Author's Note:

Update: 10/17/2012

Lord Vukodlak points out that I made a couple of omissions in the technical conversation at the end of the story. I have expanded on the dialogue to make it more technically accurate, as this is a vital issue for Raven.

Shout Outs:

Omeganian: Mae West. I've always been a fan of the classics. If he'd been wearing pants, it would have been a better line.

Shadico: Hot? Hot? That's how we write before breakfast where I'm from. I start to turn it up a little in this chapter. And when we get into the lemon, it'll get really hot.

Hairul the Nightrage Beast: That depends on the strokes and depth. Alas, I don't know anything about cupping, so I can't write about it. Yes, that means that I do know some things about exploding corpses. Please try not to wig out.

Lord Vukodlak: A good point.

V for Anonymous: Hopefully there is adequate polish on this one for you.

JOHNXGambit: Two schwings up. I could hope for no higher praise.

Kringeline: There is not thing to excuse. I hope she does well on tour. That you found the chapter forced and awkward is ironic to me. The previous three chapters were forced, and felt awkward to me. The previous chapter poured out of my keyboard naturally and flowed easily.

Shugokage: Well, I'm certainly enjoying it.

JMV1997: Me, too. It gets better.

LadyFelton1994: Any more time spent in the shower and it will seem REALLY contrived. And besides, they'd get all pruney.

Sergeant Daniel: Glad you like it. I write daily, but don't have time to manage 2000 words a day most days, so updates aren't as frequent as I would like.

Guest: Good to hear from you.

TitanLover3353: I'm glad you liked it. Writing Raven flirting is really hard without taking her completely Out of Character. I hope I'm making it believable. Thanks for the compliment. I really should have taken more time on the action scenes. I could have given them more depth. And Immortus more lines. But I just wanted them done.

Victorthe3rd: What? They're naked, in bed, surrounded by candlelight, and they each have an entire bottle of massage oil. What do you want from me? Never mind. You're going to get it.

Chowbo: Really, I don't know what you people are talking about. Isn't obvious what's going to happen next?

yumiulrichlovers – Glad you liked it.

A/N: Okay – I will admit, the temptation to have the Titan alert go off or have Cyborg banging on the door in the middle of this or the previous chapter. Wouldn't that have been funny? Well, I'd have been amused, anyway. I've been imagining the howls of frustration I'd be able to hear from here. But I've discovered that I'm not quite that much of an ass. In this chapter, we finish the massage, although with far fewer details. I don't want to be repetitive. We will see two teenagers work each other into a state of total abandon and a secret will escape.

Looking down the road, well, I'm skipping the lemon again. I'll do it next in the alternative forum. Now listen, when people asked me for the URL before, they didn't get the format correctly. I let it slide last time. But you're supposed to double-dog pinky swear, and I mean it this time. But that can wait until I get it written. I'll post a marker chapter when it's done. After the lemon, we'll have a visit from Mumbo Jumbo, a couple of fist fights, a visit to Nevermore, and the correction of a horrible mistake.

"What?" he pulled his head back and blinked startled.

"Hey – I fought yesterday, too. Then I rode for seven hours trying to sleep on a hard, lumpy seat."

"Hey now," he replied, "You picked the lap. And whose fault was it that it was lumpy?"

She turned maroon again, turning her face away.

"Never mind that."

She slowly slid the satin robe down her body. The smooth fabric whispered softly against her skin as it drifted toward the sheets, a sound so soft only Changeling's enhanced hearing could have detected it. Again nude, she stretched out on the bed. She was so tiny that she was able to stretch her arms straight above her head and barely touch her half-tester headboard, but her toes still didn't hang off the edge of the bed. She pulled her arms back down and rolled onto her stomach, resting her head on a pillow. Her fine silken hair, rapidly drying now, fell forward over her eyes. She rolled her shoulders. Her scent came to his nose on a drifting eddy of stirred air. Old books with leather covers.

"Not the sandalwood," she murmured, "the lavender for me."

"Have you forgotten something, Raven?"

"What?" She said, and rolled half-way over and looked at him through her hair.

"These," he said, and stretched out his hands. "I've got . . . these."

He held out his hands to her, palms up. She could see calluses and scars, earned in training and combat. As hands go, they were large and rough, especially for his height. His palms were a light lime green. He slowly turned them over. The backs of his hands were a darker shamrock green, and also marked with dark scars. But it was his fingertips to which her eyes were drawn. There they were; the emblems of his animal nature: semi-retractable claws. She'd seen them before. Smooth and shiny, the Lincoln green weapons shined in the candlelight.

"They're very sharp. And I can't shift them away, or retract them all the way. I don't want to hurt you."

