Bitter Satisfaction

Bitter Satisfaction

Author: Margarita

Email: margarita782

Category: UC, Tess/Alex. Slash and Cliffhangers implied.

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Roswell does not belong to me; it's the genius of people like Jason Katims and Melinda Mertz.

Summery: Tess and Alex have a unique way of dealing with their pain...

Author's Note: Please review!

I don't know exactly how I feel about Alexander Charles Whitman.

More than a friend, certainly, but at the same time, a brother. What is it they used to say? "If you can't keep it in your pants, keep it in the family"?

Our relationship is something like that.

He's a brother, even though he doesn't really act like one when we are alone. It's with the others that we're friendly. It's with the others that we joke around, and it's with the others that he is protective of me.

It's also with the others that I suck in sharp little breaths and gnaw my way through my bottom lip. It's with the others that Alex's face is like stone and his eyes are unreadable. It's with the others that we watch our mutual love, Isabel, and her success in achieving her "destiny."

But every time that he knocks softly on my bedroom window and I invite him in, we're nothing like friends or siblings. We just are. We're not nasty comments or love or hate or anything in between. We're pleasure and pain. And the hurt leaves for a while.

He comes every third night. We decided once, long ago, that that was near the point at which the pain became unbearable for each of us. When he comes inside of me, throbbing, the pain is gone and replaced with nothing but a contented emptiness. No regrets. No rejections. No marks of the "princess" on either of us, only hickeys and scratches and bruises, easily erased.

Because Alex isn't gentle. He's hard and fast and violent. He doesn't care if I come. This isn't about love or sex. It's about power. We don't make love, and we're not tender. We fuck. And we both love it. It's an addiction, almost as soothing and incessant as Isabel. Almost.

I am not second best. Alex and I don't settle. We just exist. Perhaps we get pleasure from using each other as we're constantly being used by our "princess," our queen. When we're done, when he has removed himself from me and has redressed, I see the hatred in his eyes, hatred mirrored in my own. We hate each other for needing each other. We hate each other for needing. And at the same time, we love each other.

I don't know exactly how I feel about Alexander Charles Whitman.

I just thank God that the Valenti's have a one-story house.