PART ELEVEN

Michael lay in the darkness of his bedroom, feeling Max’s soft exhalations fan against his neck. Max was snuggled right up against his chest, his muscled forearm thrown across Michael’s waist. Michael could feel Liz’s tiny body, pressed up close behind him, her hand draped just below Max’s, low on his stomach. He was sandwiched right between them both, and they were sound asleep-- yet he couldn’t have slept if his life had depended on it. His heart was beating too rapidly, his emotions too wildly askew—and he was staring down far too intently at Max Evans’ gorgeous, peaceful face. A face that was outlined by the cascading moonlight that spilled across the bed, beautifully defining the rest of Max’s body, as well.

The sheet had fallen low on Max’s hips, so there was quite a lot of him for Michael to view, and slowly Michael allowed his gaze to roam across his masculine glory. Michael loved Max’s arms, which were absolutely delicious—particularly when they were wrapped around him as they had been just a few hours ago. Yet, as his eye traveled lower, he had to admit that Max’s rippled stomach was beyond beautiful. Hell, Michael thought, who was he kidding? There wasn’t one bit of Maxwell Evans that wasn’t simply chiseled and exquisite—nor any part that didn’t leave him flushed with desire either, Michael reflected as his groin tightened sharply.

And if he’d been able to see Liz, Michael would have been studying her just as keenly. Would have allowed his gaze to drift across her delicate, graceful form…would have simply had to touch her.

So then why was Michael so panicked? Why did he fear that he might bolt from the bed at the slightest provocation?

Tonight had been mystical, taking Max as he had for the first time, and Max’s total surrender within his arms had been surprising and beyond addictive. He’d never have believed Max could lay himself truly bare like that, could be so vulnerable at his touch. Michael hardened dramatically at the memory of the way Max had clung to him, had whimpered and purred and sighed—all because Michael was making love to him.

Max was the one who always held it together, was so smooth.

But apparently not when he was making love, Michael thought with a satisfied smile, softly brushing Max’s bangs away from his forehead. Max didn’t even stir, just kept snoring lightly, so close against Michael’s chest, his lips parted softly.

He’d listened to Max snore for years now, yet never like this…never so intimately, never when Michael still ached with what it felt to be inside of Max…to make love to him.

And then there was Liz, and her tiny hand planted so securely right around his abdomen.

He had two lovers, two of the most amazing people he’d ever known, and they both loved him. Michael Guerin…and he was totally freaking out at the prospect.

It was hard to feel worthy, difficult to feel safe. Not when love had always come at such a cost for him, had been so fractured and punishing. Michael couldn’t help but feel that either or both of them might abandon him, come to their senses and proclaim their newly forged relationship the insane proposition he knew it really was.

But they’d woven together, had mated…had joined their souls in the deepest, most intimate way, a quiet voice argued.

He’d felt it and they had too, the way they’d threaded into one soul, causing his chest to constrict and fire to sweep his skin. Their joining had left each of them quaking quietly, gasping…needing to come up for air from the sea of one another, but then that sensation had settled into something much gentler and soothing. The raging bond had stilled, slowly sealed into something more permanent, and a drowsy sensation had overcome them all.

And even now as Max and Liz slept, some distant corner of his heart was at peace, dreamed too—just as they did—because he felt what they did.

But did they sense his terror, even in their dreams? Did they know that the only thing anchoring him to this soft spot within the bed were their bodies and the way they enfolded him, otherwise he might have bolted already?

Michael Guerin didn’t commit, and certainly not like this. He didn’t mate for life, like a wolf or other wild thing. He didn’t allow anyone to pin him down like this.

Michael glanced at Max again, at the way his forehead nuzzled against Michael’s chest so trustingly, and prayed he wouldn’t hurt him because Michael felt capable of destroying both Max and Liz. He felt chaotic and irrational, and his whole body shook in silent tremors…even as he still burned for them both.

He was adrift on a sea of confusion and doubt, flailing like a drowning man. He only wished his heart could find something solid to latch onto, before he dropped to the bottom like a heavy stone.

How could something so beautiful as making love to them both tonight have ended in this kind of frenzied panic? Just like with Liz this morning, a quiet voice taunted. You’ll hurt them both, just like you did Liz earlier…but this time it will be Max. You’ll destroy him if you’re not careful, the voice warned and Michael pressed his eyes tightly shut.

