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Honeymoon Suite	By : Artemis1088 Category: DC Verse Comics > Justice League Views: 11917 -:- 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-Honeymoon Suite
- 1
Spoilers: Inspired by a screen capture from “Starcrossed.” You all know which one. ;) Also, the usual mentions of “Maid of Honor.” :D
A/N: This idea is by Ugly_Girl. Thank you so much—there’s a “nod” to your kick-ass “Undercover” fic. And thanks to 4luv too, for filling in details and more spoilers of this episode. And both of you are awesome beta-readers. I can’t imagine posting a fic without your respective approvals.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DC Comics and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written for fun, not profit, and as such, no money is being made from this fic.
**********************************
“Bruce, in here!”
Still not used to calling him that, she cast a quick glance at his face before looking down at the murky puddle at her feet. Rain fell steadily all evening, but the overhang on the roof above provided some shelter. He slipped into the shadowed alley next to Diana, shielding her from view. Shaking his head, he reproached, “You’re still recognizable.”
Her hand slid through her damp hair and she nodded in agreement. The League, relying on a tip from a . . . former . . . teammate, was forced to split up. In civilian garb, they would hide in plain sight of the invading Thanagarian Army, an army that was well informed of not only their appearances, but also their strengths and weaknesses.
Remembering the time constraint they were under, and how she and Bruce had to be in place for John’s signal, her fingers dug into her pale blue sweater, ripping away a band of knitted material. He glanced away from the street, back to her, with an eyebrow raised ild ald amusement.
“Quick thinking, Princess.”
Both hands were still wrapping the makeshift headband into her locks. Her lips twisted into a small smirk and she corrected, “’Diana,’ Bruce.”
Her smile abruptly faded. A steady clanking of metal against the pavement signaled their pursuers were close. He had already noticed, and after a quick glance out of the alley, he looked beyond her, to the other end.
“In there,” he muttered and took off in a run. She was right beside him as they slipped into a non-descript Indian restaurant.
His body fell into Bruce Wayne mode, with his hand resting lightly on the small of her back as he guided her to a table in the nearly empty restaurant. The ripped hem of her sweater was already ing ing a little, revealing a hint of midriff. He pressed his fingers against the smooth skin and gestured with his other hand for her to sit. After sliding into the booth next to her, he signaled for a waiter.
Diana faced him, giving the air of a very interested date, but she was in fact using the mirror behind the booth to survey the restaurant. Meanwhile, Bruce engaged the waiter in queries of what were the least spicy dishes on the menu, even as the detective’s eyes surreptitiously performed his own surveillance.
Both Leaguers, then, saw the winged Thanagarian guardsmen enter, but Diana reacted first. She immediately reached for him, bringing his head to hers in a frantic kiss. This was a role his body knew well, and his mouth responded with the same fervor. He let her lead, as he kept his concentration focused on the sounds across the restaurant. He recognized the hurried footsteps—Diana’s lips moved against his—the waiter was running towards the door.
Bruce’s fingertips ran lightly over the soft fabric covering her arm. The discussion at the door was steadily getting louder, as the waiter’s voice became fearful. Her head shifted slightly, her mouth teasing his lower lip with a gentle tug. From the new angle of her head, he suspected she was keeping an eye on the reflected scene in the mirror.
The discussion abruptly stopped, and Bruce heard the rustling and shifting of their armor as the Thanagarians left the restaurant.
For a moment, the kiss deepened, but Diana soon slowly pulled away. Before contact was completely gone, he pressed his lips to hers, and then pulled his head back completely. With a tender gaze, he watched her sit a moment, eyes closed, the tip of her tongue darting a quick lick over her lips. Finally, with an embarrassed grin, she looked at him.
“Sorry,” she sighed. “But they were suddenly here and—“
“I’m not,” he interjected, his eyes sparkling with humor.
Her eyes focused into that look, the same amused exasperation she’s given all the men on the team at some point. The look that could simultaneously bring a smirk to his lips and a lurch in his gut. He had last been on the receiving end of that look in a barn in Kasnia, when she coolly asked, “Are you coming?”
At that moment, he would have followed her into any battle, and in their current situation, he would consider nothing less.
*******************
Diana was taken by surprise when he suddenly grabbed her hand. They hurried from the restaurant, his arm slung around her waist in a show for the waiter. With a stifled laugh, she observed Bruce and the turbaned man’s exchange of knowing glances. She should be offended, or angry, but this was all part of their cover—and she did find it funny.
A flash of gold grabbed her attention. The Thanagarians were still nearby. Bruce saw them too, and the arm around her waist pulled her closer. She turned slightly towards him, snaking both arms around his torso and laid her head against his shoulder. The hint of aftershave and soap took her back to a ballroom in Paris. But she refocused her concentration, and glanced from the corner of her eye. From this position, she could peek at the hawkmen behind them.
