AN: This is a RE-WRITE! I used to be satisfied with the original, but after reading it again the other night, I decided that there were a lot of things I felt like I didn't convey with the original. There was so much more I wanted to say (and more importantly, re-touch). But don't worry, the plot is the same, the out-come is the same, the feelings are the same, it's just better…trust me. (Well, at least I hope it is.) )

I originally wanted to change the title as well, but then got to reading it again and noticed a recurring theme of fire (melting, heat, burning etc…) so I think its fitting. But that's just my literary sense coming back up from my AP English days. LOL

You will also notice a change in tense. It starts out as past tense and then transitions (gracefully, I hope) into present tense. Also, the formatting is a little different.

Okay, I'm done babbling, Enjoy! )

Disclaimer: I don't own Even Stevens. If I did, the following pair would have been canon. )

Pretty Burning

The night is pretty much a blur now.

There is really no other way to describe it other than that-- blurry. Hot, sweaty, sticky and blurry. A mass of skin and lips and teeth and nothing else remotely simple.

You remember only key things clearly; like how it was really hot around ten o'clock. And how you…


…can't keep the sheets on your body another second for fear that your skin will melt into the mattress.

You're sweating. You're thinking.

But you can't exactly remember if he was in your head before or after he slid his hand down your half exposed back.

It surprises you.


Though it probably shouldn't. You knew he would come some time in the middle of the night. You weren't sure when, but you knew he'd be there.

(possibly after Louis had finally fallen asleep, or maybe just on his lie of a 'bathroom-break')

You don't know, and as you lie there in your bed thinking about him, you don't care.

After removing the sheets from your body you pull the waist band of your shorts down a little further.

You don't really know why, you just submit to all these automatic things that are happening. You push your face into the mattress as a wave of want washes over you.

(and you realize that you love this a little more than you hate it.)

The urge to go into the hall and look passed that door is overwhelming.

You want to see him while he's not watching you. That is a rarity these days and you know it, because his eyes are almost always on you-- constantly under creating a spotlight. But it's a good one and you can't complain. Yet, you still long to see his face without features that are fighting to stay complacent, trying to keep smiles hidden and eyes tame across a dinner table.

And while your leg drops to the floor beside you, your intentions are washed away. A creaking sound is born from your door handle.

You know it's him.

You feign sleep because your heart can't handle the excitement. You need time to sort out your game plan.

(as if you didn't already have the entire night to do this.)

A part of you is afraid…

And that's what makes this so exciting and enticing and worth it.

You don't get this feeling with anyone else, and that in itself is frightening.

All your inhibitions are completely severed when you hear him breathing next to you.

You hear his heavy foot-falls on the carpet. You can taste him and smell him and almost feel the heat radiating from his body -- the throbbing.

Your eyes stay shut, relishing your heightened sense of smell and taste and sound.

You want him to touch you the way you're dying to touch him.

The muscle in your chest lurches an agonizing beat as the tips of his slender fingers start dragging against the small of your back.

(suddenly you realize why you uncovered it in the first place.)

His fingers quickly turned into his palms, and the heat of his hand mixed with the burning flesh of your back feels like fire is being pulled and pushed into your skin.

It feels exciting and hard to explain. It feels like him.

His hands are now pushing their limits when they reach the rounded flesh above your thighs.

He feels around with seemingly no hesitation, and somehow this feels good to you.

He squeezes gently and you unintentionally expel a large gasp from the depths of your air-deprived lungs.

His hand now abandons your backside and travels up to rest in my hair. You pull your face away from the sheets and turn to look at him.

His eyes are dark and concentrated on your body. His lips are thick and red and swollen.

He looks amazing and other-worldly.

You take this opportunity to slide onto your back and, taking the unspoken invitation, he climbs on top of you. You notice the bed move as his knees dig into the mattress on either side of your waist. You immediately feel his hard thickness as it rests against your exposed stomach.

You're shaking now.

You can hardly breathe…and it's all because of him.

(you somehow still can't get over this.)

He leans down and you lean up and lips collided. Soft at first and then faster with urgency as tongues push together, sliding and straining until the strongest muscle in the body becomes weak on both ends.

You wrap your arms around his back and pull at the fabric of his shirt. You want it gone.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He knows what you want and quickly disposes of it. At this point you desperately want to ravish his newly uncovered skin (touch it and feel it and trace it), but he's attached his lips to the side of your neck and you can't exactly remember how to breathe right now, let alone explore.

He nips lightly at the nape and runs his hot tongue down until it crashes into what you are positive is your pulse. It's all slow-motion from here on out.

You feel ready to release all of the tension from your body at this very moment.

(you are so sure you will just die if you don't.)

Your head tilts downward so that you can see the dark shadows between your bodies, spilling between where skin his touching and where it is not. You boldly take your hand, which was formerly resting on the expanse of his back and you push it down through the small space and touch him softly.

You hear him suck in breath like a vacuum right beside your ear. It's now sharp, shaky breath that falls from mouth and nose. A new heat envelops your body and your stomach coils beneath your skin. You feel empowered and dominant as you hold this boy in your hands.

(literally and figuratively.)

