Parenthesis

by knottedblonde

"She tries to put a lot of words into the kiss, words she isn't brave enough to say out loud: She'll stand by him because she cares about him, and if there's anything he's taught her it's that when you care about people, really care about them, you don't leave. Not forever." Sequel to my other story, Artemisia. Artemis-centric; the gap between Season 1 & 2. M in later chapters.

19. We Carved Our Love

AN: Aaaand we're back. Enjoy.

This chapter is rated M.

---

After an action packed April the month of May seems to roll into Happy Harbor almost lazily, bringing with it the first taste of real heat they've had all year; suddenly she's not the only one looking out wistfully towards the beach when there's homework to be done.

Wally and her seem to talk about everything and yet nothing at all; topics seem to spur rapidly from approaching final exams and the laughable offer the school's track coach gave Wally the other week to her mother and their favorite ice cream flavors— other than chocolate, of course. The conversation seems endless as well as somewhat menial; Wally's bruise disappears fairly quickly and she finds she doesn't have the courage to ask anymore about his family, his father, or how many times he's had to wear that darkened smudge of abuse on his cheek before.

(And although they continue to kiss each other goodnight and lean against each other's shoulders in the evenings neither of them try anything as adventurous as what happened the one time in her bedroom; although it frustrates her, all this talking but not talking at all, she decides there's no way she's going to be the one to break the silence that's quietly stretching out between them, that there's a kind of humiliation in speaking the words "do you still want me?" that she's not quite brave enough to face...)

Kaldur remains noticeably absent as the days stretch on and despite herself she catches herself missing him; the Cave feels oddly empty without his flat footed tread marking paths in the halls, and although she hasn't quite forgiven him for his blundering that put her life (And Dicks, and Roy's, and Garth's) in danger she catches herself muddling into a foul mood, sitting angrily along the Happy Harbor shorelines and wishing he was there for the sole purpose of her being able to yell all her nasty thoughts at him. Wally doesn't understand her surliness but still accompanies her during these strange bouts of anger and listens to the worst of what she has to say.

She wishes he wouldn't, sometimes. This spot over looking the broadest part of the water has always felt like her and Kaldur's place— it's not that she doesn't like Wally's company. It just feels wrong, how easily she can say her horrible thoughts to him, as if her words will somehow burrow into a sand and repeat themselves to Kaldur later.

Although she pretends otherwise she can feel herself growing worried over his long absence, both for what it means for the Team and what it means for their friendship— has Kaldur been forced to leave the Team altogether? Will she ever see him again? Does this mean Dick— or one of the others, for that matter—is about to be promoted to leader? She can't imagine anyone but Kaldur guiding them into battle— he's easily the oldest of all of them, both in age and maturity, how would things change if he wasn't in charge?

(In the middle of her worrying she remembers she's still angry with him, and promptly stops thinking about it altogether.)

Or at least tries to stop; she still catches herself in moments like now, her eyes growing weary both from the lateness of the hour and the dim light she's trying to read her book in, realizing that she's no longer paying attention the the words she's skimming, mind elsewhere. She supposes it's natural. After Wally, Kaldur's probably the person she likes the most around the Cave, the person she most easily trusts... Or used to trust, at least.

When her ears pick up the sound of footsteps in the hall she automatically starts, sitting up stick straight in her bed and throwing her covers back before she can stop herself— she's just hearing it because she's been thinking about Kaldur, mind bothered by her tiredness and worry and tricking her into thinking she can hear the sound of his flat feet slapping against the floor, some twenty feet away from her door. It's only when she hears the sound of voices... It's too muffled through the walls to properly identify either of them at first; but one is sharper, more hostile, but the other—

Her stomach leaps up into her throat and she bolts across the room, realizing but not caring that she's forgotten to mark her page in her book; suddenly all she can feel is a swirl of emotion at the front of her brain: elation, excitement, annoyance and anger, real blazing anger—

She throws open her door just as the latter wins out, calling out into the hallway before she's fully out of her room. "You're back, are you?" She snarls. She has enough time to feel stupid, tottering on her newly healed ankle and glaring at the wrong end of the hallway; to her embarrassment she's forced to spin ungracefully on her toes before she finds her quarry.

Kaldur looks politely confused as she glares at him and she tries her best to feel nothing but furious at his presence; it takes her a moment to register Roy's presence, standing a foot from the Atlantean with his hand on his shoulder, posture sloped and face set in such a serious expression that she knows immediately she's interrupted an important conversation.

It takes a second or two for both of them to recover at her outburst, Kaldur inclining his head in her direction and shrugging out from under Roy's grasp. "Artemis, is it good to—"

"And what are you doing here?" She turns to Roy, finding she can't quite handle the friendly smile that bursts across Kaldur's face and instead rounds on the other boy.

The reddened ends of Roy hair seem to bristle but instead of yelling at her he smirks, as if he finds the way her hands are perched against her hips amusing. "Always charming, aren't you?" He says easily, turning to leave. "You should go to sleep, sweetheart, it's past your bedtime."

She practically inflates with annoyance when he waves the two of them off, leaving them standing awkwardly in the hallway. "Shut up!" She hisses, angry at herself for not having anything better to snap back at him.

Now it's just her and Kaldur in the hallway, and as badly as she's wanted to scream at him the last few days she's suddenly finding she can't stand the thought of being alone with him; for his part Kaldur continues to smile politely as she silently fumes at him, as if waiting for her to make the next move before he decides how to approach her.

"... Well." She starts, hating that her cheeks are blotched with anger. She feels as if she's been rehearsing what she wants to say to him for so long but is now forgetting the words. Instead of continuing she glares at her feet, hovering awkwardly for nearly a minute before she turns her back on him, stomping towards her bedroom.

She paces out four clomping steps before she pauses, opening her mouth and glancing back over her shoulder at him; the smile is gone from his face but he still looks expectant when she draws a breath. Once again she loses the words.

As if she's already yelled Kaldur closes his eyes, head nodding solemnly when she exhales as if she's actually saying the thousand horrible things she's buried in the sand along the beach. "... You are allowed to speak your mind, Artemis." He says suddenly, raising his head to look at her.

"I don't need permission." She spits out automatically, her tone a little sharper and more cutting that what she would normally address him with; once again he nods at her and she feels a sudden surge of hatred for him burning tight in her chest. "... I can't believe you did that to us." She snarls out suddenly, hating herself too as she says it.

"I am sorry."

"You're sorry?" She says the words a little louder than she should, knowing that if she hasn't already awoken the rest of her Teammates she's bound to soon. "That doesn't mean anything, Kaldur."

She pauses, waiting for him to interject or make some sort of excuse; instead he remains quiet, as if willing her to spit out the worst of it now. For some reason his silence and the fact that her voice is loud enough to carry through the walls makes her feel oddly used, as if he wants her yelling to be overheard by the others, and her anger suddenly doubles. "So what, you don't have anything to say back?" She snaps. "Red is torn to shreds, Rob is vomiting up his insides, and I get myself carved open, and you can't look me in the eye and say anything for yourself?"

The last part isn't entirely true; he's been staring her down for the better part of a minute, his gaze so intense that she's the one who can't really stare back. "... What would you like me to say?" He offers after a second, looking too calm for her liking.

She's sure the question isn't meant to turn the tables on her but it does. "I-I don't know!" She stutters out, mouth gaping open and shut for several seconds and making her feel like a trout. "Why don't you tell me why the hell you would send your Team— your friends, Kaldur— into the field with hardly any prep? I'd like to know why. Because I would have never done that to you, none of us would have risked your life like that!"

Kaldur studies her face for a very long time. Fighting with Kaldur isn't like fighting with anyone else; everything he says is meticulously calculated, hardly ever the emotionally charged outbursts she's so prone to having. Too often it's filled with long stretches of silences that simultaneously enrage and calm her, designed to force her into thinking about her words before they even leave her mouth. "What I did is inexcusable." He says lowly after a while. "But if you think I did it intentionally you are wrong. We are all entitled to making mistakes, not fully ruling out consequences— and you have had your own indiscretions as well, Artemis." He gives her a half second to open her mouth angrily before he continues, cutting her off before she even speaks. "Particularly in missions involving Sportsmaster and Cheshire."

Instantly her cheeks flood crimson, teeth biting angrily on the inside of her cheek. She can't believe he's bringing that up now, months after it happened— yes, she had made a mistake, had sent her Teammates on a wild goose chase while she had pursued her father and Jade on her own but... But that was different, that was to protect a secret, a secret she wasn't sure would be safe with them yet. She can feel the old wound stinging, shame bobbing in the back of her throat, and before she can think over the meanness of her words they're flying past her lips. "Well at least when I take a risk I have a good reason to, not just because I feel like sucking face with my best friend's girlfriend!"

It's childish to say it but she feels a sick satisfaction at the strange purple blush that rapidly bursts across Kaldur's cheeks and neck, knowing full well that anyone who was awake and listening is now privy to his secret. At last his calm and collected surface is crumbling but she finds that as soon as the flash of anger crosses his cheeks she no longer wants to see it, turning on her heel and stomping back to her bedroom.

He has enough time to call out her name angrily before she slams her door shut on him; fiddling with the lock and pressing her shoulder blades painfully against the wood, her back thrumming with the loud vibrations of his knocking several seconds later. She's irresistibly reminding herself of Jade, a fact that only seems to make her heart ache and the new scar on her neck twinge with discomfort— she's remembering very suddenly her sister's moodiness in her childhood, her frequent fights with their father and her locking herself in their bedroom out of anger. She used to hate when Jade would do that, leaving her nowhere to escape to while her father still roamed the house, looking for another outlet for his anger; she would try her best to blend in with the furniture, hiding and hardly breathing until her mother would come home.

Paula's appearance would always bring an odd sense of calm in the apartment. Her father was always inexcusably rough with his children but he never quite bullied his wife the same way. She always wondered why. Perhaps it was out of love; perhaps it was simply out of a slight fear— maybe he was frightened of Huntress and her working legs and her nails sharpened into talons and the unblinking way she fired her crossbow. It doesn't matter, she supposes, why things were the way they were. Paula would still arrive home and with her a large sense of peace, and after wheedling what she needed to out of Lawrence she would be the one to knock on Jade's door, the one to coax her out of her hiding place and back into the danger of the world she brought her children into.