“Do they see us?” he asked in a low voice.
The two armored guards were arguing, but paid the couple no attention.
“No,” she murmured. “Let’s go.”
They separated from their apparent lovers’ embrace and, with hands joined, walked from under the eave into the downpour. Diana kept her attention focused on the alien language in the distance. No change in volume, or pause in their conversation—suggesting Bruce and she had indeed escaped their attention.
To any of the passing pedestrians, the couple appeared too infatuated with each other to notice the rain soaking into their clothing. Their pace was leisurely, but Diana’s furtive glances behind them hinted to the real work at hand.
Hera. The guards’ conversation ceased. Her head leaned against his shoulder and she murmured. “They’re watching us.”
He gave a barely perceptible nod and suddenly, her feet were off the ground. His hands gripped her waist, hard against her slick bare skin, and swung her around. The move was so abrupt, and over so suddenly, she had to catch her breath.He seemed unaffected by her glare. Now he stood facing them, and watched them a moment. “Hiding in plain sight,” he explained in rush a warm air against her neck.
“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes rolled in jest, however. His impulsive gesture only further cemented her trust in him. She had yet to meet his equal, whether meta or human, in the ability to think and plan so quickly.
“They’re coming. Don’t—“
“I know. No fighting.” She smiled up at him, shielding her eyes against the falling rain. “Well, not yet.”
Turning to face the approaching guard, she nestled against him; both arms wrapped around him as she forced her smile to broaden.
Both winged men smirked as they walked closer to the couple. Their maces patted a synchronous thudding into their meaty palms.
“Hey! Humans! You’re out past the curfew!”
********************
“I thought I had said, ‘No fighting?’”
Bruce was seated on the edge of the lone bed in the room, with a crumpled towel pressed to his head. Diana shrugged and closed the door behind her, locking it. With an ice bucket tucked under her arm, she assessed him with a raised brow.
“You did,” she acknowledged, taking his towel and wrapping it around a handful of ice cubes. “But my compliance with that request did not include watching a teammate blindsided by a mace.”
Despite the clipped tone of her words, her touch was gentle when she placed the towel; now cool with ice, against the gash on his forehead. She waited for him to hold it in place before stepping back, with arms folded.
“You’re welcome,” she chided pointedly.
His glare softened. She was right, of course. The plan wouldn’t work if he was beaten unconscious. Besides, given the state she left them in, it was unlikely the Thanagarians would resume their search anytime soon. But he still had to rise to look out the window.
“We could have been made.”
“We weren’t,” she returned, just as firmly. “And the downstairs clerk thinks we’re newlyweds named Clark and Lois?”
“Payback,” he muttered, his eyes still panning the parking lot outside. This motel wasn’t much of a step up from the seedy neighborhood they had run from; but it was dry, warm, and most importantly, its location along the harbor afforded a clear view southward. Now all they had to do was wait for Green Lantern’s signal.
She cleared her throat to break the silence that had settled over the room. He wondered if she was experiencing the same awkwardness. After so much time in each other’s personal space, she seemed so physically distant now.
“I reek worse than the River Styx,” she announced, forcing a twitch in his lips. “Unless you need the bathroom, I’m going to indulge in a quick shower.”
He nodded, his eyes still on the shadows outside. Actually, as he absently pulled his soaked jacket off, a shower sounded like a great idea. His black turtleneck, heavy and clinging, followed, as he toed off his shoes, not bothering with the laces. In just his undershirt, slacks, and socks, he leaned against the wall and resumed his watch.
The sounds of a shower reached him, and he tried not to imagine himself in there. They were as intimate together as required for the mission. Now they were back to being teammates, and it was hardly appropriate for him to stand there imagining the water running in soft rivulets over her flawless skin.
He folded his arms across his chest and studied the parking lot more purposefully. So focused was he on estimating the distance to the nearest building and wondering what camera operated surveillance system was in place, he was caught off guard when the bathroom door opened and Diana emerged in a cloud of steam, a white towel barely covering her perfectly sculpted body. Her entrance was more stunning than any Boticelli Venus. Her hair fell in wet ringlets, a slender hand clutching the gathered towel to her chest. She was a . . .
Teammate. He cleared his throat and forced his features into a scowl. “About time, Princess. Now if you don’t mind?”
**********************
Diana watched him storm into the bathroom, wincing when the door slammed. She hadn’t said a word, but simply caught herself staring at Bruce when she came out of the bathroom. He had removed his jacket and shirt, revealing a set of well-chiseled shoulders and arms. As he passed her, she appreciatively noted the flexion of his muscular back, and her eyes had instinctively taken all of him in—down his back to his tight rear, the fabric of his dress slacks clinging in just the right way . . .
