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bantha_fodderThe Closer You Get, by Pen.
Roswell, Michael and Maria on a road trip, PG.
This is a fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
carrielh's birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CARRIE.
beta by An Enabler
This icon is for Carrie ONLY. It is not very good, but it is Michael and Maria on a road trip!
***
"Boring," says Maria, and turns the page. "Ugh. Ugly. What was she thinking?" Her fingers slide across the glossy paper. "That pink does not go with that red, Britney," she says to the magazine.
Michael exhales. "Could you not do that?" he asks, although she knows it isn't a question. "Some of us are trying to sleep."
"Aliens don't need sleep," she snaps back, and keeps turning pages.
He shuffles around in his seat, and when he settles down his back is towards her.
She curls her free hand around his waist; digs her hand under his sweater, and leans in towards him.
His skin is warm.
*
She tosses and turns; the room is too cold, and he snores. She throws back the bedsheets, and turns on the television.
"Maria," he growls. "Come back to bed."
"I don't see why you're sleeping," she says. "You made it quite clear on the plane that you were, you know, sleeping."
Michael crosses the room, and wraps a hand around her wrist. The hairs on his arms are standing on end, and she thinks they match her goosebumps. "Please," he says, and kisses her. "It's warmer in bed," he promises, and she follows him, lured by his warm breath and his calloused hands.
She does not sleep, but then, neither does he.
*
This is what their lives have become: the dull blur of a succession of motel rooms and long highways; of rental cars and cheap takeout meals, and plane tickets bought using false IDs. Of her bras stuffed into his ugly, threadbare socks in their broken suitcases, and what good are his powers if he can't make their lives a little easier?
She makes herself a coffee, and the rich smell gets into her hair even as the coffee gets into her bloodstream. She hates it, hates this poison that she drinks, but they have to keep going and she's awful at mornings, so.
Sometimes she misses Liz so much it hurts.
Maria turns the pages of the glossy magazine that she stole from the lobby. It's the little things, and she pauses, her finger on the page. "God, it's just like her," Maria says.
"What are you talking about now?" Michael asks.
"Your queen," Maria says, and waves the magazine about in the air. "Your betrothed. She's-"
Michael shakes his head. "You said you wouldn't bring that up again," says Michael, and she bites her lip in her guilt, but her outrage takes her through.
"Yeah, and we all said we'd lay low. But here's Isabel, showing off her garden of unearthly delights again." She throws the magazine down. Just like Isabel to put them all in jeopardy because she's queen of the fucking universe.
Michael rests a finger on the page, and Maria wonders what he's thinking.
She's briefly glad that he can't dreamwalk, and suppresses the jealousy.
At least he's not dead.
*
The highway is long, and they don't really talk. They fight and they run and they fucking spark, but they never talk. So she flips the pages on her magazines; looks out the window and counts the miles. Sometimes she drives, but Michael's always been a control freak who thinks she can't drive, and sometimes she fights with him but they've been fighting so long, now.
She'd rather not fight with the only person that she has left.
They get coffee to go about mid-morning, and he sulks about the expense but lets her buy a muffin.
The money's tight, and he's right, they shouldn't be spending on chocolates and pastries unless they plan to knock over a bank sometime soon. She counts the dimes onto the counter, the last of her emergency stash, and feels a little guilty.
The frission of triumph, however, curls through her belly when she returns to the car with a second muffin, and he looks at her with pleasure and lust and desire. When he leans across, his kisses are wet and hard and warm and she thinks about fucking him right there.
She thinks she shows saintly patience by waiting until the sun has set and they have checked into yet another dingy motel.
She holds onto him, all warm and soft and the stubble on his chin leaves marks across her breasts. If he were another, he'd hold his hand close to her skin and repair the damage, but he is not another, he is Michael and he is careless and he is strong and broken but he is hers.
She holds him close.
*
In the darkness, she breathes out and screams.
"God, Maria, get a grip," says Isabel, all soft hues and sharp edges. "My stupid brother wants to see you." She rolls her eyes.
Maria wakes from a dream of the future.
She doesn't tell Michael.
END
Roswell, Michael and Maria on a road trip, PG.
This is a fic for
carrielh's birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CARRIE.beta by An Enabler
This icon is for Carrie ONLY. It is not very good, but it is Michael and Maria on a road trip!
