"Isabel and Kyle"
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Some dreams are more real than you think.
Category: After Hours
Authors Note: Spoilers: None really Thanks: Who else would I thank but the RACers? Cheese grits and Iced tea for all! Note: This is part of a series of “dream” fics. There is no need to read them all to understand. Each revolves around a different Roswell couple. Definite PWP!!
| Kyle Valenti was dreaming. And, not only was he dreaming, but he was dreaming the same old dream. He was in the locker room after a big game . . . a game they’d lost. And it was all his fault.
He kicked off his cleats and gave one a fling across the deserted locker room. Why was it always his fault? Why did it all seem to fall on his shoulders? And why did he always fumble the winning touchdown just as he caught the disapproving gaze of his father in the stands?
It all boiled down to that. He was never good enough . . . never good enough for his dad, never good enough for Liz Parker . . . never even good enough for his own mother. Hell, she’d ditched him just like the rest of them.
“Fuck them!” he said loudly as he hurled the other shoe into a nearby wall of lockers.
“Fuck who?” he heard someone ask behind him.
He spun around in surprise at the decidedly female voice and was shocked to see Isabel Evans standing in the doorway to the locker room.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I should ask you the same thing,” she replied as she sauntered further into the room.
He couldn’t help noticing her attire. She wore a black leather jacket with a fuchsia button up top beneath it and the tightest and shortest black leather miniskirt he could have imagined. ‘Is this how I see her?’ he asked himself. He’d never realized that his mind harbored such carnal thoughts of this girl . . . but now that she was here in his dream he had to admit that this view was better than thinking about his father’s disappointed expression over and over again. Still, he snapped out of those thoughts relatively quickly.
“What do you mean you should be asking me? You’re the one in my goddamned head,” he shot back.
“And you’re the one doing the dreaming,” she reminded him. He didn’t have a retort so he just flashed her an annoyed look and turned away. “Something eating you, little man?” she asked in an acid tone.
“Go to hell,” he muttered.
“Damn, I feel like I already have,” she replied. “What the fuck is your problem, Kyle?”
He turned back to look at her again. She stood closer now and he could see that the first three buttons of her fuchsia shirt were undone. His eyes rested on the valley between her breasts for a moment before moving to her face. “I’m not in the mood to have an argument with myself through you,” he said.
“Who says I came here to argue?” she asked as she drew closer still. She ran her finger under his chin and added, “Maybe I came to cheer you up.”
“W-what?” he stammered. Kyle looked up at the girl standing in front of him and all he could do was stare. Was she serious? Where in the hell was this coming from? He’d never thought much about Isabel . . . never done more than admire her legs in one of her trademark short skirts and think to himself that she was *so* not his type. But now, here she was, the uber-vixen of his late night fantasies . . .
Isabel stepped even closer, her hip brushing his arm, and stared straight at him. “I said,” she began in a low, growling voice that gave him chills and also made him want to grab her to him and rip that leather right off her body, “that I might be here to cheer you up,” she finished. Her lips were twisted into a sadistic smile that he liked the looks of. God, she really was gorgeous.
“Kyle, if you said that you didn’t want to fuck me right now, you’d be lying,” she stated flatly.
He just kept staring at her, having no words to respond.
Isabel swung one leg over his and sat down on his lap facing him. “I’m here to cheer you up.” She told him. He couldn’t process one coherent thought, much less argue. All he could do was sit still as she moved in closer and captured his lips with hers.
Kyle had never been kissed like that. Liz had *certainly* never kissed like that. He could feel her tongue actually twisting around his, then felt her draw his tongue into her own mouth and suck on it. He thrust up involuntarily.
“Down boy,” Isabel chided with a smirk as she pulled back. He leaned forward in an attempt to continue the kiss, but she placed her hand on his chest to push him back instead. “Not just yet,” she told him. “First things first.” He watched as she shrugged off her jacket and laid it over the bench beside him. Then, she lifted his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. She looked down at his bare chest appraisingly. “Not bad,” she told him. Again he was speechless.
