Spoilers: Season One through Missing
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, all characters and original Roswell settings belong to other very lucky people.
Warnings: Bad word or two.
Summary: Just a few drabbles showing missing moments in my Prey to Desire songfic series (no there will be no more, sorry). The first two show Michael's POV of the night he stole her journal, and the last one is set after they're together but before they tell everyone.
Those perfect white teeth tugged on her lower lip again as she stared down at her journal and he bit back a groan. It would be just perfect if his sexual frustration gave away his spying presence to the tiny brunette. Not to mention what her other stalker would do to him when it got out, he thought with a snort, before raking his hands through his hair. When was she going to stop and go to sleep?
He needed to get that journal and see what she had written, but it would also be nice to get some rest before school tomorrow, and the later he got in the better chance he had of running into Hank on his way home from the bars. Those were never good nights.
Finally with one last nibble of those disturbingly distracting lips she closed the journal, slid it under her bed, and turned off the light. He waited patiently until her turning stopped, amused by the fact that her feet twitched until she fell asleep, before approaching the window and silently sliding it open. He frowned as he realized she hadn’t even locked it, it wouldn’t have stopped him but a more human predator would have been deterred; hopefully long enough for her to realize something was wrong.
Damn her for giving him one more thing to worry about. He scowled and felt for the journal, tucking it under his arm and allowing himself only one brief glance at her peaceful face, delicate and ethereal in sleep, before turning to leave.
Walking down the street towards the trailer park he couldn’t resist the urge to take a peek at the entry that had kept her up so late, and nearly caused her to wear a hole right through her lip. The page was barely illuminated by the dull yellow glow of the streetlights and it took a moment for the words to sink in, when they did the journal slid from his suddenly nerveless hands and thudded softly on the pavement.
His lips are so sensual and forbidding, always pressed into a firm line as if to hold himself back. When I apologized for visiting him I think it was the first time I ever saw him smile. That is if that sexy little smirk can be called something so simple as a smile. It made me want to pull him down to my level and pull those lips between my teeth, nibble on his tongue, until he cracked and told me everything buried behind those burning caramel eyes.
What the hell.
Thankfully Hank wasn’t at the trailer when he got there because Michael knew he wouldn’t have been able to come up with any response that would have saved him from the subsequent beating. Not with the way his mind had ceased to function ever since he read those few sentences now indelibly burned into his memory. Parker sure knew how to turn a phrase.
Falling onto the ratty bed he stared at the metal walls and felt the constricting ties of his life binding him ever closer. People like her were not supposed to write things like that about people like him. Forget the alien factor, assuming he ever could, and focus on the rest. He lived in a trailer park with an abusive foster father. She lived with both of her loving parents and while living above a restaurant wasn’t exactly glamorous it was certainly well above his own social strata. He rarely attended classes and barely scraped by with passing grades, mostly due to his innate photographic memory and ability to ace tests when he so chose. She was well on track to be Valedictorian and it was all because she worked hard for it. They were the very definition of from opposite sides of the track, not to mention the species divide.
So what the hell was Liz Parker doing writing things in her journal that would make him blush if he was a girl, or Max? Unrequited desires were something he was quite familiar with, even comfortable with, just like his old Doc Marten’s. Sure the laces were a bit tattered and grey, and he’d kinda liked that pair he saw at the mall the last time Isabel kidnapped him to be her bag carrier, but his were fine and he didn’t need new ones.
He certainly didn’t need Liz Parker or the strings she seemed to tying around his mind and heart every time he saw her, strings that those words seemed to have turned into steel bands. Liz Parker was going to end up with Max, or someone like him. Shiny and perfect, someone who’d never not gotten something they wanted. Not him, he could handle not getting what he wanted, he could handle reading the rest of the journal and not giving in to the way her words and looks beckoned to him, asking him to let her tie him to her with something deeper, something real.
There were enough things that tied him down; his need to protect Isabel and Max, his inability to stop Hank without losing too much, his alien nature and the dangers it brought. He couldn’t allow even one more thing to bind him, not even one more person.
No matter how much he might enjoy letting her reel him in.
Liz had only one class with Michael that morning and she was incredibly grateful that the teacher had instituted a mandatory seating chart so that for once she was sitting behind him instead of the other way around. She didn’t think she could have handled feeling his eyes burn against the back of her neck all period, not without dragging him out of class and locking him the eraser room with her, lunch meeting be damned.
Instead she got to let her gaze linger on the ruffled spikes of his hair, burnished light gold by the sun that filtered in through the loose blinds, then let it trace down the curve of his cheek where it firmed into his determined jaw, currently clenched in annoyance as the girl next to him asked him to pass a note to the boy on the other side.
When he turned and ungraciously dropped the scrap of paper on the next desk over her eyes were drawn to his lips, pressed together in a semi scowl that made her stomach flutter slightly as she smiled. Even his scowls were sexy.
He faced the board again but there was a new strain in his shoulders and she had a feeling he knew she was watching him. Her fingers itched with the urge to massage the stress away and replace it with a different kind of tension, a much more enjoyable one. She let out a soft sigh and splayed her hands flat on her desk, biting her lip as she struggled to pay attention to the teacher before a stray movement ruined her vain attempt at concentration and her gaze returned unwaveringly to the boy in the second row.
It was futile to resist the pull Michael had on her. It had been undeniable before she was aware that he returned her feelings and now that she knew, it was stronger than ever. Maybe she could talk to the teacher about the seating chart, express a desire to be closer to the front and get the empty chair behind Michael. Then she could ensure that he was just as tormented as she was.
Someone behind her dropped a pencil and Michael glanced in her direction for one brief, heated moment, and she knew he too felt the pull. This time the sigh was a soft groan and earned her a funny look from Vicky Delaney who sat next to her, a look Liz was oblivious to as she continued to drink in the sight of the tall brooding boy who had captured her heart.
Vicky smiled to herself, lucky girl; she would have to rub Pam’s face in the futility of going after any guy that had chosen Parker. It hadn’t worked with Kyle, or Max, and now it seemed Michael was off the market too. Clearly the brunette’s taste was improving.