(And maybe on her softer days she wonders if her mother will ever coax Jade out of the world of shadows she lives in now, if somehow she'll bring her back to them like she's always done. If maybe one day her mother will hunt her daughter again, entrap her and tame her and keep her from locking them out. But then she hardens, and thinks only of the Huntress she has now: a Huntress who cannot chase her prey, whose talons have been clipped and filed into ovals. A Huntress whose crossbow was dumped unceremoniously in the Gotham river when her husband gave her up as a lost cause...)

Kaldur is still knocking and she realizes suddenly why Jade had caved so easily to her mother; she feels an odd surge of pity, second-hand embarrassment, at the insistence of his knocking, so much so that she can't bring herself to ignore it. Finally relenting she opens the door, just wide enough to jut her chin out and glare at him.

Kaldur still looks angry with her. "May I come in?" He grits out between his teeth.

"No." She snarls, but still moves aside anyway.

He waits until the door is clicked firmly shut behind him before he speaks, voice low and fast and cutting her off before she can even decide what awful thing to say next. "You have a right to question my leadership." He says firmly. "But you do not have a right to do so as maliciously as you just did. I do not believe that was fair."

"Fair?" She bursts out, crossing her arms. "You know what wasn't fair? Being set loose in a foreign country without knowing the language. Sending a newbie, who has no idea of our protocols, on such a small squad mission where there aren't enough of us to keep an eye on him. Letting Red go along, when I told you I didn't think we could trust him."

Kaldur sighs, some of the color leaving his cheeks. "I have already apologized and admitted my mistake— I anticipated the mission being much simpler than what you encountered. I should not have over-estimated you—"

The way he says this last part bothers her, as if she didn't perform the way he expected. As if she failed. "It wasn't me you over-estimated Kal— you underestimated the job itself." She snarls.

"Regardless." He says shortly, mirroring her position and crossing his arms in a way that makes her sure they're about to reach a stalemate. "Whatever happens on missions is different than what happens between the two of us. I did not deserve to have my secrets screamed in the hallway after dark."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, I didn't deserve to have my neck carved into like a Thanksgiving turkey. And Rob didn't deserve to get his head smashed in and Garth—" She catches herself rambling and quickly stops, hating the way the Atlantean's name sends a foul taste through her mouth, her skin unconsciously prickling in discomfort.

Kaldur seems to have noticed her pausing and decides to change tactics, suddenly looking much less angry at her. "... And Garth did not deserve to get his nose broken?" He guesses, watching her reaction.

"... Yeah." She tries to say indifferently.

He seems to be waiting for her to speak again, looking bemused when she doesn't say anything more. "... I deserve your anger." He admits very suddenly. "Do not think I do not know this. Perhaps you will think it cowardly but that is part of the reason I have stayed away so long... I thought it prudent to allow you time to gather your thoughts."

It takes her several seconds to mull this over. "... I thought maybe you were being forced to stay away."

"By no one's hand but my own." He nods, shoulders relaxing slightly. "The break was, of course, needed. Necessary to make introductions to the new heir to the throne and visit my mother. But I thought it best to allow those who suffered because of my actions to get their thoughts in order before they yelled at me. To prevent any thoughtlessness."

"Didn't stop me from saying the most horrible thing I could think of." She mutters darkly; for some reason the corners of Kaldur's mouth quirk up at this. "... Is that what Red was just doing?"

Kaldur shifts his weight from foot to foot, probably feeling odd back on land and without the weightlessness of water. "Not in the hallway, no." He shrugs, face falling into seriousness again. "Although when he greeted me at the zeta tubes he was quite vocal. What you saw in the hallway was... A catching up, of sorts."

The way he says it is odd, and despite her eagerness to keep yelling at him she's curious. "... What were you getting caught up on?"

Kaldur sends her an analytical look, as if debating whether or not to tell her certain details. "Nothing much of interest to you, I am sure." He says quickly, and she knows instantly he's lying. "Although I formally refused him— on your word, of course— Roy has taken an informal research position with the results of the Athens mission. Doing some private investigative work. If what I was told is correct he is coming up with very little on tracking the Doctor— he is quite furious with me for not giving him access to her diaries, which Black Canary is still translating and citing through— but he has taken quite an interest in her daughter. Cassandra?"

"Cassie." She corrects him automatically.

"Cassie." He nods politely, obliging her. "That interest has also extended to Batman and Wonder Woman. I cannot tell you much more— the full extent of the information the Justice League has gathered on her is very tightly classified. But you were right in your observations— she is not an average human."

She doesn't try to stop her snorting. "That's the understatement of the year." The noise that comes out of her mouth makes him smile again, and it takes her a bit longer than she would like to remember her annoyance, remember her conversation with Red all those weeks ago and pick up a lingering worry that she's nearly forgotten. "Did Roy mention anything else?"

"... He did."

She doesn't like how deliberately vague his response is. "About Jade? Is he still living with her?"

She can tell by his expression that her question catches him off guard, as if it's not quite what he's expecting. "No. Not about your sister." He admits, uncharacteristically glancing at his feet. The tightness is back in his shoulders. "... He did, however, mention something about Garth."

She feels her stomach sinking, the uncomfortable prickling flooding back through her skin. Without wanting to she can feel his scratches digging into her arm again, long healed save for the faint white lines on her bicep.

Kaldur opens his mouth to ask a question and instinctively she cuts him off. "Doesn't matter." She says as firmly as she can. "I don't need to know what he said."

There's a long pause where she won't look at him, turning back to her bed and walking towards it evasively. "Artemis." He says her name very gently, one loud foot hitting her floor as he takes a step towards her.

"I don't want to hear it." She insists a little more aggressively, glaring back at him over her shoulder so fiercely that he actually stops moving altogether. "It doesn't matter to me anymore."

The lie is laughable but she's very thankful when Kaldur exhales, allowing her several seconds of silence in which she ruffles a little violently with her bed covers, collecting her book from where it's fallen on the surface and slamming it a little too hard on her bedside table. As usual he doesn't remain quiet for long. "It matters to me." He says very clearly. "And it matters enough to Roy that he mentioned it to me."

She frowns, staring hard at her pillow, her back still to him. "... It would also matter to Wally."

It's not really a threat but it still makes her whip her head around to stare at him, haunches rising automatically in a fear response. She had made the decision, quietly, not to tell Wally about what Garth had... Tried to do, when they were alone in the Doctor's office. She hadn't seen a point to it, could only see it causing more trouble than anything— could only see it making him angry, making him think her broken or hurt in some way, causing unnecessary quarreling on the Team. Could only see it making her feel more uncomfortable about the fact that Garth had later saved her, only make her hate even more the fact that she owes him her life.

The secret is hers to keep, to protect her and Wally from one more thing driving them apart.

And if anyone tells him other than her, it will break him.

She swallows, mentally calculating escape routes from the conversation, from the secret itself, and finding none. Finally she's forced to stiffen, looking him hard in the eye. "... What did Roy say?"

In answer Kaldur blinks at her— she can tell by his expression that he's thinking hard like she's just done, trying to find a tactful and gentle way to breech the subject. But she supposes he finds there is no way to ask what needs to be asked, because after nearly a minute of silence he sighs, looking troubled.

She just convinced herself that the conversation is over when he starts walking towards her— for one wild moment she's caught between comfort and memory, between remembering who she's talking with and reliving the frightening moment in the Doctor's office when she had been slammed up against a desk, and before she can reason with it her heart is beating in her throat and there's adrenaline banging hard against her bones, and Kaldur isn't Kaldur (isn't her best friend who has salt lingering in his skin and likes swirling caramel candies in his hot chocolate during the cold days of winter) but someone else entirely...

Despite instinct screaming at her she remains still when he reaches for her— her fingers are itching to smack him away, itching to reach behind her for a pillow and smother him with it— a muscle in her arm jumping when he pushes back the sleeve of one of Wally's old tee shirts she's been sleeping in. They're barely there, so faded out now even she can hardly notice them unless she's looking for them. But Kaldur, with his milky eyes that he once told her see the surface's lights and colors much more acutely than hers, is looking. And she can tell but the way his exhale freezes in his nose that he can see the marks his best friend made on her.

It's over very quickly; his looking at them can hardly last longer than a half-second before he's smoothing her sleeve back into place. She almost can't read the emotion on his face, can see how hard he's trying to smooth out his features into something impenetrable. But even he can't quite hide the shifting in his eyes or the way the light in the center seems to retreat inside itself.

"It doesn't matter." She repeats halfheartedly, feeling as if she's trying to talk down a protective older brother. "I— He saved my life, Kal."

As she says it she thinks that Kaldur understands these things— or at least he understands them better than someone like Wally would. Wally wouldn't see the connection between the debt and the wrong-doing, would only see it in its parameters of right and wrong and would dismiss the debt as being finished once the time passed. But Kaldur, who she gets the impression grew up slightly scrappier than Wally, who probably spent his whole life working to get out of owing strangers for their kindness, would understand how heavy a debt like that could weigh on her back.

Or at least she hopes he understands; she looks up at him unblinkingly, watching as his face ripples with emotions he won't quite show her and finally grows blank, like the tiny waves a pebble makes as it disappears beneath the surface of the water. "You will not have to worry. Garth will stay in Atlantis." He says very suddenly, turning on his heel.

"What?" She says stupidly to his back.

"He will remain on the Team but he will not be living here." He says simply, voice low and unfeeling. "He will return when he is needed. And he will not be left alone with you."

It takes her several seconds to chase after him, not quite following his thought process. "But— but what about Tula? I thought you wanted them—"

"If she will not leave Garth behind then she will remain in Atlantis as well." He says darkly, not looking at her when she tries to jerk his arm back, trying desperately to meet his eye. "I will not be responsible for this."

