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[ She smiles again, shaking her head against his. ]

I've been told it isn't a trait often associated with me, either.

So keys for Cupid and golden lassos for you.

( he damn well knows he's being a jerk. )

Mm.

[ He's enjoying this, teasing her. She has no qualms about throwing logs on the fire. ]

It isn't bats, I grant you.

( that elicits a huff of soft amusement from him and he presses his forehead against hers a little more at that. )

I actually have a few of those. Back in Gotham.

( living in the underground subway station he's made for his batcave beneath wayne tower. )

Well. I only have the one lasso.

[ Outside, lightning cracks, throwing the angles of his face into sharp relief. He's so close, dark lashes smudged against his cheeks. The dull ache in her chest, in her stomach, sharpening a little with each shift of his forehead against hers.

Her voice quieting. A whisper in the dark. ]

Bruce.

( the way his name sounds on her lips...

before his nerve can get the better of him. before he falls into the usual insanity of overthinking every. little. thing. that comes to mind, with a nudge of his nose, eyes still shut, he kisses her. soft. kisses her in a way where it lingers there on both their lips, fingers twisting in the sheets over his thigh before he lets himself ever-so-gently deepen that kiss a little. )

[ Is it enough?

A last embrace on the battlefield. A dream of Themyscira. Another of revenge. The decision she'd made and lived with ever since.

Lived with. Maybe... regretted.

A small sound tugs from her throat, as her eyes fall closed and her lips part, soft, against his. ]

( maybe all this talk about cupid— eros has drawn something out of this moment that neither of them are able to resist. it's been awhile since bruce has felt anything like this — selina having been the more recent one with the way she kissed him there above gotham city against a sunsetting sky. a moment that still lingers on his lips, yet is gently washed away by the softness of diana's against his.

a hand grips at her waist — the sound of thunder drowning out the noise spilling from his lips and he deepens the kiss some. lets himself. shuts off some part of his brain and just lets himself feel rather than think as he pulls her in close. unwilling to part his lips from hers. )

[ One kiss is all they'd ever managed before. A few across the years, stolen here or there. But never this: never a quiet room, a bed, his hand warm at her waist; a second kiss to follow the first.

Lightning illuminates the room, him here with her, and she lifts a hand to curve it at the angle of his jaw, gently threads the tips of her fingers up into his hair. Leans forward, meeting his kiss with a deeper one of her own, that dull ache, that longing so tight inside her chest it's difficult to breathe. ]

( lightning flashes, thunder makes the sky tremble, and bruce shifts with a sort of ease as he does when moving within the shadows. a twist, hand at her side still, he maneuvers them on the bed almost blindly, guiding her down to it as he follows in suit from above, lips never straying from hers nor taking a moment to stop. rather, they brush over hers in ways that grow deeper — needier. strands of hair falling in front of his face from above her as he kisses her with little to no hesitance. )

[ Her arm goes around him, firm, pulling him close even as he follows her down, kisses her into the blankets still muddled from the few hours of sleep they'd managed earlier. His body, lean and strong, presses along her side, over her, as the intensity of his kisses ratchets up.

A small sound escapes her as her lips meet his, again and again, drowning her in scent, in taste, in sensation. None of this anything she's allowed herself to want, or even to think about. But now, having it in her hands, she's desperate for more. Running her fingers up into his hair, brushing it back only for those strands to fall forward again, tickling her cheeks. ]

( maybe this is a bad idea. maybe this just... shouldn't happen. they're here on a mission — they have a meta looking to rewrite history that needs to be found and dealt with. distractions will only cause delays and they don't know how much time they have here or with any of this search they've thrown themselves into. and yet, that's just it. they don't know how much time they have here... how much time they have at all with this. being here. so, why not? why. not.

pulling back for only a couple seconds, fingers pinch his shirt between his shoulder blades and he pulls it off in one swift movement, scars and fading bruises gently hidden within the darkness of the room for the most part. his lips find hers again — no second thoughts made, and he runs a hand down over her chest. to her stomach. between her legs where fingers dip down low and brush along her through the material of her pants. curious. needing to know she feels it like he does. burning there. like it has been practically from the start. )

[ His shirt disappears into the dark, an invitation for her to touch the newly-bared expanse of pale skin as he leans back down to her. So she does, boldly, hands strong and fingers spread as she tracks them over his shoulders, his back. Allowing herself this unthinking delight, a small huff of a laugh on her lips as she remembers landing at the dorm, being confronted with his beauty. Unable to touch it.

So she indulges herself now. Mapping out scars. Feeling the way muscle shifts beneath skin, smooth and graceful, as he caresses her in turn.

