For Every Action ...
by Kristin aka Kiara Alexis Klay
Genre: AU, UC
Disclaimer: Roswell is the love child of Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, and a whole orgy-filled panel of producers, networks, and affiliates. Really, for something that is owned by so many people and entities, you'd think they wouldn't mind sharing it with me?
Pairing: Michael, Liz
Liz focused every ounce of her not-so-insignificant willpower into a deathglare as she stared her opponent down, her brow and the corners of her eyes crinkling in intensity as she concentrated.
A pale, gleaming tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, teeth holding it hostage in the corner of her mouth before it could escape back behind her jaw, and she hummed a tuneless diddy softly to herself.
Every movement her hands, arms, and fingers made were carefully and painfully thought out, and rethought, and only then were enacted with the greatest of care and precision. Her left hand reached out to brace herself as her right came up, gripping her chosen implement in a firm but relaxed grip, and extended forward just so ...
Shrieking loud enough to rouse the Ferryman from his berth across the River Styx, Liz jerked upward, eyes startled wide and her arm swung upward in reflex.
A powerful hand twice as large as her own halted her arm's momentum, long, lean tapered fingers curling about her wrist and lower arm in an implacable grip. A quick squeeze and her bladed instrument fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering to the linoleum floor with a protesting, metallic squawk.
"Careful," the word was snarled down at her, irritation layered among slight amusement.
" Liz repeated, not quite a statement nor a question - a mix- breathless, as her heart tried to remember how it was supposed to work and her lungs seemed to have decided to exit her body, stage left.
"Pointed objects are hazardous to people's health and should only be used by qualified personnel," Michael tilted his head, smirking down at the petite brunette, enjoying the rattled moue on the normally composed girl, now that the danger of him being sliced open was eliminated.
"And I suppose you are one of those 'qualified' people?" she shot back, bristling as the taller male's words sunk in and she felt the beginnings of offense.
Damn, but Parker could regroup. He'd have to adjust his strategy in the future, he forgot that while it is a terrible thing for the Scientist to actually have time to come up with a plan, it was those plans and words she came up with, reacted to, when something unexpected occurred that you had to look out for.
Liz Parker was usually far more humane in her dealings when she planned things out, but to catch her unawares ... the former general warlord within had to both admire and cringe at the the sheer ruthless creativity of the woman who he still held in one hand.
The old saying about a cornered animal being far more dangerous than a free one must have had Liz Parker in mind when he came up with the phrase.
"Do you mind releasing my arm before my hand falls off from lack of circulation?" the smaller girl quirked an eyebrow at her captured appendage meaningfully.
But he still let her go, easing his grip slowly much to his delight and Liz's frustration. He must have affected her more than he thought if she allowed him to see her vulnerable emotion, and this pleased Michael Guerin to no end.
His smirk widened into a laughing grin as his booted foot came to rest not so casually or innocently on the carving tool she had bent down to retrieve. Michael was not ashamed to admit that a large portion of himself was enjoying the site of Little "Miss Perfect Scientist" Lizzie Parker kneeling before him.
"Mi-chael," Liz growled in a frustrated huff, biting his name into two separate syllables in her aggravation. Her initial fear had given way to irritation and it was quickly darkening the longer the normally stoic and surly alien teen kept baiting her.
"Liz-zee," he mocked, arms folded across his chest, and the asshole actually leaned
on the leg trapping her carving tool.
"You are such
an asshole!" Liz hissed, molten mollasses eyes darkening to a glowing bronze as her irritation finally peaked into anger.
"So I've been told," Michael agreed, not really caring about the name-calling ... he'd been called worse and this wouldn't be the last time someone had called him by that title. It seemed to be Maria's favorite description of himself, though, and obviously it rubbed off a bit onto Liz being best female friends and all.
in the name of all the galaxies, do you want?" Liz rose to her feet, some instinct warning her from staying so exposed kneeling at the taller male's mercy.
Shimmering whiskey eyes deepened to the color of rich bourbon for a moment with some unidentified emotion before lightening back to their more normal shade.
"Heard the Great Pumpkin Nazi had commissioned you for decorations and I was ordered
to make sure you didn't chip a nail," Michael snorted his opinion of that.
"Uh-huh," Liz echoed the sentiment with a grunt of her own that was remarkably similar to one of his own repotoire. "And you just listen to orders of any kind since when?"
Knowing they were alone but tilting his head to listen
to make sure, Michael shifted his weight and foot enough to flick his open palm about waist high and the bladed implement flew up to his waiting fingers.
"So the Force is with you, oh great Lord of the Sith, have at it."
