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The Real You	By : darkamazon Category: DC Verse Comics > Justice League Views: 19339 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

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CYBORG3
Part II

Bruce returned to the cave, began running multiple investigations. It took a lot of money and expertise to build a device that could hold Wonder Woman down, so he made the computer begin compiling a list of suppliers and labs that might produce the components needed. He searched for information on the warehouse -- who had constructed the building? Who owned it? And he ran the partial facial picture he had of the rapist through his face recognition program, cross referencing with known sexual deviants, and his own archives.
It had been someone whom Batman had been in contact with before -- he would be listed in his files, somewhere.
Alfred interrupted him at nine, using the intercom that connected the cave and the Manor. "Sir, Miss Diana has become restless over the last half an hour, although she has not yet woken."
Bruce pushed a few more buttons that would keep the computer compiling the information and said, "Thank you, Alfred. I'll be up in a moment."
"Very good, sir. I will be driving Dr. Thompkins home, unless you would like her to stay. She has written instructions for Miss Diana’s care when she wakes."
"No, Alfred, let Leslie get some sleep. She can come back and do a follow-up exam later this evening. We can take care of anything until then."
"My thoughts exactly, sir. I left a breakfast for Miss Diana in your room, if she should wake hungry. There is enough for two, Master Bruce," Alfred added pointedly.
Bruce gave a slight smile. "I'll eat, Alfred. Take Leslie home, and get some sleep yourself."
"We are leaving as soon as you come upstairs, sir."
Bruce entered his bedroom five minutes later. Diana was still in the middle of the bed, but the sheets were twisted around her, a sign that she was now sleeping more lightly. Bruce sat down in the comfortable armchair that Alfred had pulled up beside the bed, propped his feet onto the mattress, and waited, fighting his own drowsiness by cataloguing and considering suspects, analyzing clues, and wracking his brain for any hint to the rapist's identity.
He must have dozed, despite his best intentions, because he opened his eyes to find Diana awake, sitting up with her back to the bed's padded headboard, watching him with a thoughtful look on hece. ce.
"Diana?" How would she react to seeing him?
Her voice was soft when she answered. "Bruce." She smiled slightly, then said, "I've read many stories online in which I am raped and humiliated, and in nearly every tale I am trained to love my subjugation so much that I can not resist wanting to have sex with every man I meet after that."
Bruce frowned. "Diana--"
"And I’ve been sitting here the last ten minutes, barely able to keep myself from jumping you and raping you, more aroused than I’ve ever been in my life." She paused, and he searched for words. "Please tell me I’m not acting under the influence of a post-hypnotic suggestion, or some other diabolical plan of his."
He shook his head. "It’s the aphrodisiac. It should be at more tolerable levels late this evening."
She glanced at the bedside clock. "Ten more hours?" She chuckled resignedly. "That bastard," she said, shaking her head. "He really knows how to draw it out, doesn’t he?"
Bruce couldn’t answer; he simply didn’t know what to say. He had expected to have to comfort her, or tell her why she was in his bed, but apparently she remembered everything. And he didn’t want to begin questioning her right away; as much as he wanted to catch her rapist, he didn’t want to discomfort her immediately, when she was obviously trying to come to terms with the fact he still had some control over her, even if it was just chemically.
He looked aro fee feeling awkward, until his eyes fell upon the meal tray and Leslie’s list of instructions. This was something he could do, something benign. "You must be hungry. I also need to do an examination and change your bandages, make sure everything is healing correctly."
Diana closed her eyes, let out a small laugh. "An examination? Would that involve you touching me?"
He realized for the first time that, even though she looked completely relaxed sitting up against the headboard, in reality she was holding herself under a tight rein of control.
"Yes." Bruce swept a hand through his hair in frustration. If he touched her, it would be tortuous for her – why hadn’t he realized that before mentioning the exam? "I’m sorry, Diana, I should have—"
"Shut up, Bruce," she said, her voice gentle. "And don’t do that thing with your hair again."
He looked at her, surprised. Her eyes were still closed. "What?"
"I can hear your fingers run through your hair. I can almost feel the texture by the sound of it, and if I open my eyes, I’m sure it will be sticking up all over in some adorable way that will make me want to—" She stopped, opened her eyes. "I knew it." She smiled at his dumbfounded expression. "I’m teasing you a little, Bruce. It takes my mind off of other – things." She sighed.
Bruce’s chest tightened in sympathy – the images from the video were still burned into his mind and probably would be for a very long time. She had lived those images, and it wasn’t over yet. He thought of the threat to distribute copies of the video. "Diana, there are things we need to discuss, but it should wait until you are feeling a little better."