She raised one corner of her mouth in a half-grin. "I guess you'll have to be careful then. Don't think you're going to talk your way out of this."

She rolled back onto her stomach and waited. He took the warm oil and rubbed it into his hands. Carefully, he knelt above her head, and placed his hands down on either side of her spine, on her shoulder blades. When he leaned over her, her scent hit him again.

"Fang and claw," he thought. "She's been sweating. This is not good. Musk and lavender."

As always when he held her, he was immediately struck by how tiny she was. Her shoulder blades fit under his palms. Her personality was so strong and so powerful; he just . . . forgot how small her actual person was. He pressed down ever so gently and swept his hands down her back toward the curve of her ass.

She trembled a little. With a quiet laugh she said, "I'm a grown woman, Changeling. I won't break. Press harder."

He leaned his weight down on his hands and swept down her back again. Breath whooshed out of her. One, two, three strokes down her back to spread the oil evenly. His stomach flip-flopped as her pheromones filled the air around her. She smelled of candles and mystery.

"His hands," Raven thought vaguely, "are so very warm."

He worked much the same pattern on her back as Raven had on his. She quietly told him what to look for to recognize the trigger points, and how hard to press to get them to let go. The scents in the air, the warmth of the room, and the touch of his hands let Raven let go of her own doubts and to relax as well. His powerful hands worked her flesh down across her ass cheeks, her thighs, and her calves. As he worked, Raven heard a very, very low rumble. It was a low, even, soft sound.

"What's that noise?" Raven said.

"I don't hear anything," replied Changeling, not missing a stroke. And this was Jump City: the town where marionettes come to life and steal people's souls to hijack their bodies. Anything the slightest bit weird could mean the difference between life and death. Changeling continued to work, undisturbed. The low rumble continued.

"That's weird," she thought. His hearing's sharper than mine. He can't be missing that."

Changeling cleared a big trigger point in one of her feet. "Uh, oh. Wow." She sighed and turned her head.

"Wait," she said, "Are you . . . purring?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. The purring grew a little louder.

She settled in to enjoy the rest of the massage.

"'The Flip' is coming up," she thought. "I was kinda worried before, but I think I'm ready now."

Then he kissed her back, right between her shoulder blades.

Her eyes popped open wide as a little jolt ran through her. And it was not relaxing at all.

He kissed her back again, a small kiss on each of her vertebrae. It took a little while. And he didn't hurry. When he got to the small of her back and could no longer pick out her vertebrae, he stopped, slid down a little farther. He gently placed the very tip of this tongue just at the top of her ass cheeks and very, very lightly ran it back up her spine. Raven gasped. Then he placed his teeth against her ear and whispered, "Damn. You taste very, very good." Raven felt his lips and teeth moving against her ear.

And she did. She tasted very good indeed. He inhaled again. Beeswax. Candle smoke. Myrrh. Ancient knowledge and youthful passion. His hands tightened on her body.

She gasped again as he kissed the back of her neck. At the same time, his claws bit into her back below her ribs. The claw tips burned her skin like frozen ice-picks as they traced up over her back and up her ribs, leaving delicate white lines that slowly, slowly faded.

Raven rolled over, her lips an inch from his. "You have very fine control."

"Yeah, well, about that control? It's fading. Isn't there a famous quote about not calling up that which you cannot put back down again or something?"

"From "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward:" 'Do not call up that which you cannot put down.' It's about not summoning creatures you can't control. Why?"

"'Cause you're getting real close to doing just that."

She'd never noticed before, but the sakutia virus that had changed him hadn't changed the pigment in his gums or palette. His fangs were very, very white against his red, red gums. And the looked really . . . sharp. His emerald green eyes were narrowed as he looked at her. His nostrils flared. She'd seen him fight legions of walking dead, a vast army of fire demons, and monsters from outer space. He'd never looked more dangerous than he looked right this second. And it looked good on him. Real good. She raised her face to his and he kissed her. Her heart raced.

He could taste the bitter wine on her lips, and the sweetness that was always there. They were cool, like her skin. He watched her eyes close. His tongue explored her lips, soft and gentle. Wet and refreshing, they parted. Her little teeth were sharp, and also open to him. Their tongues dueled. His hand rested on her hip, and then slid to her breast, his claws again leaving white lines up her soft grey skin.

She turned her head, jerking her mouth away, gasping.

"Wait," she said.

He froze. His eyes narrowed, and then one corner of his mouth turned up slightly. He rolled his weight all the way off of her, propping himself on one elbow. "All right," his voice was low, raspy. "What seems to be the problem?"

