy me dinner and whisper sweet nothings. I want to get off and I want to go to sleep. End of story.

Page 46, some sweet young thing masquerading as a cheerleader. She has her tight, little letterman's sweater pulled up over her small tits and tweaks a pink nipple between her fingers. I've been checking her out for a while. Page 46 is my favorite, I think it's the dark hair and the piercing eyes, but it's probably just the shaved twat, the tiniest bit of peach fuzz growing back. Page 46 has her long, red-tipped fingers between her legs, holding herself open for me to see into her hot, pink pussy.

It doesn't take but a minute before I'm reaching back into my nightstand for some tissues and wiping my cum off my hand. Ahhh... sweet page 46.

Still, the sleep evades me and I toss and turn for what feel like hours but is probably no more than minutes. Picking up the phone, I call her...


Sleep. The most wonderful thing in the world. I'm sleeping peacefully in my bed, but someone doesn't want me to sleep, because the phone rings. I reach for the receiver, and snatch it up angrily.

"Hullooh," my greeting is incoherent, which matches my current state.

It's Michael. Why is he calling me at 3am? I don't know. A part of me wants to yell at him for waking me, hang the phone up and go back to sleep. The other part of me has to stifle the urge to squeal in delight. So, I listen. I let him speak. He starts off by saying...


"Maria. I know it's late, but I couldn't sleep and I had to call you."

There's silence on the other end of the line, and I'm sort of glad for it. Maybe it's been all of this angst between us that's kept me up all night, every night. I don't want her to speak, I want her to listen to me, although I'm not sure what I have to say. I know there won't be any apologies, though. Not for waking her, not for the things I said in the old soap factory, not for whatever it is I'm doing calling her in the middle of the night. I just had to call. I feel my tongue flapping to blurt out whatever it feels.

"Look, Maria. I'm not sure what to think of what's been going on between us, but I want to see you. I want to see you now. I mean, I'd like to see you now..."

I can see her in my mind rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her mouth hanging open to the floor in disbelief.


My mouth nearly drops to the floor. He wants to see me? Now? It's late, and I'm tired. But this is Michael. I would do anything for him. I crave him. Just the thought of him coming to see me makes me feel incredible. I feel the dampness growing between my legs.

"Alright," I say, "Come over, but use the window. I don't want to wake my mom."


I hang up the phone without another word and shuffle into the bathroom, I'm exhausted, I just want peace. My jeans lay crumpled on the floor beside the shower box where I left them, I shove my legs through them and pull them on over my naked hips. Running my hands through my hair and swooshing some scope around my teeth and tongue, I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment.

The phone rings, shocking me. I lean towards the nightstand and put the handset to my ear.


I listen to the phone ring once, twice . . . I start to hang up, thinking that Hank will probably pick up soon and I definitely don't want to talk to him in the middle of the night. Then I hear him answer, the person I was calling for . . .

"Maria?" Michael whispers into the phone.

"No, it's Max," I reply to my best friend.

"Oh, hey Max. What's up?" he asks me. Hmm, what is up?, I wonder. I'm not exactly sure what made me pick up the phone to call him in the middle of the night. I just couldn't sleep and I needed someone to talk to about, well, everything, and the first person I thought of was Michael Guerin.

"Can you come over tonight? I need to talk . . . if, you know, you feel like it." Why do I sound so desperate? What the hell has come over me all of the sudden?

"Well, I was just headed over to Maria's . . ." he starts off.

My heart falls. "No problem, we'll talk later," I quickly say.

"Max . . ." he sounds apologetic and I hate the pity in his voice.

"It's okay, it's nothing," I assure him.

He sighs on his end of the line and then clears his throat. "Max?"


"Don't fall asleep. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."


I should probably call her, but I don't feel like I have the time. There was a waver in Max's voice, almost invisible, but he sounded so... not desperate really, but something. Something that invariably was drawing me to his house in the middle of the early morning. If Max needs me, I'm there.

Hank is asleep on the couch again.

Fucking pig bastard. I don't even have to tip toe to get past him, he couldn't hear me if I pogo-sticked my ass out of this tin box. I lift his crappy bourbon from the coffee table and take another long pull, wincing as I swallow back the vile whiskey. I feel like I need the drink, I feel like this might be another very long night.

I take the shortcut to Max's and push aside the window to enter his bedroom. I can feel his eyes boring into me as I arrive.

"Max... Is everything okay?"


I look up at the sound of his voice. Relief from something I can't quite name floods my body as I stare at my best friend. "Um . . . hey Michael," I stammer out as he comes fully into my room. He's looking at me like I'm from another planet. Wait, bad choice of words . . . "Max?" I hear him say again.

"Uh, sorry. Yeah, everything is, um . . . fine, it's fine."

"You sure, man? You sound kinda . . . weird." I just nod, hoping that I won't have to explain my feelings because I really don't think I could. "So, you gonna tell me what was so important that you called me over here in the middle of the night?" Michael asks me as he sits down on the bed.

