Note: this is likely my favorite thing I've written for wally/artemis yet, and probably ever will. That said, it's rather a bit...shorter than my others. Sorry about that. Hope you enjoy nonetheless! As usualy, title from the song of the same name, by simple plan.

Rating: I'll place it at T, because I'm not explicitly saying what it is they're doing, but you can imagine it, if you've got the mind to. I apparently did, though I haven't quite made the jump to smut yet. yet being the key word there.

Can't Keep My Hands Off You

Cuz on the street, or under the covers,
We're stuck like two pieces of Velcro,
At the park, in the back of my car,
It doesn't matter what I do,
No, I can't keep my hands off you

They haven't a clue when 'this' started, whatever this is. It could've begun after Bialya. It might've been unleashed by that ridiculous simulation. It may have had something to do with Conner and M'gann being together.

Or, maybe, as is suspected in whispers and murmurs among their closest and in the back of their minds, it was there all along, beneath the surface, waiting for the simples of touches to ignite them, to set them aflame. In a way their arguments only hinted at. In way they'd only dreamed about in the dark of night.

It was just a simple touch that lingered longer than necessary, his hand on hers, that made the spark light somewhere deep within their hearts. A day just like any other at the Cave, after a mission, they were both in the kitchen, trying to find food, scattering things across the countertops. An accidental touch as they reached for the same thing, that shouldn't have been any different then before. Only, they couldn't ever remember being this close, so he'd never noticed how nice she'd smelled, and she'd never noticed how green his eyes were.

And then the touches became a look, as she began searching for those green eyes across the kitchen, when he's stuffing his face and she's doing her work. Or during training, when Dinah's wiping the floor with someone and they're waiting their turn to go at it. Or as the Bats debriefed them, and they're itching to get going. Just a meaningful gaze they, and they alone, share. A simple smolder that dragged that spark from deep down and filled their whole bodies with warm, with longing, with something more than normal. Something which neither was quite sure what to make of just yet, and so he deemed it his goal to figure it out.

So the looks were shared from closer, still, as he found every excuse to be next to her on missions, during Team outings, at the Cave when they had movie nights. Just near enough to bump elbows and hands, and be intoxicated by the wondrous smell she carried, of which he couldn't quite figure the source. Perfume? Soap? Shampoo? Who knew? But the things he felt in such close proximity he knew she did, too. Knew the warmth was growing, burrowing deep inside his pores, enrapturing his every fibre and filling him with a hungering, growing, burning curiosity. To touch, to feel, to taste.

And finally, after touching and looking and feeling, they could no longer think, dream, wonder. They caved. Neither could quite remember where first, his room or hers, amongst shadows and sheets where they'd only imagined it beforehand. But soon it was routine, after a mission, after a training session, to work off stress. They spent less time as a team and more time as a whole, bodies pressed together, exploring and testing that heat creeping into every corner.

He's seen and wondered about the calluses she's built against her bow, but never felt their rough touch rake against his skin the way it does now. She's pondered and imagined about just how far those powers of his expand—and there isn't a world in which she'd be disappointed.

They can't fathom how no one's said a word. Not a snicker from the Boy Troller, or a giggle from M'gann, or any sort of frown from Kaldur or Conner. He hasn't gotten a phone call from Roy, threatening to kill him for being reckless, and she hasn't heard a single squeal from Z's lips. No one's dared call them out on their shit, and it's not like they can't have noticed, because it's getting worse. It's not just within the confines of a dark room, but stretching out over public places, their touches and looks on display for the world to judge see.

But they're quite alright with everyone's letting it go, acting as if there's nothing going on. Because it means they can keep thinking that way. Like nothing's changed, there's important or special happening here. Like he doesn't know every scar that winds along her soft skin and gentle curves, and she, every freckle spattered across his warm body. Like they're not perfectly in sync in every mission, every task they set themselves to, laughing and smiling and fitting together, in every way, shape, or form.

When no one talks about it, it means they don't have to stop. They can keep up those moments, where they dip into the alcove of the hallway heading to a mission debriefing, mouths open and hands outstretched. Where they're quiet and careful and nearly always short of breath. Her skin is always flustered, her fingers quake just the slightest when he moans her name, and he can't stop looking at her with those green eyes in a way she hasn't seen before.

When it remains their unspoken secret, they can keep pretending nothing's any different than before the looks and before the touches. They don't have to talk about what it is they're doing; tangled together in each other's everything, night after night, and day after day.

They don't have to label 'this', whatever it is, wherever it started. They can just remain Wally and Artemis.

Artemis and Wally.

And they're damn well comfortable with that.