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Trashy Romance Plot Number Four	By : nancyb Category: DC Verse Cartoons > Justice League Views: 3992 -:- 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-(1/4)
- 2-(2/4)
- 3-(3/4)
- 4-(4/4)
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VVVVVVV

Already the days had been difficult to distinguish from one another. One grey, featureless waking merged into a grey, featureless sleeping, punctuated by reluctant forays for food and water, and desperate, heady sex. Even right after they'd finished, John would open his eyes and see her, resting atop him or beside him or collapsed beneath him, and although he was too spent to do anything about it, he'd want her again.

He made a study of her, how she reacted to his touches and where. For all that Shayera was a hardened warrior, her skin was soft and sensitive and ticklish in more places than he could count. She found out his ticklish places too, and as often as she leapt on him to make love to him, she pounced to tickle his feet and knees and ribs with no mercy. He defended himself with tickles of his own and the "battles" would end with them tired and panting and laughing, and usually horny as hell.

In some ways, he was glad it had happened like this, with them.

John couldn't focus on anything but Shayera. Were they back on Earth, they would have duties and responsibilities. People relied on them. Here, no one cared. They ate what they could when they chose to, they kept enough presence outside of the shelter to keep the neighbors from getting any bright ideas, and they spent the rest of their time together, breathless and enjoying each other.

After the first time, or more accurately, later that same night after the third, they'd drifted to sleep having The Conversation. He'd told her of his previous lovers, two human, two not. Only his relationship with Kat had lasted any significant time, and he told her so. Tiredly she'd replied with two lovers of her own, both Thanagarians, but she went silent after that and he fell asleep before she spoke again.

She wasn't inexperienced; he knew from the way she undulated above him, the way she brought him to the edge and held him there with her teeth and sharp nails. Asking her more, asking again, and he would feel like he was prying. She didn't like to discuss Thanagar. He could accept that. The past was getting to be a sticky subject regardless. It was easier not to think about it, not think about anything but the way she felt against him, the way she shouted his name as her wings buffeted the walls in her pleasure.

She lay beside him now, not entirely asleep, and he felt the stirring in his groin again for her, just at the thought of her riding him until he popped. His fingers wandered over her flesh, avoiding the ticklish spots. She snuggled against his hand, slithering herself until his fingers moved down to where she wanted him.

He grinned in the darkness, and continuing to lay there, worked his fingers through her soft down and into her. Her breath came in little gasps as he stroked and played. Her own hand slid across the short distance between them, grabbing blindly for his cock. Her touch was firm but her rhythm was unsteady, distracted by what he was doing to her with every brush of his fingertips.

John pulled his hand back and got to his knees. Her own hand fell away from him, and Shayera rolled onto her belly. He felt her tense as he guided her knees up under her, and he filed that away. She'd been hurt like this, maybe.

He didn't want to hurt her.

On his knees behind her, he stroked the curve of her hips, framing her. Unable to wait longer, he dove in with his mouth.

"Ah!"

He steadied her with his hands, smiling against her ass. It was like her body was designed for this, for him, he thought as his tongue laved her roughly. She moaned with every brush against that sweet ridge, backing up against him clumsily.

He reveled in this, the power of bringing her to the edge, leaving her there if he chose. If I was suicidal, for example.

He licked and suckled at her, his right hand snaking down between his own legs to clasp and stroke his dick. He wasn't far from coming again either, and he teased himself as he teased her.

"Do it now," she gasped, and instead of answering he thrust his tongue in and up hard. She screamed; later he would see she'd scratched furrows into the ground.

As she came, he reared behind her and plunged in deep. She was still coming, still shaking, and he felt every wave as she hitched and jerked beneath him. Any room he'd had for rational thought was long gone, replaced by the sensation of her surrounding him, continuing to ride her climax. He slammed into her, wanting to go deeper, harder.

She was so wet and he ...

Grunting and swearing, he came fast. Had he not made a point of getting her off first, it would have been an embarrassing performance. Instead, he was weak and tired and insanely happy. He pulled out, stroked her sides as best he could, and fell bonelessly back to his blankets. She snuggled against him, her breath mingling with his as they stared at each other, neither daring to break the silence.

Her eyes drifted shut first. He leaned closer and kissed her forehead, stirring her back awake.

"Remind me," he said, "when we wake up, I really need to go work on the radio."

"What?"

"That box I found. I got it open and I was right. Korugan design, older model. Pretty sure I can get it operational again."

