PART SIXTEEN

Down her back and up again, Michael traced his hand, memorizing the way every warm curve, every change in the terrain felt beneath his fingertips. They’d been lying silently for nearly thirty minutes now, just like this, Liz on her stomach and he on his side. Just learning the feel of her body, finding what it was to touch her without inhibition.

And she could only purr like a kitten beneath his hands, a smile of deep satisfaction curving the edges of her luscious lips.

The only sounds were the soft sighs that periodically escaped from Liz, and an old record of her mother’s that she’d insisted he hear. There was a song called Charlotte Street that she said made her think of him, and while he wasn’t sure what it meant, he had to grudgingly admit that he liked the song.

Or maybe he just liked that any song made her think of him at all.

He lay on his side, silently studying her profile from where his head lay against the plump pillow. Her long silken tresses spilled across the sheets, her shoulders, like ebony against alabaster. He wished he could sculpt her. In fact, the urge was so strong his fingers nearly itched with it.

Yet he had no clue had to sculpt, wouldn’t know where to begin. But seeing her lying perfectly nude atop the covers, so sated from their lovemaking, sparked something nascent in his artistic spirit.

He’d painted her before, though he’d never admit it. Just from memory, without so much as a picture to guide him. He’d placed delicate strokes of chocolate and cream to canvas while she’d been in Florida for the summer…had thought of giving the few renderings to Max.

But he’d kept them, hidden away in the back of his closet, pulling them out sometimes late at night when he was alone.

He’d painted Maxwell, too, and far more frequently…oddly enough he felt less secretive about that fact, though he’d tucked those images away along with the Liz paintings.

Now, as she lay nestled beside him, her breath fanning softly against the pillow, her cheek resting so close to his own, he needed to capture something deeper, more of her essence.

He felt of her backbone, the way there were small notches that he could literally outline with his fingertips, and sucked in a breath at the thought of recreating that for the world.

"Hmm?" She asked softly, never so much as opening her eyes.

He had to laugh, because he felt her question resonate in his chest somewhere, almost like her voice came from the distant end of a corridor.

"Hmm…" he repeated softly, brushing a lock of hair across her shoulder.

"You know what I’m talking about," she amended with a gentle laugh of her own. "What is that heavy thought I feel plunking around in your head?"

He rolled onto his back, letting his hand fall away from her bare body. He stared at the ceiling, propping his head on his forearm, and wondered how she’d grown to understand him so quickly. "Not heavy, really."

"I think a lot of your thoughts are heavy," she said, opening one eye lazily.

"Great, you bond with me and now you know all my deepest secrets," he quipped.

Another dark eye opened, as she turned her head to study him more closely. "That was the idea, wasn’t it?"

"No, only a side effect…and a scary one."

"Not scary at all," she smiled, reaching to stroke his chest slowly with her own fingertips. "But I do have some dirt on you now, Guerin."

"That sounds ominous as hell."

"You’re a hopeless romantic," she laughed huskily. "But maybe Max already knew that?"

He cut his eyes sheepishly sideways to glance at her, and she only arched an eyebrow in question. "That’s probably true," he admitted grudgingly.

"The Max part…or the romantic part?"

"I dunno…probably both."

"Oh the romantic part is definitely true," she teased, rolling onto her side so that they lay flush against one another. "I suspected that before, but now I’m certain. And the most amazing thing, is that you hide it so well under your tough guy exterior."

"It’s something you and Maxwell bring out in me, Liz," he admitted quietly. "Not anything I ever really felt until now…with you both."

She nodded silently, threading her fingers through his, as they stared at one another a long moment.

"So what was that heavy thought?" she pressed, reaching up to slowly stroke his hair.

"Elizabeth," he protested softly.

"Michael," she whispered, wrapping her husky voice around his name with such obvious love, he had to close his eyes.

He blew out a heavy sigh. "You’re not going to let it go, are you?"

"Not really, no."

"Okay, I was thinking how much I’d love to paint you in the nude, okay?" He blurted loudly, and instantly felt his cheeks grow warm at his admission. The surprising thing was that when he glanced at Liz, she was blushing in response, a lovely pink hue that touched her cheeks instantly.

She brushed nervously at her hair with her fingers, just smiling at his words.

"I mean it," he whispered. "It would be amazing…to have you lie in my apartment and let me just paint you like this."

"I…I didn’t know you…painted outside of school," she stammered quietly, dropping her eyes.

