?"
"We do occasionally work together," Diana said, eyes moving wonderingly upward.
"Rescue work, crimefighting, the occasional joint speaking engagement when it wouldn't distract from the relevant issue too much..."
"And I've been teaching Kal to spar," Diana added.
"You probably do that more than the speaking engagements," Wally noted. Kyle manifested a green elbow to nudge him in the ribs.
"I think what Wally means," Kyle said, "is what do you do for
fun
? Not learning about each other's heritage or being good superheroes or anything like that. What do you do that you would be doing if you were only Clark Kent and Diana Prince?"
Diana and Clark looked at each other in confusion.
"Is he talking about se—" Diana began, when Clark spoke over her.
"
That
is fun for us. Helping people, learning about Diana's culture—"
"Sparring," Wally added. Two green elbows nudged him.
"It is very, very enriching," Diana nodded.
"Illuminating."
"Educational."
Wally and Kyle nodded along. "So, I think Batman wants to lecture me about something—"
"I have to check in with the Guardians of the Universe."
"We went to the past, once, actually," Clark said, sensing he was losing his audience.
"Yeah," Wally said, "that's Batman calling..."
"You never know, the Guardians might have some important news about Parallax... or something..."
Wally, being known for his fast-paced everything, was able to speed off with complete innocence. Kyle flew away, not at top speed, but defiantly not looking back.
"We're not that boring, are we?" Clark asked.
"Well... maybe we could loosen up a little," Diana commiserated. "Have you considered sparring with actual weapons?"
"On a similar note," Clark said hurriedly, "have you ever been to London?"
***
It was almost 1 A.M. in Club Fievel, but the lights were bright as the dawn when they weren't strobing to black. The dance floor was crowded, swollen with a jostling of legs and hips and hands that couldn't help but be erotic. The music played so loud it was felt more than heard, rattling in their bones, bringing the flesh along for the ride. Up above, girls grinded on catwalks, the grated floors allowing an easy view up their skirts. And they inevitably wore skirts.
Clark was surprised Diana seemed to enjoy it so much. She'd been dancing nonstop for almost three hours now. They'd discussed it intellectually—she loved dancing, saw it as an extension of the martial prowess in her body, a homage to her gods and her heritage just as her sparring was. She had far less opportunity to pay tribute to Apollo, one of her patron gods, and she relished the opportunity. But seeing her in motion, Clark could tell that she loved the act in and of itself. It was making her feel alive. Sexual. It was releasing all the urges and frustrations she held stoically behind her grace and maturity, in a way that combat never could.
Even there, she exercised some control, keeping herself in check. She let herself go her as she did nowhere else, sensuously writhing her hips in their tightly hugging jeans, hands running up and down her body, moving with the rhythmic abandon of a belly dancer, on the verge of frenzy with only the dance beat holding her back.
Clark stood watching, his eyes big and round behind their glasses. The very long, very powerful legs of his date moved serpentine as she turned and danced slowly with a lull in the music. He could see her ass tense and relax, drawing the eye only to deny it with a swift turn or a hip-wagging dance move.
Despite the ease Diana always imbued him with, he still felt uncomfortable in as crowded and as wild a place as this. He was always aware of how different he was from the comparatively fragile beings around him, all moving so chaotically, not aware of how they were made of porcelain compared to him. He was worried someone would be hurt by accident, having a man of steel in the midst of honeycombs.
But he could put that aside, watching Diana. She was as big a distraction as he could ask her, dancing with a natural sense of rhythm, movements more like sex than anything else. The sway of her hips, the twist of her shoulders, the thrusting of her shapely breasts, it invited the eye and begged for the hand.
Clark noticed, too, that he was not the only one to focus on Diana. Everyone in the club, male or female, seemed struck by her every time the lights blazed on and revealed her effervescence in the darkness. They pulled to her like iron filings to a magnet; when their hands reached into the air, they were pointed at Diana. They would've caved in on her, if Diana's whirling dervish of a dance didn't push them back with its sheer forcefulness.
At last the urgent, pounding number that had been animating them for the last fifteen minutes came to an end, the DJ winding down the beat in a slower, more intimate number that most chose to ignore, awoken from their private trances of dancing ecstasy. Diana came over to Clark, her exposed flesh glimmering with a light film of sweat. Clark held out the drink that he knew she would need, and Diana took it to heal her parched throat.
"You need to get into the groove," she said, airily oblivious to his misgivings, quietly demanding he conquer them.
"I think everyone else is in it already."
Diana laughed. "Is that a problem?"
"No. It's just hard, when I try so hard not to be seen, and here, no one can stop looking at you. Being with you is like stepping into a spotlight."
"They'd look at you like that if you cut loose. Maybe lost the tie..."
"That's what I don't want."
"So don't. Let them all look at me. Just remember I'm dancing with you. And going home with you..."
The music shifted again, a new disc laid out, a new beat building and building and building. Diana went with it, unzipping her blouse almost to her waist, revealing more creamy, glistening flesh in a vee down her front. It was obvious she was not wearing a bra, and there was nothing to stop her breasts from escaping, the valley between beaded with sweat. A light shrug and a nipple would come into sight, which made Clark both self-conscious and oddly hopeful.
Then she turned her back on him, exposing her dishabille to the entire dance floor. Before Clark could react, she had backed into him, her strong back leaning into his chest, her ass resting where his cock throbbed inside his trousers. Almost instinctively, Clark wrapped thick arms around Diana. She laid her arms over his, as if to feel herself but being prevented from doing so, as she swayed in place, drifting around inside his receptive grip.
Clark only felt more self-conscious, an agonized adrenaline rush of uncertainty. Was he holding her too tightly? Not tightly enough? Did she mean to make him feel this way with her body rubbing against his. He just wanted to be alone with her. It was so much easier to be alone with her, but he could see how she enjoyed the music and the dancing and the intoxicating openness of how close they were to each other. He knew that, even inside Diana's private world of released energy and worshipful body, she noted the admiring glances, took a feeling of power and confidence from the approval her dance met with.
Clark's hands were on Diana's strong arms and he was barely able to keep them there as he saw, over her shoulder, the rounded fullness of her cleavage, standing up firm and luscious, almost begging to be felt. When her ass brushed against him, he felt a responsive jerk in his groin. For all her coolness, her distance, Diana turned him on, and he had no idea what she expected him to do about it.
Diana began to sing silently to herself, something in Greek that flowed with the music, that seemed to describe the comfortable sway of her body in harmony with being held so closely. She ran her hands lightly over his arms, still tight around her, playing her fingertips at his clenched fingers. He moved with her, a surge of initiative pressing his body into hers, and Diana relished the firm feel of him through his linen shirt, the little silken feel of his tie on the back of her neck. He pulled her tighter, his soft lips hard at the top of her skull, his nose inhaling the scent of her hair. The music, the closeness, the exertion: she was falling for their old tricks. She was becoming ravenous, high on contact and motion.
