A/N: This was a birthday request for a friend on . I thought I would share it with any of my fellow Wally x Shayera shippers here on as well.

Note: This is a Wally x Shayera fan fiction, meaning this is a piece promoting a romantic relationship between them. If you do not support this pairing, I respect that. Please respect my personal preference and leave only constructive critique or praise. Flames will not be tolerated.

Title: I See You

Summary: Where you find true friendship, you will find true love. Where you find true love, you find the missing piece of your soul.

Characters/Pairing: Wally West/The Flash x Shayera Hol

Rating: M for sexual content

Disclaimer: I do not own anything about Justice League or the affiliated characters.

"For it was not into my ear that you whispered but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul." – Judy Garland

It is a commonly accepted fact that the day does not officially begin until the sun has risen. When you are presently residing in a place located in outer space, where the rising of the sun cannot so easily be determined by mere sight, the body eventually tunes itself to know when the proper time to awaken is. There are exceptions of course—if, for example, you have early monitor duty or the colorful characters of society get an early start. That aside, there are general rules of when one is expected to get up in the morning, and 8 o'clock (at the earliest), is a widely accepted time.

The eighth hour of the morning would come about soon enough, but for now, the warmth and comfort of cotton sheets and a soft blanket ensured that Shayera Hol would not be getting up for at least the next three hours. With a quiet sound of contentment, she curled closer to the pillows, burying herself deeper within her private nest. Eyes closed, she prepared to let her mind drift back away into blissful rest.

She remained in the comforts of oblivion for a few moments more, then there was a strange sensation—it felt like warm skin brushing against her forehead. Two—no, three fingers were running across her brow, nudging a few loose strands of hair from her face. Steadily, she became aware of a dip in her mattress, and the warmth seeping through the sheets was not only her own.

It was perhaps strange that she did not strike immediately with a vicious survival instinct—something she could never fully be rid of. Perhaps it was simple due to the calming, gentle touch, or maybe that whoever was in her room displayed no signs of taking advantage of her vulnerability—something that would have been very easy to do. The absurdly early hour of the morning aside, she had gotten a grand total of 9 hours of sleep in half as many days. Between the responsibilities she shouldered with the League and an inexplicable inability to get a decent night's sleep, her reflexes were hardly up to par.

All the same, the presence she felt was anything but threatening. It was warm and comforting, if not a bit shy. She nearly smiled to herself, sensing the near-timid way her visitor was touching her skin. Of course, strangers do not just touch each other's flesh without permission, and there were few other members of the League—six others, to be exact—who would have the override code to get into her locked bedroom. But even with six possibilities to choose from, it didn't take much for her to identify who it was.

"What time is it…?" she murmured, not quite consenting to open her eyes. She knew he wouldn't take offense. Then again, he never seemed to take offense to anything she did.

"It's early…" his voice was soft, soothing as it always was. His hand drifted away from her brow, and she immediately missed the touch. Only pride prevented her from reaching out to bring his touch back to her skin.

"How early?"

"…really early?"

Her eyes finally opened, finding a pair of bright blue eyes staring at hers with a decidedly sheepish expression. "Wally," Shayera said, "By asking what time it is, I was hoping you might give me a numerically based answer."

A rather adorable twinge of pink spread across his cheeks as he shifted beside her on the bed. "It's just after 5."

Her hand pressed to her brow, running fingers through her mussed hair, "Wally…" she groaned quietly, "You do realize that it is only because I love you that I'm not going to kill you, right?"

"Yeah, I know." he said, "But I really needed to get you up. I want you to come with me!"

"Come with you where?" she mumbled into the back of her arm, the limb draped loosely over her eyes.

"I can't tell you right now…it's a surprise!"

"Wally…dear, sweet, innocent, absurdly energetic Wally," she pushed herself up onto her elbows to meet his eye level, "It is five in the morning…what could possibly be so important that it can't wait until the sun is up?"

