Turnabout

Author: Bennie
Rating: R, maybe NC-17. Never quite sure ...
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswell.
Character Focus: Liz POV, Liz/Isabel
Spoilers: Nope.
Author's Note: Sequel to Tart and companion to Possession/Repossession and Revelations. Basically, I like speculating about why having an alien lover might be so darn rewarding Ö doesn't everyone? Thanks to plumeria, Minnie and ZoŽ - you know what you've done for me, and I appreciate it greatly.


"Liz, what's with you tonight?" Michael demanded, a little disgruntled because she obviously was not listening to his ideas for new menu specials, most of which required less time and effort to cook.

"Hmm?" she responded absently, eyes never leaving the front window. When no more comments were forthcoming, she turned to see Michael eyeing her with amusement.

"What?" she demanded, sounding defensive even to herself.

"Nothing," he said dismissively. But then he leaned back in the chair and subjected her to a Patented Guerin Penetrating Glare.

"Somebody," he said pointedly, "has a secret."

She jumped a little, then looked at him firmly, gaze unwavering.

"Everyone has secrets, Michael. And unless you feel like unloading one or two of your own, this conversation is over."

He chuckled, not at all put out. For some reason, it always cracked him up whenever Liz adopted that tone of command. But he rose anyways and bowed in an exaggerated manner. She smiled, recognizing the signs of impending goofery.

"Of course, milady. And thus, I take my leave!" And brandishing an imaginary sword, he strode dramatically out the door to the sound of Liz's hysterical laughter.

She was always surprised whenever Michael shared his offbeat sense of humour with her. He still maintained a stoic façade in public, however, and it was only in private that he let himself truly relax enough to have fun.

Still chuckling, she made her rounds, turning off lights and checking locks. Finally she was alone! Her parents were staying overnight in Albuquerque, where they were visiting family and attending a play, and she revelled in the knowledge that tonight, at least, she could do whatever she wanted. Anything and everything. Heck, if she wanted, she could prance about naked as a jaybird and dance to bubble-gum pop karaoke on the jukebox.

Getting into the spirit, she sat on one of the stools at the counter and twirled gleefully, but her mind was already turning to other matters. For instance, how was she going to handle Max? She loved him, really she did, but -

The sound of footsteps interrupted her reverie. I thought I locked the door, she thought to herself, confused. Then the lights went out.

Frozen and slightly disoriented, she held her breath and listened intently. She couldn't hear any more footsteps, but there was something … she sensed movement ... coming towards her.

"Who's there?" she called out, and winced. Damn, that was stupid. And her voice had squeaked. Double damn.

"Shhhh."

It was the lowest of whispers, barely audible, but Liz gasped.

She knew who it was. The question was, how would she react? She didn't know, but she was no longer afraid. Nervous, anxious, even a little … excited, but not afraid.

"Trust me." Liz strained to hear, to understand. Was she being mocked? Or … invited?

She became ultra aware of her surroundings … and of the changes in her own body. Her brow had beaded with moisture, her breath came in little hitching motions, and her voice caught in her throat as her imagination ran wild.

She remembered something she had once heard a friend say: "Turnabout is fair play."

And suddenly her cropped jacket, perfect for late autumn in New Mexico, seemed too constraining, too constricting. She shrugged out of it almost without thinking, and a rush of cool air raised goose bumps on her bare arms. She was left wearing a form-fitting sleeveless sheath of soft material.

"Ready to play?" her visitor murmured. It wasn't really a question, but Liz answered anyways, licking dry lips and struggling to keep her voice steady.

"Yes."

A sharp intake of breath greeted her boldness, and Liz smiled in the dark.

"What do you want to do?" she asked, rather calmly considering that her heart was thumping riotously in her chest and giggles threatened to erupt at any moment. But she knew it was just jitters, and she didn't want the game to end. Not yet.

Silence. She waited patiently, and was rewarded by the feel of a hand at her temple, caressing her face and then her hair, luxuriating in its dark, shiny mass. Then alien lips fell on hers, testing their softness and coaxing them apart with a warm, practised tongue.

It was a heady feeling, to have her mouth explored so thoroughly, so confidently, so … knowingly.

Another hand joined the first in stroking her hair and then, without breaking the kiss, travelled slowly downwards, falling to the nape of her neck.

Growing dizzy, Liz had to break for air, but gasped as two strong hands gently braced her, using the faintest of pressures to turn her around. The stool seat swivelled silently and she shivered as one hand feathered across her shoulders, nails raking gently across heated skin and cool fabric.

Leaning so that her hair swept forward over her shoulders, she bit her lip to keep from crying out as one hand surveyed the dips and planes of her back and the other grasped her zipper and pulled it open inch by agonizing inch. The merest hint of warm breath tantalized naked skin as it was exposed to the air, until the tiny dimple at the base of her spine was revealed.

She shuddered as a light kiss pressed to her lower back deepened, a wet heat that massaged and pulled and sucked until her head spun. Then two hands slipped under the loosened material to either side, kneading and rubbing the tensed muscles beneath into submission. Her open dress slipped off her shoulders and fell to her waist.

Liz moaned; she felt wonderful. Eyes clenched shut, she almost cried out when the hands pulled away but then a moment later they wrapped around her, embracing her with gentle strength, hands meeting in front of her belly where palms cupped her possessively.

She sat very still when a familiar head rested against hers, savouring the feel of soft hair and even softer skin brush against her cheek as she was asked a question. After a moment, she whispered an answer.