She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. "I’m okay now, Bruce. I can fight this, and the sooner we talk about this the faster we can find out who he is, figure out how he did it." She took a deep breath, and added, "Let’s do the examination, have something to eat, and then go down to your cave and get to work."
"We can skip the exam—" Bruce began.
"No, we can’t," Diana insisted. She leaned forward, her eyes intense. "I will not let that raping piece of dung have any more influence over me, will not give him any more satisfaction." A strand of her long hair fell over her shoulder as she moved, brushing across her breast, and her breath caught. When she spoke again, he could hear a slight tremble in her voice. "I can handle it, Bruce."
He wondered if she was trying to convince him or herself, but nodded. He would have said exactly the same thing in her place. "Eat or exam first, then?"
She squared her shoulders. "Exam."
"Fine." He stood and retrieved the tube of antiseptic, bandages, and latex gloves Leslie had left. Diana scooted to the edge of the bed, putting her feet on the floor. She grasped the bottom edge of the hospital gown, then hesitated.
"Bruce, is this going to embarrass you? Would you prefer that I remain as covered as possible?" She attempted another smile, but it was half-hearted. "Themyscirians aren’t as given to modesty in these situations as inhabitants of Man’s World."
Not sure if she was asking for her sake or his, he simply said, "Whatever makes you most comfortable."
She sighed again. "I assume it is going to be uncomfortable either way." She came to a decision, began lifting the gown over her head; she was careful, Bruce noted, not to let the material slide across her skin any more than necessary. Her hips, her flat stomach, then her breasts came into view, each covered in squares of cotton bandages and tape. She pulled the gown completely off, shaking her hair free of the tangle of material.
Bruce looked away, pretending to busy himself with the medical supplies, preparing himself to conduct the examination without feeling any emotion. She hardly needed him lusting after her the day after she had been raped and tortured, simply because, even covered with bandages, she had the most glorious body he’d ever seen – a body that he’d imagined in more than one sexual fantasy.
Not that, as the Bat, he’d ever admit to any sexual fantasies. And none of them had ever included this scenario – for which he was very grateful.
He turned back to her, placed the tray on the small cabinet next to the bed. She sat on the side of the bed, watching him. "Are you sure that you are okay with this, Bruce? It’s not going to be easy on either of us. You’re going to have to watch me…" Her voice trailed off. "Well, it just won’t be easy."
He kept his face expressionless. "I’ll be fine." He wouldn’t tell her, at least right now, that anything after seeing that video would be easier.
She nodded. "Of course you will. You’re Batman." She took a deep breath. "Okay, I’m ready."
He wanted to tell her that even Batman was affected when someone had been treated as she had. Even more so, because she was his friend, someone who he knew, and had worked and fought with.
And as a man, he would definitely be affected when he touched her, had to examine the damage done to her by a madman.
He sat down in front of her, pulling his chair forward so that his knees were just outside hers. "I need to check each of your bandages. I will remove those that are covering injuries that have healed, and medicate and rebandage those that need more time. I’m going to take a blood sample, to monitor the level of drugs still in your system." She nodded, and he continued, "And I will also need to perform an examination of those injuries received to your genitals, both externally and internally." He kept his voice as emotionless and as clinical as possible.
Her face slightly pale, she nodded again. "I’m ready."
He checked her pupils with a penlight, satisfied that they dilated properly. He’d accumulated a large amount of medical knowledge over the years, treating both himself and victims of crimes when necessary. He knew he could perform an efficient examination.
A tremor shook her when he touched her skin for the first time, and he froze and met her eyes. "Sorry," she said ruefully.
"Don’t be," he said. "Would you prefer that I talk as we go along, telling you exactly what I’m doing before I do it?"
She nodded gratefully.
"I’m going to start with the bandage on your right shoulder," he said. "The cut there wasn’t very deep, so I should be able to simply make sure that it is clean and then move on. Ready?" At her sign of assent, he reached forward, gently began lifting the tape away from her skin. She tensed under his fingers, and began a steady, measured breathing.
The injury had healed to a bright pink scar, which he knew would fade within a few days. "Your shoulder blade now, same thing." She continued breathing with that same, steady rhythm, and he realized that he recognized the pattern. "Shan?" n?" he asked, referring to a form of marital art.
She shook her head. "Eupheria. She was a traveling Amazon before Themyscira was regulated to the sea. I believe that Shao Lin was one of her pupils, and adopted Eupheria’s techniques as her own."
He let a tiny small curve his lips. "According to Amazon history, no one in the rest of the world actually developed or invented anything. Left shoulder now."
Diana pursed her lips, as if considering that. "Well, some cave man must have developed the wheel. Although, I must admit I’m tempted to think that it was a cave woman." Her eyes sparkled with humor. "Maybe even my mother. And Man’s World created the atomic bomb." She rolled her eyes. "Wasn’t that a great development."