She reached down and undid the few remaining buttons on her silk shirt, then let it fall open. He could see the black lace of her bra as it hugged her breasts snugly. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as his eyes savored the sight.
“Go ahead, Kyle. I don’t bite,” she said, then smirked. “Well, not hard enough to break the skin usually,” she added.
He took in a deep breath and held it, his eyes as big as saucers. What the fuck was happening here? Was he actually having a sex dream about the Ice Queen? He’d always dated the sweet, quiet girls, the Liz Parkers . . . how was it that suddenly he had his dick pressed into the thigh of the biggest bitch in the school, and all he could think of was how fast he could get that damned bra off of her? This was definitely the weirdest dream he’d ever had.
“I don’t scare you, do I?” Isabel asked seductively. He looked up into her eyes and suddenly he gave himself over to all of this. Everything that was happening, he wanted. There was no denying that. And this was all in his head, why should he try to stop something that only he knew about when he wanted it to happen so damn much?
Before she could say another word, he pushed the open shirt down her arms and it fell to the floor. His hands immediately moved to her lace-covered breasts and he kneaded the heavy flesh roughly in his strong hands.
“Ahhh . . .” she moaned and arched her back to push her flesh further into his touch. His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she groaned in earnest as her flesh hardened under his hands.
Kyle leaned in closer and brought his mouth to her ear. In a harsh whisper, he asked, “You want me to fuck you, Isabel?” She moaned in response. “Was that a yes?” he asked.
“Yes . . . fuck yes . . .” she hissed. His hands were still molded to her breasts and she liked the way his touch felt. He wasn’t too rough, but he wasn’t too gentle either. He seemed to know just what she liked.
With one hand still cupping her breast, he moved the other to open the front clasp on her bra. The lacy material fell away and he lowered his head to the newly bared flesh. When his mouth closed over one hardened peak, she reached up to grip his hair in her hand and grunted with pleasure. His tongue wound around her flesh and his teeth grazed her just enough to illicit another satisfied groan.
He could feel himself getting harder with each little grunt and groan she made. She might be a bitch from hell, but Isabel Evans was definitely the hottest girl he knew.
Suddenly Kyle wondered how he’d never stopped to think about just how perfect her breasts were. As his mouth switched sides from the left to the right, he thought to himself that she looked like something straight out of Penthouse. She wasn’t some little prepubescent waif who looked like she hadn’t eaten in a month. Isabel had curves in all the right places. He liked how her thighs felt wrapped around his waist as he continued to suckle her. His erection was pressed against her ass through the football pants he still wore and the way her hips ground against him he was sure that he’d lose his mind at any second.
He lifted his head from her chest and Isabel groaned in disappointment. “I think it’s time we moved on to step two,” he said huskily. She looked down at him with heavy-lidded eyes and nodded her approval.
He lifted her off of him and she stood on wobbly legs as he pushed down the pants he had on until they were around his ankles. Then he sat back on the bench and pulled her close again. Her eyes lingered on his erection for a moment before returning to his eyes.
“What now?” she asked him. He smiled slightly. It felt good to be in control. She gave a tough act, but it was obvious that she wanted him to run the show. He brought his hands up around her waist and tugged her forward until she stood with her legs on either side of his thighs.
His hands found the bottom of her leather miniskirt and pushed it up around her waist. He was a little surprised and ultimately happy to see that she was not only not wearing pantyhose, she wasn’t even wearing any panties.
“God . . .” he hissed out as he looked her up and down in her nearly naked form. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he commented.
She smiled slightly, but didn’t say a word. She just reached out and lowered her hand over his throbbing erection, pulling a groan from his lips as his eyes fell shut and his head fell back. She sat on his knees, continuing to pump his hardened flesh in her small hand. He grunted and moaned as he tried to hold his hips still and keep from letting the whole encounter end with a hand job. He could see that he’d have to stop her soon if he planned to go any further.
Instead of telling her to stop, though, he thought of a better idea. He decided to distract her instead. His eyes came open as he reached down between her slightly parted legs. She groaned and stopped her movement over him as his fingers stroked over her scorching flesh and dipped into the wetness they found there. He moved his touch up until he found her clit and started massaging it in quick, tight circles.