"Please…?" now he was pouting, on his knees beside her bed and clutching her hand and pouting, "Pretty please, Shay? I really want to share this with you! There's no one else up here who would understand! Please just come with me this once? I swear, if you hate it, I will never make you do it again!"

Did Wally really think he needed to beg her like this? After all these years of knowing each other, of living together in the Tower, of developing a relationship that seemed quite unlike any other shared by their fellows, did he really think she would refuse him? Sad, true, pathetic, and honest, she would pull herself out of bed at this ungodly hour and go with him for whatever he needed her.

She couldn't say she would do anything so willingly for any other member of the League.

"Alright…" slowly, she maneuvered herself from under the covers, narrowly avoiding kicking him in the process, "I'll come."

The hug she found herself wrapped in was bone-breaking, yet strangely enjoyable. If anyone else embraced her like this, she would have clawed her way out with tooth and nail. Maybe it was the smile on his face that made it somewhat more enjoyable, or it could have simply been that it was Wally.

"You're the best!" he wasn't just smiling; he was beaming, grinning like she'd never seen him do before. "Meet me on deck in fifteen, okay?"

As he left her bedroom, she couldn't resist a smile spreading across her lips. He looked happy…happier than she'd seen him recently. It felt good to see him smile like that, to be filled with that kind of positive energy and excitement. It felt even better to know that she was the reason for his happiness, that something she had said, something she was willing to do for him had made him so happy.

A hot shower did her good, washing away her drowsiness and leaving her far more awake than she had been ten minutes earlier. She hadn't spent nearly as much time contemplating her clothing for the day, at least not as much as she knew human females did. The human fascination with looking presentable and attractive to the opposite sex never failed to amaze (and intrigue) her. Often she had considered taking a bit more consideration and time when it came to making herself "presentable" (for want of a better word). Mari always spent near an hour getting ready for the public's eye, if not longer. Of course, there really was no need for the model to spend as much time as she did. By the humans' standard of beauty, Mari—Vixen—had everything and more. Like so many of the League's women, she possessed the ideal image of beauty that many human women had to envy with a passion.

Shayera paused to take stock of herself in the mirror, her intentions not for making sure she was wearing something appropriate and suitable for the morning, but to really look at herself. It had been a while since she'd done this—weeks, months even. It had long since ceased to be a desired occurrence for her look upon herself in a mirror. The last time she could remember taking a good, long look had been when she returned to the League. She remembered it now as though no time had since passed—standing here in front of the full-length mirror hanging upon her wall and hating what she saw. Physically, she had changed little; it was inside where all the changes lied.

And in the two years since her return, nothing had changed.

Absurdly, she wanted to apologize to the mirror for looking at her reflection with such contempt and loathing. Immediate instinct would have her blame the piece of reflective glass for showing her such a hateful image. Her common sense was all that held her tongue—that, and her acknowledgment of the truth. The mirror was not to blame. It had no regrets about what image it portrayed, held no concerns or any kind of emotion for what she might think of it. Truly, it was innocent in the whole matter. There was none to blame for what she saw in the mirror…except herself.

And she hated it.

Her fingers absently adjusted the strap of her shirt as she walked down the hallway, the heels of her boots echoing with each step—click, click, click. As she could have suspected, no one else was awake at this hour, save for J'onn—but that was hardly a surprise. The Martian never slept. It must be wonderful to never sleep. After all, if you don't sleep, you never have to face the memories—images, sounds, words, and faces that remain dormant in the day, then come to take revenge in the dark oblivion of dreams—no, in nightmares.

"Hey, Shay!" Wally grinned, waving at her from the transponder bay. It took her aback at first to see him in civilian clothes. If she hadn't seen him sans mask before, she might not have recognized him outside of his costume.

Her dark, angry thoughts disappeared at the sight of his smile—such a familiar sight, yet it was always somehow new, every time she saw it. Smiling in return, Shayera used her wings to join him without the trouble of using the staircase. Almost passively, she felt his eyes lingering on the way her wings moved in such simple movements. And she liked it. Rare was the occasion when her appendages could be looked upon with intrigue and awe, not disgust or fear.

