Rating: NC-17 but no, uh, "home runs"
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswell.
Character Focus: Max POV, M/A, I/L
Spoilers: No. Not a chance in hell ... sigh.
Author's Note: Part 3/4 in the "Friends and Lovers" series. The dream sequences are excerpted from Tart and Turnabout. This is more of a spin-off than a sequel, though, rather different in approach and style. But if you like it, perhaps you'd like to check out Revelations afterwards.
Major thanks go to Debbie, beta-reader extraordinaire. And fair warning that although all action is UC slash, there is some conventional interaction within, mostly a nod to M/L and implied I/A, because in my AU everyone loves everyone. This includes some potential but unexplored M/I tension, by the way. So if you're willing to forge ahead without (or despite) misgivings, then welcome! Otherwise, perhaps you'd be more comfortable elsewhere.
Want to hear a story? I have one. It's a tale of love, lust and sexual awakening. Okay, it's about a boy being led around by his, uh, energy source. But it has a few twists that you might enjoy. I know I did.
My name is Max Evans. My girlfriend is the stunning and amazing Liz Parker, and I love her. My sister is Isabel Evans, alien Ice Princess and co-conspirator extraordinaire. I love her too. She dates Alex Whitman, a good friend.
"A good friend?" you say. Yes, a good friend. A very good friend. And I'm dying to tell you how I made that happen.
My seduction of Alex Whitman was perfectly planned, staged and executed.
Now, it all began innocently enough. Well, not exactly 'innocently'. Not unless you count erotic dreams about your girlfriend and your sister 'innocent'. But I don't think you can blame it all on me. It has a lot to do with being a teenaged alien boy living in close proximity with a teenaged alien girl, both of whom enjoy both the capacity for extreme horniness - I mean, hormonal imbalance - and the ability to express it in really interesting and unexpected ways.
Intrigued yet? Then let me tell you how it all began. And then I'll tell you how it ended.
(Possession, Phase One)
Phantom hands caressed and pleasured every inch of exposed skin, massaging limb and torso, fanning her long, silky hair about her. She sighed to feel a warm, living hand join them, stroking her cheek, breast and hip before plunging between her thighs.
Two fingers delved into her moist flesh, and she arched her back in response.
The pad of a thumb found and rubbed her clit in slow, rhythmic circles, and she shrieked.
Ragged breathing echoed harshly in Max's ears even before he realized he was awake, and his eyes opened to stare blankly into the darkness.
Wow. He had never imagined that Liz Parker could be so … wanton. More to the point, his mind corrected itself, he would not have believed that he could imagine her that way. Not so vividly.
As his heart rate slowed, he concentrated on taking deep, even breaths. And held his head in his hands. He'd had another one. Another "dream". At least this one had been about Liz, who might not exactly compare with ... some girls ... in certain quantifiable aspects, but was definitely beautiful and sexy. Plus, he loved his girlfriend with a sincerity that surprised him sometimes, so there was absolutely no shame in dreaming about her "that way."
Max sighed in frustration. Ah, who was he kidding? Like all the other times, she was the only part of the dream he recognized. He certainly had never fantasized about making love in some tropical paradise before. His idea of a romantic getaway was a cozy little chalet with a large fireplace to curl in front of after an energetic day of skiing. More often than not, his own imagination had him ... entertaining ... himself and a fantasy partner in his own bed, at home.
More perplexed than disturbed, he laid back, his body relaxing, slipping back into a more restful state as he contemplated this latest revelation. He was determined not to fall asleep again until he could keep his fantasy sex life orderly.
She jerked as something cold dripped onto her bottom lip, and her tongue automatically darted out to experience this new sensation. She inhaled the faint tart scent of citrus, and smiled as she remembered the pitcher forgotten beside her, and the ice cubes she had added to keep her lemonade cool.
One of those ice cubes now traced her lips and blazed a trail of cold heat down her arched neck. Isabel shuddered in pleasure and anticipation as it was dragged over and around first one breast then the other, teasing each nipple in turn before a velvety mouth descended to sooth their hard, pebbly points.
Max Evans jerked awake.
Drawing his knees up in the instinctively defensive movements of a child surfacing from a nightmare, he shook his head to dislodge the beads of sweat that stung at his eyes and tasted salty on his lips.
"What the hell?" he whispered. He'd had another one, he realized immediately, another one of 'those' dreams. And this one starred Isabel, his - what was the word? Sister! Yeah, she was his sister, damn it. He was not supposed to have ... dreams ... about her.