His lips twitched again. "Well, we had to do something without ben beneficial guidance of the Amazons." The next bandage was covered the upper slope of her left breast down over her nipple, and he knew this cut had been deeper than the others. His smile faded. "The next one is going to be more difficult, Diana," he said.
She looked down at the bandage, firmed her lips. Her fingers dug into the mattress. "Go ahead," she said.
He gently cupped her breast in one hand, holding it steady while slowly peeling back the bandage, revealing a still-healing knife wound and her tightly furled nipple. He tried not to think about her breast’s firmness, its perfect fit in his hand. Her breath came in small, panting gasps, her breast moving in his hand, and he looked up at her face.
Her eyes were closed again, her thick black lashes fanned against her upper cheeks. She’d trapped her full bottom lip between her teeth, and he could see the moistness on her lips, as if she had just licked them. A slight flush colored her cheeks and neck.
He turned his attention back to her injury, noting that her nipple had hardened further, become more deeply pink. He made himself focus on her injuries, began talking to her again as he had promised, hoping to help her think of something other than the feeling of his hands on one of her most sensitive areas. "There’s no remaining sign of the bite marks, Diana, so we can safely assume that they didn’t turn septic. We are going to have to re-medicate this knife wound, though, and re-bandage."
He quickly squirted some of the antiseptic onto his fingers, began to rub it softly into the wound. His palm accidentally brushed her nipple, and she gave a tiny moan, gripping the mattress even more firmly. "Just a little longer, Diana," he said, trying to be as soothing as possible, although he knew that the most difficult part was still to come.
She began trembling as he worked over the other half of her torso, beads of sweat gathering around her hairline. Finally, he was done checking the bandages -- most of them he had been able to remove, and only a few remained on her skin.
He gathered a small blood sample, and paused. "Diana, do you want to take a break for a few minutes before beginning the rest of the exam?" Her breathing was quick and irregular, her skin flushed, every muscle in her body taut from the strain of fighting the aphrodisiac.
"Do you think it would help?" Her words were barely audible, forced out through clenched teeth.
He shook his head. "The only thing that will help is if you give in to it, have an orgasm. That will relieve the pressure for a small time."
A short laugh escaped her. "Don't tempt me."
"That's the problem, though, isn't it?" He met her eyes. "What I am doing is tempting you. It's almost like I'm torturing you." He regretted his choice of words as her eyes darkened.
"No," she said. "This is nothing like that."
He took a deep breath, thought carefully before he said, "I think you should give in to it."
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Would you?"
"That's irrelevant," he said, and added slowly, knowing he was taking a chance but almost desperate to see her give herself some ease, "Diana, look at what you are going through, and for what purpose? If anything, you are playing right into his hands."
He watched her eyes narrow. "How so?"
"He enjoyed watching you fight the effects of the aphrodisiac, and here you are, still fighting. Still tormenting yourself in an attempt not to find release, continuing what he started."
She considered his words. "So I should masturbate just to make this easier on myself?"
He knew that everything in her rebelled at the idea of taking an easy route, but he pushed it. "It's not going to be easy for the next several hours by any measure," he admitted. "But if anyone deserves to take an easier route, it is you, right now. You went through too much to allow this torment to continue." He saw her wavering, threw in his trump card. "Besides, I would feel like less a villain. I'm the one doing this to you."
Her eyes softened even as he realized that she had caught onto his tactic. "You know as well as I that you aren't doing this to me, any more than I am." She sighed heavily. "But if it makes it easier for you, then I will."
"Good," he said abruptly.
They both sat, staring awkwardly at each other for a few moments, until he stood up and said, "I need to take a shower. I should be out in ten minutes. Will that be sufficient time?"
She stared at him in disbelief. "One minute will be enough time, the way I'm feeling now," she said, and laughed. "This is so strange. 'Diana, how long will it take you to masturbate?'" She mimicked his voice, and answered in a parody of her own. "'Oh, one minute or so.' Not exactly something covered in the JLA rules of team conduct."
His lips twitched into a smile and he headed for the suite's bathroom, but was stopped by her hesitant, "Bruce, are you comfortable with me doing this in your bed?"
The image of her lying naked in his bed flashed through his mind, and he felt himself begin to swell andden.den. He kept his back to her, talking over his shoulder so that she wouldn't see the evidence of how her innocent question had affected him. He gave her a rakish grin. "Diana, you are talking to Bruce Wayne. Despite popular opinion, he rarely gets a woman to bed, or any further than his car. So it'll be a feather in his social cap to have Wonder Woman pleasuring herself in his bed." He heaved an overly dramatic sigh, and added before closing the door behind him, "But, alas, he can never let anyone know."
