Trouble

Some girls were trouble. A guy could take one look at them and know that suffering and heartache would follow if they pursued any type of relationship with aforementioned girl. Rose Wilson was that kind of trouble. Eddie stared at her, sitting so forlornly at the kitchen table, and alarm bells went off in his head. His sense of self-preservation told him to run, but everything in him yearned to stay.

His inner desires won out.

"Hey, Rose." His voice came out soft, hesitant. He wanted to kick himself for his blatant classic beta personality. Nothing started off a conversation with a girl like sounding terrified of her.

She turned, her one good eye pinning him in place, freezing him in the doorway. "Devil," she said, her tone even and guarded, giving nothing away.

Eddie stood staring at her in awkward silence, unsure of what to say. It was the middle of the night and he hadn't expected anyone to be awake. If he'd known she was going to be in here, he would have gathered his thoughts first, come up with something intelligent to say. Instead, he just stared.

This was the first time he and Rose had been alone since she'd been falsely accused of betraying the team. He should have had her back that day and he'd frozen. By the time he'd found his voice, it had been too late. She'd already been in the process of storming off and him calling out to her hadn't mattered.

Things had worked out in the end—they'd found the true betrayer—but he knew accusations left behind unseen damage. Bombshell had told Rose she'd never be anything more than Deathstroke's daughter. But she was so much more than that to him. So much more.

He looked at the bottle of whisky on the table in front of her and guilt welled anew. "Are you… Are you okay?"

He could see her protective walls going up and knew she was about to lie to him.

"Never been better. You think that was the first time the Titans didn't trust me? Surely, it won't be the last." She shrugged as if she really couldn't care less. "I'm used to it."

She was good at covering up her pain. After the accusations, she'd returned to the Tower and eased back into her daily routine as if nothing had ever happened. But something had happened. And it did bother her. He could see it, could tell.

He knew, because he was good at hiding pain too. Two nights ago, he'd discovered Blue Devil was responsible for his aunt's death. His hero had betrayed him. And now that his trust was broken in Blue Devil, Eddie's soul was damned. He had three years before the demon who'd given him his powers came to collect.

Despite this, he'd plastered a smile on his face and vowed to enjoy what time he had left. That had been easy today when he'd been surrounded by friends. Loud distracting friends. But once he'd gone to bed and had nothing to divert his thoughts, they'd turned dark. That was why he was up at three in the morning looking for a glass of water to cool himself down.

So yeah, he knew all about pretending to be okay. He was becoming a master.

Crossing the kitchen, he slid into the seat across from her and stared her down. "I trust you."

She averted her gaze and toyed with the bottle of whisky. "Sure you do." Her words were laced with sarcasm, sarcasm put in place to hide vulnerability.

Frowning, he reached out to touch her wrist, and it was then that he realized she wasn't in uniform. Unless she was going for a swim, she was always in uniform. The change in clothing threw him for a moment. Trying not to be too distracted by this, he said, "I do trust you." When her blue eye shifted his way, he squeezed her wrist. "With my life."

She sighed and withdrew from his touch. "Well, that makes one."

He wasn't sure what to say to that to make her feel any better. He couldn't speak for the rest of the team. He just knew how he felt. And he hated seeing her so despondent. He sat staring at her, searching for the right words.

Finally, he said, "We've all got our shit, Rosie. Some of us are just better at hiding it than others. Just because you're Deathstroke's daughter…that doesn't make you any less worthy of being on this team than the rest of us."

She gave a little snort and shook her head. He noticed the way her gaze shifted to the doorway and realized she was worried someone else on the team might overhear them, might realize their actions had affected her. He noticed her withdrawing. "Yeah, okay."

She reached for the whisky bottle and took a swig.

He watched her throat as she swallowed, mesmerized.

When she lowered the bottle, she set him with a dry look. "You're boy scout material. All nice and helpful and…fuck, I don't know. Just…good. You're telling me you've got your secrets, too? Ones as bad as mine? Not sure I'm buying that."