“Fuck!” she cried through clenched teeth. Her hands had left his lap and were now clutching his shoulders in an iron grip. She threw her head back as her body clamped down hard and she came with a gasp against his hand.
Her head fell forward to rest on his bare chest as she continued to pulsate around his fingers for a few moments. Finally, when he drew his hand away, she looked back up. “Damn,” she puffed, still slightly out of breath from the rush.
“Ready for a repeat performance?” he asked as he looked at her.
She smirked. “Hell yeah.”
Her lips found his as she lifted her hips to position her opening over him. She sank down onto him and groaned into his open mouth. Their tongue dueled as she began to move up and down on top of him. Each time she brought him deep within her, Isabel scrapped his back with her nails, digging into the flesh ferociously. His hands stayed at her hips, thrusting upwards with each downward thrust from her. All he could concentrate on was how good she felt, how being surrounded by her body just felt more right than anything ever had.
“Uhhh . . . Kyle . . . yesss,” she hissed as her body began the climb towards that highest peak yet again. Her head fell back and she moved faster over him. “Fuck! Yes!” she called to urge him on, wanting it faster, harder, deeper . . . wanting to feel him everywhere.
Kyle could feel his own release fast approaching as well and thrust deeper inside of her with every stroke as they raced towards completion together. When he finally felt her inner walls contracting, pulling him deeper into her, he lost all control. She felt a warm rush throughout her whole body as he emptied himself inside of her.
When they were both breathing again, she lifted her head from his shoulder. She didn’t remember it being put there in the first place, but assumed she must have collapsed into him after her orgasm. She sat back and looked into his eyes. His body was still joined with hers and the intimate position suddenly implied more than just sex. She felt something more . . . something that scared her.
He was looking back at her with the same puzzled and suddenly fearful expression. “I don’t do this . . . with everyone,” she found herself saying. She didn’t know why she’d said it. There was no need to explain it to him, especially not here.
He reached up and brushed her hair out of her face, surprising even himself with this tender action. Quietly, he replied, “I know.”
“Do . . . do you?” she found herself asking. Again, the question seemed to come out of nowhere.
He shook his head and she felt inexplicably relieved. “No, I don’t.”
She nodded and stared back at him for a few more moments. Finally she said, “I should go.” He nodded, though something inside him screamed out at the thought of separating from this amazing creature that held him deep within herself. She stood up, breaking their connection and he bit back a groan of disappointment.
Her eyes skipped away from his as she pulled her skirt back down and knelt to pick up her fallen bra and shirt. She put them both back on hastily and he stood to quickly pull his pants back up. He caught sight of a look in her eyes. Was it regret? He found himself hoping that it wasn’t.
“Isabel . . .” he started as he reached out to touch her arm. She jerked away. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded. She turned and walked away without a word, not speaking until she was outside the closed locker room door.
Her voice was a whisper as she said, “I’m not,” then turned and strode away.
Kyle woke up in his own bed, his sheets a tangled and sweaty mess around him. His eyes opened and the first word on his lips was her name. “Isabel?” he muttered into the empty room. There was no one there to reply.
He got up from his bed and walked over to the mirror. As he studied his face, he thought back over that very bizarre and highly realistic dream. He’d never had a dream like that before. Not only could he feel all of the physical things that had gone on, he could feel the emotions within him just as strongly, maybe even more so. Emotions for a girl he had never even given a conscious thought to, really. What could that possibly mean?
He was at a loss and decided it was too early in the morning to debate it. He just needed a shower and some coffee and things would look a little clearer. He started to turn, but something in the mirror caught his eye and he turned back for a closer look.
As he glanced over his shoulder at himself in the mirror, his eyes widened in shock. There, all the way down his back and so far to the center that he couldn’t have possibly even reached them himself, were a dozen or more long, raw gashes. They were the kind made by fingernails . . . the kind left by an overzealous lover . . .
All he could do was stare and wonder just what had happened that night in his bed after all.
* * * * *
December 1, 1999
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