"Not much," he admitted. "Just you and Maxwell." His heartbeat quickened at the confession, and he wondered what had compelled him to be so honest. Liz’s love made him feel that safe, he thought as she just stared at him, her mouth opening and closing silently.

"Damn, Liz, it’s not that shocking is it?" He laughed nervously, brushing his hand through his hair.

She shook her head briskly, her mouth snapping closed, and they fell silent for a long moment. There was only the sound now of her soft breathing and the scratchy sounds of her mother’s record on the turntable.

"I just didn’t know," she finally whispered, tracing the outline of his hip with her small hand. He felt instantly aroused by her touch, as her fingers trailed low down his abdomen, just grazing the dark patch of hair between his legs.

"Liz," he gasped, instantly stiffening at the proximity of her hand.

"You could paint us," she breathed, easing nearer toward him, her hips rocking closer toward his own. "All of us."

"You and Max," he countered quietly, slipping his hands behind her, so that he drew her flush against him. "Like this."

"You just want to paint Max’s ass," she laughed huskily in his ear, and the sound caused his groin to nearly ache.

"No, I want you, Liz…both of you…all of you…" He captured her face roughly within his palms, drawing her lips to his desperately.

She cried out, an almost keening sound, that caused him to shiver—but the sharpness of it was muted by something else, unexpected and frightening. Their lips stilled immediately, and they lay there, gasping as they stared into one another’s eyes.

"What the hell?" he whispered, feeling his breathing grow more labored.

"It was on the balcony," she answered, and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.
He looked over her shoulder without moving. "Be still," he admonished, searching the darkened exterior from where they lay. "Completely still."

And they heard it again. A loud scraping sound, then a rattling noise right after.

"Okay, there’s definitely someone out there," he pronounced, rolling away from her.

"Michael!" She hissed. "Maybe we shouldn’t…"

He cut her off before she could finish, moving off her bed and toward the window in one fluid motion. "Liz…I’m going." He raised his hand, ready to protect her if need be. Ready to stop an enemy if necessary.

****
Max had meant to collapse onto Liz’s lounge chair, and instead it had slipped out from underneath him. How was it that such a simple movement had taken such a complicated turn? For that matter, how was it that he was seeing double of nearly everything on her balcony, most especially the sign he’d plastered on the brick wall with his palm.

M.E. loves L.P, and a large glowing heart surrounded it, just like that time almost a year ago. Only tonight he’d added an additional flourish for good measure. M.E. loves M.G. loves M.E. loves L.P loves M.E. loves L.P…and onward the words stretched out for the length of the wall, in luminous lettering that made Max feel proud of his masterful use of alien powers.
Until he nearly landed flat on the ground as a result of admiring his handiwork.

It was Kyle Valenti’s fault, he thought, grasping at the edge of the lounge chair from where he sat slumped on the smooth concrete of Liz’s balcony. But every time he tried to hoist himself back up, the chair slipped just a little further away. Finally, he drew his knees to his chest and just rested his head against them, wishing the entire world would stop spinning.

Kyle, he cursed silently again. But even as drunk as he was, Max couldn’t blame Kyle for this one. He’d gone there and asked for the beer himself, he lamented, clutching at his head.

Max thought he heard a sound behind him, but felt too woozy to look up. Besides, he thought with a soft moan, Michael was too damn busy deflowering their Liz to hear anything out here. Or was it Liz who was deflowering their Michael? Hell, who cared, the point was, they were too busy falling in love to know he was out here.

That’s why he’d made the sign on the wall with all their initials. He wanted them to know it really was okay. It sucked, yeah, but it was okay too. It didn’t feel particularly good at the moment—any better than his head did—but he knew it had to happen.

What was it Kyle had said about it all? He couldn’t remember…or maybe it was Tess? Right after he’d told her to stop fighting her feelings for Isabel, it seemed she’d had something pretty damn good to say. He’d have to ask her again tomorrow, he thought wryly, opening his eyes as he felt movement behind him.

Suddenly, a pair of strong hands grasped him, pulling him upward by the arms, and he rolled his head backwards to stare into Michael’s fierce brown eyes.

"What the hell are you doing, Maxwell?" He stormed. "You scared the hell out of Liz and me!"

"I…told you…" He couldn’t finish his sentence. Michael’s eyes had never looked sexier…and he wasn’t sure what he’d even been going to say, as he just gazed up at him.

"What?" Michael roared.

