A warning to those who read further: This is a sex scene, one that is remotely graphic. Those who do not wish to read, or those who are too young, please ignore the following update. I'd appreciate if we could be mature and appreciate this as more than soft porn kthnx.
"Are you sure?" I ask, because honestly, I'm more nervous than she is and I don't know how to cover it up – especially considering she's able to read my emotions on a constant basis.
She has her arms wrapped around my shoulders, one leg wrapped around my waist. Her lips are swollen from kisses, and the lower lip bleeds slightly, a result from my fangs biting into her. I feel guilty that I always accidentally hurt her when we fool around, but I think that secretly she likes the pain. I wouldn't be surprised by that. Her hair is in disarray, and mine probably is, too. She looks up at me, through heavily-lidded eyes and thick eyelashes, and there is no light in the blue orbs that lay beneath them – then again, there never is. She lost the light in them a long time ago. Her skin is paler than I've ever seen it, especially in the moonlight, and her bare shoulders protrude angrily out from the rest of her body.
We're both breathing heavily; our fear, our want, our feelings mingle with the puff of our breath, our foreheads together as we rest for a moment.
I breathe a little heavier waiting for her response.
I've messed around with other girls before Raven. It was never that hard for me. Sure, I'm green, but I'd like to say I'm not that bad-looking, and I do happen to be a superhero. I'm not a jerk, though, I'm not one of those tools that use their celebrity-status to bang a girl and then never call her again. In fact, I've never even had sex before, though I do have some crazy stories to boast to Cy about – one girl actually wanted me as a sea-otter; I had to walk out on that one.
I digress; I have been with a few ladies in my time, serial dating here and there, after Terra. They were all really nice, but I could never focus on one girl for a long period of time. Maybe it was the heartbreak over a certain blonde girl, maybe it was because of my short attention span, and maybe it was because they were all boring after a while. I used to have a thing with Raven when we were younger, y'know, a teenage crush, but it never went anywhere. I always thought it would be pointless to chase after a girl who didn't have any feelings at all, so I let it go. I just…retained a quiet attraction for her all this time. I can appreciate a girl being attractive without drooling all over her.
But, as I had learned recently, Raven was quite capable of feelings. She was quite capable of many things, actually.
Oh, shit, was she capable.
I don't know how we got into this situation, really. It was something that happened all on its own. Half of it was hormones, half of it was how large her breasts seemed to have swelled and her face seemed to thin out over the years, and half of it was because there was a spark of something left from my old crush on her. Raven has intrigued me for years; she's stone, she's ice, but there's something burning inside her that no one is ever able to fully understand. I'll admit I've always wanted to know what that something is. I still don't know. But when she pushed me up against the kitchen wall four months ago and started kissing me, I thought that I was starting to get a hint at what was going on beneath that stoic mask of hers.
We've never mentioned what we do to anyone. It's like after the moment is gone, it didn't even happen. We don't hang out, we don't cuddle, and we don't talk. We keep the same distance we always have forever. It's like a dirty secret – not exactly something we're ashamed of, but something that isn't important. Friends-with-benefits, I'm pretty sure it's called.
I tried asking her once, y'know, nonchalantly and all that, so that I wouldn't come off as desperate or anything, why she decided on me. I really hope she wasn't able to tell how curious I was, but in hindsight, she probably could taste it on me, and it's kind of embarrassing. Either way, she gave me that blank-slate face of hers and shrugged, said, "I doubt Robin or Cyborg would have wanted to," and continued walking to the training room.
So I stopped asking questions, because I was afraid of getting shot down like that again.
Now, I can feel my ears twitching in the silence. This is the first question I've asked in a while, after all the kisses, the torn shirts, the hands trailing up legs, the wet lips and claw marks. All that we've done, I could live with no-questions asked.
But as far as I am aware, she's a virgin, too. Despite her experience, her readiness to instigate, her seemingly out-of-know-where knowledge, I'm definitely sure she is.
