Story: Stuffing the Bird
Stuffing the Bird
by nancybrown
Copyright 2005
NC-17
Disclaimer: DC and Warner Brothers would be very
mad at me if they knew about this.
Summary: John and Shayera find something to be
thankful for.
Note: Set between "Wild Cards" and "Comfort and
Joy," with the perhaps incorrect assumption they
were meant to air consecutively. Please forgive
the title; I have a very primitive sense of humor
sometimes.
Happy birthday, xffan_2000!
&&&
It was a short meeting, just a quick wrap-up of
the day's events before everyone but Diana
returned to the planet. J'onn would relieve her
in the morning. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving in the
U.S., and although not everyone celebrated, they
were all still looking forward to a quiet day.
For certain definitions of "quiet," anyway.
John glanced over at Shayera, trying not to
look like he was glancing over, but she was
arguing with Batman over a few word choices in his
last report, and ignored John completely. Since
he didn't really care about the differences
between "thrashed," "pounded," "pummeled," and/or
"punched," John tuned out the conversation and
instead focused (again, trying not to appear like
he was focusing) on the way her hands and arms
moved.
"So, GL," Flash said, startling him. "Are you
doin' a bird at your place?"
"What?" John nearly gave himself whiplash
twisting his head around. Bird. Turkey.
Thanksgiving. Right. "No. Wait, yes. Small
one."
"Sounds good. I'll bring the stuffing." Flash
grinned hugely.
"I've got a recipe, thanks," said John, realizing
that Flash had just invited himself over. Again.
"Then pie it is. I'll bring three just to be
safe."
Something bumped his ankle. Shayera hadn't
stopped talking with Batman, but John suspected it
was her boot. They'd been planning on spending
the day together; with luck, they wouldn't get out
of bed before afternoon except to turn on the
oven.
"Flash ... "
Flash ignored him. "Supes, you coming?"
"Family," said Superman. "They'd kill me if I
didn't go home."
"Princess?"
Say 'no,' John thought.
"That would be lovely."
"Cool! You bring a salad, okay? And make sure
it's got a lot of Bacos."
J'onn said, "Perhaps it would be best if ... "
Flash turned to him. "J'onn, you gotta come,
too."
"I have watch," J'onn said.
Batman took a long look at him and then said,
"J'onn, I'll trade you."
"That will not be necessary," said J'onn, looking
at John.
"Great!" said Flash. "J'onn, you bring the
cranberries. Hawkgirl?"
Shayera sighed, but John thought he was the only
one who heard. "Wouldn't miss it," she said.
Under the table, she kicked him again.
&&&
So far, making excuses to leave together had been
a piece of cake. John's ring and the Javelin-
7 were their primary means of transport. All
they had to do when John transported everyone was
to drop the others off first. In the
Javelin, it was a touch harder. Shayera
had very few legitimate reasons to want to be
dropped off in Detroit rather than Midway.
As the ship touched down in Metropolis, she was
wracking her brain for a reason, when John said,
"Hold on. I'll just fly the rest of the way from
here," and took off his safety harness.
"You sure?" asked Flash, who was piloting.
"Yeah."
Shayera unbuckled herself quickly, glad of the
excuse. "GL, drop me off, too?"
"Sure. Come on."
"See you tomorrow," Flash said. "Hey, what time?"
"Ah," John stalled. "Three?"
"Works for me."
Before he could say or ask anything else, John
formed a bubble around the two of them, and they
flew off towards his place.
Once they were safely away from the others and out
of earshot, Shayera glared at him. "It's a day
off. Why is everyone spending it at your place?"
He shrugged. "It's Thanksgiving. It's what
people do."
"I thought it was a harvest celebration." She'd
studied the origins of the various holidays
celebrated on Earth, but she was still mystified
that these urban societies clung so deeply to
rural and solar festivals.
"That too. If you don't want to stay ... "
"I want to stay," she said, and because no one
could see, and took his free arm and squeezed it.
He smiled at her, and there was that warm feeling,
the one she loved, deep in her belly.
Back at his apartment, she went into the tiny
bathroom first to scrub her face and hands, while
he puttered around in the kitchen getting plates
and drinks for both of them. Since he was cooking
tomorrow, they'd picked up some burgers from a
local chain. Shayera wasn't much for hamburgers
but John seemed to enjoy them and she didn't feel
like fighting, so she ordered hers extra rare and
dropped the subject.
She caught her reflection in the mirror, as the
water dripped from her chin. She'd removed her
mask when they'd come inside - it was becoming
habit, another one she'd developed in the short
time they'd been together - and although her
earrings weren't covered by it anyway, they seemed
to hang on her ears hugely tonight.
Her hand went to the earring on her right,
touching it. For a moment, she wanted to remove
them, pull them from her ears and toss them away.
Not in the trash, not out the window, just away
from her.
Instead she dropped her hand and turned from the
mirror, placing a smile on her face before she
went to join John in the kitchen.
"I thought you were getting dinner ready," she
said, seeing a large, pale, plucked and beheaded
fowl in a pan on the counter. John, in his
regular clothes rather than his uniform, was
sprinkling things into a little bowl beside it.
"I am," he said. "Just not tonight's. Food's on
the couch. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Shayera located the bag on the couch, pulled out
her own sandwich, and started eating. These
things were worse cold. Same with the french
fries. She devoured her food quickly and
considered taking some of his, while he continued
to do whatever it was he was doing in the kitchen.
"Can I ... help?" she finally asked, rejoining him
"Almost done," he said, hands covered in
unidentifiable spices, which he was working in and
around and all over the turkey, rubbing with his
strong, deft hands.
"I thought you were cooking this tomorrow."
"I am. If I season it now and let it sit
overnight in the fridge, the spices will flavor it
all the way through." As she watched, he
sprinkled something else overtop it. "Done."
He covered the pan with foil, then placed it in
the refrigerator.
"You humans do odd things to your food."
"Yep. We start by cooking it."
She stuck out her tongue at him. It hadn't been
an invitation, but he leaned in and kissed her
anyway. Mmmm ... She continued to kiss
him back, right up to the point where he reached
around to run his fingers through her hair.
"Watch it! Your hands are all messy." She backed
away.
"I'll give you a bath later," he said, smiling and
leaning in for more kisses.
That was a mental image she lingered over as she
pressed her mouth against his: the two of them,
quite delightfully naked, hot water and soap
bubbles splashing everywhere as they fumbled for
position in the snug tub.
"Sounds like a plan," she said, and pushed him up
against the counter as his messy hands caressed
her shoulders and down into that lovely, sensitive
spot between her wings. He kneaded and pressed
her spine just right, just like ...
She backed away again.
"Too hard?"
"Too weird. I just watched you do that to the
turkey."
John laughed. She liked it when he laughed, but
not just now.
"You think it's funny? Stewart, I swear if you
start making turkey jokes, I'm going to teach you
what a capon is." She'd looked it up, researching
this and other fowl-based meals.
