hugs, Tas
FROM Chapter 9
“The one and only,” I confirm. We nicknamed her that after the sock on the door went missing for the last time while she was over here. That’s one thing that’s totally different about Michael from the stereotypical guys with multiple partners: he can name every single one of them, and match the names to the faces.
Of course, that may have more to do with the fact that there’s no alcohol involved on his part in any of his encounters, but I’m feeling generous.
Or not. He lets out this massive laugh. “You bought these? On some girl’s advice?”
“What of it?” Now I’m shading more towards belligerent.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, smirk firmly in place. “Horse’s mouth is probably good to listen to, anyway. I don’t get the spermicidal ones because some people are chemically sensitive.”
“Really?” Man, that’s a bad place to have an allergic reaction of some kind. The thought alone squicks me.
“Unfortunate but true. The latex is a much better disease barrier, so it doesn’t matter that much.” He snorts in amusement. “Bathroom, under-sink cabinet, back right corner.”
“What about it?” I ask when nothing else is forthcoming.
“Box of non-spermicidal ones. In case you need them.” Michael leers—badly—and I laugh at him even though I can feel my face reddening.
“Thanks.”
He shrugs, knowing I’m referring to more than the offer to borrow rubbers. “It’s nothing. I can hear the puck calling my name. You up for hockey viewage?”
I stand. “Nah. I have some…stuff to do.”
Michael nods, not even bothering to tease me as he flicks on the TV. Right before I close my bedroom door, he calls out.
“And you’d better apologize to Maria tomorrow, because this blew my intimacy quota for like the next five years!”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*****NEW Chapter 10*****
Liz moans and I feel the sound in my mouth, along my tongue. I can’t begin to describe how incredible she tastes. I’m drowning in her sweetness.
The scent of rotting flesh rises, choking my nostrils. Immediately I pull back, horrified at the soft sucking sound that ensues. The woman standing in front of me isn’t Liz any longer; it’s Tess. I want to protest that Tess is dead except yeah, here she is, a walking corpse. Literally. Partial decomposition, and the stench! I stagger backwards with my stomach heaving, frantically wiping at my lips.
“Maxwell.”
Startled, I spin to face Michael. He hands me a slim object. I regard it in disbelief. This can’t possibly be what it looks like.
“Use the Force, Max.”
Okay, it is what I thought it was. Weirder and weirder. I aim it away from Michael and flick it on, watching in amazement as a green light saber emerges. This is cool. Um, except it’s growing some kind of protective skin. Light sabers aren’t supposed to do that. It resembles a giant…
Oh, shit. Wouldn’t Freud have a field day with me?
“Michael? What the hell is going on?”
“You have to smite her, Maxwell. Don’t tell me you don’t know that already.” His voice is an annoying monotone.
“With this?” The symbolism couldn’t be more obvious, and I don’t want any part of me anywhere near Tess, even if she is dead. Ew, especially since she’s dead.
“It’s okay. You’re protected. Smite her.”
“Right.” I take a deep breath and turn to face Tess. She’s not running or fighting, just standing there with an odd little smile on the half of her mouth that’s left. Gingerly I extend the latex-covered light saber and poke her in the shoulder.
The effect is stunning and instantaneous. She shrieks at the top of her lungs and begins to dissolve, chanting, “I’m melting!” Hmm, Wizard of Oz meets Star Wars. Maybe Luke and Glinda getting it on will be next.
When Tess is a puddle on the floor, rapidly evaporating into the atmosphere, I feel a physical presence behind me, pressing close. Uneasy, I move forward in an effort to escape. “Michael, quit it.”
“Don’t you want to claim your prize?” a husky feminine voice asks.
“Liz?” It is, indeed, her. Michael’s nowhere to be seen. I don’t get a chance to ask if Liz understands any of this, though, because as soon as I turn to face her, she rises onto her tiptoes and kisses me. Her fingers stroke the back of my neck, ruffling my hair. I always thought I would hate that kind of contact, thanks to some early childhood trauma involving Isabel’s need to play hairdresser, but with Liz it’s a signal. Conscious on her part or not, when she reaches for my hair, she’s telling me that she’s turned on.
