As always, I start something new when I should be updating other shiz.
I was going to add this onto Tension, but this doesn't really have much in it besides fluff. This may be a collection of unrelated RoyXArt fics in the future.
So.. read, review and enjoy the fluff!
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Oh. Swearing and sexual references ;).
Touch
She can feel the soft breeze lick the skin of her back. There's a slight chill to it, but it's refreshing on a warm night like tonight. She rolls over, knowing he won't be there. His pillow is crumpled and half hanging off his side of the bed. His half is bare, with no doona and flat sheet in sight. Instead, the woollen blanket sits in a pile at the end of the queen size bed, whilst the black flat sheet has twisted itself around the blonde's athletic and naked frame. She knows he's probably had enough of the sleepless night, endlessly tossing and turning, wrestling with the sheets and trying to keep cool. She has too.
She rises slowly into a sitting position. The breeze works its way through her long fringe, which should probably be cut sometime soon, untucking it from behind her ears. Lazily, she whips a delicate hand through her blonde tresses, flicking the fly aways to one side. She blinks, feeling rather content where she is, but she realises quickly that it's getting late and that she should probably retire to her own room for some proper sleep.
She rolls over lethargically to exit on her side of the bed. She carefully unwraps the black sheet from around her and lets it flop from her hand and back onto the already shambolic bed. She lets her legs slide off the mattress and hang off the edge, not touching the floor. That breeze licks her back again, making her back shiver straight. She pushes herself of the bed and her feet crash into the floor after a small moment of free fall. She smiles; proud of the fact she can finally get out of the red heads bed without falling out of it. She would have to ask him one day what the significance of the high bed was. It could wait. She could wait. She liked the mystery he shrouded himself with.
She rips the hair tie from her right wrist. Swiftly her hands rise, sweeping all of her blonde locks into a messy bun, which she reinforces with the hair tie. She sighs, completely lost as to where she feverishly tossed her clothes aside to last night. A quick scan of the dark floor boards surrounding his bed confirms that they had been lost. Her lips purse, deciding a used T-shirt would be more than suitable to cover her naked body, allowing her to get back to her room without being noted that she didn't have her own clothes on or the fact that she was coming from Roy's room. The team thinks she hates Roy, and she still does, just less now. She wants to keep it that way. They don't need to know they've been sleeping together for the past two months.
She slinks to the dirty washing basket, almost empty, next to his walk in robe across form her. She picks up the first shirt she can get her hands on. It's grey and large. She brings the fabric two her nose with two hands. It's doused in his scent which, she hates to admit, is really quite attractive. That woody vanilla mix suits him. She hates herself, knowing that she'll probably sleep in it for the next few nights, or until Roy realises it's missing. God, she's such a freak.
She lets the fabric slide over her head, and finally rest on her body, hanging loosely off her shoulders. The grey cloth only just seems to cover her arse. Just. She turns, ready to depart his dark room.
She pauses, smelling that familiar scent of tobacco. She sniffs the air, confirming that it is in fact tobacco from a cigarette. She lingers longer than she should, she loves the smell for some odd reason. If the habit didn't have the consequence of developing cancer and dying, it might just appeal to her.
She notes his grey chiffon curtains blowing in the breeze. The red head is lucky enough to have one of the only windows in Mount Justice. Emergency exit apparently, but she thinks otherwise.
She begins to move towards the window. She swallows back any ill thoughts. She's not sure why she wants to go out there and face him. His arrogant and self-righteous nature will only anger her and then provoke harsh words at an accelerated and loud level. That would totally go down so well right now. However, she's still walking, feeling that something might be different, as she always does.
She's almost at the window now, right in the firing line of the soft breeze.
There has to be something there, another thing she keeps telling herself. They've been fucking behind the teams back for at least two or more months now. Would something ever develop with Roy? It makes her scowl for a moment. She doubts it, considering they can hardly stand each other unless his dick is in her pussy.
She sighs to herself for even trying.
She's standing on the frame of the window, facing the harsh face of a cliff wall about a metre away. The cliff rounds to her left as well, and has a sharp ascent for about three metres before it finishes in multiple staggers of rock with the protection of a metal grate. Like little cave. She looks to her left and – the picture that she sees makes her smile. Roy Harper is leaning the broad part of his naked back against the rock face that backs onto his room, legs outstretched and crossed over one another, dressed in a pair of black boxer briefs. A cigarette sits casually in his right hand, smoke billowing from its burnt end as the hand that supports it leans uncomfortably on the hard rocky ground. The other hand sits in his lap limp and half bandaged, a casualty of their battles earlier in the evening – his own fault, they both know as he was too stubborn to admit he needed help, leading to a bind with five other thugs. After a loud crack, shamefully Artemis came to his rescue.