He stripped once inside the luxurious bathroom, trying not to think about what was taking place in his bed, only thirty feet away. He turned on the shower and stepped inside, the steam building in the room. He began to methodically soap himself, and then froze when he heard a faint cry of passion from the next room. His cock instantly jumped to attention, and he considered turning the shower stream to cold but let his hand slip down the length of his body instead. Actual release would be more efficient and longer lasting than a blast of cold water.
He braced one hand against the shower wall, slid his other to his erection, began stroking its length. He closed his eyes, tried to think of nothing, but the image of Diana's body rose in his mind unbidden. What was she doing now? Was she taking it slow, running her hands over her breasts and nipples before slipping her fingers between her legs? He could imagine her soft moans as she softly moved against her hand, as her fingers pumped in and out of her wet sex. Did she like to tease herself until she was trembling with the need for orgasm?
Moving his hand more quickly down the length of his slippery cock, the scene in his mind changed to him sliding between her legs, feeling her wetness envelop him. He knew from the video she would be tight around him; he was a large man, almost nine inches in length, and two and a half inches wide -- enough to stretch her, to fill her completely, but not to cause pain as the dildo had done.
He imagined her cries of pleasure as he fucked her, her legs wrapping around him, urging him faster. He thrust his hips nst nst his hand in time with his imagining, began spurting against the shower stall, his release shuddering through him.
Leaning his forehead against the wall, he let the water wash over him, erasing the traces of his arousal. He purged the tiny stirrings of guilt he felt that he had imagined her in that situation so soon after her rape; it was far better that he had control over his body, was physically sated, then continue the rest of the examination with a raging hard on.
He exited the bathroom ten minutes later, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt, hoping that the stiff denim would hide any possible reaction he might have for her despite his self-gratification. He froze when he realized she was no longer on the bed, looking frantically around the room, until a small whimper revealed her location.
She was curled up in a fetal position in the corner of the room, holding her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth.
"Diana?"
She looked up at him; her face was streaked with tears -- tears of frustration and anger, he realized. He moved over to her, kneeled beside her.
"It didn't work?" he asked quietly.
Shaking her head, she took a deep, shuddery breath. "I'd...get close, but then I couldn't...I couldn't..." She sighed, let her forehead rest on her knees. "By Aphrodite, I wouldn't let myself have an orgasm. No matter how desperately I want one. I feel as if he is still controlling me when I touch myself, and I don't allow myself to give in to it."
"That is understandable, Diana, considering how hard you fought against him, and the aphrodisiac, for several hours."
She lifted her head to stare at him, a wry smile touching her lips. "I didn't fight at first, not when the effects of the hallucinogen had me convinced that he was you."
No, she hadn't fought, and Bruce knew that the memory of her admission of her desire -- and maybe even love -- for him would stay in his mind for a long time. "Something inside you knew something wro wrong; you said 'no' to him," he pointed out. "And you fought once you realized the truth," he said.
She sighed. "Yes, I tried. It felt as if my own body was betraying me." She gave a short laugh. "It still feels like it, even though I know it is the drug." She closed her eyes, shook her head; when she looked at him again, her gaze was curious. "You know what happened?"
He didn't look away. "He created a video of the entire thing, and sent it to Gotham PD. Gordon gave me a copy, knowing that I'd want to help the investigation."
"And you've watched it?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes."
He couldn't discern any embarrassment or discomfort, but a spark of hatred entered her expression. "Does he ever reveal his identity?"
"Not yet," Bruce said. "But I'll find out who he was. I promise that, Diana."
She lifted her hand, laid her palm against his cheek. "I know you will. I'll help in every possible way." She dropped her hand, and determination filled her eyes. "But right now, let's get this examination over with." She stood, and he watched her walk back toward the bed, her hair swaying, the tips brushing against the upper slopes of her buttocks.
He followed her, sat in the chair he'd vacated earlier. She eased herself down on the bed in front of him. Sliding on a pair of latex gloves, he explained what he was going to do. "I'm going to check for signs of scarring on the vaginal walls and cervix, Diana. I'll do the same in the rectum. This is just as a precaution; you heal so quickly that we might not be able to reverse major scar damage in time -- Dr. Thompkins will do a more thorough exam when she arrives tonight if everything seems fine now."
Diana nodded, biting her lip, and Bruce reminded himself that she was still under the effects of the aphrodisiac, that this was going to be very difficult for her, that he should try to retain as clinical an attitude as possible.
"Diana, lie back, and slide your bottom to the edge of the bed. Place your feet on the arms of my chair, like they were stirrups in a doctor's office."