He's yanking her door open when she finally manages to cut in front of him, stopping his process of leaving her room. "Kaldur!" She bursts out, both hands raising as if to shove him in the chest should he try moving again. "Just—"

She cuts herself off, taken aback by the furious expression on Kaldur's face that he's not quick enough to hide; for a half second she's afraid of this anger, no longer laughing at the purple blush that colors his gills, before she realizes he's not angry at her.

He's angry at himself.

She thinks very quickly of her own anger at him, at his time off which was probably spent less visiting with his mother and more brooding in silence; if she knows him at all she knows how he fears failure, fears letting others down. Fears hurting the people he cares about most. Hearing the results of his mission probably tore him apart...

"I won't be responsible for this."

She realizes very suddenly what "this" is— "this" is hurting people with his own rash decisions, "this" is all the times he's lost focus and someone else has bled because of it. "This" is all the feelings he has for Tula, for Atlantis, for his own emotions and memories... "This" is a luxury he won't allow himself to afford. Not anymore.

She nearly opens her mouth to say something, to argue with him, before very suddenly she remembers another time... Remembers another argument in this very bedroom, remembers the intense worry that bit at her throat as she realized his trust in her had faltered, realizing he had put her mother in danger... Dick's muttering flashes at the front of her mind, her own nausea at his vomiting and the shredded skin on Roy's arms hitting her hard.

Maybe it's time she outgrows believing the best in him. Maybe it's time they both grew up.

She realizes that she's still blocking his progress, an unfinished sentence still hanging between them. "... Just don't tell Wally." Is all she manages, moving out of the way.

---

Several days pass and Kaldur stays true to his word: Garth remains absent from the Cave and by extension so does Tula, neither of them allowed back to say goodbye. Although she's sure everyone else has questions about their disappearance she's thankful when none of them reach her ears.

Kaldur adopts her old position of sitting and staring out moodily at the water, and in the few glimpses she gets of him through her and Wally's window she wonders if he's waiting for her, if the empty space beside him is supposed to be filled. She can't decide if she's forgiven him yet, not even when Dick and Roy show nothing but friendliness when they're summoned on a low-ball ringing in of Clayface, apparently unbothered with taking his orders again. As always, she slips seamlessly into being raw and untrusting, trying her hardest not to feel guilty for what she's inadvertently forced him to do.

"You should talk to him, you know." Wally blurts out as they pass the training room. She's stared inside it a little too long, intrigued by the tell-tale hum of electricity and the humidity of water, a scowl crossing her face when Kaldur's eyes find hers and she's forced to look away angrily. "You can't stay mad at him forever."

"Says who?" She mutters peevishly, unaware of her fingers tightening between his. Although they've both been wandering around this part of the Cave for the sake of training she refuses to go inside while Kaldur's there; although she can tell he's annoyed by her childishness, Wally decides to humor her and change their pace back towards the beach.

They spend the rest of the Saturday morning running drills along the shore, their feet pounding into the uneven ground and the sunshine so warm on their backs that before a half-hour is even passed she's soaked through with sweat. If either of them feel a little strange when she discards her shirt and finishes the work out in just her sports bra and shorts they don't say it, although she does catch him staring.

Her skin is still damp from her shower when M'gann barges into her bedroom without knocking, catching her just as she's finishing pulling a pair of jeans over her hips. Despite the fact that M'gann has seen her in plenty more vulnerable positions she's still embarrassed, crying out in surprise and immediately blushing.

"I need your help!" The other girl bursts out, ignoring her red cheeks and entering; before she can even release her hold on the denim she can hear the martian's toes grazing the carpet as she glides towards her, seizing her wrist and dragging her towards her door. "It's an emergency!"

Her questions are ignored and she's thrown unceremoniously from her own bedroom, yanking a shirt over the underwire of her bra just as she realizes Zatanna is with them. "What's going on?" She gasps out, feeling alarmed when she receives little more than a shake of the head, M'gann already flying down the hallway. "Should I get my arrows?" She asks stupidly.

In answer she watches from a distance as the green skin she's so accustomed to seeing peels slowly back into ivory, M'gann's uniform retracting into her body and twisting into civilian clothes. "Hurry up!" She calls.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Zatanna tells her dryly.

---

She's expecting a fighting, at the very least to be led to an unconscious Connor with blood leaking out of his nostrils. She's not expecting to be led into a dress shop.

"Prom?" She asks almost accusingly, ignoring a passing sales woman as she glances pointedly at her dirty running shoes. "That's the big emergency?"

It's odd to see M'gann wearing her Caucasian skin; she's never really noticed her prominent freckled cheeks or soft brown eyes—she supposes she's always been so blinded by the abnormality of her emerald cheeks to notice much of anything else, to notice that M'gann is beautiful by any planet's standards. In response to her surprise the martian combs through a rack of brightly colored dresses absently, lower lip jutting out at her cluelessness.

"It's not just Prom." She says exasperatedly.

She feels her eyes nearly roll out of her head and turns to Zatanna for back up; unlike her the other girl doesn't seem at all off-put by the dramatics, her brows raising good-naturedly as she picks up a blue number and holds it at an arm's length, looking at the detailing of the stitching. "Yeah, Artemis, it's not just Prom. It's Senior Prom."

She feels her nose wrinkle when Zatanna holds the dress up first towards M'gann, navy eyes critical for a moment before she turns to a nearby mirror, holding the dress up against herself instead. Dresses. Make-up. Hairstyles. As usual she feels out of her element when it comes to this kind of thing, not entirely sure what made the dress in question unsuitable for M'gann but apparently satisfactory on Zatanna, who's now folding it over her arm and looking pleased. "Yeah, but… It's still Prom." She replies, refusing to let her eyes stray and scrutinize the frilly number M'gann's just extracted from the rack, holding it up for her approval. "It's not really important or anything."

"How Wally has managed to put up with you for so long is beyond me." Zatanna grins cheekily at her, turning away from the mirror she's been admiring herself in and addressing M'gann. "Not that, you'll look like a wedding cake. Besides, you're just annoyed because he hasn't asked you yet."

It takes her a few seconds to realize the last part of that sentence is directed at her. "Please." She snorts, blushing and reaching for a flowing lemonade colored dress to fiddle with its trim. "Wally and I aren't going to prom. He knows I don't care about that stuff."

"But he does." Zatanna counters, eyes bright with teasing. "You know Wally— He's a romantic. Bet you he asks you by the end of the week."

As if it's a challenge the raven haired girl extends her hand not preoccupied with dresses, and without thinking she shakes it, snorting again. "Bet you he forgets, like everything else." She counters, their intertwined fingers bobbing once before breaking apart. She feels an odd pang of disappointment run through her and doesn't know why. "Besides, he knows that even if he asks I won't say yes. I'd rather stay at home and watch movies than bother with getting dressed up for a couple hours."

"I don't think anyone really wants to go to Prom." M'gann interrupts, still riffling through the rack of dresses. "I mean, the dancing is fun. But I've always thought— well, doesn't the best part usually happen after Prom is over?"

For some reason M'gann's cheeks go off as she says it, freckles underneath her eyes fading as she turns a rosy hue. There's something odd about the way she mutters the last part, so much so that when she awkwardly folds another dress over the crook of her arm she catches herself exchanging a look with Zatanna, the two of them curious about the implication of the sentence. "You mean... like after parties?" Zatanna prompts, being deliberately vague with her guessing. Between the three of them they've seen enough cheesy movies to understand what's supposed to happen after Prom, especially to pretty girls like M'gann with handsome boyfriends like Connor.

As usual it takes her off guard, the presence of M'gann in her mind—there's no way to fight it, no way to stop the invading gentleness that seems to creep up the back of her neck and settle at the joint at presses her skull so tenderly against her spine. "I just thought…" She hears M'gann whisper, soft and if she's not mistaken slightly hesitant. "Prom might be the night Connor and I… You know."

M'gann can't quite control the sudden flash of emotion there, and despite herself she feels unsettled by the sensation— there's a tenderness too it, an intimacy, a surge of thought that she knows isn't meant for her to be felt. Her own surprise isn't hidden from M'gann, not on her face and not inside her own head; before she can really stop it she hears herself letting out a rush of surprised breath. "Oh." She mutters out loud.

M'gann's cheeks blush even brighter, and suddenly the martian won't even look at either of them anymore, instead staring wide eyed and embarrassed when Zatanna starts sounding out loud in both their minds. "You guys haven't done anything? At all?" She sounds almost impolitely surprised. "You guys have been going out for, like, forever! How the hell—"

It's difficult, not letting her mind run slightly rampant—Connor and M'gann have been going out for months now, she's seen their comings and goings out of each other's bedrooms, walked in on them kissing feverishly multiple times. She's assumed up until this point that for all the intimacy of their public moments there'd at least be something more substantial in private.

"We've done… I mean, we've done some things." M'gann says defensively, turning back towards the rack and flicking through hangers just for something to do. At once she can feel something lingering in the back of her mind, some sort of emotion she hasn't felt before; she can sense it, can sense the memories that cling to it, waiting to be pursued should she want to take advantage. Pointedly she ignores that foreign sense of intimacy, of trust, of alienated love and forces herself to focus on M'gann when her voice is back and hesitant at the front of her mind.

"It's just… It's hard for him. And for me, too. All that human emotion and impulses inside two non-humans, it makes things… Difficult. And strange, sometimes. I just thought—on TV it always seems to happen after Senior Prom." She mutters. "... I just really want it to be special."

She senses that disembodied emotion again, this time the lingering fear and sadness, and she thinks she understands why M'gann had told them this was an emergency; she's scared, nervous for her first time. For losing her virginity to her first love, like any normal human girl.

She feels a surge of fierce affection that she knows is entirely her own; she doesn't know why she was chosen for this task, why she was dragged off to a boutique when Zatanna alone would have been a better choice. But she knows she was chosen for some reason, chosen to hold M'gann's hand as she negotiates human emotions and experiences she's not entirely equipped to handle.

