God, she was so warm.

Michael's fingers floated over her skin, gentle as butterflies, as his lips explored the contours of her neck. He was so afraid-- so afraid that he would hurt her. That she would hate him after all this was over. He didn't think he could take her hatred-- her soft caresses were all that had kept him sane as he lived day to day in this psycopathic hell.

Maria moaned beneath him as he touched her, and Michael was brought back to the here and now. He wanted to rip her green scrub shirt off and attack her throat, her chest-- suck every inch of her flesh, like he'd dreamed of doing since that night centuries ago in the motel on the way to Marathon. Mariathon. Marathon.

Moving slowly, he pulled himself up so that he rested on his elbows above her. Maria's face was flushed, her eyes closed. When she felt him draw away, her lashes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him. "Michael?"

"I...I just wanted to look at you," he said lamely. //Yeah, nimrod. Sound like a real winner, why don't you.//

But Maria just smiled and pushed herself up onto her own elbows, so her chest rubbed against his. "Do you like what you see?" she asked playfully, though her eyes told him that she already knew.

Still, Michael couldn't keep himself from nodding furiously, like a wind-up toy. "God yeah."

She smiled, and tilted her head up a little. Lightly, she began to nibble along his neck-- infuriatingly soft nips along the edge of his jaw. He groaned low in his throat, and felt her lips curl into a smile against his skin.

He wanted to see her. More than anything in the world right now-- more than his freedom-- he wanted to see her. All of her. Every glistening inch of almost-alabaster skin that was just the right shade of pink. Mariatone.

Sitting back quickly, he pulled her into a sitting position in front of him. Maria said nothing, just smiled as his eager fingers took hold of the edge of her shirt and pulled it up over her head. She raised her arms to help him guide it off, then let them drop as Michael tossed the green fabric into the corner. He turned his attention back to her, and his eyes focused on her perfect chest. Bras were not a necessary expense here apparently, and she sat bare from the waist up before him. His mouth gaped ever so slightly, and he saw a pink flush work up her flesh. Dragging his gaze up from her breasts, he tried to meet her eyes, but she wouldn't look at him.

"I could feel that," she said, sounding embarassed, keeping her eyes averted.

"Feel what?"

"Your...reaction," she told him, a foolish grin spreading over her face. Finally raising her eyes to his, she giggled, "I'm not THAT built."

Michael chuckled and leaned forward to peck her on the lips. "Yes you are," he told her, before moving his lips downward.

******

He felt like hot caramel.

Maria had no idea why that image came into her mind, but as Michael's lips kissed their way down her chest, that was what she pictured: caramel kisses. Sundae lips.

His desire was quickly being overshadowed by her own, as his mouth moved away from her collarbone and moved lower. And lower.

She let out a gasp of pleasure as Michael sucked her right nipple into his mouth and gently began to suckle. With each pull, she felt a white hot cord burn through her. "Gahhh...Michael," she moaned, as her spine turned to jelly, and she began to collapse back to the mattress.

But Michael wouldn't let her. His hands gripped her around the waist and pulled her forward, so that her legs wrapped around him, her crotch pressed up against his stomach. His tongue worked her nipple, making her gasp for air. Maria twined her fingers in his hair and held him to her, even as he released one nipple and moved to the other, to repeat the actions of his tongue and deliciously sweet mouth.

Maria found her hips beginning to move in time with Michael's suction, rubbing against his six-pack abs. Thrust forward, pull back, thrust forward, pull back. She moaned, and he made a guttural sound in response, opening his mouth against her breast and laving her already hardened nipple with his tongue. She raised up against him, muscles straining, as his hands smoothed up and down her back and his lips moved away from her breast.

"M-Michael," she whimpered, already missing the beautiful sensations of his mouth sucking her.

He grazed his lips along her skin as he raised his face to look at her. "We're not done yet," he told her, his eyes unable to settle in one place. They explored her face-- her nose, her lips, her eyes, the soft strands of golden hair that brushed against her forehead. Maria felt his artist fingers trail up her spine to bury themselves in her hair as he pulled her forward for a kiss that the romance novels her mother read would have classified as smoldering. Slowly, she felt him start to tilt her back to the bed.