"Oh." Shayera was wide awake now, and belatedly John remembered he'd been going to keep it a surprise. Spilled milk. Have to come up with a new surprise.

"I've been a little distracted the past couple of days," he said warmly, stroking her face.

She smiled at the touch, and he supposed it was just weariness that put the catch in her voice as she said, "Get some sleep," before she rolled over and away from him.

VVVVVVV

The sand pattered like rain on what passed for their roof. The storm had lasted for two days; less intense overall than it had been the first time, out in the desert proper, this one was showing staying power that John didn't like at all.

They had another day's supply of water and two or three days' supply of food: the last trash drop off had included a whole case of canned Something. So far, none of the cans they'd opened from this batch had been spoiled and he hoped their luck held. If the storm continued, one of them would have to risk going out to the spring.

He'd go the next time she slept.

She wasn't sleeping now. Shayera had grabbed half a dozen metal shafts before the storm had hit in full. She meticulously sharpened each into a crude edged weapon as the wind howled and whistled through the holes they hadn't yet patched.

"Just in case," she'd said. He hoped the rest of that sentence was "In case I start noticing exactly how small this place is, I'll have something to do," rather than "In case we're trapped here for weeks and we relive the Donner party."

He'd coaxed her from her busy work several times over the last few days, kissing her shoulders and neck until she laughed or groused, and stopped, and tumbled into his arms. As much as it was to keep her mind off their confinement, he couldn't imagine a more pleasant captivity.

In some ways he was drunk off Shayera's presence, and by the curve of her smile around the sloppy kisses she returned, John suspected she felt the same. He'd brought the radio inside; its bulk took up too much of their precious space but he didn't dare risk it to the storm. As he fiddled with the wiring, trying one more connection, one additional tweak to the alien circuitry to coax it back to life, he would feel her eyes on him in the darkness and he would set aside the machine for another hour, longer if they napped afterwards.

She was watching him now, her shivs set aside for the moment. "When the storm is done," she said, "we're going to get more spaceship parts and add another room."

He paused, fingers about to twist two wires together for what he hoped would be a reasonable splice. He'd give a lot for access to a soldering iron or at least some wire nuts. "If you say for a nursery, I'm walking out into the storm right now."

"Don't be stupid." But he could hear the laughter she was hiding behind the words. "We're going to be here a while. We should have enough room to move around without bumping against that radio all the time. And we should think about figuring out a way to store more food."

"Unless you know how to build a refrigerator from scratch ... "

"I mean, we'll have to salt it or dry it or both."

"Critter jerky. My favorite." He covered his splice with some tape he'd pulled off another wreck. He was probably not lucky enough for it to be electrical tape but he was hoping it was non-conductive. He banged his hand on the casing and stuck the wounded finger in his mouth. "You know, the Professor could make a nuclear reactor out of two coconuts and some bamboo. You think I could wire this damned thing to work." He spliced two more wires.

"You had a professor who could construct a nuclear reactor out of ... "

"Forget it."

He taped the last wires. The box hummed.

John stared at it, then very carefully turned the closing knob. The box did not shut entirely; the new power cell was the wrong size. He turned the power knob until it clicked and was rewarded with static.

Shayera looked from the box to John and back again, eyes wide.

He turned the dial. Very faintly, over the damaged speaker, they heard a voice speaking an unfamiliar language, and moments later, a response.

"I think we did it," he whispered.

She didn't respond, kept staring at the box, her expression unreadable.

The patter continued on the roof.

VVVVVVV

Night, or day, and the storm was still raging outside. John had made transmission after transmission, trying to summon the Green Lantern of the sector they were in, until he was hoarse. Shayera had fussed at him to keep transmitting, an unfamiliar quiver in her voice. Then she dressed, bundling herself from head to foot in their fouler blankets, and braved the storm for more water over John's insistence that he go instead.

In the hour it took her to make the trip, he'd tried dozens of frequencies, not wanting to leave any particular one too quickly lest he miss a reply, but not wanting to stay on a dead line too long either. At last, she returned safe, half-choked with sand and carrying jugs that held almost as much silt as water. He helped her shrug out of the filthy blankets and shook out the worst of the sand as close to the entrance as possible.

Shayera exclaimed in a language he didn't recognize.

"What was that?"

"Um. Rough translation is 'mentally disabled offspring of a Gordanian prostitute.' My hair." As he watched her work her fingers through the ends, he saw what she'd meant. Much of the length had become tangled and matted while she'd been outside.