She doesn't answer, just dips her head and kisses my neck, and I shut my eyes. With Raven, I can shut my eyes and enjoy the ride, I can see colors ripple behind my eyelids, I can feel something knotting up in my stomach and blooming around my insides, a spider-like hand creeping its way up and gripping my chest with all its might. I don't know if she feels the same way; I'm always too afraid to ask, if she feels the electricity when we touch, like I do. Maybe this is more than a friends-with-benefits thing for me, maybe I'm looking for too much out of this, maybe –
She nips my collarbone, hard, and I gasp, dragging my nails across her lower back violently enough to make her back arch. I love that, having the control to make her move like that. When I have stupid thoughts, like maybe having feelings for her under all the sexual energy, I let all my confusion out through our little get-togethers, and I can forget all about it. Usually.
She runs her hands up and down my arms, and works on a mean hickey that will take a week of wearing turtle-necks to hide; in response, I use my left hand to cup around the familiar shape of her right breast and squeeze gently, while the other hand unclips the back of her bra. We've messed around enough for me to understand how her underwear works, so there isn't any complication. She presses her chest against me and presses her lips against mine at the same time, cupping my face while I tug her bra off. Her skin always feels so cold.
Her fingers somehow flitter to the hem of my boxers, and my breathing hitches, like it always does. The room is hot, and the breeze from the open window whispers against my exposed face. She kisses down my chest, runs her tongue down my stomach, and circles my belly-button before stopping above my boxers. She looks up at me again, through those fucking gorgeous eyelashes, and smirks. Because she knows how badly I want her. Because she knows how much power she has over me. It's like she's feeding off this emotion, and all I can do is lie here and comply.
God, she's pretty. God, she's beautiful. God, I love her.
For a second, she recoils. It's almost like she could hear what I'm thinking, and I have a spasm of fear for a moment in my chest. I calm myself two seconds later; there's no way she could decipher it beneath all of this lust.
Then, she yanks down my boxers, and I'm exposed to her, but it's nothing new. This time, though, she runs her hand up my thigh, and I shiver as it passes all the way up my torso and behind my neck. I've been passing my hands up and down her body, as well, almost unconsciously. Finally, I finger the lace of her panties, the only thing separating the two of us now. I hesitate, my eyes searching hers for a sign to stop. Nothing but the same dead-eyed stare.
She sits up on me, the outline of her breasts jiggling in the dim-light of her room, and I pause. Her expression doesn't change.
"Garfield." Her voice is hoarse. There are four small, purple bruises forming on her neck and shoulder that I don't remember giving her. I raise and lower my eyebrows quickly, signaling her to continue her statement.
Slowly, deliberately, she lowers her lips to my ear.
"I'm sure. You were the one I was waiting for." Her voice is soft, a whisper, velvet around my body; with my sensitive hearing, it vibrates through my entire core, tingles down my spine.
She kisses me again, this time tenderly, not the aggressively passionate kisses we typically share. It's almost…sweet, almost as if there's something else behind it besides an urgency for sex.
I tear off her panties and grunt as she squeezes her thighs around my hips.
I can hear myself growling, low, in the back of my throat. My fingers dig deep into the flesh of her sides, definitely leaving marks, and she grips my shoulders for dear life, her lower body undulating wildly.
I look up into her eyes, and surprise jolts me.
There's a light in her eyes. An almost literal light, shining, high-lighting the golden flecks in her eyes I've never noticed until now. There's life in them. There's something, that something I think I've always been trying to figure out.
I'm the reason for that light.
She loves me too.
We've never said anything. We didn't mention it after. We haven't become an exclusive couple since then; our situation hasn't changed at all.
Except sometimes. Sometimes we hold eye-contact for longer than necessary. Sometimes we sit in the living room, not bothering with each other at all, just to be in the same space. Sometimes I leave tea for her in the morning, and she leaves a veggie-burger for me at night. Aside from that, we don't bother with each other any more than we have to, not counting our late-night endeavors. I don't think we'll ever actually talk about it; we're both too afraid to find out for sure, to say it out loud.
But I know that she loves me too.