"Ready?" he really was absurdly excited about this—whatever this was.

"Yes," it was the simplest answer she could muster right now. All she could hope for was that the cold shock of the early morning would dissipate these painful memories and thoughts from her mind, at least until she was away from him and tucked away in the sweet solitude of her room.

Wally's hand reached out, taking hers in a warm grip that sent a soft tremor through her body. He had never held her hand before. Only John had ever held her hand before—brief, passing moments that always seemed to end too soon once there was a chance of being seen in such close proximity to each other. Clearly, Wally didn't care one way or the other if anyone saw, or what they might say. He never seemed to care much for rumors or gossip. She'd always admired that about him.

"Now, you have to close your eyes until we get there."

It was only the earnest look on his face that held her questions at bay and encouraged her to do as he said. It wasn't easy for her to voluntarily close her eyes. Keeping one's eyes closed was a sure enabler for danger to strike—after all, if she couldn't see it coming, she couldn't stop it. But she was not alone, was not unprotected or defenseless. She could still feel his hand around hers, holding it with a promise that need not be spoken.

She was safe.

The warmth that always lingered throughout the tower was gone in a matter of seconds, replaced by a cool breeze drifting around her, brushing along the bare skin of her arms. Her red curls tickled her cheeks as the wind teased through them, almost as though inviting her eyes to open. But just as her eyelids began to shift, there was a warm, broad hand over them. She sighed, her brow lifting from behind his palm, "Wally…"

"Just a little while longer." he promised, and he sounded so childlike with his excitement that she couldn't help but smile. "Five minutes, I swear…"

Shayera sighed again, still smiling and still feeling amused at her friend's strange (but sweet) behavior, "Alright," she consented, and he slowly began to walk with her behind him, their hands still entwined, "But if you're responsible for me tumbling down into a ditch…"

"I'll be eating your mace, I know." he didn't sound concerned or worried at all, only excited. "I wouldn't let anything like that happen to you, Shay…I promise. Just don't let go of my hand."

Somehow, the comforting tone of his voice accompanied by the warmth of his hand engulfing hers was more than enough to soothe her concerns—if she still had any. It was strangely pleasant, reassuring even, to be led instead of leading. To put her trust in someone else, giving control completely and wholly over to another being was not perhaps in her nature, but she could—always will—trust Wally. He could easily be the last person in the League she trusted with her heart, body and soul.

After all…putting her trust in him had no consequences, only rewards.

She felt herself being led uphill, and instinct kicked in to silently search for a pebble, a troublesome rock, or a particularly deceptive patch of loose dirt—anything that might cause trouble for her. Flight would be of no use to her if she could not even see where to direct her wings.

Her foot found a rock, lying in wait beneath the grass; the moment it wedged underneath her heel, all hope of coordination was lost.

She went forward, a startled gasp her only communicative ability as she stumbled into a broad, muscled chest. Fingers curled tightly into the cotton of his shirt, and she found herself absurdly admiring the scent that lingered over his skin. It wasn't the powerful cologne that most human men wore; it was more subtle, more natural…soap. That had to be it—soap.

His arms were suddenly around her—forever the gentleman, he dared not go near her waist, but secured his limbs around her shoulder blades. With the sudden movement came a near wave of the clean scent that covered his skin, and despite herself, Shayera drew in a deep breath, inhaling as much of it as she could. It suited him perfectly.

"You okay…?" he sounded a bit sheepish, as though he were on the verge of apologizing for not detecting the rock sooner. She found herself smiling and opened her eyes. He would forgive her for permitting only four minutes, not five, before she allowed herself the luxury of sight once again.

Her head lifted, finding his face mere inches from hers. Never before could she recall being this close to him—or any other man, save John. And she found herself liking this close distance, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the protective way he held her. It wasn't as tight as John's embrace had been. She felt free to move, even to escape his hold if she wished.

She just didn't want to.