I look up from my own seat on the other end of the bed, only a foot from him . . . Why do I feel like we're suddenly so far apart?

"I... I just . . ." What the hell am I trying to say? How do I explain this?

He's looking at me, staring at me . . . what is it that I see in his eyes? I've never seen it before, but still it's familiar. I can't think of anything to say so I just shut my mouth and stare back at him. Then suddenly Michael . . .


I move closer to Max and bring my voice to a whisper, afraid to be heard by anyone else in the house.

There's too much space between us on the small bed. The sweat rises up in droplets on the back of my neck and on my chest, they drip in long rivers down my skin and I'm more aware of them then I've ever been before. I feel anxious.

This is ridiculous. His soft eyes stare at me and I can feel my skin turn to gooseflesh, I want to push him back against the headboard and cover his mouth with mine, I can't believe I'm even thinking half the things that flash through my consciousness. He called me and I came, that's got to mean something.

I hear my mouth flapping but I have a feeling that nothing intelligible is passing through them, it's all frightened excuses anyway.

"I, uhhhh... well... So, uh, Max... uh... shit." He looks at me like I've got three heads but keeps staring not saying anything. "I should call Maria or something, I left her waiting." Of course, I make no move towards the phone. My hands would be shaking if I lifted them from my legs.

Part of me completely wants to flee, to hightail it out of there, to dive through the window and run home or over to Maria's or somewhere. Something... I don't know. I throw caution to the wind and I move my hand towards Max's and lay my palm over his looking to him for answers, revulsion, something...


I feel Michael's hand cover mine but my eyes don't follow the movement. They stay where they are, trained on his own penetrating gaze as I try to figure out if what I feel is what he feels as well. I don't even know where these new feelings are coming from, really. I didn't even let myself fully acknowledge them until I just felt his large, warm palm press against my skin and a thousand pulses of electricity raced through my body. No one's touch has ever had such a profound effect on me . . . not even Liz.

"Max . . ." his raspy whisper greets my ears. I can see the confusion and arousal and fear that is etched across his features in a maelstrom of emotion. And suddenly I'm not alone. He feels it, too. He knows . . .

"Michael." I try to put everything I am feeling into the simple utterance of his name. I want him to know that it's okay, that it's not just him, that I feel it, too, and that I won't run away. I bring my other hand over to rest on top of his and now his hand is clasped between both of mine and resting on my bed. Michael looks away from my eyes, down to our hands, then back to me before he . . .


I might have to kiss him. Does that sound ridiculous? My head is swimming and my heart is throbbing in my chest so loudly that it sounds like I'm underwater. His hand's over mine and I can feel his heated pulse through the thin skin. His hand trembles as imperceptibly as mine. I think he wants me to.

So like Max to never make the first move.

I lean towards him giving him more than enough chance to pull back, and myself more than enough leeway to act as if I'm reaching for the phone or making some such insignificant movement. Something we can play off to pretend that this isn't actually happening. Max doesn't pull away. Max stays put. Max softens.

Our eyes lock and his lips part slowly, his tongue darting out to nervously go at his bottom lip. I move closer and he doesn't flinch, the only sign I'm waiting for. I slowly touch my lips to his and wrap my arm around his neck.


Oh my God, he's kissing me.

He's kissing me and I'm kissing him back.

His lips brush over mine, softly at first, then with more persistence. His hands are on my back, pulling me closer as his teeth nip at my bottom lip and I feel his tongue brush the tender flesh. I open my mouth to him, eager to allow him entrance. He only hesitates for a moment before I feel his tongue slide along mine. God, is this really happening?

Any doubts I might have had, though, are lost as I give myself over to his touch. The feel of our lips and tongues dancing, the sound of our mingled breath as it escapes in short gasps, it all fills the room and blocks out anything but what is happening right there, between the two of us . . .

I run my hands over his tight T-shirt, feeling his strong, wiry body beneath my fingers. This whole thing seems so surreal, like a dream, but the feel of him is very much a reality. Michael Guerin has never seemed more real to me than he does at that moment.

The kiss that seems to go on forever, finally has to come to an end so that both of us can catch our breath. He pulls his head back just enough to break contact, but I find myself not wanting to let him out of my personal space. I clutch at his T-shirt, keeping him near. He seems to understand and bends his head to rest his forehead against mine as we both fill our deprived lungs with oxygen.

Finally, after an eternity of silence that is only broken by the sounds of our mutual breathing, I have to say something. I have to know if this was something, or if it was just . . . just . . . I don't know. But whatever it was, I have to know.

"Michael?" I say softly. He lifts his head at the sound of my voice and his eyes meet mine. He's not running away, that's a good sign. I continue. "Was this . . . I mean . . . are we . . . are you . . ." I don't know what to say. Then, before I can stammer any longer . . .