"I think I already know. Sorry. I was actually
laughing because I remembered where my hands were
on that thing before you walked in."
She thought about that a minute. "Ew."
"Wait until you taste the stuffing tomorrow.
You'll see." She frowned. He asked her, "Um, do
you eat turkey?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"No reason."
"If this is another 'bird' joke ... "
"I was just asking. You have weird eating
habits."
"Says the man who stuck his hands up the turkey's
ass."
"Technically, it's the chest cavity."
"Can we stop talking about the stupid turkey?"
Humans were so infuriating sometimes. They went
on and on about pointless things. On Thanagar,
it's simple. You want something to eat? You kill
it and you eat it. You want something to fuck,
you go up to the other party and ask. None of
this playing around.
"Just another tradition," John said with that
irritating smile.
"I get that."
"I mean, fighting over dinner. Had to happen
sooner or later. Are we done now?"
"No. Yes. Okay, so it's your tradition. I'm
interested in your traditions." And there was no
way she was going to explain to him why, not now.
"Tell me more."
"There were Pilgrims and Indians. Sorry, Native
Americans."
"I know that. I've read history books." Her
earrings pinched her, but it had to be her
imagination. "Tell me about your
traditions. What are you doing? Why are you
making this food? And why is Flash coming over?"
He leaned back against the counter. "My
traditions? Food at Grandma's, watching the game
with Granddad and my uncles. It's a family thing.
Flash doesn't have any family left and neither
does J'onn, and Diana's mom kicked her out, so ... "
"We're their family."
"I like you being in my family," he said, taking
her hand.
Shayera smiled and brought his knuckles to her
lips, kissing each one.
"And the turkey?" she asked.
"Everybody does turkey. It's traditional."
"Everybody?"
"Okay, everybody in America. Who aren't
vegetarians or against Thanksgiving as a sign of
oppression."
"And 'everybody' puts all this stuff," she scraped
a talon down his finger and into his palm,
scooping up bits of spices, "all over their
turkeys?"
"People have their own recipes," John said, his
breathing a little ragged. He took his hands back
and went over to his sink, turning the water on
hot and high.
"Thought we were going to take a bath," she said,
slipping up behind him. John pulled her hands
around himself, then to her surprise, washed them
too.
"We are. But I just remembered how much bacteria
I probably picked up from the turkey while I was
prepping it. And," he said, turning off the water
and drying his hand on a dish towel, "I don't want
to spread the bacteria."
"Since when have you been worried about ... "
His hands clean, John's fingers slid down to and
under her waistband. He began kissing her ear as
his fingers continued inching their way under her
clothes. "Like I said, I didn't want to spread
something bad somewhere you'd kill me for later."
"Good call," Shayera agreed, getting to work on
the buttons on his shirt. "You couldn't have
changed into something a little less complicated,
could you?"
"Could've," he said, and then neither of them
could speak as their mouths were occupied.
This was never going to stop being crazy, she
thought as she managed to get the last of the
buttons undone and began to work on the button to
his jeans. Every relationship started like this:
the hot, almost uncontrollable need for each
other. They'd been dating just over a week and
she was still breathless and giddy every time he
brushed his palms over her bare shoulders. Give
them a month, maybe two, and they'd surely be
reading in bed and arguing about the covers, but
now, she couldn't stay away from him nor he from
her.
The beginnings were always the best. The endings ...
Hro would come for her and she would go home and
that would be an ending, and she really didn't
want to be thinking about that when John was
releasing the fastenings on her bodice.
This wouldn't be the first time they hadn't made
it back to his bed, but it would be their first
time in the kitchen. The fact that this was
turning her on even more did not suck.
And speaking of sucking ...
His mouth was hot and hungry at her breast. "You
... you can keep doing that," she gasped. He was
bent over too far for her to reach his waist, so
instead she focused on his broad shoulders,
rubbing them, scratching down his back, while John
tugged off his pants. He bumped slightly as he
pulled them free, raking her nipple with his teeth
and sending a shock through her.
John pulled away from her nipple and slid his
hands up her body as he kissed her throat and back
to her mouth. He was always taller than she, but
she noticed most when they stood like this, toe to
toe and naked as sin. She loved the arc of his
neck as he bent over her, loved the feel of the
curve in his spine as he bent to lift her.
He held her against him with one strong arm, slid
one, then two fingers into her with his other
hand, pushing roughly in and around. Because of
the species difference, or maybe just because he
was John, he always checked to ensure she was
ready. She was, and even though the crook of his
fingers inside of her drove her wild, she grabbed
his hand and pulled it away, wanting more.
"Table," she growled.
"Counter," he said, and planted her butt on the
small countertop. There was just enough room for
her wings in front of the cabinets, and the edge
of the counter dug into her thighs uncomfortably,
and none of this mattered as she spread her legs
and guided him deep inside.
The counter? Definitely a good idea. Even with
the edge driving deeper with every thrust, he
could stand upright and that was the kind of angle
she just ...
And he was deep and he was stretching her, and ...
He groaned in her ear, and pounded into her
faster, and he was rubbing right there ...
She swore in her own language as the waves of
pleasure moved through her. So close, she was
just on the edge and John leaned over and bit her
neck and that was exactly what she needed.
Shayera shouted as she came, letting everything
flow over her at once, then gasping as John
continued to move inside of her, close to his own
climax. She grabbed his shoulders, wrenching her
weight onto him, then impaling herself down hard
as he grabbed her ass and helped her, thrusting up
into her.
It only took moments. She swallowed John's curse
in her mouth as he came inside of her, wrapping
her legs around him and balancing back just enough
so that they would lean against the counter again
rather than fall.
When his quivers had finally stilled, Shayera
stretched down one foot and then the other, onto
her tiptoes, letting him disengage. Carefully,
she kissed him again, before they both flopped
down to the floor.
She got her breath back first, and then realized
she had nothing to say to him, nothing she
couldn't say with kisses placed across his cheeks
and up over his brows. He stroked her face as she
kissed him, hands limp and tired, but oh so
gentle.
It was love, or something close. Shayera wasn't
the kind to dwell, on the past or on her heart.
She knew she felt for him, knew she ached for him
too, and that was enough.
"You should eat something," she said, and he
managed a grin. "I meant your hamburger. You
need to keep up your strength." They helped each
other to their feet, and she patted him on the
butt as he bent to retrieve their clothes.
"I'll get those," she said, taking the clothing
from him. "I need to hang mine up anyway so it'll
be all right for tomorrow. You know, when Flash
and Diana and J'onn come over."
"This isn't my fault," he said. "He invited
himself over."
"Uh huh," she said, but she smiled so he would
know she was kidding. Kind of. She tossed his
clothes into his hamper and hung hers in the
bathroom to air out. She was starting to keep
spare clothes here, but she'd worn the last clean
outfit home already.
She wasn't moving in. Not yet. Not ever. No.
Back out in the living room, John was sitting on
his couch eating his cold burger and fries. He'd
turned on the television and was flipping
channels. Shayera sat beside him, ignoring how
chilly the couch was on her backside.