"I'm fine." Shayera murmured, finding her footing on solid ground and finally taking the opportunity to see just where he had brought her. It was easy enough to guess this was Central City—it just seemed natural, as it was his home city. The buildings stood towering, black silhouettes against the deep blue of the early morning sky. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, which she had a perfectly clear view from the hilltop to which he'd taken her. It was oddly calm, yet still anticipating, as though the city itself awaited the dawn.

And she suddenly realized why he must have brought her here.

"Wally…this—"

"I know, this is gonna sound really cheesy and all," his arms had released her a moment ago, and now he was rubbing the back of his neck with a soft blush creeping across his cheeks, "but I really wanted you to see this."

"I've seen the sunrise before, Wally." She replied, tilting her head curiously at him. It wasn't as though she didn't appreciate the sentiment, but this was still a bit…strange.

"I know, I know…" he nodded, "But please, just trust me on this one?"

He made it sound as though she didn't trust him; that couldn't have been any farther from the truth. And for that reason, perhaps one of many, she would remain here, sitting beside him on the soft, cool grass. From the hill, she watched the waves lap against each other, dueling with weapons of white foam. It was a battle never to be won, and each blow crashed upon the rocks that formed the foundations of the cliff, leaving white smears in their wake—almost like blood stains, but far more beautiful a sight.

"I've never seen the ocean like this before." Shayera spoke softly, resting her chin atop the folded arms draped over her knees. Her shoes lay neatly discarded beside her. "It always seems so calm during the day, but the water is fierce and wild right now. It's almost as though it comes to life in the darkness, before the sun touches it."

"Maybe the water knows there's nothing to hide when no one can see you anyway." Wally answered. His voice was much softer than before, almost melancholy. She'd only heard that tone once or twice before, and neither time had been a happy occasion for either of them.

"You think so?" she asked, turning her head to look at him. It was difficult to make out all the details of his face, but his was a face she knew all too well.

"I don't know…" he shrugged with a small smile, "Maybe. I mean…people always say you hide in the dark. But it always seemed to me like the dark is the one who does the hiding for you. No one can see you if you're in the dark, so then you wouldn't have to hide anything about yourself—who you are, what you want…who you want…"

She could have sworn she felt his eyes lingering on her when he said those words—words that made her tremble—but when she looked back at him, his gaze was for the dark horizon. She felt ridiculously jealous to have his eyes fixated on something else, especially when she dared to let herself think—hope—those words had been for her.

Of course, it couldn't have been for her, but she would let herself hope, just for a moment.

"Some people don't want others to see them." She said quietly, looking down at her hands. "Some people would rather let the darkness hide what they want."

From the corner of her eye, she saw his head turn to look at her. "Why would anyone want to live like that? It's so lonely…having to hide yourself away without anyone to be there with you."

Shayera lifted her shoulders in a brief, half-hearted shrug as she pushed herself onto her feet. "Maybe those people think it's better to be alone." She answered, moving near the edge. Looking down, she could see her reflection, blurred and distorted in the combating waves. "When you hide yourself away…when you don't let anyone else in…no one can hurt you."

Her reflection was far more realistic now, much more honest and truthful than her mirror could ever be. She was distorted and confused. Her identity was in shambles since her return, and it would probably always be that way. There was no one to help her pick up the pieces of who she used to be, to help her discern between the past and present, who she had been and who she could be. There was nothing left of Shayera Hol but a mangled, mutilated mess that was beyond repair.

Another image joined hers in the water, his reflection just as jumbled as hers. It was almost like a spirit, broken apart by the wind, unable to reassemble. But the hand that wrapped around hers was solid, real and true. And the voice in her ear was real, its speaker wholly present beside her.

"Stop hiding in the dark, Shayera." He murmured, and the warmth of his words and breath on her skin nearly brought tears. "If you keep hiding…I won't be able to find you anymore. And…I don't want that to happen. I don't want to lose you again."

Perhaps he regretted reminding her about the last time she'd left, or perhaps he had another reason for releasing her hand. It didn't matter one way or another; the second she felt his hand drawing away, her fingers latched on to his, entwining the digits and squeezing hard. It probably hurt him—the pressure certainly hurt her—but he didn't show any discomfort. He simply stayed, and she would be damned if she didn't see a tiny smile playing on his lips.