Seconds later Liz inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of a warm, tropical night, a mixture of fruit and flowers, of sand and saltwater. She could feel an ocean breeze ruffle her hair and push itself under and through her thin garments. And when she listened very closely, she could hear the sounds of waves lapping regularly at a shoreline.

The illusion was astonishingly convincing.

She moaned as dextrous hands unclasped and worked their way up her body, discovering every sensitive spot she knew she had, and some she didn't.

Then she felt gentle hands tease the underside of her breasts through her bra, fingers lightly exploring her. She frowned as they circled her desperately hard nipples, never quite touching … just teasing …

And then she remembered, and could not stifle the chuckle that became a groan of absolute pleasure as cupped palms enveloped both breasts and each nipple was tweaked playfully.

"You're not the only one who knows how to tease, Liz," she heard, and she smiled before leaning back into a secure embrace, arching so that her breasts pushed firmly against soft hands. She sighed as they complied, massaging and stroking her tender skin.

She felt a kiss on the side of her neck, a deep suckling that would mark her pale skin possessively. She gloried in the feel of a tongue excavating the hollow in her throat, licking her ear lobe, delving into unplumbed territory over and under her collarbone, laving the tops of her breasts …

Then her assailant was in front of her, pushing up her skirt and working a knee between her legs. Above her waist, probing hands possessed her waist and tummy, claiming every inch of exposed skin.

Cool air stimulated achingly sensitive skin as a wet tongue scorched a trail between her breasts and down her belly. Liz became frustrated when only fingers dipped below the rest of the material encasing her lower body. Bracing herself against the counter she lifted her hips and two very helpful hands slid the material down her thighs, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper.

Her bra and panties quickly followed, and finally Liz Parker was sitting naked on a stool in her parent's restaurant, covered only by darkness and a tropical fantasy.

She fought to steady her racing pulse, to breathe enough air to keep from passing out. She felt marvellously naughty as she leaned back, stretching her arms along the counter until her shoulders rested on its cool surface.

A second later she gripped the counter edge with all her strength, as a warm and appreciative mouth retraced a pattern from her lips, down her neck, between her breasts, taking a moment to appreciate the hard flesh jutting stiffly from each, and worked its way down her belly.

And this time there was no material to hamper its progress downward.

She lifted her hips as one touch lit her on fire, pulling her legs up and apart to allow closer … deeper access.

For one brief moment she thought she might pass out as a tongue searched and then pushed its way unerringly between her legs to plunge into her hot, wet aching flesh that quivered upon contact.

Instead she became alive, nerves pulsing with electric tension at each steady and forceful stroke. Something was born deep within her, a primal urge that compelled primitive sounds from her throat and resonated with every beat of her pulse.

Seconds, minutes, eternities of sweet torture had her begging unashamedly for release, for … more.

She went insane when it stopped, moaning in protest when that wonderful, beautiful warmth withdrew from her own. Dazed and unbelieving she opened her eyes in the dark, sobbing incoherently from the loss.

"Don't stop," she pleaded, then whimpered as a soft hand pulled her head forward to rest against another. Their breath mixed as their lips met, and she could taste herself. She gloried in the tangling of tongues, the feel of smooth teeth, the need to possess that plump lower lip that so teased her.

Liz shuddered as a long, lean body stretched itself along hers, a cool, smooth expanse of naked softness that covered her own tiny frame, touching sparks off along the length of her.

She allowed herself to be pulled up and then off of her stool, conscious only of the need to maintain full contact with the beautiful, sensuous creature that had invaded dream after dream, shaped fantasy after fantasy, for so long.

Together they sank to the ground, which no longer felt like linoleum but soft, slightly damp mounds of sand that moulded itself around Liz' back, a gentle roughness that rasped excitingly against her sensitive skin.

She reached out blindly to pull the full weight of her obsession on top of her, legs intertwining and hands seeking, grasping, marvelling at the evidence of arousal she discovered. When her cheek encountered a soft firmness she turned to pull a stiff, swollen nipple between her teeth and suckled urgently, rewarded by the sounds of ragged breathing above her.

Then her hands were clasped and held firmly against the sand, and she lay fully exposed and vulnerable.

"This is about you, damn it," a voice muttered over her, and she couldn't help but laugh triumphantly at the clear sound of aroused frustration.

Then all mirth disappeared beneath a wave of exquisite bliss, as phantom hands caressed and pleasured every inch of exposed skin, massaging limb and torso, fanning her long, silky hair about her. She sighed to feel a warm, living hand join them, stroking her cheek, breast and hip before plunging between her thighs.

Two fingers delved into her moist flesh, and she arched her back in response.

The pad of a thumb found and rubbed her clit in slow, rhythmic circles, and she shrieked.

Her cries mixed with the whistle of wind lashing around her, rising over the crashing of waves along a spectral shoreline.

Blindly she reached out and found her assailant's own centre of pleasure, matching stroke for stroke. Together they surrendered to the combined assault of sense and sensation, bodies shaking with mindless release, powerless to resist the desire and lust that shut out any thought other than the immediate need for gratification.

Liz screamed in orgasm, excited beyond belief at the sound of her name shouted with sweet abandon.

Finally they collapsed, side by side on the sand, gasping from the exertion.

Sheer willpower kept Liz conscious. She used her last ounce of strength to reach out, to embrace the one who brought her fantasies to life.
 
And together they lay, a gentled breeze cooling the sweat from their bodies, the muted pounding of water against sand rocking them into peaceful slumber as the illusion slowly faded.

Liz sighed in utter contentment.

"Thank you, Isabel," she whispered, and fell asleep on the cool linoleum, safe and sated in the arms of her alien lover.

The End


Tart | Turnabout | Possession/Repossession | Revelations
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