Damnit. He had to speak, didn't he... the sound of his voice and my name slices the silence like a razor blade. I don't want to run, but there's no way I can even begin to explain myself and I don't want to hear Max's explanation either. Has this been what's been keeping me up at night, every night for the past few days? I've been near terror.

I can still taste his breath in my lungs, feel his strong fingers running along my ribcage, feel my own cock straining against the zipper of my jeans. "Was this . . . I mean . . . are we . . . are you . . ." Damn him. Damn myself.

I need to think.

I want him to know that it wasn't just something flukish, that I meant to kiss him and that... I don't know. I just don't want to leave here with him feeling bad, or that I'm running away from him.

But I have to get the fuck out of here. I have to get out of here now.

My heart is pounding, I know he can hear it. I move towards him to touch his ear with my lips and whisper to him.


He left.

I'm sitting on my bed staring at the window that my best friend just bolted from and trying to come to terms with the fact that, after everything that has just happened, Michael left. He whispered those words in my ear, "I'm sorry Max," and I felt his breath brush hot against me and then he turned and suddenly he was gone. I reached out for him, but nothing could make him stay. I couldn't make him stay.

I feel tears in my eyes and lay down on the bed, pulling the covers up all around me and biting my lip to keep from crying. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway? Why did I have to say anything? Why did any of this happen in the first place? I mean, Liz is beautiful and in love with me and . . . and Maria is, well, if she were all over me the way she is with Michael I doubt that I could control my hormones either. But, for some reason, I can't stop thinking about the way that Michael's lips curl up at the corners in that little smirk, or how his spiky hair is really a lot softer than you'd think, or how the body beneath those dime store clothes feels so hard and hot under my fingers . . .

Damnit! Stop it! I tell myself. I have to stop this before I go insane. Think about Liz. Think about how it feels to kiss her and to hold her. The smell of her hair, the taste of her lips . . . the way she makes those little noises when my tongue touches hers and she pushes herself closer to me. Think about that. Don't think about him. Don't.

But I do. Despite my best intentions, I do think about him. I can't stop. I can feel my erection straining against my flimsy sweats and, before I can think about it, I kick the pants off and bring my hand down to my hardened flesh. I stroke up and down, trying to keep the picture of Liz in my mind as I bring myself closer and closer to the brink. Liz, I chant in my mind, Liz. Think about Liz.

I feel my orgasm closing in on me and my hand moves faster. My mind can't focus on her name any longer and my conscious thought seems to disappear. I can't think right now; I can only feel. And, as I finally cum against the sheets, it's not Liz that I call out for into my pillow. It's not the girl I've always wanted . . . it's the man I can never have . . .


I've been waiting for him three hours. Where the hell is he?

Fucking guy. Wakes me up in the middle of the night, tells me he HAS to see me, and doesn't show up. Wait, what if he's hurt? Maybe someone captured him along the way?

I'm getting real worked up now. Just when I think I can take it no more, my window opens...


The streets are only illuminated by dim streetlights and the waning moon, it will be morning soon. Another hot Saturday in Roswell, New Mexico. There's something desperately wrong with me, the sweat rolls off my back as if I'm standing directly under the sun in 104 degree heat.

What the fuck was I thinking? I kissed Max? That was real, right? I'm disgusted with myself, I can still taste his tongue playing on the roof of my mouth. And I'm horny, extremely horny... page 46 won't be able to relieve me this time.

I pass The Crashdown and think of her. Poor Maria, who I woke hours earlier and who is probably still waiting for me. She's probably worrying, she always worries too much. But, this time, she's got good reason. I'm worrying myself.

Killing two birds with one stone, I turn down the street towards her house. I will not think of Max right now, I will not remind myself that just a couple of hours ago he wrapped his arms around my neck and wove his fingers through my hair. I will not remind myself that it turned me on to feel his cock pressed against my left thigh, rigid and straining.

There's a dim light flickering in her first story window.

I reach up and push the window open, waiting a second before entering. I've been in and out too many windows already tonight. There's no scream of terror from inside, so I hoist myself to the sill and climb inside. Maria looks ready to kill me. I won't apologize. I can't. The words would be just too much of an admission to myself.

She leans back into the pillows and says nothing, her soft hair forming a blonde halo and her lips glistening in the soft light. I'm a man. I go to her on the bed and touch her face. I'm a man. She yields to me. I'm a man.

"Michael... where..."

"Shhhhh..." I push against her and press my lips to hers hard, feeling her mouth open to me and accept my tongue. Her teeth press against my lower lip and I'm ready to fall inside of her, be enveloped by this woman. She allows me, pressing her pelvis against mine, my dick strains against her and I feel her hands at my belt, frantic.


I get his belt off, and move my hands towards his top button. The feel of the material encasing his large cock is making my insides shiver. I need him so badly.

I take one look at his face, and I want to grab him. He is the most incredible guy in the world. I know what we are going to do. I welcome it.