"I'll buy you a comb."

She glared at him, then reached for one of her blades. Grumbling as she went, Shayera roughly hacked off her hair to her shoulders. "I don't suppose you have a mirror?"

"You look beautiful."

She snorted. "Is it reasonably symmetrical?"

"Hand me that knife." Grudgingly, she gave him the shiv. There was about an inch difference between the two sides of her head. He evened them up as best he could, taking longer than was necessary so he could run his fingers through her soft hair.

"This is still a haircut, right?" she asked.

"It's something. There are a lot of reasons I didn't go to beauty school. But it's even now."

"Thanks." She swept up the clippings with her hand and tossed them into the corner they were using as their garbage until the storm passed. When the weather cleared, he would have to pull down parts of the structure and let what passed for fresh air around here blow through the shelter.

On summer evenings, his grandma would set one box fan in the front window and another at the back door to push the stale, hot air from the day out like sweepings to the street. He remembered those summers: fire hydrant days and muggy, going-to-rain-like-hell days, and days spent trying to find some grass that wasn't fried by the sun so he could run barefoot without burning his feet.

A wave of homesickness punched him in the gut. A few times when he'd been in deep space with the Corps, he'd pined for home and family but the longing had always been tempered with the knowledge he would go back to Earth some day. When he had, at last, been assigned to Sector 2814 after the death of Abin Sur, there had been no question of where he would live, not what planet, not even what neighborhood.

The thought of never seeing his home again ...

"How do you do it?" he asked her.

"Hm?"

"You've been stranded from Thanagar for, what, three years now?"

"More."

"How does it not drive you crazy? Knowing you might never see your home world again?"

"Sometimes it does." She set aside her work, scooted next to him. "Homesick?"

He nodded. "You?"

She turned her face away. "Not as much as I used to be." She wrapped both arms around his bicep and smiled. He returned the smile, bending to kiss her.

Something in her eyes, something like pain, and he pulled away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She reached with one hand to tug his head back to her, kissing him fiercely. John's first thought was: This is not the appropriate way to avoid answering a question. His second thought was far less coherent as her other hand deftly opened his uniform and slid into his pants.

At some point they were going to give up wearing clothes inside altogether.

His fingers plunged back into her short hair as she wrapped her hand around him and stroked. She bruised his lips with her kisses and he allowed any hope of following up the conversation to rest for now. They had plenty of time for talking, for everything. Shayera could tell him what was bothering her when she was ready. In the meantime, her attempt at distracting him was working.

John prided himself, and also felt a touch embarrassed, that he was adept at shucking Shayera's clothes so quickly. He sighed as her hand let go of his cock long enough for him to tug off his uniform the rest of the way. On his knees, and she on hers, he resumed kissing her as she pressed her body against his.

He bent his head to her neck. The soft flesh there enticed him to kiss and then suckle. She gasped as he worked the spot with the barest tips of his teeth before sucking in hard. When he pulled away, only a pale pink mark remained, which faded as he watched.

Saves on turtleneck expenses, I guess.

Something was in his mouth. He pulled back enough to work the muscles in his tongue and jaw to expel whatever it was.

"Problem?"

"You are a very dirty Hawkgirl."

Shayera frowned, which was his only warning before she punched his arm.

"Ow!"

"See if I go get water in the middle of a sandstorm again. And you're hardly one to talk."

"I was just thinking this place needed airing out." Her frown remained. John held his sigh and dug for a spare rag. Then, with care, he poured some water from one of the jugs onto the cloth, wetting it without dripping. "Lie down"

"What's that for?" she asked suspiciously.

"Gonna give you a bath."

She didn't lie down, but did allow him to scrub at her neck. He followed the path of the cloth with his mouth, leaving blessedly dirt-free kisses along her collarbone and down between her breasts. He wiped less carefully along each arm, nipping her as he went. By the time he reached her neck again, her respiration was rapid.

Instead of asking this time, he rolled her onto her belly. She pulled her wings against herself, but he placed his hands where they joined her shoulders, gently coaxing them to either side of her. He stopped long enough to set aside the rag and retrieve and wet a cleaner one.

She shuddered as he traced down her spine with the cloth and then with his tongue. Nice effect, he thought, and did both again as she arched beneath him.

John dipped his tongue inside of her, tasting her quickly, and she cried out.