He focused on the flex of her abdominal muscles as she complied, unwilling to look between her legs before he prepared himself. His eyes drifted upward, stealing a glance at her face, taking a deep breath. Her eyes were closed, a look of intense concentration firming her lips, tightening her skin.
Forcing his voice to retain some semblance of normality, he said, "You're going to feel me touch you now, Diana. Let me know if you feel any pain." He waited for her nod, then glanced downward. She was spread open before him, her labia deeply pink, engorged from the effects of the drugs. Her neatly trimmed black curls glistened with her moisture, and he realized that he wouldn't need any lubricant for this part of the exam. At the top of her sex, her clitoris was unsheathed from the little hood, nearly begging him to touch, to taste.
He reached forward, spread her vaginal lips with one hand, and every muscle in her body clenched. His eyes darted to her face. She was watching him. "I'm okay," she breathed. "Just..."
"I know, Diana. We'll try to go quickly." With his other hand, he slipped two fingers just inside her, feeling the smooth muscle under his fingertips. He slowly twisted his wrist, checking each side of her vagina, then moved his fingers deeper, checking the next section. "No scar tissue yet, Diana," he said, partially to reassure her, partially to remind himself that he was performing an exam.
He wanted to bury his fingers inside her, taste the impudent clit, her moisture.
Her legs trembled, and she moved her hips once, the action driving his fingers a little deeper inside. "Sorry," she whispered.
He knew that she was, but he could also see how badly she wanted more, the way she watched his fingers move inside her, the hungry, aroused expression on her face that was mixed with frustration.
She hadn't been able to give herself an orgasm.
He watched her as he deliberately slid his fingers further inside. He continued checking for injuries and tears, but he changed the motion of his hand, letting it slide back and forth instead of around, pumping gently against her.
Her breathing increased rapidly, and her eyes flew to his. "Bruce?"
"Let me do this for you, Diana." His voice was rougher than he'd intended, but he continued, "It will be me, not him -- I want to make this easier for you."
He brushed his thumb against her clit, and she cried out, arching her back, her breasts lifting into the air.
"Will you let me?" he asked, knowing that it had to be her choice.
Her eyes darkened, and she licked her lips, but said, "Before, I couldn't--"
"But you will now," he said, voice confident. He rubbed lightly over her clit again and her hips bucked, the thrusting motion pushing his fingers deeper. "I'm very good at this, Diana."
She gave a breathy laugh. "I bet you are." He could see her wavering, and when she asked her next question he knew she was going to let him help her. "It would be...manual stimulation?"
He rocked his fingers back and forth, listened to her gasp, watching her with hooded eyes. "And oral, if I determine that it will help."
"Oh, gods," she whispered. "I don't know if I could withstand oral pleasure at this point. I'm about to explode just from you touching me like this."
"You could stand it, Diana," he said. "You are strong, and you can beat this, beat him. Let me do this for you."
She moaned softly as he pressed more deeply, gasped, "I don't want to impose on you, to make you do this."
"Diana, you went through hell for me -- the least I can do is ease some of that pain now for you." Realizing that gratitude on his part would most likely cause her to refuse, he added truthfully, letting some of his desire show on his face, "Besides, I want this. I want to do this for you."
She stilled for a moment, looking at his expression, then finally breathed her answer. "Yes."
He removed his fingers from inside her, stripped off the latex gloves, unwilling to have that barrier between his hands and her flesh. His examination hadn't revealed any scarring, and he knew that he should move on, finish his examination of her rectum and leave her alone, but he wanted to give her release more than he wanted his next breath.
He slid forward off the chair, kneeling before her, lifting her legs from the armrests and slipping them onto his shoulders. She shivered, her hands clenching at the bedspread in anticipation of his touch. Using his two thumbs to spread her, he inhaled her scent deeply -- warm, sweet, clean.
He wanted to prolong the moment, to take it slow and easy, to drive her wild, but he knew that she was almost at that breaking point already, that any further teasing on his part would simply be cruel.
He slid one hand around, pressed it onto her belly to keep her down on the bed, and began to slide his thumb over the small bundle of nerves with hard, fast strokes. She was slick and plump under his fingers, her breath coming in short pants. She lifted her hands to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.
Slipping two fingers on his other hand back inside her, he began rubbing them deep within, and she cried out. He could feel her muscles begin to tighten around him, and he changed his rhythm, using the broad, flat part of his thumb to sweep across her clit, swirling around it, then using the tip of his nail to flick strongly at the tiny organ. He added a third finger, pushing them deep, loving the slick sound of the motion. He could feel her prepare for orgasm, knew that the use of his hands had been enough.
But he couldn't resist one long, slow lick from her entrance up to her clit. His sound of pleasure at the exquisite taste of her was overwhelmed by her deep moan, and her hips rose to keep his mouth in contact with her clitoris.
