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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.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Part III Agreements: Section II
Once again, thanks for the reviews. a s a super-humongous thanks to Mick, without whom this chapter wouldn't have taken place ;)
Edit 12/1 - Thanks to Birman for the 'baby' comment -- you were right about the 'getting into the rapist's head', but you are also right that it doesn't really work (especially since the point was that Batman's trying to rewrite that episode for her). Ah, this is how constructive criticism should always work.
Part III Agreements: Section II
Monitor duty. Batman could probably have performed it from his cave, and often had; his computers were linked to the Watchtower monitors, and working from the cave allowed him to continue his own investigations at the same time.
Tonight, however, he needed distance from his investigations, to take a step back in order to get a fresh perspective.
He had updated Diana on his progress after their dance, during the limo ride back to the Manor and the transporter in the cave. He'd detailed what he'd found, outlined his logical examination of the evidence.
And had to admit that he'd come up with nothing conclusive so far.
The investigation has stalled, Diana.
He'd traced the physical, financial and visual clues as far as he could, but they'd petered out. He knew that a cover-up had taken place, but he hadn't been able to find that crucial piece of evidence, or make that necessary connection to take it to the next step, discovering who had initiated the cover-up, and how it had been done.
She hadn't blamed him, however; she hadn't even been surprised or disappointed by the news.
And that disturbed him more than anything. Although she wanted her rapist found and punished, it almost seemed as if she didn't expect justice. As if the rapist had taken her hope for justice, if not her desire for it.
Which made his failure all the more painful. If Diana had lost hope, then what were the chances for the rest of them?
His brooding was all too soon interrupted by J'onn, who was his replacement on monitor duty. Batman immediately noticed the melancholy air surrounding the Martian; J'onn wasn't typically as exuberant as, say, the Flash – but usually he'd greet Batman with a smile, or a friendly nod.
Batman didn't ask, though; if J'onn wanted him to know what was bothering him, he'd tell Batman. Instead, Batman ran down a list of situations worldwide that he'd been keeping an eye on.
"—finally, there was a series of building fires in Genoa, but the local authorities have it under control. No major metahuman or criminal activity has been reported or detected."
"Good," J'onn said tiredly, and sat heavily into the chair Batman had just vacated. He rubbed his hand over his green brow, and continued, "Diana's nightmares are increasing in frequency and intensity."
Batman paused, turned back toward the other hero. He didn't need to ask if J'onn was receiving some of the images from them. "What do the nightmares include? Is she reliving the rape?"
"Yes," J'onn said. "But it is intertwined with her fear of revealing your identity, and her confusion about the identity of the rapist." He met Batman's eyes. "I can show you."
Normally he wouldn't have accepted, would have respected Diana's privacy. But, he told himself, Diana's subconscious might offer a clue to the villain's identity to Batman that she couldn't see herself, and Batman was desperate for a break in the case. "Yes. Do it," he said.
He didn't let himself consider that his acceptance might be a way to punish himself.
Fragmented dream images flooded his mind, leaving him gasping for breath, groping for a place to sit.
--pain ripped through her, centered between her legs as Batman pounded away at her. She screamed denials, trying to lift her arms, to push him from her. "Batman, no!"
Cruel eyes staring down at her, mouth in a twisted version of a smile. "You love it. Ask for more."
She pulled him close, lifting her hips as his cock filled her. "Bruce," she whispered into his mouth.
"Batman." The real Batman suddenly said coldly, stepping away from her.
The mask. Fear, hot and solid. Batman. Not Batman.
She was on him, punching and clawing. Bones crunched, and he screamed. She kept tearing at him, his uniform, his flesh, the mask.
Bruce stared back up at her, face bloodied, eyes vacant.
"Oh, Hera, no." She backed away, unprepared for the hands that grabbed her, threw her to the ground, pinned her. Gloved fingers tore at her uniform, but she couldn't fight back. Wasn't sure if she wanted to fight back. He spread her legs, rammed into her, ripping into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, welcomed the pain.
"What's my name?" he demanded.
Not Batman--
"Enough," Batman gasped. The stream of images immediately stopped, J'onn watching him concernedly. "This is every night?" How could she stand it?
"Sometimes more than once," J'onn said. "If I'm awake, I can usually block the dreams, and telepathically influence her sleep so that she will wake from them."
"And when she wakes, she goes into the training room," Batman guessed.
"Yes," J'onn confirmed. "She's there now. She woke up about fifteen minutes ago."
While he had been sitting here brooding, Batman realized, Diana had been reliving the torture, exacerbated by her guilt and confusion. Knowing that he'd been only hundreds of feet from her while she re-experienced the rape tore at him, made him feel doubly helpless, although he knew there was nothing he could do for her in that regard.
Or was there?
