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escritoireazulMy assignment, and my first time actually finishing Roswell fic. I came to this fandom more than a decade after its heyday, and I've wanted to write fic since I marathoned season one when a friend came to visit me for a long weekend. I managed to write three Roswell fics for this exchange. This was the first, and I had a blast writing about my two favorite characters.
Title: Dream a Little (Kiss a Lot)
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, Amy DeLuca
Rating: 13+
Word count: 1300+
Written for: Eternal Scribe for Trick or Treat 2015
Read at AO3
Summary: Quiet moments with Michael are rare. Maria should know better than to try to enjoy them.
“Can you do that dream thing too?” Maria asked. Michael laddered kisses down the side of her throat, distracting her, and she drew in a shaky breath, fisting her hands in his sweater, then pushed him away, trying to get just enough distance to think clearly.
“Whatever I did in your dreams, this’ll be better,” he promised, voice low, rough.
She smacked him, not that it did anything to stop his smirk. “Cocky little shit.”
“Well yeah,” he started, but whatever else he was about to say was lost to a shaky moan when she slipped her hand under the edge of his sweater and splayed her fingers against his stomach.
“That thing Isabel does,” she said, and immediately wished she hadn’t, because his smirk twisted even more. “Ok, stop, that is never gonna happen.”
He laughed and held up his hands. “What, you’re the one who brought her up.” He dropped one hand to rest on her shoulder, and brushed his thumb across her collar bone while his fingers teased the tiny strap of her tank top; a slow shiver rolled through her and raised goose bumps down her arms.
“You know what I mean.” Her voice took on a peevish tone that reminded her way too much of her mother, and god, no, that was not a thought she wanted to have right now. “When she,” Maria hesitated, not sure of the right words, “sees our dreams.” Which was, she would be the first to admit, invasive and creepy when it involved sneaking into the dreams, but took on a whole new feel if it was welcomed. “If I let you in, can you see too?”
The thought of her secret desires being watched made something tighten low in her stomach. It terrified her, it made her feel so good.
Michael flopped backwards onto the bed, putting space between them, and immediately she regretted the question. He was self-conscious about how his weird alien powers compared to Max and Isabel’s, and she didn’t have to understand why – one weird alien power seemed just as strong and useful as another weird alien power – to be aware of it.
Especially after Liz and Max connected physically so well Liz saw their past, while Michael couldn’t let Maria in at all. That had hurt a lot, more than she’d admitted, but he had been just as upset. She couldn’t imagine how alone he must feel sometimes, different even from Max and Isabel.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said, scooting closer, kicking off her shoes so she could settle her feet flat on her bed. He stretched out his arm, and she curled up next him, resting her head on his shoulder. “There are plenty of ways we can have fun.”
The corner of his mouth curved up into a grin. “Yeah,” he said, hugging her a little. “Fun and ogling, that’s why you keep me around. I feel like such a piece of meat.”
She reached up and tangled their fingers together. “I am objectifying you,” she said, grinning at the ceiling like an idiot. This was nice, cuddling with him, gentle teasing. Sweet, quiet moments were few and far between with Michael, and that was before they had to deal with all of the alien crap.
“I’m hungry,” Michael said, breaking their comfortable silence. He sat up, and leaned over her, flashing a grin. “Let’s hit the Crashdown, grab some food.”
“We work there, we eat there,” Maria huffed, “we might as well live there.”
“Rent’d probably be cheaper,” he agreed, running his fingers through his hair. “Liz is kind of a sap.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s very romantic, mock my best friend and take me back to work for our dinner. You’re a peach.” But she climbed off the bed and grabbed her blouse from where she’d discarded it near the door. As she turned it right-side out, Michael came up behind her and slipped his arms around her, his thumb playing over the edge of her skirt.
“Hey, if you want to stay here, I won’t complain.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "No need to get dressed for me."
Maria leaned back into him and gave herself a moment to enjoy the way he felt. “My mother will be home soon,” she said. “We couldn’t stay in here much longer anyway.”
“Why’d we come here instead of my place?” he asked, carefully shifting the strap of her tank top aside with one finger so he could kiss her bare shoulder, his mouth soft and warm against her skin.
“Homework,” Maria said, but it came out more a gasp. Her blouse slipped from her fingers as she turned and hooked her arms around his shoulders, working one hand into his hair as she pulled his head up for a kiss, teeth and tongue. Heat washed through her, pooling low, and her legs went weak.
She nudged him toward the bed again.