As usual Zatanna's tasked to break the awkward silence that's enveloped all of them, both in their heads and outside it. "It'll be special, M'gann, you know it will." She says kindly, before pausing. "I mean, a Kryptonian and a Martian doing it? How could that be anything other than cool?"

At once all of them burst out into stupid sounding laughter, M'gann's girlish giggles far louder than she's heard before; it takes several minutes and an annoyed look from a sales woman before they all manage to settle themselves, hiding childishly behind a rack of frilly looking cream colored gowns. "You two are awful." The martian tells them both, pretending to scowl.

---

The heat wave continues and seems to double in strength; suddenly her jeans feel almost stifling in the high-seventy degree weather and she laughs in Wally's face when he shows up at the Cave with a sunburnt nose after helping his mother in the garden. Nearly a week passes and nobody else breathes a word about Prom, senior or underclassmen. She supposed they're all busier now; the warm weather seems to make things busier around the Cave, and it feels like every second day there's a new mission waiting for them and keeping their minds otherwise occupied.

M'gann is the only one who seems to have a one track mind about Prom; more than once her and Zatanna are roped into experimenting with hair styles, selecting Connor's tie color, or smearing mud masks on their skin in solidarity with the martian. When they point out politely that all this care is unneeded ("Because you can shape shift, M'gann, who gives a damn if your actual face has visible pores?") it falls on deaf ears.

She manages to avoid M'gann one weekend in favor of lounging in the late evening sunshine leaking in through her and Wally's window; despite the heat it still gets quite cold on the beach when the sun starts disappearing behind the water, as if the weather as well as their homework is still reminding them that summer hasn't quite hit Happy Harbor yet. She feels like a cat as she sits, back pressed against the warm glass, reading until she's lulled into a relaxing half-sleep with her book held limply in her hands.

It's a blast of air that wakes her hours later, long after the glass has cooled and the sky outside has changed to a bloody maroon color; suddenly her hair is being whipped around her and the pages in her book are flipping wildly, making her lose her place. A little stupidly she jerks back, banging her head on the window and looking around, stunned and swearing at the pain.

"What—" She starts, and it's only when she raises her hand to push her hair off her forehead that she notices it—it's a flower of some sort, a white lily bent and twisted into a corsage and tied firmly around her left wrist, so fresh that it's still fragrant and cool against her skin. There's still a string of disjointed swears running through her head as she looks at it, not quite connecting its meaning to anything other than the dull ache sounding at the back of her skull.

She must look stupid, holding her wrist in front of her face and staring at it wide-eyed through a messy pony tail for several long seconds, the aching and half-asleep cogs in her mind struggling to whir into life and find any significance as to why someone has secured a corsage to her wrist. A little dazedly she flexes and straightens her fingers, watching the way the springs of fresh garland quiver with the movement, before her eyes catch red hair on the couch.

When she finally gets the sense to drop her hand Wally's grinning at her, looking sheepish as he rests his head against the cushions; it's as if he's hiding from her, burrowing into the stuffing until all she can see of him is reddened ears and apple colored eyes. "Uh?" She hears herself say dumbly, blinking once at him before she seems to come back to herself. She can see the collar of his shirt— it's a crisp blue one that's she always quite liked on him, the way it sits on his shoulders telling her that he's got it buttoned up properly rather than hanging loosely off his frame like he always does. "What's this?"

Wally grins even wider when she gestures weakly to her wrist; like a child he practically flings himself to his feet, sauntering towards her with such an air of confidence that she immediately discards her book, sensing that this is going to take a while. "It's a corsage, idiot."

"I know that." She says almost warily, eyes narrowing when he stops in front of her. He's dressed unusually well— it's not just the buttoning of his shirt, he's wearing a pair of dark jeans she's never seen before, and his shoes look so distinctly un-scuffed that there's no way they can be anything other than new. There's also a strange sweet scent in the air, nothing like his usual walnut flavor, so strong it's as if he's bathed in it. "I was wondering why the hell it was on my wrist?"

Wally's grin wavers slightly, one foot reaching out to prod her. "Stand up." He tells her instead of answering.

She obliges, taking the hand he extends to help her and abandoning her book on the floor; she's oddly stiff from sitting for so long, the old injuries in her left leg from Metropolis sputtering to life and sending a wave of almost predictable pain through her muscles. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" She sighs, impatient.

Wally doesn't release her hand when she tries to pull away; before she can even blink she realizes he's seized her other one as well, clutching them tightly. "Yes." As he says it a strange look crosses his face, a sort of emotion she can't quite pin down: he looks as if he's caught between teasing and embarrassment, between happiness and nervousness. For some reason he nods several times, as if gathering his nerve, and before she has time to figure out what that's supposed to mean or ask him what the hell his problem is he's getting down on one knee in front of her.

Instantly a thousand different alarm bells are going off inside her head; she can feel her very temperature increase to a boiling point, her heart beat pounding dangerously loud in her ears as she sputters out a few attempts at swearing and screaming actual words. It's horrible how crimson her cheeks are turning, even more so with Wally's grinning at her reaction as if it's simultaneously the most predictable thing in the world and funnier than what he had been hoping for. She's thankful when some higher power seems to prompt her mouth into working rather her hands, which are itching to strangle him. "Wally West, what the fuck do you think you're doing—"

It seems to stop being funny to him when she starts trying to yank her hands back, like he can sense that she's about to start hitting him; with a surprising amount of strength he manages to keep a grip on her, his finger nails digging into her palms and forcing her to stay still and bear witness to his ridiculous kneeling position. "Artemis—God, will you relax?—Artemis, I'm asking you to Prom!"

"You're such an idiot—Stand up!" She snarls out, finally grabbing her hands back and cuffing him once, too lightly for her liking, about the head; she can feel beads of terrified sweat beginning to form in the small of her back, suddenly too furious to look at him and realizing that staying still is impossible, her feet forcing her into frantic little half-steps that surely make her look like a scatter-brained squirrel. "What was— Oh my god, Wally!"

"What?" Wally's caught between being amused, annoyed, and perhaps a bit embarrassed when she rounds back on him, yanking him by the shoulders until he's fully upright in front of her; to her chagrin he lets out a laugh-like snort when she hits him again, punching him in the shoulder.

Wally catches her hand when she reaches up to hit him for a third time; she's still red in the face as she struggles to get out of his grip, hating that he keeps adjusting his hand so as to not damage the corsage he's put on her. "You did that on purpose!" She snarls out.

"No I didn't!" He laughs back, looking affectionately at her reddened cheeks and furious expression before quailing slightly. "Okay, maybe a little. But I've never asked a girl to prom before—at least, I've never asked anyone who said yes—"

The idea of Wally asking another girl out send a intolerable clenching to her stomach, the same one that she realizes has been there since M'gann first started bugging her about dress shopping; still angry, although not entirely sure about what, she bends a little too quickly to retrieve her book; her leg is aching again when she straightens but she refuses to acknowledge it, turning quickly away from Wally and their window. "You're a complete asshole—who gets down on one knee to ask someone to Prom, of all the goddamn—"

Wally snorts, probably thinking she's overreacting, and allows her to get as far as just past the kitchen before he catches up to her, speeding easily around her and cutting her off before she can get very far down the hallway that leads to their bedrooms. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry I scared you. Although good to know where you stand on marriage." He grins down at her, not looking very sorry at all. "Are you going to answer me or what?"

"You're kidding." She glares, ignoring the fact that she resembles a tomato with the depth of the redness on her cheeks; clutching her book like a lifeline to her chest she reaches up with her free hand to seize his shoulder, pulling him out of the way so hard that she hears him collide with the wall beside them. "No, Wally."

She's expecting him to pause, to be somewhat hurt by her reaction—at the very least she's expecting him to take a moment to regroup as she shoulders around him, stomping her way back towards her bedroom. She's unpleasantly surprised when she makes it no more than three paces before he's back in front of her, infuriatingly walking backwards with his arms folded behind his head. "We both know you're only saying that because you're annoyed at me. Come on, what's your real answer?"

She feels her whole face sour at his chipper tone; her door is coming up on the left, and she has a feeling that if she doesn't get him to shut up soon he's going to spend the evening repeatedly rapping at her door, pestering her. "My real answer is no, Wally." She says sourly. "I don't do Prom."

She nearly bumps into him when he abruptly stops walking, arms falling from behind his head. "What?" He says dumbly, jumping in front of her when she tries to walk around him, and again when she tries to move to the right, the two of them bobbing and weaving ridiculously. "You don't do Prom?"

She lets out an annoyed huff of air when he extends both of his arms, as if trying to create a physical barrier between her and the path towards her bedroom. "Yeah."

"So what, you don't like them?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"How can you not like Prom?" Wally bursts out almost disbelievingly, ruffling some of the hair around her face. "You're a girl!"

She snorts loudly, trying not to sound too spiteful. "Wow. Very astute, Wally. Any other revelations in that brilliant brain of yours?"

He glares but lets her duck under his arm, turning to look at her skeptically as she humors him, glancing back at him as she walks towards her room. "You know what I mean." He shrugs, hesitating for a moment before following her. "All the guys I know are usually being dragged there by their girlfriends, or stressing about their ties matching dresses—"

"Sounds like I'm saving you a lot of trouble."

"But why don't you want to go?" Wally presses, rounding in front of her again just as she's a few feet from her bedroom door. "What don't you like? Too many people? Dancing? Having to get dressed up?"

She doesn't know why but something in Wally's face stops her from blowing him off again; she hesitates, staring hard at his knitted brows and earnest expression, trying to find a reasonable excuse. "I don't know." She pauses again before throwing out a random answer. "I don't know how to dance."

"Well, neither do I." Wally says confidently, shrugging off her excuse as if knowing it for what it really is. "So we can both not know how to do it together."

She's just about to argue right back when to her annoyance Wally actually grabs the book out of her hands, tossing it vaguely towards her bedroom door and ignoring the angry hiss she lets out when she hears it smack against the wall. "Come on, it'll be fun—just imagine the face I'm going to make when I realize I'm the lucky stiff who's managed to snag the prettiest girl in the room—"

"Wally—"

"You're not imagining it, Artemis!" He insists, grinning goofily down at her; she can't stop her mouth as it quirks up to smile back, and seeming to take it as a good sign Wally grabs her hands again.

