There's nothing ordinary about you and me (ADULT, M/M, 1/1)

[sanaazzy]

Disclaimer - Nope not mine

Spoilers: Who died and made you king

Rating: ADULT

Pairings: Michael/Maria

Summary: King Michael visits Maria during Who died and made you king.

A/N: I wrote this months ago while i was in a bad place, i just kinda hated everyone and everything so if Michael is too much of an ass then im sorry. This is also a load of bull, i just wrote it coz it seemed to flow for me. Thanx to Zoya for the help.
-This is a missing scene btw.
-The writing style is also different to my usual coz again i was just trying something new.

There's nothing ordinary about you and me

She lies there on her bed, hands fisted together and squeezed between her thighs. Eyes open, staring straight ahead, yet not really seeing anything. She wants to scream, cry, do something but she's numb, she's hurt. He'd thrown her out of the car, her car, and had driven off leaving her there all alone in the dark.

She's not sure what hurts the most, that he thought she should be eliminated, that her love made him weak, or that he doubted her love. She closes her eyes, it doesn't matter. They weren't like that anymore. They weren't. He could do what he wanted, be with whom he wanted, and think what he wanted.

She's used to the pain anyway.

She regrets not staying in New York; thinks not seeing him would keep her safe, would keep her heart safe. She smiles, a little sad smile because she knows it's a lie. Even when he wasn't there, she saw him everywhere.

And suddenly he's there.

Standing at the foot of her bed with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

She sits up slowly, no sudden movements. The look in his eyes scorching her, telling her what he'd come for. She opens her mouth, the first attempt doesn't go so well and nothing comes out. She closes her mouth, swallows and opens it again, "Michael?"

Her voice seems to undo him, he lunges at her, large hands wrap around her slim arms, and he's pulling her off the bed, spinning them around and slamming her against the wall. Her head bounces on the wall and pain shoots through her but then his mouth is on her, attacking her lips and she forgets it all.

His hands slide down her arms, bunches up her skirt to her waist, and cups her butt cheeks and he's lifting her against his body, pulling a leg over his hip. She wants to question him, scream at him to let her go, push him away, hurt him the way he's perfectioned hurting her. Only he leans into her, grinding his lower half against hers and she's suddenly with him. She's rolling her hips, tugging at his clothes, teeth biting; lips kissing any part of him she can reach.

She's pulling at his shirt, buttons pop off and fall on the floor but they don't think about it. She's shoving the material down his arms, one arm is free but he pushes the other into her panties, and her eyes roll back into her head and she lets it go. It hangs stupidly from his wrist.

His lips are on hers again and the spicy tinge that was so him almost makes her cry. He still tastes the same. He may be different but he still tastes and smells the same. The senses don't lie. She tells herself that she doesn't care.

Her eyes slowly open when he pulls his hand back. She blinks; noticing the glowing dots on his left shoulder. Intrigued, her finger traces the design and he trembles. She looks at him, her green eyes wide; she wants to ask but wonders if he'll throw her out again.

He's watching her, waiting, for a response? For her to do something? She's not sure what he wants. She traces the design again and he shudders, a growl emanating from the back of his throat. With a shaky hand he clumsily pulls at his buckle, popping the button of his pants and pushes the zipper down. The pants slide down his thighs and pool around his ankles, he'd forgotten his boots were still on.

He lowers his head, trying to catch her lips again but she turns her face to the side at the last minute. His eyes darken and he pushes her panties to the side and savagely rams into her in one brutal move. She's prepared for him, always prepared for him yet she still cries out, a mixture of both pleasure and pain only he knew how to deliver. "Wish I didn't love you." She doesn't realise she'd said it out loud.

He's piercing into her, the powerful movements of his hips driving her closer and closer to her orgasm and when she's on the verge of exploding, he stops. She cries out in disappointment, her thighs shaking. She tries to roll her hips, trying to encourage him to move, she's so close "God Michael...please...please... move..I need..."

Instead he pulls out and she whimpers. She throws her other leg around him, locking at the ankle; she squeezes his hips, trying to pull him back in but he untangles himself and moves back.

"Michael?" her voice sounds needy even to herself and she hates it.

Her feet touches the carpet and she winces, her skin feels supersensitive, unsteady and raw. She's burning up. She wants him so bad that it hurts. She looks up at him, eyes begging and crosses her legs, trying to release some of the ache. He's stood there just watching her, breathing heavily. He toes off his boots and steps out of the pants and pulls off the shirt still hanging of his wrist. Then slowly yet predatorily he's on her again. He pushes off her skirt and panties and pulls off her shirt and bra. Grabs hold of her arm and shoves her ungracefully on the bed.

He climbs on the bed behind her, a large hand on her back keeps her pressed against the mattress. She knows she should feel indignant, she wants to hate him, but then the back of her thighs are pressed against the front of his and he's sliding back into her and she just doesn't care.

He thrusts into her with swift deep strokes and she can't help but yelp. Her thighs tremble; she's so damn close.

He stops mid-stoke and she's definitely sobbing now. She hates herself now more than ever. She hates the control he has over her.

A hand snakes through her hair, and with a bruising grip he's pulling her up. He angles her head to the side and starts panting against her neck. He begins pumping into her again, her slick back sliding against his broad chest.