Bruce Wayne's offer to help me create more immediate, pleasurable sexual memories.
But it wasn't Bruce Wayne who was at the center of her fear. It was Batman. And her inability to fight back, to choose, and to welcome the pleasure she felt.
He could give her all three, and he knew exactly how; he realized now that he'd been forming this plan since she'd made her surprising request, even as he'd denied it.
Rising from his chair, he told J'onn, "I'm going to see her in the holo-room. I'll lock the room so that we can't be contacted or disturbed until we exit, and all security access will be blocked, no matter the level of authority. If there is an emergency, contact me telepathically."
J'onn nodded, watched as Batman walked toward the exit. If the Martian knew what Batman had in mind, he gave no indication.
"And, J'onn," Batman said just before he left, "the emergency better be at least a Class Eight before contacting us."
J'onn raised a brow. Class Eight was threat of worldwide destruction. "What about Gotham?" he called after the Dark Knight.
"Contact Nightwing," came the short reply.
**********
Lex Luthor stood at the window of the Oval Office, looking out onto the expanse of lawn. His posture was relaxed, but anyone who knew him very well could see that he was upset.
Mercy knew him very well, and knew that her news had been the cause of his anger.
"So Mason gave you neither the device nor the lasso?" Lex asked again, as if disbelieving the man could be so stupid.
"He said that he hadn't gotten the results he'd wanted," Mercy replied. "That until Batman's identity was no longer a mystery, he would keep his device and the lasso, and try again."
Lex firmed his lips. "And tell me again why you didn't take them from him?"
Mercy kept her voice even; although she knew that his anger had suddenly shifted to her, and that she would pay for it, she didn't fear it. "He did not have them on his person," she said. "I've put a tracer on him, and he'll lead us to the items eventually. Hope is currently tracking him. I thought that I would relay his refusal to you and await further instructions before acting, since action would be delayed regardless."
"'You thought?'" Lex turned from the window, faced the Amazon. Although she wasn't of the same tribe as Wonder Woman, they shared the same build, height, and Amazonian fighting skills – although Diana had the advantage of meta-powers.
Mercy remained silent.
Lex smiled suddenly, and her blood ran cold, then hot. "Follow me, Mercy," he said.
She kept pace with him as they wound through the corridors of the White House, flanked by his Secret Service men. They paused outside of Lex's private chambers, where he instructed his guards to wait outside. Mercy went in with him. She closed the door, turned.
Lex's fist plowed into her stomach, doubling her over, breath whooshing from her lungs. "You don't think, you do!" he ground out between clenched teeth, low enough that the men outside couldn't have heard him.
Mercy remained silent as he slapped her, then dragged her to the bed by her long, blonde hair. "You are not here for your mind, Mercy, but your body," he reminded her almost gently. "You use your body to protect me. You use your body to fulfill my needs."
"Yes, Lex," she said. Excitement filled her, but she didn't let it show. She automatically laid back, spreading her legs and hiking her short skirt around her hips.
Lex looked down at her, his face filled with disgust even as he unbuckled his belt, lowering his trousers. Taking his cock in hand, he covered her and thrust into her, grunting his satisfaction as her heard her painful gasp at his rough entry. She wasn't yet wet, but began to lubricate immediately.
He ripped open her shirt, buttons flying. Bending down, he bit her breast, sucking fiercely at the erect nipple. He heard Mercy's quickly stifled moan.
He pulled out and flipped her over, forcing himself into her ass, making it as painful as possible. She didn't cry out, but backed up against him, taking more and more. He reached up, pulling her head back by her hair. She had her teeth clenched and eyes closed, but the nipples under his other hand were rock hard, her cunt slippery with her arousal.
Satisfied, Lex pounded against her, letting his own mind crowd with images of Mason raping Wonder Woman. Her screams as he forced the dildo deep into her, his cock into her ass. Her tears. The blood as he raped her again and again. Mercy's tight hole caressed the length of his own cock as he imagined forcing himself onto Wonder Woman, hearing her scream denials.
He came hard, collapsing atop his bodyguard, not caring that her own body was racked with her orgasm, or that his weight pressed the breath from her.
Pulling himself from her, he stepped away, cleaning himself with the edge of the sheet. He didn't look at Mercy as she straightened her clothing, trying to wipe the sperm from the inside of her thighs as it dripped from her.
He tucked his shirt into his pants. "Find Mason," he said coldly. "Get the device and that lasso, then dispose of him. He's been too much effort and trouble already."
Reaching for the door handle, he paused, and turned back toward the Amazon. "And wear the uniform when you do it. In public," he added.
The idea of the consequences of that gave him his first real smile of the day.
******
Diana heard the hiss of the hydraulics as the door to the holo-room slid open, then shut. She didn't need to turn to know who was there: only one person could override the locks she'd put on the room, and, in any case, she recognized the soft tread of his step.
