Blooming Like Winter (A/I, ADULT) 1/1 COMPLETE

[Applebylicious]

Title: Blooming Like Winter
Author: Lindsay
Category: Alex/Isabel
Rating: A.D.U.L.T. (thas’ right, bitches.)
Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell belong to The WB, Melinda Metz, and UPN. Sexy ‘gazer smut belongs to Truelovepooh.
Summary: Short jaunt through a night of dreamwalking that leads to something more… Post-The Convention.
Author’s Note: This doesn’t mean I’m coming back to write fanfic for Roswell. Mostly it just means that I lost a bet to Pooh. Also, we’re going to pretend that I know how to write Gazer, because I’m the author, and I’m ca-razy like that and can do whatever I want. *cackles maniacally* Gah, I'm sooo out of practice with this...

Blooming Like Winter by Lindsay


“It’s not just about sex, I really do love you.”

Isabel rolled her eyes, one perfect brow rising in sync with the heartfelt declaration. She tried not to appear bored, forcing herself to hear him out and give him a chance before she went with her first instinct to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of it all.

“You’re so beautiful,” he continued huskily, eyes penetrating and sincere, and yet, falling just a little short of the mark.

Any woman would be moved by the words coming from his mouth, but all she felt was disdained amusement at his attempts. God, maybe everyone was right. Maybe she was an Ice Princess. Maybe she was made of stone. She let out a sigh, narrowing her eyes and concentrating really hard on feeling…anything, really.

“Say something,” he pleaded, voice thrumming with nervous tension. “Please, baby, say something.”

“Oh Christ, can’t she gag him with a sock already?”

Isabel started, looking over her shoulder to find Michael gazing at the television screen in disgust. The corner of her mouth lifted and she shrugged, eyes returning to the soap opera playing onscreen. “Some people would find it romantic,” she murmured, drawing her knees beneath her and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I think it’s sick.”

“You would,” she agreed, grabbing the remote and muting the lead-up to what was sure to be a steamy scene between the show’s newest dynamic duo. She faced Michael again, eyes falling to the plunger in his hand. “Plumbing issues I’m not aware of?”

He made a face, dropping next to her on the couch. “No,” he replied shortly. “Don’t ask.”

She raised both brows when he failed to offer any more information. Some demon inside of her had her adding, “Let me guess then…you’re up to something big. A Valentine’s surprise, maybe. Oh, I know. You’re plunging Maria’s toilets—”

A pillow smacked her in the back of her head and she choked on a laugh as he glared at her, arm outstretched. “Oh, come on, Michael,” she sighed. “It was just a joke.”

“Not a very funny one. And don’t tell me you’re actually into this Valentine’s Day crap.”

“No,” she admitted, feeling lost and weary again as she thought of the way all of her friends had acted to the excitement buzzing around the past few days. “But I could be.” She would be. If nothing else, she was determined to enjoy herself, or at least pretend to.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael wheedled, slumping into the cushions as he scowled at the couple on TV making their way to the bedroom. “Is this shit for real? That guy looks like he could be her father.”

“With abs like that, age doesn’t matter. And I meant that I have a date tomorrow night, and I plan on enjoying it.”

“With who?” he demanded suspiciously. A strange smirk colored his features before he added, “Not Alex Whitman?”

A flush crept up her neck at the mention of the gangly teenage boy who had made it more than obvious how he felt about her. At first she’d found his interest amusing, even sweet in a pathetic way. Once he’d discovered the truth about her, Max, and Michael, his interest had only grown more disconcerting. She wasn’t able to use her usual methods of keeping people at arms-length, because he saw right through her reasons for using them.

It had only gotten worse once she’d gotten to know him; the sweet, charming, irresistibly innocent boy who looked at her and saw the sun and the stars. She’d tried everything she could to make him understand that his admiration was both unwarranted and unnecessary, but nothing had worked.

Until she’d come right out and told him.

