Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note:

I just wanted to write something fun, a bit introspective, and a little sexy (maybe even a bit smutty, you decide).

Double Date

Metropolis

Clark found himself impatiently tapping his foot every five seconds, running his fingers through now mussed hair every ten seconds, and glancing at the front door of the restaurant every twenty seconds. It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. Yet there he sat, in Carlini's, the best and most expensive restaurant in Metropolis . . . alone, waiting for his date.

And what made him the biggest loser in the entire overpriced eatery was that he was sweaty, foolishly nervous, and acting like a complete numbskull about a date with a woman who had agreed to the meal and wasn't even late. No, Clark Kent, a.k.a. Superman, was actually twenty minutes early for his date with Diana.

He forced his feet and hands to stop making a fool of themselves and settle the hell down. He tried the same with his eyes, but they revolted, staying glued to the ever-opening and closing wooden door to Carlini's, none of the entering patrons Diana. This wasn't their first date. Heck, it wasn't even their tenth date. He'd been nervous those times as well, but he held it together much better than he was doing today. So what's so different about today, Clark?

Good question, and one, fortunately, Clark actually had the answer to. Clark hadn't seen Diana in a month. Sure, Superman had glimpsed Wonder Woman when one or the other of them were coming or going from the Watchtower. The casual, impromptu meetings between them had been far too brief, with normally another Leaguer around, preventing more personal discourse. Which, Clark supposed, was how things had to appear between them since their romantic relationship was a secret. A good decision and one Clark still stood by. But it became harder to play the casual colleague when Diana had gone into mourning after the deaths of two of her brothers—Lennox and War.

His eyes did drop then, casting down and away from the big, wooden door. Lennox had sacrificed himself to save the life of a baby, his half-brother, another one of Zeus's demigod children. And War . . . well, Diana had sacrificed her own heart when she'd slain her mentor and friend in order to prevent yet another half-brother from gaining even more power. The First Born. The zoophilic jerk doesn't even have a real name.

Now Princess Diana, Wonder Woman, was also the God of War. So, no, there had been no dates between them, as of late. No invitations to London or visits to Metropolis, which also meant an abrupt cessation to their growing physical intimacy.

Not that they'd been intimate so many times that Clark had gotten used to having Diana in his bed or even being in hers. It was just that . . . well, hell, Diana had a way of bringing stars, the moon, and the sun to Clark with her hands, her lips, her tongue, her breasts, her womanly sex that had proven to be embarrassingly addictive. And the sounds that escaped her kiss-swollen lips when they made love was also out of this world, for no mortal woman could conjure such sensual, wicked vocals, taking Clark to a roaring crescendo that didn't embarrass, only satisfied.

But over the course of the past month, they'd only spoken on the phone a few times. The brief conversations had been stilted on Diana's part, almost obligatory. He hated that, didn't like when she would shut down on him, keeping her most important thoughts to herself. Although, admittedly, he'd kept plenty of his own problems to himself, unwilling to burden Diana with them, not quite sure if their new relationship could handle full disclosure. So, yeah, he recognized and accepted his double standard, even if it were to only himself. Diana need never know.

He'd play it cool. The same way he did when she had shocked him by accepting his plans for a date in Metropolis. Clark had taken it as a positive sign that, despite the deaths of two brothers, her new, unwanted title, and the dangerous, prominent role her family of gods played in her life, Diana hadn't cast him aside, viewing her life as too complicated to also deal with a budding love affair.

Well, at least that's how Clark chose to interpret Diana's acceptance. He absolutely refused to consider the fact that Diana was too honorable to break-up with him over the phone, preferring to do it face-to-face. Steve Trevor suddenly popped in his mind, and Clark winced. Diana had broken up with him and the guy, even after a year of separation, still hadn't gotten over her. Clark didn't want to be that guy, the one still pining for a woman who so obviously had moved on without him. Yet, even as he had that thought, the insecure part of Clark Kent understood all that being with Diana brought to a man's life. And the hole her leaving could so easily cause him.

