Penumbra

Author: Bennie
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Michael/Liz
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswell.
Author's Note: "Penumbra" means a fringe region of half shadow resulting from the partial obstruction of light by an opaque object, or metaphorically, not seeing what's right before you -- or at least, not seeing it fully because there's something else overshadowing it in your conscious mind
Feedback: always welcome!

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He lay there panting. Utterly exhausted. Utterly sated. And staring at the ceiling in awe.

Her ceiling. Hers. Like everything else of hers, it suddenly became something worthy of intense scrutiny.

Idly, he wondered if that included him now. Because at this moment, he couldn´t think of anything he wanted more than to belong to, belong with, her.

Inwardly, he laughed. Who knew he was capable of such flaky bullshit? He just wasn´t thinking with his head, he told himself. At least, not the one he was supposed to be thinking with.

And once he thought of it, and everything it had been through that night, it came to life.

‘It´, he snickered silently, mocking his unexpectedly chaste thoughts. C´mon, Michael, it´s a cock. A penis. A dick. It had a shaft, lay atop two slightly asymmetrical sacs, and had never been circumcised because unlike Max, Michael hadn´t landed foster parents who cared about that sort of thing. Regardless, every human male had one. What was the big deal?

The big deal was, his was happy. And when it was happy, it made him happy. He wasn´t sure if that was an oversimplification, but he recognized this as a basic truth.

A happy Michael was a productive Michael, a Michael who was willing to look himself in the face and call himself prince, soldier, employee, and sometimes, friend. He´d learned this the hard way, he thought, and chuckled at the cliché. And as tired as he was, he couldn´t get past the way he felt right now.

He felt so damn happy he could cry.

This was so much better than using his hand. And it wasn´t like he was a virgin. He´d gone out for his sixteenth birthday to a bar and let himself get picked up. Twice. Turned out he had stamina; might have been the alien genes, he didn´t know. And he was not about to ask Max about his sex life either.

But she … oh, god, his mouth went dry at the memory of everything she´d done to him.

She´d been as curious about his … what did he want to call it? He´d never really thought about it in concrete terms before she asked him to.

“I don´t want to just say ‘it´. What do you like to call it?” she´d asked, one finger following the vein that pulsed along the length of his shaft.

He was amused. “I don´t, actually. What do you want to call it? Dr. Love?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows, stretching out the words comically.

She laughed, and leaned in closer as it reacted to their play.

“Hey,” she exclaimed, her long hair teasing the skin on his thighs and belly. She looked up at him, really excited, and right then and there, he´d fallen. Hard. It wasn´t just that she was sexy and beautiful and innocent all at once, and it wasn´t just the lure of forbidden fruit, it was the look in her eyes. She looked like something wild, not quite human, something that should be scampering through the dark forests in a Shakespearean play or something. She had looked at him – to him – as a partner in some great adventure, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to share it with her, to give it to her.

Plus, she was making him happy. Very happy.

He smiled as he recalled how excited she got over something he played with every day. And he relived the warmth that had surged through him as she tried different ways of making Dr. Love respond to her touch, to her breath, to the silkiness of her hair that turned him on so much.

He hadn´t been able to help it; he had come while she was still exploring, but mercifully, she had found the creamy semen that had spattered on them both tremendously amusing. He had scrunched up his face in horror but she had just turned to him and laughed. And he laughed too, as she wiped warm fluid off her face but missed a little on her chin.

And on her breast; years later, he knew, he would think back to this night and remember the incomparable image of a droplet about to fall from the tip of her dusky nipple.

So they´d showered together, which was awkward but fun, he thought. He remembered his surprise that it didn´t all come easily. They had spent more time figuring out how to maneuver around each other under the spray without hitting various body parts on painful knobs and hard surfaces than anything else. Still, he had learned how erotic it was just to bathe her, to lather up a sponge and run it over slick flesh. He had spent an eternity, it seemed, massaging her breasts through the foam until her eyes rolled back in her head and he could smell how aroused she was.

Inspired, he lowered her onto her back in the tub, so that her face was out of the spray and she could prop her feet up on the sides, and he had tasted her, used his tongue to tease her and thrust into her, mimicking what he really wanted to do to her, and her throaty moans and cries had made him very happy indeed.

And then she bumped her head on the wall and the water had turned cold. Pulling her up, he opened the glass doors and led her straight to the bed, where they soaked the blankets but didn´t care. They slipped and slid on and over and around each other, and then suddenly she was sitting on top of him, pinning him down, and speaking.

“I want to, now. Do you want to?” she asked him, with a strange mix of fear and desire playing over her delicate features.

“Whatever you want,” he said, not really listening, but pulling her down to kiss him because he thought he might go mad if he didn´t kiss her right then and there.

And then suddenly she was guiding the eager head of his fully erect cock between her legs, and he felt a shock go through him as the swollen, moist flesh he had suckled so fervently earlier met and engulfed his own. All he could do was look down in wonder to see – actually see – part of his body enter into hers, and then he was in, and she was almost painfully tight.

Oh god, it felt so good. His other times hadn´t prepared him for this, they paled in comparison to the feel and smell of her all around him and the wet slapping of her wet hair stinging his skin. But he was riveted to her face; her excitement, desire and pain was plain to see, and he wanted to savour each expression. But then his instincts kicked in, and he realized that the very act giving him so much pleasure was a little more complicated for her.

So he reached up and stilled her movements, pulling her chin so that she looked at him.

“Slow down, relax,” he had told her, stroking her face. “It´s not a test.” And then she had laughed through her tears and he´d felt – actually felt – her vaginal muscles unclench around him somewhat, allowing him to slide into her more easily. And when she´d tried to move, to ride him, he´d planted his hands on her hips to slow her, to help her build a rhythm that they both liked.

And oh god, had he liked it. Enough for a second round.

He grinned in memory until the sound of her voice drew him out of his reverie.

“Michael?”

He turned his head, and almost groaned to see her looking so messy. It really turned him on. “Yeah?”

“That was fun.”

He laughed outright then, amused by her tone, a mixture of pride and wonder. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to do this again some time?”

He was silent for a moment. He had an idea what she was really asking, and he wasn´t going to pretend he didn´t, or lie to her. She wanted more than sex, she wanted a relationship. And she deserved one, he knew.

But did he?

He turned to her, and saw the acceptance in her eyes before she shrugged. “It´s okay. It was just a thought,” she said then, and turned to look at the ceiling herself. He admired the way she didn´t make a big deal out of it, but knew she was more upset than she let on. And something about that, about the knowledge that he was important enough to her to have that much of an affect on her, did something to him.

“Liz?” he said, to get her attention. He really wanted to look her in the eye went he said this.

She turned. “Yes, Michael?”

“Yes.”

A little confused, she opened her mouth, but then she realized what he was agreeing to, and smiled in recognition and happiness.

He had made her smile. It was like stepping out of the coolness of shadow and walking into the light and warmth of the sun, it was that good. He knew he´d made the right decision.

“I´m glad,” she said.

“Me too.”

And he was.

The End