And his body was most certainly not supposed to ... react.
He frowned, trying to understand what had changed. Why was this happening? He had to look at it objectively. You didn't date Liz Parker and not learn a thing or two.
First, Isabel was beautiful. And sexy. And he was - mostly - a normal teenage boy, with hormones and an appreciation for those qualities in a girl. Hell, he'd fantasized about half the girls at West Roswell at one time or another.
Second ... second ...
Well, he didn't know if he had a second reason for him to be dreaming about Isabel having orgasms.
Orgasms. With ice, no less. Suddenly his frown deepened as he realized something new.
In his dreams, he usually woke after having sex. Intercourse. Penetration. Once or twice, his mind had gotten creative, and he'd awoken with the image of some pretty girl's face bobbing up and down his, er, more responsive regions.
He blushed just thinking about it.
But in his dreams of Liz and Isabel, he wasn't the recipient. Neither girl was pleasuring him. In fact, he - the dream Max - just watched most of the time, enjoying their pleasure.
And … ice cubes? Lemonade? Sex on a beach was one thing. He could have gotten that from a movie. But ... the back yard? This was definitely not his standard wet dream.
And again, he could recall nothing of himself in the dream, no sense of his own male need at all. Just ... a pervading sensuality that tormented and overwhelmed him, emotionally and physically.
In fact, he had trouble remembering many details at all; it was all kind of fuzzy, except ... there was one thing he remembered, a question:
"Alex, is that you?"
They were the only words he could recall from his dreams, and he knew they were not his.
But they rang in his ears.
"Alex, is that you?"
Alex … Alex … Ahhhhh-leeckssssss … he'd never really listened to the sound of a name before, never really appreciated the way some words just rolled off your tongue.
Like ... Alex.
And for the third time that night, Max Evans sat straight up in bed and wiped his brow.
What the hell?!
Now he was thinking … thoughts … about Alex?
He concentrated on breathing rhythmically, on lulling himself into a deep, restful, blameless sleep … but could not escape memories of soulful moaning, heaving breasts, and the echo of a name through the night air.
Alex. Alex. Alex, is that you?
With a snap his bedside lamp was on and his computer booting. He did, after all, have a history paper due in two weeks. No point in putting it off, he decided.
It wasn't like he was going to get anymore sleep tonight.
"So Max … what's your pleasure?"
Max swung around, eyes panicked.
Alex looked confused.
"I asked," he said slowly and clearly, waving about several plastic cases, "what video do you want to rent tonight?"
Max stared at him for a moment, speechless. Raising an arm, he pointed to one in Alex's left hand.
"Right. Well, I've got the girls' pick already so I'll just go pay for these, and you can join us when you get back from wherever it was you went, okay?"
"Yeah, okay. See you then," Max stammered idiotically, and flushed as Alex turned around and walked to the front desk.
For some reason, perhaps the same one that kept his feet rooted to the spot, Max looked down. And almost absentmindedly noticed that gangly, lanky Alex Whitman ... had one hell of a nice ass.
"Max, can I ask you something?" an Isabel-shaped silhouette asked from his doorway.
"Sure, Iz. What is it?"
Isabel flipped on the lights and closed the door before hopping up on the foot of her brother's bed and pinning him with a speculative gaze.
"Are you interested in Alex? Sexually?"
His jaw dropped. Literally dropped open and hit his chest. Grinning delightedly, Isabel leaned over to wipe a small bit of drool off his lower lip, and suddenly he became acutely aware of just how low-cut she liked her pyjama tops. Jerking his head up, he looked directly into his sister's amused eyes.
"What makes you say that?" Max temporized, evading her question.
She looked at him pointedly, but when he didn't say more, she rolled her eyes and leaned back against his footboard. Counting on her fingers for emphasis, she recited the reasons for her suspicions. He had to smile as he remembered doing the same thing the night before. Evidently he wasn't the only one learning a thing or two from Liz Parker.
"One, you were looking at his butt all day. In the video store, at the grocery store, and even when we stopped at the Crashdown to pick up Liz.
"Two, when we got there, you sat across from him in the booth and practically hung on every word he said. And Max," she stated dramatically, "you laughed at every single one of his jokes. No one, not even Liz and Maria, laugh at all of his jokes.
"Three, you agreed to watch whatever movies he suggested. And I know for a fact, for a fact, that you have already seen and detested every Adam Sandler movie ever made."
And with that she raised one eyebrow and smirked. "By the way," she added casually; "Liz noticed it too."
Max recoiled so fast he whacked his head. Hard.
