Disclaimer: I do not own Misfits, or its characters. And in no way do I financially profit from writing this story.

Author's Notes: Hello! I've just recently entered this fandom, so forgive me if certain things aren't canon or true to particular events. I hope you enjoy it.


There are a number of colour hues and saturations that are not found in nature.

That extremely upsetting shade of green you see in hospitals, and other places one rather wouldn't be, is a human-made error.

Magenta, which coincidentally describes the discarded halter dress lying next to the bed, is gorgeous. But its combination of red and blue on the visible light spectrum has a gruesomely created origin if you further research it. On her it has a different story. Off, the story picks up quite a bit more.

It even applies to me personally. My stark white and grey flat is artificially lit to the point where I almost blend in in certain areas due to lack of retained sunlight, but then…there she is.

The perfect contrast to her Spartan-style surroundings, what made me think in terms of colour in the first place. I rise from my computer chair to stand over her, mentally noting every detail of hers for memorisation.

She's an enticing mix of citrus scents and earth tones that threaten me into sensory overload, and it is all I can manage not to tear off the blanket draped over her and do it all again. Her full peach lips murmur nonsense while she sleeps. Sandy-brown curls dare to conceal, had they been open, the most intriguing feature Alisha has.

Her eyes. It all began with them. They possess an unspeakable power of trance, womanly wiles honed to perfection. When I moved away from her and ceased to cast shadow, they fluttered open in jade-tinged confusion. Then happiness.


Alisha could have said, 'I need to take a massively long dump in your loo if you don't mind', and my response would remain the same: a smile, then a kiss, and a well-drawn out hello in return. She makes room for me and I slide in beside her.

On instinct her gaze dashes over to the clock, then at me in her lovingly apprehensive way.

"Twenty-eight minutes. Then I'll need to leave," I answer for her. I get a brief glimpse of that broken girl, terrified of solitude; her gaze couldn't hide ought from me. But before I can hug her for comfort, Alisha moves swiftly to the opposite end of the bed and my face falls into the pillow. No accounting for smoothness on my part.

"'s that look again! You can't just—analyse me like that, as if you know…everything about me," she protests lamely. I sigh. But I did know. I also knew that making her straddle the bridge between present and future was a mindfuck from hell, even for me. But it was either this or I lost her.

"Don't think about that right now," Alisha whispers as she climbs into my lap and runs her delicate fingers in and throughout my hair. Sometimes I wonder if I am that vulnerable to her or she had acquired Kelly's power when she says things like that.

And whether or not my skin burns beneath the surface for her because her power still works on me, or because I love her so much, was up for someone else to decide. In this moment, my mind is travelling to tanned thighs and climactic scratches on my back, lips on skin and ten fingers begging—hungry, to be useful.

The sheet falls from her. Her twin mounds greet me at the same time Alisha calls my name: a sinful mantra, chorus of fallen angels as she sighs and arches in my mouth's grasp. I have to reach underneath the tangled covers to locate the convex curves of her hips, and when I do she bites her lip in such sultry anticipation I nearly release right then and there.

Thighs spread. Bodies quivering. A lunge so exquisite, when she reaches the hilt she gasps like I have never heard before. Her breast leaves my lips and I begin to use my leverage on her waist to guide her, much to her vocalised delight. The mantra starts anew and I aim to make it last.

She rides me to the apex, then descends. She demands it rougher without a single word, digging long cyan nails into my paler skin. The pain is worth it in hindsight. I lean forward and Alisha envelops me in her hypnotic legs, pulling me into the dominant position we assumed what seems like milliseconds ago.

My forehead touches her heaving, gorgeous chest as our hips dance in a staccato rhythm, and her heartbeat infiltrates the telltale hum of rising climax in my ear. I see her strain with pleasure, as if a puppeteer is coercing her into intricate contortion.

Her aqua eyes tell me she's close, and implore me to follow. With an animalistic grunt, I lavish her neck with teeth and tongue. My hardness fills her with increasing abandon.

One of my hands finds hers to pin it down before we both careen over an unseen edge with groans and whimpers, and love marks that only a week's worth of time can heal. The other hand, it seems, found her bottom and clasped in an iron grip.

She pinches my face. A piece of my present self must have appeared in the sheepish grin I give her.

"Present Simon I can't poke and grab like this."

"Present Alisha has a hickey on her neck," I reply to distract her from the pain and frustration that our situation causes.

She squeals in terror and covers it as if that will make it disappear.


"I'm sorry," I offer hastily, only to be walloped with my pillow twice. Then Alisha laughs in her beautifully carefree way, and relinquishes it to me. I place it between us, and reach for her. She smiles serenely, head nestled into the slender crook of her arm as she strokes my cheek.

"Wish you could get more sun," her words emerge in a purr. I melt into the touch I once lost control to, kissing her dainty fingers. Then her shoulder, the unblemished part of her by-now-blushing neck, and end with her freckle-dusted face. The freckles are a new development I've come to adore. Just as I have her.

We spend the next five minutes debating about my gear and inability to tan, before realizing I have ten minutes and thirty-odd seconds to get to my destination.

I toss my jacket on quickly, and pull on my pants and socks with hurried precision. She helps me locate my armor from the bed. When I lean over her for a kiss, she gives me a wavering smile before she lets go of my arm. My Alisha.

"Got everything?" her voice is a worried, husky rasp.

"Yes," I say as I look around and nod with satisfaction.

"You'll be all right here?" I ask her, glancing back if only to stamp the image in my mind, to remind myself that this go-around she won't disappear.

Alisha winks at me and lets the sheets hike along tawny thighs.

"I'll be waiting, Simon."

"All right then. Keep my bed warm," I tease gently as I enter the lift and she vanishes behind the corrugated door.

Natural light slowly swathes the tiny space. But I could care less if every colour, every single shade was synthetically made.

Alisha was natural, breathtaking, the living embodiment of every light in the world perfectly sewn together. And she was mine. I smile to myself, lost in the memory of bluish-green, before I'm off.

The End