He returned to his work, wiping at her thighs, down to her calves, and across the sensitive balls of her feet as she squirmed. He dropped the rag and stroked his way up along the insides of her legs with his fingertips and tongue, stopping just as he reached her inner thigh.

John sat up and gave her a gentle pat on the butt. "Much better. You're all clean now."

"Tell me you're not finished," she said over her shoulder.

"Unless you can show me another place you need cleaned, you're done." She laughed. "I didn't think it was that funny," he said.

"The first thing I thought of was that I want to wash my hair," she replied, still chuckling.

"Oh," he said, and snaked up her body until his face was even with her hair. His fingers stroked between her legs. "I dunno. Your hair seems fine from here." It would have been a better joke had she hair rather than down covering her intimate places, but he made up for it by slipping two fingers deep within her as he kissed her head.

"Mmmmm." That was a noise he could get used to, coming from low in her throat. He moved his fingers around, eliciting moans from her as he probed and brushed with his thumb.

Part of him wanted to stay like this for hours, breathing in her hair, pleasuring her with his hand, but a more insistent part was hard against her back, leaking out on the same flesh he'd just cleaned.

He slid his fingers out and spread her open, then thrust into her with a groan.

Shayera quivered beneath him, making unintelligible sounds as he fucked her slowly against the ground.

This was ... This was ... If he spent the rest of his life with her, loving her, he would never fail to be surprised at how it felt to be enwrapped within her, how smooth and wet and right. He would never stop wanting this exact sensation, Shayera bucking against him as she moaned and clenched.

He was going to come, had to hold back, had to get her there too. He slid his hand around to her ridge and she reached, tugging the hand away.

"No," she gasped, and she drew in her knees, raising her backside up. The change in position ...

Shayera made tiny noises in her throat as he rubbed inside her, stretching her. He planted his hands on her hips and drove deep, timing his thrusts to the heartbeat racing in his ears. He barely heard his own groans.

Then she clenched her muscles. So tight, was all he managed to think and he came, hard. As he finished, he felt Shayera's entire body shudder with her own orgasm. Her breathing was labored, and he was aching and tired. He kissed her head as best he could before collapsing against her.

"Do you hear that?" she asked him, when they could both think again.

He listened. "I don't hear ... " His brain caught up. "It's over."

"Yeah," she said, sliding out from beneath him and crawling to the doorway. Past her, he could see the half-night sky as she cracked open their shelter. The storm had passed. Thank God.

VVVVVVV

Dragging the radio out took both of them. Shayera strung some scavenged cable across the campsite, then hung the blankets and rags over it, beating out the worst of the dust with her mace. John swept out the fire pit and tried to clear the sand from the site as best he could.

When they'd reclaimed the site, John stood back and took a critical look.

"Tell you what," he said. "I want to get some more cleaning done around here. While I do, think you could take the blankets to the water hole?"

"I can, but the spring's going to be nasty for a few days at least. Sure it's worth it?"

"I'm sure."

She rolled her eyes as she gathered the blankets. "Explain to me why I keep doing the laundry?"

"You can get to the spring faster and you have the mace to beat things clean."

"Right." She kissed him on the cheek and flew off. John watched her go, then turned back to the shelter.

All right, he thought to himself. This shouldn't be so hard. John grabbed the roof. Grunting and pushing, he edged it off to one side, where it tilted crazily then fell over. John paused a minute, breathing hard and dripping sweat. In his head, this had been a lot easier. Too used to relying on the ring, he admonished himself.

Okay. The roof was off, and a breeze of sorts scooted over the tops of the barrels and sheeting that made up their walls. Without the roof holding them down, it was easier to skid the sides out and away from the shelter one at a time. Now for the fun part. John had identified some possible housing additions during his salvaging trips. Before the storm, he'd dragged some of them closer in, to have them handy when they eventually reinforced the shelter.

Another five barrels here, three there, and now she'd been gone the better part of an hour. He hurried to get the last of the old barrels into place. The first piece of new sheeting went into place well, but the second was stuck in the rubble where he'd left it, and John gashed his hand open pulling too hard. Swearing, he returned to the site, found a rag and a dab of silty water to clean the wound. He hoped like mad he was current on his tetanus shots as he tied the impromptu bandage.

Mocking him, the sheeting came free easily when he went to move it this time.

The original sheeting, a hodgepodge of deck plating and unidentifiable flat metallic surfaces, went back into place without too much trouble, leaving him only with the roof.

He stared at the overturned roof.