Oh Hera. Did her gaping embarrass him? Guiltily, she dragged a weathered chair to the window and resumed his watch. Also, she didn’t think she was in the shower very long, but perhaps she had been. After perching gingerly on the edge, she deposited the small bottles of free lotion onto the sill and peered around the curtain.
Nothing. Just a parking lot, and the murky harbor beyond it. The absolute quiet was all wrong for a city like Gotham, but the Thanagarians had brought the entire planet to a police state as they hunted down the Justice League. Diana had been in favor of concentrating their forces on the Thanagarian ship off the coast of Metropolis, but the others were willing to give Green Lantern a chance to “rescue” Shayera. Diana disagreed, but relented to a twenty-four hour window in which John would attempt to infiltrate.She was snapped from her reflections when she heard the shower. Absently, she uncapped the first bottle and shook some of the cold white lotion onto her palm. The familiar ritual of smoothing it onto her arms and shoulders steadied her thoughts. She didn’t relish being the negative voice, and part of her wanted to believe that Shayera was a victim in all this as well.
But this betrayal . . . With methodic strokes, she soothed the tense muscles of her feet and calves, working her way up. The shower turned off, and her thoughts went to her companion. Did he really side with the others, and think Hawkgirl’s maneuvers were forgivable? Or was he operating on another plan, his mind having already found other possibilities?
At the snick of the door, she asked, “Do you still trust her?”
*******************
Bruce stopped outside the door. He was expecting this question, although not so abruptly. He also wasn’t expecting to come out and see Diana rubbing her thighs; one leg perched seductively onto the windowsill.
Shaking the thought from his head and self consciously adjusting the towel around his waist, he walked to the other chair, where he hung his damp clothes.
“You used all the shampoo.”
“Bruce, that wasn’t what I asked. And I have a lot more hair than you—“ When she stopped mid-defense, he glanced at her. She was staring at him, but quickly turned her head back to her legs. He tore his eyes away from the way her hands were caressing her skin . . .
“Well?”
“I don’t trust her, but I think it benefits the team to have someone on the inside before we launch an attack.”
“Hawkgirl is hardly an insider for us now.”
“I was referring to Lantern.”
Her head snapped to his in surprise. She was impressed, he could tell. With a small grin, she turned her attention back to her legs, and lifted the other one to the sill. “But do you think John can be completely trusted?”
He went into the bathroom and wiped the steam off the mirror. “Why do you ask?”
She called back, “Well, their relationship was hardly a secret.”
After plugging the sink, he filled it with hot water and worked the small bar of soap into a good lather in his hands, as she continued voicing her thoughts. “And I would think that you . . .”
His soapy hand lingered on his throat. He suddenly realized what she was really asking.
“. . . would be against such relationships.” Her voice trailed off, a rare expression of self-doubt by the Princess.
He resumed lathering his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was concealed once more, but the opposite of his usual mask. Finally, he asked roughly, “What’s your point?”
This time when she answered, her voice was noticeably closer. From the corner of his eye, he realized she was standing in the baom dom doorway.
“Just a realization.” She was leaning against the door jam, her arms folded over her toweled form. Having come to a similar realization shortly after meeting Diana, he knew she wasn’t talking about Hawkgirl and Lantern, but he pressed onward regardless.
“Of?” The plastic razor sloshed in the basin. Her hand joined his, and she took the razor from him.
**********************
After tapping off the excess water, she held her towel in place with one hand and hopped onto the counter. Time to test some boundaries.
“The Fates will never allow us that kind of relationship.” Her voice was quiet, as she dragged the cheap blade over the lather, revealing his angled jaw.
“Are your sisters planning an invasion too?” His voice was absent of the humor his deflection would suggest. But she was secretly pleased when his chin lifted, granting her access to his throat. She shaved his neck, taking extra care over his Adam’s apple.
“It’s not possible for us to have a committed relationship, as Shayera and John share.” Her voice was almost sad, her face down turned, watching the splash of water as she cleaned the razor.
She caught his confirmation in the downward shift of his piercing blue gaze. But he remained silent, as she continued to drag the blade over his face.
“But then I realized, do warriors as ourselves require such convention?” She jerked her hand away just in time, as his head abruptly snapped down to look at her in surprise. Avoiding his stare, her hand gently turned his face and she took the razor to the soap again. The muscles of his jaw tensed under her touch. She suspected he had some questions, but she needed to finish, to verbalize all her doubts and hopes.
“There are many levels of trust.” The razor cut through the lather, revealing more smooth skin. “And I believe the trust we share is not one either of us can find among our teammates. And if there are many levels of trust, why not as many levels or types of relationships between those individuals sharing such a bonded trust?”
He nodded slowly, the water washing through the razor in the basin. She shaved away the last bit of soap and ran her fingertips over the wet skin, his jaw once again clenching. “I’ll take whatever you can give, Bruce,” her voice quieter, “because that’s all I can offer you.”
