Firewalker (UC, Mi/T,TEEN,1/1) [COMPLETE]

[citrustwisted]

Title: Firewalker
Author: citrustwisted/hauntedd
E-mail: citrus_twisted@yahoo.com
Couple: Mi/T
Rating: TEEN
Disclaimer: not mine
A/N: I dont know where this came from, but I needed to write a Mi/T piece b/c im weird... haha. Based the summer after destiny when they train together.

****

His hand burns. It's subtle, but I can feel it. His fingerprints leave a trail across my skin over, reminding me of this moment.

Everything about him is big, big eyes, big lips, big hands. I never really noticed before, but staring up at him, I can see that I am just so? so small in his presence. There is something powerful about him; it is as much destructive as it is graceful. He seems like the type that used to raise hell, but a calm has settled, subdued him. His guarded passion and his disheveled hair, it suits him.

Looking up at the stars, I wonder which one we came from, Nacedo showed it to me once, while filling my little head full of fairytale versions of the past. He had learned that young children respond better to stories of happily ever after than actual history. The princess marries the prince, that's just how it is; there is no rhyme or reason to it, other than it just being the norm.

Too bad the prince is diddling the homely brunette and the princess gave up long ago.

"Tess, are you ok?" he asks, his deep voice filled with some sort of concern. When it comes to Michael, I am grateful, as this is as concerned as he gets. He has never been one to express his emotions fully, because of his upbringing. I respect it and am actually more comfortable with it than the elaborate displays of emotion that the others tend to engage in. They just seem so artificial to me, but then again, Nacedo taught me emotions were for the weak.

"Yeah. I'm just. tired" I breathe, then feign a yawn for good measure. I know that his bullshit quotient is low, but how can I possibly explain to him that I just don't care anymore about destiny, because I know that I will never convince Max to believe in the cause, and I really do not want him to. I can see his line of thinking to a point; it must be nice to be completely oblivious to everything outside of your little bubble.

Michael turns and eyes me carefully, probably to see if there is something that I am failing to mention. He knows how to read people, see beneath their facade, probably because of how strong his own is. Scratching his eyebrow, he turns away, never letting his eyes meet mine. "You sure you want to train today?" he asks, his feet kicking stray grains of sand and dirt as we continue to walk, moving ever closer to our safe spot in the desert.

"Yeah" I whisper, restraining the urge to explain more fully why. I need someone, a friend, a companion, anything, because I feel so dreadfully alone. I sought Michael out over the others because I could tell that even though he is always around others, he has never been whole. It was the one time that he actually let me gaze into his eyes, but it was entirely by accident. We were just sitting around the Crashdown, the four of us - the royal four, Max was staring at Liz Parker, trying to see up her skirt through that ridiculously short uniform, Isabel was looking at herself in the mirror, and I just needed something to stare at. So I looked at Michael, met his curious eyes with my own, and just for a moment, I saw what it was like to be Michael Guerin.

I had always heard that eyes were the window to the soul, but after looking at Nacedo's completely black eyes for so long, I tended to disagree with this hypothesis. But after that momentary glance into his dark orbs, I realized that the old adage had some sort of value associated with it. Within those eyes is everything that Michael actually feels but fears to express, his loneliness, his unrest, his dissatisfaction with the status quo, his annoyance with the way that the others gavotte with the humans, and his desire for something more - a purpose.

This is why he hangs so tightly to his heritage; it is why I cling to my own. We are reincarnated royals, sent from a foreign land to bring back freedom from their oppressors. It just sounds so much nicer than the truth - that we are lost teenagers looking for a reason to continue taking an active approach toward living this experiment called existence.

If we were not endowed with alien powers, I wonder if we would have met or even be walking down the desert sands as the sun shines brightly in the background. I doubt it, because then I would have never gotten the chance to travel across the country - a migrant searching for a place that she could consider home.

But, alas, home does not really feel like home, and we are connected, not just by our unrest, but by the mere fact that we are two of the same - flawed alien experiments, or misguided teenagers with super powers, both of which sound so appealing.

"It’s hot as balls out here" he drawled, wiping the sweat from his brow. It's strange to hear him force conversation; I always thought he would be comfortable with the silence. It is just another thing I do not know about him, he is incredibly mysterious without even trying, I believe that’s part of my attraction.

How typically disturbing, girl is supposed to love boy, but falls for boy’s gorgeous best friend. Did I fail to mention that in my verbose inner monologue, trying to breathe effectively as to not alert him to my desires? I overanalyze my situation all the time as to not say something that I will later regret; it was a tactic that Nacedo taught me when I was younger. I believe this to be the reason that he always appears so well spoken, regardless of the situation at hand. But all I want to say, all that threatens to escape from my lips is ‘I know something else that’s hot here’. “Yeah” I drawl, eying the sweat that trickles down his back with want.

“So…” he begins, scratching his eyebrow as he looks at me with a sort of confusion and complexity about him. It is like he is analyzing me for some sort of flaw or something, but coming up with nothing. “We’re alike” he states with his strong baritone, his words hanging in the desert air with no question or doubt, just a statement of a fact, at least in his world.

“Yeah, I guess” I reply, unable to say anything more coherent than that, it is Michael and I have never really bothered to question his logic. He has been right about a lot in the short time I have known him and it is very likely that he is right about this as well. We are alike, minus the gender issue, we are both alien-human hybrids, how many other people can fill that bubble in on a survey? “We’re both hybrids” I state, giving him a reason to believe that I fully grasp his reasoning when I really do not.

He watches me for a moment, his eyes softening as they meet mine. Unblinking, he gives me a half smile and stops. It is the first time I have ever seen him gaze into my eyes, as if he is looking into my crystalline blue orbs for that split second like he actually understands me. And I understand what he means, without ever verbalizing it. We are similar, we both know what it is like to feel so incredibly lost and yet so filled with purpose all at the same time. We both embrace our alien-ness because it is all we have, because it brings the promise of tomorrow, so much so that we isolate ourselves from everything else.

Then, without warning, he brushes a stray curl off of my own sweat streaked face with all the tenderness I never saw, but always knew he had within him. He then lowered his head, his lips, chapped and coarse from dehydration, making contact with my own. For a moment, I have no idea what to do or say, the contact is so sudden, but so right, and then I move my tongue in tandem with his, a moan escaping from my throat. It is amazingly right, but so wrong at the same time, and I can tell that he feels the same, because he and I both know of destiny and responsibility and all that comes with our alien-ness, the aspect we both would like to forget.

But, he has such a fire within him, one that Max never had.

Eventually, he steps away, both our lips puffy with a shared need, then turns and nods his head. Without another word, he then turns and walks away, a cloud of dust shrouding him from the hot sun, taking with him all of me, and I realize, that I am burning all over.