Your enjoyment is halted, however, when he reaches down and removes your offending appendage. He lowers his boxers. Immediately, you grab him for the second time and he seems slightly surprised.

You feel his muscles spasm momentarily and he's desperately wanting you to move.

But with practice and observation, you have learned his breaking point. You know just how far you can take him before pulling him back. You know him.

(and somehow this thought scares the shit out of you, but gives you a sense of pride at the same time.)


He looks at you now and his eyes are much darker than several minutes before (you try to ignore the glistening of tears in them.) The look alone makes your heart jump.

Too much, you think.

(but it's always too much.)

And you wonder…

Am I allowed to feel like this? With him?

You don't know.

(but you don't know much of anything these days.)

In the middle of this notion you are introduced to ecstasy. He has pulled his head down, the hair falling into his eyes, and placed himself inside of you.


You stop breathing completely and the only sound you can make out is the incessant pounding intruding the cavity of your ear.

You can feel his heart…

He pulls out slowly,

(almost agonizingly -- he's gotten way too good at this)

…and then begins to fuck you.

A few thrusts in and his head rises up and he stares at you. He looks into your eyes and his hands, which had been on either side of your head, reach down and grasp your own. He locks your fingers with his and pulls your arms to rest above your head.

He holds them so tightly as he moves in and out of you. Suddenly a mangled cry forms in the depths of your throat. It's rising fast. You have to scream. It feels too good.

But before your feelings are vocalized his full lips come down and rest against your gaping mouth.

You hear him breathing hard through his nose as he pushes into you with more urgency.

(you can barely feel your fingers now.)

He overwhelms you. He never fails.

It seems so fast and yet so long at the same time. Before you know it electricity is flying from nowhere to nowhere in your stomach. You feel yourself heating up and a whimper/cry/desperation escapes from your lips as he buries his face into your matted hair.

The heartbeat in your chest is overpowering any other waves of sound in the room.

You think you hear him speak but aren't sure and won't ask.

(because the room is now spinning with you inside of it.)

Once more he gyrates against you, breaking you open. Your limbs become limp as you fall from that proverbial cliff. Hard.

When the bursts of heat subside, you begin to notice how you feel free and open…and right.

He's falling on top of you, and you revel in an even higher sense of good than you ever thought possible.

Minutes pass as you both lie there. You breath and you don't speak.

You forget how to speak. You forget how to express yourself with words.

There are no right words.

Words mean nothing.

(and no one in the world can even begin to know how complete you feel at this moment.)

You don't remember exactly when it is that you open your eyes, but you feel tears in them.

(and somehow it's harder to ignore your own.)

The rate of your heart has fallen back into a healthy rhythm and you feel as if you have fallen gracefully into some soft abyss.

You feel that feeling that you don't think you should be feeling.

(but you can't deny that you have been feeling it from the start.)

You're suddenly cold as he moves off of you and sits on the edge of the bed,

(but not before placing a kiss of the corner of your mouth.)

He shifts until he's half-way facing your sated body and runs his hands up your legs,

(which have been strained from wrapping around his body.)

He pushes his fingers under the waist band of your shorts and carefully moves them back over you.

He wants you to face him. But your eyes can't meet his, because it will all unfold and you can't handle that. You want to run away from this, you want to melt inside the mattress at this moment. You want it to end.

The bed rises up slightly after he vacates the edge (in defeat), and a piece of you feels a newly established anger/hurt/disappointment crawling over his senses.

Your eyes now focus on him as he pulls his boxers up and runs a hand from his disheveled hair to the reddened flesh around his neck. It occurs to you that the crimson skin is a sign of an emotion you've been trying to side-step the entire night, but you desperately try not to notice.

(because this is too difficult to deal with, and it's the first time tonight you think this may have all been a mistake).

He licks his lips and rubs idly on his stomach and stares down at you. You want to speak but you can't. You just lie there (breathing normally at this point), and finally meet his eyes, because somehow its easier to look at him when he's not touching you.

You bring your hand up about an inch. He grabs it and holds it tightly.

(and its all too familiar).

You sit up rather quickly and kiss him. It's harder than either you or he was expecting.

(and somehow you know; you know that is this what losing someone feels like).

He drops your hand, "Good luck at school" He whispers, and you notice that his eyes have now dropped to the floor.

(and you're fighting that burn behind your own).

You still don't speak, although you desperately want to, need to.

(anything to save what's left of this, or save what it could be)

He sighs heavily, turns around and begins the short walk to your door. He grabs the handle, and as it turns, so does your stomach…

(and all you can think of is how you never wanted it to end like this).

"Alan, wait."

He turns around and you want to cry at the desperation in his eyes.

And suddenly all of the things you want to say, all of the truths you want to reveal…

Don't leave. I won't leave. You're amazing. We are amazing. I love you.

…you can't say.

"Goodnight." Instead.

(suddenly you hate yourself.)

And with a look you can't read, he turns and leaves your room.

Your life.

And you don't stop him.

AN: Good News! I am actually in the process of writing more for this story! I'm not going to promise anything, but there is a strong possibility that there will be some follow up. Reviews are greatly appreciated!