His hands are on my breasts now, and the feel is amazing. He slides my camisole up...


I can feel her getting closer to me, softly her body melts under my hands. Her nipples rise against my palms and I knead them, probably too hard. She moans against my neck and I know she wants me. I know she wants me. I know she wants me.

I keep repeating it to myself as she drags her fingernails down the back of my tee-shirt and around my waist. Her hand moves around my cock, her nails running it's length. I have to get out of these pants.

Pulling away from her, I stand beside her bed and look her over, shedding my jeans on the floor in a crumple of black denim. She leans back and lifts her silken lace top for me. I know she wants me.

I discard my boxers with the jeans and climb onto her putting my hands into her black mesh panties. Her wet cunt accepts my fingers easily and she pushes against me starting a slow rhythm against my fist, her mouth open, breath coming heavy and long, head thrown back. My thumb against her clit speeds her pace, I can almost hear her heartbeat fill the room.

When she cries out in orgasm, I can't take it anymore. She calls my name, a soft hiss. It reminds me of Max and I push his image from my mind forcibly. Her voice sounds like a question suddenly. With my hand on her shoulder, I flip her over in one, swift motion, push aside her flimsy panties and thrust into her. Hard. She cries out to me again...

"Come on, Maria... Come on... Ughhhhh.." I start my hard and fast pounding to the sound of her deep moans...


This. Is. The. Most. Amazing. Feeling. He's deep inside of me. I cry out in pain/pleasure. It hurts a little, but it's worth it.

He's huge. His cock fills me up completely. My arms go around him as I try to pull him closer to me. I need to feel him against me. I love him. I need him. I want him.

His hands are on my hips, and he moves me up and down in rhythm with him. Sometimes hard, sometimes soft, but always amazing. I'm exploring his body with my lips. Right now, he is mine, and I am his. We can do whatever we want to each other. So, I lean over and whisper in his ear, "Michael, I want to feel you...


I pound into her, slowing my pace only to counteract my own attack. She moans words and syllables I hear muffled by the pillow under her face as I take her from behind, my hands grasping her breasts. She wants to feel me closer, she wants to look into my eyes and see some semblance of love or romance. I hold her chest pressed closer to the bed and drive into her further.

If I let her see into my eyes she would know everything. She would know that nothing is about her or for her right now, it's all about me and the one name I'm trying to push out of my mind. I don't want her to know what's going through my mind and if I let her see me she will read it all as if it were tattooed on my forehead. I feel transparent to her.

Jesus... she's clamped around my cock like a vice as I thrust in and out of her, I'm not going to hold out much longer. I can feel my body start the long shudder as my head starts to cloud over and spin. Pulling out, I explode over her ass and across her back. She lays flat on her stomach, her heavy breathing beginning to steady.

Leaning over her, I reach for a tissue and wipe the stream of come off her back and lie beside her. Please don't let her know... Please don't let her know...

"Are you okay?" I say to her as she turns to face me.


Lying there, next to this man, this incredible man. He asks, "Are you okay?"

How do I answer that question? Am I okay? No, I'm not. I love him, I don't think he loves me back. What we just shared was the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, but am I okay?

How could I be okay, when even I, the most inexperienced person, could know that his heart wasn't in that. He wasn't in sync with me, the way I needed him to be.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it. I loved it, but I just wish he could have given me something to let me know he cared for me.

So, he asked me, am I okay? "Yes," I lie, " I'm more than okay."

I lean into his chest and bury my face there. I hope he doesn't feel my tears run down his skin.


My body is finally sated but my mind storms in torrents. She lied when she answered, there's nothing okay about what happened between us just now. She wants me to love her, and maybe I could, maybe in some ways I do. But right now, the only thing on my mind is getting the fuck out of here.


And she's crying. I feel the wet heat of her face on my chest as she closes her eyes and tries to pretend her tears away.

The sun has finally come up and it streams through the glass and the blinds, unsettling me. I lay with her, my arms around her waist and stroke the small of her back. I keep her secret tears just that. As her breathing softens, I slowly ease from beneath her and reach for my boxers.

"I should go, Maria..."

She doesn't really look at me, her eyes are turned upward, but fixed on a point beyond my face. I know that I'm killing her, I know that I'll make it up to her. I have to make it up to her.

Pulling on my jeans, I walk the walk back to Max's and soundlessly climb through his window, dropping to the floor without a sound. Max doesn't stir, the sound of the steady rise and fall of his chest filling the room with a hush. Unrolling the sleeping bag beside his bed, I creep inside and finally fall asleep. Waiting.


He left when it was over. Am I that repulsive that he couldn't have stayed for a little while?

I roll over and get out of bed, intending to head for the shower. I need a good hot shower to wash these pathetic, self-loathing feelings from me. I'm feeling sorry for myself? Why? I shouldn't expect more. I knew he couldn't handle this. He has convinced himself that he can't.