His thoughts went to Neron and the deal he'd made to become Kid Devil. Oh yeah. He had his share of secrets. Instead of answering, he merely arched his brow at her.

"No shit." She leaned forward, and he was glad to see that her mood seemed to have lifted. Now, she looked downright curious even if it bordered on amused. He would happily be the cannon fodder for her enjoyment if it meant diminishing her pain for a while. "Do tell. What sort of bad secrets could Eddie Bloomberg be hiding?"

He suddenly understood why she'd glanced in the direction of the doorway, because he found himself doing the same. He was not ready for the rest of the team to know his secret. Her? That wouldn't bother him so much. But anyone else? Well, he just wasn't ready for that much sharing. "Why don't we go back to my room?"

Her eyebrows rose and her lips curved into an amused grin.

Her expression puzzled him for a moment before it hit him how that statement had come across. Why don't we go back to my room? It sounded like he'd been making a pass at her. "Shit! No! I…"

He'd be lying if he said that the idea of making out with Rose had never crossed his mind. How could it not? Rose was smoking hot, and she knew it. How many times had she sauntered around the pool in a skimpy bikini? How many times had she grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him to her, and lit a cigarette off of his breath? Everything she did was sexy as hell. So yeah…he'd thought about it. But that wasn't what he'd meant. First and foremost, Rose was his friend. And he'd wronged her by not jumping immediately to her defense when that metal bitch Bombshell pointed a finger Rose's way.

"I meant to talk. In private."

"Of course you did…boy scout." Rose laughed lightly as she slid to her feet.

It was only then that he realized she wasn't wearing any pants. She wore nothing but a tank top and a pair of those cheeky, boy shorts underwear girls were fond of. It took everything in him not to gawk, to force his eyes to remain on her face instead of her enticing curves.

"Let's go upstairs to your room and…talk," she said with amusement. "I can't wait to hear the naughty secret you're hiding if it's got you too afraid to talk about it in the kitchen where someone might overhear you." Taking his hand, she tugged him out of the kitchen and in the direction of the staircase.

Guiltily, he searched the halls for any of their teammates. It wasn't like they were sneaking off to hook up. But the way they were heading to his room—her hand in his—it looked like they were sneaking off to hook up. He didn't want anyone getting any false ideas.

…Or maybe he did. He was not in denial so much that he could ignore his attraction to her. He liked her. Sure. And the thought of one of the other guys kissing her made his stomach feel queasy. So yeah, if the others thought they were hooking up, it wouldn't upset him too much. It meant the other guys wouldn't come sniffing around. Selfish of him, but he was only human.

They reached his room and Rose opened the door, sauntering in as if she owned the place. Bypassing the desk and its chair, she flopped down onto his bed, stretching out and staring up at him expectantly. She even went as far as to pat the spot beside her. "Come tell me all of your dark secrets, Eddie Bloomberg." Her lips were curved in a seductively playful grin. Her expression was downright mocking.

Eddie nearly groaned. Why did she constantly have to toy with him? He was fairly certain she took great pleasure in making him sweat. Tentatively, he crept forward and sank down onto the edge of the mattress. He turned himself sideways, to face her. But when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked teasingly. She lifted her hand to show the bottle of whisky still clutched in it. "Care for some liquid courage?"

He shook his head, feeling frown lines appear in his brow. "I'm underaged. I'm…I'm only seventeen." She knew that, but he felt the need to remind her.

"Hasn't stopped me." She smiled that mocking smile of hers and touched the bottle to her lips. She took a delicate sip before lowering the bottle and gazing up at him through her lashes. "Come on, Devil. Don't be such a…good guy. Live a little."

He swallowed thickly. Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. The words played over and over again in his mind. This girl was trouble. He should take that bottle and pour it down the drain. He should keep his distance. He should…do a lot of things.