Maybe this was where the end began, with the drone
of the tv as it flickered past late night sitcoms
and talk shows and paused on the local news, with
the crumple of the paper bag as John went to the
trash to dispose of it. They'd sit here, and
maybe they'd cuddle and maybe they wouldn't, and
they'd go to bed and wake up and they'd hide away
from the others and this was the little slice of
life they'd spend together.
"I'll be in bed," she said, kissing his head as
she went and hoping he'd follow her.
"I'll be in soon."
Shayera sighed and went back to his bedroom. She
was still adjusting to the recovery time human
males seemed to need between matings. Or, perhaps
it was simply the need of this human male.
She could always try to bring the subject up with
her friends, but of the other humans on the team,
Flash was probably not a good statistical sample,
and she couldn't imagine asking Batman.
Anyway, it wasn't as if she was going to add this
particular detail to her next report.
She went back to the living room. "I changed my
mind. Shower. Join me?"
"Not now," he said, focusing on the news.
Ignoring the cold feeling in her stomach, she went
to the bathroom, ran the water until it was hot,
and then washed off the mess from her shoulders
and between her thighs, mindful of keeping her
hair out of the spray.
When she stepped out, she paused before opening
the door, then carefully, she removed her earrings
and set them on the side of the sink.
Just for tonight.
Back in his room, she slipped in between the
sheets on his neatly-made bed. A few minutes
later, before she fell asleep, she felt John slide
in beside her, but her back was to him and her
wings kept him from curling up behind her although
she could feel him trying. Finally, he gave up,
rolled away from her, and muttered a quiet, "Good
night."
She lay there awake for a while, waiting for the
deepening of his breath that would lead into
snores. It didn't come.
"John?"
"Mm?"
"What are you thinking about?"
"What?"
"You heard me."
She felt the bed move as he rolled onto his back.
"I should stop watching the news."
She'd thought the same thing, but she suspected it
was for different reasons. "Why?"
"When we're up there on the Watchtower, or even on
Earth, we're saving people, protecting the planet,
that sort of thing. But when I'm there, I'm not
here. Batman manages to work with the League and
still protect Gotham. When I go to help some
aliens on Alpha Ceti, or stop runaway trains in
Bali, people get hurt right here. People die
here, and I'm not around to protect them because
I'm off protecting someone else somewhere else."
He didn't say, When we're together, when we
spend time like this, people die, but she
heard it in the catch of his voice. She knew her
own adopted city was without its guardian every
single night she'd spent with John, but she saw
the whole Earth as her territory, so she could
still sleep at night, knowing her work, both with
the League and her real work, were helping protect
this little world and its people from an evil
they'd never encountered.
This isn't forever, she thought. This
isn't permanent.
She asked him, "Do you want to go on patrol?"
"Yes. Maybe. It's been weeks since I've been out
there."
Weeks he'd spent hanging around the Watchtower,
around her.
"Then go. Help your conscience. I'm staying
here, because I'm tired." Anyway, she'd left the
biggest pricks to her own conscience sitting by
the sink.
He leaned over her, pushing past her wings to kiss
her cheek. "I'll only be a little while. It's
late and there won't be much activity."
"Wake me when you get back," she said, and curled
deeper under the blankets. She sensed rather than
saw the green flash as he donned a new uniform,
and she was asleep before he'd closed the window.
Time passed, and she had strange dreams she didn't
remember later. She woke suddenly to the feel of
a cold hand on her shoulder, and for a moment, she
thought it was Hro, come back for her and angry,
and then she knew it was John, home from patrol
and chilled from the late November air.
"Hey," she said sleepily.
"Hey. You said to wake you up."
"Mm hm."
He'd already ringed his uniform away, was a cold,
solid form sliding in beside her, sucking away the
heat she'd gathered under the covers.
"Cold you," she said, still sleepy. "Feel
better?"
"Yeah. I need to do that more often."
"Don't let me stop you." She'd meant it as a
tease, but maybe it came out accusatory because he
wrapped his arms around her.
"I love you," he whispered into her wing.
Instead of replying, she rolled over to face him,
seizing his face in her hands and kissing him
deeply.
As she moved against him, she felt him aroused
against her bent leg, and she smiled into his
mouth. They really couldn't keep their hands off
each other.
Where the earlier sex had been frenzied, as it
often was between them, this was far more tender.
He spent what could have been a hour kissing her
mouth and throat, rubbing his fingers down her
sides and over her hips. She sprawled over him,
nibbling every inch of skin she could find, from
the broad expanse of his chest and arms to the
ticklish spots on his toes and the delicate skin
at his groin.
He broke a kiss to slip his fingers in her mouth,
then draw a wet pattern down her chest and between
her leg. She stiffened just a hair before he slid
them into her. Always this pattern, always this
same thing: check to make sure she was prepared,
and then replace his fingers with something else.
Instead of withdrawing, he twisted his fingers
around until he was brushing the ridge of
sensitive flesh inside. Without intending to, she
bucked against him as he rubbed and flicked and
played. In the dim light coming through the
blinds, she saw a lazy smile spread over his face
while just two fingers made her moan and twitch
and gasp.
She felt him hard against her stomach. She
reached down, grasped him loosely, and began to
stroke. His rhythm inside of her faltered as his
free hand wrapped around her own hand, guiding the
slide and the friction.
No one has to know, she thought. No one
has to know but us about these things we do in the
dark.
She tried to kiss him, but they were both too
intent on their work to manage more than a sloppy
press of lips. John hissed and then his hand was
holding hers hard and pumping fast and she felt
his climax shudder through him and through her
hand. She kept stroking him, even as his hand
fell away, drawing out the last of his pleasure,
while his fingers weakly continued to slide wetly
in and out of her.
"Sorry," he said. "Too soon."
"It's all right," she replied and, slick with his
semen, slid her own fingers in with his,
stretching herself and brushing right up where she
needed it most.
She was close, but she'd lost that vital moment
when he'd stopped moving his hand, and she had to
retake it quickly.
Fingers, thrusting into her. John's hard and
tired mouth, tasting the edges of her lips, tongue
mimicking the actions of his hands. The smells of
sex and sweat and soap and every other chemical
John used to clean his body or his sheets,
swirling around her like their own presence.
A movement, half-seen in a corner and her mind
told her it was Hro, watching her, watching
them, and she screamed her pleasure into
John's chest.
Her head reasserted itself moments later,
recognized the movement as just the passage of
light and shadows from car going by outside, and
her heart gradually regained its normal beat.
He doesn't know. He doesn't need to know. No
one needs to know.
They held each other. They kissed. They slept.
&&&
John woke first, and even though she'd had the
full night's rest, he let Shayera sleep as he
pulled on sweatpants. He padded out to the
kitchen to check the time and start warming the
oven. Nine am, plenty of time to get everything
ready before the others got here. If they asked,
and they wouldn't, Shayera had come early to make
the mashed potatoes.
