Opposite the Line (UC,Mi/L,Teen) 1/1 2-13-07

[TheOtherWillow]

A slightly early Valentine Fic...

Opposite the Line

He stomped unhappily into the break room, rubbing wearily at the back of his neck as he approached the wall of lockers. The rest of the staff had gone home half an hour ago, leaving him and Liz to finish restoring the demolished diner to its normally pristine condition. Roswell was a small town; there just weren’t that many places for people to go on Valentine’s Day. With the adults clogging the more ‘respectable’ venues like Senor Chows, it seemed like all the teenagers had decided that the Crashdown was their best bet. Mr. Parker had called in everyone he could cajole into coming to help, but they had still been swamped beyond belief. It had been a long, stupid day and he was ridiculously glad to see the tale end of this over-commercialized holiday.

Yanking open his locker door with a jerk, he scowled to see a creamy cylinder of parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon awaiting him inside. “Damn it, Maria,” he snarled to himself as he grabbed the thing. “Take a hint, will ya?”

His ex-girlfriend seemed perfectly content to be his ex until a holiday came around; then suddenly he’d be treated to a miraculous change of heart. He’d fallen for her I-miss-you-I-miss-us routine during Christmastime, only to be tossed out on his sorry ass shortly after the tinsel came down. When she’d come sniffing around again earlier this week, he told her he’d be damned if he was stupid enough to fall for it twice. The resulting explosion from Hurricane Deluca had been so spectacular Liz had actually had to rearrange the schedules so they weren’t working together. Tonight’s shift was the first time he’d seen her in days. He frowned in confusion; she’d been very deliberate in ignoring him and talking loudly to anyone who would listen about how great things with Billy were going, what the hell was she up to with this?

He twisted the roll of paper in his hand and froze when he saw his name printed across the side in a familiar concise scrawl. “Liz?” he murmured in perplexity as he studied the loops of his name and then shrugged. She’d probable done this for everyone that worked tonight; stuck a special little thank-you into all their lockers. No surprise there, she was just considerate like that.

He shoved his apron into the depths of his locker and yanked the red ribbon off the paper with his teeth. Scanning the letter distractedly as he grabbed his helmet, he dropped his motorcycle gear with a crash as the paper’s shocking contents filtered into his consciousness.

He stumbled blindly over to the break room couch and blankly dropped into the cushions as he turned his concentration entirely to the sheet in his hands. He could almost hear her soft voice whispering the unbelievable words:

It’s the little things that kill me,
Like a breeze against my face
And that tantalizing question:
Could you long for my embrace?
I can hear you talking softly;
How your voice rides on the wind!
With your simple presence
You seduce me yet again.
Let me be your fire,
Let me fan that shining spark
Until all the world’s forgotten
What it’s like to live with dark.
Or, if you prefer the darkness,
I’ll turn down that glaring light
And together we can worship
At the altar of deepest night.
You are my key to heaven and
My dearest taste of hell
Is to know that, while I shouldn’t,
I still went ahead and fell.
But I’m no worse for falling and
In fact, I think you’ll find,
The only choice worth making
Lay opposite the line.

Blinking in astonishment, he reread the missive, certain that he must’ve missed some line that said, “Please give this to Max.” Flipping it over, he checked the back. Nope, nothing but his name written in her distinctive, slanting curl.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Michael.”

The seductive lilt to her voice sent a shiver through him and he looked up slowly to see Liz leaning nonchalantly against the door to the break room. He cocked an eyebrow and waved the paper at her inquisitively. She shrugged and crossed the room to slide next to him on the couch. Peering over his shoulder, she pretended to study the page.

“You paint, I write,” she said simply, as if that explained everything, while she twisted to meet his bewildered glare.

“I know you write, Parker. I’ve read your journal,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes at her. “I was more interested in why you’d write me this, of all people!”

“That’s the wrong question,” she stated calmly as she plucked the letter from his unresisting hands.

“Really?” he sneered, “Then what’s the right question?” He started in surprise as she glided over him and moved to straddle his lap. His hands settled instinctively on her hips to steady her as she leaned precariously above him.

Her supple lips tickled the outer rim of his ear as she breathed the answer to him in a sultry whisper, “Could you long for my embrace?”

He jerked back from her, searching her eyes desperately for some sign that this was for real and not a sick joke cooked up by Maria. Smoky brown orbs stared back at him, quivering with a myriad array of emotions. Desire, hope, and fear danced in those chocolate depths and the sight of her teeth tugging nervously on her lower lip at her uncharacteristic show of daring spurred him into action.

“Hell, yes,” he rumbled as he pulled her to him and brushed teasing lips across hers. “What kind of crazy question is that?”

The smile that blossomed on her face would have rivaled the sun in its intensity. “Michael,” she began joyfully, but he silenced her by slanting his mouth hungrily against hers. He knew they needed to talk, but right now all he wanted to do was revel in the unprecedented sensation of Liz Parker wanting him.

“You do the impossible, woman,” he growled out between kisses.

“Ah! W-what’s that?” she moaned as he licked and nibbled his way down her neck.

Pressing a wet kiss into the little hollow at the base of her throat, he pulled back and cupped her cheeks to align their eyes. “You could make me not hate Valentine’s Day.”

She giggled as she leaned forward to pepper his lips with fleeting kisses. “Yep, that’s me,” she chirped between pecks. “Champion of under-appreciated holidays everywhere!”

He smirked as he caught her jaw to hold her in place. “Just think of what you’ll have to do to redeem St. Patrick’s Day…” he said in a husky murmur before capturing her mouth in a passionate, mesmerizing kiss that she felt all the way down to her toes.

She sank deeper into his welcoming embrace with a sigh and proceeded in her newly-adopted quest to help Michael like holidays. A difficult task to be sure, but she wasn’t worried. After all, she had some brilliant ideas concerning whipped cream and strawberries that were sure to bring him around to her way of thinking.

Author’s Notes
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1. The poem listed in this story is actually one of mine that I wrote a number of years ago for my husband called Opposite the Line (hence the story name). Minor cosmetic changes made to make it fit into the story. The original can be found here: http://www.thestarlitecafe.com/poems/27 ... 24120.html
For whatever reason, if anyone’s interested in the rest of my poems on that site just search for The Other Willow (with spaces between the words).