No, I can’t do that to him, Michael thought, remembering the way Max had sighed so vulnerably in his arms, had cried out as Michael had taken him to new worlds, showered him with virgin ecstasies.

Michael simply couldn’t deny that Max had surrendered within his arms—anymore than he could deny that he wanted to give it all back. Because he was too fucking frightened to deal with that level of trust…with either of them.

****

Liz’s eyes fluttered open and at first she didn’t remember where she was. She raised her head off the thick pillow, casting her gaze about in the darkness, until she quickly remembered that she’d fallen asleep in Michael’s bed after they’d all made love…and love…and love. She smiled faintly, glancing at Max’s still form, tracing her hand across the white sheet where Michael had been lying between them earlier.

Watching them together had been unbelievably beautiful and had convinced her permanently that their threesome was just plain right. Not that she’d actually doubted their union at all, but seeing their gorgeous bodies sliding together as they had, hearing their soft cries of passion…had changed her irrefutably. And that they’d allowed her to share that moment of intimacy caused her eyes to sting with tears even now.

It had been like seeing what each of them did to her—but standing outside her body, looking in…and yet it had been it’s own wholly unique gift, too. Had been both at once…neither.

Liz sighed, scooting closer to Max, and wondered where Michael had gone. She’d assumed he was in the bathroom, but it had been a while now. She rolled toward the open doorway and saw the play of light in the hallway, flashing and shifting, and Liz realized Michael was watching television.

She eased to the edge of the bed, dangling her feet off the side, as she glanced out into the living room. She couldn’t really see him, just the flashes of light and the muted sounds of the television. Liz stood and stooped to grab one of Michael’s t-shirts off of his dresser, slipping it over her head in one smooth motion—and she loved how it smelled of him, so rich and earthy. So very Michael, she thought with a faint smile, giddy at the notion that she’d actually fallen so in love with him that she’d begun sniffing his clothing.

She walked toward the living room, clad only in his t-shirt, which swallowed her small frame, and was met by the image of Michael sitting on the sofa, scowling as he watched some late night television program. His eyes never wavered from the screen and he just sat there, cross-legged.

"Hey," he grunted.

"Hey, yourself," she laughed softly, but felt concern already flickering within her mind. He didn’t address her further, just stared silently at the television, never looking up at her.

Uh, oh, Liz thought. He’s back.

"He’s back." Liz hadn’t even meant for the words to escape her lips, but now she couldn’t retract them.

Michael raised his eyebrows, glancing at her briefly with a sharp frown. "Who’s back?"

Well, it was out there now, so she might as well forge ahead, Liz thought, settling beside him on the sofa. "Your Asshole Within, that’s who."

Michael was silent for a long moment, picking up the remote from where it rested on the arm of the sofa. He changed stations and a late night infomercial popped onto the screen, advertising something impractical for toning abdominal muscles that involved a long, coiled tube not unlike a Slinky.

"Wonder if that’s what Maxwell uses." It would have been a funny remark, except his voice was mirthless. "My Asshole Within, huh?" He continued with a heavy sigh.

"That’s what popped to mind," Liz replied, drawing her knees up to her chest. Michael was inches away, yet he hadn’t so much as touched her yet. "Or, your Inner Asshole, if you’d prefer."

"Nah, I think Asshole Within says it all quite nicely," he answered wryly, casting his eyes sideways at her. Her breath hitched when she saw that his brown eyes had softened already, that she was easing him back out of the tree. "Besides, I kinda like the irony there, Liz."

"Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you?" Liz laughed gently, and Michael slipped his hand on top of her knee, as he pressed closer toward her.

"I’ll get better at this Liz," he suddenly whispered, staring straight ahead. "I’ve got to because otherwise its gonna make us all crazy…me in particular."

"Why is it so hard to be close to us, Michael?"

"Because it’s me."

"I don’t understand what you mean," Liz sighed, leaning closer against him. "But I want to."

"Because…" He shook his head. "I just don’t get close like this, okay? It’s just not me."

"But it’s happened, so actually, it seems that you do get close like this," Liz argued quietly. "In fact, I’d go so far to say that you’re quite good at it."

"Sometimes, but then suddenly I get all spazzed out, and…like I just want to run," he confessed. "Especially after tonight."

She covered his hand with her own, tracing her thumb across his knuckles. Funny, but now she felt so much safer than Max, so solid and able to steady his heart, where as she’d been the threatening one only this morning.