The spray from the nozzle is coming down hard and hot. I adjust the temperature, now it's scalding. I think back to what Michael and I did. It was the hottest thing. It was enough to make me want to grab him, and commit suicide all at once. Multi-tasking, I need to learn that.

I'll just pray for school to finish quickly today. After school I have to work, it should take my mind off things. I'm hoping Michael doesn't show up, just as much as I'll die if he doesn't.


When I open my eyes that next morning, I know that it's really early. I always get up early, but not this early. Looking towards the window, I can tell that it's just after dawn. I've only been asleep for a few hours. A few hours that were filled with dreams of the things I long for . . . the things I can never have. The start of this new day hasn't changed how I feel. My heart is still broken.

I sigh heavily and sit up in bed, deciding I might as well start the day. Sitting in bed and thinking about the things I have already turned over a thousand times in my mind isn't doing me a bit of good. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and start to get up. And that's when I see him.


He's sleeping on my floor, just like he has a million times before. This is nothing extraordinary, really, but the feelings that engulf me at the sight of him as enough to make my knees weak.

"He came back," I whisper to no one.

I blink back my tears as a faint smile traces my lips. I hope it's not all just another dream as I finally get up from the bed and kneel silently beside his sleeping form. He doesn't stir and I sit at his side. He looks calm, peaceful . . . I don't remember ever seeing Michael look like that.

I wonder briefly if last night's events have anything to do with that, but I quickly dismiss the thought. I'm not deluded enough to think that Michael could possibly feel the way that I feel. He was just confused last night; that's got to be it. He was confused and regrets what happened and that's why he left. And he only came back this morning to tell me that. He's just waiting, letting me sleep, until morning when he can tell me exactly what went on last night. That it was wrong. That it was a mistake.

But it wasn't a mistake for me. It was wonderful. It was the first time I've been alive in my whole life. Suddenly I dread the coming morning.

I watch his face in silence, wishing that I could freeze time and just watch him like this forever. I don't want to go back to the way things were before last night. Or, even worse, to the way they will be now after what happened last night. My teeth tug at my lower lip and my eyes flood with tears again. I can already feel him slipping away.

Though I know I shouldn't, I can't resist the urge to touch him. I fear it may be my last chance and I can't let it slip by. I reach out and run the back of my fingers over his cheek. A single tear courses down my cheek as his eyes flutter. This is it. It'll all be over soon. I try my best to smile as he opens his eyes and looks up at me. Beginning to reluctantly draw back my hand, I say softly, "Good morning."


The sleep of a million dreams is broken when I feel something on my cheek, soft fingers across my jawbone. When I slowly open my eyes, Max sits beside me, his hand moving away from me and a tear drying on his face. He doesn't know why I'm here. I don't know why I'm here. My feet took me here and there was no other place on earth that I could even go.

I reach for his hand and pull myself up towards him, afraid to get too close but charged to get closer. I can hear activity in the house as the rest of the Evans' begin to stir in the early morning. Max doesn't pull away from me like I thought he would, instead drawing me in and tightly wrapping his arms around me in a chaste grip. I rest my cheek on his shoulder and hold on for dear life.

"Good morning," I echo.

He asks me why I left last night and I can't tell him how fucked up I felt. I don't want to tell him that I went over to Maria's and drilled her until his face disappeared from my mind. I can't tell him that I wanted it to be him. I don't want to admit that to myself, or to him, or especially to Maria.

I think I love them both. I don't know what I think.

Mrs. Evans' voice carries through the house, calling the family to breakfast. I should go.

"I should go, your folks don't need me invading your meal again...," my voice tapers off as I stand and begin to roll the sleeping bag back into it's spot against the wall. Max holds me back and places his hand flat against my chest...


"Michael, wait," I say. He's really not here to tell me that this was a mistake. He doesn't regret last night. He really doesn't regret it. How can I let him walk out now?

He looks at me with his eyes clouded with questions. He silently asks me what this is about, what's going to happen. I wish I had an answer. But, I don't. I don't have any answers. Well, that's not true. There is one thing I'm sure of and that is that I don't want Michael to leave again, not until we've had a chance to talk.

"Please stay," I beg. I don't care if I sound needy or pathetic . . . that's how I feel. Like everything in the world rides on whether or not he crawls back out that window in the next few seconds.

He looks back at me and I swear I can already see him bolting again. I just know he'll be gone without another word, fleeing from my room just like he did last night. God, please don't leave again Michael . . . please.

And then he takes a step . . . towards me. He's coming towards me, not away. He's not running away. He's . . . God, is this happening?

"We need to talk," I manage to say. With him looking at me like that it's really hard to concentrate on anything else. "We need to talk about . . . about last night . . . I . . ."


"Not now, Maxwell... your folks, Isabel.... Let's get out of here and cut school, we can drive out to the cave and talk, then meet Isabel and Alex back at the Crashdown like we planned... okay?"