Her eyes flicker for a moment to the scenery behind him, the dense green and brown jungle of bush land which is the rest of the island, leading eventually to a steep cliff which crashes into the ocean.
He looks up at her, his face content, a rare sight. His hair is dishevelled and shiny with sweat. His chapped lips part as he pulls the cigarette to them and takes a drag, inhaling the chemicals. He pulls it from his lips and lets the left over smoke swirl into the air. His hand swings across his body fluidly, letting the cigarette stand in the air, smoke wafting. She looks at it. He's offering her a cigarette. Her smile continues as she reaches for it. She grips it with a thumb and a finger before bringing it to her mouth. She breathes the smoke in, handling the stick like a cigar she puffs out a ward of smoke. She takes it out of her mouth and lets her frame sit next to the red head. He takes the cigarette back and puts it between his pursed lips. As he inhales, he looks at her, taking in the grey shirt, he raises an eyebrow – he knows it's his. She licks her lips. He grips the cigarette again and lets the smoke explode from his mouth.
She looks to his hand again. It's fat and swollen, dotted with purple and yellow tinges. They both know it's broken, but neither will say anything. He'll probably rise early in a few hours, finally deciding that something should be done and wonder over to Ollie's, or Dinah's, looking for a second opinion.
"It'll be fine," his nonchalant voice breaks her thought and gaze.
She looks up at him. She doesn't say anything, but her look says it all. He rolls his eyes as he looks away. He's glad she's not pushing the subject, it makes him feel… weird when she gets all 'concerned' on him. Subconsciously he passes the cigarette back over his body and she delicately takes it from his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he watches her smoke – and fuck it's hot. Her legs are in crossed legged position and he back leans, like his, against the rock face. Her face is make up free and serene as the cigarette sits between her soft pink lips. Her eyes take in the rocky hard ground surface as her index and middle finger on her right hand grasp the cigarette before pulling it out of her mouth. He takes in a breath, trying to interrupt his engrossed gaze. A frown decorates his forehead, deep in thought. The thoughts swimming through his brain are awkward and non-linear. He can think that she's hot. He's allowed to. They fuck at least seven times a week, sometimes more – four times just last night. It was hot. Their sex is hot. She is hot, he confirms to himself. His eyebrows rise slightly. She is fucking hot. She's blonde multicultural and bilingual woman with an amazing body. She's an exceptional fuck. She's a superhero without super powers. She can use a bow almost as well as he can. She's not a princess and she can take a beating.
"In deep thought there, Harper?" Her husky voice calls from beside him. He looks at her. She's holding out the cigarette to him.
And she knows how to deal with Roy Harper and Red Arrow.
He smiles at her comment, taking the cancer stick back. He takes a quick puff before pawning it off to her again. "Too deep for this time of night," he admits as she takes it back. She looks puzzled, but he doesn't feel like explaining himself. She doesn't need to know his brain vomit.
He pulls his legs towards himself, edging onto the balls of his feet. He stands tall on two feet. He begins for window, ready to have another crack at this sleep thing he seems to be failing at lately. He pauses before entering. He looks down and across at the half Vietnamese blonde. It cements his early muddled thoughts.
She takes one a puff of the almost finished cigarette. "You look hot when you smoke."
She looks up at him, bewildered. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is parted. His face switches to match her expression, shocked that that even came out of his own mouth. Her face melts in to a smile as his creases into a furrowed frown. Before he can even receive the consequences of his word vomit, he's already inside and sitting on the bed. He can predict the insults she picked to hurl at him for his weird comment, and he's got his to counter back. As much as he hates to admit it, he likes their banter, even if it's at his expense this time.
He can hear the faint noises of her movement outside, obviously finishing the cigarette. He swallows, ready for her critical comments and judgmental looks.
She enters, the curtains flowing beside her. The smile is still present on her face. She continues into the room, without shutting the window, knowing that he likes it open at night. She passes the bed and he realises she's not going to say anything. It dawns on him. Her saying nothing is even worse. He doesn't know what she's thinking for a change, and he can't handle that.
She continues her walk to his door, leading into the hall. His eyes follow her path. She grips the handle and pulls it open. She looks back, the content look still on her features. Their eyes meet. "Thanks, Harper," her voice is gentle and sincere.
She slips into the hall and closes the door quietly behind her.
That was definitely not what he was expecting, but he liked it. It was almost as good as their banter.