"What?" he panicked. How obvious had he been?
"Sure. What do you think we do in my room, make out?" she asked archly, and swallowed a laugh as he flushed violently. "We do talk about stuff, you know."
"W-what did she say?" he stammered.
"She said it was nice that you were warming up to Alex. And then she suggested that we make movie night a tradition for the four of us. A sort of double date/ slumber party idea."
Max looked at his sister dumbly, trying to sense what she wasn't saying. Finally, he just asked. "Isabel, why are you encouraging this? What aren't you telling me?"
Isabel studied his face carefully. "Let me ask you something, Max. You love Liz, right? See a future with her? Have no intention of breaking up with her, but right now, feeling the urge to get to know Alex a little more intimately?"
He was growing dizzy from all the nodding until the last question. He froze, and considered denying it, but then sighed and nodded once more.
"I don't understand it, Izzy," he confessed miserably. "It's like I'm possessed or something by these dreams. Really intense dreams. Dreams about things that are not the kind of things that usually, uh, you know, 'do it' for me?" And he waited for her to nod before continuing. "And I've thought about this a lot, but I don't think I want Alex because he's a guy, I think I want Alex who just happens to be a guy. And yet, I know he's your boyfriend, and I love Liz, and I have every intention of having a long and very, uh, fulfilling relationship with her."
"Does that make any sense?" he burst out, and could have cried when Isabel nodded with a smile.
"Max, I'm going to confess something myself. First of all, I think I know what's going on; I think that we're having some sort of transference thing happening."
"You mean I want Alex because you do, and you're broadcasting, or something?"
"But then wouldn't you -" he broke off with a look of sudden suspicion at his sister. "Izzy, do you feel ... attracted ... to Liz?"
"Oh! And do you think she might be ... attracted ... to you?"
She nodded again, blushing a little. It was charming.
"So that's why you think I ... and Alex ..."
This time he didn't need to look at her. In that moment, Max Evans felt that the world was full of possibilities. And he wanted to embrace all of them.
(Interlude One: Liz)
So now you're probably asking yourself "Isn't he taking a lot of this at face value? Isn't there somebody he should talk to about this?" Well, you're right. And the next day, I swallowed the suspiciously large lump in my throat and sought her out first thing.
As I climbed her ladder, I reminded myself that she was a reasonable and rational person, and had accepted a number of strange life-changing realities to stay close to me, to all of us. And Izzy had said that the two of them had already discussed this. But I didn't really know how she felt about anything. I needed to find out, and if she didn't want any part of it, I would respect that. But I had to be calm, objective and mature. She had to believe that I was not out of control or impulsive.
Of course, waking her up from a sound sleep at dawn might have not been the best way to create that impression.
For some reason, though, she didn't seem too upset. Maybe it's because I woke her from some kind of nightmare. To this day she won't tell me what it was about, but when I peered through her window she was shiny with perspiration and tossing her head, biting her lip as if to stifle the moans that might wake and concern her overprotective parents. Worried, I tapped lightly on the glass and watched anxiously as her body unclenched and she stared at me, eyes fever-bright and unseeing but then softening as she focussed on me.
We talked for a long time. I told her about what I was going through, and she explained that she had been feeling a connection with Isabel for a while now. I forget who brought it up first, but we agreed that it didn't make any sense to pretend nothing was happening, or to do nothing about it. I do remember, however, the look on her face when she described our plan to get the four of us more intimately acquainted as a "win-win situation".
My throat still thickens when I think of her bravery. Of the lengths she would go, how much she was willing to chance, to be with me. So we could be together.
We decided to go ahead with the plan. She and Isabel would occupy themselves while the movie was on, giving me a chance at Alex. And you know, I'm so proud of how well the two of them strategize. They both recognize the need for diversionary tactics and exploiting the target's weaknesses, and to act accordingly - and convincingly.
I, on the other hand, needed to think about my approach.
(Possession, Phase Two)
"Hey, man, want something warm to hold?"
Max had to laugh as Alex held the bowl of popcorn out to him, looking pointedly at his girlfriend who had abandoned his lap for a spot on the floor next to Liz. And in the process, left the boys alone on the couch to watch whatever movie the girls had picked out. It was something with Meg Ryan, but Max didn't really care. That wasn't the entertainment he had in mind.
"Thanks," he answered, but instead of taking the bowl he just grabbed a handful of kernels. Shrugging, Alex placed the bowl between them to share.