******

He couldn't control himself much longer.

Michael's breath was fast and ragged, and he wondered briefly if Maria noticed how proprietory his hands were on her body as he lowered her to the bed again. A glance at her face showed her eyes to be closed, her cheeks flushed. She was enjoying him. Enjoying what he was doing to her.

He fought back the impulses that threatened to take him over, forcing his protesting id to the back of his mind. Maria. Focus only on Maria right now. She was giving herself to him-- to his strange alien chemistry. He would repay that the best he could-- he would make her first time one to remember.

She strethed out languidly beneath him as his lips began to work down her body again. Mariataste. Mariascent. They were abstract ideas that his psyche gave form and name. Her sweet, rosy skin and the smoky scent of her lust.

God, she wanted him. He was in heaven.

He'd reached the elasticated waistline of her scrubs, but that was no barrier to him. With little thought, he reared up onto his knees and pulled the green pants down her slim legs, followed quickly by her regimen white panties, which, he was awe-struck to discover, were soaked through with the evidence of her desire.

Maria whimpered beneath him, rubbing her legs together in an effort to maintain control. "Michael," she begged.

He wasted no time. Shifting his position on the bed, Michael gently eased her knees apart. That simple act made her back arch, and her fingers clenched the thin army blanket beneath them. He marveled that his simple touch could bring her this much pleasure, even with a camera recording their every move for future reference.

Trailing featherlight fingers down her inner thighs, Michael tenderly touched the mound of golden curls at the juncture of her legs. Maria's hips raised to meet him as she groaned with need. Not quite knowing why he did it, Michael parted her damp lower lips and played along the folds with his fingers. Her explosive breath and the sharp up-thrust of her hips elicited an equally violent jolt in his groin, and he moaned as he leaned forward.

******

When Michael's lips touched her, Maria died.

Or she might as well have. Never in her short life had anything felt so... There was no description. She had no parallel. Except to say it was like tasting for the first time. Like the moment she had first opened her eyes as a newborn and SEEN. An awakening. It made her scream his name. "MICHAEL!"

Maria could feel his focus-- his steadfast determination to concentrate only on the salty taste of her; on her reactions to his tongue, his fingers. He was reining himself in, holding back from tearing off his own scrubs-- which seemed painfully out of place-- and burying himself within her in one swift stroke. The wanton fire in him scared her, but thrilled her even more; that just touching her could arouse him so much. It made Maria feel like a goddess.

Michael's tongue played along the ridges of her nether-lips, and she buried her fingers in his hair as she arched away from the bed. Then, she felt his teeth brush over the swollen nub of her clit, and she lost all coherent thought. Her hips thrust up against his mouth as she choked out a wordless sound.

Michael's teeth gently worked her clit as his tongue played with her and his hands held her down. Maria whimpered under the onslaught. She couldn't take this-- she felt her inner walls twitching already, wanting. "Michael," she begged, "Michael, please. Oh, please, please!" Her fingers worked down from his hair and dug into his shoulders as she stretched her muscles to the maximum. When he slid his hand down from her hip to her soaked lower lips, she prepared herself for what new form of sweet torture he intended.

But she was totally unprepared to handle the flood of sensation that overcame her as he thrust three fingers full inside her even as he sucked on her clit.

Maria screamed as she came. If such a sound could be called a scream. Scream denoted fear or despair-- this was neither. This was an explosion of emotion that barrelled out of her in a long, exulted cry.

But Michael wasn't finished yet. She was gloriously wet, and his fingers slid easily into her tight passage. Despite her lassitude, Maria pushed her hips down against his fingers, wanting him to go deeper, deeper... "Please, more," she murmured, barely able to speak.

He pulled his lips away from her sensitive nub, and she let out a despairing cry at the loss of feeling, only to have it replaced by a coo of pleasure as his mouth was replaced by his thumb. He circled her, even as his fingers moved within her.

