|"Morning After "
Disclaimer: The usual. The characters and Roswell don’t belong to me, but
to WB, etc. I’m only borrowing them for a while!
Summary: Set somewhere between Sexual Healing and Four Square, I guess, before the baby crisis. But more like an alternate M&M universe though (read, “happy”).
Category: After Hours
Authors Note: No infringement intended either to the episode Morning After or other fanfic of the same title. This has been sitting half-finished in my computer for a while now, but in the light of all the “trauma” faced by M&M shippers these days, I thought I would complete it and send it in. Feedback welcome!
|Maria felt Michael shift in the bed next to her. She was lying on her
front, her arm thrown across his chest, her head turned towards his
shoulder. Last night was one of the few nights she got to spend over at his
apartment, since her mother was off again on one of her buying trips. She
loved waking up next to Michael in these mornings. There was a comfort in
the feel of his warm body close to hers, in the rise and fall of his breath
as he slept. Some mornings she would wake and in finding him still asleep,
would snuggle in closer and join him in slumber. Other times, she’d find
him already awake and looking at her, that unfathomable expression he
always had in his eyes.
This morning, although she felt him shift, she didn't wake immediately and just lay there looking at him through her lashes in semi-consciousness. Spaceboy was reaching down for something under the bed. She felt him straighten up and saw that he'd brought up his sketch book. He eased himself a little away from her and started sketching something, unaware that she'd awakened and was watching him.
"Watcha drawing?" she mumbled sleepily, moving to sit up.
"Um, nothing." Michael shut the book with a quick snap and shoved it hastily back under the bed. He was clearly disconcerted.
Maria was completely awake now, her curiosity piqued.
"C'mon, Michael, lemme see!" She scrambled across him and fumbled for the hidden sketchbook. "I want to see what's so important that you need to do it first thing in the morning." Michael tried to stop her and they engaged in a mini-wrestling match, which he won easily.
"Nosy little thing, aren't you?" he growled at her, pinning her arms to her sides. Her chest was heaving and her face was flushed from the exertion, but she glared back defiantly. God, that was one of the things he loved about Maria. She was such a fighter. For a second, Michael wondered what he would do with her -- only for a second. He looked right back at her and grinned, knowing just what would distract her now that her adrenaline was pumping.
Maria purred contentedly as Michael buried his face in the hollow of her neck just below her jaw, nipping and sucking at the soft white skin. She tried to shift under him, but Michael still had her arms trapped at her sides, even as his mouth traveled over her face, her throat, her collarbone . . . As she arched her back and pressed her body in closer against his, he felt the tight little buds that tipped her breasts rub against him in silent desperation, so Michael obliged her and closed his mouth over one waiting peak, grazing teeth and tongue over it repeatedly, before moving to work on the other. As his mouth worked its magic, Maria lost all coherent thought. She felt like she was going -- to -- die, her need for him building and building to a fever pitch. With an anguished moan, she arched her back even further to encourage him to take more of her into his mouth, groaning in frustration at her lack of mobility. He loved it that he could make her respond so immediately, so intensely to him, even though it did scare him a little. How could she ever think she was flat? He’d teased her about the wide-angle lens the other time, but in truth, as far as he was concerned, Maria was perfect. Right now, the heat of her body squirming under him was driving him to distraction.
"Ahh, Michael..." she sighed, parting her thighs in clear invitation. He forgot about keeping her prisoner right then and passed his hand lovingly over her lower belly before bringing it down to her hidden recess. He was stroking her now, in a way he knew would make her shudder, whimper, in delight. He knew all her pleasure zones now, knew exactly how much pressure to use, how deep she liked it.
Maria hadn’t quite planned on this. She'd meant to distract him long enough for him to take his hands off her arms, then she'd meant to flip him over and demand the secret sketches he was hiding from her. But Spaceboy was just too damn good at what he was doing to her. Secrets would have to wait, she decided, as she moved to entwine her fingers in his hair, letting them sink into its unruly softness.
It wasn't long before she was wet and ready to receive him, and she knew that he was straining to enter her. She reached down to guide him with an old familiarity and smiled at the groan in his throat as her fingers closed over his latex-sheathed erection -- she hadn’t endured all her mother’s nagging about better being safe than sorry for nothing. Maria raised her hips and felt him fill her, complete her, in one swift stroke. And as they moved together in an age-old rhythm, she marveled at how every time with Michael brought on a strange mix of familiarity and freshness, as if they were discovering each other for the first time and yet she felt like they’d always known each other like this. It was weird, she’d tried to explain it to Liz once but gave up.
When at last the waves crashed all around them, Michael lay on his back with his arms around her, listening to her breath come back to normal, and Maria was likewise wrapped around him, her head on his chest, listening to his heart gradually slow its pounding rhythm.
Michael was running his fingers through her hair when she brought her lips up to his ear and breathed, "So can I see the drawing now?" He had to roll his eyes and shake his head. He should have known better than to think he could distract her. He was the one that'd gotten distracted -- as usual.
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