“Max?” Michael’s voice intrudes. I ignore him, trying to recapture the sensation of kissing Liz, until he shakes me roughly. “Wake up, man.” The dream fades.
“Go away, Mike. I’m busy.”
“No shit. If you moan Liz’s name again, either you’re going to cream all over the couch or I’m going to hurt you. Possibly both.”
“Fuck off.” He laughs and leaves me alone to drag myself upright. Vague images run through my head but I can’t quite grasp them. There’s something nagging at me, some concept that seems important. It’s slipping away as I awaken more completely, as normal dreams do. That’s why I scribbled everything in those notebooks when I dreamed about Alter-Max’s life; I’d expected it all to fade too, like so much ethereal smoke. I didn’t expect those dreams to take up permanent residence in a distant corner of my own mind. “What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“The girls are supposed to be here at seven-thirty! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” That would have looked good. ‘Hi, I’m so happy you’re making dinner for us that I couldn’t help sleeping.’
Michael gives me a disgusted look. “This is Maria we’re talking about.”
“Good point.” He gives me a once-over, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re not actually planning to wear that out of the house, are you?”
On the defensive, I look down at my jeans and T-shirt. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, if you’re trying to pick up guys.”
I grimace. He’s got a point. It’s my favorite T-shirt, but I’ve kind of outgrown it in the last five years. “When did you turn into the fashion police? I thought that was Isabel’s job.”
“Iz ain’t here. Besides, if I’m anywhere in your vicinity while you’re wearing that, people might think we were an item. Thanks, but no thanks, Maxwell.”
There are days where I feel like my irises might as well be glued to my eyelids, for all the heavenward looks I can’t help giving. I yank the shirt over my head on the way to my room, muttering, “Just because I’ve been labeled as ‘taken’ doesn’t mean I’m about to get labeled as gay, Michael. Especially not since you’re my brother. Seriously, it’s about your ego.”
He snorts and there’s a muffled giggle. It dawns on me that Michael isn’t the one doing the giggling, not with that pitch, and I turn around. Just kill me now.
Liz bites her lip in a concerted effort not to laugh. I must look as deer in the headlights as I feel, because Maria doesn’t hold back and howls. I stand there dumbfounded for a few minutes while Maria holds her sides, her blonde hair flopping into her face, and Liz’s mouth twists further and further in containment. Finally I regain the capability of motion and growl, “Learn to knock,” before escaping into my room, T-shirt held close to my chest.
And stand in front of my open closet. Now I’m all paranoid about what my shirt’s going to say. Where’s my sister when I could actually use her help?
“Green looks good on you.” Liz reaches past my shoulder and pulls out a dark green button-down shirt. She holds it up in front of me. I conceal my surprise at her sudden appearance. “Brings out your eyes.”
“Yeah? Thanks.” I settle the collar against the back of my neck. She laughs and runs her hands up my arms, slipping inside the short sleeves.
“Loose enough not to endanger Michael’s rep, too.”
“Right, because that’s my primary concern in life.” I shake my head with a rueful smile, trying to ignore the swift ignition of desire at her touch, and she laughs again.
“Here.” She does up the second button, leaving the neck open, and then the third. Her pinky fingers are inside the fabric, sliding down my bare chest with the slight sharpness of fingernails as she buttons my shirt. Can she feel how crazy my heartbeat is?
“Liz?” I whisper her name in confusion and longing.
“Yes?” She lifts her gaze from her task. Unfathomable dark eyes stare up at me and I can hardly breathe. I want to ask her if she knows what she does to me. If she’s playing games, although I sense that she’s not. If anything, she’s probably as bemused as I am. But nothing emerges from my mouth.
When she looks at me like this, even when I can’t quite read what she’s thinking, the whole world falls away and I feel invincible.
And terrified.
“Should it be tucked in?” I stutter. Critically important information there, Evans. When do I ever tuck my shirts in, unless someone’s managed to get me into a suit?
