Title: Slide into my Room
Fandom:
Justice League
Pairing:
John/Shayera
Rating:
PG-13.
Word Count:
1,528
Summary/Description:
A game of cause and effect. [He can feel the warmth of her skin even through the robe and she smells like the wind.]
Warning/Spoilers:
Pre-Starcrossed. It's a little sexy, idk.
A/N:
Hrrrng. Kagari wanted a fic based off of this really dorky look John had in 'Kids Stuff'. SO I WROTE IT.
Dedication:
For Kagari. HAPPY BIRTHDAY OLD LADY. :D
Disclaimer:
DC, not me.


John is close to sleep, but he is alert enough to hear when Shayera enters through the window in the den, her feathers rustling as they brush against the curtains and the window sill. It's the last noise he hears for some time; she's spent enough time in his apartment by now to have memorised the layout, and she moves about as silently as she would in her own abode.

He turns on his side and eases an eye open just in time to catch the sight of her slipping into the bedroom, unzipping her suit as she walks. Her hair is a messy waterfall around her shoulders; the clothes that she peels off are dusty and scraped. He is about to call out a greeting, but she beats him to it.

"I know you're awake, Stewart," she says in a drawl, unhooking her bra. John chuckles in his throat.

"Wasn't trying to hide it," he replies, and doesn't try to hide the fact that he's looking, either. "Hey. How was your night on the town?"

"Fine," she says, slipping out of her underwear. She pads into the adjoining bathroom, wings circling around her, and her voice takes on an echo as she steps into the stall. "This city has enough drunken fights and burglaries to rival Kelnar. In short, nothing I couldn't handle."

"You should see what it's like on St. Patrick's, or New Years," he calls out, and that gets a small laugh.

Shayera turns on the shower, full blast, and they're silent for the next ten minutes.

When she walks out, damp and fresh, she's wearing one of his robes and towelling her hair dry. John doesn't think of himself as the typical guy, but he has to admit that he gets the same sense of satisfaction as any man would, seeing her wearing something of his. She's smiling at him, tilting her head, and John returns it, sitting up a bit. Shayera's a pretty woman, but when she smiles like that, it heightens her cheekbones, makes her eyes emeralds, curves her lips, and then, she's gorgeous. When she walks over to the bedside and leans over, his hand is waiting to slip around her waist, and pull her closer. They kiss, briefly, then again, deeper and longer. He can feel the warmth of her skin even through the robe and she smells like the wind.

"Hey," he says again, smiling lazily, and she answers by grinning and kissing him again, biting his bottom lip briefly. He nips back, swatting her bottom lightly.

"What's it with you and biting, huh?" he asks, amusement light in his eyes. Shayera snorts, bites him again, and curves her hand around the back of his neck to bring their lips closer together, moulding and pressing harder. John is happy to oblige; their tongues touch and lick.

"I'm starving," she finally replies, sliding off of him. The cold air rushes back. "Is there anything to eat?"

"Yeah, I threw together some pasta when I got back from the Watchtower." He sits up. "Here, let me—"

But she pushes him back into a prone position, and pins him there on the pillows with a kiss.

"No," she says against his lips after a few seconds. "I'll get it. Save your strength, John. You'll need it for later."

Shayera saunters out of the room, and John checks the nightstand to make sure they've got condoms.

She's back again in ten minutes, toting a plate piled with spaghetti and meat sauce, and an album that looks suspiciously the one his grandmother sent him a few Christmases ago. He cocks a brow in her direction.

She smirks.

"What?" she says, and shovels a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth. She almost looks innocent.

The brow goes higher, but Shayera ignores it, kicking a chair over to the bedside.

"So," she says conversationally after a swallow, seating herself comfortably with her legs kicked up on the bed. "Guess what I happened to find while I was waiting for this to heat up?"

John gives her a clearly disbelieving look, and tugs on her baby toe.