She came on a small wail of passion, and he didn't let up on his movements as he felt her vaginal muscles contracting around his fingers, the tiny pulses of her clit under his tongue. Her head thrashed on the bed, her hair tumbling wildly, her hands clenching and unclenching. She shuddered as he continued to lick at her, as she came again suddenly, her moisture flooding his fingers and tongue. He lapped at her, slowly cleaned her as she quieted and stilled.
She put her hands on his head, threaded her fingers gently into his hair. "Bruce..." she sighed his name as he swept his tongue over her again, then lifted his head.
She stared at him through heavily lidded eyes, at his lips still moist from her juices. The urge of lust had subsided due to her two orgasms, but she wasn't sure how much longer it would be before the aphrodisiac began to work again. Right now, though, she felt languid and satisfied. "Thank you," she said, unsure of what else to say.
His eyes were intensely blue as he looked at her, and then he blinked, and she watched at the familiar blank expression of the Bat settled over his features. She smiled internally, unsurprised. He was probably just as overwhelmed by what had just occured between them as she was, and she knew his reaction would be to withdraw.
"We should finish the exam now," he said evenly, drawing back, placing her feet back onto the armrests. She noted the bulge of his erection under his jeans as he sat down, as he slipped on another pair of gloves, and she licked her lips.
She'd had fantasies of him before, and now she knew that he wasn't unaffected by her. It was something to think about.
Her relaxed feelings fled, however, when he gently touched her anus, began to probe the small hole with his forefinger. A flash of memory from the rape swept through her, and she tensed, a part of her expecting pain and agony upon his entrance.
She clenched her teeth, fought the fear, concentrated on what was actually happening rather than the memories. He had generously lubricated his finger, she could feel the cool gel as he slipped it deeper inside. She was tight around him, and when he began moving slightly checking for scarring, she felt the now-familiar throb of arousal settle in her clit.
"Hurry, Bruce," she whispered.
He frowned. "Is it painful?"
She shook her head. "I can feel the effects of the aphrodisiac again."
She watched as his eyes dropped to the juncture between her legs, to the clit that she knew was beginning to swell again, her plump labia that were once more weeping their sweet fluid.
He quickly finished his exam and pulled his finger from her, and she immediately missed the feeling of penetration -- even as slight as it had been.
"I think you are healing perfectly, Diana." His voice was gravelly, skittering across her acutely aroused senses. Flicking a glance at her sex, he paused, then added, "Do you want me to help you again?"
Her body, her mind screamed yes, but she found herself scooting back, pressing her legs together, shaking her head. "I think I can probably do it myself now." This time, she would have the recent sensation of his head buried between her legs to recall, instead of images from the rape. And she suddenly realized that she desperately wanted any possible next time with him to be the result of their mutual desire, not because she was drugged with an aphrodisiac. "I can't expect you to keep pleasuring me all day, anyway."
His lips quirked into a wry smile for an instant, but then the expression was gone. "Alfred has lunch ready. We should eat and go over det details of how he contacted you, what he said to bring you to that warehouse."
She nodded absently, then looked down at herself, realized she was still naked. She leaned over, scooped up the hospital gown she had dropped earlier, stood. "Do you mind if I go to the restroom, freshen up first?" And bury her fingers deep within herself, imagining that it was him doing it, she thought.
Inclining his head, he said, "Of course." She could tell that he knew what she meant to do in there, wanted to invite him with her, imagined him taking her in the shower, bending her over, driving his cock deep within her.
She could barely keep from moaning at the idea, felt the moisture that began to slide down the insides of her thighs, her nipples aching. She practically ran to the bathroom, and her fingers were on her clit almost before she closed the door.
***********************
Bruce laid the food out on the small table in the room, keeping his mind from what he knew Diana was doing in the bathroom. He licked his lips, tasted her on them.
The scars on his body often prevented him from having sex with women, from removing his clothes in front of them; but he also had a reputation as a sex-crazed playboy to upkeep. He often compromised by pleasing the women he was with orally, leaving them satiated and assured of his expertise but begging for more -- then he'd dump them before actually fucking them, leaving his reputation and his secret identity intact.
He'd made love to a lot of women with his mouth and hands, but none had been like Diana. Her perfect body, her taste, her scent, the tightness of her sheath--he ached to bury himself in her, lose himself in her.
And she already knew of his scars, his other identity.
He forcefully pushed those thoughts away. He wasn't the type of man who could afford a relationship, even a purely sexual one, and Diana was probably the last person who wanted one now. She had been tortured, raped, drugged -- and he was fantisizing about fucking her. Had convinced her, while under the influence of an aphrodisiac, to accept his touch. In some ways, he thought, he was no better than her rapist.