With a graceful sweep of her arms to encompass the tiny room filled with pumpkins and gourds of all sizes - including the big fat pumpkin she'd been preparing to disect - Liz turned around to leave when she was grabbed for the second time in so many minutes.
"Not so fast," that voice rumbled against her ear, and Liz didn't have time for more than a drawn breath, before she was frog-marched to the side where the table and poor pumpkin awaited.
Liz braced herself with both hands against the table, elbows bending as her back hit the immovable wall that was Michael's chest and promptly tried to ignore the images that crept to her mind. She knew it was futile to hope that the deep blush on her face would go unnocticed, but this was Michael! He noticed everything.
A chuckle from behind sent vibrations from her back to her chest, and Liz swallowed a sudden lump at the new sensation.
"Lord of the Sith, huh, my young apprentice? Your training starts today, and this absolute wreck of carving is never to be seen again," Michael chided sternly, grinning widely since the brunette spitfire couldn't see and he was too close to her body for her to attempt amateur castration.
With a sweep of his left hand, the pitiful markings on the pumpkin vanished, and neither teen had the time to admire or gawk at Michael's newfound control over molecular manipulation, because Michael crowded the girl further, forcing Liz to almost touch the edge of the table and his front to press way
too enticingly against her smaller, softer curved behind.
"As my Master, Darth Guerin, commands," Liz rolled her eyes and Michael felt the dark thrill that lit his entire body at the obedience, even feigned as it was.
He quickly reached both arms around the girl before his mind took him down a path he wasn't sure he would be able to handle just yet, and placed the tool handle in her right hand with his own, covering her smaller one with his.
"Of course I am the Master here, my Padawan Learner. Pay attention. You need to feel what this pumpkin wants to show the world, and then ease it out," Michael used his free hand to pick up her left hand, guiding it to touch the rough skin of the overlarge plant melon, tracing the soft contours and discovering the various pits and arches.
"How am I to know that what I feel is what is needing to be released, Master?" Liz asked softly, almost as if in a trance, as her eyes followed the path their joined hands took.
Michael suddenly swallowed and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"You will learn to trust your instincts. There is a primal force that so-called 'civilized' minds ignore because it cannot be boxed, or quantified, or contained in neat, explainable scientific terms and ideals. Because it is so much larger than we ourselves, and will not contained, we ignore it, hoping because we choose not to acknowledge it that it will go away. This force will let you know what needs to be done."
Michael's voice was suddenly hoarse and husky by the end of this speech, and Liz trembled even as she relaxed into the body behind her, closing her eyes and tilting her head against a strong, muscled shoulder. the hearbeat pounding beneath her ear and the rhtymn of his breathing seemed to pulse through her entire being until her own heart and breathing beat and breathed in time with his.
She allowed her hands to be guided, pressure increasing and decreasing as necessary, and then she couldn't help but reopen her eyes as the familiar scent of pumpkin wafted toward her.
Fresh pumpkin had a distinct odd grind-like smell to someone who had always associated it with pies, and the lack of any nutmeg or sugar or baked doughy crust made the alienness of something familiar stand out all the more.
She stared in awe at the image she and Michael had carved into the muted orange skin, the various bulges and dips that occured naturally on the giant fruit popping out as the slicing only seemed to enhance what was already there. Michael let her left hand go and raised his own, a soft white gold light shining briefly as the small ball of glowing luminesence hovered in the air only as long as it took to disappear inside the newly carved pumpkin.
A fanged feline definitely not
of the housecat variety seemed to hiss at the pair as if annoyed to have it's hiding place discovered, the slitted eyes seeming to take on a presence, a life of it's own, as it glared back full of defiance.
"Ohmygod," Liz caught her breath and started to tremble.
"We agreed upon 'Master' but that will work, too," Michael nodded and the trance that seemed to have fallen upon Liz seemed to dissipate completely.
"Michael! Liz! Where are you?"
The shout of their mutual Hurricane caused Liz to flinch, and she fumbled around as she tried to move out of intimate confines of his embrace. Dismayed to find she had been so comfortable being so ... caged. Her faced flamed as fled without meeting that hot, knowing stare that was demanding her to meet his gaze, to acknowledge the magic of what had occured.
"Damn," Michael growled, eyes slitting as they traced his quarry's flight and glinting amazingly similar to that of the feline. A soft glow on his right arm revealed a feline form in relief, the lines thicker and more sure as the Family Seal once more faded into obscure safety.
"Damn," he repeated, and with a frustrated growl, waved his hand in anger as he walked away, ignoring the mess of the now orange spattered walls as the room's door clicked shut.
A/N: Don't ask where this came from. I was just wanting some harmless, Halloween-themed fun and ... this ... was the result.