Author: Bennie
Rating: R
Spoilers: Viva Las Vegas
Character Focus: Liz! (Er, Tess POV)
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswell – but I’d put 15 down on red for a chance to.
Author's Note: The song is by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts -- yep, it's sung by a woman. Significant? I know not. But you should hear it; lots of electric bass, lots of crooning that's almost moaning, it's great. And thanks to Debbie and Ash for their reassurances that not everyone hates songfics!

This fic was nominated best L/T in the Deep End Awards.

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(**Now I don´t hardly know her**)

She said she couldn´t stand to be around me.

Ouch.

Okay, so that´s not quite what she said, but that´s what she meant. Boy, she sure told me, heh.

Well fine. Maybe I don´t want to be around her either. What´s so great about Liz Parker?

(**But I think I could love her**)

Oh -- who am I kidding?

She´s all I think about. And I thought that maybe she´d started coming around, hugging me like that and working side by side to save Kyle and Alex … as we left, wet and cold but incredibly happy, I thought she was going to hold my hand, and I reached out, but she was just grabbing the shovel.

Damn. Spike´s got nothing on me. I have an unrequited love to knock pansy-vamp boy on his ass.

Damn! And after everything I did to impress her tonight … crap. She basically told me to go to hell.

But she looked so good when she did it.

(**Crimson and clover**)

Sometimes I wonder what it is about her. Why does the light seem to shine a little bit brighter when she´s around?

We´re such … opposites.

But opposites can work, right? Black and white, light and dark, green and red … ooh, she looked so good in that red dress, it was all I could do not to pull her to me, to share our warmth, our softness …

I don´t get it! I like being a hard-ass. I like feeling like I own the world. Worlds, even. I´m not bad-looking, I know. It´s a glacial appeal, but oh, if only she knew my weakness, if only she could feel the warmth in my belly when we´re together.

I think her hair smells like a summer day.

(**Now when she comes walking over**)

I almost fainted when she asked to come along. While the others looked on in disbelief and dread, it was all I could do not to jump for joy. Instead, I backed away, trying to myself as inconspicuous as possible.

And later, we were walking next to each other while the others sought excitement elsewhere (thank god), and we were caught together, and I felt so daring, so alive.

I tried to be irritated with her because she can´t deceive like I can. She doesn´t have it in her. But then, that´s my thing. It´s what *I´m* good at. She … she doesn´t need those kind of tricks.

See how we complement each other? Like yin and yang. We balance.

Mostly I was just astounded at my luck. I mean, I got a chance alone with her to point out everything we had in common, and I smiled so hard …

I tried, so hard.

(**Now I´ve been waiting to show her**)

And she basically told me to go to hell.

Damn it! What happened? I was getting to her, I know I was. She was quiet, it was true, but she wasn´t arguing. She didn´t seem upset to be around me. With me.

For a few delicious moments, I thought that maybe she enjoyed separating from the crowd as much as I did, fantasized that maybe she got us kicked out deliberately in some opportunistic ploy to get us alone, because of course the others wouldn´t follow us and risk getting thrown out too.

I was so excited; there was so much I wanted to show her, so much I wanted to tell her, as soon as she felt as comfortable with me as I did with her.

And then – and then – she looked over my shoulder, and something changed. Something came over her then. I don´t know what. But in that second I cursed being so damned short.

If I was 5´10” she would´ve been looking at me, not the wall behind me.

Chalk up one more point on the scoreboard of lost opportunities and regrets.

(**Crimson and clover, over and over**)

She looks so good in red. I look good in red too. But it´s not the same; there´s a whole world of difference …

I wear bright red. Red that shouts: See me. Feel me. Lust for me.

Visualization was always my strong suit.

She wears subtler reds, reds that soothe. Softer reds, reds that invite. Deeper reds, reds that caress your eyes, make you want to run you hand along the material, to feel the tension it creates from hip to waist, from waist to shoulder, shoulder to shoulder, breast to breast.

When she came to the table in that dress, I thought I had mind warped myself, bringing something I wanted to see to life in front of me.

I was almost thankful that she sat as far away as possible, out of sight, because I´m not sure I could have restrained myself that night.

Still, I have one memory that flashes in my mind when I think of her, of then; it´s of her rising from her seat and leaning across the table to be in a picture.

I only caught a glimpse, but damn, what a glimpse ...

Part of me was disappointed not to get more.

The other part reminded me to ask for a copy later. I could have kissed Alex for bringing that blessed camera.

(**Yeah, my mouth´s such a sweet thing**)

But more than anything I wanted to kiss … her.

I wanted to run my lips along her delicate shoulder blade, to taste every pulse point from her throat to her wrist, to feel those lucky strands she allowed to fall free as I nuzzled the back of her neck.

I wanted to pull that beautiful dress away from her skin with a delicate touch, to heat her cool skin with my warmth.

The thought of her breasts … small, but perfect for me. They´d get lost in larger hands, larger mouths. But not my hands, not my mouth.

I could bring her such pleasure. I know I could. I know it.

Why can´t she see it?

(**I want to do everything**)

Can she see it? Is she fighting it? Is that why she holds back when I show her everything I am, hint at everything I could do to her, for her, with her?

I know she finds the alien powers stuff fascinating; why does she pull back when I show her mine?

I could give her the world … I want to give her the universe.

All she has to do is ask.

I´d give her anything she wanted.

Please let her want what I want.

(**What a beautiful feeling**)

One day she agreed with me about something. She said, for everyone to hear: “Tess is right.” I felt like a queen for the first time in my life. Maybe for the first time in two lives.

I felt this incredible pull to her, and I think she felt it too, because she couldn´t sit still afterwards.

I love watching her when she´s excited. I love the way her eyes flicker, the way her voice becomes raspier, and in the same breath, higher but then huskier, a girl but also a woman.

I want to become a woman with her.

I just know, somewhere deep inside me, that we´d do beautiful things. We´d be beautiful.

She´d feel beautiful. She´d be beautiful.

She is beautiful.

(**Crimson and clover, over and over**)

Well, I´m patient. I can wait.

Until she asks, until she knows what it is she wants to ask, I´ll lie low. I can be subtle when needed. If she needs someone to blame for knowledge, I´ll be the snake in the grass that waits for her to walk through my garden.

Until then, I´ll just enjoy being able to see her everyday, to talk with her sometimes. Maybe brush against her in the hall, or the next time we work together to save her world and mine.

I´ll cherish the magic in her smile, the softness in every gesture, the mystery that draws me to her.

And I´ll dream about her in red.

(The End)