After that, things had been rather frosty, at best. No longer did he seek her out anywhere, nor did she have to worry that she would. And she’d grown to miss the easy companionship he’d offered, the artless adoration he’d exhibited.

And she resented the feelings that she’d had to suppress.

She matched Michael’s scowl, punching the remote as channels flashed by too quickly for her to even comprehend what she was watching. “No, not Alex,” she mumbled, finally settling on a benign nature show.

“Who, then?”

She turned to face him fully. “I’ll tell you when you tell me what’s up with the plunger.”

His expression blackened, and unless she was mistaken, his cheeks were flushed. “It’s no big deal….I just sort of…”

She waited patiently, one brow cocked as he bit his lip and glowered at her. “Yes?”

He made a face. “IflushedMaria’spetgoldfishbyaccident, allright?” he mumbled beneath his breath. She blinked several times, playing the words out in her head as she did so.

Then she burst out laughing. “You flushed her goldfish? Do I even want to know about this?”

“It was an accident, damn it! She had the thing laying around at the Crash and I thought it was dead so I…I thought I was helping out,” he growled, running a hand through spiky-ended hair. As she continued laughing, he stood up and frowned. “Just…shut up.” As he left, she caught him mumbling, “See what helping gets you. Last time I ever…dumbass, my ass…”

She grinned, quickly switching back to her soap opera and curling into the cushions.

<center>***</center>


Valentine’s Day, Schmalentine’s Day, Isabel mused while studying herself in the mirror from several different angles later the next night. It was just as she expected. She looked flawless gorgeous, sexy…and completely unapproachable. Biting back a grimace, she shifted onto her left foot and drew long, golden hair off of her neck.

What in God’s name had possessed her to agree to a date with Tommy Bradshaw anyway? Not taking into account the fact that the superstar jock was lacking in wit and intelligence, he wasn’t even that pleasant to be around. Only in the private recesses of her mind did she acknowledge what she’d never say out loud.

Of course she knew exactly why she’d accepted Tommy’s last minute offer for a date that night. She’d seen the way Alex Whitman was acting around her, knew he was working up the courage to ask her out again. Apparently he’d gotten over whatever blows his pride had suffered after their last encounter, and his anger had thawed considerably.

She’d agreed to go out with Tommy so she wouldn’t have to lie to Alex when she told him she had other plans. She was so close to slipping where he was concerned, and she’d known that there would have been no way she could have looked into those hopeful blue eyes and denied him. Again. And that way laid madness. For God’s sake, she had only to look at Max and Liz, and Michael and Maria to a lesser degree, to see the ramifications of getting seriously involved with anyone. Especially someone who knew the truth about her.

“Isabel? Your date’s here,” her mother interrupted her silent musings from the bedroom door. Isabel started, glancing over to find Diane Evans eyeing her with mild concern. “Are you all right, sweetheart? You look a little peaked.”

“No, I’m…I’m fine,” she assured her mother quickly, forcing a smile to back up her statement. “Just hungry. I forgot lunch today.”

Diane frowned. “How on Earth do you forget lunch?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “You kids these days. Honestly.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” she grinned, picking up her purse and gliding past. “We’ll stop by the Crashdown and I’ll be fine.”

As she came out into the hall and looked down the staircase, she caught sight of the tall figure below and her heart gave a lurch. Then he turned, and the dream evaporated as startling green eyes met her gaze.

“Hey, there,” Tommy murmured. “Ready to go?”

She managed a smile. “Of course.”

<center>***</center>


The sound of cheering fans sounded from the television as LeBron James scored yet another basket. Alex glanced up, grunted in apathy, and continued flipping through the pages of the newly-minted comic he’d picked up earlier that day. Trying without success to concentrate on the adventures of the superhero living within the pages, his mind kept returning to the scene that day at school. The one where, once again, he’d been made to look like a complete idiot in front of Isabel Evans.