She looked away, her hair falling over her face. In the flickering candle light all he could see was the glint of the candle flames upon her eyes. "I – I just wanted to warn . . . I don't want to disappoint you."

He frowned. The sheets rustled as he shifted his weight. "What are you babbling about?"

"My ex . . . my other . . . my first . . . Aqualad, that is, Garth, dumped me because I wasn't any . . . good at . . . this. I guess I just wanted to lower your expectations before we went any farther."

The low purr rumbled again. She could feel it in her torso where his body pressed up against her own. Oh there was no doubt. He was purring. But not like a kitten. It was low, coarse, and savage. He smiled again, not the toothy grin she'd known for so many years, but the dangerous display of his fangs, like the one he'd shown Aqualad at Halloween, but slightly . . . different.

"Raven," he said, in that raspy, coarse voice. It was almost a whisper. "Making love is a skill. It takes practice. Nobody, and I mean nobody is good at it their first time, or their second time. And it's different with each lover. What's good for you and me won't necessarily work for you and someone else. Exploring that is part of the whole point."

She blinked at him. "Okay, now you're weirding me out. Who are you and what have you done with Changeling?"

"Oh, I didn't do anything. You did this. That guy passed out about the time your towel hit the floor. This is what's left."

"Ah. So this is my fault is it?"

"Utterly." He kissed her again. Then he pulled his lips away from hers and pressed small, gentle kisses along her jaw line. She pulled away gently and looked up at him. Then she brushed her hair aside and rolled her head to her left, exposing her neck. Her skin was smooth and stretched tight. Instinctively he knew exactly where her jugular vein pulsed. Close to the surface. Vulnerable to fang and claw. He could almost see it beneath her skin.

He inhaled deeply. Her scent was almost all he could smell now. Autumn night. Crushed leaves and apples. She was really pushing his buttons. "You do realize," he told her, "that among most predators, that's a submission ritual, don't you?"

Her look smoldered at him through half-closed purple eyes. "Maybe," she replied, "or maybe among demons it represents an extension of trust. I'm interested to see what you're going to do about it."

She traced her own index finger over her jugular, lightly drawing a blunt fingernail over that spot that Aqualad had found to such good effect. Her skin tingled and her muscles trembled. Hopefully, Changeling would . . . His head darted forward, suddenly and blindingly fast.

"Azar! Metrion! And Trigon!" she thought. Her eyes flew open and her mouth gaped as she inhaled with a gasp. He knew exactly where that spot was. She felt his teeth, sharp and sudden. But at the same time so carefully, carefully controlled. She grabbed his head with both hands pulled him in tighter against her neck. Unable to form coherent words, she attempted and failed to get out a 'no hickies' request. She turned her head to one side and ran her tongue up the side of his long, pointed ear. She would never, ever admit it. But she did dig the ears. She nipped one with her teeth. He suddenly jerked his teeth away from her neck with a snarl.

"Something wrong?"

"No," he said, his voice, if possible, even lower. "Nothing at all is wrong."

He pressed his knee between hers and she parted her legs. He brought his own thigh up to rub against her mons, pressing hard. He lowered his hand to her waist and then brought his claws up her ribs to cup her breasts. He gently brushed his thumbs across her nipples.

"Ah!" she said, and arched her back. Her stomach flip-flopped and her hands shook. Her head was spinning. She was going to lose it soon.

"Stop," she said, suddenly.

"Now what?" he almost snarled.

"There was one more thing."

"Yes?" His eyes were half-lidded. Sullen.

"Well, um," she said in a very small voice. "I don't know your name. You never told me. Only sluts sleep with boys whose names they don't know. Could you . . . tell me your name?"

It was his turn to freeze. "Can't this wait? 'Till . . . after. Or tomorrow maybe?"

She was looking up at him, utterly naked, legs spread, all soft skin and open expression. All of her barriers were own and she was completely open to him, physically, mentally, and emotionally. "Please?"

She said it quietly, softly. No fury. No wheedling. Just a soft, "Please." It was obviously very important. He closed his eye and heaved a gigantic sigh.

"Garfield." His voice was very quiet.

"Wait, what?" she looked up at him with one raised eyebrow, amethyst eyes quizzical. "You're kidding."

"Garfield. Mark. Logan," he said, pronouncing each word with clarity and precision. My birth parents were traditional folks, and it's an old family name."

"Garfield. Like the fat, lasagna scarfing cat," Raven said, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"I prefer," he said stiffly, "to say 'Garfield,' like the President. "Abolitionist, able military commander, civil-rights advocate."

She smiled, "C'mere Mister President," and pulled his lips down to hers. "I won't say it again. You clearly don't like it."

