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That Temporary Kind	By : nancyb Category: DC Verse Cartoons > Justice League Views: 6271 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Justice League, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-That Temporary Kind
- 1
That Temporary Kind
by Nancy Brown (nancyelizabrown@aol.com)
Copyright 2004
NC-17

Disclaimer: DC and Warner Brothers would be very mad at me if they knew about this.
Notes: Great big spoilers for "Wake the Dead." If you don't want to be spoiled, avert your eyes. Thanks go to XFFan_2000 for the beta. At adultff.net, I am also the author of "These Things" and "Simplicity" but for whatever reason I don't have a working profile to touch them anymore.
*
I know you, John Stewart.
I know the way your eyes crinkle at the edges when you smile, and I know how low your voice gets when you chuckle.
I'm learning more.
I knew about her, before last night. I read the files and I heard the gossip and, more importantly, I saw what you were like when the League reformed. It wasn't a secret, you know, as much as you wish it had been. I think some people living in caves in Siberia might not have guessed what you two had.
You don't talk about her, and that tells me volumes. You never say her name when you're awake. Or you didn't, until last night.
I didn't know what you were like when you were around her. How could I? Like the rest of us "new recruits," all I knew of the first League was what I saw on the TV, or met streaking through the sky. You were a shooting emerald star and some of us grumbled about the "Just Us Club," but we all wanted to be with you so bad we could taste it. Tasted like clover honey, and like tin.
You taste like coffee; you drink too much. I'd blame Flash but I don't think he got you hooked on the stuff. I think he just ensures by example that you'll never take yours too sweet. You're not big on sweet anyway.
Christ, this is a mess.
Or maybe, maybe I'm hoping it's a mess. Maybe I'm imagining I mean more to you than it felt like when you walked away with her. And I followed you, followed with the others because what else was I going to do? Stand there, and let everyone else know you just passed me over for the woman who splintered your heart? There's only so much humiliation I can take in one night.
We were going to go to dinner. We were going to go dancing, although you didn't know that. Instead I got beaten up by a zombie and you cared, you did, you came to gather me in your arms after she ...
I haven't played the role of Rebound Girl in a long time. I forgot how easy it is to make myself believe it's not just therapy with fringe benefits.
You know, I never saw her without the mask before last night. All the pictures, all the files, not one of them mentioned how pretty she is. But I get people coming to their feet when I walk into a room, and that's a kind of royal service even the Princess doesn't always receive.
You think I'm beautiful. I know you like what you see when you look at me. You hid it at first, held it close against you just like you do all the rest of your feelings until you need them. You're not as good at it as Batman, but I'm glad. Think of it as a weakness that let me inside.
Actually, you probably do.
I want to ask you what you're thinking, what feelings you're not sharing this time, and there's just no way I'm making that phone call. I know you went back to your apartment. I know you went there alone. I don't want to know if you're not still alone.
We came here, both times. Your place was closer but you had your excuses: laundry on the floor, empty fridge. You tried to pass yourself off as a typical bachelor, which might have worked if I hadn't been talking with Flash.
And it was fine, coming here instead. My home, my bed, my rules, and I always keep my place as tidy as I know you do. Besides, I make it a habit of not fucking in another woman's bed. I know it was yours first, but like I said, I know you and I know how you think.
I know what you like, too. I know you like to see me on my knees in front of you with my mouth around you. Not that this is news. I haven't met a human man yet who would say no to a blowjob. Maybe not all of them want a woman right there, but spit and lick and suck and slick deep, and yeah. No objections there, not from you. You make good noises when I'm going down on you, the best, and I know when you do that you're focused entirely on me, on what I'm doing to you with my mouth and my hands.
You give as good as you get. I don't know who taught you. You weren't with your little birdy long enough for it to be her, but I bet she enjoyed what you already knew. Three hundred cups of coffee at least washed out your mouth after you touched her, before you first tasted me. I wanted to ask how long it'd been since you'd had a human lover, and then your tongue swiped over me and I couldn't speak.
You were surprised that first time when I came so fast. Makes me think she didn't, and this is a thing to know now, here alone in my own room. A fact, or a comfortable assumption. Not a weapon. Not exactly.
It's been over a decade, more. I can tell by the clumsy way you put on the condom, like some kid who's barely got hair on his balls. Then you lay me down and you're nothing like a kid at all.
I want to say it's perfect, but I'd be lying, and I don't do that to you. It's good and it's passionate and when you're inside me I feel whole. I don't know what you feel, but the pleasure I can read on your face and hear in your throat. I think it helps give you back whatever you lost, whatever she drew away in her wake as she fled.
And it's a fight, a little. Sex is, well it's not a game, but it's not something I tend to take lying down, you might say. I want to roll on top of you and clench myself around you and feel you thrust from beneath me. It's power, like the power that flows through me when we're in a battle, but you've got your own power. Your hands hold my shoulders to the mattress, and it's not what I want, but you are what I want and when I come again you stop long enough to kiss me, long and low and wet. Then that green fire grows in your eyes, and I'm riding the wave of you, and a part of me is ashamed at being grateful that you're looking at me as you get near the edge.
You only come when I'm on my back and it isn't quite joy on your face when you do.
Maybe looking at two nights isn't the best way to spot a trend. Maybe after we wined and dined and danced last night, you would have taken me back to your perfectly neat apartment, taken me into your perfectly made bed, taken me, and maybe it would have been ... perfect.
Instead I'm alone, and you're alone, and I don't care if she's alone. I care that she was miles away and was still in my bed with us. You fucked me the way the missionaries do entirely because you could never have that with her. Wouldn't want to damage those pretty wings with something as vulgar as a little nighttime rutting, would you?
You never said you loved me. I didn't say it either, because I don't. Not yet. I could. I could love you, John. I could be the woman you need, the woman you want. I could see us with a future, a life.
I wish ...
I wish I could tell you what I see when I look at you. I wish I could hold up a mirror to the pain she caused you and tell you not to let yourself fall again, now that she's glided back into your world. I wish I could think you'd ever listen to me when it comes to her. I wish I believed you're on your way over here right now, and that you're sorry, and that you want to come in and stay and not leave ever again.
But I know you too well for that.
*
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