He paused in mid-click on the preheat. Yes. She
should be able to do the potatoes all right.
Peeling, boiling, draining, mashing. And he'd be
there beside her keeping an eye out and he'd make
the gravy. It'd be fine.
John washed his hands, then pulled out the loaf of
bread he'd been meaning to eat more of and
starting tearing it into tiny chunks in a big
bowl. He stopped after a few pieces, then
remembered Flash was coming and added the whole
loaf. Some melted butter, a nice mix of onion
salt and pepper and rosemary, and a carefully-
measured allotment of the Egg Beaters stuff he'd
bought to get Shayera off his back, all mixed
together and poured into the bread while he tossed
the cubes lightly with his fingers.
Grandma had told him that he could brush on spices
with a brush and mix dough with a spoon, and he
could also read his funnybooks using chopsticks.
Grandma had opinions about food, and about the
proper way to fix things, and John had learned his
lessons well.
The turkey looked pale and sad under its coating.
He brushed oil lightly over everything then
started scooping the stuffing inside. What
stuffing didn't fit went into a small pan to be
placed in the oven with everything else.
He heard Shayera open the bedroom door, nodded a
good morning to her as she came up behind him.
"I still say that looks awfully uncomfortable,"
she said, gesturing to the stuffing pouring out of
the turkey.
"Maybe, but it's going to taste delicious." The
oven pinged that it was ready, and John placed the
turkey and stuffing pans inside. He set the timer
to remind himself to cover the breast with foil
after it browned.
"If you say so."
"And if you don't like it, I think the Chinese
place is open today and they deliver."
She grinned. God, she was pretty when she smiled,
especially undressed and with he hair mussed just
right.
Okay, so yes. He'd been feeling guilty about the
time they were spending together, and one patrol
wasn't going to make up for that, but he did feel
better this morning anyway. Maybe, once they got
these first few weeks past them, got it out of
their systems, they could patrol together, in his
city and hers. Two heroes for the price of one,
once his head was back in the game.
Shayera picked up the bottle of oil. "What's this
for?"
"It helps cook. Makes the skin crispy so the
juices bake into the breast instead of drying out.
Hey, watch it!" She'd opened the cap and was
tilting the bottle back and forth, watching the
oil roll from side to side.
"Weird stuff," she said, sniffing it.
"Well, you don't fry much," he said, taking the
bottle from her, "so really not your thing."
"I like being able to taste my food."
"Depends on the food. Some things are only edible
fried."
She rolled her eyes at him. The food thing wasn't
causing a real problem, not yet. At some point in
the future, it probably would, and they'd just
have to make separate meals.
John liked thinking about a future with Shayera,
even if it included twice the dishes to wash.
He glanced at the bottle of cooking oil. They had
lots of time before the others got there, and
anyway, hadn't they planned on spending most of
today in bed?
He poured out about a tablespoonful into his left
palm, then capped the bottle and set it down.
"Let me show you what else I can do with this
stuff," he said, rubbing his fingertips into the
oil.
He smiled at her. She looked at his slick fingers
and then at his face, and a lopsided smile formed
on her face too, as she leaned in against him. He
began massaging the oil over the curve of one
breast.
"Just remember, Stewart: you try putting me in the
oven, and things will go very badly for you." She
dipped one finger into the pool of oil in his
hand, spread it in a line across his collarbone as
he chuckled.
Bath. Later. Right.
This time, they used the table.
&&&
Wally could smell the food from the hallway. He
balanced the pies on one hand - he'd brought four
after all because hello, pumpkin and apple
obviously, and then he couldn't decide between
cherry and a pumpkin cheesecake so he'd gotten
both - while he knocked.
"Happy turkey day!" he yelled through the door.
The great thing about GL's place is that everybody
in his building knew his secret identity, which
made it not a secret, so even if Wally did have to
eat in his costume, he could still come over.
Hawkgirl opened the door. "Hi, Flash," she said,
and she was smiling, which was always nice.
"Got here early?" he asked, a touch crestfallen
because he liked hanging out with just John, but
not really that sad because hey, girl. Who'd
stopped making death threats at him, even. It was
like progress. At some point, he was going to ask
her out and she was going to say "Yes," he just
knew it, and then he'd see what was under that
mask of hers.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm making mashed potatoes."
"Come on in," John said from the kitchen.
Wally put the pies in the fridge, then pulled up a
chair. GL was busying sucking drippings from the
turkey pan with a big turkey baster, and putting
them into a little pot on the stove. Gravy. Oh
man, I haven't had good turkey gravy in ages!
"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.
"Stay out the way," said John, measuring out some
flour.
"Can do." He rested his elbows on the table.
"Hey, you spilled something here." He zipped up,
grabbed a paper towel, and wiped up the little bit
of grease. "Got it."
"Thanks," John said, not looking at him.
Hawkgirl drained the boiling pot of potatoes into
a strainer in the sink, then stared at them.
John said, "Back into the pot." She nodded and
poured them back in. Then John got out some
butter, plopped a little into the gravy and more
into the potatoes, and added some milk. He pulled
out a mixer from a drawer and handed it to
Hawkgirl, who held it like a gun.
"Like this," Wally said, springing up. He took
the mixer, put the beaters into the potatoes and
turned it on High.
"Oh," she said. "I could do that."
"I've got this," Wally said, just as there was a
knock on the door. Hawkgirl went to let in Diana
and J'onn.
Too bad Supes and Bats aren't here. Wally
had watch later and decided he'd take a plate of
turkey and stuff with him for Bats. He'd talked
Superman into stopping by after his family thing
was done; since his family was probably just
Supergirl, maybe he'd bring her along.
Diana's salad was huge when she set it on the
table. Wally loved it when she brought salad to
the Watchtower, because she filled the bowl not
just with lettuce and tomatoes, but olives and
oranges and grapes and cheese and all sorts of
good things. J'onn had found actual cranberries
instead of sauce, but he'd also brought some fresh
bread, Martian-style. Wally wasn't sure about
Martian bread, but he also knew that butter could
make up for a lot.
When the gravy was ready and the turkey carved,
they took seats around John's kitchen table.
Wally felt they should say something, or pray, or
whatever, but he didn't know how to bring it up.
Instead, Diana took his hand and he took
Hawkgirl's and she took GL's and after a moment,
John took J'onn's, and it was nice.
Then someone coughed and someone else laughed, and
the moment was broken. Hawkgirl let go of his
hand, but she forgot to let go of John's until the
dishes started to go by; Wally tried not to laugh,
because while Hawkgirl was pretty good at human
customs, she got irritable when she screwed one up
accidentally.
And then he forgot about it entirely because there
was Martian bread to pass around, and what could
have been Thanagarian potatoes but were really
just mashed, and salad and stuffing and turkey and
one good thing about being the Flash was that
Wally didn't have to worry about leaving room for
pie because he'd be hungry and he knew it.
As he spread a generous amount of butter on the
bread, Wally thought this was totally the best
Thanksgiving he'd had in years.
