Spoilers: Through Departure
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, all characters and original Roswell settings belong to other very lucky people as do all poems quoted.
Pairings/Couples/Category: UC, Polar
Warning: A couple bad words
Summary: Michael confronts Liz over her lack of backbone with surprising results.
A/N: Just a fun little post Departure one-shot, since I don't want Michael to be a cheater, assume that for whatever reason he and Maria aren't together.
“So what are you? Persian, area, shag?”
Liz looked up from where she was wiping down the last few tables to see Michael leaning in the doorway between the front and back of the restaurant, staring at her with an unreadable expression in his burnt caramel eyes. “What?”
He arched one eyebrow, his sensuous lips twisting into a smirk and sending an unbidden shiver down her spine. “Well you’re obviously a rug; I’m just trying to figure out which kind.”
Her mouth fell open for a moment in shock before a sharp burst of anger snapped her teeth shut with a click. “I’m the kind with carpet tacks that stab you when you try and walk on me.” She fumed, angrily brushing back a loose strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
“Cute. Has Max ever noticed those little pinpricks? Or is he too busy paying attention to his little prick.” He mocked, waving one hand derisively.
Liz bit back a laugh and glared at him instead. “What the hell do you want from me Michael?”
He straightened, smirk disappearing and an almost menacing aura appearing around him as he stalked determinedly towards her, stopping only when he was mere inches away and she was forced to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “What I want, Parker, is for you to admit that you let Max treat you like his own personal slave, who always comes back panting for more no matter how much abuse he doles out.”
Pain shot through her palms as her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her skin until blood welled in the small crescents. “I’m so sorry that the fact that I’m waiting to remind him that we haven’t been together for a year until he’s had time to process the fact that his son is in enemy hands offends you.” She spit out, voice oozing sarcasm as she leaned right back into his personal space. “Believe me, I can’t wait to be out of this non-relationship, but I’m not that big of a bitch.”
His eyes widened slightly in surprise before narrowing again, the intensity of his gaze making her heart stutter. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
She gritted her teeth, furious with him for refusing to believe her, and furious with herself for giving him reason to. “Believe this.” She snapped, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking his head down to her level, then pressing her lips against his.
He was frozen for a moment and then he buried his hands in her hair, pulling her closer as their lips moved against each other with unbearably sweet friction, her rash act of frustration turning into something different, something more, as his tongue delved into her mouth and their bodies moved against each other in the first steps of the most ancient dance.
Finally, when the need for oxygen overwhelmed the need to continue reveling in his heat and intoxicating taste, she bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, smirking with satisfaction when he jerked back with a muttered curse. “Need more proof that this rug has teeth?” She asked tauntingly, and then found herself trying to moisten a suddenly dry mouth as he probed his wounded lip with his tongue and eyed her with speculative, lustful eyes.
“I am definitely going to need more proof Parker. I foresee a whole body of experiments to prove your point.” He stated, lips quirking in amusement, but his tone deadly serious.
She resisted the urge to launch herself at him and begin said experiments immediately, and instead tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully. “And what if I’m not in the mood to experiment?”
He took another step forward in response, closing the remaining miniscule distance between them until her nose brushed against the soft cotton of his shirt while her neck craned awkwardly so she could continue to meet his heavy-lidded gaze. “That’s your prerogative Parker, but I know what a science nerd you are, and I’m sure the experiments will be very enjoyable.” He said huskily, wrapping a strand of her hair around his finger and tugging almost hard enough to hurt, eyes locked on hers with startling intensity.
She lifted her hands and rested them against his chest, pressing her nails into the well formed muscle hidden from view and dragging her lip through her teeth, then grinning when she felt his heart speed up in reaction. “What do I get from you if I prove my hypothesis?”
His smirk widened into a real smile. “I’m sure we can come up with something mutually agreeable.”
She raised one eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t know Michael, I’m not sure ‘mutually agreeable’ is worth the effort to show you the error of your ways, you are known for your pigheaded stubbornness.”
He snorted and wrapped his hands around her wrists, restraining her from the wandering trail she’d begun to trace across his torso. “Pot. Kettle.” Then he leaned down, lips brushing against her ear and making her shudder in ill concealed delight. “Prove me wrong Parker, and I promise you’ll love your reward.”
The words resonated, the undertones and overtones both serious and filled with sinful promise, and she turned her head to capture his lips with hers, accepting his challenge in the most direct way possible, but pulling away before this kiss could reach their earlier level of heat. She grinned at the look of disappointment in his eyes and then turned and sauntered away, shooting him a teasing, heated glance over her shoulder and fighting a shiver at the fierce look he sported. “I’ll get back to you about those experiments. After all, I can’t turn down the opportunity to be the first person to hear Michael Guerin say ‘I was wrong.’”