"Max loves you, Michael. Very much," she whispered fiercely. "You have nothing to be uncomfortable about."

Michael fell silent, bowing his head in thought for several long moments, as he threaded his fingers through hers, just resting his hand there on her knee.

"I know." His voice was soft, a mere whisper. "But I’m what? Gay? What, Liz? Because damn I loved it…and I love what he does to me."

Liz couldn’t suppress a soft giggle at his words, and he whipped to face her, his brows knit in sudden anger. "What’s so funny about that?"

"Michael," she soothed, drawing his hand to her lips. "You are so not gay. Or didn’t you notice the way you responded to me shortly after you’d made love to Max? Because I certainly did."

Liz swore his face reddened, apparent even in the darkness, and he dropped his eyes. "Yeah, I guess I did notice that, too."

"Yeah," Liz agreed in a raspy voice. "I think this defies classification, Michael, but if anything I’d say you’re bi, since you obviously…uh, swing both ways… as it were."

"Great. Thanks a lot," he complained, even as his hand found its way to her hair, and he began stroking it slowly.

"What?"

"Could you have possibly worded that in a more humiliating way? Swing both ways. God." He lowered his mouth to her neck, pressing loving kisses along her exposed skin. Liz shivered in response, at the searing warmth of his soft lips against her throat, as he trailed the kisses down along her collarbone.

"I rather like that phrase and as applied to you…my lover…it turns me on tremendously."

Michael stared into her eyes in surprise, and then just shook his head as if clearing it. "I’m going to try and forget you said that."

"Well, and maybe you really just swing two ways…me and Max."

"But I was so attracted to him…for such a long time," he confessed, staring at his hands as his face flushed more deeply. "It would just never go away."

"Well, but you’ve also got to realize that this is something that can’t exactly be categorized in the typical manner," Liz explained, stroking the hair along his neck beneath her fingertips. "I mean, given your past relationship with Max and all."

Michael had been slowly stroking his fingers down the length of her arm, and he instantly stilled, his entire body stiffening.

And Liz knew she’d just made a tragic mistake, as he slowly turned to face her. She’d assumed that Max had told him, that he knew he’d been Max’s wife on Antar.

"What?" he asked, his voice tight as a wire. "What past relationship?"

She stammered a bit, wondering where her voice had gone. "Uh…just that, well…"

Oh, crap. Max should be the one to tell him, not her. Crap, crap, crap.

"Tell me," he urged in a low voice, clasping her forearm, his fingers tightening almost painfully around her flesh. "What are you talking about?"

"About us," Max stated simply from where he’d appeared in the doorway, wearing only his boxers and looking quite rumpled from sleep. "She’s talking about what we were to one another on Antar."

****

About what we were to one another on Antar. The words echoed, hung palpably in the air. What we were to one another…

"What…were we?" Michael managed to choke, feeling his heart race erratically. "What the fuck are you even talking about, Maxwell?"

Where had that come from? The roughness? Max flinched almost imperceptibly as he stepped closer toward Michael in the darkness, his boxers hanging low on his hips in a way that instantly caused a flicker of desire to ignite within Michael. Damn him for being so alluring and unavoidably gorgeous, Michael cursed. Max’s feet padded softly on the floor as he drew near Michael, then knelt suddenly right before him.

Michael wouldn’t meet his gaze, stared steadily over his shoulder at the television—winced as his stomach tightened uncomfortably at whatever Max was alluding to.

But Michael refused to look at Max, no matter how beautiful he was, no matter how lovely his amber eyes…even though he loved him so much more deeply after tonight.

"Michael," Max pressed gently, slipping a warm palm onto his thigh. "Look at me."

"Tell me, Max." No eye contact…couldn’t do it.

Max leaned closer into his space and cupped his cheek softly with his hand, turning Michael’s face until their eyes met. And those golden eyes flashed with deep emotion, shimmered even. Michael wished he could break the power of that gaze, but he saw too much reflected in Max’s eyes.

"Michael…" he whispered softly, tracing his thumb over his cheek. "I wasn’t sure you were ready."

"Damn, Max," he hissed. "Just tell me whatever it is."

Michael watched as Max drew in a slow breath, squaring his shoulders a bit as he let his hand drop away. Michael braced himself, his heart hammering an uneven rhythm.

"We were married…before."

"What?" Michael roared, leaping from the couch and pushing past Max. He had to get some physical distance.

"You were my wife."

