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Don't Look a Gift Horse	By : Artemis1088 Category: DC Verse Comics > Justice League Views: 9461 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Justice League, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Don't Look a Gift Horse
- 1
Spoilers: Post Justice League episode, “Maid of Honor.”
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue.
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Superman coughed politely into a fist, before addressing the League assembled before him.
“Now I don’t want to name names, but we’ve been spending a lot of our resources this past quarter on repairing the training room.”
His eyes darted quickly around the room, avoiding a particular pair of blue eyes.
But Flash didn’t. He glared at Wonder Woman, with his arms folded.
“What?” the Amazon snapped, leaning forward. “Are you challenging me, little man?”
“Whoa,” Superman held his hands up. “No one’s accusing anyone of anything. We’re just having a mature dis—“
“I think she needs to get laid,” Hawkgirl interjected dryly.
“Shayera?” The Green Lantern leaned to his right and whispered to Hawkgirl, “I don’t think you want to go there.”
Smiling, the Martian Manhunter watched all this as he conversed telepathically with Batman, who was unusually less vocal this meeting.
Kasnia.
Before Batman shut him out of his mind, the Martian accidentally got a quick glimpse of an unrepressed thought. He saw Wonder Woman in a short, red dress standing next to a bed . . .? Stunned, his head snapped towards Batman. The Dark Knight refused to acknowledge him though.
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A week later, and fourteen invoices for new walls, benches, and training room equipment later . . . Wonder Woman collapsed onto her bed. She still had too much pent-up frustr—energy.
She would not give him the satisfaction of calling it “frustration.”
As she stared up at the ceiling, she faced her other denials over the past few weeks. She denied herself several . . . opportunities . . . over the course of a few days in Paris. But he didn’t exactly do anything either, she reminded herself. Besides, is it not the custom in Man’s World that the man makes the first move?
Groaning in disgust, she sat up. Her sisters would have her head for entertaining such a thought.
For the first time since entering her room, she noticed a wrapped box on her bed.
“A gift?” she muttered to herself. No card, simple red wrapping. She lifted the top of the box and frowned at the tube and strange plastic inside. Inside were assembly instructions, as well as an index card. In neat script, read
From a friend who understands frustration.
She looked at the tubes and device once more. The instructions seemed straight forward enough. But first she would need some tools.
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A wrench and a few inches of Teflon tape later, Diana stared at her completed project. She always preferred baths to showers, but this “friend” had implied this would relax her.
Shrugging, she slipped of the bustier, and pushed her star spangled briefs down her legs, pooling them around her feet. She sat on the cool porcelain edge of the tub and yanked off her boots. From there, she stared at the faucet a moment, then reached out and turned the knob.
Just a shower. What in Hades was so special about that? After removing her tiara, she stepped into the large tub, large enough that a curtain wasn’t needed, not that she was in the mood to install that too.
As the water spattered against her chest, she stared up at the nozzle head. Realizing there were a variety of holes, she turned it to the next one. A mist, not unlike standing near Themyscira’s waterfalls. It was nice, but . . . she sighed and turned it again.
A hard beam of water shot out, and she was momentarily taken aback. She turned, and the stream pounded against her back, hitting her muscles, massaging them. With eyes closed, her head rolled back lazily, and she shifted slightly, letting the water soothe her neck as well. She took another step backwards, but too far and the water missed her shoulder, flicking one of her nipples instead. The rosy skin immediately puckered and peaked in response, as Diana’s eyes flew open.
She stepped out of the stream and looked at the seemingly benign showerhead, with a whole new appreciation. It came down from the hook easily enough, and now she understood the length of tubing. With it one hand, she moved the pressured stream across her shoulders, and then her back, gasping as the water dipped into her bottom.
With eyes closed, she touched her lips with her other hand, and slid slowly down her chin, down her throat . . . as she moved the pressure around the curve of her waist. It lapped at her belly, and she found her thoughts straying to him.
His hands, slick from the shower, teased and fondled her. His hair, damp from the shower, dipped down and flicked her nipples with his tongue. Going lower, he licked a trail down her body . . .
Her back sank against the tile; eyes clenched shut, her breasts heaving with each raggreatreath. She moved the shower massager lower, the pressured water pounding against the dark hair, and then lower still. It forced itself inside her, the pleasure shooting through her body. She moved the nozzle closer, increasing the pressure against her clitoris. She moved it slowly, in a small circle as stray parts of the stream pushed into her.
His calloused thumb rubbed her roughly, as he dug his fingers deep into her core . . .
Her feet slid easily over the slick tub floor. The nozzle was directly under her now, pushing into her, filling her . . .
Her panting increased. Her hand slid down her body to join his.
She rubbed herself desperately, the pleasure building low in her belly . . . she was on the edge . . .
He guided her around, so she was facing the tile. Her own hand continued to rub and tease her clit. He kneaded her back, lingering over the small of her back, before sensuously sliding a finger down, in between and pressing against the tight entrance . . .
The orgasm tore through her body, each ripple of pleasure sending a shudder through her limbs. Shaking, her arms fell, limp, to her sides. She panted against the porcelain, and then turned slowly, her back pressed against the wall for support.
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“Oh. Diana. You’re not due for Monitor Duty for anoth—“
Batman was interrupted when Wonder Woman grabbed his pointed ears and pulled him roughly to her lips, kissing him hard. Her hair, still wet from her shower, dripped onto his uniform. After a minute, she pulled back and wiped the corner of her mouth delicately.
“Thank you.” She turned on her heel and left.
Rarely dumbfounded, Batman sank against the seat and murmured, “You’re welcome . . .?”
He was still sitting there, dazed, when Superman popped his head into the door. “Hey, Bruce? I have a receipt for a Water Pik that I need to be reimbursed for . . .”
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the end.
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Don't Look a Gift Horse