Slowly, she could see a pale rim of light creeping over the horizon. It was slow, as though even the sun took time rousing itself, preparing itself to emerge and bring life back into the city. Then, a lighter, softer blue steadily began to seep through its darker predecessor, spreading the calming hue throughout the sky. A pale yellow followed, with sudden spurts of pink and orange and purple in its wake. The brighter colors left their paled fellow behind, stemming from what a single point on the water front. Orange was first, streaming up into the clouds with pink fast behind it, kissing the clouds and spreading a soft blush throughout their foundations. Purple finished the work on the clouds, running itself around the fluffed edges to draw attention to the unique shapes each held in their own right. And finally, the sun itself made its entrance, a grand orb of golden light that burst forth. As though commanded by a will stronger than its own, the ocean calmed, settling its waves as the pulsating light leaked over them. Higher and higher into the sky, the sun lifted, spreading its rays over shore and rock, steadily reaching the sleeping towers of the city. The light struck the glass panes of every window with no attempt at subtly. If she had thought to look behind her, Shayera knew she would see the city blazing with reflective light, almost as though it had been set ablaze.

Something warm was slicking down her cheeks, dribbling in steady streams until falling from the base of her jaw to her arms. Two fingers lifted to wipe the mess away, already knowing full well just what was happening.

She had not wept in years—the precise number lost to her memory. It felt strangely cathartic to cry now, so openly and honestly as she'd never been able to do. The last time she'd allowed herself to cry, it had been in solitude, with nothing but the wind to witness her tears. Shame had ensured she would not face the humiliation of crying in front of anyone else.

Something inside her now—trust or something stronger, something without a name—promised her that Wally would not run from her tears.

Another hand touched her face, this one not her own; the thumb slowly, tenderly ran across her right cheek, brushing the tears away. More came, unchecked and uncontrolled. She felt embarrassed and relieved all at once, an impossibly comforting feeling that she could only feel with him.

A shuddering breath escaped her as she turned away, trying to compose herself and clean her face of the liquid stains. His hand under her chin stopped her, tilting her head back to face him. Blue eyes met her green ones, their gaze compassionate and heartbreakingly warm. There was something else drifting in those soft depths, an emotion she dare not identify yet…not just yet.

"Don't hide your tears," his voice was soft, nearly inaudible, yet she'd never heard him speak so clearly, "They're beautiful…just like you."

And she could believe it, perhaps for the first time in her life. Attractive, appealing, desirable…those were all words she knew, adjectives used to describe her multiple times in the past. But none of the seemed as honest as the one little word that came from his mouth now. She could—would—did believe she was beautiful, simply because he said it.

Her eyes opened, though she could not quite recall closing them. Their foreheads were a mere centimeter apart, and she eagerly closed the space. Down by his side, her fingers slipped more securely into his, and her hand was soon wrapped in his. It was a chaste touch, an innocent touch. It spread warmth through every inch of her being.

"I can see you…" she whispered. To anyone else, those words would make utterly no sense whatsoever. For her, there was simply no other way to say it.

He was smiling as he leaned closer to her—close, so close, closer than ever before. Her eyes were drifting closed of their own accord, and she could feel the warmth of his breath lingering over her lips. Her chin tilted up, not needing his direction or words to know what was going to happen, what was happening. She welcomed it. She needed it.

His kiss was different from Hro's or John's or any other man who had ever kissed her before. It did not demand of her but asked permission instead. It did not direct and dictate her motions, but yielded to whatever she wished. It did not search for answers, but waited for the answers to appear on their own. It did not make conditions, but made promises.

She found herself drawn closer to him, and her arms lifted—one around his neck, the other through the loop of his arm and around his back. Her fingers speared through his hair, keeping him in the kiss as long as both could possibly stand it. And even when they consented to break, to draw in necessary amounts of air, his lips never left hers. She could feel them moving, brushing still against hers with each breath he took.

