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Viva

BBPOV

The days begin to blur together after that night, only remembered by the amount of contact I had with Robin.

Robin.

His name feels succulent on my tongue, weighty and pleasant.

I still wake up with the dawn, yoga on the roof before either heading back to bed for a quick nap or just scarfing down some breakfast, avoiding a sleep-mussed face and lips swollen from breathing through his mouth.

His lips taste of strawberries and lightning.

I train. I'm getting stronger every day, running along the beach or flying to the forest, scaling trees and stony bluffs. I go for a swim and come back to The Tower, dripping saltwater everywhere until Raven conjures a towel because she's 'sick of that miserable squelching noise'.

I shower. A few times, Robin comes in the bathroom while it's steamy and humid, sitting on the counter, making small talk as I use those minutes to practice self-control and keep from devouring him. Usually, I just dawdle in there, wondering if my practice on the cold, unforgiving tiles of the shower are helping me woo him with what I hope are my superior kissing powers.

He kisses like he learns, through mimicry and modification.

Cyborg manages to throw a sandwich my way, and then I'm just wandering Jump City, avoiding the paparazzi that have developed a certain fondness for green boys-who-grew-up that have pointy ears and wear Aqualung tee-shirts.

"Give us a smile!" And I'm trying not to get too pissed off and run away screaming, the flashes hurt my eyes, but I catch a glimpse of him standing behind the loudest of them all. He mouths 'poor BB' and scurries away, leaving a team of paparazzo and reporters confused as to how and why a usually sullen, green, shapeshifter blushed and smiled at that despicable excuse for a human being, Roland Iverson.

No one else over the age of seven could get by with scurrying.

I patrol the streets some more, take pictures with some tourists from the Midwest and tell them to give my love to Ricky Stanzi since they follow college football. After that, I stop at that creepy bookstore Raven likes; check the price on the book I want to get her, Curses and Calligraphy: A Guide for Sophisticated Sociopaths in the 21st Century. Either she'll hate it or love it; the jumbled text is a delightfully dreary collection of anecdotes from the most cynical, jaded, fashionably depressed, semi-humans that the world has kept track of.

"Excerpts from: Severus Snape, The Grinch (Pre-Heart), The Green Goblin, Tom Riddle and more…"

Whoever published that shit made some serious coin. I laugh to myself all the way home.

"Friend Robin has said that you are in trouble, Friend Beast Boy." Starfire's lilting voice sounds (I can't believe it) a touch sly, and I can almost picture his muttering, pacing self, wearing holes through his carpet.

"Okay," I duck as Cyborg attempts to swat me over the head with a rolled up newspaper, reminding me that I was supposed to pick up my own soy milk and since I'd forgotten, I wouldn't be having a milkshake with my black bean burger. I pout and knock on a door I've grown quite close to.

"Where were you?" He's ravenous and I am the last meal on earth. He's small and mighty, deceptively slim arms dragging me down, pale hands in my hair, delving deep into my moth leaving me breathless and tingling. Teeth, straight and even, combine with slick lips in a seal on my neck, his tongue worries my pulse. My cock fills so rapidly, I'm lightheaded.

"Oh Robin… Shit."

Shirts are removed.

The beauty of the contrast between my fingertips and his flawlessly creamy skin can only be surpassed by those delicious whimpers as I toy with his rosy nipples. He groans and simultaneously grinds into me, causing me to see bright stars and a kaleidoscope of colors as his heart thunders under my lips.

"F-Fuck…Lemme just…Don't move." and nimble fingers pull at my jeans, my eyes roll back in my head as he takes the zipper down, seemingly tooth by tooth, until he's there and my hips buck against his touch, his fucking magical velvet fingers are around me, my screams muffled by his sinful lips, swallowed by that pink tongue. His thumb dips into the fluid at the head and slips under paper-thin skin, and I can't take it. I'm gasping for breath against the corner of that wicked mouth, shuddering as he nurses the bite-bruise that I'm sure is a deep purple by now.

"What th—?" I'm cut off as those fingers leave their post (no pun intended) to gently pull my bollocks away from my body. It pinches and I sink my teeth into his shoulder and murmur useless threats against his soft skin. He reaches further back, grazing the softer, thinner skin there as I praise whatever higher being there must be for allowing this moment where all is right with the universe and his hand is moving as fireworks explode behind my eyes. His pulse is sprinting as I come apart all over his beautiful fingers.

"Wh-what about you?" And he presses his lips to my temple, whispering "Tonight."

Minutes later, we're both trying desperately not to smell like sex as we scrub ourselves in his bathroom. I refrain from throwing glances at his kiss-swollen lips because I know that if I kiss him now, I'll taste myself. Remembering how he cleaned each digit of his with that pink tongue make my face heat again so I concentrate on making my hair look almost decent.He presses a swift kiss to his mark on my neck before I go.

"Aren't you guys hot?" Cyborg asks as we sit down to eat. It's been so hot that he's refused to cook inside until the temperature of an oven in The Tower doesn't cause him to snap at everyone in a five-mile radius. I blush, scooping more vegan potato salad onto my plate, adjusting my scarf and hoping that the tender blemish is covered. Raven smirks and sips more sweet tea, amused by the silence as well as Cy's confusion.

"Actually, Cy, I read online that bundling up after a workout promotes healthy muscle growth and relieves insomnia because—"

Cyborg waves a hand, dismissing Robin's beautiful falsehood.

"That's nice… wait, when did you guys work out?"

I will myself not to blush anymore and craft some passable excuse that once I came home, Robin and I had worked on a few techniques from the Tamaranian Warrior Handbook that Star had given each of us this past Christmas. Cy nods and moves on, I catch Robin's gaze and smile briefly at him; the sight of his still-swollen bottom lip caught between my teeth renews my appetite for something other than freshly grilled vegan dinner options.

Somehow, we get through the meal without abandoning our poor facades for the sake of our fellow housemates. Raven collects everyone's plate, mine last, and whispers "Congrats on your brilliant non-truth."

I'm too surprised to laugh, blushing instead until Starfire notices and proposes The Rite of Ganesha.

Then I'm pouting.

Because Cyborg's passing out chocolate milkshakes and I didn't get one.

Oh well, another day in the life of a pointy eared grass-colored teenager who just so happens to be in love with a saucy minx who conveniently shares a house with said teenager.