She sighs and tries her best to continue to look sour when he makes a show of placing one of her hands on his shoulder. "You're being an idiot." She tells him frankly, allowing him to weave their hands together and take her waist.

"But I'm your idiot." He grins endearingly, and despite herself she feels her resistance begin to crumble as he tries to take a step forward, immediately stepping on her toes. "Work with me, Babe." She hears herself make an annoyed noise in her throat, but it doesn't stop her feet from moving when he takes another step forward.

It's clumsy, awkward, as many things are between them; she can't stop herself from glancing down nervously at their feet as Wally begins to trying to maneuver them in a wobbly circle around the hallway. Her palm feels oddly clammy in his, as if they've never really touched, and before they've even really gone anywhere she's accidentally stomping on his feet. "This is stupid." She says lowly, only kind of meaning it as her hand drifts across the tendons of his shoulder, pressing against the back of his neck.

"Prom in general is supposed to be stupid." Wally reminds her, looking at her through his ginger lashes before abandoning the pretext of dancing properly all together; suddenly both his arms are winding around her waist, pulling her flush against him until her chin is resting on his shoulder and his cheek is pressed into her hair.

There's a half beat of silence between them where he absently hums a few stray notes of sound; like always the small whispers of music he strings together don't really form a proper melody, not any song she can recognize as the noises reverberate in the hollow of his chest, and before she can begin to wonder what he means by it he stops. "…I'm going to be wearing this dumb suit that I'm pretty sure doesn't fit anymore, my Mom is going to take too many pictures and all my friends are going to make fun of us. It'll be awesome."

"Sounds great." She snorts against his shoulder. In response Wally squeezes her more tightly against him, leaning back so far that her toes momentarily leave the ground.

"You're being stubborn." He tells her when he sets her back on her feet, loosening his hold on her waist just enough for her to pull back and look him in the eye.

She doesn't miss the brief moment his eyes stray to her mouth. "So are you." She tries to sneer, voice wobbling slightly when she sees something shift in the back of his irises.

It's soft at first, the way he kisses her—its tender, barely imploring, as if he still thinks he can change her mind about this when they both know that the two of them are too set in their ways to cave. She told him long ago, and many times since, that she simply isn't the kind of girl who was meant to fill this role, wasn't mean to don a dress and allow him to step on her toes for a full evening in front of strangers—

But didn't she just promise herself that she would try?

She hears him let out the softest of noises, a hardly there moan in the back of his throat; for some reason she feels her heart tighten in want, at the way he's suddenly tilting his head and fitting more surely against her, and before she can stop herself she's remembering all the other times she's heard it. Against her blackened eyelids she sees jumping on him in his bedroom, sees the Watchtower, the beach, their window, countless other moments and places and kisses and breath being blown into her lungs…

She sees also the boy who carried her out of battle and soothed her through a concussion when she was little more than an annoyance to him; she sees the boy who's hand she held under the Bialyan sun when she was a terrified mess of brittle blonde hair and death threats; she sees the boy who was once too nervous to kiss her and decidedly corrected her homework instead; she sees the boy who drew moans out of her only a few weeks ago, who held her when she was shaking and soothed her through her vulnerability, through her fear at his closeness—

She sees, more vividly than anything else, the boy with the freckles and the apple eyes and the mysterious walnut scent; she feels him as he wraps his arms more tightly around her waist, refusing as always to let her run away from him. She feels his muscles shift up against her, feels the tendons and bones and heartbeat and atoms of Wally West, who she met less than a year ago and has been running circles around her ever since. For the first time in a long time she feels the part of herself, the frail and terrified and fragile part that she buried alive and was forced to resurrect and then bury again; she feels that part of herself lift its head from where it's recently been hiding, been cowering at the fear of her past and the dirt that comes with it, and as it does so she feels herself let out a sigh of defeat that escapes her mouth and trickles into his.

Maybe she should stop denying it, pretending it's less than it is, or only acknowledging it in a few stray seconds she's always afraid will be her last.

She's in love with Wally. She knows she is.

She pulls back, lower lip quivering when he encases it between both of his and tries to reel her back in; she's not sure why she needs to look at him suddenly, why her eyes are sharp and focused when his are still opening a little languidly. She doesn't know why it's hitting her as hard as it is now, as she rolls her neck backwards to look him dead in the face, why— even though she's admitted it, quietly, in the abandoned corners of her mind where the buzzing used to live— why the twisting in her stomach is tightening but also warming, why the one promise she made to him is suddenly increasing in pressure on her shoulders.

But that's a lie, not knowing why. Before this love for Wally... It had been a maybe thing. It had been a possibility, one that she had opened herself up to. It had been there but it hadn't been solid, fully formed—

Wally blinks at her, one of his eyelashes fluttering down and landing on the apple of his cheek. She watches as her exhale sends it scattering.

Loving Wally had never been a maybe thing. It had never been a possibility, she sees that now. She had loved him before she really knew what love was, had been too blinded by the Metropolis girl to realize what was happening— it's taken all this silence, all this nothingness to realize that there hadn't been nothingness in the back of her mind at all, there has always been Wally...

"... Shit."

She doesn't know why her first instinct is to swear; she's not aware of saying anything out loud until Wally's laughing, loud and brash as always, in her face. "Excuse me?"

For some reason she's immediately caught between wanting to run to the safety of her bedroom and grab him by the cheeks and pull his mouth back down to hers again. She's not entirely sure which impulse she's acting on when her mouth stutters to life of its own accord. "I-I—"

When she doesn't do much other than sputter stupidly Wally grins down at her, one hand leaving her waist to brush against her the crown of her head, smoothing a few stray hairs back into place from where he had scattered them before. "What?" He laughs again, hand rounding and cupping her cheek almost teasingly. "Don't tell me all it took to change your mind was one kiss?"

She's not sure what does it. All she knows it that suddenly her stomach is quiet, her resolution is sealed, and she decides to act on an impulse more wild than anything else she can imagine. "I-I have a counter proposition."

Wally snorts slightly but decides to humor her, pulling her flush against him again and bumping her chin on his shoulder. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

She thinks it's impressive that it only takes her a fraction of a moment to get the nerve to say what she wants to, even if it does come out sounding slightly high pitched and nervous. "How about we skip Prom—"

"—Big surprise—"

"—And just get to the good part now?"

She feels Wally go slightly still beneath her, and she can practically hear the confusion and bewilderment beginning to bounce off opposite ends of his skull. She's supposes she didn't really word it that well, that maybe her innuendo wasn't really an innuendo at all; either way, she's not surprised when he pulls back, snorting. "The good part?" Wally asks, eyes flickering between both of hers. "What does that mean?"

Even though she's settled on the matter she still feels her cheeks redden, eyes narrowing as if his confusion is a big inconvenience to her. "Think, Wally." She sneers, pulling back from him entirely until she's slouching over crossed arms in front of him. "What usually happens on Prom night?"

There's several long seconds where Wally simply frowns at her, looking like he sincerely thinks she's completely lost her mind; it's almost endearing when something suddenly clicks into place, his brows shooting up into his fringe and ears flaming. "Oh." He says stupidly. She supposes he's entitled to be a little confused— after the disaster that was that moment in her bedroom both of them have firmly avoided any topic or action that would get them close to it again. "Y-you mean…? Right now?"

She catches herself smiling and quickly ducks her head, taking his hand. "Yeah." She sighs teasingly, practically dragging him towards her bedroom door, afraid that if she slows down for a moment she'll lose her nerve and want to stop.

"Uh." Wally gets as far as starting his sentence this way before his voice cracks, looking simultaneous confused as to how they even arrived at this moment and completely dumbfounded by his good luck. Her bedroom door is already open when he seems to come back inside his own head, pulling his hand out of hers. "A-Artemis—I mean, if this is about Prom—you don't have to do this just to get out of going, I mean, I want to—with you, I mean, right now—but—"

"Relax, Wallman." She grins, and despite her outward confidence she can feel her own fear suddenly burning hot at the back of her throat, nervous at what they're about to do. She refuses to indulge it, refuses to let her mind slip into any other thoughts, and instead she reaches up to grip him by the collar as she repeats his earlier sentiment. "It'll be fun."

Wally's face splits into a nervous smile when she tugs him forward, clicking the door shut behind them. Her book, and any possibility of Prom, stay forgotten in the hallway.

---

The door shuts behind them and for a brief second her and Wally simply look at each other, a mess of excited energy and nervously twisting stomachs; it's about as much as she can take, watching the way his eyes seem to flicker between hers, trying to figure out why this is even happening with almost no warning. A little wildly she rushes at him full force, hearing his back being knocked too hard against the door as she kisses him.

She's nervous, and she knows it shows; her lips are moving too quickly and she can't quite seem to fall into their predictable patterns like they always do. Instead she's pulling his jaw a little too firmly against her mouth, her lips sucking and teeth biting at odd moments—she can sense she's moving too fast for even him to follow, not when his mind is so boggled, and it seems to take several seconds too long before she can feel his cheeks heating beneath her finger tips, his breath coming out a little ragged between kisses.

When she shifts against him and feels him pressing stiff against the denim of his jeans, she realizes that this time she's sure she's not the only one who wants this.

Really wants this.

Wally lets out a breathy pant when she pulls back, the sound quickly turning into a groan when she starts attacking his neck with anxious kisses. He's hardly touching her, his hands ghosting along her ribs and expression still slightly dazed as his head lolls back against the door. "I—" He starts, cutting himself off with a grunt when she bites down hard on his pulse point in a half attempt to shock him into responding back just as feverishly. There's a pause in which he shudders against the feeling of her tongue quickly licking soothing lines into the mark she's just left, and vaguely—as if he needed the pain to come back into his own head—she hears his hand reaching over to fumble with the lock on the door.

"I-I don't get it." He stutters out when she kisses her way up his neck, letting out another low hum when she exhales against the shell of his ear. "I… Why?" He asks, not bothering to clarify.