Max watched out of the corner of his eye, timing his next grab to coincide with Alex's, "accidentally" grabbing his buttery hand instead. He immediately released it and turned to Alex with the look of innocent surprise he'd practiced for an hour earlier until Isabel walked in, muttered about how scary he could be, and left with two of his favourite tee shirts.
Not that he minded; the girls were wearing them as nightshirts, and he couldn't miss the way Alex's eyes danced at the sight.
"Golly, Max, don't you think it's a little early in our relationship to be holding hands?" Alex cracked, and both girls turned around to smile indulgently. "Don't worry, Isabel," he assured her with a comical batting of his lashes; "he won't steal me away from you!" Giggling, she blew him a kiss and eyed him fondly, giving Max and Liz an excuse to exchange pleased looks and chuckle themselves.
Then Alex turned to take a drink from the can by his feet on the floor, and Liz mouthed "now." Max and Isabel nodded, Max trying desperately to relax and Isabel stretching belly down alongside Liz on the carpet, affording the boys an impressive peek at some colourful and rather nicely filled out cotton panties.
Alex choked in his mouthful of pop as he straightened and took in the changed view. Not willing to pass up such a perfect opportunity, Max immediately scooted closer to Alex, reaching an arm around to whack him on the back until the other boy stopped coughing and flashed him a winded thumbs-up.
And he didn't move back to the end of the couch.
Some minutes later, apparently engrossed in the movie, Liz allowed her foot to brush gently against Isabel's leg, casually tracing a light pattern along her calf with her toes and rubbing ever-so-slightly against her ankle before resting it back on the carpet.
Sitting in such close proximity, Max was acutely aware of Alex's reaction to the show - and he didn't mean the movie. The darling boy got goose bumps along his arms as Isabel drew imaginary lines along Liz's arm and back. His muscles twitched when Liz rolled slightly to rest her head on Isabel's shoulder, almost nuzzling it. He shook his head in disbelief as the girls proceeded to play with each other's hair, fingers, and generally eliminate every molecule of space between the two, without a word.
Alex gulped audibly when their shirts travelled up and over round bottoms, and no one pushed them back down.
Max was impressed. He knew that Isabel and Liz had been feeling what he had, but their performance was flawless. They seemed perfectly in tune with the other, with what the other wanted and would enjoy. He could almost believe they'd practised, and had to keep from grinning too obviously at such a thought. Still, he felt proud that his plan had given them this opportunity to explore this side of themselves. And more immediately, he was excited about the effect it was having on the boy beside him, the one that occupied so many of his waking (and other) thoughts.
He could feel the cushions shift as Alex automatically tried to conceal his body's reaction and control the little breathy gasps that escaped his clenched throat. The sound and smell of arousal was an aphrodisiac, and Max found the thought of finding out first hand exactly what happens when Alex Whitman becomes fully aroused immensely exciting.
Unable to wait any longer, he took a deep breath, and then casually stretched an arm out, as if for popcorn. But instead of stopping at the bowl he continued to reach over until his hand touched Alex, and, as slowly as he could, stroked his hand. Once. He waited, but smiled wryly as he received no reaction. Evidently, his overture hadn't even registered on Alex's poor, overwhelmed senses.
Either that, or they weren't unwelcome. His spirits perked at the thought.
With the lightest touch he began to explore his friend's smooth skin, soothing tense muscles and running the pads of his fingers along Alex's shoulder and arm and the sliver of flesh visible between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his boxers. Slowly, slowly, he worked his fingers over and then under the flimsy material of his shirt, memorizing the feel of Alex's taut stomach.
He could feel the heat emanating from Alex's lap. Electrified but determined to keep control, he allowed his hand to brush the shivering bulge. It jumped, and he looked up suddenly, to meet Alex's wondering gaze.
Max inhaled sharply at the rush of adrenaline that thrilled his flesh and the electricity that excited the air around them. Around the two of them.
Without losing contact, he raised one shaking hand along his friend's chest, forging a path of heat along his lean but solid chest, languidly feeling along his collarbone and then, unwilling to rush, reached slowly around his finely muscled neck to draw him closer.
All he could see was the way Alex's eyes flickered. All he could hear was the thumping of their hearts. They were beating in sync.
(Interlude Two: Isabel)
Hold it. Hold it right there. Why are you looking at me like that? It's not like I did anything without giving him every opportunity to pull back. There was no coercion, no alien influence, not for my - for Alex. It would have been a hollow triumph. We just created a suggestive, uninhibited atmosphere where he would feel comfortable when - no, if - he chose to play along.