"Batman," she said, reaching up quickly, wiping away the tears that had been spilling down her cheeks as she'd recovered from the nightmare, and steeling herself for yet another bloody battle with her rapist's double.
The battles weren't helping, she knew, but the fighting was the best way she knew to relieve the stress and tension that built up within her after the dreams.
She turned, and knew that although her tears were gone, he wouldn't miss the tell-tale signs of her red-rimmed eyes.
His mouth tightened for a moment, then relaxed, his face settling into its familiar indifferent expression. She realized that it was one of the first times she'd seen him in his uniform since the day after the rape; he'd been avoiding the meetings for several weeks.
For her, she knew. Because of his investigation, and because of her fear of the bat costume. The only time she'd seen him as Batman had been in this holo-room, working with his simulation and trying to get over that fear.
Looking at him now, however, she realized that she could easily separate the real from the fake, and that his presence here did not alarm her, but seemed, in its own way, rather comforting in its normality: the familiar expression, the careful way he observed her, the blankness of the lenses over his eyes that the computer couldn't simulate correctly.
The rapist, she remembered, had brown eyes. No lenses.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her.
"I'd like to resume our sparring routine, Diana."
She frowned, considering that. Comfort with him was one thing, sparring something completely different. How could she be sure enough of herself yet to guarantee that she wouldn't hurt him out of sudden fear?
Not surprisingly, he anticipated her reaction. "You won't lose control," he said, his voice arrogantly certain.
"Not unless you want to," he added.
She blinked, not sure if she heard that correctly – and if she had heard it, if she had interpreted the meaning behind it correctly. She felt her muscles tense, but not in anticipation of battle.
"Should we resume our regular schedule?" she wondered.
He strode forward, coming to a stop only inches in front of her. She was tall, but his proximity forced her to lift her head to meet his eyes, hyperaware of the heat emanating from his body. She knew he often used his height and bulk to crowd and intimidate a person, but that knowledge didn't keep her from feeling the force of his presence, even if she wasn't cowed by it.
She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, ready for…something.
"I think that we've lost enough time lately," he said. "Why not begin immediately?"
She searched his face for some sign of additional meanings, but couldn't find any. "All right," she said slowly, uncertainly. She turned, intending to move to the center of the room where they usually began their sparring routine.
His foot swept out, hooking around her ankles and pulling her feet from under her. She landed on the mat, hard, barely able to break her fall with her arms, her face inches from the floor.
His body was covering hers a split second later, his chest pressing against her back and his pelvis against her buttocks, and she had to bite back a scream of terror as fear rose, unbidden, to the forefront.
She froze, trying desperately to control her roiling emotions, to keep herself from turning on him, hurting him.
"See, Diana?" He said the words gently into her hair. "You won't hurt me, no matter how much fear you feel."
They remained like that until she relaxed, and the fear receded. Finally, he lifted himself from her, put out his hand to help her to her feet.
She stood without his help. "Bastard," she said, but there was no heat in her voice.
"You should have been ready for that," he returned. The gentle tone was gone, his voice all business.
She knew he was right and didn't argue. She might not always agree with his methods, but she couldn't help but appreciate the results. "Should we begin, then?"
They met at the center of the mat, facing each other. She tensed, readying herself for his opening gambit, when he spoke.
"I propose some new rules," he said. He stood across from her, arms crossed over his chest, staring at her impassively.
She raised a brow, surprised. "What did you have in mind?" Their usual rules were simple: they got a point for each solid blow, but a winning move outweighed all else. Diana could use any of her powers, and Batman any of his gadgets – although most of the time, neither used either, preferring the challenge of physical, martial combat.
"For each point, the loser gets to choose an item of clothing for the winner of the point to remove." Her mouth fell open, and he continued, "And the winner gets one minute to do, or have done to him, whatever he or she chooses to an exposed area of the body."
Heat rushed to her face, her extremities as his words sank in. There was only one outcome to such a fight. Was she ready for that?
She imagined him over her, sliding into her. Heaviness settled into her loins, her breasts at the image. "All right," she whispered.
"One more rule," he said. "Each opponent gets to choose the last item of clothing to remain. I choose my cape and cowl."
His mask. "That's two," she said.
"It is one piece," he returned evenly, watching her closely.
She swallowed. "I think I'm at a disadvantage," she said, looking down at her uniform and her expanse of exposed skin, trying to retain some sense of reality.
"Feel free to use your powers to even out the clothes handicap," he said dryly. "Since some would think my lack of powers is my disadvantage."
Some would, Diana thought, but she wouldn't make that mistake. "My bracelets," she said suddenly. They were her best defense against some of his gadgets. "And I have another rule to add. The clothes have to come off in the layers in which they are arranged. No underwear before the uniform, for example."