It was unspeakably exciting.

"I see you…" he whispered, his words falling from his mouth to be absorbed into the heat of hers, "I see you, Shayera. I see you…but I want to see more."

She smiled, and she did not stop smiling as she kissed him again. "How much of me do you want to see, Wally?"

He was smiling too, moving away from her mouth to kiss the nape of her neck. It was so soft and gentle, so respectful of her body and her desires. It was not the first time she had been kissed there, but it might as well have been for the fire it kindled within her. It was a fire that had been extinguished for so long—too long. It felt good to feel it burn once again. It reminded her that she was alive.

"As much as you'll let me see." Wally sounded timid, almost unsure, but the look in his eyes told her just how sure he was of what he wanted…what he needed. "As much as you trust me to see."

Her fingers slipped moved up his neck, softly brushing along the tender skin just beneath his hair line with a smile on her lips. It felt good to smile. She had been given so little cause to smile in the past, perhaps especially since her return. Whenever she had smiled, it always felt forced, created by pressure not pleasure.

But the smile on her lips now was genuine. And it felt so good.

"I trust you with all of me, Wally." Shayera murmured, leaning forward to kiss the firm, solid base of his jaw. "Every…" her lips moved to his neck, "…single…" his collarbone, "…piece…" his shoulder, "…of me." Her mouth returned to his neck, a firmer kiss this time. His head turned, his cheek against the top of her head. She felt him sigh into her hair, then his mouth kissed the crown of her skull.

"Then trust me to show you just how beautiful you are."

Shayera didn't take the opportunity to admire the inner view of his apartment—not that she would have been allowed to, had she opted to take the chance. Instead, her eyes remained firmly closed, the rest of her completely devoted to sense—the warmth of his mouth, fitting so perfectly over hers to bestow hot, desperate kisses upon her lips; the way his body pressed against hers, all hard, unyielding muscle and tight, warm skin; the feel of his hands running through her hair, down to cup her face between two broad palms, his fingers speared in her mussed red locks.

Her back met the unrelenting surface of his bedroom door, the creases and ridges carved into the whitewashed plank placing deliberate pressure onto her skin and wings while he continued to kiss her—her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. Soft moans and sighs escaped in breathless exhales while her hand fumbled for the door handle. It was a bit of a difficult item to locate, but once in her grip, it yielded to her wishes. Once they were inside his room, the door remained ajar. There was no one to interrupt them now.

She pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him as the back of her knees met the covered edge of his bed. Her eyes quickly opened, not to take stock of his room, but to look up into the blue eyes hovering just above hers. They were still bright, still clear, but now they held a kind of darkness within their depths—something intoxicating, infectious. It seared her clean through to the core just by looking at him.

"Shayera…" there was no question now, no hesitation or fear. He knew what she wanted. She knew he knew what she wanted—needed. He knew…he knew and understood her in ways no other man could ever understand her. Better than Hro…better than John.

And for the first time in months—maybe even years—it didn't hurt her to think about John, to think about what she had lost with him. None of it mattered…not when she had something much more precious to hold onto now.

His hands pressed to her abdomen, carefully sliding beneath the black shirt that covered her torso. She gasped aloud as she felt his bare skin to hers. His touch was tangible…real. Nothing out of a fantasy or dream, but reality.

Her arms lifted obediently as he drew her shirt up, up over her head and arms. She watched it fall quietly from his fingers, but she never saw—or cared—where it landed on the floor. His mouth was on her collarbone, drawing the flesh into his mouth and sucking firmly. Another gasp as she felt a bruise rise almost instantly. He wasn't trying to be overly gentle, handling her like she was made of glass. Since her return, so many people had been tiptoeing around her, treating her as though she was a child who needed to be tended to, nurtured back to health from some injury.

Wally knew just how badly she'd been injured, knew the damage she'd suffered. He alone knew just how much pain she had endured over the years. There had been no one else to trust with her wounds, no one else who she could trust to not blame her, to not condemn her and hate her. He simply accepted her.