This wasn't purely selfish, you know, although I will admit to a certain satisfaction at the way things turned out. I was also concerned for Alex; after all, if I, Liz and Isabel were being affected this way, it just stood to reason that he was too, and he deserved better than to suffer in silence. A lot better.
Isabel helped me understand a lot of things that night. While Alex was changing into his pyjamas - boxers and tank top, same as me - in my room, I sat on the counter in the washroom to confer once more with my sister and accomplice. I watched her check her makeup, teeth, and hair, adjust her clothing for comfort, and smirked as she considered her cleavage and how to present it for good effect.
She caught me looking, of course, and stuck her tongue out before grinning. She teased about how we had seen each other naked all our lives, and there was no reason for me to get uptight about it now.
I was taken aback, and argued mildly that in fact we did not see each other naked all the time. I couldn't quite make out her expression at that moment, except to say it was speculative. Searching. As if she was trying to decide what I needed to hear. And what she should say.
"I love Alex ..." she said slowly, tasting her words, testing them, meaning them.
"Then why do this?" I asked. "Why share him with me?"
She tried to explain then, how she knew how I felt. That I appreciated and wanted Alex, but felt no jealousy over his relationship with my sister. That by loving him, I bonded with her through him, strengthening all of us.
It sounded right. Like very little had ever sounded right in my life. I asked how she could be so sure, and held my breath until she answered.
"Because I feel the same way about Liz," she confessed. I stared at her for a moment, mind whirling under the pressures of revelation, and could only think of one thing to ask at that moment.
I love making my sister blush. It reminds me sometimes that, for all her commanding ways, she was still ticklish behind her knees, still the same girl who romped with me at the beach as children.
But more significantly, it explained something to me. Something important. And I knew then where to take Liz if we ever planned a romantic getaway. Somewhere tropical, private and on the ocean. I could always learn to water-ski.
But what about us? I couldn't help but worry. I asked if it would change things, make things awkward between us. She looked at me seriously.
She asked if I thought she was pretty. "Yes," I answered honestly. Did I think she deserved to be happy, to enjoy herself and her body? "Of course." She turned in profile, and I could see her long hair flowing like liquid gold down her back. Did I think Alex would be the one to do that for her? "Sure." And I wanted Liz to be happy too, right? "God, yes." So, she persisted, could I do this for her? For me? For all of us? Because, she whispered, she wanted me to be happy too. And we both wanted Liz. We both wanted Alex. And they wanted us. She was sure of it.
That said, she walked out of the washroom, brushing softly against me and for a moment, all I could think of was how selfish it would be for me to deny her the pleasure she so obviously wanted and deserved.
I held back as she left to meet Liz in her room, leaning against the wall, thinking about what she had said as I watched her walk away.
In my mind I imagined her with Liz. And then, more vividly, me with Alex. Together.
My knees gave out on me then. It was several minutes before I could rejoin the group.
Max kissed him. Softly. Sweetly. Hoping against hope for a response.
His heart leapt as Alex kissed him back, first tentatively and then with some urgency as he sought an outlet for all the confusing feelings running through him.
His hands wandered, finger-combing through Alex's short hair, exploring the surprisingly soft skin along his shoulders, chest and back, growing in confidence as Alex began to reciprocate, feeling Max's sculpted muscles flex and tighten under his innocent palms.
But then it happened. Max could sense him pulling away, trying to process what his instincts and body were telling him, this new understanding.
They sat there, on the couch, staring at each other, into each other.
Max felt a moment of panic, worried that Alex would back away. Maybe forever. Then he saw Alex's eyes flicker to one side, and he realized that Alex was worried about Isabel and Liz.
He needn't have. Out of the corner of his eye Max could see that they had an audience. And an appreciative one, if the way both girls gazed intently at the drama unfolding on the couch was any indication. With a faint grin Max refocused on Alex's warm brown eyes. Leaning closer, he rejoiced when Alex didn't pull away again but instead sat very still, as if waiting for his cue.
He whispered into one attentive ear. "I think it turns them on to watch."
Alex just sat there, still as stone. Except that stone didn't have a heartbeat that Max could hear, could feel, could share. And stone didn't smell or taste so good, and it pained Max to be so close but not to touch. So quietly that Alex had to strain to hear, Max asked, no, breathed his next question.
"Want to turn them on some more?"
Eyes widening, Alex nodded wordlessly.
Unable to wait any longer, Max leaned in and descended upon Alex, devouring lips and mouth and skin and sinew, groaning as strong hands explored him just as thoroughly in return, smiling blissfully when the taller boy pushed him back and pulled off his shirt, both shirts, and bent to pull Max's sensitive nipple between his teeth.