Michael loomed up over her now, and Maria's arms went reflexively around his neck, pulling herself up to press against him as the new and enthralling sensations threatened to tear her apart. She buried her face in his neck, her mouth open and hot against the tender flesh of his throat. His free arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close as her hips lost contact with her brain and took on a mind of their own.

Maria ground her pelvis into his, feeling the hot throb of his erection through his green scrubs. How had they come this far without removing those? She could feel the roil of emotions that poured off him-- they mixed with hers to form an aphrodisiac. She wanted him, he wanted her; she wanted herself, he wanted himself. They poured themselves together, and Maria could feel his control breaking. But she didn't care-- she had no control left herself.

Her fingernails clawed at his back, his shoulders, as she felt that precipice she'd only experienced once before begin to loom before her again. Rushing closer, faster, faster....

When she flew over the edge, she was screaming his name, because he was the only one who could save her.

******

"MICHAEL!!!!"

Maria came against his hand for the second time, tightening around his fingers like a vise, and Michael stopped thinking. Nothing else existed, except Maria. Mariatouch.

He slipped his fingers from her sheath, impatient or unable to wait for her muscles to loosen. She groaned in protest at the loss as he raised himself over her and ripped his scrubs off, along with the clinical white boxers beneath. For once in this hell, he was glad he had alien abilities. //Too fast, too fast// he told himself over and over as he fit his knees between hers and forced them apart. But Maria gave him willing access, reaching up in a lazy embrace as she spread for him, her fingers brushing his shoulders.

Michael couldn't think as he pushed himself into her. His vision exploded, and he couldn't see her anymore. But he could hear her-- her gasp of surprise and pleasure as he thrust into her slick passage, which still twitched from her orgasm of just a few seconds before. He buried himself in her, wincing as he felt her barrier tear, and heard her cry of pain.

Michael wanted to comfort her-- to tell her that he would be gentle, tender. But he couldn't. Instead, he buried his face in her throat and kissed her as hard as fathomable while he pounded into her. Maria was his nexus, his valley-- the place where his world came together. As he moved within her, for just these few choice moments, nothing else existed-- no prison held them. They were free. And he couldn't have slowed down if he'd tried.

As Michael flowed in and out of her, and felt her hips meeting with his, he prayed that he could just die here, wrapped in Maria, part of Maria. Because once you've seen a sunburst, normal light is never the same again.

******

Her orgasm shattered the sky.

"MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL!" Maria screamed, as if repeating his name could somehow make the experience last forever-- or at least until the shattered remains of stars and planets were rejoined.

Her inner walls clamped around him, and she felt Michael release a shuddering breath against her shoulder as he came, filling her. She hated that the beautiful moment was haunted by Topolsky-- 'vessel for the gestation.' It made Maria want to shudder, but she fought the impulse and cleaved to him as they both fell back against the tousled sheets and blankets, gasping for air.

Michael's breath was both hot and cold against her damp chest as Maria held him close, unwilling to let him go. For a brief minute, he'd forgotten where they were. She had felt that, clear as day. And she never wanted him to return to that dark place of pain he'd inhabited since they arrived here. The thought made her ache.

Eventually, Michael began to move on top of her, and she groaned as he withdrew and slipped to the bed beside her. But he quickly drew her to him in a tight embrace.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Maria didn't know what to say-- how do you thank someone for showing you how to burn? She traced lazy circles on his chest, around his nipples, and realized suddenly that she had barely kissed him all night. All sensation had been focused on her. It made her whimper.

Michael looked down at her. "Maria?" he asked, and she heard his worry. "Are you...ok?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "I'm fine. I just...suddenly figured out that...God, Michael, you did all that for me, but I did nothing for you." She sniffled. "I..I'm so sorry."

Michael rocked her gently. "Don't be," he told her softly. "You did everything for me."

Maria looked at him, teary-eyed. "I did? What?"

He stroked her hair. "You let me touch you. You didn't shy away." His long fingers caressed her cheek. "You said my name. That was all I needed."

She smiled at him, and cuddled closer.

Suddenly, Maria realized that she was chilly. The heat of just moments before, while not gone, was dissipating quickly. She shivered. "Let's get under the blankets," she murmured against his chest, and felt him nod.