Liz blinks, undoubtedly surprised at the question. A mischievous smile curves her lips. “Well, let’s see.” She gathers the front shirttails and folds them under, making it look like the shirt ends at the waistband of my jeans.
She steps back a tiny bit and pretends to study the effect. I say ‘pretends’ because it’s clear from the angle that her eyes are trained somewhat lower than my waist. Liz Parker is totally checking me out! Do I look different than I did naked? And if I do, please let it be bad different. As in, worse when clothed. Please.
Her smile deepens. “I think you’ll be more comfortable untucked, Max.” She releases the handful of fabric. My breath hisses out as she tugs the shirt straight, brushing seemingly negligently across my fly and the painfully erect flesh underneath. Idly I wonder if it’s possible to get zipper marks, like how you get pillow creases on your face from sleeping. No, wait, I’m wearing button-fly jeans. Thank God.
Shattering glass disturbs the mood and I slowly retract the hand that had begun to move with a will of its own towards Liz. We share a smile at Maria’s strident yell, “Michael!”
“I’d better go offer my services before she kills him.”
I nod. “Good idea.”
I follow her out to the kitchen, noting with pleasure that my original hypothesis about her hair was correct. When it cascades loose and wild like it is tonight, the shining length definitely draws the eye to her lovely ass. Is it possible to be hypnotized by the sway of a woman’s hips? Because I am so there.
“Max?”
“Hmm?” I look up to find Maria smirking at me. Caught. My neck reddens but I don’t get apologetic, and her smile smooths.
“Take your brother and stay out until I tell you it’s okay to enter.”
“Right, Mare,” I chuckle. “Come on, Michael.”
Once we’re comfortably sprawled on the couch in banishment, I inquire, “What’d you break?”
“Nothing big. A glass. It was the water on her clothes part that pissed her off.”
“Least it was water.. Didn’t look like anything was ruined.”
“Exactly the point I tried to make. And I wouldn’t have dropped the damn thing if she hadn’t…” he trails off into a sigh and spikes his hands through his hair. “Maria has the most perfect mouth, did you know that?”
It’s nice to not be the only confounded person around. “She’s a good kisser.”
“Excuse me?” There’s a note I’ve never heard in his voice before, but I recognize it nonetheless. Territorial.
“You saw us, Mike. In the kitchen, last weekend? You made some crack about two women not being enough.”
“I saw you hugging, Maxwell. You kissed her, too?” Michael’s angry. I smother a laugh. Then again, what am I laughing for? The reason she kissed me is on the embarrassing side.
I tell him anyway, and he relaxes. Still grumpy, but he’s not pissed. Never thought I’d see Michael so possessive, not even of Maria. She and I have seen each other naked and there’s still no attraction, so I don’t know what he’s twisted up about. I understand the basic feeling all too well, though. There would be hell to pay if I found him kissing Liz—or anyone else kissing her. While logic says that I have no right to feel that way, the rest of me says something else entirely.
Michael rubs his eyebrow and glances sideways at me. “Well, at least I’m not so bad off that I’m moaning her name and getting off in my sleep.”
“I was not—it was a weird dream, Michael, not a wet one.”
He nods, lips twitching. “I see. BDSM, then?”
“What?”
“Bondage/sado-masochism.” He speaks the words slowly, like I might not understand them otherwise.
“I’m familiar with the acronym, thanks. But any dream that includes you behaving like a medieval Obi Wan Kanobi is strictly bizarre, not kinky.” There’s another level of frustration added to the growing pile. Sometimes my family just really pisses me off.
“Obi Wan, huh? Did I tell you to ‘use the force?’” Michael chuckles when I roll my eyes in exasperated confirmation. “Too bad I wasn’t Vader. Maaax.” He exhales noisily. “I am your father, Maaax.”
I stare at him for a long moment then burst out laughing. Soon my sides ache with mirth. “That was classic, Mike.”
“Thank you, thank you.” He takes a bow. “So, any other cameos I should know about?”
