Disclaimer: Teen Titans does not belong to me, nor do the characters therein. They belong to Warner Bros./Cartoon Network/DC Comics. I recieve no proft.
Author's Note: This is the beginning of a bunch of short one-shots that I'll be posting on and off based off of a theme list I found somewhere. (if I find it, I'll add it as a credit). They'll probably be pretty short, though this first one's a bit longer. But, the majority will be short and really have no relation to the others. There's no set characters, just those in the Teen Titans universe, and pairings are going to be really varied--including the basic, RobinxStar, BBxTerra, and maybe BBxRae and RobinxRae, and then my own personal preferences such as CyxRae, SpxAqua, SpxCheshire, HotSpotxBlackfire and various others. My writing style is odd and...yeah. These were written for fun, not really for style or grammatical correctness, but I'm going to post them to keep this account active and show a little better talent than the previous stories I've submitted xD. The majority of these might not actually ever mention the character in them, because I tend to just say "he" and "she" if it's a one-shot. Just trust me when I tell you who I was thinking of o3o. I've got a few now, so hopefully I'll keep with it. (no more long chapter fics for me for a bit xD). Hope you enjoy!
This first one's slash. But, most of the pairings will be het. (because I only like one slash pairing in TT), so give it a chance! xDD
Title: 2 a.m.
Pairing: SpeedyxAqualad
It's 2 A.M. and he's standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame and looking at me with black eyes and expecting me to say something. And we both know that I don't talk much before at least four in the morning, and even then it's just a grunt or two or three and no real complete sentence because I'm still pissed off at Karen for making me get up so damn early and my mouth doesn't work right before noon anyway. But, he still stares at me in his patient, expecting way and I can't help but feel my mouth start to stutter before I even begin to speak. And I don't want to speak, and he knows that because we go through this every day and hour and I haven't spoken before, so why would I speak now? But he knows that and obviously doesn't care.
I close my mouth, and he sighs as I run my fingers through my red hair.
He looks at me again, more intensely, no longer leaning but standing straight and taking up the majority of the frame with his broad shoulders. He hasn't said a word, but his eyes are accusing. You're just running away. Stop running. Stop pretending. And I glare back at him, wondering what right he has to accuse me of running away when he was the one who dived into the water in the first place. I, on the other hand, stood there like an idiot and waited for my shoes to dry after he splashed water on them during his descent.
But, then again, he is the one standing in my doorway at two o' clock in the morning.
And I'm the one who's been awake, waiting for him.
And my throat chokes out, "What?" in a harsh manner, more like a cough or a whisper, but still coherent enough to be considered a word at least. And, isn't that good enough?
He sighs again, and leans one arm on the frame, head resting against it in a way that makes his hair fall down his neck and across his shoulder. "How long can this go on?" And his voice is an agitated breath. Quietly he whispers, "I wish you would just…" and I can barely hear it but I see his lips move and I can tell exactly what he wants to say. And I wish he wouldn't, because I don't want to address it. If I give it a name, then it's real and it's there and I won't be able to ignore it.
"Why are you up?" I ask, even though I know the answer. The one that he won't say.
He moves his head slightly, and long black strands stick to his lips as he parts them.
"I couldn't sleep," he says, black eyes closing. "And you couldn't either."
And, of course, he's right.
He walks towards me, light feet sinking into my carpet and I can smell him as he nears me and just his presence makes me feel like I'm swimming and I hate swimming but I'm comforted and filled and wanting and I hate it even more. With a delicate motion, he tilts my head and suddenly I taste saltwater and seaweed and coral and the ocean sunset. All mine, on my lips and in my mouth and against me. And it's not the first time, but I'll be damned if it doesn't feel like it because with each time we feel more and more and I know we shouldn't and I wish we didn't. But I bury my hand in his black hair and drink him in and posses him for just a moment.
And I won't tell him. I won't say what he wants to hear.
Because it's still 2 A.M. and reality doesn't hit me until at least four, when he's been gone for an hour and I'm still sailing and not wanting to return to shore or wake up or exist outside of this time and this room and him because waking means that the dream is over and I have to wait all over again.
Because forbidden 2 A.M. doesn't come enough times in the day.