He nods at me. It sounds as if I have all the answers, but I ain't got shit. I just know that I'm not ready to face his family across the fucking kitchen table. Isabel is going to know something's awry the minute she looks into our eyes. She always knows everything. I'm not ready for anyone to know anything. I'm not ready to know myself.

Max leads me out of his bedroom and out of the house, motioning me to get into the car and running back in to say something to his parents. I hear Isabel bitching about a ride to school over the pounding in my head. I can't think about her, right now. Right now, I only want to be alone with Max, away from everyone.

When he returns to the Jeep, my hands are shaking, I have to stick them under my legs as he climbs in. The tires screech as we pull out of the driveway...


As we approach the cave, I'm suddenly terrified. It's not that I'm afraid that Michael doesn't feel the same way that I do. Somehow, maybe from the vibes I'm getting just from being close to him, my doubts about his shared feelings have waned. I'm almost sure that we are both in this deep . . . maybe too deep. That's what scares me. Not that Michael won't feel the same way . . . but that maybe he will. I'm not sure what we're going to do about all of this. And, as the level-headed, in control leader of our little group, not knowing is terrifying.

"We're here," I say as I stop the Jeep on the roadside. We're still a good distance from the cave but we always walk the last mile or so to keep it's location a secret.

I look over at Michael and he seems dazed. He's looking out the window, kind of jittery. He's as scared as I am. Somehow that comforts me.

Reaching over to him, I pull his hand into mine, weaving our fingers together easily. In a quiet voice, I say, "C'mon, let's go talk."


I look around us, even though I know that we're completely alone. I just need to know for sure that no one can see us and no one can hear us before I'm ready to step from the Jeep and hold his hand walking through the desert. We are the only ones around for miles, I'm sure.

Why is Max so much better with this than I am? My hands are damp with sweat when he twists his fingers through mine and I can taste my heart at the back of my throat. I hope he knows what to say, because I sure don't. Every time I look at him, my mouth goes dry and I want to touch him again, to lean into him and touch my lips to his again. How fucked are we? As if we didn't have it bad enough as the only aliens in Roswell, now we're going to be the only fag aliens too. Fan-fucking-tastic. If Hank didn't think I was worthless before now, wait until he catches a whiff of this one.

We arrive at the cave after a long period of silence. I can't wait any longer, I pull him to me and press my lips to his again as my arms go up around his shoulders and he yields to me, softening in my embrace. He's right that we need to talk, but I'm afraid that talking will only make things worse right now, that talking will only scare me more. I've done this walk back to town before, but only at night, only when the air was cooler than it is right now. There's no running away from Max now, and I don't think that I want to. I don't think.

We sink to our knees in the light amber sand at the mouth of our cave, our mouths attached to each other's and our hands dragging over the other's bodies. Of all of the women that I've been with, this is like nothing I've ever felt before. Maybe it's because Max is the one person I've ever trusted in my life and he's the only person who's ever made me feel safe. My hand winds around his waist and dig under his tee-shirt, his skin under my palm and his face in my caress, I push him backwards into the hot desert floor, feeling myself enveloped by him...


Michael is hovering over me, his mouth devouring mine as his hands travel under my t-shirt. God, how did he learn to kiss like that? I can feel my cock pushing painfully against my jeans already and all we've done is kiss.

We came here to talk. We're supposed to be discussing what's been happening between us and where it's leading and what we're going to do about it . . . but Michael doesn't seem to want to talk right now. Hell, I suddenly couldn't care less about communication myself. The only thing I want is to feel him against me, to feel his skin on mine at long last.

His lips leave him, making me moan a little, but then he moves down to suck greedily at the skin of my neck. As his tongue traces my pulse point, I wonder how he ever got so damned good at this? This is fucking amazing . . .

We shift a little and I can feel his cock pressing hard against my thigh. "God, Michael," I rasp out.

"Mmm," he murmurs in response as he returns his kisses to my lips and plunges his tongue into my mouth again.

I want to touch him. I want to make him crazy . . . as crazy as he's making me. I slide my hand down between our bodies until I reach the top of his jeans. I only hesitate for a second before running my fingers across his length within the confines of his jeans. Michael groans and pulls his lips from mine. He stares down at me for a second and then . . .


Oh. My. Fucking. God. My tongue swirls around inside Max's mouth, dancing in lazy licks across the backs of his teeth, I bite down on his gently and feel him press up towards me, his tight skin firm against my hands. I gauge his responses to my touch, weigh his reactions to my hands on his body. Laying with one leg between his legs, I press myself against him, my dick raging with a mind of its own. I feel his length push against me as well. Max makes small noises in the back of his throat when he's really turned on, I wonder for the briefest of seconds whether Liz knows that, then the thought of her disappears like mist.

