Rating: PG-13 or maybe a bit higher
Category: Liz/Michael
Summary: After "Disciple," Liz reflects. Stuff happens. It's pretty intense.
BGM: "Strangelove Addiction" by Supreme Beings of Leisure.
Dedication: To Whiteotter, for the fabulously in-depth feedback on Disciple.
"Do you see my hands
They tremble
Wonder why I can't look you in the eyes
Don't know how long I can keep this inside
Isn't it obvious?"
Obvious
*Christina Aguilera*
I can't believe I let him sleep in my bed. What was I thinking?!
But it was like- for those few seconds, I could pretend. Actually convince myself that he was mine, that he felt about me the way I felt about him. Am I completely delusional here? I need to talk to him.
Okay, now I'm delusional. Did I just, even briefly, entertain the notion of going to speak to Michael Guerin about my feelings for him? That's it. I'm insane. Absolutely out of my mind.
What was I even trying to do last night? I mean, I've always had a little crush on him, but I never dreamed of acting on it. And then I go and invite him into my bed?!
What was I thinking?!?!
***
It's been a week. Seven days. One-hundred and sixty-eight hours. All that time, and I haven't said a word. When did I become such a chicken? I mean, how hard is it to say, "hey, can I talk to you?" Well, not hard at all, I guess, but when it's Michael...oh boy.
He came to the Crashdown today. Not to say that's an uncommon occurence, but how often does he come alone? Naturally, I chickened out. Which was really a good idea, I'm sure, because if I had gone over to his table and taken his order, who knows what would have happened? "Hi Michael, can I take your order? And by the way, did you wanna sleep together again? Because that would be cool." Yeah, it would have been bad.
So, I haven't told anyone. I'm pretty sure he hasn't either. I mean, why would we even mention it? It's not like anything happened. Unfortunately. Oh god. Did I just say that?
I have to talk to Michael.
***
So, somehow I've ended up at his door. If I move slightly to the side, I can see through the small window and through his kitchen, into his living room. There's no sign of him until I see a door in the hall open, and he emerges in nothing but a towel.
This was a bad idea.
He looks up for a moment, and sees me before I have a chance to duck out of the way. Dammit.
I can hear his footsteps approach the door, and seconds later it's flung open, revealing a breathless Michael, still dripping wet from the shower. I actually feel my brain short-circuit at the sight.
My first attempt at speech results in a muffled squeak. I try again, and manage to come up with "Hi, Michael."
He looks at me like I've just gone insane. "Hey," he says after a moment.
A few seconds of silence.
"Can I talk to you?" I ask, thereby cementing my title as the World's Biggest Idiot.
He glances down at his lower half, and my eyes follow his. "Okay," he says, as I will myself to develop X-ray vision. No! Bad Liz! "Come on in," he offers, holding the door open. I slip in, and stand in his living room.
"Sit down." He gestures to the couch.
"Okay." There's that damn squeak again.
I sit down and stare up at him. Finally, he sits on the chair across from me. "What did you want to talk about?"
"Did you want to get dressed first?" I ask, willing myself not to sound like a three year old.
His stares right into my eyes. "Why are you here, Liz?"
I swallow. "I- just wanted to...I mean...I don't know. I don't know why I'm here Michael, okay? I don't. Goodbye." I leap up off the couch, and in three seconds he's standing along with me and invading my personal space.
"You do know. This is about what happened." He doesn't elaborate, and he doesn't need to.
"Nothing happened," I say, attempting to keep the sadness out of my voice.
"I know," he replies, sounding as depressed as I feel.
"It's not a big deal," I lie.
"Then what are you doing here?" I swear, he's worse than me.
I just came by to confess my feelings for you. "I was in the neighborhood. I thought I would say hi. So...hi." Cue desperately perky smile. "Well, see ya later." I turn and head for the door, before I have a chance to change my mind.
My hand is on the doorknob. Say something Michael, ask me to stay.
"Liz, wait." It sounds reluctant, but I don't care. In a few short strides, he's standing above me again, and his hand is on my arm. Fingers wrapping around my wrist, so warm I'm surprised I'm not lit up like one of those candles he sparked that night. I'm sure he has something to say, but I'm having trouble focusing on anything besides the fire burning through my nervous system. Can a wrist be an erogenous zone? I'm positive that mine is. Oh, I think he's going to speak again.
"You wanna sit?" he asks, clearly avoiding the subject. Without waiting for an answer, he leads me to the couch, and I have the ridiculously entertaining mental image of me sitting on his lap. Sadly, it is not to be. I sit on his chair, he perches on the edge of the couch. It's obvious he is at a loss for words. I'm torn between amusement and pity, though mostly just overpowered by lust.