&
by nancybrown
Copyright 2005
NC-17
Disclaimer: DC and Warner Brothers would be very
mad at me if they knew about this.
Summary: John and Shayera find something to be
thankful for.
Note: Set between "Wild Cards" and "Comfort and
Joy," with the perhaps incorrect assumption they
were meant to air consecutively. Please forgive
the title; I have a very primitive sense of humor
sometimes.
Happy birthday, xffan_2000!
&&&
It was a short meeting, just a quick wrap-up of
the day's events before everyone but Diana
returned to the planet. J'onn would relieve her
in the morning. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving in the
U.S., and although not everyone celebrated, they
were all still looking forward to a quiet day.
For certain definitions of "quiet," anyway.
John glanced over at Shayera, trying not to
look like he was glancing over, but she was
arguing with Batman over a few word choices in his
last report, and ignored John completely. Since
he didn't really care about the differences
between "thrashed," "pounded," "pummeled," and/or
"punched," John tuned out the conversation and
instead focused (again, trying not to appear like
he was focusing) on the way her hands and arms
moved.
"So, GL," Flash said, startling him. "Are you
doin' a bird at your place?"
"What?" John nearly gave himself whiplash
twisting his head around. Bird. Turkey.
Thanksgiving. Right. "No. Wait, yes. Small
one."
"Sounds good. I'll bring the stuffing." Flash
grinned hugely.
"I've got a recipe, thanks," said John, realizing
that Flash had just invited himself over. Again.
"Then pie it is. I'll bring three just to be
safe."
Something bumped his ankle. Shayera hadn't
stopped talking with Batman, but John suspected it
was her boot. They'd been planning on spending
the day together; with luck, they wouldn't get out
of bed before afternoon except to turn on the
oven.
"Flash ... "
Flash ignored him. "Supes, you coming?"
"Family," said Superman. "They'd kill me if I
didn't go home."
"Princess?"
Say 'no,' John thought.
"That would be lovely."
"Cool! You bring a salad, okay? And make sure
it's got a lot of Bacos."
J'onn said, "Perhaps it would be best if ... "
Flash turned to him. "J'onn, you gotta come,
too."
"I have watch," J'onn said.
Batman took a long look at him and then said,
"J'onn, I'll trade you."
"That will not be necessary," said J'onn, looking
at John.
"Great!" said Flash. "J'onn, you bring the
cranberries. Hawkgirl?"
Shayera sighed, but John thought he was the only
one who heard. "Wouldn't miss it," she said.
Under the table, she kicked him again.
&&&
So far, making excuses to leave together had been
a piece of cake. John's ring and the Javelin-
7 were their primary means of transport. All
they had to do when John transported everyone was
to drop the others off first. In the
Javelin, it was a touch harder. Shayera
had very few legitimate reasons to want to be
dropped off in Detroit rather than Midway.
As the ship touched down in Metropolis, she was
wracking her brain for a reason, when John said,
"Hold on. I'll just fly the rest of the way from
here," and took off his safety harness.
"You sure?" asked Flash, who was piloting.
"Yeah."
Shayera unbuckled herself quickly, glad of the
excuse. "GL, drop me off, too?"
"Sure. Come on."
"See you tomorrow," Flash said. "Hey, what time?"
"Ah," John stalled. "Three?"
"Works for me."
Before he could say or ask anything else, John
formed a bubble around the two of them, and they
flew off towards his place.
Once they were safely away from the others and out
of earshot, Shayera glared at him. "It's a day
off. Why is everyone spending it at your place?"
He shrugged. "It's Thanksgiving. It's what
people do."
"I thought it was a harvest celebration." She'd
studied the origins of the various holidays
celebrated on Earth, but she was still mystified
that these urban societies clung so deeply to
rural and solar festivals.
"That too. If you don't want to stay ... "
"I want to stay," she said, and because no one
could see, and took his free arm and squeezed it.
He smiled at her, and there was that warm feeling,
the one she loved, deep in her belly.
Back at his apartment, she went into the tiny
bathroom first to scrub her face and hands, while
he puttered around in the kitchen getting plates
and drinks for both of them. Since he was cooking
tomorrow, they'd picked up some burgers from a
local chain. Shayera wasn't much for hamburgers
but John seemed to enjoy them and she didn't feel
like fighting, so she ordered hers extra rare and
dropped the subject.
She caught her reflection in the mirror, as the
water dripped from her chin. She'd removed her
mask when they'd come inside - it was becoming
habit, another one she'd developed in the short
time they'd been together - and although her
earrings weren't covered by it anyway, they seemed
to hang on her ears hugely tonight.
Her hand went to the earring on her right,
touching it. For a moment, she wanted to remove
them, pull them from her ears and toss them away.
Not in the trash, not out the window, just away
from her.
Instead she dropped her hand and turned from the
mirror, placing a smile on her face before she
went to join John in the kitchen.
"I thought you were getting dinner ready," she
said, seeing a large, pale, plucked and beheaded
fowl in a pan on the counter. John, in his
regular clothes rather than his uniform, was
sprinkling things into a little bowl beside it.
"I am," he said. "Just not tonight's. Food's on
the couch. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Shayera located the bag on the couch, pulled out
her own sandwich, and started eating. These
things were worse cold. Same with the french
fries. She devoured her food quickly and
considered taking some of his, while he continued
to do whatever it was he was doing in the kitchen.
"Can I ... help?" she finally asked, rejoining him
"Almost done," he said, hands covered in
unidentifiable spices, which he was working in and
around and all over the turkey, rubbing with his
strong, deft hands.
"I thought you were cooking this tomorrow."
"I am. If I season it now and let it sit
overnight in the fridge, the spices will flavor it
all the way through." As she watched, he
sprinkled something else overtop it. "Done."
He covered the pan with foil, then placed it in
the refrigerator.
"You humans do odd things to your food."
"Yep. We start by cooking it."
She stuck out her tongue at him. It hadn't been
an invitation, but he leaned in and kissed her
anyway. Mmmm ... She continued to kiss
him back, right up to the point where he reached
around to run his fingers through her hair.
"Watch it! Your hands are all messy." She backed
away.
"I'll give you a bath later," he said, smiling and
leaning in for more kisses.
That was a mental image she lingered over as she
pressed her mouth against his: the two of them,
quite delightfully naked, hot water and soap
bubbles splashing everywhere as they fumbled for
position in the snug tub.
"Sounds like a plan," she said, and pushed him up
against the counter as his messy hands caressed
her shoulders and down into that lovely, sensitive
spot between her wings. He kneaded and pressed
her spine just right, just like ...
She backed away again.
"Too hard?"
"Too weird. I just watched you do that to the
turkey."
John laughed. She liked it when he laughed, but
not just now.
"You think it's funny? Stewart, I swear if you
start making turkey jokes, I'm going to teach you
what a capon is." She'd looked it up, researching
this and other fowl-based meals.