Through a haze he could that Liz had followed Alex's cue and was suckling feverishly on Isabel's nakedness. Izzy moaned faintly and slid one grasping hand down Liz's smooth tummy and under the material between her legs.
Excited and inspired, Max reached down and slipped his hand below Alex's waistband, slowly and then passionately stroking and squeezing the tight and vibrating flesh he found there. He marvelled at the heat, the length, the moisture slicking the tip that he spread with his thumb to lubricate his palm and fingers.
Alex looked up, stunned. Then, his own hand found it's way across Max's hard, muscled thigh and through rapidly tightening material, first hesitantly stroking with his fingertips and then enveloping Max's smooth breadth in his large, capable grasp. As his imagination caught up with his instincts, his hand faltered for a moment and he gulped. Hard.
Max watched his Adam's apple bob with the motion, and groaned deliriously. Emboldened, Alex renewed his ministrations, matching the pace and energy of Max's strokes. Their faces were poised mere centimetres from each other, and each felt the warmth of the other's breaths along with the greater heat of their mutual passion.
Liz shuddered and gasped under Isabel, who was grinding herself against Liz's hand even as she thrust her fingers deeper into her friend's moist and welcoming flesh.
Max and Alex stared deeply into each other's eyes as they pumped, rhythmically, in unison, revelling in the building pressure, helpless against the growing need.
With a hoarse cry, Alex arched his back in ecstasy, feeling rather than seeing the black spots at the edges of his view, gasping desperately to nourish his oxygen-deprived lungs, even as Liz shrieked in rapture and Isabel panted raggedly.
The sight of Alex Whitman losing control was a wonderful thing. Max thought his heart might leap out of his chest in pure joy as he listened to the cries of those he adored mingle and harmonize in the night air.
With a shout he succumbed himself, and experienced hands milked the creamy flow from flesh both familiar and exotic. Finally they collapsed back upon the couch, unable to move except to eye each other in delight and wonder.
"Beautiful," Isabel murmured suddenly, and they turned to see Liz nodding enthusiastically, glowing and sated. She smiled as Isabel nestled closer, sighing in utter contentment.
Max just held Alex, heartened by the boy's willing embrace, enjoying the sight and scent of fulfillment permeating the air around them, and wishing he never had to move. He had exorcised his demons, only to find himself wanting the possession more than the freedom.
He wanted to be possessed again. And again.
Well, that's the story of how it all began. Okay, so I'm leaving out a few details, like how certain, uh, bodily fluids can become a little uncomfortable and sticky unless you clean them off right away, say, in the shower.
Note to self: remember to thank Mom and Dad for installing large shower stalls. But I'll skip the real explanation why, because I really don't think they want to hear how much ingenuity it takes to wash four healthy and horny teenagers all at once.
Or how much fun bubbles can be. I think I'm going to invest in a supply of scented foaming products when stores open tomorrow. Hopefully we - er, I - will get to try them all.
Now I have to apologize. I know I said I'd tell you how it all ended. But you see, it didn't. And I don't think it will.
It's a balancing act, but I think we'll make it work. And it's a lot more fun than I anticipated too. We go out of town every week or so and find a club ... any club, as long as the music's loud and the crowd friendly. And the type of clientele determines who our dance partner will be that night. It's always a surprise, and it's always rewarding.
I'm not sure why we haven't told our friends our little secret yet, but somehow I don't think they'll be too shocked when they find out, as friends inevitably do. Two months ago Amy DeLuca became Amy DeLuca-Valenti, and she, her new husband and their family moved into a new three-bedroom house, so now Maria and Tess share a large room and Kyle finally has one to call his own again.
Apparently, Michael visits quite a lot, crashing on a spare bed in Kyle's room.
And there's a lot of tension building. You can almost see it in the air when the four of them are together.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Liz has just put in a movie. I'm not sure what, but then again, that's not the entertainment I have in mind. You see, there's a tall, good-looking boy sitting next to me on the couch pretending to watch the movie too. And unless I miss my guess, any second now he's going to stretch and ever-so-casually rest one long arm around my shoulders. And I'm going to pretend not to notice, but maybe after a minute or so I'll lean in a little and rest my head on his strong chest to listen to his heartbeat. Listen to it quicken. Listen to it match my own. And maybe I'll get lucky.
Nah, it's too late. I'm already the luckiest guy I know.
Continue to Revelations
Back to Turnabout
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