"... Why not?" She breathes against him, deciding she'd rather play coy than dissect what's happening like Wally wants to; pulling back in the slightest she claims his lips again, tongue dragging across his mouth and burrowing past his lips, as if hoping to shush him.

Wally's fingers finally tense on her waist for a moment before he pulls back, both their lips making a loud suckling sound as he ducks his jaw away from hers. "Artemis." He says seriously, gently extracting himself from her. "Talk to me, please. I don't— you've been all over the place lately, after that one night and—just tell me what you're thinking."

"I don't know." She lies—because she knows what she's thinking, she's still racing around the fact that she's an idiot in love with an even bigger idiot, but there's not a chance in hell that she's going to tell him that, not going to ruin the moment with too many feelings. "Why do I have to be thinking anything, why can't I just—you know?"

As if he knows that she's not telling the truth he shakes his head, brows furrowing as his eyes quickly switch between hers. "You're not thinking anything? At all?"

"No.." She says stubbornly, beginning to grow embarrassed.

Wally glances once at her cheeks—which she knows must be firing out that ugly blotchy red— but decides to ignore them. "O-okay. You're telling me I'm the only one who..." He trails off, not finishing his sentence.

She wants to kiss him again but gets the sense that this is the wrong thing to do; she's quickly beginning to feel stupid when he releases her waist to run a hand nervously through his hair. "… What's wrong, Wally?"

"I don't know." He sounds almost frustrated, hand straying over his face and fingers spreading so as to glance at her between his fingers. She feels as if she's crowding him, still standing so close to the door, but knows it would be a mistake to move back. "I mean... I feel like I'm missing something. There was the library— but then the kitchen. And then my house and your house— Look, you're just a little hard to read about... This kind of thing." His fingers snap shut for a moment before he drags his hand away from his face. "You're not nervous? Or anything?"

She's underestimated him— as she feels she always does. Wally's smart enough to know something's changed...

Not that she's going to tell him exactly what.

She hesitates, and even though it can't be longer than a second it feels as if his questions hangs in the air between them, unanswered, for half a century— she wants desperately to answer him, to find the right words, but is oddly coming up even shorter than she usually does with this kind of thing. She's a little surprised to discover that her resolution has very little reason behind it, based more on blind, loving impulses that she's too afraid to own up to.

There are so many things she wants to tell him; for too long he's been the romantic one, the one to poke and prod her with affections until she's annoyed enough to pull herself out of her shell. For once she wants to be the brave one, the one to take him by the hand and give him reassurance, to help him through the parched sand and the blazing heat that only ever really seems to be on her mind when one of them is falling apart.

And maybe she'll never be brave enough to tell him what she's thinking right now, never be able to thank him for finding her when she was lost inside her own head and the lights of the Metropolis Bridge were blinding her. Maybe she'll never be brave enough to admit that even though he doesn't believe in magic she does, because she feels it every time he disappears and comes back to her without fail. And maybe she'll never be able to say it out loud—or even allow herself to think it, really, except in early mornings when she wakes up to an empty bed that's beginning to grow shallow on the side he usually occupies—that more than anything all she's ever wanted is to be close to someone, to feel as if she weren't alone, and that he gives that to her every time he appears at her side, annoying and endearing and relentlessly making her somehow realize that she isn't all bad, not really—

Maybe she'll never be able to say those things, but a larger part of her—a part that isn't afraid and hasn't lost its instinct for this kind of thing—knows that maybe she can make him feel it. Maybe he'll understand, be able to decipher the emotion her fingers trace into warbling patterns in the contours of his muscles; be able to sense it when he draws ragged breaths that taste like her— stale tea leaves, juniper berries, and something warmer and sweeter that she can't properly place— in through his mouth…

She's a coward, and in the silence broken only by Wally's soft breathing and flickering eyes she decides what she wants to say; it's a cop out, and she knows it, but it's better than saying nothing at all.

Wally glances down when she takes his hands, barely squeezing them and hardly giving him enough time to properly feel her callouses before she trails upwards, fingers skimming tendons and veins and pressing against lines of flushed muscle. It's easier to speak if she talk to the corsage still fastened to her wrist. "… Remember in Metropolis?" She says vaguely, pinky catching on a dry patch of skin on his elbow.

When she glances at his face she can see his blush has spread to his cheeks, his eyes growing half lidded when he finally looks her in the eye again. "Yeah?" His throat bobs when her palms press against the roundness of his shoulders, dragging up the back of his neck and into his hair.

"… You told me not to over-think this." She says clearly. "And I'm not."

When she pinches the ends of his hair between the webbing of her fingers he closes his eyes, head rolling back into her palms just as a heavy breath fires out of his nose; she can tell immediately that she's getting close to winning this fight, that whatever resistance, either nerves or some sort of internal prodding, are all beginning to crumble.

His breath catches when she drags her nails across his scalp, gently smoothing his hair back across his forehead; when he opens his eyes to look at her his vision seems clouded, and she wonders if the taste her tongue has left in his mouth is making him drunker than any liquor ever could. "So you don't want to talk… About anything? At all?"

"No." She whispers, hesitating slightly. "… Do you?"

Rather than answering her question he lets a burst of air fire out of his mouth, a ghost of a half chuckle that splashes across her face and warms her feverish cheeks. Wally's shakes his head beneath her hands, eyes softening when her fingers trail down the back of his neck. "You're the weirdest girl I've ever met." He snorts, and before she can even realize that it's the best compliment he's ever given her his mouth is crashing against hers.

There's so much force behind it that she feels her whole body physically jerk backwards, the muscles of her knees aching as she stumbles, hands flying from Wally's hair as he crushes himself against her; there's a moment where she's actually convinced she's about to fall, her lips still occupied with his and not quite able to make the noise of distress she wants to. For a moment she feels weightless, breathless, one complete second where she's certain she's about to ruin the moment by crashing against her bedroom floor—

She hears a hiss of breath escape her mouth when his arms wrap around her waist, righting her stumbling feet and yanking her closer until her ribs feel like they're bursting and her breasts are pressed achingly against the swell of his chest; it's not violent, not angry—there's something there, a want, a need to be closer, his tongue darting into her opened mouth and catching her off guard.

It's very fast, instantly sweltering; like everything they do there's a greater purpose behind it, raw emotion guiding her fingers and forcing them into a flurry of movement over the muscles of his shoulders—it's a fight like it always is, only this time they're on the same side, the one that's trying to steady shaking hands and level uneven breaths, one that's trying to hide their nervousness in the heat of the moment, in hardly there pain of her skin being broken under the grip of his finger nails, the yanking of his mouth away from hers and the impatient brushing off of her pony tail as he drags his tongue down her neck…

She hears herself gasp out when he yanks the neckline of her shirt off her shoulder, forcing the cotton to widen as he burrows his lips into her collar bone, suckling her closer. She can hear the sound of thread ripping and stretching, can feel his tongue dampening the fabric as he kisses her, pulling the skin off her bone and marking her, and suddenly it's all she can do to keep herself from shredding the clothes off his body.

She only has to claw once at the back of his neck he gets the message to remove his shirt; there's a loud slurping noise when he pulls back and she nearly clicks her tongue when she realizes he's left a bright purple bruise behind, hot and painful and no doubt going to be clearly visible no matter what she wears tomorrow. She's just glanced at him, perhaps to chastise or tease him about it, when her own snort cuts her off.

"You're wearing a button down, idiot." She tells the top of his head that's poking out of his neck hole, hands struggling to rip the fabric over his shoulders and fumbling with the buttons he can't quit reach anymore.

Laughing but still taking pity on him she yanks his shirt back down to his shoulders a little rougher than she should, pausing to kiss him once before tending to the buttons. "Right." Wally says a little dazedly when his lips leave hers, still looking slightly punch-drunk when he glances down to watch the progress of her fingers.

("Huh. So you're kind of forced to live with no vices." She had teased him, wondering how he would manage his life without coffee or alcohol, how he would never know her father's shaky cravings for cigarettes or the cheek blotching happiness her sister would get after only a few sips of vodka.

She had once thought of him as somehow better than her, purer without his addictions. But maybe Wally does have a vice, after all...)

It feels like the moment in the library all over again, but as if the drugging heat of the moment has finally stilled, the passion and intensity still there without pushing her to rush things. She's on the second last button when Wally leans in to kiss her again, this one much slower and languid than all the others, his tongue pressing into her mouth and teeth biting into her lips in such a way that her fingers actually start fumbling, her whole body suddenly becoming feverish just like his.

He stares at her, hard, neck tight and throat bobbing as she pulls back, fingers slipping between the folds of the fabric to run up his chest; she's never understood why he insists on wearing layers. Wally exhales sharply when she reaches up, shoving the pristine blue shirt down his shoulders until it's crumpled on the floor behind him.

She glances pointedly at his tee shirt—old habits die hard, and regardless of her feelings or the moment she's not the type to pass up the opportunity to tease him. "A Flash logo?" She sneers, one hand reaching out to trace the lightning bolt. "Subtle, Wally."

"Shut up." He grins at her, not allowing her to remove his shirt and instead pulling her mouth back to his as if to prove a point.

Just like that they're back in the thick of things; she registers his hands reaching up behind her head and yanking the elastic clean out of her hair, fingers tangling in her locks as he's suddenly nudging her forward, forcing her blindly back towards the bed. She can feel her lips swelling beneath his, can feel the lines of his stomach mesh against hers, the pulsing point between her legs beginning to ache with want, shifting and throbbing against the seams of her jeans when he reaches behind her to squeeze her rear.

Wally's mouth doesn't leave hers to ask permission before one of his hands disappears under her shirt, creasing it momentarily as his palm cups the shells of her bra; she lets out a ridiculous sounding mewl as he jostles her breast, the edge of her nipple just barely slipping out to be touched by him. As if this is what he's been waiting for he lets out a grunting huff of approval, mouth releasing her long enough to undress her.