His expression broke out of its indifference for the first time since entering the room. The corner of his mouth lifted. "Diana, you don't wear underwear under your uniform."
"But we'll soon see if you do," she said.
"Don't count on it," he warned, and dropped to the floor, his leg sweeping around.
This time she was prepared, and leapt into the air, twisting to avoid the batarang that whistled past her head. She landed next to him, her fist driving toward him, missing him by inches as he flipped out of her way. His foot caught her under the chin, and her head snapped back. Too late, she realized that her habit of taking blows, relying on her stamina and resistance to pain to assist her, would be a detriment in this kind of fight.
He landed in a crouch. "My point," he said. His voice was slightly rougher, deeper than normal.
"Your boots," she said immediately. He would lose a small measure of stability without them, giving her a slight advantage by his unfamiliarity with fighting barefoot.
"Which one? Right or left?"
"Right," she said. He favored his right side slightly and the imbalance would be a bigger advantage for her – even if it meant it would take longer for him to be undressed.
He reached down, pulled it off quickly, exposing his lightly tanned foot. "My turn now. Turn around."
His words shivered through her, and she did as he commanded, turning her back to him. She held her breath in anticipation as she felt him approach her, resisted the impulse to tear her gaze from the far wall and look over her shoulder at him.
The weight of her hair was lifted suddenly, cool air caressing her back. She realized her hands were trembling and she pressed them together in front of her stomach.
"I get one minute." She felt the words against her skin, followed by the press of warm flesh against the nape of her neck.
His lips.
She bit her own lip to keep from crying out in surprise, in pleasure at the sensation as he kissed his way down the sensitive nape and down the length of her spine, stopping only at the edge of her uniform in the middle of her back.
Then he licked his way back up.
"Ready," he said when he reached the top.
It took her a moment to realize what that meant, and her disorientation cost her. She prepared to turn, but his bare foot slammed into the back of her knee, driving her to the floor.
"My point."
She growled, whipping around to face him. "So we begin again in the position that the winner takes his point? We don't return to the position of the point itself?"
"Yes."
Her eyes narrowed. "You didn't mention that in the rules
"You didn't ask," he said, then repeated, "My point."
"Your utility belt."
His hands immediately moved to the belt, throwing it to the floor. She kicked it toward one of the walls, not trusting him not to use it even if it wasn't on his body.
"I'm surprised, Princess, that you didn't make that your first choice."
"I was being considerate," she said, "but that was before you began making up rules."
"You should have known better."
She clenched her teeth. "Decide your winnings."
He stepped toward her, dropped down on one knee. He reached for her ankle, and, after initial resistance, set her right boot onto his raised knee. "You should probably think of your next attack from this position," he said, and ran his tongue up the inside of her thigh.
She tried to ignore the sensation of his tongue as it traced the seam of her uniform. She focused on a point above her head. She could give him a blow to the back of his head. She could use her right knee to catch him under the chin. A kick from the left would be unexpected—
He gently bit the tendon connecting the smooth muscles of her inner thigh to her groin. She looked down involuntarily, breath catching at the sight of the man between her legs, his tongue flicking out to smooth the small bite.
Arousal hit her, hard and fast, settling between her thighs. Her right leg trembled in his hand, under his mouth; he looked up. "Are you all right, Diana?"
"Yes," she said. Then, "Your minute's up," with a quick jab to his chin – enough to stun, not to hurt.
It knocked him back, but he caught himself before falling. He rubbed his jaw and smiled. "Your breastplate."
She unfastened the golden insignia with deliberate slowness, revealing the expanse of the red material of her bustier underneath. She felt his gaze linger on her breasts; removing the breastplate had revealed the material clinging to her erect nipples.
"Lie on your back," she commanded. He complied with only the slightest tightening of his jaw, and she perused his form.
She had to stick to exposed skin, which meant his foot or his jaw. She glanced at his foot; she'd read that some men and women found toe suckling erotic, but she wasn't sure if she knew how, or if he would enjoy it.
He started to protest when she straddled him, sitting on his abdomen and leaning forward. "My stomach isn't exp—"
She cut off his words by covering his mouth with her own, taking advantage of his open lips by sliding her tongue against his. His mouth was hot, tasting faintly of coffee and mint. When he began to respond, to try to take charge of the kiss she withdrew, drawing his lower lip between her teeth, sucking on its fullness for a moment before moving to his jawline. The unshaven stubble was rough against her tongue as she tasted the sharp angles of his chin, delighted by the slightly salty, tangy taste of his skin.
She sat up suddenly. "Ready," she said, and flew upward, out of his range. He flipped quickly up to his feet, watching her circle the room. She landed a few feet away from him.