But he couldn't regret pleasing her with his mouth; she'd found release, and it had given her ease for a time. And, he couldn't ignore his sense of relief that he didn't seem to rouse memories of the rape within her. She had been able to separate the imposter from the real man, had let him touch her.
He glanced at the bathroom door, wondered if she was able to get herself off this time, if she was imagining him as she touched herself.
A discreet knock on the bedroom door distracted him from those dangerous musings. Alfred opened the door at Bruce's soft word of entry, said, "Master Bruce, Mr. Kent from the Daily Planet is on the phone. A copy of a certain video just crossed his desk, and he is very anxious to speak with you."
Bruce closed his eyes. So the bastard had sent out the video early, which meant that as the owner of the Daily Planet and several other media outlets, Bruce Wayne would shortly have to make an appearance and demand that the video didn't run on the news; although, of course, he knew that he couldn't completely squash the story, he could demand that those companies refrain from showing the video, and request that other corporations follow his lead. "I'll take it in here, Alfred."
He crossed the room, picked up the receiver, pressed a few buttons that would scramble the signal for anyone except Clark and him. "Bruce Wayne."
"Bruce, have you seen or heard from Diana?" Clark's voice was frantic. "I just got--"
"She's here." Bruce kept his tone even; he knew that Diana could hear him if she listened, and he didn't want to burden her just yet with the worry of her best friend. "We are about to have lunch together."
A heavy sigh came down the line. "Then this video must have been a hoax--"
"No." He practically heard Clark's teeth clench over the line. "But she's healing quy. Iy. I'll meet you in my...office...in an hour, and you can see and talk to her then. I might need your help out at the crime scene, in any case." It would be much easier and faster for Superman to remove the chair and whatever had given it its power to hold Diana down than for Batman to try to get a construction crew to dig it out.
Batman had no intention of waiting for the police to do it.
He hung the phone up, turned as Diana came out of the bathroom. She'd wrapped one of his robes around herself; the expensive blue silk clung to her skin where she hadn't properly dried off. Her hair was still wet, tiny droplets clinging to the raven curls, then falling onto the silk or sliding down her throat to the valley between her breasts.
Bruce averted his eyes, focused on the small feast laid out on the table. "Let's eat.
She sat across from him, piled her plate high. He noted that she still moved carefully, but didn't let the strain of fighting the drug show on her face.
Diana caught him watching her, smiled slightly. "I find that if I limit external stimulation, the arousal doesn't climb to such an intense pitch. I'm certain that I can keep it under control until it wears off now." She bit into a strawberry, licked some juice from her bottom lip. "So you are safe from me now."
He kept his expression blank, unsure how to respond to that. He wanted to respond as lightly as she had, but couldn't bring himself to joke. Instead, he retreated to the safety of the Bat, forced himself to begin seeing her as a victim of a crime that needed to be solved.
"How did he control you?"
That spark of hatred entered her eyes again, but it didn't burn as hotly as he would have expected. She was an Amazon, violated, raped. Where was her anger? Was she still experiencing shock, maybe even denial as to what had happened to her?
"By my communicator," she said, and reached for a croissant, buttering it liberally. She spoke as casually as she ate. "A text message which gave me the location of the warehouse, and "your expertise needed". It was terse enough that I could easily believe it came from you."
Bruce frowned. Anyone who had the capability of faking a message to the JLA communicator was likely highly skilled in computers and communications systems. It would probably be difficult to trace him electronically then, if he knew how to cover his tracks.
Even if he did, though, Oracle was better. But it meant it would take more time.
Diana must have been thinking along the same lines, as she said, "Tapping into the JLA communication system -- probably the most secure system on Earth -- is a remarkable feat. Also, the development of that chair would have taken a lot of time, and money. He couldn't have been just a nut in a Bat suit."
Nodding slowly, Bruce said, "The whole setup indicates that more than one person was involved. He may have been acting out of revenge against me, but most likely he had help. There was the communicator, the chair, the video setup and the distribution, the warehouse--" Bruce paused, leaned back, pondering. Attacking Wonder Woman couldn't be done the same as most sexual assaults -- she couldn't just be pulled into an alley. There had to be planning, strategy. The gas-filled bullets indicated tactical knowledge, and the drugs weren't easily obtained, but the rapist had known he'd have to use them. He would have had to have access to records about Diana's physiology, as well.
Those were things he'd have to investigate via the computer, though, so he moved onto his next question.
"How did you get out of the warehouse?"
A crease appeared between Diana's brows, her lips drew down. "He took my lasso," she said flatly. "When I woke up I was able to get off the chair. I think it had been turned off by then, too--I couldn't hear the hum anymore." Her eyes were dark, and Bruce knew she was probably remembering the pain she had been in when trying to move, to get out. "I was just at the door when the bomb went off." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then looked at him. "I don't remember anything after that."