As it was, after only a month with minimal contact, Clark was fit to be tied. He'd missed her in all the ways a man would miss his woman. He missed her and was afraid how much he had. He missed her and knew he wouldn't tell Diana the extent of his longing for her companionship, fearful his feelings were too much too soon.

So when he lifted his eyes to the front door once more, her unique, heady scent preceding her luscious figure, Clark was ready. Or at least he thought himself to be. That was until he saw her.

He gasped, discovering the next breaths hard to chase down.

And he understood Steve Trevor that much more, though irrational jealousy ran through Clark at the way Trevor stared—moony eyed—at Diana when he thought no one looking.

But who wouldn't? The woman was beauty personified.

Shiny, dark tresses aloft in an elegant style Clark had no name for, only a tendril or two flowed down the long, tanned column of her neck and onto a well-defined, bare shoulder. Spaghetti straps held the sexiest, form-fitting black dress in place. It fell to Diana's ankles, covering far more than her Wonder Woman uniform ever did. But, Rao help him, the way the dress hugged every rich, voluptuous dip and curve of her body, so tempting because of what it hid yet alluded to, had Clark gritting his teeth and praying he didn't embarrass himself by giving in to the urge to fly Diana away from Carlini's and back to his apartment. Or worst, greet his gorgeous date with a steel hard erection that would get him tossed from the restaurant and probably onto the front page of the Daily Planet with the headline: "Blogger's Boner Not on the Menu at Carlini's."

Clark stood, pleased the hungry, lusty part of him was at parade rest. For now. Then their eyes met, across a room full of people, eating delightedly and talking animatedly, clearly enjoying themselves.

Diana smiled demurely and gave a slight nod of her head, acknowledging him in that regal way of hers, reminding Clark of the different worlds from which he and Diana came.

He waved in return, pushing sabotaging thoughts of the princess and the peasant out of his mind. Although, he couldn't deny he'd invited Diana to dine at Carlini's in an attempt to impress her. Normally he would cook for her at his apartment, introducing Diana to Smallville cuisine she'd never heard of, no less had tasted. Most she liked, some she did not, politely telling him so while making sure to show her appreciation for his effort.

Other times she would take him to eateries she'd been before and had liked, which usually meant they ended up in some foreign country eating the most delicious food Clark had only ever seen on a cable cooking channel. And while not all of the restaurants were upscale, most were, which gave Clark a glimpse into Diana's financial lifestyle and likely the types of places she and Steve had frequented when they'd dated.

None of which he knew for sure, considering he and Diana rarely talked about Steve, as the League's former liaison or Diana's former boyfriend. And Diana, for her seemingly expensive tastes, appeared just as comfortable hanging around his no-frills apartment eating greasy pizza with her hands and strawberry ice cream directly from a half gallon container, as she was being catered to at a five-star restaurant. Which meant one of two things, one, Diana was as multi-faceted as any other woman, making dating her a complicated endeavor for a man whose life was already complex, or two, Clark needed to relax and allow the relationship to breathe and give it room to evolve at its own pace. How it would evolve was up to them, but he need not create pointless, insecure barriers like the ones he'd been nursing for the last month.

Clark's smile widened. He began to feel better about this night already. Futilely, he ran his hand through his hair again, attempting to put it to rights without benefit of a comb or mirror. Then he saw her, saw them. And the smile he'd sported vanished the moment he heard a familiar voice say, "Diana? Diana Prince, is that you? It's me, Lois Lane."

Turning away from the maître d', with whom Diana had been conversing, the man clearly about to show Diana to Clark's reserved table before being interrupted, Diana gave her full attention to Lois Lane and Jonathan Carroll, Lois's boyfriend and roommate.

"Hi. I thought it was you. I don't know of any other woman who is as tall as you are, with hair and legs to spare, who would be hanging out in Metropolis, of all places."

Lois glanced around Diana, found Clark, and gave an enthusiastic wave before quickly dismissing him and returning her attention to Diana.

And there Clark stood, watching the train wreck that would become a double date barrel forward to a predictable, inevitable conclusion, faster than even Superman could move.

"Hello, Lois. Jonathan. Nice to see you both again."