She felt his arms lift away from her waist, rising in the air just as she had previously done, and she realized her hands had been doing some wandering of their own. A smile twitched the corners of her mouth as she pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it away. It seemed her hands (and perhaps the rest of her body) knew what she wanted and were not about to be shy in getting it.

His hands slid down to the waist of her jeans, fingers working the clasps with skill and determination. She didn't need to help him get the article off her body. He was perfectly capable of handling the situation on his own.

By God, she could hardly wait to find out just how capable his hands were.

The way he pulled her jeans from her hips was quick, almost rough. It aroused her like no other to feel him move like this. He who was always so careful and tender around her, always cautious to not hurt her, to be so firm and decisive and deliberate about his actions now…

"How long, Wally?" she breathed, nipping softly at his ear and relishing the breathless groan he gave her in response, "How long have you been hiding this from me?"

He released a low, breathless laugh that sent tingles through her spine. "I'd tell you if I knew, Shay…" he murmured, letting the tip of his tongue caress her earlobe, "But I've loved you for so long that I can't even remember when it started."

Loved…he loved her…

She was loved. She was wanted and desired and needed. And she was loved.

Her eyes opened when she felt his touches cease. Confusion and fear suddenly coursed through her, only to find his eyes fixated on her. The look on his face, the fire smoldering in his gaze…all of it told her just how much he wanted her right now. No one had ever looked at her that way before…ever. It was mesmerizing.

He could hardly catch his breath at the sight before him. There were miles and miles of her tanned skin wrapped around her slender build—a body that looked petite and delicate, disguising the brutal strength and power of a warrior. Those waves of raging red hair, tumbling down her shoulders and back, framing her face and pulsating eyes—eyes that caught the flickering rays of morning that crept through his drawn curtains.

She was a goddess.

"Shayera…" her name barely passed his lips before hers were firmly planted over them, kissing him more passionately, demanding from him without permission. She knew she didn't need his permission. She might as well have branded his body, heart, and mind. He belonged to her, wholly and completely.

Her arms were around his neck, pulling him down with her as she fell backwards onto the bed. Soft cotton collided with her bare skin, the sheets lifting briefly with the sudden impact of their bodies. He shifted only briefly, adjusting himself to lie between her peaked limbs, his hips lying against hers. She could feel his desire for her through the denim of his jeans, an already unbearable ache that she only continued to torment with her touch, seeking out any and all sensitive patches on his chest and back. His moans and breathless whispers of encouragement showed her where and how to touch him, how to make him feel amazing in ways he'd only previously dreamt of.

Her hands moved down, fingering the soft, sensitive skin just below his waistband. He was so warm here…

"Shayera, I…"

She didn't allow him to finish, gently silencing him with a kiss while she worked his pants open. The soft moan that vibrated against her mouth was all-too delightful a sound to hear. He wanted this so much…had wanted it—her—for so long…the reality of it was almost too good to be true.

But it was true.

His hands moved around her back, skillfully finding and removing her brassiere. The soft fabric of the article was rapidly replaced by the heat of his kisses, his mouth tracing around the warm, supple curves of her breasts. Light teasing kisses turned firmer, more desperate and needy. Her back arched forward, craving more of his mouth, more of the pressure his teeth and tongue were working over her nipples, interchanging with his hand, cupping and massaging her in ways she'd never been handled before in her life.

"Wally…my God…" she almost thought to ask him where he learned to touch a woman this way, but she really didn't want to know. She didn't like to think about him being with any other woman, not when his attentions were so wonderfully devoted to her, when his desire and longing was for her and her alone.

Not one to lie idle, Shayera let her hand move to his chest, her fingertips flirting and tormenting the pert nubs of flesh on either side of his pectorals until they hardened beneath her touch. His groans vibrated against her skin, sending shivers clean through every fiber of her being. Everything he did—every single thing, without exception—sent her body afire. He knew her body the way no one else did. And he was demonstrating his knowledge most exquisitely.