His hand was throbbing, and he was tired and sweaty. When he'd originally found the spacecraft hull, it had been of no consequence to float the thing over several hundred yards. Now he wasn't entirely sure he could lift the piece at all.

As his grandma had been find of saying, nothing ever got done standing around and complaining about it. He took a stance that gave him a good grip, and lifted with his knees.

Or tried.

The pain went through his back like a blade. He gasped and dropped the hull, then stood back panting. That was unexpected.

All right, so he wasn't going to be able to lift it. He could wait until Shayera returned and enlist her help, but that would ruin the surprise. He could figure out a way to rig up a lever. Maybe a pulley. He could ...

"What the hell happened?!" Surprises are overrated anyway.

"Hi."

She landed and glared at him. "Don't 'Hi' me, Lantern. Did we get hit by a localized tornado?" Conscious of her load, Shayera hung the clean blankets on the cable again.

"Not exactly."

"I know you wanted to air the place out a little, but ... " She broke off and stared at it again. "It's bigger."

John smiled weakly; his back was still aching, but better. He rubbed at the base of his spine absently. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"You're injured."

"I'm fine. Cut my hand. I already cleaned it."

She grabbed the hand anyway, examining the bandage. "If this gets infected ... "

"I'll be fine," he repeated, placing his other hand over hers. She glared at him, pulling away and giving her attention back to the shelter.

"It's taller, too." She walked around the new walls. "You did this for me?"

"Not just for you. I thought it'd be nice if we could stand up. And you said you wanted more room."

"Yeah." She bit her lip. "Thanks."

"You don't like it?"

"I do!" She took his hand again, the uninjured one this time. "I really do. I just ... No one ever built a house for me before." She had one of her little smiles on, one of his favorites: the kind that was best kissed and teased into laughter. Later.

"Flowers and candy are in short supply here. Figured this was a close second. Anyway, it's not done yet. Lend a hand with the roof?"

She took a position opposite him to grab the spacecraft hull. Huffing and straining, together they managed to place the hull back on top of the shelter. John took a look around the enlarged building.

"Dammit," he said. "I was afraid of this. It doesn't fit right."

"We were going to patch the holes eventually anyway."

"Yeah, but I was hoping we'd have a better fit before we did." He had some ideas about making paste and trying to put together a thick paper-mache for the holes still in the structure, but now they'd have to look for actual structural pieces to add. What the hell. It'll be something to do.

He looked from the shelter to Shayera. Who was looking right at him, and not their home. So. Damage to self: bad. Added instability to shelter: bad. Bigger shelter: good. Happy girlfriend: very good.

John figured he was coming out ahead.

VVVVVVV

Honestly, when he'd gone to expand the shelter, the main agenda that had been in John's mind was for them to be able to move without bumping into the walls, the ceiling, or each other every time either moved. He'd also thought the added room would be good for Shayera's problems with enclosed spaces. And yes, he'd figured she might be … appreciative for both but he knew that this was not his major motivation.

He did.

So he had no reason to feel guilty now, as Shayera straddled him, forcing him roughly against the thin, scratchy blanket on the hard ground. As her wings extended out to their full length to either side of her and for once didn't threaten to knock over the walls. As they worked into the pattern of stroke and touch and thrust that was becoming ritual. As she took her pleasure from him, and he gladly took the same from her.

But the expression on her face wasn't happiness, not this time, and even when she came, he was almost positive she was going to start sobbing.

"Hey," he said, sitting up awkwardly, heart still hammering and head still dizzy. He managed to slip his arms around her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, slipping on a smile he knew damned well was faked.

"Don't start lying to me now."

The sorrow in her eyes deepened. She embraced him, turning her head away from where he could see. "Let's drop it. I don't want to fight."

He couldn't resist. "Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?"

She tensed and pulled away, letting him slide out of her as she got to her feet. His brain, still sluggish in post-coital bliss, finally woke up. For all he knew, they were married under Thanagarian law now. Bad choice of words there, Stewart. Really bad.

"Shayera, I didn't mean … " He stopped. He wasn't sure what he'd meant.

"It's late. We should get some sleep." She smoothed out the bottom blanket and lay down away from him under the cover blanket.

John slipped under the cover, tried to spoon behind her, but that never worked quite right with her wings in the way. Frustrated, he rolled onto his back, losing most of his share of the blanket in the process.

He'd ask her about it in the morning.

VVVVVVV

Continued ...
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Trashy Romance Plot Number Four