"Ah, yeah, you too, Diana."

The war correspondent, to his credit, didn't openly gawk at Diana the way so many other men in the restaurant were doing - pleasure, approval, and masculine desire in their eyes. Which said a lot about Jonathan Carroll and his love and respect for Lois. But Jon was a male, after all, and Clark's super senses caught all the ways in which the reporter's body responded to Diana.

"You aren't wearing your glasses," Lois noted, her own eyes staring up and at Diana with too-close perusal. "When you came to my and Jon's housewarming, you wore glasses, similar to Clark's."

The wearing of glasses, of course, had been Clark's idea. A way to throw people off from recognizing Diana as Wonder Woman. It had worked. Although, Diana had eventually confessed, she walked around London all the time without the slightest disguise. Sometimes she would wear a trench coat over her uniform, but nothing more than that to conceal her superhero identity. And, to Clark's surprise, she managed to live among the people of London without them any the wiser. Go figure.

But Lois and Jon weren't the average person. Like all reporters, they were naturally observant and inquisitive, ready to ferret out even the most obscure detail. And what better scoop than learning the beautiful Princess of Themyscria was dating a nobody blogger like Clark Kent?

Clark needed to stop this runaway train. He headed for the front of the restaurant.

"I don't require them tonight."

"Oh, I see. Contacts."

Diana said nothing. She was a smart woman, Clark thought, trying to hurriedly make his way through the maze of tables and servers. Diana clearly preferred to allow Lois to draw her own conclusions than to outright lie to her. Like I've done for years.

"Since we are all here, why don't we share a table? That would be so much fun. Do you have a table for four?" Lois asked the maître d', thirty seconds before Clark reached them.

By the time he had, the man was already scanning his computer, and then gesturing to a waiter to take them to a table that would accommodate four instead of the intimate setting for two Clark had planned.

"Oh, there you are, Smallville. Nice of you to join us. You should have told me and Jon that you were bringing Diana here. We love this place."

That was a first he'd heard of Lois loving Carlini's. That time, months ago, when he'd failed to pick her sister Lucy up from the monorail station, Lois had arranged for them to dine at the expensive restaurant. Her plan, as he soon discovered, had been to stick Clark with the outrageous bill. His penance, apparently, for standing up her sister. If he had known Jon and Lois frequented this place, he would've selected another restaurant. Hell, if he thought he would run into either of them tonight, Clark would've chosen another damn state for their dinner date. As it was, Clark was now being ushered to a table for four with two people he dearly liked but had no interest in spending the evening with. Sharing Diana with.

Under his breath, Clark swore.

Once at the table, Clark pulled out Diana's chair, greeting her for the first time with a chaste kiss to a cheek. She smiled, and Clark wondered if she were upset about the bulldozing way Lois had usurped their date, hiding her true feelings behind good manners and diplomacy.

"I'm glad you could make it. Thank you for coming."

Diana sat and Clark claimed the seat next to her, noticing—for crying out loud—the tantalizing slit in her dress that ran from her right ankle up to her mid-thigh, showing a good deal of lovely, muscular flesh that had his mouth watering.

He licked his lips. "You look amazing tonight, Diana, absolutely stunning." And I want to lick every inch of you, then throw you on the table, rip that man-teasing dress off you and fu—

"Earth to Smallville, come in, Clark. The waiter wants to know your drink order."

Lifting his eyes from the silky-smooth thigh he'd apparently been staring at for longer than the couple of seconds it seemed, Clark reddened when he met Diana's knowing gaze, her lips set in a slightly chiding smile.

"Um, yeah, I think I'll just have water with lime."

Jon snorted in amusement, having missed nothing, witnessing yet another one of Clark Kent's awkward moments.

But all of that was soon forgotten when Diana leaned into him and returned Clark's kiss, hers just below his left ear. A spot he'd never known to be arousing until Diana placed those sinfully full lips of hers against it, enflaming his desires and hardening his loins.

"Of course I came, Clark. Thank you for inviting me."