“Damn,” he sighed, closing the comic and falling back onto his bed. He stared at the sporting event on television, wondering what she and the jock were up to at that moment. Then hating himself for it.

He jerked upright and nearly fell to the floor as someone began pounding mercilessly on his bedroom door. He barely had time to throw on a pair of pants over the pair of pea-green boxers he’d been lounging in before the door was thrown open, and two petite females stood staring at him.

“Oh, this is just pathetic,” Maria drawled, hands on her hips as she took in the sight before her. “Let me guess, you were sitting around in your underwear, eating nachos and reading The Evil Bitch Monster of Death or whatever the heck new comic book came out today.”

Alex cringed as his eyes caught the empty bag of chips laying in a crumpled pile on his nightstand. A bit defensively, he replied, “It was the new Batman, for your information.”

Maria wasn’t impressed. “That’s it. Liz, grab his feet. You’re coming with us, pal.”

Liz hung back a moment as Maria barreled forward with a determined glint in her eyes. “Alex, are you all right?” she asked, her voice soft with concern.

“Of course I’m all right,” he snapped, evading Maria’s grasp as he jumped over the bed and glared at them both. “Would you call off the dog?” he added meanly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Maria answered evilly, lunging for him again. This time she caught his foot, and jerked him unceremoniously to the floor. “Listen to me, Whitman. You are going to stop pining away over those unworthy alien idiots and come out with us and have fun.” She enunciated each word with a not-so-gentle tug on his foot as he was dragged across the hardwood floor.

“And if I don’t?” he asked, more curious than angry at this point. He rubbed his left buttock gingerly from where it smacked against the side of the dresser and let out an oath beneath his breath.

“Believe me, you don’t want to go there.”

“Maria, cut it out,” Liz broke in, exasperated as she marched over and released Alex from their friend’s grip. When she turned back to him, features were firm and unyielding. “She’s right, Alex. We’re not going to let you do this to yourself, okay?”

He noted the shadows beneath her eyes, the lackluster expression that had replaced the usual optimism that was Liz Parker. “What about you?” he wondered quietly, knowing that she was dealing with more than all of them combined.

She flinched slightly, refusing to look at him. “It’s too late to worry about me,” she tried for a light tone, but Alex wasn’t fooled. “Look. We’re going to the Crashdown. We’ll stuff our faces with chocolate cake and overdose on ice cream. What do you say?”

He eyed her for a long moment, then gave in with a sigh. “Orange soda?”

“On the rocks,” she promised.

“But not until you put some clothes on,” Maria added unnecessarily as cotton hit him in the mouth. “You are not too sexy for your shirt, all right?”

He stuck his tongue out, pulling the shirt over his head as he came to his feet to search for a pair of pants. While rummaging, he could hear the two of them speaking in low undertones, and somehow knew they were discussing him.

Deciding to teach them both a lesson, he spun around and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Rude, much?”

Liz squeaked, Maria screamed and let loose with the object she’d been holding in her hands. Alex stared in horrified shock as his copy of the latest Harry Potter video game went flying out of the open window, onto the street below. They all ran over to watch as a truck immediately passed by, flattening the case and irrevocably destroying the game beyond repair.

“Oh, my God! You killed Harry Potter!” Alex cried in dismay, punching Maria in the shoulder. “You bastard!”

<center>***</center>


Isabel stared at the yearbook in her hands, face wiped clean of make-up and body clothed in her favorite pair of red satin pajamas. She was still slightly dazed from the scene that had occurred that evening. Exhilaration warred with consternation as she thought of how Alex and the others had shown up at the Crashdown just as she and Tommy had been leaving, how Tommy had proceeded to antagonize Alex about his not-so-subtle feelings for her, and how Alex had grown so angry that he’d actually attempted to fight the larger male.