"All right," he said, and started to draw away from her to stand up. She groaned as he left her, but started to move, too. Only to stop and groan again-- this time from pain.

Michael obviously sensed the difference in her tone, and she felt his contentment fade into the background, replaced by worry. "Maria?" he asked softly, kneeling beside the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lied. "Just...just my legs kinda hurt. But it's really nothing--!"

It was useless to tell him it didn't matter-- he'd already sat on the edge of the bed, and was gently parting her legs again. "Oh, God, Maria," he breathed. "Oh, God, I am so sorry."

The wave of guilt and self-loathing that hit Maria were like a physical blow, and she jerked a little as it washed over her. "W-what?" she managed to get out, as she forced herself into a sitting position. Her eyes bulged as she looked at herself.

Her inner thighs were bloody from when he had first pierced her. It was hot and sticky, something she hadn't even noticed until now. But beyond that, the soft skin of her legs, from her knees up, was beginning to bruise-- from where his knees had held hers apart, as he plowed into her, forcing her wider and wider.

Michael was staring at her in horror-- not from the sight of her, but from the knowledge that he had done it. "Oh, God," he choked out, standing and stumbling away from the bed. He didn't seem to notice he was naked as he stumbled to the sink and bent over it, as though he were going to be sick.

"Michael?!" Maria called after him. She wanted to go to him, touch him gently, comfort him. But her legs wouldn't work. "Michael, it's all right," she reassured him. "I'm okay."

"No you're not," he replied, not turning around, not looking up. "God, I...I HURT you, Maria. I...I RAPED you." His voice choked off.

Maria's eyes widened in disbelief. "Raped me?" she breathed. "Michael, is THAT what you think this is? Rape?"

He nodded, but didn't look at her.

Maria sat up straighter, ignoring the pain from her lower body. "Michael," she said firmly, "this is NOT rape. Did I ONCE tell you no? Did I EVER try to push you away, or make you stop?" He didn't answer, so she went on. "I'll answer that-- no. No, I didn't. God, Michael. I WANTED this. I wanted YOU." She reached out to him. "And I still do."

Michael looked back at her then, and she saw that his eyes were shining. "But, I might..."

She shook her head. "No, Michael. Mights and maybes don't count. All that matters is that right now, I want you to hold me." She threw her sincerity at him.

Slowly, his resolve seemed to weaken. But he didn't come to her side right away. First, he turned back to the sink and dampened a facecloth in warm water. Then, heading back to the bed, he sat near her feet. "Open your legs," he said softly. "Please."

Maria smiled, and did as he asked.

"I can't heal very well," he murmured. "But...I want to help." Reaching out, he ran the warm washcloth down the inside of her thigh.

Maria let herself rest back against the sheets as he tenderly cleansed her lower body. The warmth of the washcloth was soothing and arousing, and she felt her core start to thrum again. She gave a little jump when he passed the rough material over her lower lips, grazing her clit, and moaned happily.

Eventually, he moved the cloth away, and stood up again to rinse it at the sink. Maria opened her eyes, which had drifted shut, and watched him move, admiring the play of muscles in his back, and legs, and arms.... It made her sigh.

Michael turned back to her, and she felt more than saw the playful glint in his eyes. "Is milady checking out my ass?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Maybe. Is milord inviting her to?"

He walked back to the bed and swooped her up into his arms. "I think milord would rather cuddle," he told her, as he snaked the sheets down and slipped her slim frame between them.

"A man wanting to cuddle?" she said in fake shock as he slid onto the mattress in front of her and pulled the blanket up over them. "What is the world coming to?"

Michael didn't respond. He just grinned wickedly, and disappeared under the blanket.

"Michael?" Maria asked curiously, wondering what he was planning. "Michael, what are you do...ooh...oooooh..." She trailed off as she felt his hands spread her legs again and then felt his mouth gently travelling along her inner thighs, placing kisses over each bruise, each delicate inch of skin. Soothing her with his lips.

Maria purred, and snuggled as deep into the thin pillow as it would allow, letting his warmth flow over her. She just wanted to stay like this forever-- with him, like this, forever.