"I think I already know. Sorry. I was actually
laughing because I remembered where my hands were
on that thing before you walked in."
She thought about that a minute. "Ew."
"Wait until you taste the stuffing tomorrow.
You'll see." She frowned. He asked her, "Um, do
you eat turkey?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"No reason."
"If this is another 'bird' joke ... "
"I was just asking. You have weird eating
habits."
"Says the man who stuck his hands up the turkey's
ass."
"Technically, it's the chest cavity."
"Can we stop talking about the stupid turkey?"
Humans were so infuriating sometimes. They went
on and on about pointless things. On Thanagar,
it's simple. You want something to eat? You kill
it and you eat it. You want something to fuck,
you go up to the other party and ask. None of
this playing around.
"Just another tradition," John said with that
irritating smile.
"I get that."
"I mean, fighting over dinner. Had to happen
sooner or later. Are we done now?"
"No. Yes. Okay, so it's your tradition. I'm
interested in your traditions." And there was no
way she was going to explain to him why, not now.
"Tell me more."
"There were Pilgrims and Indians. Sorry, Native
Americans."
"I know that. I've read history books." Her
earrings pinched her, but it had to be her
imagination. "Tell me about your
traditions. What are you doing? Why are you
making this food? And why is Flash coming over?"
He leaned back against the counter. "My
traditions? Food at Grandma's, watching the game
with Granddad and my uncles. It's a family thing.
Flash doesn't have any family left and neither
does J'onn, and Diana's mom kicked her out, so ... "
"We're their family."
"I like you being in my family," he said, taking
her hand.
Shayera smiled and brought his knuckles to her
lips, kissing each one.
"And the turkey?" she asked.
"Everybody does turkey. It's traditional."
"Everybody?"
"Okay, everybody in America. Who aren't
vegetarians or against Thanksgiving as a sign of
oppression."
"And 'everybody' puts all this stuff," she scraped
a talon down his finger and into his palm,
scooping up bits of spices, "all over their
turkeys?"
"People have their own recipes," John said, his
breathing a little ragged. He took his hands back
and went over to his sink, turning the water on
hot and high.
"Thought we were going to take a bath," she said,
slipping up behind him. John pulled her hands
around himself, then to her surprise, washed them
too.
"We are. But I just remembered how much bacteria
I probably picked up from the turkey while I was
prepping it. And," he said, turning off the water
and drying his hand on a dish towel, "I don't want
to spread the bacteria."
"Since when have you been worried about ... "
His hands clean, John's fingers slid down to and
under her waistband. He began kissing her ear as
his fingers continued inching their way under her
clothes. "Like I said, I didn't want to spread
something bad somewhere you'd kill me for later."
"Good call," Shayera agreed, getting to work on
the buttons on his shirt. "You couldn't have
changed into something a little less complicated,
could you?"
"Could've," he said, and then neither of them
could speak as their mouths were occupied.
This was never going to stop being crazy, she
thought as she managed to get the last of the
buttons undone and began to work on the button to
his jeans. Every relationship started like this:
the hot, almost uncontrollable need for each
other. They'd been dating just over a week and
she was still breathless and giddy every time he
brushed his palms over her bare shoulders. Give
them a month, maybe two, and they'd surely be
reading in bed and arguing about the covers, but
now, she couldn't stay away from him nor he from
her.
The beginnings were always the best. The endings ...
Hro would come for her and she would go home and
that would be an ending, and she really didn't
want to be thinking about that when John was
releasing the fastenings on her bodice.
This wouldn't be the first time they hadn't made
it back to his bed, but it would be their first
time in the kitchen. The fact that this was
turning her on even more did not suck.
And speaking of sucking ...
His mouth was hot and hungry at her breast. "You
... you can keep doing that," she gasped. He was
bent over too far for her to reach his waist, so
instead she focused on his broad shoulders,
rubbing them, scratching down his back, while John
tugged off his pants. He bumped slightly as he
pulled them free, raking her nipple with his teeth
and sending a shock through her.
John pulled away from her nipple and slid his
hands up her body as he kissed her throat and back
to her mouth. He was always taller than she, but
she noticed most when they stood like this, toe to
toe and naked as sin. She loved the arc of his
neck as he bent over her, loved the feel of the
curve in his spine as he bent to lift her.
He held her against him with one strong arm, slid
one, then two fingers into her with his other
hand, pushing roughly in and around. Because of
the species difference, or maybe just because he
was John, he always checked to ensure she was
ready. She was, and even though the crook of his
fingers inside of her drove her wild, she grabbed
his hand and pulled it away, wanting more.
"Table," she growled.
"Counter," he said, and planted her butt on the
small countertop. There was just enough room for
her wings in front of the cabinets, and the edge
of the counter dug into her thighs uncomfortably,
and none of this mattered as she spread her legs
and guided him deep inside.
The counter? Definitely a good idea. Even with
the edge driving deeper with every thrust, he
could stand upright and that was the kind of angle
she just ...
And he was deep and he was stretching her, and ...
He groaned in her ear, and pounded into her
faster, and he was rubbing right there ...
She swore in her own language as the waves of
pleasure moved through her. So close, she was
just on the edge and John leaned over and bit her
neck and that was exactly what she needed.
Shayera shouted as she came, letting everything
flow over her at once, then gasping as John
continued to move inside of her, close to his own
climax. She grabbed his shoulders, wrenching her
weight onto him, then impaling herself down hard
as he grabbed her ass and helped her, thrusting up
into her.
It only took moments. She swallowed John's curse
in her mouth as he came inside of her, wrapping
her legs around him and balancing back just enough
so that they would lean against the counter again
rather than fall.
When his quivers had finally stilled, Shayera
stretched down one foot and then the other, onto
her tiptoes, letting him disengage. Carefully,
she kissed him again, before they both flopped
down to the floor.
She got her breath back first, and then realized
she had nothing to say to him, nothing she
couldn't say with kisses placed across his cheeks
and up over his brows. He stroked her face as she
kissed him, hands limp and tired, but oh so
gentle.
It was love, or something close. Shayera wasn't
the kind to dwell, on the past or on her heart.
She knew she felt for him, knew she ached for him
too, and that was enough.
"You should eat something," she said, and he
managed a grin. "I meant your hamburger. You
need to keep up your strength." They helped each
other to their feet, and she patted him on the
butt as he bent to retrieve their clothes.
"I'll get those," she said, taking the clothing
from him. "I need to hang mine up anyway so it'll
be all right for tomorrow. You know, when Flash
and Diana and J'onn come over."
"This isn't my fault," he said. "He invited
himself over."
"Uh huh," she said, but she smiled so he would
know she was kidding. Kind of. She tossed his
clothes into his hamper and hung hers in the
bathroom to air out. She was starting to keep
spare clothes here, but she'd worn the last clean
outfit home already.
She wasn't moving in. Not yet. Not ever. No.
Back out in the living room, John was sitting on
his couch eating his cold burger and fries. He'd
turned on the television and was flipping
channels. Shayera sat beside him, ignoring how
chilly the couch was on her backside.