He eased the bottle out of her hand, his fingers brushing hers. He'd taken it with the intent to dump it, but the spark of electricity from just that small touch had him hesitating. He gazed down at her expectant gaze—expectant of him to do exactly what he'd been planning to do—and changed his mind. Instead, he pressed the bottle to his lips and tipped the liquid down his throat.

It burned. Hot damn, did it burn. And not the usual kind of burn he was used to. It was a different kind of fire, one less pleasant. But the way her lips curled in pleasure made the burn worth it. He'd drink every last drop if she kept looking at him like that.

"Can you stop mocking me so I can tell you?" he asked impatiently.

She chuckled, that low and throaty laugh she had that was far too sexy, and arched her single uncovered eyebrow at him. "Do tell." She leaned up to sit beside him, crossing her legs in what his old school teachers liked to refer to as "crisscross apple sauce". He frowned at that recollection. There was nothing elementary about the way she did it. She even made that look alluring.

"Come on, Devil. What did you do?" she asked, snatching the bottle back and taking another swig. "Did you shoplift from the grocery store? Steal an apple to give to the poor? Real Robin Hood shit?" She took another swig. "Or better yet, did you kill somebody?" Her words were derisive, ones she didn't believe. She was having fun with this. "Were you siphoning off corporate money? Or did you steal sugar packets from the kitchen?"

"I sold my soul to a demon to get super powers." His words came out grim and hollow—so unlike him. He watched her face fall at his somber confession and couldn't look at her another moment. Instead, he snatched the bottle from her now-limp fingers and took a deep pull from the contents.

"Jesus, Eddie…"

"Don't," he said gruffly. "Just…don't." He shook his head. "I don't want your pity. I don't want sympathy. I don't even want anyone else to know. I only told you because I wanted you to realize that all of our lives are messed up. Yours isn't any worse than the next person's." He shrugged. "I've got three years before the devil comes collecting and I just want to enjoy what time I have left. I—"

She cut him off by lunging forward and pressing her lips roughly to his. She gripped the back of his neck, holding him captive against her as her mouth worked possessively.

He sucked in a surprised breath and she took the opportunity to graze her tongue along his. He sat frozen, his brain shutting down completely while she guided the kiss to end all kisses. It was hot and more erotic than anything he'd ever experienced before in his life.

When she finally pulled back, breathless, he gaped at her with wide eyes. "Hot damn," he said, blurting out the only words that came to his brain.

"Hot damn is right." She brushed her lips against his again, turning her body to face him. "Getting all emotional and weepy isn't how I deal with deep shit, so I'm glad you don't want sympathy from me. This is much more my style." She pressed her palms flat against his cheeks and kissed him again, this one longer and deeper than the last. "Just don't breathe fire into my lungs, all right?"

He nodded, still stunned. Words would not form. They couldn't. Especially not once she swung a leg over his lap and straddled his waist.

Her hands went to his chest and she pushed him flat on his back. The bottle of whisky fell from his fingers and thunked against the floor. The contents were probably spilling all over the rug, but he couldn't care less. He'd buy new carpeting if he had to. This was totally worth it.

Rose shifted on his lap, grazing her body teasingly along his chest. Her mouth molded to his once again, her hands running through the hair at the back of his neck.

Eddie closed his eyes, giving in to the sensations, savoring them. And yeah, he had to concentrate on not breathing fire down her throat. It was occasionally hard to control. And right now, he didn't feel in control at all.

She rocked her hips against his and he groaned, his hands instinctively going to her waist, holding her against him. Shit. How in the world had he gotten himself into this predicament? Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Rose Wilson—Rose Freaking Wilson—was making out with him.

She rocked against him a second time, a desperate mewling sound escaping her lips. Her movements caused his hands to shift lower and he curled his toes in pleasure at the feel of her bare skin against his. Those tiny boy shorts she was wearing left the perfect globes of her ass practically bare, and he was grabbing them.