"I'm not human, Maria. And you'll do well to remember that." He grunts in her ear. She opens her mouth, a reply on her tongue but then his teeth clamp down on her ear-lobe and she's coming, desperate moans and cries of yes leaving her mouth.

He's still driving into her, alternating between mouthing and biting and mumbling at her neck in a language she's never heard. He pulls out and flips her over so that she's on her back, throws a leg over his shoulder and slams into her once more.

"I'm in charge now. And you. Will. Join. Me." He claims, enunciating each word with a shove of his hips. He rolls his hips and thrusts into her a few more times and she comes so hard that she thinks she's going to pass out. Bright light covers her vision, the corners of her eyes dim, blood rushes through her veins and she feels boneless. She's still gasping, trying to catch her breath when finally, his body shaking he stops, lets out a growl, and his warm seed shoots into her.

For a moment she panics, unprotected sex. No condom. No pill. A part of her wonders if they can even reproduce, being different species and all. But then he drops heavily on her and she finds herself not caring.

He pulls out, rolls over and climbs off the bed. "Well that was good." He turns to look at her, his eyes drinking her in, "You always were a good lay."

Her vision blurs. She wants to hate him, wonders how he had the power to make her feel so small?

She throws an arm across her chest covering her breasts, and sits up, wincing slightly. He's pulling on his pants. Her eyes land on the glowing orbs again and she decides to risk it. "What is that?"

He pauses, his fingers on the zipper, and then looks up at her with a serious look in his eyes. He stares at her for such a long time that she wonders if he'll even bother to answer. He doesn't.

She sighs resignedly, turns away and pulls at the covers- wanting to cover herself. She didn't know who this guy was but he sure as hell wasn't Michael.

"Don't." The tone of his voice, harsh.

She refuses to look back at him, at the man wearing Michael's face. She pulls the covers over her legs, over her sticky thighs and up to her chin, yet she still feels exposed.

The man wearing Michael's face throws back his head and laughs and she cringes, pulling the covers closer. She used to love his laugh; so pure and honest and inviting - the kind of laughter that warms you from the inside out.

She hears the zipper go up and the scuffle of his jeans as he moves towards her. The bed dips beside her as he sits down and she keeps her head to the side, her eyes on the dresser and the mirror and on the collage of pictures of her friends and family; of him...'no' she quickly corrects herself 'Of Michael.'

A hand caresses her face. His calloused thumb traces the edges of her jaw almost lovingly then moves to her plump lip. Her throat tightens and she tries to pull away from the familiar touch but he grabs hold of her hair, holding her in place. Tears swim in her eyes and she squeezes her eyes shut refusing to cry or cry out, instead she bites down hard on her lip, tasting the coppery taste of blood in her mouth and feeling it role down her chin.

A big hand clamps on her jaw and he's forcing her face to face him. There's a sick smile on his face as he watches the drop of blood descend down her chin. He leans in and she thinks he's going to kiss her and she shamefully trembles, wanting his kiss. But then his tongue snake out and licks at the bloody drop.

Her eyes widen, her pupils dilating then as if remembering her situation she blinks, once, twice.

"Are you a shape-shifter?"

He chuckles, seemingly amused, "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Blame the shape-shifter, your precious Michael wouldn't be so cruel."

Guilt courses through her and she tries to turn away but his hand on her jaw prevents it

"Well I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but this is me. The real me!"

"Fuck-"

"I think we just did" he interrupts in a sing-song voice. He lets go of her and jumps off the bed suddenly clutching at his left shoulder, hissing in pain. Maria follows him, forgetting about the sheet. She places a comforting hand on his back and rubs his tense muscles soothingly. He straightens and turns to look at her, his gaze piercing - like he's trying to understand her.

Realising what she'd just done, Maria snatches up the sheet and wraps it around herself while slowly backing away from him, silently cursing herself. He wasn't Michael. Dammit!

He follows her, tracing her steps. The back of her knees hit the bed and she falls backwards and he's suddenly on her; his weight resting on his elbows. He's staring down at her, seemingly content with just looking at her. He whispers something in the same dialect he'd used earlier. Her brows furrow, "What are you saying?"

He smiles almost softly, secretly. "My queen." Yet almost like in wonder. Like he'd never expected to say such words and really mean it.

Maria's lips twitch -seeing him smile as always having an effect on her. "That would make you a king."

He jerks his head to his left shoulder, "What do you think this means?"

She stares at him for a long time, wondering what had caused the sudden change in his behaviour. He'd been an ass to her all night and now - now he was like the Michael she knew. The Michael she loved; Her Michael.

She wonders if its game, if he gets off reminding her off the man she was in love with, tempting and teasing her. Waiting for her to fall for his charm and then laugh in her face. Was he trying to break her?

He pushes himself off her and stands, still looking down at her. Then without another word he turns to leave. She hurriedly sits up "Where are you going?"

She doesn't want to care about him, she really doesn't, but he had on Michael's face and she just can't help it. What if he does something? Kills someone? He thought he was a king so obviously he wasn't thinking straight.

"Stay" she pauses, trying to find the words. "Please" 'seriously Maria is that the best you can do?'

"Oh I will, once I take care of our enemies." And before she could stop him he was running out of her room and slamming the front door shut.

The end