Superfail! (aliaspiral) wrote,

Roswell Ficathon: Sweat

Title: Sweat
Author: alianora
Spoilers: Heatwave
Rating: R
Written for: storydivagirl. Hope you like it!
Summery: Michael, Maria, Heatwave, Crashdown, Aftermath.

AN: Storydivagirl asked for protective!Michael. Naturally, I cant do things the normal way.
Smuttiest thing ive ever written. Im kinda proud of myself.

He left her with one last heated kiss, leaning back through the half opened door as she struggled to put her shirt back on. His pants were unbuttoned and his shirt was inside out, but he was too fascinated by the taste of her mouth to care.

She finally pushed him away, and locked the door. He managed to make it to the shadows of the wall before his knees gave out and he turned to look at her again.

She was leaning against the glass door with her eyes closed. Her hair was mussed, and she looked very dazed. Her green bra strap had slipped down her arm, and her tank top was tucked up in it in one place, showing off several inches of her belly. She lifted her fingers to her lips and he nearly lost his ability to walk away when she touched her tongue to her thumb.

He staggered to his feet, determined to get away before this inferior, human girl ensnared him with her green green eyes and the chipped paint on her toenails and the soft sounds she made when he pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck or the bend of her elbow or the hollow between her breasts.

He had to brace himself against the wall as he made it to his feet. Unwillingly, he continued to watch her. She was standing beside the cake that covered the floor, staring at the broom like she had no idea what to do with it.

It looked like he was not the only one who had lost control of this situation.

He was only passing by tonight, on his way to crash on Max’s floor, when he saw her. She was sitting on the counter, eyes half closed, sweating. Her uniform was halfway unbuttoned. A carton of ice cream was melting beside her, and she was..molesting a spoonful of rocky road.

He had just looked in to see if he could figure out what it was about this girl. She was loud, weird, and completely insane. But she would stand up to him, yell at him, and then get him out of a jam.

And then she would look at him with those eyes and tell him his own story. The only difference was the mode of transportation.

So, why had he stayed in the parking lot, watching her? He had some vague idea about talking to her when she came outside, so he could prove to himself that she was just a girl.

But she did not come outside.

Instead, she had slid off behind the counter, and shrugged off her uniform.

The counter covered almost everything, but the brief glimpse of her smooth back before she pulled her tank top on had twisted something inside him, and he wanted to trace the sweat he was sure was running down her shoulder blade.

He was not even aware he had moved closer to the door until she looked up at him.

And now he was standing in the parking lot, back where he had started, and she was still just a girl.

A girl who was finally leaving, after sweeping up the cake and the broken glass and pressing against him eagerly, running her hands up his back and leaving fingernail marks.

She had to try three times to get the key in the lock, as her hands were trembling.

He had to fight the urge to go and run his hand up her arm and take the keys from her and lock it for her.

But if he did that, he would have to touch the spot behind her ear and push her up against the door from behind and slide his hands down her legs to touch the places where her short shorts barely skimmed.

And then what would he do? Take her back to a trailer with Hank passed out down the hall, and touch all the other places he was pretty sure she would let him if he asked? Asked with his hands on her hips and his mouth on the soft skin of her stomach.

Better to watch her fumble with her keys and tug the strap of her bra back up to her shoulder. Better to watch her walk away and to follow to make sure she does not trip or drop her keys or collapse in a ditch somewhere.

So he dropped back behind her, and watched the way she walked. Even on unsteady legs, she had a slow sway that holds his attention.

She is not that attractive.

He has grown up with Isabel, so he knows what attractive is supposed to look like, thanks to all the stupid girly magazines she reads.

This girl wears all the wrong clothes, and her hair is too short. She does not wear enough make up or spend enough money on shoes.

But he could feel her arch beneath him as he ran his hands down her chest, and her stopping to adjust her shoe on the dark street made him catch his breath.

She was just a girl, but he has followed her to her house, and watched as she climbed the stairs.

In his mind, she called a tired hello to her mother, and dropped her backpack on the floor as she made her way to her room.

He did not know why he watched, but he circled the house slowly, waiting for a light to go on to tell him which is her room.

She looked at herself in the mirror, lightly touching the marks he made on her body.

She lifted her shirt over her head and ran her hands over her stomach, covering the burn he had left when he buried his head in her shoulder and ran his tongue over her belly button and tried to stop the spinning feeling that came over him the first time he kissed her.

She went to bed, still wearing her bra and short shorts. As she reached for the light, he saw the curve of her shoulder and he had to stop himself from crawling in her window and tracing the bead of sweat down her shoulder to her back to her hipbone.

She was still just a girl.

Tags: roswell fic

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