|"Homework and Dance Lessons "
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: After the brief truce they come to in Sexual Healing, our favorite couple reach a level of semi-comfort in their relationship. (Sigh, if M&M ever become completely comfortable with their lives and themselves, they wouldn’t be M&M!)
Authors Note: The narrative works in part through introspection, memory and flashback, but I haven’t put markers to indicate these moments because I think it spoils the effect. But any feedback is welcome. As for distribution, ask first!
|“Minor technicality, spaceboy.” When Maria had that glint in her eye, Michael knew there wasn’t any point in arguing. She stood up, took his hand and nudged him into the bedroom. The floor was just too uncomfortable for what she had in mind. Michael just followed her lead numbly, and although his eyes were a little wary, he just couldn’t pull away. She knelt over him now, on the bed, kissing a moist trail down across his bare chest - where did his shirt go? - swirling her tongue across his nipples, her teeth scraping lightly. Who knew that Maria’s motor-mouth had talent for more than constant yakking? As her kisses skipped down his abdomen, her fingers were finally winning their battle against the buttons on his jeans. He should’ve worn the zippered ones. He couldn’t even remember when his boxers came off, only that the strain of his erection against them was suddenly released, and then captured again by those magic fingers.
“Ma-ria . . .” he breathed heavily, clutching at the pixie curls he could no longer see. Maria was moving purely by instinct, using his fervent responses as her only cue. Her mouth were now at the base of his arousal, licking its way upwards.
“Tell me what you want, Michael,” she gasped, echoing his own words earlier on, bringing her face back up to his. He moved his mouth, but no sound came out, so he looked right at her, each pupil dilated and shimmering with raw desire, want, need. “Good enough, spaceboy.”
Magic lips joined magic hands once again, and this time, Michael moaned as her mouth encased his hard shaft and sharps waves of pleasure coursed through him. He felt it grow to fill her moist depths and push against the back of her throat. Maria gagged and withdrew.
“Sorry,” she looked up, embarrassed. “It’s not like I’ve had a lot of prac--” He silenced her with a small plea, “Don’t stop.” Only Maria could talk at a time like this.
Maria stared at Michael. He was actually in her control. A realization hit her. This was why Michael didn’t want anyone to get too close. No, not the sex; the loss of control. She felt something then, something she couldn’t define. She had said it wasn’t true love when they’d started out hot and heavy during the heatwave, she couldn’t be sure if it was “true love” she felt now. What on earth did “true love” mean anyway? Love was love. Whatever it was, it certainly was something, something that had crept right over her from the time they were in that nookie motel. It had been so slow, she hadn’t seen it coming until it had somehow become a part of her. Of course, near-death encounters had definitely helped intensify the process.
“Ma-ria,” Michael’s voice came out in ragged gasps, she didn’t need to be asked twice. Her tongue tickled the tip of his shaft and her mouth suck on it rhythmically. She closed over its length once again, this time succeeding in pushing past the gag reflex, savoring him as he filled her once more. As she moved up and down on him, Michael knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer. The feel of her, the touch, the taste, the smell of her were just too much. And with one final downward thrust of her throat over his engorged member, Maria felt him clutch her hair and jerk his hips up toward her; instinctively, she flicked her tongue over its sensitive tip. That’s when Michael came. Right in her mouth. Crying out her name. She held him after, felt every shudder subside as she wrapped her arms around him and lay her head on his chest, not knowing what to think about the salty, sticky sensation in her mouth. She’d half expected it to taste of Tabasco sauce. Grinning at the thought, she reached over him to the bedside table for a tissue to clean up.
Michael looked at up her with heavy-lidded eyes and smiled, pulling her back down next to him, luxuriating in the feel of her along the length of his body -- almost. He looked down at her, incredulous. “What are you still doing in this?”
Maria was still in her denims.
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