Her body arching like a bow under the sweep of his hand, heart beating rabbit-quick, until his fingers slide over her and even through the material of these jeans she's sure he can feel how she's burning with desire. ]

Bruce.

[ His name the only word on her lips. The only one in this quiet room, as the storm grumbles and flashes outside. ]

( the way his name leaves her lips like that... she wants this. just as much as he does. and he wants to give it to her as much as he wants to have it for himself. something that isn't vengeance. something that isn't justice.

he needs this. maybe they both do. maybe they both need something to indulge in that isn't a myriad of expectations, disappointments, and frustration heaved onto them in ways they can't always seem to control. to feel something that isn't emotional exhaustion or the weight of stresses they can barely shoulder at times despite their bravado or nonchalance they wear about it. to be as close to human as possible for once, even if one of them is hardly that to begin with.

lips relentlessly seek hers out in the dark, running along the curve of her jaw when he needs a second, and fingers blindly pop open the button on her pants, tug them open, before they dip their way inside unabashed, slipping into panties to feel her warmth there on his fingers. stroking her. eagerly. lips pressed to the apple of a cheek as he works her up — as he fucks her with his fingers through the rainstorm around them. )

[ Her fingers dig into his skin, pressing divots in smooth muscle as he slips his fingers beneath flimsy cloth and slides them against her. Her legs pressing open for him, welcoming his touch as her breath burns. As she burns.

This is why he should be more careful. Mind his cynical teasing about the gods. Eros has never been a joke. Cities, countries, whole eras have been destroyed by desire run rampant. The way hers does now.

Lifting her hands off his skin to push at her jeans, shoving them off her hips and down along the smooth length of her legs. Taking advantage of her dropped hands to grip his hips, run her palm over the back of the pants he's still wearing, then over his thigh and down. Wanting to feel him, to touch him, as he's touching her. ]

( limbs shift some when she does. when she goes and slips herself out of her pants like that and the sound on his own lips is one of appreciation. for the act. for her. and he shows that appreciation with the way he strokes her from the inside. eager and unabashed in pulling more of those sounds out of her. but when her own hand reaches for him, he groans. lips parting some on her cheek.

he's hard. turned on by the way she feels on his fingers — by the sounds she makes in this shared room of theirs. a quiet prayer for the walls not being too thin or for the storm outside to swallow up the desire in here, not needing to try and toss some excuse about moving furniture that won't be taken as anything but a lie.

a kiss is dropped down to her lips, moan pressed into her mouth as he fingers her still, hand braced against the mattress. he swallows up every little sound she makes and lets his own be swallowed by her as he blindly searches for that sweetness inside her — wanting to taste it on his fingers for himself. )

[ His fingers stroking between her legs, inside her, fill her with a haze of distracting heat. Her hips pushing up to meet his touch as a breathless moan falls against his lips. It's not enough, not for everything she wants, not for how much she wants him.

Deft fingers undo the button and zipper on his own pants and she pushes at them, wanting his bare skin, wanting to see him, all of him, Bruce, scarred and pale and beautiful. ]

Please.

[ A quiet request, no less intense for the low volume, breathed against his mouth. Please, help her get rid of these clothes that are now only getting in the way. Please, don't stop kissing her, touching her. ]

Let me see you.

( he's lost in the movement of his fingers inside her — stroking at her in ways he hasn't done for some time now. he'd compare it to riding a bicycle, but diana is no bicycle to ride. she's warmth and passion and soft whimpers that brush over his own pale skin. she fills him in ways he hasn't been filled before— close to, but not like this. not like he's feeling with her. at least here in this moment of unabashed everything.

so it takes him a second to hear her words — the please falling almost deaf on his ears before her request to see him comes and it pulls him out of the desire he's lost within. enough to at least understand what she's saying. what she's asking of him. what she wants from him.

he pulls back but doesn't go far. fingers slipping out of her, slick and wet, and falls back onto his haunches as he looks down to her — as he actually takes a second to reel himself in from all of this. the way she looks splayed out on the bed like that, soaked between bare legs with skin he can tell is flushed despite the darkness they're currently in. breaths heavy but slow, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks on them — the very ones that'd been inside her. tasting her as he looks down to her with those blue eyes of his.

after a moment, his hand drops away and he goes about undoing the front of his pants better, eyes never straying from her as he does. as he works on getting them off for her. )

[ Another small sound falls from her lips as his fingers slip free, leaving her wet and aching for more while he obeys her request. Drawing back from her, each movement made with the same thoughtless grace. His bare chest pale in the dark room, his eyes intent as they watch her, as he lifts his own hand to his lips to taste her. To suck her off his own fingers, because he needs this as much as she does. Wants it. Her. And, gods, how she wants him in return. Here, in this bed; out there at her side. This new version of her old friend, who nevertheless makes her feel as though she's known him forever.