"Happened to find? You just happened to find it closed up in the display case behind the medals and old books, beneath sheaves of old paperwork?"

Shayera shrugs, looking almost nonchalant. But the smirk is tugging at her lips again.

"Same difference." She places the plate of food on her lap, and the book on her thighs. It is covered in dark leather, and rimmed in gold, because his grandmother has always treasured memories. Shayera runs a finger over the binding before moving to open it.

That's when John makes a swipe for it, but Shayera is ready and blocks him with her foot, managing not to upset the plate or the album. John could make another grab, but instead, he captures the leg in one of his hands, and frowns at her.

"Easy there, John," she says almost playfully, wiggling her toes. "What's the problem?" She takes another forkful.

John shoots her a look of deepest displeasure that she returns with a sweet smile. It could turn into a staring competition; they have those frequently, and no one wins. Bur instead, after a few moments, the Ring glows briefly, and it is Shayera's turn to scowl lightly.

"Hey. No cheating." She pokes him in the chest with her toe. "I just want to look at some pictures of you; stop being such a grouch."

He would probably be able to hold out for a little while longer, except for the fact that it's been two days since he last saw her, and she's beautiful right now in his worn old robe, with sauce on her upper lip, and an air of rare relaxedness. Tonight isn't a night for a quarrel.

"Fine," he says, sinking back down into the bedding, stacking his hands behind his head. The scowl still twists his lips, but not as prevalently as before. "Go ahead. Just don't…"

"What, laugh?" Shayera opens the album to the first page, and the air is filled almost immediately with that old-book smell. "I won't, I promise."

John doesn't believe her for a second, but he reclines comfortably and watches as she flips through the album, looking closely at all the images. Sometimes she stops to wipe away something from the corner of her mouth, or inspect a picture closely, or ask him to identify a relative. When she sees the photo of him, all dressed up in his whites with his grandmother, standing outside of the old house, her eyes shine with fondness. John echoes it, in his chest if not in his eyes.

He knows what's coming, and waits on it with certainty. He can tell when she reaches the older pictures, because her smile widens bit by bit, and she settles her fork onto the plate. And it's probably for the best that she's stopped eating, because the look on her face when she turns the next page suggests that she might have choked, had she anything in her mouth.

John sighs, and looks at the ceiling, waiting.

Slowly, Shayera turns the album so that he can see the picture that she's looking at. Not that he doesn't know exactly which one it is. He'd been about ten or eleven, perhaps, and his Uncle Rodney had caught him by surprise, nose deep in a comic book. The picture had been the talk of the family for a few years, and John had had to scowl and hand-swat his way through many a cheek pinching. Christ.

Surprise and amusement are jostling for dominance on Shayera's face.

"John… you're —"

"Don't say it."

She shrugs, palms up.

"I'm sorry, but it's just—"

"Don't."

"You're adorable."

John sighs, and amusement wins, shaking Shayera's shoulders with the laughter she's been holding back.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he grouses, but doesn't sound as annoyed as he means to. He can't; not really. Shayera is still laughing.

"John… you never told me you wore glasses as a kid."

"Uh huh. Wonder why."

That gets her laughing again, and she doesn't stop until John tugs on her leg, running a finger up the calf.

"You broke your promise," he says grimly. "Hope you're ready for the consequences."

The laughter dies on her lips, only to be replaced by something else. The spark that's been hidden in the corner of her eyes ever since she slid into his room comes out to shine.

"Yeah, I think I am," she says with a tilted smile, getting to her feet. The book and the half empty plate are set aside on the nightstand, but John's eyes are on his robe, which is now making nice with the floor of his bedroom. Shayera stretches her wings briefly, before crossing to the bed and straddling him with one smooth movement. The warmth is back, and hotter than ever; the feel of her skin as he grips her waist is fiery, and erases every other thought from John's mind. Shayera leans down to bite his ear. "And I'm sure it's going to be worth it."


It was.