Her hands returned to the parted waist of his jeans, her left hand venturing further until she found just what she was looking for. He was positively on fire, and she moaned aloud at the feel of him against her palm. Carefully, deliberately, she touched him. Any skills she might have obtained with her previous mates were ignored, dismissed as she stroked him. She wanted to learn just what made him feel good, where he needed to be touched most to stoke the fire already burning within him.

"Shayera…" he whispered, hips involuntarily shifting forward, needing and craving more of her touch, more of her, "Shayera…my God…"

"I want you," she whispered, holding his face in her hands, fingers stroking through his hair, "Don't wait anymore, Wally. We don't have to be afraid anymore…we don't have to hide anymore."

The rest of her clothes were removed in a rush, tossed to some unknown corner of the bedroom. The morning light grew brighter, emitting golden rays to seep through the curtains and kiss her naked flesh as it streaked across his arms and chest. As she took in the sight, she couldn't help but smile. If she had ever held doubts about just how attractive he could be…none of them remained. He was perfect.

And the way he looked at her…she felt perfect.

Her head snapped back, almost dangerously fast, as he finally pushed inside her. A breathless, needy whisper in his ear was all the permission he needed, and it was all she would give. She didn't want hesitation or concern for her well-being. She just wanted him, all of him, as much of him as he would give her.

"Yes…oh, yes…Wally…" she was whimpering for the first time in her life, and while it should have been demeaning and degrading, it was all she could offer. He seemed to hold no objections.

Her nails clutched at his shoulders, his back, and his arms, clawing at his skin until thin red lines were left on the pale flesh. He groaned softly, leaning his head down to kiss her—anywhere he could possibly touch her with his mouth. He would have touched her elsewhere with his hands, wanted to even. But he preferred to keep them just where they were—up above her head, mere inches from the headboard, fingers entwined with hers.

"Shayera…" his voice was lower, his tone almost pained, "I…"

"Don't," her voice was much firmer, kissing his neck almost roughly, "I know what you want, baby…what you need…" her hips bucked up against his, inviting and encouraging, "Do it. Go faster…I know you can, I know you want to…I can take it. I can take everything you give me."

"Shay—"

"I want this…" she breathed, and her voice was so powerful and commanding that he knew, right then, he was completely helpless to refuse her, "I want you, Wally…don't fight this. Don't fight it when you need it so badly."

There was no hope, no prayer of fighting the urge—the need. Not when she wanted it just as badly as he did…not when she was moving her body against his this way…not with her voice in his ear.

The room blurred around her, nothing more than a slur of colors and vague shapes circling in the background. And above her, around her, within her…there was nothing but Wally. There could never be anything but Wally, never anything or anyone she wanted as much as she wanted him.

Never anything or anyone she loved as much as she loved him.

Her body raked with convulsions as she met her peak, wings beating frantically against the sheets, even against her arms. Her body writhed and twisted, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure assaulting her body while simultaneously trying to throw herself into it.

This was bliss…this was paradise…

…this was love.

She moaned loudly, recklessly, not caring who heard her or what they might think as he released within the smoldering depths of her body. His strength all but gone, Wally fell forward, collapsing against her shivering form. Ever the gentlemen, he made the attempt to roll off her, only to find Shayera's arms tightly wrapped around him, keeping him in place. Her lips pressed a soft kiss to his temple. "No, Wally…" she murmured, "You're right where you need to be…don't go."

The sun was far into the heavens now, the heat seeping through the curtains and mingling with the already-present heat generated by their bodies. Never before had she experienced afterglow like this. It felt real and familiar, all the while being new and enthralling.

She felt him shift slightly, and then his hand was on her face, thumb stroking over her cheek carefully. Her eyes slowly opened, finding his mere inches from her own. She could have lost herself in those blue depths, could have drowned in the love she saw there.

His brow touched hers, the tips of their noses brushing softly. As she felt his mouth move down to touch hers, a soft kiss in the aftermath of their passion, his lips moved to speak once more.

"I see you, Shayera…" he breathed, "And I love what I see."