My first lemon, so be nice, please! Also, if you don't want to read, don't read.

~YJ~

053. Breaking the Rules

Rated: M

~YJ~

Contrary to popular belief, Red Arrow and Cheshire's relationship was not complicated. Because, and it was just a simple fact, they didn't have one. It was the only thing they both agreed on.

Her lithe frame is an inky black shadow against the wall, as black as her reputation. She discards her grinning mask and the weapons hidden in her sleeves. There will be weapons being wielded tonight, but not of the poisoned dagger variety.

What they had couldn't be called a relationship—that implied that there was more to it that just sex. Even 'lovers' was a bit of a stretch, though it was about as accurate as you could get. There sure as hell was nothing remotely 'romantic' going on between them; there was no cute, no cuddly, and definitely no sappy love lost between them. In fact, both of them would probably be better off if the other fell of the face of the planet never to resurface again.

She tilts her head back, giving him access to a slim neck. He devours her whole, teeth scraping over her skin as his free hand scrabbles violently at her shirt, popping buttons with each yank. It flutters to the ground, and he pulled roughly at her black lace bra. There's a snap and the lingerie hangs limply in front of her breasts.

What happened when they got together couldn't be called 'making love' by any stretch of the imagination; it was all demanding kisses, rough hands, and desperation, anger, and desire. It was always a battle in itself, staring with a scuffle to see who got on top with a constant struggle to see who kept it. Teeth and hands turned into weapons as curses mixed with better sounds filled the room as they wrestled with each other in the steady melee to prove who was better, who was stronger. From the bed to the floor, and sometimes even the wall, they would fight.

Her chest heaves as he pins her against the wall, her breasts bouncing up and down, and nipples hardening under his skilled mouth. She shoves him hard, back through the doorway, and she advances after him like a wolf after its prey. She isn't going to just lay back and take it; that isn't who she is, and if he wants that, he'd better look for another lover. His eyes shine in the dim light of the bedroom, hungry and ferocious. With a kick from a long, slender leg, she sends him falling back onto the bed, creasing the crimson and black sheets. It's heaven falling asleep in that bed after sex, when she bothered to stay.

If the Justice League or the League of Shadows found out about their arrangement, there would be hell to pay. He would lose their trust and gain a permanent place on their radar; the Shadows would send assassins after her, and wouldn't let up until she was a bloodstain. If Green Arrow found out about it, he would make Cheshire his pet project; hunt her down like a bunny in "wabbit season". They were a careful balance of business and pleasure, but sometimes they blurred the lines.

She climbs on top, slinking towards him like a jungle cat, her body screaming danger and seduction at the same time. Her slanted eyes glitter dangerously, promising pain and pleasure, and heaven and hell. He watches her, an eyebrow raised in expectation, as she settles herself on top of him, straddling him. Her hands artfully flick open the buttons of his pants, and she refuses to be distracted by the warm tongue sucking at her breasts.

Sex with them is a competition: who can make who come first, who makes who cry out first, etc. They weren't in love, they were fucking for the pure reason that they needed to release some of that sexual tension.

He's fixated on her nipples, his callused and skilled hands dancing across her stomach and playing with the waistband of her panties. She won't be outdone; she slides her hand under his boxers and grips him hard enough that he gasps, nearly in pain. She smirks in victory; she can feel him growing harder by the second in her hand.

She is in control, and that's what this is about: control. Here they aren't just Red Arrow and Cheshire; they are also Roy Harper and Jade Nguyen, and it's all about who can control whom.

It has the desired effect; his lips are gone from alabaster breasts and he's cupping them in his hands, rolling them over and squeezing them. He's acknowledging her control, but he isn't giving in just yet. It's a never-ending battle between them, until the day one of them never shows because they're six feet under. She's moving her hand up and down, squeezing and stroking, pumping faster and faster. Her thumb brushes over his head slowly, teasingly; he moans, and she smirks again. She's so absorbed in making him moan that she doesn't realize until too late that he's gotten the jump on her; he flips her, and she lets out a small squeak when his weight falls on top of her, pushing her into the mattress.

They push away the prejudice, battle lines, and their difference allegiances for this night, a night of passion and primal instinct and rage and lust.

She bites back a groan and shivers as he plunges into her without preamble, driving deeper with each stroke. She holds on to him, her sharp nails drawing thin lines of crimson blood down his shoulder blades and her hips moving with his. Her breasts ache with a need so deep she feels she may explode. He dipped his head and took one hardened nipple into his hot mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking. They move together, lighting a fire within each other that no other can kindle. The fire of his mouth drives her towards the edge, and with one last thrust that hits her core, he sends her over the edge. She clenches down around him, dragging him with her into the abyss.

When they hissed, groaned, whispered, gasped, screamed, the other's name to the ceiling, it sounded no different than the countless other arguments they'd had. There was certainly no inflection there; nothing that reminded either of them of the softest caress in the most intimate places. It didn't make either of their hearts catch in their chests.

He pulls out and flops down on his back, staring up at his ceiling. They are both breathing heavily from another one of their rolls in the sheets, and their skin is slick with sweat. If she curls up beside him, her head resting on his firm chest, then it is because she is too tired to get up and leave, and he makes a good pillow. If his arms wrap around her waist and pull her up against him, it is because her trained body is soft. Neither of them takes any notice of the way their bodies fit together so perfectly.

When it was over and done with, Jade's head only handed on Roy's chest because she was too lazy to move. Roy's arm only wrapped around Jade's waist because it was comfortable. When Jade traced the lines of his scars with her fingertip, it was for her own personal interest. Roy's fingers only slid through the silky layers of her hair because he knew that she would be annoyed when she realized it was mussed. They fell asleep curled around each other because if they were lucky, one of them would let down their guard and they could start the battle all over again.

It was a series of one-night stands, noting serious or committed. Occasionally, though, whenever she was too tired to leave or whenever he didn't want to face Green Arrow just yet, they would spend the night together. Jade usually woke first the morning after, and she would softly trace the sharp bone of his jaw before placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth and disappearing without a trace. However, on the rare occasion that Roy was the first to wake, he would lazily run his fingers through her jet-black hair with a gentle touch so unlike him before getting dressed and leaving her to wake alone.

They were lovers, but they weren't in love. Yet, neither of them minded, because feelings such as love only complicated things, after all.