Max's bold hand strokes the hardness between my legs and I'm momentarily stunned. I halt my kiss and stare into his eyes. No question. No shock. No shame. I tear my shirt off over my head and my fingers fumble at the buttons of his, I have the sudden need to feel his entire body touching mine. Heated skin to heated skin. When we're both shirtless, I stand and lead him inside the cave, deep into the dimness with only enough light to see two feet in front of your own eyes. I have to be able to see him, and I want the comfort of the dark.

I push him roughly against the wall of the cave and attack him again, my mind is swimming too quickly, I want it all. Max moans as his bare back scratches the rock walls and he reaches out for me again, his hands at my belt buckle and mine at his. We're. Moving. Way. Too. Fast. We can't control ourselves. I'm on my knees, pulling him down with me, his hands are on my bare skin. His hands are touching me. His hands are holding me. I take him into my mouth...


Fuck! Oh my God, what is he doing to me? Shit! I'm . . . oh God . . . his tongue just . . . God. He's got his mouth wrapped all the way around me and licks his way up and down my shaft a few times. It feels absolutely incredible! Do you think it's possible to die from pleasure?

Damn, are those his hands too? I wanna open my eyes and watch this, if only I had one ounce of strength in my body. He's turned me to jelly in a matter of seconds. I reach blindly down to rake my fingers through his hair and I hear myself groan. The sound seems to be a million miles away with the rest of the real world. None of this seems real, but damn it feels good!

He's trying to kill me. I'm completely convinced. I'm not exactly sure how this is supposed to feel since it's the first time anyone has ever given me . . . well, this. Liz certainly never has. I mean, come on, Liz Parker? No, that's not something sweet little Liz would do. And it's not something that the nice, polite, alien-next-door Max Evans would ever expect from her. Never. But God, if I'd known it could feel like this . . .

I wonder briefly how Michael knows just where to touch me to make my whole body feel like it's on fire. I wonder how he can be so sure of himself as he flattens his tongue against me again. Then I think, it must be because he's felt this before. Maybe Maria . . . maybe someone else. Either way, Michael knows what feels good, what makes me insane . . . God, would Maria die if I thanked her for her part in Michael's blow job skills?

All thoughts quickly vanish though and Liz, Maria and all the rest of it fade away as Michael begins to suck harder on me. His hands work fervently, stroking me until I feel like I'm going to explode. His tongue swirls around my head . . . oh God, this isn't gonna last much longer . . .

I dig my nails into the floor of the cave, grabbing handfuls of dusty earth between my fingers as my back arches upwards and I feel myself lose control. My eyes finally open and I can see Michael taking it all in, licking me clean before finally releasing me and sitting up to look me in the eyes . . .


Something took a hold of me when I took down his jeans and made the decision to go down on him. It was as if nothing in the world mattered to me, nothing except Max. I wanted to feel the control over his pleasure and bring him there. His eyes sealed shut, his body tensing and relaxing as I rounded my tongue over his length and took him deeper and deeper into my throat. I've never felt anything like the heat that washed through my chest when I felt him come. It was as if both of us were giving the other something so incredibly powerful and so perfectly special.

After he stopped spasming, his chest rising and falling in a steadier rhythm, I snaked up to him and read the disbelief in his eyes. I smiled, and I bit at his lower lip forcing his lips to open to mine. I could feel the small tremble that still shook his bones and I held him in my arms. I knew that he could taste himself on my lips and tongue and I was glad of it. I wanted him to feel everything I felt, like I could feel everything that he did. Our naked bodies twisted in the cool sand, his leg wound around mine as he chewed gently at my collarbone, licking lazily at the point where my shoulder meets my neck. I know we're both unsure, but it doesn't matter right now, closed off from the rest of the world in the place where our stories both started. And started again.

Max grazes his hands over my ass and I press my stiffened cock against him, against his thigh willing me to take me in his fist before I have to do it myself...


When I saw his smile after he rose back up to be eye to eye with me again, it was positively the most indescribable feeling of my life. I could tell that he wanted nothing more than to be right here, doing this . . . with me. It sounds kind of stupid, but I had to fight back my tears for a second.

But then, he's kissing me again and everything else is forgotten. His tongue slides against mine, I can taste myself. I can taste him. It makes me dizzy with want for him again. I'm still shaking, half from my orgasm and half from how incredibly overwhelmed I am by all of this. He wraps his arms tightly around me as he kisses me and I feel safe. I feel wanted. I feel so many things . . .

And then I feel only one. Only him. He's pressing his hips into me, rubbing his hard length over my leg and my eyes flutter at the feel of him. He growls a little against my lips and I can't wait any longer. I reach down and wrap my fingers around his throbbing erection.

He feels so amazing. So similar to touching myself, and yet so different all at the same time. I love the groan that meets my ears as I start to pump him slowly. He rolls over and I go with him, propping up half over him as I continue to work his cock up and down, increasing the pace little by little and keeping my eyes locked with his.