Now, with her eyes trained on his face, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement, she felt vulnerable. His head remained turned away from her, the profile of his face perfect masculinity, down to his broad shoulders and chest. Her fingers yearned to reach for him, but he needed a moment. She knew him well enough by now, to imagine all the possibilities his analytical mind was processing. But would he reach the same conclusion as she?
His head turned slowly to her, his eyes dark and focused on her. Lifting her chin stubbornly, she stood by her offer, and met his gaze with the same intensity.
Suddenly, he reached for her. His hands were firm on her waist, pulling her towards him.
The razor dropped harmlessly into the sink, forgotten. Their lips sought each other with more desperation than in the restaurant. In contrast to her careful touch while shaving, she now ran her hands over his face and through his hair, her mouth pressing hard to his. His tongue separated her lips, as she parted her legs, snaking them around his waist. His tongue explored her mouth, trapping a moan low in her throat.
A tingling grew, low in her belly. She tensed slightly at the feel of air against her, as he pulled the towel from her. She reached between them and returned the favor, pulling away from his lips to drink in the sight of his naked form. Her hunger got the better of her and she raked her nails over his abdomen, stopping only to grasp his hard sex.
Her hand, still slick from lotion, slipped up and down the length easily. Her fingers toyed with the tip, eliciting a growl from him. He grabbed one of her breasts roughly, before sliding his hand down her body, following the tight curves of her waist and hip. She shuddered as his hand clutched at the back of her thigh, his fingers curling inward to the softer skin inside her thigh.
Another shudder—he grasped her leg and raised it, leaving her ankle over his shoulder. His other hand pressed to her back, supporting her. She felt completely exposed, the cool air lapping against her damp arousal. Her hips tilted towards him, as she panted, awaiting the inevitable. Dragging her gaze to his, she rubbed the heel of her other foot down his clenched cheek and thigh. Now it was his turn to shudder.
She wanted him. Now. And he didn’t disappoint. His arm locked, with his palm pressed to the mirror behind her. That was all the warning she received as he thrust his erection into her. Her leg slid down, draped over his arm, and she clung to him, bracing herself to meet each thrust with a rocking of her hips. He filled her deeply, over and over. Every part of her body grabbed at him—her fingers grasping into his shoulders, arms pressed to him, and her heel digging into his rear. The friction of his erratic thrusts rubbed the center of her pleasure. She felt herself tightening. With his arm slung around her waist and his fingers digging into her flesh, he grunted and panted into her neck and she knew he was close too.
The tightness within her core grew. Her muscles flexed, her toes pointed, and she threw her head back in a desperate gasp for air. Her orgasm finally uncoiled, leaving her shaking as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her body. His thrusts continued, her sex kneading and pulling his, as she felt him throb within her. His grunting grew louder, his body tensed, and he had his release as well. His arms, now limp, fell towards the sink, and she wrapped him in an embrace, panting against his chest.
******************
His breathing finally steadied and he slowly withdrew from her warmth. With a languid ease, her limbs fell away and she leaned back to scrutinize him, a small grin dancing on her lips.
“I take that as a yes?”
Bracing himself with either arm alongside her on the counter, he allowed himself to rake his gaze over her nude body, a body he had finally gotten a taste of.
And he wanted more.
Abruptly, he slid an arm under her knees and the other around her back. She squirmed slightly as he carried her to the bed, laughing. “What in Hera’s name are you doing?”
He gave her a wolfish leer and replied honestly, “I haven’t finished answering your question.”
Her lips parted in surprise, as he gently laid her onto the bed. For the next couple of hours, they shared in a careful exploration of each other’s bodies. The frantic sex against the bathroom sink was forgotten as they discovered the other’s pleasures through diligent ministrations with fingers, lips, and tongue. Each was brought to the brink, but never climaxing, until she finally lowered her body to his, surrounding him and taking him.
At last finished and exhausted, Bruce took the first watch, as Diana slept, curled beside him. He sat, his back against the peeling wallpaper and kept his eyes trained on the midnight sky before him. The moment a green light illuminated the night, he would have no choice but to shove this evening’s memories into the recesses of his mind. He didn’t dare plan or expect another tryst with her. She was right; a relationship by any conventional meaning was impossible for them. They lived their respective missions, and a hardened practicality existed in both psyches.
Neither would ever be destined for traditional dating, nor would a wedding ever be in either’s future. For them, romantic encounters happened by chance, as it did between an Amazon and a playboy in a ballroom, or two anonymous heroes in an Indian restaurant.
But in this moment, with the one woman who was beyond his equal sharing a bed with him, he allowed himself the rare comfort of hope. Because of this night, if they could live long enough—there might someday be another evening, another motel room, or even another Paris . . .
When a knight found his princess.
******************
the end. . .
- 1
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Honeymoon Suite