“Your mom,” he murmured, still kissing her, and she pulled away long enough to tug his sweater over his head, followed by the t-shirt he wore under it, and then push at his shoulders until he sat. Brazen, she straddled him, and she didn’t care that his jeans rubbed rough against the inside of her thighs.
“We have a few minutes,” she said. He watched her, eyes hooded, as she removed her tank top and then her bra, leaving her bared before his hungry stare. Michael brought his hands up, gently cupped her breasts, and as his thumb slid across one nipple, Maria tilted back her head and arched into him with a moan.
He thrust up against her, a sharp, involuntary movement, and she cried out, then ground down on him, riding him even though it couldn't feel all that good for him with his jeans pressed so tight. Good for her though, hot and rough, and if she could just find the right angle –
There’s no real warning. “Maria,” her mother called, and then Maria, groggy from desire, heard the front door shut. “Have you eaten dinner?”
“Fuck,” Michael said, trying to get out from under Maria. “Fuck.”
“Quiet,” she gasped, body throbbing, and scrambled for clothes. Her skirt tangled around her thighs, every inch of her felt raw and worked over, and then she grabbed a t-shirt from where it’s half shoved under her pillows, tugging it over her head. She knew she looked ridiculous, probably flushed. “Out the window, come around to the door.”
Michael nodded, jerky, and she opened her bedroom door just wide enough for her to slip through without giving him away. “Hi Mom,” she said around a faked yawn, and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand for good measure. “You’re home early.”
“Not really,” she said, smiling. “Must have been some nap.”
Maria made a show of glancing at the clock. “Oh, crap!” she said, and at least the adrenaline rushing through her was good for something. “Michael’s picking me up for dinner, I didn’t mean to sleep so late. I’m not even dressed.”
She was babbling. She knew she was babbling. She stopped, took a deep breath, smiled at her mother, hoping she looked sleep-bleary and not like she’d been about half a minute away from sex.
“I brought home frozen pizza. Ask him to stay for dinner instead.” Maria nodded, and hoped it didn’t look as frantic as it felt. Someone knocked on the door – Michael, finally, she wanted to shout – and Maria turned to answer it.
“Oh, Maria?”
She froze, then glanced back at her mother. “Yeah?”
“Might want to clean up before you get the door. Your lipstick,” she gestured to her cheek, “is smeared.” Maria tried – and, she thought, failed – not to blush. Her mother's grin widened. “Shouldn’t sleep in your make-up.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Maria took a breath, then another, and ducked into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Because of her make-up. Right.
Title: Dream a Little (Kiss a Lot)
Author: escritoireazul
Characters/Pairings: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, Amy DeLuca
Rating: 13+
Word count: 1300+
Written for: Eternal Scribe for Trick or Treat 2015
Read at AO3
Summary: Quiet moments with Michael are rare. Maria should know better than to try to enjoy them.
“Can you do that dream thing too?” Maria asked. Michael laddered kisses down the side of her throat, distracting her, and she drew in a shaky breath, fisting her hands in his sweater, then pushed him away, trying to get just enough distance to think clearly.
“Whatever I did in your dreams, this’ll be better,” he promised, voice low, rough.
She smacked him, not that it did anything to stop his smirk. “Cocky little shit.”
“Well yeah,” he started, but whatever else he was about to say was lost to a shaky moan when she slipped her hand under the edge of his sweater and splayed her fingers against his stomach.
“That thing Isabel does,” she said, and immediately wished she hadn’t, because his smirk twisted even more. “Ok, stop, that is never gonna happen.”
He laughed and held up his hands. “What, you’re the one who brought her up.” He dropped one hand to rest on her shoulder, and brushed his thumb across her collar bone while his fingers teased the tiny strap of her tank top; a slow shiver rolled through her and raised goose bumps down her arms.
“You know what I mean.” Her voice took on a peevish tone that reminded her way too much of her mother, and god, no, that was not a thought she wanted to have right now. “When she,” Maria hesitated, not sure of the right words, “sees our dreams.” Which was, she would be the first to admit, invasive and creepy when it involved sneaking into the dreams, but took on a whole new feel if it was welcomed. “If I let you in, can you see too?”
The thought of her secret desires being watched made something tighten low in her stomach. It terrified her, it made her feel so good.
Michael flopped backwards onto the bed, putting space between them, and immediately she regretted the question. He was self-conscious about how his weird alien powers compared to Max and Isabel’s, and she didn’t have to understand why – one weird alien power seemed just as strong and useful as another weird alien power – to be aware of it.