"Max . . . uhhhh . . ." he moans as his head falls back against the sandy cave floor. He bites his lip roughly and closes his eyes briefly as I move faster. I love watching him lose control. I quickly realize that I'm already addicted to it. I want this to last forever, but it's all too apparent that it won't. He's thrashing under me now, his eyes back on mine as he struggles to maintain eye contact. "Max, please . . ." he says to me, almost incoherently but I understand. I know what he wants . . .


All right, so it's a handjob. But, it's a fucking damn good handjob. Max's hands feel very different than my own. Wrapped around my dick, his fingers are longer and his palms bonier. My attention goes from watching him watch me to watching his hands stroke my cock with a sublime quickness, his fist slick with his saliva. "Fuck..." I groan in a rumble from my chest. I need this. And it's good... really good. For a handjob.

My breath catches in my throat as I feel my balls begin to tighten, Max focuses his movements, faster, faster until I think my fucking cock is going to rocket off my body. My eyes roll back and I close and open them slowly, trying desperately to remain as focused as possible. I want to savor every fucking minute of this until I shoot my load.

I lean up to face him, wanting to see his reaction the moment that my come spills over the top of his hand covering my stomach, he doesn't release me. His motion slows and he wrings the life from me, my balls throbbing in their release. Jesus Christ...

Reaching behind me, I grab for and hand him my tee-shirt to wipe his hands. He looks at me like I've got three heads. My heart is pounding a mile a minute and for a minute, I have my doubts about all of this. Then I look back at Max and that soft, goofy grin of his and my questions fade. This is all so strange for both of us, but the best part is knowing that neither of us are alone. That's a first for me, and I want him to know that he'll never be alone in any of this. I scoot closer to him until we're facing each other, our legs woven together and my hands on his shoulders. Pulling him to me, he rests his head in the crook of my neck and we sit silently...


When I open my eyes, the first thing I feel are his arms around my waist. I feel warm and safe here . . . like nothing can ever hurt me, ever hurt either of us, as long as we're together. It's something I haven't felt in a long time, since we were kids and we first found each other. Back then it was all so simple. Just the three of us . . . When we finally found each other again, it seemed for a while like we'd be just fine, just because we had each other.

But then, reality had sunken in. Life got complicated and things changed. We all grew up and got paranoid and learned to close ourselves off from everyone. I'd been locked inside myself for way too long . . .

He's still sleeping. I can hear his ragged breaths and feel him exhale against my neck. God, I wanna fall asleep like this every night for the rest of my life . . .

Then I realize something. It's not nighttime. I don't even know what time it is but I know we've been here for a while and it suddenly occurs to me that we might be missed back in town. I hate to do it, but I know we have to get out of here.

I move a little against him and he murmurs sleepily. "Michael," I say softly. "Michael, we've gotta wake up."

"Uhhh," he groans and buries his head against my back. He's not really awake yet, probably still in the middle of some dream. I wonder if it's about me?

"Michael, come on, it's," I reach over and grab my watch and see that it's afternoon already, "late. We're supposed to meet everyone at the Crashdown soon. We've gotta go."

He finally seems to come around and I feel him start to sit up behind me.


My first thought when I feel Max prodding me awake is Where am I? My second, the one that sticks in my head, is I could go again... The thought gives me a pleasant round of the shivers and a twitch between my legs, but Max has this worried look on his face, he grabs for his watch and confirms that we've been sleeping in the cave for longer than we should have been. Last night was a long night and this morning even longer. I turn my tee-shirt inside out and pull it over my head, no harm done. He smiles back at me and ruffles my hair through his fingers, I catch his mouth in a quick kiss. Just enough to force memory. Just enough to slip my tongue across his teeth.

Max blushes. Max blushes easily.

He's cute when he's panicked. What the hell am I thinking?

When he stands, I pull him back down to me, still not ready to face the outside. Sure, we're going to be late, but does he really want to face all of them all at once? Maria and Liz will both be working, Isabel and Alex meeting us for a bite. I really have no need or want to see any of them yet... Max grabs me again, pulling me to my feet. I lean against the wall and pull on my boots, half-disappointed that he needs to be so damn responsible all the time. I watch the back of him silhouette as he walks towards the mouth of the cave.

"You coming, Michael? Or do you want me to leave you here?" he jokes.

"Yessir, master... I'm comin', master..." I mock back at him as he takes off running across the sand towards the direction of the car. I chase him, catching up quickly. We take the mile or so back to the car in just a few minutes. I take the keys from him.

"I'll drive."

"I'm sure you will..." He raises an eyebrow at me and I look around us, nothing but road. I kiss him, hard, before taking the wheel and speeding towards town. Why am I not more weirded out by this shit? Shouldn't I be?

There's a spot right outside, I pull into it and we step from the Jeep, I can see Isabel and Alex waiting for us at a booth inside. The air is charged. Now, I'm worried...

THE END... for NOW...

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