"You’re pissed," Max finally said, closing one an eye in an effort to eliminate the duplicate version of Michael that danced before his eyes. Good, now there was only one, he thought with a victorious smile.

"You’re drunk," Michael answered, frowning sharply, as he tried to wrangle Max to his feet. It was a matter of fact statement, but Max knew his lover was really angry. There was too much fire flashing in his warm brown eyes.

"Yeah…yeah, I guess I am."

"Any particular reason why?" Michael asked, as he wrestled Max up onto the lounge chair, where he instantly slumped again. Max thought he heard another sound just behind them, a sort of scuffling along the window frame.

"Well," Max said, drawing the word out as he thought. Because Kyle had beer when I asked? Because… "Because you and Liz are in love," he finally blurted, then began laughing hysterically.

Michael just stared down at him, his brows furrowing together more intently. Suddenly it hit Max—Michael was standing on Liz’s balcony naked, his fair skin almost shimmering in the moonlight.

"You’re beautiful," Max sighed softly, reaching out to stroke Michael’s upper thigh.

"Maxwell, I think I’m going to kick your ass for this."

Max nodded agreeably. "Okay."

He felt small hands suddenly on his shoulder, and turned his head slowly sideways to find Liz’s large black eyes staring down into his own. "Hey," he announced brightly, giggling as he said it. But Liz didn’t look much happier than Michael.

"He says he did this because we’re in love," Max heard Michael explain from where he stood beside him, but Max never stopped staring at Liz.

"So you’re just catching onto that?" Liz asked softly and his eyes suddenly felt too heavy to keep open. All his giddiness seemed ready to evaporate.

"You weren’t supposed to fall in love," he grumbled, his happy state fleeing. Instead, he felt tears burn his eyes. "Neither of you…just with me."

"Oh," Liz pronounced slowly, raising her eyebrows. "I see…so we forgot the rules and you’re pissed off about it."

"You’re not allowed to love him," Max insisted again, this time much more forcefully as he sat up facing Liz.

"And why not?" she asked quietly.

"Because I said so," Max pronounced with a wave of his hand. Royal flare, he thought with slight satisfaction. "And I’m the king."

"Hmm…" Liz said, drawing the sound out as she tightened a silken bathrobe around her waist. It outlined all her perfect, delectable curves, and Max couldn’t stop his hand when it lifted to caress her waist.

She stared down at his hand, as it wandered across her hips and began its journey upward. He drew himself up on the chair, so that he faced her where she knelt just beside him. The hand suddenly seemed like some disembodied creature, an alien entity that needed to have all of Liz. And he was surprised when she slapped at it, shoving it off of her.

"I have news for you, your majesty," she snapped tartly. "I’m not your royal concubine."

"Liz," he protested softly, aware that Michael was pacing the length of the porch. "I didn’t mean…"

"I love him," she announced proudly, raising her chin with obvious defiance. "So get used to it."

She sounded so harsh, so unlike his beloved Liz that suddenly Max felt he might crumple as she moved to her feet.

"You’re pissed, too," he assessed sadly. "You both are."

"Because you’re completely drunk, Max," Liz complained, dropping down on the end of the chair. She was close again, at least that was promising, he thought. "And you’re trying to say we’re only allowed to love you, and that’s just not fair."

Max dropped his head into his hands, willing the world to stop its spinning. "I…saw you," he admitted quietly. "Together…too much…just too much."

"Together?" Michael asked from where he stood examining all of Max’s glowing workmanship, then stepped briskly toward him. "Maxwell, it’s what you wanted. What you asked us to do."

"I know," he grumbled into his hands, feeling someone stroke his hair with surprising softness. Liz? Michael? He wasn’t sure, though it instantly soothed him.

"You wrote it on the wall yourself," Michael reminded him quietly, and Max slowly raised his head to find Michael squatting on the ground beside him. Liz sat neatly on the end of the chair, her arms wrapped around her waist. "You spelled out all of our initials in a long, unbroken stream. You know it has to be this way, it’s the only way," Michael whispered softly, placing a large palm on his thigh.

Max nodded helplessly and the tears that had been threatening suddenly came rolling down his cheeks. Unstoppable, as he remembered how they’d looked together.

"I wanted to watch," he confessed, as Liz leaned in close toward him, her small hand wiping his tears. "The two of you…I hated it, but I wanted to watch."

"You didn’t hate it," Michael argued quietly. "It was just uncomfortable."

