DISCLAIMER: The Justice League of America
characters are the property of DC Comics. The story contents are the creation
and property of Djinn and are copyright (c) 2005 by Djinn. This story is Rated
R.
His First
by Djinn
Bruce's bedroom smelled of
sex and overly active superheroes. Diana
made a face as she shifted in the bed, and Bruce thought they could both use a
shower but was too sated to move. He
smiled, invoking the Qi Jong discipline to shut down his sense of smell.
It didn't work.
"We stink," he
said, and realized his tone was far too happy to make Diana move toward the
shower.
"We sure do." She sighed, her lips curving into a sensuous
smile.
He'd surprised her with that
last move. The little thrust and then
that sort of jag to the left that had sent her over the edge. Who said he wasn't meta?
"Bruce?"
"Hmmm." He tried the Matamoto Discipline, invoking
his inner will as Master Kano had taught him.
His perception of their combined funk went down a bit.
"Why won't you tell me
about your first time?"
"I'd rather hear about
yours."
She rolled her eyes. "My lurid tale of girl-on-girl action is
going to get boring to you someday, right?"
"I wouldn't bet the farm
on that." He laughed as she rolled
against him, trying, apparently, to wake the dead. "Diana, a man gets a recovery
period. It's written into the rule
book."
"I'm sorry, Bruce. I never got a copy of that book. So, who was she?" Diana kissed his neck, sending shivers down it
and to other places too. "Or was it
a he?"
He shook his head.
"Come on. I told you mine." She went to work on his ear, the way he loved
her to nibble. She knew he couldn't
resist her when she did that to him.
"Pleeeeeeeassssse?"
"It wasn't a he."
"Have you ever done it with
a man?"
He looked at her
sternly. "Do you want me to answer
that or your first inquiry?"
"I withdraw the
question, your honor." She settled
in. "Your first time. Start talking."
"It wasn't a she."
"Aha!"
"It was two shes."
Her eyebrows went way, way
up.
"I didn't expect
anything to happen. It started out a
night like any other at Dojo Matamoto..."
----------------
"Bruce, you are not
understanding the nature of control."
Master Kano did not move a muscle as he stood just off the mat, watching
Bruce go through move after move with the short wooden stick the Matamoto
Discipline used in place of a kendo sword.
"Until you grasp how to leash and unleash your own power, you will
never master the anger and rage within you."
Bruce threw down the
stick. He'd shown plenty of control all
through the various katas of this interminable day. He was sick of control. "I'm done."
"You think you have
mastered what I have spent my whole life studying? In a few weeks you are ready to leave
me?"
"I am tired of you, old
man." Bruce was so exhausted he
felt like he might cry. And he never
cried. He hadn't cried since his parents
were gunned down in a dark alley on a dark night on this damned dark world he
was forced to live in.
"Then go." Kano moved forward with his simple grace,
bending fluidly to pick up the stick and take it to the wall. Hanging it up next to the other weapons he
had modified for his unique discipline, Kano let out a long breath before
turning. "Run away. I might as well
try to contain a windstorm as teach you control."
"I came here to
learn. Teach me."
"There is nothing I can
teach you, Bruce. Not until you realize
that you do not know everything."
"I'm sorry, all right? I'm not running away. I'll prove it to you."
"You'll prove nothing to
no one." Kano shook his head. "I sense you want penance. Run through the "Hunting Cat After Mouse"
kata. Do it slowly."
Bruce watched him go. This kata was murder, and Kano knew he hated
it. He started up, lifting one leg
slowly, carefully, then sneaking forward in the stalking motion of a cat.
He heard a thud on the mat,
then another, and whirled.
Two figures, dressed as
ninjas, stood in front of him. They
slowly separated, drawing his attention first to one of them, then to the
other.
"Who are you?"
They did not answer.
He could feel the rage inside
him rejoicing at these two stupid people.
Master Kano was wrong. He was
ready to show his teacher just how much control he had.
He saw the first ninja draw a
sword. A real katana, not a wooden stick
made to simulate one.
Bruce willed his heart to
slow, his adrenaline to flow at his will, to give him just a little more
control. He moved like lighting, faster
than the stalking cat, to the wall, grabbing the one weapon he had never been
allowed to practice with--Master Kano's sword.
The second ninja pulled out
his sword. It gleamed brightly as the
blade caught the light. Then he let it
drop, and gestured to the other ninja.
They were not going to charge
him together?
The first ninja closed on
him, the blade flying fast. Bruce barely
got the sword up in time to stop the blow.
He was suddenly a little bit
worried.
The ninja rained blows down,
and each one Bruce managed to deflect, but his arm was getting tired and sweat
ran into his eyes.
He fought on. The first ninja moved back and the other took
over, his fresh energy too much for Bruce.
But he kept fighting, even though he could feel how each time he lifted
the sword he was getting slower, how the weapon was getting heavier with every
passing moment.
The second ninja backed off.
Bruce didn't let the sword
drop, even though he thought it might fall out of his hand.