A batarang whizzed toward her, and she blocked instinctively blocked it with her bracelet. A small explosion knocked her backward.
"My point," he said through the smoke.
She hid a grin. So he was going to play dirty? She could do that, too.
Shaking her arm to rid it of the slight sting from the explosion, she called out, "Your uniform top."
"Before my gloves?" He smirked. "That would violate your 'layers' rule, Princess."
The smoke began to clear, aided by the automatic environment stabilizers in the holoroom. She saw his expression and swore, then said, "Fine. Your right glove."
He held her eyes as he pulled it off, finger by finger before throwing it to the ground between them. She recognized the gesture: throwing down a gauntlet in a gesture of challenge.
The next moment he had her pressed up against a wall, devouring her mouth with his own. His bare hand buried itself in her hair while the other pulled her hips against his, letting her feel the evidence of his arousal.
His lips teased hers while his tongue tasted, conquered her mouth. She gripped his shoulders, letting herself fall into the kiss.
When he pulled away, her breathing was ragged, and she was aware they had gone far beyond the one minute time limit.
She noted with some satisfaction his own breathing was slightly irregular.
"Ready," he said, and evaded her right hook. Dropping sharply to the side, he kicked out even as she reached for him, burying her fingers into the Kevlar covering his chest. The force of his kick pushed him backward, and he felt an incredible pressure across his back until the seams of his uniform top ripped, tearing down the front. He looked down at his now-bare chest, then up at Diana, who was holding the bat insignia on the tunic at eye level.
"Oops," she said, with a look of wide-eyed innocence.
He growled and shrugged out of the remains of his shirt, letting his cape fall over his shoulders to cover his skin. "That was my point," he said. "Choose an item of clothing."
Diana dropped the armored material to the floor unceremoniously. "Your left glove." She waited as he quickly removed the gauntlet, then added, "What position do you want me in?"
He waited just a moment before answering, allowing her to think about all of the possible positions he could choose. "The rules state that I can do anything to you, or have you do something to me." He smirked. "You might as well do whatever you had in mind when you ripped off my top."
Diana licked her lips, trying to create moisture in her suddenly dry mouth. She hadn't really thought about what she would do to his naked chest, had just wanted to turn the tables on him and his rules for a moment. Feeling slightly uncertain – her experience with men and trying to pleasure them was limited primarily to the act of kissing – she stepped toward him, reached up and brushed the cape back over his shoulders.
He smelled of leather and clean, masculine sweat. She could see the tiny droplets that had formed on his neck, across his collarbones, beading on his chest. As she watched, one trickled from his throat, leaving a moist trail down to his shoulder blade. Unthinking, she dipped her head, caught the tiny bead with her tongue.
She didn't hear the sharp breath he took at her action, but could see the way his chest rose suddenly. Tentatively, but with growing confidence, she placed her hands on his firm shoulders. Lightly, with the tips of her fingers, she traced the lines of his defined chest, amazed by the smoothness of his skin.
"Are you naturally hairless?" she wondered, and caught another drop of perspiration sliding over his pectorals with her tongue, precariously close to his nipple.
"No." The word came out half-strangled, and he cleared his throat and repeated, "No. I have it waxed at the salon. It serves the purpose of the Bruce Wayne image, and reduces the chance of leaving DNA evidence through one of my hairs should my costume be damaged."
She nodded, marveling at the lengths to which he went to consider every detail of his secret identity. Circling his flat, brown nipple with her tongue, she then blew softly over the moisture she'd left, watching as the cold air made his nipple pucker slightly. She licked the tiny nub, then bent her knees, tasting her way across his abdomen, dipping her tongue into his navel.
"Ready," she said, and dove between his legs, turning onto her back and grabbing the length of cape. She held onto it, landed a blow with her foot to his exposed side. She grinned. "My point."
"Your girdle," he said immediately.
Standing, she reached to her side, unfastening the gold belt encircling her waist. Normally, it would have held her lasso.
She let the girdle fall to the floor, unwilling to think about who might have her lasso, and how she'd lost it.
The loss of the girdle left her with only her boots, tiara, bracelets and two-piece uniform, and him his left boot, mask and uniform pants. Her breath quickened as she realized that, given the advantage she had, he probably wasn't going to waste time with her boots or tiara the next time she won a point.
And she intended to win.
Realizing that he was waiting for her to take her point spoils, she said, "All right, Batman, this time you show me what you would have done if I hadn't torn your shirt."
Moving quickly, he threaded his hands into her hair, and she thought that he was going to kiss her again, but he angled his head at the last moment, pressing his cheek to hers, the coolness of his mask separating their skin.