She’d only been able to stand by with Liz and Maria and watch in horror as Tommy had taken him out with three punches, leaving Alex lying on the floor as blood dripped from his mouth. And then the asshole had had the nerve to turn to her with a smile and ask if she was ready for the movies.

She’d taken him out, then, using only a single punch laced with alien power. By the time she’d turned back, Maria and Liz were circling Alex like fierce mother bears and refused to let her near him. She’d momentarily considered punching them, but it had only taken a single look at Alex’s face to change her mind.

His expression had been everything she’d feared. Where she could have dealt with anger or embarrassment, he’d looked at her with that unwavering sense of devotion – despite being flattened to a bloody pulp – and she’d turned and fled the establishment before the tears could fall.

God, he deserved better than her. Someone who could not only return his affection, but appreciate it. Someone who wasn’t terrified by everything he represented, yet at the same time, craved it more than anything in the world.

She traced his image in the yearbook, debating with herself for the tenth time in under an hour. She should stay away. Pretend nothing had ever happen. God only knew what Max and Michael would have to say when they heard the news the next day.

And yet…she knew exactly what she was going to do. So it came as no surprise when her lashes fluttered closed and the familiar trance-like state overtook her as she fell back on the bed, the yearbook sliding out of limp fingers.

She found herself in his bedroom, watching as he slept. Strange, she thought in surprise, why would he be dreaming that he was asleep?

The answer came seconds later as one eye popped open, bruised and swollen as it fell on her. Sympathy overwhelmed her anxiety at being discovered as she came to his side and reached out to brush the hair from his face. “God, Alex. What were you thinking?” she whispered regretfully.

He didn’t seem to mind her intrusion into his sub-conscious, merely smiled, then cursed as the action pulled at the cut across his lower lip. “Ouch,” he grumbled, lifting a hand to touch the wound with impatience. “I guess I should mail back that Tae Bo video, huh?”

Instead of laughing, she felt like crying. “What were you doing there?” she demanded, concern turning her voice sharp. “For God’s sake, Alex, you attacked Tommy! I thought we talked about you following—”

“Whoa, back up, Princess,” he interrupted, flushing deeply with anger. She was taken aback by the fire in his eyes as he sat up to point a finger at her. “I was there with friends. I wasn’t following you. Not everything in my life revolves around you, Isabel.”

“Of course not,” she added quickly, swallowing back mortification. “That’s not what I meant. I just…wasn’t expecting…”

“Tell me about it,” he grumbled, touching his lip again. “Hell, I didn’t even want to go out in the first place.”

“I can’t believe you hit him.”

He snorted. “Neither can I. I admit it wasn’t one of my brightest ideas.”

“You could have been seriously hurt, Alex.”

Suddenly he seemed angry again. “Yeah? Why do you care? In fact, what are you even doing here, Isabel? Do you think I’m stupid? I know about the dream-walking. You whine about me following you, then you show up in my dreams? Get real.”

She snapped back like he’d slapped her. “You…”

“Liz told me about it. I guess she heard it from Max,” he explained, reading her mind perfectly. “I’m assuming you’ve done me before, because this seems pretty familiar.”

She flushed and looked away. “Look, I only came to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m perfect, can’t you tell?” he laughed without humor. “My best friends pity me, you pity me, hell, I pity me. I’m pitiful, and I’m fine with it. You can go now.”

He turned on his side, back to her. She could only stare at his rigid profile in the darkness as she sat there, frozen. His words echoed inside her mind, a raucous cacophony of right and wrong. What wasright? Wrong? She wasn’t sure she knew anymore.

“Are you still here?” he asked a moment later, irritated and sulky as he turned back over to glare at her. “Look, let’s just—”

She threw herself at him, silencing him with her mouth as he made a sound of surprise and caught her on instinct. She was careful not to injure him further, but couldn’t resist sinking her teeth into his upper lip.

Almost as soon as it started, it was over, and they sat there staring at one another, breathing heavily and unsure of what to say. He recovered first, clearing his throat and running a shaky hand through his hair.