As though he somehow knows her, the core of her, the truth, even only having met a few days before. But then, Bruce has always been a quick study.

Moving slow as she reaches for the bottom of the tank top she's still wearing before she draws it up and over her head, letting it fall away, caring nothing for where it lands. Following suit with the undergarments she still finds annoyingly binding, until there's nothing touching her skin but darkness. Air. His gaze, so intense it feels like the touch of a hand.

Watching him watch her, taking in every detail of her bared body. Wanting him to see her, just as she wants to see him, she gives it a few long heartbeats, her chest rising and falling slowly with her breath, her eyes dark in the muted shadows, before she gets to her knees. Shaking her hair back over her shoulders, kneeling upright without a shred of fabric or self-consciousness before she reaches for him, sinks fingers into his hair and draws him into another kiss, tasting herself on his lips. ]

( there's a thought there that touches him for the briefest of moments. how when this is all done — when the morning comes and they need to get back to the mission they're on here, this will have happened and he doesn't know what it will mean, what he will feel, or even what she herself will feel. he hasn't yet developed the billionaire playboy persona of bruce wayne as a disguise — as a means to keep batman and bruce wayne separate from one another. for the past two years, he's been nothing but nocturnal — stalking the shadowy streets of gotham and looking for someone to cross him. coming out of this in the morning... he doesn't know how it'll be or how he'll be with it all.

but it doesn't really matter right now.

she kisses him and he lets her — lets her touch and feel him in whatever ways she wants as lips move almost lazily against hers, hands finding purchase there at her slim waist. she's naked and he's not. pants still in the way. )

I need to get these off.

( finally, he speaks. low and rough against her mouth — the desperation and desire he has for her heavy there in his voice. )

[ She laughs, low, and kisses him once more, then pulls away. Aphrodite's beauty she might have; the goddess' power of seduction is, generally speaking, not one of her gifts. So she doesn't try to seduce; why would she? The truth of what they both want is, in this moment, laid bare between them, just as each flash of lightning fills the room with brief clarity.

The mattress creaks and the sheets whisper as she lies back, waiting for him, patient now that they've finally reached this point, her hair a night-black puddle on the pillows. ]

Then I will cease interrupting you.

[ For now, anyway. ]

( despite how heavy the need for sex — the need for this is hanging there in the air, there's a flash of a smile there on his lips as he ducks his head and he takes a second to lick over his lips, fingers gripping the waistband of his pants. )

Here I thought you were going to help me. ( a beat. ) Figures you'd be looking for a show, princess.

( now that he'll really give one, but. )

You have two perfectly capable hands. Or is it true what my sisters told me about men, all those years ago before I left Themyscira?

[ Her smile flashing as she teases him. ]

You need help with even the smallest of tasks?

So it is a show you want.

( the desperation softens some, if only to make way for the touch of teasing that's suddenly lent itself to the room. huff of playful disbelief on his lips, he cants his head, shoving the waistband of his pants down and, with them, the boxer-briefs in, to no one's surprise, the colour black.

a shift here and there, it all comes off, tossed to the side and bruce is left there on his knees with not a single piece of clothing on. lean muscle shown, faded scars and bruises littered here and there across his skin. there's definition to him — the body of one who's vigorously pushed himself to the near breaking point with physical working out, yet he isn't sculpted in the way some greek god might be and, from the looks of it, she isn't in for being disappointed by a mere couple inches with the cock he has on him. already hard from the way they've been. )

Not a show. You.

[ She's never cared for the theatrics some attach to passion, the act of love, of connection. At its core, it's the two of them and nothing else, no other expectations or needs. He can tease her, play with her; they can laugh and toy with each other all they want. But none of it's for show, to her. She never has been good with being oblique, has never felt the need for it.

And she doesn't now, as her glance moves along his body. He's lean, strong. Scarred and toughened. The body of a warrior, not some artist's model; beautiful in every inch. She wants to run her fingers, her lips, over the planes and angles of his body, to feel the warmth of his skin, the strength of his arms. She wants his clever fingers back on her, suffusing her with pleasure.

She pushes back up to her knees and comes close, tipping her forehead against his once more as she curves a hand at the side of his neck, as the other goes smoothing, warm and firm, over his chest. ]

I want you.

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