****

Max watched as Michael’s jaw fell slack and his eyes widened in disbelief. Max crouched on the floor, where he’d been kneeling in front of Michael and realized he was preparing to pounce if necessary—because he was far too aware that Michael might flee at his pronouncement.

"No." It was all he finally said, standing there in the darkness, the bluish light of the television playing across his features.

"Michael, I know its weird, but it is definitely true." Max rose to his feet, but Michael backed away from him. "You and I were married, but something happened when they duplicated your essence. A mistake…you and Tess were switched, and your soul wound up…well, in you."

"No fucking way!" Michael’s eyes darted wildly around the room and he ran a shaking hand through his hair. "You’re just flat wrong, Maxwell."

Max didn’t answer, just implored Michael with his eyes and felt his heart hammer out a desperate rhythm in his chest. Michael had begun frightening him, the way he kept backing away…the look of disgust on his face.

"Michael, I remember you…us," Max explained as gently as he could, not wanting to push Michael too far. "It’s what changed things for me about this."

"Wh-what do you remember?" Michael asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"That I loved you… God, so much," Max whispered, closing the space between them.

"Why don’t I remember?" Michael’s voice was plaintive and lost, as if he wished he could believe Max, and yet was terrified all at once. Max’s heart ached at the sound, and he stepped even closer to Michael, yearned to help him through this painful moment.

"But you do, it’s why you want me like this," Max explained quietly. "You’re not gay…you’re just drawn to the man who was your husband before."

Michael stared at him, his chest heaving and for a moment Max thought he’d coaxed him out of his panic. But then his face twisted into a deep scowl, and Max flinched at his expression, at the revulsion that instantly darkened his gaze.

"That means I was…what? Your queen?" Michael stormed, stepping past him. "Perfect…I’m your queen. How fucking ironic!" With those words, Michael nearly sprinted out of the room, toward his bedroom.

Max was dazed by Michael’s reaction, ready to fall apart at the way things had just unfolded, but Liz jumped to her feet and Max felt her small hand squeeze his arm. Only then did he even realize that tears had filled his eyes at Michael’s words—at how they’d bruised his heart. Any other night than this one, any other time and he could have handled Michael. But not tonight, not when he still burned from having given himself to him for the first time.

Max held back a soft sob as Liz pulled him into her arms. "Max, sweetheart," she soothed. "It’ll be okay."

He nodded, folding his arms around her warm body, pressing her close. "I’m so sorry that I mentioned it…I thought he knew," she explained. "I thought you’d told him."

"It’s okay," he answered, wiping at his eyes. "I was going to tell him anyway…soon."

Max heard movement behind him and turned to see Michael standing in the doorway of the living room, having quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "So what you’re saying is that I’m your destiny, not Tess," he questioned, his voice more steady, but still defiant.

"Yes."

"You’re saying I was a woman," Michael insisted, still just standing in the doorway, watching him.

"I’m saying we were married…that I remember loving you," Max answered, stepping out of Liz’s embrace.

"But you’re saying I was a woman."

"Yes, I guess I am."

"Hey, maybe I was the king…maybe they got that part wrong, too," Michael argued sarcastically, moving closer to where Max and Liz stood together. "Because I’m no fucking woman…that’s you, Max!"

"Michael," Liz pleaded quietly. "Please…"

"So let me get this straight," Max snapped, suddenly feeling anger flash like lightning within him. "You have no problem with the fact that you just made love to a man, but you can’t deal with having been a woman in your past life?"

"Fuck you, Maxwell."

"Please do," he retorted without even thinking about it, but Michael’s eyes widened in surprise at the bold reply and his cheeks stained a deep red as they just stared at one another in the darkness. He’d meant it sarcastically, had wanted to rile Michael a bit, and somehow the moment had shifted, becoming all about their heated lust for one another.

Which only pointed out the ridiculousness of all Michael’s objections about having been his wife, his lover, his mate. None of that even mattered, as Max’s words echoed in the silence. Please do.

And then Michael laughed low in his throat, and the tension between them ruptured, dissipating as quickly as it had descended. "Well, one thing’s for sure…I’m onto something here about having been the king."

****

Michael couldn’t believe the words had actually escaped his lips, not when he respected Max so much as his leader, and for a brief moment, worried that Max might take his erotic jesting the wrong way.

"Oh really?" Max cocked his head skeptically, his amber eyes narrowing sexily. "And how do you figure that?"