“Well, that was…well.”

“This isn’t…Alex, you know that this is only…” Isabel hesitated, torn between living out her own personal fantasy and perpetuating his fervent hope that someday they really could be together.

“I know,” he answered, in a voice that was strangely husky and quite unlike anything she’d ever associated with Alex Whitman. Gone was her starry-eyed admirer, and in his place was a capable young man whose blood ran hot and caused her own to thicken with anticipation.

The thought made her panic. “This is only a dream,” she pursued relentlessly, evading his grasp while struggling to hold onto her calm. “It isn’t real, do you—”

He caught her arm, tugging her forward and quieting her with a gentle meeting of mouths. As her lashes fluttered in surrender, he whispered, “It’s as real as you want it to be, Isabel. It always has been.”

She forgot her argument as his lips closed over hers once more, tongue and teeth teasing as his hands slid up beneath her shirt to the naked skin of her back. She drew in a sharp breath, ablaze with heat and ripe with excitement as she began to pull at his shirt. More and more bare flesh was revealed, highlighted by sleek and lean muscles that attracted her far more than the blatant masculinity most of the boys she dated possessed.

Lightly, she drew a fingertip along his arm, causing his breath to stutter slowly. She gave a feline smile and murmured, “Dodge ball?” as he stared at her, entranced. A slight flush crept up his neck and he nodded, eyes alight with shared humor.

“Uh, yeah. Is that weird?”

Instead of answering she kissed him again, slow and deep, arms wrapping tightly around his middle as their shoulders shook with silent laughter.

She squeaked in surprise as she suddenly found herself lifted into the air, legs involuntarily wrapping around his waist. She let out an extremely uncharacteristic giggle, throwing her head back while meeting his determined gaze. “Impressive, Mr. Whitman. Most impressive.”

“I’ve got moves you’ve never seen,” he quoted amiably, then dropped her onto the fluffy bed without consideration. His eyes twinkled as she bounced. “Oops.”

She sent him a mock-frown which melted into an inviting smile as she reached up and grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling him down over her. “Time to start dreaming, lover,” she purred, dipping a finger beneath the waistband and teasing the flesh there. The muscles in his abdomen jumped, tightened, and he swallowed audibly.

The next few moments seemed to blur as together they rid one another of clothing, taking time to savor every inch that was exposed. Any and all insecurity fled beneath Alex’s devoted hands and worshipful mouth, and Isabel found herself thrust into a reality where she no longer needed to be cold and aloof to be respected. To be admired. She already was, simply by being herself.

“I can’t believe this,” Alex laughed, a bit unsteadily, as he stared down at the image of her naked and sprawled across the bed.

“Can’t believe what?”

“This,” he elucidated with a vague gesture between them, bending to nip at her shoulder as goose bumps pimpled her flesh. “That Isabel Evans is deigning to allow me to touch her. Me, Alex Whitman, who dressed up as a Storm Trooper for the Star Wars release and uses the fact that he’s double-jointed as a party trick to impress girls. Unsuccessfully, I might add.”

Isabel bit her lip to keep from snorting, knowing fully well that it wasn’t Alex’s silly antics that made girls not take him seriously. More, it was his genuine kindness. At their age, girls were into rebels and bad boys, and nice guys like Alex not only finished last, but they rarely made it past the starting line.

She reached for his hand, bringing it down over her breast, sucking in a breath as he stroked the pink nipple with flagrant awe. Before she could speak, he’d drawn it deep into the heat of his mouth, caressing the sensitive tip with his tongue. Moaning, she sank her fingers in his hair and held him close.

He glanced up at her moments later, flushed and panting as he moved to take her mouth again. “Isabel,” he managed, swallowing thickly as she reached between their bodies to take him in hand. “My head is spinning,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle, throat working as she ran her fingers along the length of him.