Diana pulled away, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that told Clark the woman knew precisely the effect she had on him. Then she ran a hand through his hair, putting some order to the locks he'd messed up while he awaited her arrival.

"I don't know why you bother, Diana. I'm convinced Clark doesn't own a comb or brush." Lois glanced at the dark gray suit he wore, fresh from the cleaners this morning. "Although, I have to admit, I've never seen Clark so put together before." Lois laughed. "I don't think he owns an iron either. Either that or he doesn't know how to use one."

She laughed again, and so did Jon.

Clark winced, although he was used to such friendly jabs. They didn't matter to him, only serving to separate the perception of Clark Kent from the image of Superman.

But Diana's hand had slipped from his hair, her sky blue eyes going to Lois.

"I don't understand. Clark is never untidy or unkempt."

"Well, then maybe it's your influence on him. We women are good for that. But whenever Jon or I see, Smallville, he looks as if he just fell out of bed. But, admittedly, he does clean up nicely when it suits him."

Clark winced again, he'd seen the way Diana's eyes had narrowed and nostrils flared at Lois's sentiments before she schooled her expression, particularly when she referred to him as "Smallville" instead of Clark. This wasn't good. Not good at all.

Outside of the housewarming Clark had invited Diana to, which he'd arrived late to and had left early when that jerk Orion had pulled him away, Diana had spent precious little time with his friends. That also meant that she had no idea how they perceived him or the role he played to conceal his Superman identity. For Lois, she was merely poking fun at an image of Clark Kent he'd painstakingly honed. But from Diana's perspective, Clark could see how she could view Lois's jibes as disrespectful and insulting. And, truth be told, in a way, they were, although not intended to be mean.

The rest of the evening was more of the same. Lois and Jon told stories of Clark, probably thinking themselves funny and trying to be friendly to a Diana who had spoken very little throughout the meal. Of course they were unaware that their very embarrassing stories were what was causing Diana's sudden bout of muteness. If they had only discussed their jobs, the night would've gone much better. But each time Clark had brought up a political or social topic he knew would interest Diana, Lois or Jon managed to turn it into yet another Daily Planet tale that ended with Clark either being perpetually late, almost fired by Perry for being late, or disappearing "like a ninja."

And all the stories were true, as far as Jon and Lois knew. But Diana was no fool. He knew she understood the underlying reason for Clark's lateness and failure to sometimes make deadline. Even with that knowledge, anger and frustration radiated from her, and Clark felt like shit.

He hadn't prepared her for this. Even with the housewarming, he hadn't taken the time to adequately prepare Diana for how Clark Kent was viewed by the outside world. Diana, for her part, had never met Clark Kent, part man, part lie. She did, however, know Clark Kent. The true Clark Kent. The man who'd been courting her for the last few months. What she didn't know was the pincushion, all-thumbs of a man sitting beside her, laughing, self-deprecatingly, at something Jon had just said about him.

Clark glanced at Diana. This was bound to happen. She was bound to learn about this other side of him, to see him through the lens of his friends, even if the lens was a skewed one.

A strong hand found his under the table, squeezing then caressing. It lasted a mere forty-five seconds, but it was enough. Hell yes, it was more than enough. Clark wanted to kiss Diana, on the mouth and in front of the entire restaurant. The woman never ceased to amaze him. Just when he thought she was disgusted by the other Clark Kent, ready to dump and leave him the way she had Steve Trevor, Diana turned the tables on him, showing that complex side of her again.

And Clark fell that much deeper in love with her. In her silent, angry way, she comprehended his situation, his delicate predicament. And while she may have had no use for another identity, Diana respected that Clark did. Even now, like at the housewarming, she had donned the Diana Prince image for his benefit. The funny thing was that, to people like Lois and Jon, who didn't know Wonder Woman, they would assume that Diana Prince was nothing like the heroine. When, in truth, there was very little Diana changed about herself when she went out sans the Wonder Woman uniform. Again, very different from how Clark chose to live his life. And he knew, with no ability to see into the future, that this distinction would have to someday be resolved between them.

But for tonight, for this double date that should've never happened, Clark could ignore the inevitable, putting it off until they absolutely had to deal with it.