"You are tired,"
the first ninja said, and he realized with a start that the hooded figure was a
woman.
"Yet you still
fight." The second ninja was female
too.
It didn't make it any easier
to raise the sword when they charged together.
He could feel that they were just playing with him, their blows never
intended to do more than humiliate him as his strength receded even more.
"Control," one of
them murmured. They'd obviously been
listening to Master Kano's lecture.
"I'll give you
control," he said, reaching way down deep for some hidden reserve. He began to fight back in earnest again. His blows strong and sure.
But the rush didn't
last. A moment later the first ninja
knocked the sword out of his hand, then the other ninja kicked him hard in the
chest. He dropped like a rank amateur to
the mat, trying to roll and come out in some kind of fighting pose but the second
ninja landed on top of him.
He was done for. Reaching up, he pulled off her mask, wanting
to see the face of his killer.
The laughing face of Takara Matamoto
shone bright with exertion and some kind of deviltry. "Hello, Bruce." She mangled his name as always.
He heard the bell-like laugh
of her sister Yumi. "Our father
made you very mad. We remember how it is
to study under him." Yumi pulled
off her hood. "There is one thing
our father says is impossible. Do you
know what that is?"
"To please him?"
Bruce asked sullenly. His hand was
throbbing and he was tired--Takara sitting on his chest wasn't helping him
catch his breath.
"To surprise him,"
Takara said, bending down, then stopping.
Her lips were very close to his.
Yumi walked to him, then she
disappeared behind her sister. Bruce
felt his pants being slid down.
"We're going to teach
you all about control. Then tomorrow,
you can surprise our father when you are suddenly a much, much better man."
Takara slid off him and
leaned down to kiss him. He could feel
Yumi pulling off his gi.
"Do you even like
me?" His voice went up dangerously.
Again Yumi let go one of her
little tinkling laughs. "I think he
is a virgin."
"I am not."
Takara kissed him again, this
time opening her mouth to his and he moaned.
Then Yumi did something with her mouth that he'd only dreamed of.
It was a really quick dream--so
maybe he was a virgin, nobody was perfect.
He could feel his face turning scarlet as Takara pulled away from him,
and he saw Yumi grinning good naturedly down at him.
"Control, Bruce. It is useful at moments having nothing to do
with fighting."
And they proceeded to show
him just how useful. They called each
move something that was a variation on one of their father's katas. He giggled at some of the more risqué
ones. "Fox Humping Crane in
Flight" was probably his favorite, although "Man, Duck, and
Octopus" was a close runner-up.
They taught him the scents
and sounds of pleasure, where to touch lightly, where to move harder. They rolled and bucked and made him make
animal sounds from the bliss they gave him.
And then they finally lay
still. Yumi on one side of him, smoking
a cigarette and humming the key line of "Jumping Jack Flash" over and
over, and Takara on his other side, her head resting on his chest, her lovely
liquid eyes closing.
Bruce sighed happily. He'd worn out two ninjas. How cool was he?
-------------------
Diana chuckled slowly. "Okay, fine. If you're not going to tell me, you're not
going to tell me."
"But that's how it
happened."
"And you were tons more
controlled in the morning, and Master Kano was so impressed that he stepped up
your training, right? And you became the
best student he ever had."
"Right."
"Oh, Bruce. Someday, maybe, you'll trust me enough to
tell me."
"Get the damn
lasso."
"What?"
"The lasso. Get it."
She didn't show any signs of
moving, so he crawled over her and dug around their pile of clothing until he
found the golden rope. Then he looked at
her.
She stared blandly back. "Go on."
Crap. He hadn't thought she'd really make him go
through with it. He slowly looped the
lasso around his hand.
"What was your first
time really?"
"I just told you. Takara and Yumi. Ninja nymphos."
"I'm impressed. How many more nights did you spend with
them?"
"One more. The night I left Master Kano. Three years later. It was their goodbye gift." He was trying to get the damned lasso
off. He didn't want to answer any other
questions she might ask.
She got, "Who's
better? Me or them?" out just as he
threw the lasso far, far away.
"You are," he said.
The look on her face made it
clear she was not buying it. Nor was she
at all amused.
He walked over to the lasso
and picked it up, carrying it to her.
She took it and he held his hands out.
"Go ahead."
"No, it doesn't
matter. It was a stupid thing to
ask." He saw something in her face
he didn't expect. Something very
fragile.
Not too long ago, he'd been
her first man.
"Go ahead,
Diana." He made his voice as tender
as he could.
She looped the lasso around
his hands and didn't look up as she asked softly, "Who's better, them or
me?"
"You are."
She looked up at him.
"Because I love
you."
She began to smile and she
released him and tossed the lasso all the way across the room. "I love you too."
As she pulled him down to
her, he whispered, "Okay, tell me your story again. The one with the girl-on-girl bits."
"You, Mister Wayne, are
a pervert."
"Yes, but I'm your
pervert."
By the look on her face, it
was exactly the right answer.
FIN