Snapshot · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

42. Dream a Little Dream of Me

The Apartment

(2003) Max is 18, Liz is 17

"Liz. Liz!"

The urgency in his voice woke her up. His face was hovering closely above hers, his breath hot on her face.

Heat dried her voice as she croaked, "What?"

She could feel how his grip on her upper arms, which just seconds prior had been used to shake her back to consciousness, began to loosen. Soften. Until his skin only made the contact of a breath against hers, drifting slowly up her bare arms.

"You fell asleep," he whispered urgently.

Trying to clear the cobwebs from her head, Liz felt the urgency jolt her. "I'm sorry."

Her slowly awakening brain was working fervently in attempt to decipher why it was such a bad thing that she had fallen asleep. What had she missed?

She shivered as his hands moved further up her arms, creating symmetrical lines of fire that surrounded her.

Her breaths were shallow, strained, as she asked, "Why are you here?"

"The girl's not real," he answered, his eyes boring into hers as if begging her to understand.

She blinked. "What?"

His fingers moved with the lightest touch across the skin of her neck. "It's just a trick."

Despite herself, a quiet moan escaped her confused lips as his hands anew moved downwards, sliding softly across the top of her collarbone. The dark flicker in his eyes put a halt to her automatic desire to breathe.

Trying to control her erratically beating heart, Liz whispered, "What are you talking about?"

Suddenly he was seated on the couch, the side of his thigh burning against hers, while one of his hands whispered down her neck, down the side of her upper body. His touch sent electrical currents through her body and she tensed in bittersweet anticipation.

Before she had a chance to register what was happening, she was being pulled into a seated position. She blinked, her breath freezing on her lips as his movement brought her face within millimeters of his.

"It's you I want," he breathed, the warmth of his breath combined with the passion in his words causing her to tremble in his firm grip.

"Max, I-" she began, but his blazing lips on her neck put a stop to her words.

"Don't speak," he murmured against her shivering skin.

"I-" Liz gasped, her muffled head trying to make sense of what was happening.

"You never shut up, do you?" Max breathed, his fingers trailing underneath the bottom edge of her navy blue cardigan.

His words ignited something familiar in her and a fire that would normally have her pushing him away now served to fuel the opposite emotion.

Her dazed body was filled with life and without wasting another second, she pushed her hands into his dark hair, urging his head backwards. A sigh of protest whispered across her lips as the motion momentarily separated his lips from her skin. But as soon as his lips lost their contact with her neck, they were desperately recaptured by hers.

Like a starving woman, she frantically molded their lips together. Her heart stumbled as he responded just as fervently to her actions.

His hands were everywhere, but like a well-coordinated dance their hungry hands never bumped into each other, their arms never tangled impossibly.