I consider what to say. The in-depth bull session we had last night was pretty, well, deep for us, but we do talk. It freaked Michael out when he first moved into our house in Roswell. He told me I’d spent too much time with my sister; I talked as much as a girl. He’s more or less used to it now. Still teases me, but any humiliation is strictly private, so that’s cool. I’ve long since realized that I’m just me, and I don’t need to pretend to be someone else when I’m with the people I care about. Maria tells me that’s why I’m an excellent girlfriend, because I actually admit to having feelings, unlike most men in her experience. (By which we both know she means Michael.)
I shrug and lower my voice. “Tess. You handed me a light saber and told me to kill her, in archaic wording. I forget exactly; it’s fuzzy now.”
“And did you?” he asks intently.
“Yeah, I touched her shoulder with the saber and she melted, all Wicked Witch of the West.” I sigh. “But I only killed her after you said I was protected.”
“Weird. With all that mythology crap, why wouldn’t it be a sword? It’s not any less obviously phallic,” he snorts.
Ever had one of those moments when the clouds part, and the sunshine suddenly blinds you in its brilliance? “Because it’s energy.”
“Yeah. And?”
“Alien energy, Michael. My energy. I was protected because the saber was covered by a condom.” I glare at his snort of laughter. “Think about it: Alter-Tess got pregnant. Meaning they didn’t use anything.”
“Okay.” He’s not getting it yet, but at least he’s listening.
“So what if pregnancy wasn’t the only ‘complication?’”
“You mean like she gave him some kind of alien S.T.D.?” Michael ponders the idea.
“Yeah. Not even something sexually transmitted, exactly, but more like a—a contamination of his personal energy. Which he passed on to Alter-Liz, and it made her sick.”
“It sounds like a good theory, but you’re basing it on a dream, Max. A regular old dream, the kind everyone’s subconscious spins. I don’t know that I’d be thinking of it as a reliable source of information.” The very fact that he shoots me down that gently says that he understands what is riding on this for me. My ballooning excitement abruptly deflates.
“I know. But it’s more than either I or Dad have come up with so far.”
“Tell D; see what he thinks. Maybe it matches something in your notes.”
Good plan, except that our parents are at Grandma and Grandpa’s tonight and Dad must have forgotten to set his cell phone to forward to voice mail again. What’s the point of carrying a cell if you don’t turn it on and you don’t have any voice mail? I’m sure as hell not leaving a message at my grandparents’. Or even at my parents’, for that matter. Hi, can I lose my virginity yet? Don’t think so.
Exercise in futility completed, I collapse back onto the couch. Michael shrugs sympathetically and we sit in silence until Maria informs us that we’re allowed back into our own kitchen.
I’m less than scintillating company through dinner. I smile when I’m supposed to and participate in the conversation, but my mind is somewhere else. I don’t have any concrete information, no plan of action, no options left open to me. And Liz leaves tomorrow.
Methodically I dry and put away the dishes. My self-absorption is finally interrupted when Maria announces, “So, you guys ready to go?”
“Go? Go where?” Are we supposed to be going out tonight?
Liz smiles at me. “Michael didn’t tell you the details of the deal, huh?”
“Apparently not.” He’s looking everywhere but at me, whistling innocently. I just ignore him. “Tell me now.”
“Liz and I make dinner; you guys come do whatever we want for the night.”
That sounds dangerously appealing. I direct the question to Maria, but I gaze at Liz while I ask, “So what is it you want to do for the night?”
“No Jackets Required.” The capitalization is audible.
“What’s that?” Michael wants to know.
“It’s a dance club,” Liz confirms his worst fear. I’m amused; Maria knows that Michael hates to dance.
Liz looks up at me through a fringe of eyelashes. “Do you do more than slow dance, Max?”
“I’m no Fred Astaire, but I don’t break toes.” I can’t help but smile when she takes my arm.
“Good. I’m definitely in a party mood.”
As we walk out to Maria’s Jetta, my head starts spinning from barely-there whiffs of Liz’s perfume and the soft press of her shoulder against mine. One thought keeps running through my mind.
I am in deep trouble.
I swear, this is insane! But it's so much fun. 
However, if I have to leave you hanging, I think this is an excellent place to do it!
)