"Because I loved being inside you far too much to have been the queen."

Michael laughed again because he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Max Evans blush as deeply as he did in response to his remark, which also told him that his salacious remark about being king had hit the mark, not offended his lover.

"Only problem with that argument, well…uh," Max stammered. "Well, is I’d have to say the same exact thing."

Michael traced his finger along Max’s jaw. "But you were pretty damn lost in my arms earlier, weren’t you?" And Michael smiled in satisfaction as Max’s face reddened even more deeply.

"No comment."

"So, I’m your destiny," Michael observed, feeling proudly possessive of Max.

"You’re my alien destiny…and Liz is my human one."  

"So the same goes for me," Michael pronounced, turning away from them both and walking toward the kitchen.

"Liz, how do you feel about all this?" Michael asked suddenly, meeting her dark eyes. She smiled at him, a lovely thing that instantly lit his soul with fire.

"I’m just glad the Antarians screwed up," she breathed, toying nervously with her hair for a moment. "Because otherwise, you’d have both been together, and where would that have left me?"

"Bi-sexual," Michael replied without missing a beat. "I’d have been Tess, and you’d have been chasing me around the locker room to get in my pants."

"Ooh," she complained, scrunching her nose up in an incredibly cute gesture. "Not about the bi part, but Tess? No, I don’t think so. No, that’s just way too unappealing."

"The Antarians might have been smarter than we think," Max laughed gently. "Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake at all."

Michael started laughing, running a hand through his tousled hair, as he shook his head.

"What?" Liz asked, swatting him on the arm. "Thoughts of me and Tess making you laugh?"

"Just that Tess thought you were a threat," Michael laughed sardonically, meeting Liz’s eager gaze. "Wait until she gets a load of me. Destiny, my ass."

Max finally relaxed at Michael’s words because they were an indication that Michael had accepted what he’d told him, even if he’d bucked at the knowledge initially. He felt ridiculous laughter bubbling up within his heart, as he teased Michael. "I’d leave out the my ass part, if I were you."

"Ah, shut up, Maxwell," Michael retorted, reaching for his keys. "I love you, but just shut up, okay?"

"Can I please just be there when Tess finds out?" Liz laughed, gently stroking Max’s lower back. "Pretty please, guys? I just so have to see her face."

"Anything for you, my love." Max leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

"Yeah, but I’m not ready for this to…well for everybody to know," Michael insisted, suddenly serious as he shifted on his feet. "I’m just not ready for Kyle Valenti to go around calling me Max’s queen."

They all began laughing, perhaps a bit in hysterical relief, and Michael stepped close to them again. "Look, I gotta get out of here for a while," he explained. "Everything’s cool, but I just need a little air."

Liz stepped past Max and leaned up on her tiptoes, cupping Michael’s face within her small hands, dragging his mouth down for a soft kiss on the lips. His hands slipped around her waist, drawing her closer. "I’ve got to get home anyway," she whispered softly. "You want to drive me?"

"Sure," Michael murmured, kissing Liz again and Max felt a small surge of jealousy at the thought of Liz riding on that motorcycle with Michael. But he was more concerned about whether Michael wanted him to spend the night tonight, or if he’d just prefer that he went home. Max felt a little insecure, until Michael stepped away from Liz, jingling his keys.

"Okay, Max, you’re staying right?" Michael’s eyes danced a bit as Max met his meaningful glance. Max swallowed hard and nodded.

With that Michael stepped close to him, drawing Max’s lips up for a slow, tender kiss that seared him all the way to his toes. Max grew instantly aroused and felt his boxers jut out in response to the intimate gesture. Michael laughed as he glanced low on Max, cocking an eyebrow flirtatiously. "Maybe I won’t stay gone as long as I’d planned."

"Unless he stalls out on my balcony," Liz threatened playfully and Max’s heart leapt at the look the two of them shared. "I rather like the idea of warming him up for you, Max."

"Ah, hell," Michael cursed, moving to open the front door. "The two of you make it pretty damn impossible for me to push you away."

"Then stop fighting us and surrender already," Max declared with a light sigh.

"Surrender?" Michael smirked, as he stared back into the apartment at Max. "I’ll let you negotiate the terms for that when I return."

With that, Michael closed the door, leaving Max standing in the middle of the living room with a raging hard on-- and smiling wryly when he wondered exactly what Michael’s terms of surrender should be, but then again, he was a king, so he’d figure something out.