[Fic] Crush
Title: Crush
Characters: Kaldur, Artemis, OFCx3, OMC, Lorena Marquez
Pairings: Kaldur + Harem, Kaldur/Lorena
Summary: Five times someone crushed on Kaldur, and one time Kaldur crushed on someone.
Herp derp.
1.
“Artemis! Move!” Kaldur slammed himself into the archer, strong arms binding her to him as he hauled her to a safe spot behind some low boulders. The ground directly behind them heaved upwards from a planted bomb, leaving them skittering across the rocks.
Kaldur cradled her to his chest, rolling them so his thick skin and larger body protected her. There was a sharp crack to the back of the head on the final bounce, causing his vision to darken slightly, tiny lights sparking behind his eyes.
Artemis shoved her arms against Kaldur lying on top of her. “Kaldur! Fu--Geroff!”
The Atlantian groaned directly in her ear and…oh. She gasped softly at just how that sounded, low and dark; aware of how his hips shifted against hers; the contracting muscles of his body; the way his hands slid down her waist, to her hips as he exhaled slowly against her neck--
Kaldur forced himself up, blinking down at her, arms positioned on either side of her head. She blinked back, swallowing hard before she could smile back at him. “Why, Kaldur. What nice arms you have.” She playfully wrapped her arms around his back, smiling teasingly up at him.
He rolled over with a laugh. “Anytime you’re ready to move again, Artemis.”
She reached over for her bow. “I’ve got your back."
His smirk was almost entirely unfair. “Do you now?”
2.
Melanie looked at the superhero with the most severe look on her face. “No. You don’t understand. We’re getting married.”
She glared at her mother who had just sighed, the sigh that usually accompanied any requests for more toys or candy or just about anything because her mommy was mean.
“I’m so sorry, she’s gotten into that difficult stage. Once she’s got her mind set on something--”
“No, mom. This is different. This has already been decided. We’re getting married and no one’s going to stop me."
This time, her mother gave her a look that usually promised time-out.
Her prince spoke up. “Melanie,” he murmured, kneeling down to her level. “Why do you want to marry me?”
“Because I like you. Duh.” She leaned in closer, smiling. “We’ll be the greatest.”
Speedy snorted. Melanie, after many recesses and story times to perfect its potency, gave him her best glare.
“And just how old are you, anyway?”
She stuck out her chin, trying to look down her nose at him from her low angle. “Seven and a half. Maybe three-quarters if you wanted to be precise.” She learned that word last week.
Speedy smirked (she glared harder, eyes narrow slits). “Well, isn’t that the problem? You’re too young.”
“Seven is totally old enough!”
He laughed. “No. You have to be eighteen to get married. You don’t want to get him in trouble, do you?”
Melanie frowned, looking to Aqualad, who was watching her carefully.
“Will you wait for me?” she pouted. She would not cry in front of that stupid-face Speedy.
Aqualad’s lip twitched into a smile and her heart fluttered. “Of course. But would you wait for me?”
She beamed.
Of course she would.
3.
She first noticed his hands. They looked strong.
Or maybe it was his fingers that drew her attention. Long and graceful.
She complimented his fingerless gloves.
“Thank you,” he smiles up at her from the picnic table. She nearly gasps at how striking his eyes are against his dark skin. She looks back down at his hands to keep herself from blushing too hard. Hopefully, he thinks it’s the frost.
“Awfully cold to be wearing them though.” She carefully sits down on the icy bench, brushing away at the snow. The wetness seeps through her mittens, biting harshly at her frozen hands.
She wants to move back down south.
“I’m used to the cold.” He lays down a paper crane in front of her.
She watches his fingers fold the colorful paper into a heart. She doesn’t notice his eyes watching the entrance of the hotel that across from the park.
“Are you waiting for someone?” she asks him, daring to look him in the face.
His eyes make her cheeks warm too quickly, his smile too disarming. “Yes. You may stay if you like.”
She curses herself for losing confidence and looking away. She pulls a blue and gold fish-scale patterned paper square toward her. “Do you have time to teach me?”
She just wants to watch his hands.
4.
No way.
That’s him.