She feels her calves bump against the edge of her bed just as Wally whips her shirt off of her, one hand yanking her closer to reclaim her lips while the other reaches behind her to tend to her bra clasp. There's a few seconds of fumbling and twisting and she nearly cries out when he bites his lips against hers in frustration, and decidedly she reaches around behind her to just do it herself.

She's just sprung free (bra falling between them and quickly being flung away,) Wally's hands palming at her and lips still suckling so hard on hers that she nearly forgets what she's about to ask, her breath coming out in feral pants when she tries to speak. "D-do you—Wally." She starts to ask between kisses, cutting herself off when she moans his name, the heat between her legs doubling when he catches one of her nipples in between his fingers; without thinking her hands fall below his waist, hand palming hard at the stiffness in his jeans. "Do you have s-something?"

"Back pocket." He groans, whole body stiffening for a moment when she stops touching him to reach around behind him.

She feels a little silly, palming at Wally's rear and feeling the thick lines of muscle hidden beneath his jeans that she's noticed his uniform barely hides; ever the opportunists Wally drags his tee shirt off, muscles stiffening slightly as she feels around, breath warm against his chest before she extracts his wallet confusedly. "Uh?" She pants out, sending him a quizzical look as he leans in to kiss her.

"There's a few condoms in there." He says, sounding slightly breathless at the feeling of her bare breasts pressing against him. "I—you know. After the other day…" Before she can blush or even pursue the wallet's contents she feels him give her right shoulder a slight push, forcing her backwards onto the bed.

She makes a stupid sounding surprised noise when she hits the mattress, nearly losing her grip on his wallet as her hair falls in front of her eyes; she can tell she must look stupid because she hears Wally let out a snort, looking amused when she starts trying to push her hair back into place.

"Shut up—" She snarls at him, voice wavering slightly when she emerges from her platinum locks. It strikes her suddenly, watching him smirk down at her with his hands fiddling at his belt, how handsome he is. There are pieces of him that seem exactly as they were the day they met: the green eyes, the freckles splattered across his body, the reddened tips of his ears and the wind swept appearance of his hair. But then there are other things—like the angular lines of his jaw, the defined muscles of his biceps, the twisting auburn hair that's sprouting much thicker than the last time she saw it on the bottom half of his stomach that feels alien, too new to belong to the boy whose body she had once tried not to admire for the sake of sneering at his sunblock covered nose. She realizes that she's staring far too late, her cheeks coloring when she finally pulls her gaze to his face; as if he knows what she's thinking and knows that she's slightly frightened by it he keeps his eyes fixed on hers, mouth curving in curiosity as he fumbles almost teasingly with his belt.

She's never seen him undressed completely before.

She's seen parts of him; touched him, felt his thighs shaking underneath her hands as her mouth had worked against his length. But he's seen every part of her, felt the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips, traced lines of her muscles to find the heated point between her legs. Knowing Wally he's probably memorized her down to the smallest detail.

She doesn't know why but the thought of him knowing more of her than she does of him makes her feel oddly unprepared for what's happening, as if she's showed up to a test without the time to pursue her textbook.

She blinks rapidly when he yanks his jeans down his thighs, half wanting to watch and half afraid to study the way he fumbles with stepping out of the fabric and tugging his socks off his feet; she realizes she's got a death grip on the brown leather of his wallet just as he stills in front of her, clad in only the blackened cotton of his boxers that do little to hide him from her.

She feels herself swallow thickly just as Wally's ears go off, and suddenly the tension between them seems to thicken to a breaking point—as if guided by some sort of instinct her mouth starts fumbling through words, eyes too busy following the v-shaped muscles to the stiff point between his legs to pay attention to what she's saying. "I—Wow. Uh…" She says dumbly eyes trailing over the muscles of his abdomen, realizing she must look stupid but for some reason unable to stop.

Wally doesn't seem to mind; his ears are calming and there's a loud laugh shooting out of his mouth, one hand splaying across his stomach as it tightens with mirth. She feels an odd spasm run through her at the sound, as if she were recalling an old memory very suddenly, and without really knowing why his laughter seems to send a wave of warmth rushing through her veins almost as powerful as any touch before.

She relaxes at the noise, muscles unwinding and one foot reaching out to press against his hip, a toe trying and failing to dip below the waist band of his boxers. "Come here." She says a little sheepishly.

Wally grins and grabs her ankle, spreading her legs as he falls between them; her bed, not usually very springy, jostles underneath them as he lies on top of her, hips pressing against hers and elbows propping him up. "Let me enjoy this." He murmurs against her mouth as he kisses her, pulling back to nudge her head into turning, lips pursuing her neck again. "Not very often I catch you looking at me like that. Usually you're a lot more subtle."

It seems stupid to tell him to shut up again, but she can't stop her mouth from spitting out sentences; never before in her life has she started babbling like this, voice not sounding teasing like she wants and instead sound high pitched and nervous. "Well, not everyone can be like the Wallman. You know, drool hanging out of their mouths and—" His fingers are back on her left breast, gently pinching her puckered nipple just as he bites the thick point of her neck again; rather than finish her sentence she hears herself gasp out, hips bucking against his and legs wrapping automatically about his waist, forcing him tight to her.

Instantly she hears him groan into her neck, tongue dragging over her collar bone and onto her shoulder; without knowing why she does it she feels her hips bursting into a frantic rocking motion that seems to follow the timing of his ministrations, grinding herself against the thickness of his shaft that's pressing so hard against her. "… Condom?" She hears Wally gasp into her neck, hand leaving her breast to splay against her hip, trying to soothe her.

"—Right." She pants; it's sweltering beneath him and all the unnatural heat he seems to produce, her jeans practically sticking to her. She feels hazy and too slow, almost drunk, tiny beads of sweat beginning to form in the crease between her breasts as she struggles to extract the hand that's still holding his wallet.

Never being one to wait on anything Wally allows her only a moment of peace to crack it open; when he suddenly shifts his weight she's half expecting him to snatch it out of her hands and do it for her. It's odd, so much so that her eyes actually leave the task at hand to examine him closely as he raises himself above her with one arm, the other tenderly stroking the bunched denim at the curve of her hip. "… God." He says huskily, looking at her naked breasts with the same fascination she had given him a few moments before.

She's expecting it when he leans in to kiss her again; it's soft, unhurried, his mouth unfurling and tongue flickering against hers when she responds, hands stilling on the wallet when he groans into her mouth, breathing into her. "Wally—" She groans when he pulls back, eyes suddenly clouded and missing his taste as he dips below her jaw.

"Shh." He hushes her, lips dripping down her neck but not stopping to bite or suck against her the way she really wants; he pauses only briefly on the mark he's left on her collar bone to kiss it tenderly before he slides downwards, muscles dragging along hers and making the throbbing between her thighs increase by a tenfold at the friction.

It takes a lot of effort not to gasp when he kisses the point of her nipple, her back arching up against his mouth as he swirls his tongue around her. Even here he's not giving her quite enough attention, only teasing as his teeth barely graze her, glancing pointedly at the way her fingers are clenched around the leather as he drags his tongue along the dip between her breasts, licking up the moisture of her sweat. "Artemis." He says her name coyly, mouth pausing to work against her other breast and hand already tending to the one he's just abandoned. "Wallet."

"Sure." She breathes, fingers practically shaking as she starts fumbling it open again; it's hard to focus on what she's looking for, hard to think about anything, really, other than the rush of cool air as he blows against the tracings his tongue has left on her, the way his fingers lightly squeeze her before his lips start working lower, tracing the underside of her breast before working down her ribs.

Her eyes flicker over various cards, thumbing through cash and accidentally checking the zippered change pocket twice; she feels incredibly dumb when a few stray pennies tumble out, smacking against her neck and immediately slipping underneath her. She's just about to make a mad scramble to reclaim them when two things happen at once: Wally drags his tongue along the waist band of her jeans and a condom falls out of an unseen pocket and lands smack between her breasts.

"I—" She starts panting out, throwing his wallet sideways towards the pillows as she glances down at him; they've been lying almost diagonally on the bed this whole time, her toes hanging off the mattress as he pulls back, almost crouching over her and feet surely touching the ground, watching the way her breasts are heaving as she draws in wanting breaths. "Wally—" She says vaguely, pinching the square wrapper between her fingers and looking for his gaze to show him that she's found it.

She feels her stomach twist at the way he's looking at her, jaw clenched and ears red with wanting; a little pathetically the hand about to pass the condom towards him stills, only the corsage still attached to her wrist quivering, before falling beside her face as if afraid of moving. She's seen this look before, seen it thousands of times—the wanting he feels, his overwhelming need for her. And yet somehow it's different, more pressing, more anxious and feral but simultaneously Wally-ish yet completely unlike him; it makes her whole stomach clench up as he stares at her, the hand that had so recently returned to her hip hesitating before moving.

It's calculated, the way his fingers move achingly slow towards the button on her jeans; it's as if he's giving them both time to think this through, change their minds now as if he's afraid he won't be able to stop once he starts. Traitorously her hips jerk up at the sound of the fabric releasing the metal, thighs quivering as the teeth of her zipper unbind; she doesn't miss the asking in his eyes when he glances up at her, waiting for her to nod.

Wally whisks her jeans and socks off in one slightly clumsy motion; she can't take her eyes off him, can't stop herself from staring at intensity in his expression and the tightness of his mouth. She feels oddly unprepared for him as he glances down at the dark grey of her panties in front of his hips, a spasm of anxiety leaking through her whole body as he looks her up and down, one hand placing itself on her knee and spreading her legs wider. "A-Artemis." She's surprised when he shakes his head and stutters. "… Are you sure?"

She hesitates, heart thundering against her ribs and wondering how brave she is—brave enough to stop this now? Brave enough to keep going? Brave enough to tell him that she's in love with him?

"… Are you?" She croaks out.

Wally shakes his head at her again, mouth seeming to curve up slightly at her answer—it's so typical of them, bickering even at a time like this. "That's not the question—"

It's probably not her most elegant move but rather than risk her nervous mouth making things worse she seizes his hand from where it's resting on her knee, yanking him downwards along with it and forcing him to clumsily catch his weight on his other arm. "What—" He breathes in her ear, tensing when she forces his hand between her legs. "… Oh."