"It wasn't what I was going to do," he said softly, directly into her ear. His voice was low and rough, shivering through her. "But what I was going to tell you. About how I'm going to taste every gorgeous inch of your skin. How I intend to lick you until you cry out my name like you did that morning in my bedroom."
Diana closed her eyes, the memory flooding over her. She felt the tightening of her nipples, the slow, heavy pulse between her legs as his words flowed through her.
"And when you come into my mouth, I'm going to push my cock inside you, deep and hard. I'm going to fuck you slowly, until you can't take anymore. And then I'm going to take you farther."
She moaned softly, and he stopped speaking, pulling away from her. Opening her eyes, she saw that his expression had changed, had become more intense, as if his words had affected him as much as they had her.
They stared at each other a moment, until he said, "Ready?"
She knew that it was a question as much as a statement of being ready for the next part of the sparring match. Was she ready for what he'd just proposed? Did she want what he'd described?
"Yes." She punctuated her answer with a roundhouse kick that he blocked; Batman parried with a barrage of batarangs from the lining inside his cape. She deflected them with her bracelets, and used her speed to slip past his defenses, catching him alongside his hip, throwing him to the floor with a twist of her own. "My point," she said, her chest heaving.
He sat up, the washboard muscles of his stomach flexing. She let her gaze drop from his stomach to the ridge of flesh at his groin, outlined by the material of his costume. She swallowed hard, imagining what lay beneath, and almost missed his next words.
"The top," he said.
She blinked, then licked her lips again, suddenly nervous. He'd seen her naked before, of course, and normally she wasn't shy nor inordinately modest, but this seemed…different.
Hands shaking slightly, she reached behind her, fingers searching for the fastenings that ran up the back of the uniform. As if sensing her anxiety, he stood, coming around behind her and laying his hands over hers.
"Let me."
She let her hands drop to the side, then raised them to her hair, lifting its length from her back so that he could see better.
"Thank you," he said, and she could feel the warmth of his fingers as he deftly unhooked the fastenings, the tight material easing away from her skin as the clasps were loosed. She gathered her hair into one hand as her uniform began to fall away from her breasts, using her free hand to hold the material against her chest as he finished.
Finally, he stepped away, turning her to face him. Gathering her courage, she let the bodice fall, looking him in the face as she did, wishing she could see his eyes as he gazed at her. His lips parted slightly as he took in her beauty, and for the first time in her life she truly appreciated the gift that Aphrodite had bestowed upon her.
She knew what he saw: the dark fall of hair, the too-beautiful face, the slim but powerful build of her body. Her breasts were full, but not disproportionately so; her stomach taut, her arms and legs perfectly toned. Everything about her was created to fulfill an ideal of perfection, from the light bronze of her skin to the dusky rose of her nipples, the slender column of her neck to the arch of her foot.
Finally, after what seemed to her an eternity of looking, he lifted his head and rasped, "What's next, Diana?"
She took a deep breath, reached out for his hand, placing it on her breast. "I want you to touch me. To taste me as you said you would."
He stepped forward, sliding his hands around her waist and lifting her against him, her bare chest pressed to his for just a moment. Then he bent, laying her on the mat, following her down until he was lying on his side next to her. Her hair fanned out behind her head, and she moistened her lips as he lowered his head toward her.
His mouth enclosed her nipple like fire, and her back arched, star-clad hips pressing into the flooring. She moaned, unable to contain the pleasure that his tongue began to inflict upon her sensitive flesh. He cupped her other breast in his large hand, brushing his thumb over the tight bud in time with the flicks of his tongue.
She breathed a protest when he lifted his head, until he moved to the other breast, paying it the same attention as the first. He sucked strongly at her, then moved his mouth toward her stomach, where he laved the taut skin with long, slow licks, all the while continuing to stroke her breasts with his hands. He stopped at the waistline of her shorts, lifted his head.
His voice was hoarse. "Ready."
She reacted with speed, flipping him over, straddling him and pinning his arms to the floor. "My point," she said, her breathing ragged and harsh. She could feel the press of his sex against hers, the slickness of her arousal.
He didn't bother to mention the item of clothing, but simply put his hands on her hips, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her uniform.
"Take them off." Diana said the words herself, lifting herself slightly to aid him as he slipped the fabric over her hips and the curve of her bottom. They bunched at the top of her thighs, Batman unable to pull them further along her legs, straddling him as she was. She rolled, taking him with her, glorying in the pressure of his body along hers before he raised himself to his knees, slowly sliding the blue scrap of material down the length of her legs, following its course with his tongue.
He tugged her boots off without argument from her; she knew that the sparring had come to an end, the points no longer mattered. He kissed his way back up, from her foot to her upper leg, and she tensed in anticipation as he neared the juncture of her thighs, moaned with disappointment as he passed over it, began traveling up over her belly. His hands followed the course of his mouth, soothing, inflaming, until they reached the apex of her sex.