Her hair circled around his face, creating an intimate haven for just the two of them. Her scent surrounded him, an intoxicating mix of almonds and cherries. He was encased in everything Rose, and there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Her hands slid down his bare chest, her nails scraping his flesh in a way that brought goose bumps to the surface. He hissed, his hands tightening their grip. It was only when her hands slid lower that warning bells went off in his head. "Rose…"

Her hand slipped inside his pants, her fingers sliding along his very obvious erection.

"Rose, stop." He wanted her. Damn did he want her. But she'd been drinking. And he didn't want a sympathy hook up. If they slept together, he wanted it to be because she truly wanted it. Not because she felt sorry for him.

Her fingers tightened around his length and he gave a yelp of surprise. It took everything in him to grab her wrist and freeze her movements. "Rose, stop."

"Why?" she asked against his lips. Then she yanked her mouth away from his long enough to glare at him. "I know you want it." She leaned in to kiss him again, her fingers flexing.

He sank into the kiss, relishing the feel of her mouth on his. He wanted to give in. He wanted to give in so badly. But self-restraint won out in the end. "I'm a virgin," he blurted out. The confession came rushing from his lips. The words hung on the air, thick and heavy, and he immediately felt mortification wash over him.

Rose reared back at his revelation, her eyes wide in astonishment. "Are you serious?"

He nodded briskly, too embarrassed to voice it aloud.

"Jesus, Eddie." Her hand retreated from his slacks and she collapsed next to him in the bed. She laid there, half draped across his chest, her silence unnerving.

That silence stretched between them, and he was terrified to break it. Had his confession driven any attraction she felt toward him away? Was this it? Did she think he was just some dumb kid? He knew she was way out of his league in every sense, but they'd had a connection. Was it still there? Did she—

"Can I stay?" she finally asked softly. "If I promise to keep my hands to myself? I just… I don't want to be alone tonight."

He felt a smile tug at his lips. The connection was still there. "I don't want to be alone either."

He glanced down at her, and she tilted her face up to his. Her lips met his in a slow, gentle kiss. The urgency from before was gone. But in its place was something…scary. Something that had his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

She broke the kiss and then nestled her cheek against his shoulder. She snuggled into him, one arm slung up around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. "Thanks, Devil," she whispered.

He felt her body relaxing against his. He knew she didn't trust easily, so the tranquil way she fitted against him told him all he needed to know. He hadn't just imagined it. The spark was there.

He lay for a long time, staring up at the ceiling. Long after she'd dozed off. It was only once he was completely certain she was asleep that he turned his head to look at her.

Her face was like that of an angel's in her sleep. The stress she carried with her was washed away, leaving her expression smooth and peaceful. The sight of her white locks splashed against his red pillowcase was a memory he knew he'd never forget. He knew even after Neron took him, the image of her stretched so serenely in his bed, against his chest, would help him carry on. He reached a hand out and ran his thumb along her jaw. "You're not alone, Rose. Not as long as I'm here."

Eddie awoke alone. He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face as the events of the night before came washing over him. He was on the verge of writing them off as a very pleasant dream when a sheet of paper on his nightstand drew his attention.

Warily, he lifted it up and skimmed the single line written there.

We need to remedy your situation. *wink*

It wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be. He would recognize her handwriting anywhere.

They needed to remedy his situation. What did that… And then it hit him. The confession he'd made last night in the heat of their make out session. By "situation", did she mean… He knew immediately that she did. His virgin status.

He stared at the paper and gave a soft bark of laughter. "Hot damn."

Shaking his head, he placed the paper back on his nightstand and glanced at the clock. 9 AM. The others were probably eating breakfast. Climbing to his feet, he shuffled into the kitchen to find the majority of the Titans already present.

From across the kitchen, Rose—now in her full super hero getup—sent him a private grin. "Morning, Eddie." Her lips curved devilishly, her grin widening. "You look like you slept well."

Oh, this girl was trouble. More than he could probably handle. But she was totally worth it. Eddie was a total goner where Rose was concerned, but he held no regrets. None at all. She was his trouble, and he wouldn't change that for anything.