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.
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?
"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."
"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."
"Oh, Bruce. Someday, maybe, you'll trust me enough to tell me."
"Get the damn lasso."
"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?"
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.