Distracted by the differences and texture of his sleek flesh, she answered with the first thing that came to mind, voice breathless and keen. “Mine, too. Side effect of hot alien sex?” When his eyes snapped to her own, she nearly choked. “I-I mean…”

He silenced her with a single finger, eyes amused and affectionate. “There’s so much more to you than people think.”

Slightly uncomfortable by his words and the possible meaning behind his expression, she squirmed and attempted to play it off. “Well, yes, obviously…”

“That’s not what I meant,” he answered, holding her gaze solemnly. Then he smiled and shook his head. “Okay, yes, I was talking about the…whole…alien thing, but I mean, I…I…” he paused, looking adorably confused as he floundered. “I don’t really know what I mean,” he finally admitted. “I just know I like you. Like this.”

She cocked a brow, taking in their state of undress as he blushed deeply. “I bet you do.”

“No, that’s not—” he cut himself off abruptly, running a hand through his hair and growling low in his throat. “Forget it. You…you know how I feel about you. You know how beautiful you are, how perfect.” He smiled sheepishly. “You know I’m obsessed with you.”

Her amused expression faltered at the reminder of their encounter weeks before, when she’d confronted him and demanded that he stop following her around. That he stop obsessing over her. “Alex.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, reading her shame and guilt as he nuzzled her neck and shifted between her legs, brushing against the apex of her thighs. “It doesn’t matter right now, does it?”

She didn’t argue as he kissed her again, as their fingers laced and his legs parted her own. When he finally came inside of her, she let out a small gasp that was immediately drowned out by their simultaneous moans. And suddenly, the fantasy of making love with Alex Whitman was a reality.

It wasn’t all fantastic; there was a lot to be learned on both sides, and they struggled at first to find a rhythm that both could appreciate. Perspiration slickened their flesh and the air took on a pungent aroma unlike anything she’d ever known. Lips quested. Fingers roamed. Tears edged her vision, and she blinked them back as her body grew heavy and sore, attempting to adjust to the new invasion inside of her.

And yet…it was more beautiful than anything she’d ever experienced. With every thrust he gave, with every groan of appreciation, she reveled in the closeness only they shared. She arched up to meet him; trying to relieve the ache he stirred, that only he could cure. She spread her legs wider, willing him to sink deeper, faster, harder, to fill her completely, from the tips of her fingers to her toes, to the strings of her heart. To cast away the loneliness forever.

Her climax came upon her so abruptly that she barely had time to react to the change before pleasure washed over her and she fell into a stupor of heightened sensation. Through the roaring in her ears she was dimly able to hear him groaning from the effects of his own orgasm, and their mouths met in a sloppy kiss of mutual shock and satisfaction.

Minutes, hours later they lay tangled together on the bed, dazed and exhausted as the chill from the ceiling fan danced across their sweat-soaked skin. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her cheek; his hand gliding lightly up and down her arm.

“I came.”

She wasn’t sure who was more surprised by her blunt words, but they both froze, then turned to look at one another.

“Yeah,” he answered dumbly. “I, ah…I felt it.”

Oh, God. She felt the heat burning in her cheeks, and yet, she couldn’t quite manage the embarrassment. Instead she began to snicker, and then outright laughed as he glanced over at her in bemusement. After a moment, he joined in her amusement.

They fell asleep in one another’s arms, and each awakened alone.

<center>***</center>

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Isabel looked up at her brother’s voice, tearing herself away from the silent reflection she’d been participating in all morning. Her eyes drifted to the heart-shaped box in one hand, the bouquet of flowers in the other, and pleasure lit inside of her as her lips lifted. “For me?”

“Who else would I ask to be my Valentine?” Max wondered teasingly, and she glimpsed a hint of sadness lurking beneath his warm gaze before his teeth flashed. A similar sense of regret filled her own heart as she accepted the gift, knowing this was the way things had to be. Always.

“Who else,” she echoed softly, meeting his gaze. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Max.”