I decide to give the poor guy a break. He looks almost as nervous as he did that night, and then he was fully dressed. Speaking of Michael in a towel...wow, that's really riding up, he has some great legs...On topic, Liz! Speak! Say something intelligent! "I feel kind of awkward."
"You don't say," he mutters.
Hell. Out with it, Parker. "That other night. You know. It was weird. But that was a week ago, and nothing has happened since. So there's nothing to worry about."
He looks a bit confused. "Huh?"
"It was nothing. I know there may have been a little tension, but that's nothing unusual. It couldn't be helped. We should just forget it ever happened." Or at least try.
"Yeah." My god, he is beautiful.
"I'm not attracted to you," I tell him, successfully containing the quiver in my voice. "I'm not." One more time, just for emphasis.
"Right." His eyes burn right through me, a few more seconds of that look and I won't be responsible for what I do.
Get out. Get out, Liz, while you still can. "I'm gonna go," I say, meaning it this time. "I'll see you around."
I stand, he stands. I go for the door, and three-point-five seconds later I hear him stand and follow me. He spins me around, a hand on each arm. "Have you told anyone?" he asks.
"No," I whisper, because that's all I'm capable of when he's this close.
"Well don't." God, that tough-guy thing is really working for me right now.
"Okay." Somehow, my hands have moved to his shoulders. His bare, strong shoulders. What am I doing? What?! "Michael..."
He's moving closer to me, slowly closing the distance between us. "What?"
My head is inclining towards his. I can't stop it. His lips are five seconds away from touching mine. I have to do something. Say something. Now. "Don't...tell..."
His lips are on mine. Soft, and warm, and sweet. I feel it in every cell, every molecule, every atom of my being. My toes tingle. Nerves I wasn't even aware I had are singing.
It's a mutual exploration, each giving equal pressure, testing the waters. His tongue sweeps gently over mine, and it's not enough. I need more. Now. I pull back slightly, and let out a deep, shuddering breath. "Michael," I sigh. My hands slide around his waist, feeling his hipbones, his abs, his radiating heat.
More.
I look up at him, our eyes lock. His lips descend upon mine at the same moment I stand on tiptoes to reach his. Pleasantly rough hands encircle my waist, pulling me as close as possible. It's competitive, each trying to get closer, to kiss harder. I crush my lips to his almost violently, and he responds in kind. My hands roam over his delightfully bare chest, exploring, sliding up around his collarbone to caress the back of his neck and tangle in his hair.
So this is passion. Huh. Nice.
We kiss for several more minutes, eventually ending up on the couch. When it gets more intense, he pulls away, pulling the loosened towel tighter around his waist. I inhale deeply, gently touching my swollen, almost bruised lips. The top two buttons of my shirt are undone. I'm pretty sure I undid them.
We sit within touching distance of each other, trying to catch our breath. I finally muster up enough to tell him I was wrong.
"About what?" he asks, puzzled.
"I am attracted to you," I explain.
"Oh," he says, "Likewise."
"That's good." What now?
We sit in borderline-awkward silence for a moment. Finally, I crack. "What do you want to do about it?"
"Well, what we just did, that works," he says, stating the obvious.
"True," I agree, nodding my head in that future-scientist way of mine. "But I'm not sure we should, you know, start a relationship or anything. It would be bad for the group."
"Probably," he nods. "What now?"
I think on that. "We can just consider this...an indiscretion. One of those things that just happens uncontrollably. Like a supernova, or an earthquake. We just had to get it out of our systems."
"That makes sense," he says.
Oh, I feel better now. Okay. "Great. Well, I'm gonna go then. Thank you, Michael."
"No problem." A relaxed smile graces his face, and I enjoy it. With a pleased grin, I stand up, straighten my clothes, and prepare to leave.
I'm halfway out the door when he speaks again.
"Liz?"
"Yeah?"
"Anytime you're feeling...indiscreet, I'm here. You know where I live. And work. And hang out." He frowns a bit at that, but shrugs. "You know, if you want to." It's almost too casual.
"I'll remember that," I tell him.
He nods, I smile, and walk out the door.
I make it halfway down the sidewalk before I collapse into uncontrollable, shrieking giggles. Good for me. I glance back to his apartment, grinning maniacally. "See you around, Michael.
"Thanks for the fun."
I giggle once more, and head home.
The End
1-31-2001