Especially after Liz and Max connected physically so well Liz saw their past, while Michael couldn’t let Maria in at all. That had hurt a lot, more than she’d admitted, but he had been just as upset. She couldn’t imagine how alone he must feel sometimes, different even from Max and Isabel.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said, scooting closer, kicking off her shoes so she could settle her feet flat on her bed. He stretched out his arm, and she curled up next him, resting her head on his shoulder. “There are plenty of ways we can have fun.”
The corner of his mouth curved up into a grin. “Yeah,” he said, hugging her a little. “Fun and ogling, that’s why you keep me around. I feel like such a piece of meat.”
She reached up and tangled their fingers together. “I am objectifying you,” she said, grinning at the ceiling like an idiot. This was nice, cuddling with him, gentle teasing. Sweet, quiet moments were few and far between with Michael, and that was before they had to deal with all of the alien crap.
“I’m hungry,” Michael said, breaking their comfortable silence. He sat up, and leaned over her, flashing a grin. “Let’s hit the Crashdown, grab some food.”
“We work there, we eat there,” Maria huffed, “we might as well live there.”
“Rent’d probably be cheaper,” he agreed, running his fingers through his hair. “Liz is kind of a sap.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s very romantic, mock my best friend and take me back to work for our dinner. You’re a peach.” But she climbed off the bed and grabbed her blouse from where she’d discarded it near the door. As she turned it right-side out, Michael came up behind her and slipped his arms around her, his thumb playing over the edge of her skirt.
“Hey, if you want to stay here, I won’t complain.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "No need to get dressed for me."
Maria leaned back into him and gave herself a moment to enjoy the way he felt. “My mother will be home soon,” she said. “We couldn’t stay in here much longer anyway.”
“Why’d we come here instead of my place?” he asked, carefully shifting the strap of her tank top aside with one finger so he could kiss her bare shoulder, his mouth soft and warm against her skin.
“Homework,” Maria said, but it came out more a gasp. Her blouse slipped from her fingers as she turned and hooked her arms around his shoulders, working one hand into his hair as she pulled his head up for a kiss, teeth and tongue. Heat washed through her, pooling low, and her legs went weak.
She nudged him toward the bed again.
“Your mom,” he murmured, still kissing her, and she pulled away long enough to tug his sweater over his head, followed by the t-shirt he wore under it, and then push at his shoulders until he sat. Brazen, she straddled him, and she didn’t care that his jeans rubbed rough against the inside of her thighs.
“We have a few minutes,” she said. He watched her, eyes hooded, as she removed her tank top and then her bra, leaving her bared before his hungry stare. Michael brought his hands up, gently cupped her breasts, and as his thumb slid across one nipple, Maria tilted back her head and arched into him with a moan.
He thrust up against her, a sharp, involuntary movement, and she cried out, then ground down on him, riding him even though it couldn't feel all that good for him with his jeans pressed so tight. Good for her though, hot and rough, and if she could just find the right angle –
There’s no real warning. “Maria,” her mother called, and then Maria, groggy from desire, heard the front door shut. “Have you eaten dinner?”
“Fuck,” Michael said, trying to get out from under Maria. “Fuck.”
“Quiet,” she gasped, body throbbing, and scrambled for clothes. Her skirt tangled around her thighs, every inch of her felt raw and worked over, and then she grabbed a t-shirt from where it’s half shoved under her pillows, tugging it over her head. She knew she looked ridiculous, probably flushed. “Out the window, come around to the door.”
Michael nodded, jerky, and she opened her bedroom door just wide enough for her to slip through without giving him away. “Hi Mom,” she said around a faked yawn, and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand for good measure. “You’re home early.”
“Not really,” she said, smiling. “Must have been some nap.”
Maria made a show of glancing at the clock. “Oh, crap!” she said, and at least the adrenaline rushing through her was good for something. “Michael’s picking me up for dinner, I didn’t mean to sleep so late. I’m not even dressed.”
She was babbling. She knew she was babbling. She stopped, took a deep breath, smiled at her mother, hoping she looked sleep-bleary and not like she’d been about half a minute away from sex.
“I brought home frozen pizza. Ask him to stay for dinner instead.” Maria nodded, and hoped it didn’t look as frantic as it felt. Someone knocked on the door – Michael, finally, she wanted to shout – and Maria turned to answer it.
“Oh, Maria?”
She froze, then glanced back at her mother. “Yeah?”
“Might want to clean up before you get the door. Your lipstick,” she gestured to her cheek, “is smeared.” Maria tried – and, she thought, failed – not to blush. Her mother's grin widened. “Shouldn’t sleep in your make-up.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Maria took a breath, then another, and ducked into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Because of her make-up. Right.