"I hated it because I was on the outside," Max whispered thickly, glancing between the two of them. Each had scooted closer, so that now Liz leaned practically into his lap, and Michael pressed a soft kiss against his temple.

"Maxwell, we’ve got to sober you up now," Michael said with surprising gentleness.

"You don’t sound pissed anymore," Max said. "Neither of you."

"Max, I am mad you got drunk," Liz answered with a slight shiver. "Only because you should have just climbed in the window and joined us, for crying out loud. Instead you…" She hesitated a moment, and Max rushed to fill in.

"Went to Kyle and told him you two were cheating on me." Now why didn’t that make as much sense now, Max wondered, as Liz’s eyes grew wide.

"What?" Michael roared, as Max wiped at his eyes again.

"He wanted to know why I was so upset."

"So you told him we were both cheating on you?" Michael thundered.

Max waved him off, collapsing backwards into the chair. "Nah, nah…that you were sleeping together. Not that we’re all sleeping together…"

Michael looked dubious, as his brown eyes darted quickly to Liz and then back to him. "You’re sure?" he asked.

"Michael, I’m not stupid."

"All evidence to the contrary at the moment," Liz snorted.

"Kyle was really sympathetic…and so was Tess," Max volunteered, wanting to be helpful. "Only when I said the stuff about Isabel did it get…weird."

His remark was met only by silence, as he felt Michael clasp his tie within his hand. Suddenly, he was jerked forward.

"Maxwell…I think I’m going to kick your ass for real now…unless you tell me that you did not tell Tess Harding something about how she and I were switched in the pods."

Max scratched at his head, and wondered why he couldn’t quite remember—especially given that breathing was becoming difficult from the way Michael had such a grip on his tie.

"I just said…to stop fighting it with Isabel."

"And Kyle heard this?" Liz asked, her voice coming out all high-pitched.

"Nah…Tess walked me over here. Told her I was coming to break the two of you up…and then I don’t remember except telling her she belonged with Isabel, not me."

"What’d she say?" Liz asked, and Max snapped his head to look at her. She appeared surprisingly calm, considering how angry Michael seemed.

"Don’t know," Max admitted softly. "I don’t remember anything until I looked in the window again…and there the two of you were. God you were both so beautiful," Max whispered with an irrepressible sigh.

He felt Michael loosen the stranglehold on his tie, and he glanced sideways to find Michael grinning with obvious reluctance, as he laughed. "This whole stunt is such a Michael Guerin move, Max…reckless, irresponsible…the whole drill."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Max asked him in confusion, fumbling with his tie in an effort to straighten it out.

"It’s just…surprising, that’s all," Michael laughed, stroking Max’s bangs off of his forehead with sudden tenderness.

"You’d get drunk like this over me?" Max asked shyly. He wasn’t sure why, but something about that idea pleased him tremendously.

"Not necessarily…but I’m sure I’d do something equally stupid over you…or Liz…in a heartbeat."

"Speaking of stupid," Liz chimed softly. "It’s like really cold out here, and Michael’s naked and I almost am…"

"Let’s get you in the shower," Michael agreed, taking Max’s hands firmly within his own, and pulling him upward. "I want you sober for what comes next."

"And what comes next?" Max asked, feeling a bit uncertain, as he stumbled onto his feet to stare up into Michael’s eyes.

"You’re going to discover why this threesome works in so many different directions," Michael promised huskily, dipping his head low to kiss Max on the lips.

Max wondered exactly what he meant, when Liz nuzzled his cheek a bit, whispering in his ear. "Just call it your punishment for ever feeling on the outside in this relationship."

"Wh-what are you saying?" Max asked, wondering why he found the word punishment so confusing in the context of such obvious love from them both.

Michael laughed huskily, leaning down to kiss Liz for a long moment, and Max’s heartbeat quickened involuntarily as he watched. Finally, Michael turned back to him and slowly began unknotting his tie with incredible tenderness.

"My dear king," Michael laughed quietly, as the tie fell loose within his fingers. "Elizabeth is saying she’s about to assert her queenly rights in this relationship."

"Think you can handle it?" Liz teased throatily, pulling the tie from around his collar. "Handle us?"

Max swallowed hard and nodded mutely as Liz’s deft fingers began unbuttoning his shirt, until it fell slightly open, revealing only his soft white undershirt.

"King of Antar reporting," he gulped, as Michael threaded their fingers together, tugging him toward the open window.

"Good," Michael purred, tossing an irresistible smile over his shoulder. "Then let the royal punishment begin."