For Cloaks and Daggers :) Her saucy tumblr snippet inspired me...and this is what happened...
Summary: Future Spitfire. Warning: there is implied adult situations. Song: "Hands Down" by Dashboard Confessional
Disclaimer: My hopes are so high that the wait for this to happen is going to kill me. So please, Greg Weisman, don't kill me. I won't die happy.
Hands Down
"My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me.
So won't you kill me? So I die happy.
My heart is yours to fill or burst,
To break or bury or wear as jewelry
Whichever you prefer."
Her breathing came in labored puffs, forcefully exhaled through her nose, mimicking the gales outside. Had they not been in such close proximity, he wondered if he would've been able to hear the individual breaths over the howling wind and clattering torrent of water pounding against the metal roof.
Then again, his state wasn't much different. Although he did manage to slow his inhalations to savor the lingering aroma, a combination of summer meadow flowers, the spice of fall cider, the fresh promise of new life in the spring, and the barest whiff of wintergreen mint that had been discarded hours ago along with their gum and wardrobe.
There was something blessed about the air, almost sacred. His lungs demanded oxygen in greater quantities, but his brain was too intoxicated with the plethora of scents assaulting his nose. He inhaled again, slowly, deeply.
Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the room briefly through cracks in the blinds. A loud rumble of thunder followed, rattling the windows and reverberating through their hearts, already galloping wildly in their chests, running away from any form of control.
Her leg hooked behind his, the smooth surface grazing his toned calves, sending tremors pulsating through his nerves to the rest of his body.
He detached his lips from hers momentarily, gradually opening his eyes to take in her half-lidded expression.
Confusion at the loss of contact briefly flitted across her face followed by understanding. She brought her hand up to his cheek, brushing her thumb across his lips, relishing in the pleasant tingles traveling down her spine as he lightly nipped it.
Her hand traveled into his tousled red hair, behind his head, reaching its destination at the nape of his neck, tugging him forward. The encouragement was silent, but the gesture spoke volumes. Everything was fine, she seemed to say. They weren't doing anything wrong.
And quite frankly, he didn't care if they were. He tried not to get his hopes up in case the rendezvous fell through, but he failed. There was no pushing him off the summit of his expectations. And when they were finally reunited once more, and the kisses dissolved any doubts still tugging them apart, he was certain he had died and gone to heaven. Each caress was a bullet, but her presence was an anchor, guiding him back at his rebirth into her arms in a never-ending cycle. He always came back to her. He belonged to the blonde siren with every fiber of his being, and she knew, knew the hold she had over him, the power.
But she belonged to him just as completely, and she had no choice but to fill his soul with love until it poured over, and the dam on any and all inhibitions burst.
The raindrops continued to tap lightly at the glass panes when he spoke. "I love you," he murmured, placing a gentle kiss onto the crown of her head.
His words rustled over the silence, spoken just loudly enough to be heard over the weather. It was another reminder how they had to keep this, their relationship, secret.
She curled into his warmth, her slender fingers tracing nonsense patters on the top of his left hand, absentmindedly fiddling with his wedding band. A tender smile danced across her lips as she felt the metallic ring, warm from the speedster's naturally elevated core temperature. She felt her own wedding ring in the dip of her collar bone, dangling precariously from its perch on the silver chair around her neck. She couldn't wear it openly like him, but its proximity to her heart brought the archer comfort.
They lay there in silence, content to bask in the glow of the early morning hours. Music from atop the dresser floated over the tranquil atmosphere, adding its soft noise to the pattering droplets outside.
Despite the stillness of the room, both adults' thoughts were racing. There would be questions for both of them, stupid questions that neither one looked forward to answering.
"You saw her again, didn't you?"
"Were you able to retrieve any new intel?"
"Why do you insist on jeopardizing the mission?"
"What part of covert spy don't you understand?"
They were all dumb inquiries, reminders that their lives still didn't truly belong to them. She would have to return to her role as double agent for the Justice League, and he would have to go back to pretending it didn't rip his heart to pieces to fight her, to keep her cover intact.
These meetings were always too far and few between and too short in duration, but they were all the two had at the moment, for better or worse. And as the duo reunited once more in a cataclysmic dance of thunder and lightning, they were determined to make the best of the time they did have.
He ran her back to Manhattan before she could protest. They hadn't realized how late it was getting, light gray and yellow hues traveling up the eastern horizon, breaking through cracks in the smoggy air. He silently skidded to a stop in front of a tall, wooden fence that completely enclosed the rundown apartment complex. She leapt lightly from his arms, her stomach in giddy knots despite all the years spent traveling at sonic speeds.
Wally glanced around the still-damp street when he heard her swear under her breath.
"Forgot the damn key," she muttered, digging through her coat pockets. She didn't have time to blink before he vibrated through the wooden planks, unlocking the gate from the other side, letting her in the courtyard.
He slowly walked her to the door, turning to face her. Their eyes met, intensely focused on the other as though burning the memory of their tryst permanently into their minds.
Artemis broke the spell first, bringing her hands to his waist and molding his body to hers as she attacked his mouth with fervor.
It was rough, it was passionate, and suddenly they were two fifteen year olds again, discovering what they had was more than a love-hate attraction.
"I love you," she whispered, the words ghosting over his lips. Her gray eyes held the promise of tomorrow, and he knew she meant it.
"Hands down
This is the best date I can ever remember
Always remember."