Maybe this was where the end began, with the drone
of the tv as it flickered past late night sitcoms
and talk shows and paused on the local news, with
the crumple of the paper bag as John went to the
trash to dispose of it. They'd sit here, and
maybe they'd cuddle and maybe they wouldn't, and
they'd go to bed and wake up and they'd hide away
from the others and this was the little slice of
life they'd spend together.
"I'll be in bed," she said, kissing his head as
she went and hoping he'd follow her.
"I'll be in soon."
Shayera sighed and went back to his bedroom. She
was still adjusting to the recovery time human
males seemed to need between matings. Or, perhaps
it was simply the need of this human male.
She could always try to bring the subject up with
her friends, but of the other humans on the team,
Flash was probably not a good statistical sample,
and she couldn't imagine asking Batman.
Anyway, it wasn't as if she was going to add this
particular detail to her next report.
She went back to the living room. "I changed my
mind. Shower. Join me?"
"Not now," he said, focusing on the news.
Ignoring the cold feeling in her stomach, she went
to the bathroom, ran the water until it was hot,
and then washed off the mess from her shoulders
and between her thighs, mindful of keeping her
hair out of the spray.
When she stepped out, she paused before opening
the door, then carefully, she removed her earrings
and set them on the side of the sink.
Just for tonight.
Back in his room, she slipped in between the
sheets on his neatly-made bed. A few minutes
later, before she fell asleep, she felt John slide
in beside her, but her back was to him and her
wings kept him from curling up behind her although
she could feel him trying. Finally, he gave up,
rolled away from her, and muttered a quiet, "Good
night."
She lay there awake for a while, waiting for the
deepening of his breath that would lead into
snores. It didn't come.
"John?"
"Mm?"
"What are you thinking about?"
"What?"
"You heard me."
She felt the bed move as he rolled onto his back.
"I should stop watching the news."
She'd thought the same thing, but she suspected it
was for different reasons. "Why?"
"When we're up there on the Watchtower, or even on
Earth, we're saving people, protecting the planet,
that sort of thing. But when I'm there, I'm not
here. Batman manages to work with the League and
still protect Gotham. When I go to help some
aliens on Alpha Ceti, or stop runaway trains in
Bali, people get hurt right here. People die
here, and I'm not around to protect them because
I'm off protecting someone else somewhere else."
He didn't say, When we're together, when we
spend time like this, people die, but she
heard it in the catch of his voice. She knew her
own adopted city was without its guardian every
single night she'd spent with John, but she saw
the whole Earth as her territory, so she could
still sleep at night, knowing her work, both with
the League and her real work, were helping protect
this little world and its people from an evil
they'd never encountered.
This isn't forever, she thought. This
isn't permanent.
She asked him, "Do you want to go on patrol?"
"Yes. Maybe. It's been weeks since I've been out
there."
Weeks he'd spent hanging around the Watchtower,
around her.
"Then go. Help your conscience. I'm staying
here, because I'm tired." Anyway, she'd left the
biggest pricks to her own conscience sitting by
the sink.
He leaned over her, pushing past her wings to kiss
her cheek. "I'll only be a little while. It's
late and there won't be much activity."
"Wake me when you get back," she said, and curled
deeper under the blankets. She sensed rather than
saw the green flash as he donned a new uniform,
and she was asleep before he'd closed the window.
Time passed, and she had strange dreams she didn't
remember later. She woke suddenly to the feel of
a cold hand on her shoulder, and for a moment, she
thought it was Hro, come back for her and angry,
and then she knew it was John, home from patrol
and chilled from the late November air.
"Hey," she said sleepily.
"Hey. You said to wake you up."
"Mm hm."
He'd already ringed his uniform away, was a cold,
solid form sliding in beside her, sucking away the
heat she'd gathered under the covers.
"Cold you," she said, still sleepy. "Feel
better?"
"Yeah. I need to do that more often."
"Don't let me stop you." She'd meant it as a
tease, but maybe it came out accusatory because he
wrapped his arms around her.
"I love you," he whispered into her wing.
Instead of replying, she rolled over to face him,
seizing his face in her hands and kissing him
deeply.
As she moved against him, she felt him aroused
against her bent leg, and she smiled into his
mouth. They really couldn't keep their hands off
each other.
Where the earlier sex had been frenzied, as it
often was between them, this was far more tender.
He spent what could have been a hour kissing her
mouth and throat, rubbing his fingers down her
sides and over her hips. She sprawled over him,
nibbling every inch of skin she could find, from
the broad expanse of his chest and arms to the
ticklish spots on his toes and the delicate skin
at his groin.
He broke a kiss to slip his fingers in her mouth,
then draw a wet pattern down her chest and between
her leg. She stiffened just a hair before he slid
them into her. Always this pattern, always this
same thing: check to make sure she was prepared,
and then replace his fingers with something else.
Instead of withdrawing, he twisted his fingers
around until he was brushing the ridge of
sensitive flesh inside. Without intending to, she
bucked against him as he rubbed and flicked and
played. In the dim light coming through the
blinds, she saw a lazy smile spread over his face
while just two fingers made her moan and twitch
and gasp.
She felt him hard against her stomach. She
reached down, grasped him loosely, and began to
stroke. His rhythm inside of her faltered as his
free hand wrapped around her own hand, guiding the
slide and the friction.
No one has to know, she thought. No one
has to know but us about these things we do in the
dark.
She tried to kiss him, but they were both too
intent on their work to manage more than a sloppy
press of lips. John hissed and then his hand was
holding hers hard and pumping fast and she felt
his climax shudder through him and through her
hand. She kept stroking him, even as his hand
fell away, drawing out the last of his pleasure,
while his fingers weakly continued to slide wetly
in and out of her.
"Sorry," he said. "Too soon."
"It's all right," she replied and, slick with his
semen, slid her own fingers in with his,
stretching herself and brushing right up where she
needed it most.
She was close, but she'd lost that vital moment
when he'd stopped moving his hand, and she had to
retake it quickly.
Fingers, thrusting into her. John's hard and
tired mouth, tasting the edges of her lips, tongue
mimicking the actions of his hands. The smells of
sex and sweat and soap and every other chemical
John used to clean his body or his sheets,
swirling around her like their own presence.
A movement, half-seen in a corner and her mind
told her it was Hro, watching her, watching
them, and she screamed her pleasure into
John's chest.
Her head reasserted itself moments later,
recognized the movement as just the passage of
light and shadows from car going by outside, and
her heart gradually regained its normal beat.
He doesn't know. He doesn't need to know. No
one needs to know.
They held each other. They kissed. They slept.
&&&
John woke first, and even though she'd had the
full night's rest, he let Shayera sleep as he
pulled on sweatpants. He padded out to the
kitchen to check the time and start warming the
oven. Nine am, plenty of time to get everything
ready before the others got here. If they asked,
and they wouldn't, Shayera had come early to make
the mashed potatoes.