And just when Clark thought he could breathe a sigh of relief, the four of them entering Carlini's parking lot, the double date from Hell finally, mercifully over, Clark heard them.

From their hushed words and anxiously beating hearts, Clark knew there were four of them and what was about to happen.

He stiffened.

The thugs came into view, standing from their hiding spots between two SUVs, brandishing one gun and three knives. Weapons that couldn't harm either Clark or Diana but ones that could most certainly hurt the very human and non-meta flesh of Lois and Jon.

When Diana made an instinctual move towards the group of criminals, Clark subtly grabbed a hand, stilling her. She tensed but made no move to free herself, although his grip was light enough that she could've done precisely that.

The tallest thug, the one with inky, black hair and his gun pointed at Diana's chest, nodded to the pearl drop necklace she wore at her throat. Clark couldn't help but notice the exquisite piece of jewelry earlier, especially since it dipped tauntingly above her décolletage.

"We'll start with what's around the big bitch's neck. It looks as expensive as she does."

Clark's grip tightened on Diana's hand, as much to keep himself in check as to prevent Diana from smacking the disrespectful jerk across the street. Although, if he kept leering at Diana and calling her names, Clark might just have to . . .

"Here." Jon tossed his wallet to the guy with shaggy red hair, blue jeans, and a day's growth of hair on his gaunt face. "Take that and leave us alone. If you haven't noticed, people don't carry much cash nowadays nor do women wear expensive jewelry in public. Glass, that's what they go for. Pretty and sparkly, but pretty much worthless."

The red head reached down and snatched up Jon's wallet, pulling out several twenties before throwing whatever remained behind him, his dingy green eyes not pleased with the paltry amount of cash.

And Clark damn well knew Diana's necklace was no fake. What he didn't know was whether Jon thought it was and he was trying to protect Diana from being molested by the thugs for a worthless piece of fake jewelry. Or if Jon knew it was worth thousands of dollars and didn't want the scumbags getting away with stealing from a "defenseless" woman.

Either way, Jon was trying to look out for Diana. Clark's girlfriend, which, in a way, pissed Clark off. He thinks I can't protect my own damn woman. And that should not have mattered to Clark, but—dammit—it sure as hell did.

"I don't think you understand how this works," the guy with the gun said, inky, black hair hiding one eye, his next step taking him closer to Diana. "You don't tell us what to take. We just take what in the fuck we want and you stand there and don't say shit."

For once, Lois said nothing, her wide eyes and flushed face telling her own tale of anger and fear.

Diana reached up and snatched the necklace from her neck, breaking the clasp. Before Clark knew it, she had handed it over to the thug with the gun. Then she handed him her black, clutch purse. Reluctantly, Lois did the same, as did Clark, tossing his wallet to another of the knife wielding muggers.

Apparently satisfied, the four criminals jumped into a black van that had been circling the block, Clark having spotted the van and driver the moment he saw the thieves appear from behind the parked vehicles.

"God dammit," Jon swore after the van pulled off. "And I thought this was such a nice neighborhood."

"Just because we were robbed, it doesn't mean it's not a nice neighborhood," Lois contradicted. "It just means that criminals don't live in bubbles, isolating their crimes to areas we think are unsafe."

"That's bull. This isn't Gotham. We don't have Batman lurking behind a corner or on a rooftop waiting to take out thugs like the ones who just robbed us."

"No, that's what Superman is for. But he can't be everywhere, no matter how much he would've come in handy five minutes ago."

Diana looked towards Clark then her eyes shifted to the street where the thieves had driven down. He knew what she was thinking, what she wanted to do. He felt the same way. But they had to wait.

He mouthed, "Later."

She nodded. But her unhappiness to wait showed in the way she glared off into the darkness and the hard click, click, click of her high heels when they made their way back into the restaurant to call the police and wait for their arrival.

Three hours later, they spotted the black van from the air. Landing beside the vehicle, Clark didn't object when Diana took the lead. She was wound so tight, he thought she just might explode if she didn't release some of her built fury. It wasn't the best idea, nor was it the prudent thing to do, but Clark knew it was better than having Diana take out her anger on the guys sleeping in the house to his right.