"Oracle contacted me; I found you on the ground outside the warehouse." He wouldn't tell her about the injuries she'd given the officers until later. "I brought you here."
She reached across the table, touched his hand. "Thank you, Bruce." A smile curved her lips slightly. "For many things this day."
He pulled his hand back and stood. "I'm going to the cave. Superman will be here shortly."
"I heard you on the phone," she said. "I'll join you in a few minutes."
Against his will, his expression softened. "Are you sure you are up to this, Diana? I can keep everyone away for as long as you want me to."
She raised an eyebrow. "Normally, I'd believe you; but I have a feeling Kal wouldn't let you stop him today." She sighed. "It will ease his mind to see me unharmed."
Bruce nodded. He studied her face briefly, then turned and left, wondering how unharmed she really was, and how much pain she was hiding.
Once in the cave, he dressed quickly in his suit. He was more comfortable in the kevlar and leather, the mask shielding his features. He strode to the computer, called up the results of the searches he had left running before going upstairs, and frowned.
Owner of the warehouse: Wayne Imports. Manufacturer of the video equipment: Wayne Technology. The gas traces and drug residue were tagged by Wayne Laboratories. He ran down the list: Wayne Corporation and its subsidiaries were listed far too many times to be coincidental.
The rapist had deliberately chosen Wayne products and assets, yet all indications were that he didn't know Bruce Wayne was Batman. What was the connection between Wayne Corp and the rapist, then?
He heard the hum of the transporter, but didn't turn. Superman was early, but then, Batman hadn't expected anything different.
Clark studied the screen alongside him. "No wonder you are a billionaire. You've got a monopoly on every product in the world, apparently." The tone was light, but Batman could practically feel the effort it took Clark not to immediately ask for Diana.
Batman selected a piece of equipment on the list. "LexCorp makes a nearly identical camera, but sells it for a drastically cheaper rate." At Clark's look, he explained, "LexCorp uses exploitative labor in third world countries. Wayne Corp actually pays their overseas labor a decent wage, so our prices are higher." Batman frowned. "In most cases, it would behoove the purchaser to buy the LexCorp brand."
"Perhaps he knew of Lex's business practices?"
Batman shook his head. "He keeps that out of the media. At any rate, I doubt a rapist would concern himself with working conditions in Laos. It is the same with a few other items on this list; there is a deliberate pattern of buying Wayne products," he added.
"Which means he feels some kind of loyalty to Wayne Corp, or hates it," Superman pointed out.
Batman grunted in agreement. A light flashed on the console, and Batman turned toward the stairs leading to the manor. "Diana's coming down," he said.
Superman's fists clenched, and Batman realized he was forcing himself not to fly to Diana, to embrace her as he probably wanted to. Afraid, as Bruce had been, that Diana wouldn't want to be touched, even by a friend.
"Go to her, Clark," Bruce muttered under his breath, and turned back to the computer, but observed the scene out of the corner of his eye.
Superman waited at the bottom of the stairs. Diana stopped on the last stair, pausing for a moment before sliding her arms around Clark's waist, resting her head on his shoulder. Clark returned the hug, burying his face in her hair, and Bruce imagined that if it had been anyone but Diana, ribs would have been crushed under the strength of that embrace.
He noted that she had raided his closet, choosing a pair of slacks and dress shirt. The slacks hung low on her hips, like a teenager's pants, and she'd had to roll up the cuffs. Her bare feet peeked out from under the folded hem. She'd tied off the tails of the too-large shirt at her waist, leaving a smooth expanse of skin bare between the linen and the waistband of the slacks. Skin that he had run his hands over not long before.
He pushed that memory away, watching as Diana slowly lifted her head, raised her hand to wipe tears from Clark's cheeks. Batman shook his head slightly in wonder -- after everything that had been done to her, she was the one comforting Clark.
"Are you all right?" Superman's voice reached him, unusually tremulous.
"I'm fine," Diana said, and her smile flashed. "I'm still drugged by the aphrodisiac, but otherwise fine."
Superman pulled his hands away from her, quickly, and Diana's laugh pealed through the cave, only to be abruptly cut short as she looked toward Batman.
He saw the fear enter her eyes, watched as her skin paled and her hands began shaking.
He watched as horror spread across her features, watched as she tried to fight it, tears welling up in her eyes as she obviously tried not to vomit, her chest heaving.
The suit. He was wearing the suit. Fuck.
His hands flew up, pushed the cowl back, revealing his face. "It's me, Diana. Bruce."
Clark caught her when she would fal fallen to her knees, held her close as she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
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The Real You