***
"Boring," says Maria, and turns the page. "Ugh. Ugly. What was she thinking?" Her fingers slide across the glossy paper. "That pink does not go with that red, Britney," she says to the magazine.
Michael exhales. "Could you not do that?" he asks, although she knows it isn't a question. "Some of us are trying to sleep."
"Aliens don't need sleep," she snaps back, and keeps turning pages.
He shuffles around in his seat, and when he settles down his back is towards her.
She curls her free hand around his waist; digs her hand under his sweater, and leans in towards him.
His skin is warm.
*
She tosses and turns; the room is too cold, and he snores. She throws back the bedsheets, and turns on the television.
"Maria," he growls. "Come back to bed."
"I don't see why you're sleeping," she says. "You made it quite clear on the plane that you were, you know, sleeping."
Michael crosses the room, and wraps a hand around her wrist. The hairs on his arms are standing on end, and she thinks they match her goosebumps. "Please," he says, and kisses her. "It's warmer in bed," he promises, and she follows him, lured by his warm breath and his calloused hands.
She does not sleep, but then, neither does he.
*
This is what their lives have become: the dull blur of a succession of motel rooms and long highways; of rental cars and cheap takeout meals, and plane tickets bought using false IDs. Of her bras stuffed into his ugly, threadbare socks in their broken suitcases, and what good are his powers if he can't make their lives a little easier?
She makes herself a coffee, and the rich smell gets into her hair even as the coffee gets into her bloodstream. She hates it, hates this poison that she drinks, but they have to keep going and she's awful at mornings, so.
Sometimes she misses Liz so much it hurts.
Maria turns the pages of the glossy magazine that she stole from the lobby. It's the little things, and she pauses, her finger on the page. "God, it's just like her," Maria says.
"What are you talking about now?" Michael asks.
"Your queen," Maria says, and waves the magazine about in the air. "Your betrothed. She's-"
Michael shakes his head. "You said you wouldn't bring that up again," says Michael, and she bites her lip in her guilt, but her outrage takes her through.
"Yeah, and we all said we'd lay low. But here's Isabel, showing off her garden of unearthly delights again." She throws the magazine down. Just like Isabel to put them all in jeopardy because she's queen of the fucking universe.
Michael rests a finger on the page, and Maria wonders what he's thinking.
She's briefly glad that he can't dreamwalk, and suppresses the jealousy.
At least he's not dead.
*
The highway is long, and they don't really talk. They fight and they run and they fucking spark, but they never talk. So she flips the pages on her magazines; looks out the window and counts the miles. Sometimes she drives, but Michael's always been a control freak who thinks she can't drive, and sometimes she fights with him but they've been fighting so long, now.
She'd rather not fight with the only person that she has left.
They get coffee to go about mid-morning, and he sulks about the expense but lets her buy a muffin.
The money's tight, and he's right, they shouldn't be spending on chocolates and pastries unless they plan to knock over a bank sometime soon. She counts the dimes onto the counter, the last of her emergency stash, and feels a little guilty.
The frission of triumph, however, curls through her belly when she returns to the car with a second muffin, and he looks at her with pleasure and lust and desire. When he leans across, his kisses are wet and hard and warm and she thinks about fucking him right there.
She thinks she shows saintly patience by waiting until the sun has set and they have checked into yet another dingy motel.
She holds onto him, all warm and soft and the stubble on his chin leaves marks across her breasts. If he were another, he'd hold his hand close to her skin and repair the damage, but he is not another, he is Michael and he is careless and he is strong and broken but he is hers.
She holds him close.
*
In the darkness, she breathes out and screams.
"God, Maria, get a grip," says Isabel, all soft hues and sharp edges. "My stupid brother wants to see you." She rolls her eyes.
Maria wakes from a dream of the future.
She doesn't tell Michael.
END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-03 07:35 am (UTC)I love it. Loveitloveitloveit. Thank you, Pen!
*uses icon of AWESOME*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 07:57 pm (UTC)I LOVE YOU EVEN WHEN OTHERS DON'T.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 07:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-03 09:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 07:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-03 01:21 pm (UTC)*ahem*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-11 07:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-12 01:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-27 01:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-30 08:54 am (UTC)