So while Diana had grown by leaps and bounds in the management of her anger, since joining the League, she was still an Amazon. And, apparently, no one stole from an Amazon and got away with it. In fact, she'd told him, as they scoured the city for the van, "Amazons do not steal. Only the lowliest of beings take what is not freely given. If they were hungry or in true need, I would have gladly parted with my necklace. It was an eighteenth birthday gift from my mother, pearls found in the waters surrounding my homeland. For me, the value is in the memory not the cost it obviously has here."

And so Clark watched as Diana utterly destroyed the van. Quick and decisive, she obliterated the steel vehicle with hands that, against Clark's skin, was as gentle as baby's breath. And the racket, deliberately loud and menacing, brought the five men running, no one else in the boarded up and abandoned neighborhood except junkies and homeless to notice or care.

T-shirts and jeans on, the men bolted from the house, guns in hands, eyes going wide when they took in the scene before them.

In a large ball, roughly shaped with jagged edges, was what used to be a six-passenger, 4500 pound Dodge Caravan. Now it was nothing more than scrap metal, its destruction an outlet for the woman glaring at them.

" W-wonder Woman. S-Superman," the thug with the inky, black hair stammered, followed by, "We are so screwed," from the getaway driver. The other three were stunned into open-mouthed silence.

"For all of your sakes, I hope you still have everything you stole tonight." She stepped closer, untangling her lasso as she did so. "I think you will tell me all about this theft enterprise you have engaged."

Clark leaned against the ball of metal. Diana was calm and had everything under control. The men would tell her exactly what she wanted to know, and then Clark would call the local cops to handle the rest. If all went the way he suspected it would, he and Diana would spend the rest of the night returning stolen property to the good people of Metropolis. Because, as Clark scanned the dilapidated house where the men had holed up, the building was filled with electronic equipment, credit cards, and jewelry the criminals had taken from other victims. Not at all how Clark thought his date with Diana would go. But from the brief smile she tossed over her shoulder at him, this was the happiest Clark had seen her in weeks.

"You really know how to show a woman a good time, Mr. Kent. Maybe we should go another month between dates."

Clark turned on his side to face a grinning Diana. They'd arrived in his apartment only fifteen minutes ago. By silent agreement, they'd stripped and climbed into Clark's bed, the morning sun just peaking over the horizon. They had spent hours returning most of the stolen items to their rightful owners. The remaining items were taken into police custody with the criminals.

Now, Clark couldn't help but smile at the odd turn of events his well-planned night had taken. Admittedly, the part of the plan that included getting Diana in his bed was the only part that had turned out remotely correct. Yet, his plan had been for them to be in his bed for purposes of lovemaking, not from exhaustion at having flown all over Metropolis for the good portion of the night, after having been robbed at knife and gun point, no less.

"Not another month, Diana. I don't think I can deal with not seeing you for another thirty days." He probably shouldn't have admitted that to her, but at least he didn't admit to the worst of his fears—that he thought she was going to break up with him. It had been a foolish thought. And Diana hadn't deserved such a reaction from him. She had a right to mourn in her own way, and if that didn't include seeking comfort from him, then so be it.

She reclined against a pillow, her eyes first going to the ceiling then to Clark.

"I apologize. I just needed some time to sort a few things out. You're so busy, Clark, and you have your own life and worries. I didn't want to burden you with my own. Honestly, I don't know exactly what we are doing, how to make everything fit. I just know that I want it to fit. You in my life and me in yours." Diana shifted onto her side, lifting on an elbow and staring down at Clark. "Do you know how to blend all that we are into each other's personal and work lives?"

He gave Diana the same truth she'd just given him. "I haven't figured that part out yet. All I know for sure is that I like being with you, that I want to be with you, and I would absolutely hate it if we couldn't find a way to make it work."

"I feel the same."

That brought a reassured smile to Clark's lips.