He caught her nipple in his mouth even as he slid his fingers into the wet that waited for his touch. She gasped at the double assault, her hands clutching at the mat beneath her. His tongue swirled over the pebbled nipple, and he stroked her nether lips softly before parting them, driving his fingers deep.
They both groaned at the sensation of penetration. She began to push her hips against his hand, and he obliged her by slowly pressing further, then retreating, his thumb brushing her clit with infuriating subtlety, heightening her pleasure but denying her release.
"Harder," she urged him in a desperate whisper.
"Softer," he countered, and he moved, the firmness of his thumb replaced by his tongue.
She cried out unintelligibly, but he gave no quarter, licking across her labia, teasing her clitoris mercilessly, but pulling back to lave softly at her entrance when she would begin to tense and shudder. He continued pressing into her with his fingers, and she was slick and soft and wet under his touch.
Taut tendrils of a sensation like lightning snaked through her, coiling in her belly, around her spine, to the point where his mouth covered her, tasting her in the most intimate way. Her body shook as she tried to contain the sensations converging wherever he touched.
"Batman, I…" She couldn't finish; her breath caught as her orgasm crashed through her, bowing her body. He drew her clitoris into his mouth, sucking on the sensitive flesh as her inner muscles contracted around his fingers, over and over.
He didn't give her time to recover, but flipped her over onto her belly, kissing up the length of her spine, down over the still quivering flesh of her bottom. He pulled her to her knees by her hips, her elbows on the floor, and positioned himself behind her.
Her heart raced in her chest as she felt him lower the front of his tights, her breath shuddering, her limbs weak from the pleasure still coursing through her body. She felt the first blunt, hot probing of his cock as her ran it up and down her moist sex, then as he spread her with his fingers, guiding himself to her entrance. He pushed the tip just inside her, and stopped.
She gasped for breath, desperate to feel him deeper.
"Ready," he said, and she froze as she felt the point of a razor sharp batarang press to her throat. "This is a winning point, Diana." His voice was guttural, his breathing harsh. "Game over." He dropped the weapon, and the tiny movement shifted the cock inside her slightly deeper. He waited, and she knew what he was waiting for.
"Your left boot," she whispered. She knew she could have asked him to remove his mask at that point, but she wanted – needed – it to be him as Batman when she did this. She didn't want the fear anymore: she wanted this.
He removed the boot quickly, barely moving the rest of his body.
"Now it's your turn." Her soft words reached him, expectant, waiting.
"No, Diana," he said, the strain in his voice audible. "It has to be yours. You have to choose: if you don't want this, get up now, winning or losing aside." He took a deep breath. "If you want it, then take me inside you."
Her response was immediate; she began pushing back, gasping as his large organ began to stretch her sensitive flesh. He clenched his teeth, fighting the overwhelming urge to thrust into her deep and hard, to feel her moist, hot depths caressing the full length of his cock.
She pressed back, panting, glorying at the sensation of his rigid sex pushing deeper and deeper, seemingly endless as she pressed back and back. She stopped, nearly overcome by the pleasure, unsure of her ability to take him, memories of the pain from before threatening to surface.
"Only a few more inches, Diana," he rasped. His voice held a note of…pleading?
Feeling suddenly powerful, devastatingly feminine, she took in the remaining length with a deep backward stroke. She cried out in pleasure; he was large and thick, stretching her, filling her perfectly.
He groaned and held her motionless against him for a moment, his hands on her hips. "Diana?"
"More," she breathed.
Slick and hard, his cock slid out of her warmth, leaving her feeling empty, the friction of his retreat making her moan aloud. He thrust forward slowly, and she pushed back to meet him halfway, unable to bear the agony of his unhurried thrusts.
His buttocks flexed as he stroked his cock into her, as he bent over her, one hand sliding down and around to tease her clit.
"Batman? Oh, gods…" She lifted her head, turning to look behind her at the sight of him thrusting into her at that slow, deliberate pace. His cape draped down his sides, his mask covering his face. His fingers strummed at her clitoris, and she bit her lip to contain the cries of ecstasy that she could feel rising within her.
"Let it out, Diana," he grated, and suddenly rammed deep into her, increasing his force, beginning to fuck her as he'd promised, taking , ha, hard strokes into her slick, tight sex. He plucked at her clit, then slid his hands up her torso to cup her breasts, flicking her nipples with his thumbs.
She took his heavy thrusts, urging him harder, faster with her eyes, the tortured, erotic sounds that she was unable to keep within her. He was so deep, so hard.
