Title: Forever Blue
Part: 1
Author: Mala
Email:
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Michael and Maria both face some anguish after "Heat Wave"
Category: Michael/Maria
Rating: R

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

No reason left for living
Still there's a lot to do
New tears to cry
Old songs to sing
And feel forever blue -Chris Isaak

* * * * *

She couldn't sleep. . .if she did, she would dream of him and she couldn't be sure that it was all in her head. Not with the feel of him still on her palms and her lips. Not with the bruises the counter and the wall had left on her back. Not with the way his cold, snake eyes had ripped her apart tonight.

Her new silver halter top was crumpled up on the floor along with the tissues she'd used to wipe off her make-up. A mess. Like him. A mess that she hadn't needed, but, dammit, she'd let him in! She'd let him in and he'd kissed her and made her head so thick and hazy. . .he'd given her hope.

And taken it all away.

If that wasn't just like a man. . .first her dad and now this. The alien Czechoslovakian rat bastard who made her grab her pillow and moan into it because she wanted him so damn much. Who thought he could just use her and leave her because it was convenient. Because it was safe. Coward. Wimp. "Asshole."

And she knew that she would take him back in a heartbeat. His mouth. His wild hair. The muscles she'd discovered hiding under his grungy clothes. The tangy taste of his kisses.

She scrubbed at the wetness on her cheeks, glad she'd at least cleansed and moisturized before falling apart. . .mascara tracks were the last thing she wanted to wake up with.

Michael was still the first.

"Damn it!"

* * * * *

He could still taste her. Still smell her. And it made his body ache. The stiff jerking motions of his hand weren't going to make any of it go away. Not anymore. Not since he'd had her soft, willing body in his arms and against his skin. . .since he'd looked straight down into her dark green eyes and seen the same crazy desire he felt. Since he'd licked the sweat from the hollow where her pulse leapt out of control. Since he'd had her mouth. Nothing spicy or sweet could compare to her mouth. . .to kissing her in the moist, hot darkness as her hands clutched at him and touched him everywhere. God, no. Every teenage boy's midnight relief was nothing in comparison.

And he'd given it all up.

He'd stayed across the room at that noisy, punk-ass, soap factory rave and then he'd cut her down like a professional, spouting some line about being a loner, about needing to stay that way. When all he'd been really thinking was that he needed her. He needed to pull her farther into the shadows and have her. She'd walked, then. Her face pale instead of flushed with want. . .her body closed instead of welcoming. He'd turned off her light. . .flipped the switch and shut her off to him forever.

Michael Guerin, martyr extraordinaire. And all he had to his name was a cramped room in a beat up tin can on the edge of town, a father that was passed out in the kitchenette drunk, and the sound of his own frustration.

"It feels so wrong but it feels so good. . .just being who I am is gonna hurt her. . ." Yeah, he'd hurt her anyway. He'd taken a week's worth of the feel-good, gorgeous, sexy, groping. . .and he'd left her with his head high like a real genuine fucking hero. Max would be real proud. He'd been oh-so-noble. The king of self-sacrifice, second only to his best friend.

So kingly that all he wanted to do was climb into Maria's bedroom window and into her bed and into her. He wanted to flip the switch and turn her back on. . .he wanted everything he couldn't have. . .everything he'd been denied since 1947. Normalcy. And sex with a beautiful girl who didn't deserve a loser like him.

He was throbbing. . .and he rolled over and kicked off his sheets. . .

"Maria. . .oh, dammit, Maria. . .I'm sorry."

He tried to convince himself that it was a serious case of blue balls making him cry.

He failed.

The End