Diana kissed it away, leaving him breathless and not the least bit sleepy. The sun shining in through the open blinds was rejuvenating his body almost as effectively as Diana's mind-blowing, deep tongue kisses were.

She tasted of sugar and vanilla, an overpowering mix that made her kisses even better, even sweeter.

He wanted more. He wanted all of her.

Without breaking the kiss, Clark rolled Diana onto her back. Then, with mighty teeth, Clark began marking Diana's body the way she liked.

Neck.

Shoulder.

Breasts.

Stomach.

They'd experimented with this, figuring out how much force and pressure they could use on the other. Not surprisingly, the limits were exceptionally high. The combination of pleasure mixed with pain arousing them both to a fever pitch many a night.

He bit into a golden, muscular thigh, sinking sharp teeth in deep then sucking.

She arched and moaned.

Clark did it again, soothing his second bite with his tongue. Up and down he went, swirling it over her inner thigh before biting Diana again.

Another moan, deeper and louder this time.

Edging closer to her center, Clark laid down a wet path from her knee, up a thigh, and to the pulsing wetness that greeted him. Sometimes he would toy with Diana, taking a circuitous route to her center of pleasure, increasing her desire for him and completion the longer he delayed. But it had been a month for the both of them and not a particularly rewarding date night.

So Clark gave them what they both craved—his tongue on her . . . in her, and Diana's acceptance of Clark, once more, as her lover, her partner, in and out of bed.

The kiss lingered, ramping up the heat meter to dangerous, primal levels.

Diana's legs trembled and her hips rotated, grinding her lovely, pink sex against Clark's face, mouth, and greedy tongue. She took all that he willingly gave, seeking a release he desperately wanted to give her.

In went one finger then two, the tongue still about the business of utterly owning Diana's unhooded clit.

She screamed.

The sheets in her hand ripped.

And Clark crooked his fingers, swept them back-and-forth over ridges just inside her sex, her G-spot, and then sucked on her sensitive bud of erotic pleasure.

Diana whimpered, screamed, then exploded in his mouth - her delicious juices coating his tongue and lips.

Clark would've kept going, would've continued working her until he brought Diana at least four more times, but—shit—he didn't have the patience or the self-control to wait any longer. He needed to be inside her—fucking her, screwing her, loving her. They would do all three before Clark would even think about letting Diana leave his bed or apartment. But first, they needed to get this initial rush of need out of the way.

Apparently, Diana had gotten the same memo, because—whoa, Wonder Woman—she just flipped Clark over and was already riding him before his tongue realized it was no longer needed. Job complete.

Eyes closed, long hair covering bouncing breasts, Diana swayed back-and-forth. Clark as deep as he could go.

Lifting his hands to her hips, Clark took hold and began to thrust. Up he went, down she came, shattering them both when they met in the middle.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Hard.

Rough.

Grinding.

Tempestuous.

Just the way they liked it, just the way only the two of them could take it, just the way they needed it.

More.

More.

More.

He felt the end coming, a thousand charging parademons would not have been any more forceful than the orgasm that threatened off the bow of Clark's Diana-tossed ship.

Wrenching control from Diana, Clark claimed her from behind. It was a deceptively submissive position, but Clark understood that the female still wielded much power, if she chose to use it. And Diana always did.

Hands on her plump ass, Diana pushed back into him with the same force he used to slam himself into her. With the bed groaning from harsh use and Clark from the sheer decadence of being with Diana like this, it didn't take long for him to find nirvana, a sexual paradise and a sacred blessing from Clark's personal demigoddess. Diana. You have no idea how much I love you.

Boneless and replete, they tumbled to the sweat-soaked and sex-scented bed.

"If this is how we act after going without for a month, I recommend we try to never do that again."

They laughed.

Clark couldn't agree more. Except, of course, unless Diana was up to trying for round two.

Clearly the woman was a mind reader and had far more stamina than he'd given her credit for, because Diana leaned over and kissed him—deep and long and with tongue.

Her wandering right hand found his chest and began to stroke and caress.

Then his stomach. More stroking and caressing.

Then lower.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

Mmm. Round two it is then.

THE END