She rose suddenly, desperate to get closer to him. She pressed her back to his chest, gasping as the angle of his penetration changed, his cock sliding inside her, rubbing inside the inner walls of her sex more roughly. She turned her head and found his lips with her own, kissing him openmouthed, her tongue gliding against his, hot and wet. His lower abdomen slapped rhythmically against her bottom, the sound mingling with the rasp of their harsh, quick breaths, the slick, wet sound of their mating.
Their kiss continued, and he wordlessly took one of her hands in his, placed it over her sex. She understood, began to stroke her clit quickly, feeling the tell-tale tension within her that indicated her impending orgasm.
Batman broke the kiss, pushed her back down to her hands, grasping her hips again as he pounded into her. It was too much; she came hard against him as he continued to thrust against her. She shook with the force of her orgasm, cried out his name.
"Batman!"
And, involuntarily, she flinched, as if expecting pain and torture to follow her cry of ecstasy.
Batman froze. He could feel the exquisite contractions around his cock continue, and Diana was shuddering, but her head hung not from exhaustion from passion, but as if in defeat. His stomach clenched in sympathy for her as he realized what must have happened.
Gingerly, he slid his still erect cock from her warm sheath, lifting and turning her so that she was on her knees, facing him. He reached up, tilted her chin so that she looked up at him. Tears glittered in her eyes, turning them darkly blue.
He kissed her gently, pushed her backward, following her down. He knew how he appeared: looming over her, the cape billowing around them, his mask covering his face. His chest was bare, his large sex jutting out, wet and thick. A mixture of the ridiculous, erotic, and frightening. He settled himself between her thighs.
"Do you want me again, Diana?" Softly.
She heaved a shaky sigh, closed her eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "But I don't think—"
"Then say my name," he commanded harshly.
She started in surprise. "What?"
He thrust inside her. "Say my name."
She understood suddenly; tears welled in her eyes again, slid down the sides of her cheeks as she accepted the unexpected gift. She wrapped her legs around his hips, drew him deeper inside. "Batman," she said, raising to meet him.
"Good." He dipped his head, licked her nipple in reward. "Say it again. Tell me who's fucking you."
"Batman."
He threaded his fingers through hers, pinned her hands to the mat above her head. "That's it, princess. Say it again." He began moving again, pistoning slowly into her.
"Batman," she breathed, the tension coiling within her again, tighter. He moved against her in a heated rhythm, his sweat-slicked skin sliding over hers.
"Tell me one more time," he said, his words almost a growl. "I love hearing my name on your lips."
"Batman." Her answer was rewarded by a change in the angle of his thrusts; each stroke of his cock skimmed over her clitoris, heightening her arousal to a fever pitch. She tightened her legs around him, urging him faster, deeper.
She felt the hands holding hers tremble slightly, and she realized that he was fighting against orgasm, waiting for her. The knowledge sent her over the edge, crying out his name a final time. She watched as his teeth clenched, the cords standing out on his neck as he drove into her once more, then the slow, heavy pulse of his release inside her.
Exhaling deeply, supporting his weight on his elbows, he looked down at her; her lips were swollen, her eyes dark with erotic satisfaction. The sheen of perspiration on her skin made her glow in the low lighting of the holo-room. He leaned down, pressed his lips to hers lightly.
When he lifted his head, she smiled softly and lifted her hands to his face. "Thank you, Batman," she said quietly. She pulled his mask up, revealing his chiseled features, the blue eyes staring into hers. "Bruce."
He kissed her again in reply, this time lingering over the contact. "No bad moments the second time?" he asked when he broke away.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I—"
He stopped her unnecessary apology with a twist of his hips, stroking her with his half-erect sex. "Don't," he warned.
"Or suffer the consequences?" She laughed at his stern, concerned expression, and pretended to think about that. "Maybe I'd like the consequences."
"Maybe you would." Hopefully, one of the consequences would be a reduction of her nightmares. Thinking about that, and J'onn's reception of Diana's dreams, he added slowly, barely able to believe he would consider it, "Diana, I'd like you to think about staying at the Manor until—"
Batman, Wonder Woman. We have an emergency. J'onn's telepathic voice resounded urgently in his mind; from her expression, Diana had received the same message.
What is it J'onn? Bruce said, trying not to sound impatient, knowing that J'onn wouldn't have contacted them unless absolutely necessary.
Gotham PD has reported the murder of Daniel Mason. There was a brief hesitation, then J'onn continued. And they are trying to contact Wonder Woman because they are certain he is her rapist.
Bruce's surprised gaze locked with Diana's, and she sat up in shock—but J'onn wasn't done.
And they want you to come in for questioning, Diana, because they have thirteen witnesses claiming to have seen you kill him.
Bruce swore, and stood up, holding his hand out for Diana. She took it, and he helped her to her feet. '
"You'll be there?" she asked, and he knew she meant Gotham Central.
"Of course," he said softly.
To be continued….
- 4
- 5
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The Real You