He paused in mid-click on the preheat. Yes. She
should be able to do the potatoes all right.
Peeling, boiling, draining, mashing. And he'd be
there beside her keeping an eye out and he'd make
the gravy. It'd be fine.
John washed his hands, then pulled out the loaf of
bread he'd been meaning to eat more of and
starting tearing it into tiny chunks in a big
bowl. He stopped after a few pieces, then
remembered Flash was coming and added the whole
loaf. Some melted butter, a nice mix of onion
salt and pepper and rosemary, and a carefully-
measured allotment of the Egg Beaters stuff he'd
bought to get Shayera off his back, all mixed
together and poured into the bread while he tossed
the cubes lightly with his fingers.
Grandma had told him that he could brush on spices
with a brush and mix dough with a spoon, and he
could also read his funnybooks using chopsticks.
Grandma had opinions about food, and about the
proper way to fix things, and John had learned his
lessons well.
The turkey looked pale and sad under its coating.
He brushed oil lightly over everything then
started scooping the stuffing inside. What
stuffing didn't fit went into a small pan to be
placed in the oven with everything else.
He heard Shayera open the bedroom door, nodded a
good morning to her as she came up behind him.
"I still say that looks awfully uncomfortable,"
she said, gesturing to the stuffing pouring out of
the turkey.
"Maybe, but it's going to taste delicious." The
oven pinged that it was ready, and John placed the
turkey and stuffing pans inside. He set the timer
to remind himself to cover the breast with foil
after it browned.
"If you say so."
"And if you don't like it, I think the Chinese
place is open today and they deliver."
She grinned. God, she was pretty when she smiled,
especially undressed and with he hair mussed just
right.
Okay, so yes. He'd been feeling guilty about the
time they were spending together, and one patrol
wasn't going to make up for that, but he did feel
better this morning anyway. Maybe, once they got
these first few weeks past them, got it out of
their systems, they could patrol together, in his
city and hers. Two heroes for the price of one,
once his head was back in the game.
Shayera picked up the bottle of oil. "What's this
for?"
"It helps cook. Makes the skin crispy so the
juices bake into the breast instead of drying out.
Hey, watch it!" She'd opened the cap and was
tilting the bottle back and forth, watching the
oil roll from side to side.
"Weird stuff," she said, sniffing it.
"Well, you don't fry much," he said, taking the
bottle from her, "so really not your thing."
"I like being able to taste my food."
"Depends on the food. Some things are only edible
fried."
She rolled her eyes at him. The food thing wasn't
causing a real problem, not yet. At some point in
the future, it probably would, and they'd just
have to make separate meals.
John liked thinking about a future with Shayera,
even if it included twice the dishes to wash.
He glanced at the bottle of cooking oil. They had
lots of time before the others got there, and
anyway, hadn't they planned on spending most of
today in bed?
He poured out about a tablespoonful into his left
palm, then capped the bottle and set it down.
"Let me show you what else I can do with this
stuff," he said, rubbing his fingertips into the
oil.
He smiled at her. She looked at his slick fingers
and then at his face, and a lopsided smile formed
on her face too, as she leaned in against him. He
began massaging the oil over the curve of one
breast.
"Just remember, Stewart: you try putting me in the
oven, and things will go very badly for you." She
dipped one finger into the pool of oil in his
hand, spread it in a line across his collarbone as
he chuckled.
Bath. Later. Right.
This time, they used the table.
&&&
Wally could smell the food from the hallway. He
balanced the pies on one hand - he'd brought four
after all because hello, pumpkin and apple
obviously, and then he couldn't decide between
cherry and a pumpkin cheesecake so he'd gotten
both - while he knocked.
"Happy turkey day!" he yelled through the door.
The great thing about GL's place is that everybody
in his building knew his secret identity, which
made it not a secret, so even if Wally did have to
eat in his costume, he could still come over.
Hawkgirl opened the door. "Hi, Flash," she said,
and she was smiling, which was always nice.
"Got here early?" he asked, a touch crestfallen
because he liked hanging out with just John, but
not really that sad because hey, girl. Who'd
stopped making death threats at him, even. It was
like progress. At some point, he was going to ask
her out and she was going to say "Yes," he just
knew it, and then he'd see what was under that
mask of hers.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm making mashed potatoes."
"Come on in," John said from the kitchen.
Wally put the pies in the fridge, then pulled up a
chair. GL was busying sucking drippings from the
turkey pan with a big turkey baster, and putting
them into a little pot on the stove. Gravy. Oh
man, I haven't had good turkey gravy in ages!
"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.
"Stay out the way," said John, measuring out some
flour.
"Can do." He rested his elbows on the table.
"Hey, you spilled something here." He zipped up,
grabbed a paper towel, and wiped up the little bit
of grease. "Got it."
"Thanks," John said, not looking at him.
Hawkgirl drained the boiling pot of potatoes into
a strainer in the sink, then stared at them.
John said, "Back into the pot." She nodded and
poured them back in. Then John got out some
butter, plopped a little into the gravy and more
into the potatoes, and added some milk. He pulled
out a mixer from a drawer and handed it to
Hawkgirl, who held it like a gun.
"Like this," Wally said, springing up. He took
the mixer, put the beaters into the potatoes and
turned it on High.
"Oh," she said. "I could do that."
"I've got this," Wally said, just as there was a
knock on the door. Hawkgirl went to let in Diana
and J'onn.
Too bad Supes and Bats aren't here. Wally
had watch later and decided he'd take a plate of
turkey and stuff with him for Bats. He'd talked
Superman into stopping by after his family thing
was done; since his family was probably just
Supergirl, maybe he'd bring her along.
Diana's salad was huge when she set it on the
table. Wally loved it when she brought salad to
the Watchtower, because she filled the bowl not
just with lettuce and tomatoes, but olives and
oranges and grapes and cheese and all sorts of
good things. J'onn had found actual cranberries
instead of sauce, but he'd also brought some fresh
bread, Martian-style. Wally wasn't sure about
Martian bread, but he also knew that butter could
make up for a lot.
When the gravy was ready and the turkey carved,
they took seats around John's kitchen table.
Wally felt they should say something, or pray, or
whatever, but he didn't know how to bring it up.
Instead, Diana took his hand and he took
Hawkgirl's and she took GL's and after a moment,
John took J'onn's, and it was nice.
Then someone coughed and someone else laughed, and
the moment was broken. Hawkgirl let go of his
hand, but she forgot to let go of John's until the
dishes started to go by; Wally tried not to laugh,
because while Hawkgirl was pretty good at human
customs, she got irritable when she screwed one up
accidentally.
And then he forgot about it entirely because there
was Martian bread to pass around, and what could
have been Thanagarian potatoes but were really
just mashed, and salad and stuffing and turkey and
one good thing about being the Flash was that
Wally didn't have to worry about leaving room for
pie because he'd be hungry and he knew it.
As he spread a generous amount of butter on the
bread, Wally thought this was totally the best
Thanksgiving he'd had in years.
&