He kissed her, gently at first, and then with a rising passion. "Oh, you're going to say it again. You're going to scream it, soon."

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, as he had never done before. Essence of endless night. The scent of artic winter. It was here somewhere. He'd found hints of it before. She was probably unaware of it, and yet still unconsciously tried to hide it. He'd never tell her he'd found it. If she was aware of it, she wouldn't want anyone to know. But there it was, faintly, below it all, beyond any human detection, and there for Garfield alone: brimstone. Oh, yes, he did like the bad girls.

He tore himself away, pulling back and pulling in a lungful of fresh air.

"Okay, Raven," he said, making eye contact. "All kidding aside."

He shifted his other knee, both now between Raven's own. Her back rested on his arms, which held her small body. His weight, almost double hers, stood poised. She shook her hair back and looked into his eyes. He was breathing deeply.

"We should probably stop this now. This has all been good fun, and I hope there's more to come but –"

She broke eye contact and looked at his shoulder. Then, with no warning, she raised her head, bared her small, even, white teeth, and bit his trapezius muscle. Hard.

Things got fairly savage after that.[1]

In the aftermath, they quietly together, spooning.

"You're bleeding," he said.

"It's nothing," she shivered. "It's just a few scratches. And some bite marks. I'm sorry about your back, though. I'll heal it up when I can focus."

She shivered again.

He moved to get the duvet, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"Don't leave yet."

"I just want to get the blanket for you," he replied.

She shivered a third time. "I'm not cold."

"Then why do you keep shivering?"

"Aftershocks," she said. "So, you say that gets better with more practice?"

"Um, that's what I thought. If it's true, I'm not sure my nervous system will bear it out."

They lay together, sweat drying on their bodies.

"I hurt you. I don't like the bruises."

She pulled away, rolled over, and looking him in the eye.

"Garfield," she said, "I knew exactly what I was doing. I watch the Discovery Channel. I knew what would happen when I bit you then. I got exactly what I asked for, and I did it on purpose. So shut. Up."

And she kissed them. Then she grew quiet. Something was wrong. She was suddenly afraid.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said.

He could smell the gathering fear coming off of her.

"I call bullshit. You're afraid."

"Garfield? What if I'm pregnant? We didn't take any precautions. I mean, I completely lost control."

She wasn't just concerned, she was afraid, and becoming terrified. He could smell it on her. He thought carefully. This might not end well for him, but he was going to work herself into a state and stay that way for weeks if he didn't say something. But fixing this was going to cost him another one of his secrets.

"Like I would do that to you; you're not."

She turned her head to frown up at him. "You can't know that."

"Actually," he said, tapping his nose, "I can. You aren't fertile today. You don't smell like it. You're in about the sixth day of your cycle. You never ovulate until about day fourteen. I never would have started all of that if you were fertile. I mean, it's technically possible, but you're really, really regular, and the odds of your cycle changing right now today . . . ." He trailed off at the expression on her face.

She glared. "You can smell when I'm fertile?"

He hunched his head sheepishly. "Um. Yes?"

"And when I ovulate?"

"And when I'm on my period?"

"Er, ah, uh-huh."

"What else can you smell?"

He stuttered a moment. "Well, Raven, the human body's got a really complicated set of scent signatures, and your background makes you utterly unique. It's hard to tell what your scents all mean," he hedged.

"I'm finding this really hard to believe."

"Well," he said, "There are dogs that can sense oncoming seizures in epilepsy patients. Cadaver dogs that can smell one dried bone in a giant pile of leaves. You know I have a heightened sense of smell, and your body gives off pheromones on purpose. Even humans have been known to smell the difference in pregnant women. Why is it so hard to believe?"

"Mostly because I don't like it. How long has this been going on?"

"Since you were about thirteen or fourteen, from the day we met."

"Do you have any idea how big an invasion of my privacy that is?"

He began to get a little frustrated.

"Yes, I do. But it's not my fault. I don't sneak up behind you and smell your neck, or sniff the door-frame of your room. It's more like you walk around the Tower yelling your head off. I can't help but hear it. What do you expect me to do, walk around with a clothespin on my nose?"

The image was so absurd that Raven smiled in spite of herself.

"You don't . . . talk about that stuff, you know, with the other guys, do you?"

"'A gentleman doesn't discuss such things.' I had to tell Robin some stuff in general terms. But only broad generalities and only him, the one time."

She settled back into his arms. "I guess that's . . . okay. It's still disturbing, though."

"What can I say? I'm not like other guys."

[1] Sorry guys. I've already danced way over the line I'm willing to expose other people's minor daughters to. I'll knock out the rest of the lemon in the next few days and let you know when it's available on the Alternate Venue.