Title: Slavery
Author: RavenWolf
Pairing: A/I
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Awakening in the rain.
A/N: This takes place after Alex’s death and the episodes related to it.
~*~*~*~*
She wakes with fresh tears on her face and his arms around her waist. He kisses her eyelids gently, his lips faint and feeling like butterflies. He does not speak.
She can’t remember why she’s crying. Sometime in the night, the tears had come, and now she’s left with the symptoms but not the reality of the sadness.
She doesn’t actually want to know why she cries. She stands, and opens the curtains. It’s raining outside, and it doesn’t feel like morning. That’s alright; she’ll improvise. That’s what she’s good at. If she wasn’t going to be a model, she’d definitely be an actress. Her thick skin of ice is well-known in Roswell . No way to tell what moves beneath the cold.
He gets up and stands behind her, mere inches away, but not touching. She can feel the heat of his skin, all the same. Hotter blood than her own sings to her, and she rocks back into his embrace. She turns her head to look at him, and sees all his emotions painted across his face, changing with the light. She has never loved him more than in this moment.
His hot breath hits her face in a spray of mint. She kisses him, because it is only natural, and it’s all she can do. His mouth is so soft, so movable. There is no sensation like this between Earth and Antar. Her long hair is meant for touching, and he wraps his hands in its silken strands. He won’t be able to get free.
She wraps her whole self around him, able to penetrate and coat his thoughts in a way she hadn’t thought possible. She is all he thinks of. She is all he feels. She owns him. Or she would, if she wasn’t so hopelessly devoted to him and the bond shown between hair and fingers, lips and tongues. Soon to be more.
She doesn’t really remember her own name. “Alex, Alex, Alex,” the voice thrums in her head. So often, in fact, that she decides to take the name for her own. Consistently, the throb continues. “Alex, Alex, Alex.” It will never stop. Not as long as she lives and after.
Clothing creates no boundaries for her. It swathes her in comfort and warmth, gives her away to him, and like a blushing bride, she goes.
Naked now, exposed. Sight means nothing; touch is all. Fire races down her skin, and she bends to the will of his hot, rough hands. His face is apologetic, but his hands are demanding. They take and they take, forcing everything from her body with the skill of a musician. Her skin sings his songs, composed of praises to his name and disavowals of reality. Her powers are forgotten; she closed off that part of her mind long ago. Nothing but humanity in here now.
“Alex, Alex, Alex.” The chant takes up all her air, burns in her lungs. Her throat aches like she’s been screaming. Her pulse is loud in her ears, too slow to be real. “Alex, Alex, Alex.”
“Isabel,” he says into her mouth, giving her back her name. She takes it, and kisses him fiercely.
He feels solid and unmovable inside her. Tears will not budge him, nor will screams or pleas. She can do nothing but move with him, against him. There is no other option.
The irony of a human being the one to possess her so is not unnoticed, but it is ignored. Alex, slight of frame and of speech. She could never imagine being tied to anyone else. Long-dead dreams will not intrude here.
Her muscles flutter like butterflies, and her womb tightens, waiting to receive his seed. Her body shakes, desperate for him, holding off completion, waiting. He does not disappoint her. His fingers touch her, commanding climax. She is known in her most secret of places, in mind and body, and his acceptance of her lets her find her release.
Still quaking beneath his body, her eyes are dark. He moves above her, slow and thoughtful. His face betrays him; his eyes are full to the brimming with devotion and love. He reigns in his passion only barely.
Another thrust, and she feels him reach his climax. A jet of warmth flows through her, reaching into her very veins and pumping her blood just that much faster. “Isabel,” he says to her, taking her name back. She doesn’t worry about it, though. He will keep it safe.
***
She wakes with fresh tears on her face and his arms around her waist. He kisses her eyelids gently, his lips faint and feeling like butterflies. He does not speak.
She can’t remember why she’s crying. Sometime in the night, the tears had come, and now she’s left with the symptoms but not the reality of the sadness.
-end-