What was he doing here in Providence, Rhode Island?
In a flower shop?
Don’t get flowers, don’t get flowers, don’t get flowers for your girlfriend who looks really cute and girly and not a homosexual boy.
“Ohh! Let’s get these!” The redhead bounces up the sunflowers that are large and bright, sitting perfectly in a vase at the front of the Florists Center along with other vases making a wall to separate it from the Fruits.
He walks over, long legs moving gracefully. (That’s a fugly jacket. Take it off. Please? Let me see your arms.)
“Does she like sunflowers?” he asks her. Michael’s heart nearly trips over itself at the sound.
“She said she doesn’t like roses or lilies. Sunflowers are nice, though, aren’t they?”
He lifts up the vase, inspecting it. “Should we get another vase for them?”
The girl pouts, considering. “I think the brown glaze is a nice color.”
He seems satisfied enough by it and walks over to the counter (oh god oh god be cool). “Can we attach a personal message to them?”
Michael tries to smile, caught under Aqualad’s gaze. “S-sure. Do you want a ribbon tied around them?” He gestures to the wall of decorative ribbons.
The girl makes a noise of interest, skipping over to them.
Aqualad turns his smile back to him, waiting.
Michael jumps. “Oh! Um. Do you mind if the message is written? The machine isn’t working today.”
Aqualad shrugs. “It’s fine. Can you write, ‘We miss you--’”
“But mostly Wally.” The girl inspects a wide blue ribbon.
Aqualad suppresses a grin. “Yes. Add that.”
Michael is proud that his hands don’t shake as he carefully writes it with a slightly flourish. “How would you like to sign it?”
“No signature, thank you. She’ll understand.”
Michael places the small card in a holder and places it gently inside the flowers.
“They don’t have a green one,” the girl sighs. She smiles at Michael. “But it looks fine without them.”
It’s easier to focus on her, his nerves don’t jump as much if he focuses on the dark-skinned boy beside her.
He punches out the receipt handing it and the vase to her. “I hope she likes them.”
Aqualad takes it off him, fingers sliding over his for a moment, smile once again throwing him for blushing, messy loop. “Thank you.”
As they walk off, another boy walks up, watching them walk away.
“Who was that?” his boyfriend Jake asks. “Should I be jealous?”
Michael breathes for the first time in minutes, his heart still pounding in his ears. “Just my first celebrity crush.”
5.
She doesn’t really remember what happened afterwards.
She remembers swimming out after the beach ball that had started floating out to see.
She remembers thinking how fun it was to swim over the waves, even when they came crashing over her.
She remembers the pain as the shark bit her leg. As she twisted in its grip, trying to reach the surface.
She remembers the panic that took over her. She hadn’t told anyone that she went out there. She didn’t think anyone saw her go under.
She remembers screaming underwater as the shark thrashed her about.
And
Sunlight. Painful and hot, but pure relief. Drying the water off her skin. The sand stuck to her back. She could feel it crunching beneath her head.
She could still feel the pain her leg. Bright and hot.
She could barely move.
The sun was so hot that day.
And then he leaned over her, eyes clear, body blocking out the sun.
She can only remember his eyes.
Someone had said they “Got it from here.”
His eyes moved away from her, looking at something ahead of him.
He looked at her one last time, whispering, “It’s okay. Don’t panic. It’s okay.”
She wakes up reaching out to him sometimes.
+1
He doubts she’ll like it if he tells her how nice her gills are. Someone who hasn’t been raised in Atlantian culture wouldn’t understand the compliment.
He could say that he likes how her hair moves underwater, in the wind, splayed out on the couch’s arm in the living room as she watches static with Superboy.
He could say that he likes her smile, teasing and small, but somehow large on her face when it reaches her eyes.
Or he could talk about her eyes, how they stay focused and sure, every wonderful emotion can be read from them.
Or the way she moves in battle. Or just the way she poses so casually.
Her voice, lilting and sweet and steady. A smile tacked on to the end.
Instead, he tells Lorena that she’ll make a great Aquagirl.
She rocks on the balls of her feet, grinning up at him. “Not Aqualass?”
“We’ll see.”