"I'm sure." She whispers in a husky voice, not quite managing to sound sexy.

She tries not to shudder when he strokes curiously her through her dampened panties, fingers pressing against her wetness and forcing the slightly slicked material to stick to her folds. "… I found a condom." She breathes. In response Wally's fingers press against her, his exhale against her neck long and loud before he starts fumbling with the waist band of her underwear, tugging it down her thighs and trying to keep a steady pattern of kisses against her neck as he undresses her.

His fingers are warm as they always are, tracing her and dipping once, shallowly, inside her before dragging her wetness up to her clit. She feels pathetically close to coming already, all this drawn out pawing at each other and his teasing seeming to build a heat burning deep inside of her; she inhales sharply when he presses against her nerves, pinching her slightly and twisting gently like he did with her nipples, not quite enough to do anything but more than enough to send her hips bucking.

Wally presses his lips against the underside of her jaw and immediately pulls back, eyes finding hers just as his fingers dip back inside her, this time deeper and more penetrating. "Your heart beat's going crazy." He whispers, fingers thrumming hard against her walls in a way that makes her head toss back against her blankets before he pulls out again, dragging upwards to press against her clit as his bright irises look at her through half-lidded eyes.

She feels her thighs beginning to tremble, muscles locking up and shaking as she tries to pull him closer, legs wrapping around his waist and trying to force his fingers circling her clit to slow—she's close, she's so close, but she refuses to go without him, not the first time. "C-condom." She stutters out, breath beginning to come out in mewls as she claws at his wrist.

Wally fights her on it as he does on most things, his arm tense as he ignores her grabbing, thumb rubbing small circles against her as the knuckle of his pinky presses against her opening; despite her insistence she can feel her resistance weakening, all the muscles in her body tensing and heating and seeming to melt along the seams where he's touching her.

Her mouth bursts open in a sharp exhale just she climaxes; she manages to stutter out the first syllable of his name before his lips are suddenly on hers, forcing her to keep quiet as his hand keeps working between her legs, trying to soothe the anxious rocking of her hips. She feels as if she can't breathe, not when his mouth is pressing so furiously against hers.

By the time her hips still Wally's hand is slick with her wetness she's light headed and dazed, her whole body shaking beneath him.

---

"I-I was trying to—"

"I know." He cuts her off, fingers slowing against her but not entirely stopping; she feels so tender beneath him she can't quite take his touching again so soon, as if every sensation is magnified, his gentle circling making her shudder and twitch in a mix of wanting and discomfort. "I know what you were trying to do, it's just—I don't know how long…" He trails off, looking embarrassed. "… It's not like I've done this before."

She doesn't quite know what to say, not when her mind is so foggy and her body is still buzzing underneath him; despite everything she can feel her stomach beginning to twist again, can feel the familiar tightening sensation building in the brittleness of her bones as Wally shifts between her legs. A little pathetically she whimpers, finally succeeding in pulling his hand away.

"What are you—" He starts, some of his weight jostling above her as he struggles not to topple onto her; as if impatient his hips buck in surprise when she reaches between them, stroking him through his underwear, the wrapper of the condom crinkling loudly in her other hand.

As if finishing his sentence for him his length twitches against her hand as she tightens her grip, the gasp of breath that fires out of his mouth as she does so splashing the familiar walnut smell across her cheeks. "I…" She trails off, her other hand reaching down between them and grabbing for his waist band, forcing the swelling of her breasts to press together. "I want you…"

Wally's hands feel like a cage on either side of her as he remains still, letting out one excited shudder as she sits up and drags his underwear down his thighs, muscles popping as he wobbles from foot to foot; she tries not to stare, tries not to look nervous when he's naked between her thighs, the bulk of him looking so wonderfully hard and taut.

There's a predictable amount of fumbling with the condom wrapper; he takes it from her first and realizes all too late that his hands are sweating, and when she tries to help there's their usual amount of bickering. She has to physically slap his hands away before the wrapper finally bursts open, and before he can get out the sneering remark he wants to make she's rolling it down the length of him, his mouth splitting into a hiss when she pulls back to trace the v-shaped lines she loves so much, following his muscles until they guide her to where he's hard for her.

It's still boiling hot underneath him; her cheeks feel ridiculously red with the combination of nervousness and heat. Wally for his part is still blushing tremendously as he hovers over her, reddened blotches from his ears leaking down the side of his neck now and beginning to speckle across his shoulders as if her were some sort of crimson leopard.

He only hesitates once more, his hands braced on either side of her face and hips hovering over hers; she can feel the tip of his length barely brushing the heat between her legs, his hips rocking unconsciously with anxiousness and hardly touching her. "Just go slow, okay?" She whispers a little stupidly, trying not to sound afraid. She can feel how wet she is for him, can feel the way the swelling of her breasts tremor with the anxiousness of her breath, can feel the way her muscles are tightening and ready and craving him inside her. And yet Wally's looking at her as if he's still wondering if she wants him.

And maybe that's why she doesn't feel pathetic when her hand strays up beside her face to search for his wrist; maybe that's why her ankles skim up the back of his thighs and encircle his lower back tightly, as if to comfort him. Her fingers find his wrist, feel the familiar hardness of his bones and the tendons that hold him together. More out of habit than anything she shuts her eyes, turning her head to press her lips to the place where she can feel his heart beat pounding, far faster than she's able to count. It's all these things, so stupid in their familiarity, that make her feel safe. And maybe that's why, when he still doesn't move, she isn't too proud to beg him for it. "… Please, Wally."

Please.

Please.

Please.

She hears them both cry out when he pushes himself inside her; instantly her low hiss turns into a gasp that she needs to bite her lip to contain, and she hears Wally mutter one choice swear a bit too loudly before he drops his head into the crook of her neck, hiding from her.

She doesn't know what she's expecting—it's not painful, exactly, like Zatanna had warned her in a way that sounding more teasing than serious. For a moment she can feel all her muscles contract, can feel her legs tightening around him as he tries to rock himself gently inside her. It's an odd sort of a fullness, a tender kind of fullness, that her body seems to adjust to too slowly and that sends her belly twisting as her walls clench tightly around him, an involuntary groan bursting from her lips before she can quiet it.

She can't stand it when he stops moving altogether, trying to give her time to adjust; feeling out of her element she insistently presses her heels against his back, trying to guide his pace as he slowly starts thrusting. She can tell he's trying to be gentle with her like she asked, can tell that it's in his instinct to be fast and that this is no different; what surprises her is that she needs it as badly as he does, her hips raising and back arching every time his thighs brush against hers.

With every thrust he gets deeper inside her, the swears he's whispering into her neck growing more disjointed and intelligible; once his hips jerk up into her, pumping hard for a half second before he can stop himself, and for a wild moment she hears herself moan at the sensation before it suddenly disappears, her fingers digging into his shoulders with frustration. "Sorry—" He grunts out, pulling back enough to look her in the eye, checking that she's alright; she's a little alarmed when she realizes he's got his face screwed up in concentration, in restraint, and as if to make it up to her he shifts his weight, his hips slowing to a gentle rocking motion as one of his hands makes its way between them.

"A-Artemis—" He pants out when her hips twitch underneath his at the feeling of his fingers, her heels pressing against the small of his back and unconsciously increase the speed of his thrusts; she's so sensitive after her recent orgasm, even if his fingers are clumsy she's beginning to feel the familiar build inside her again, her hips beginning to buck of their own accord and her mouth firing out these pathetic sounding whimpers. "I can't… I have to go faster—"

As if to prove a point his hips crash a little too hard against her, air hiccupping out of her lungs and forcing her to let out a straggled groan. She can feel her core throbbing around him, can feel the way her sweat slicked thighs are beginning to squelch on either side of him with her own wetness; each stroke inside her feels like a thrumming of his pulse underneath her fingers and— and she's close, she's so close—

Without thinking she feels her hands clawing at his back, nails flying through his hair and pulling his mouth to hers to kiss him; both their faces are sweat slicked and their kissing is marred by messy exhales and without waiting for her to do anything other than pull back with a sudden moan at the feeling of his skin grinding against hers he exhales sharply and withdraws his hand, her heels guiding him as he starts bucking into her faster.

She can hardly breathe as he thrusts inside her; she can feel herself almost there, can hear him alternating between swearing and panting her own name into her ear as one of his hands squeezes her breast a bit too tightly. She's hardly aware of the noises coming out of her mouth, doesn't know if she's saying real words or simply falling apart underneath him—

And then he shifts, propping himself up to look her in the eye and suddenly she can feel herself crumbling around the edges as his length throbs inside her, hitting something that sends a dull ache of pleasure through her with each stroke. She doesn't know what does it, doesn't know how she even manages to look him in the eye as a part of her slips away, head tossing back and nails so sharp on his biceps that she's sure she's breaking skin—she's never come this hard before, never once in her life—

She gasps out his name and suddenly he's coming with her; his hips hammering clumsily but perfectly against her, all his walnut flavored oxygen bursting out of his mouth and hitting her in the face. There's a moment where his eyes screw up and she can feel him shaking all over and— and she has to physically tighten her lips together because the impulse to tell him that she loves him is incredibly strong but she can't ruin this, she can't ruin this—

Several of his muscles seem to give out at once and vividly she thinks that he looks how she feels after a particularly long run— muscles quivering, sweating, not entirely in control. Wally whispers something she doesn't catch, maybe another swear, and drops his head to her collar bone.

She can't quite tell where his shaking ends and where hers starts, only the feeling of his skin— which is always hot but now feels absolutely sizzling, less human and more fire— brushing against hers marking the division between them. "It's alright." She hears herself pant out, thighs still twitching around his waist and arms automatically wrapping around him to soothe him through it. She locks eyes with the lily on her wrist, still pristine and white despite everything. "It's okay."

---

AN: A lot of you have been waiting for this moment since Artemisia. I know this was by far one of my favorites to write. I hope I lived up to expectation!

Please read and review (and keep watching YJ on Netflix!)