Interruptions
Or two times Bruce and Diana's son walked on them and one time he didn't.
Just a little something running through my head. CU
1.
Bruce feels her tightness when he pushes in, her walls slipping and clenching around his hard member. Diana moans loudly as he pulls out, only to gasp sharply when he shoves himself back in. His thrusts are regular and sharp, just the way he knows she likes, and he wonders if he will ever get tired of the sight of her so open and vulnerable to him. He is so into her -figuratively and literally- that he fails to notice the little boy's arrival. Diana shouts again, her eyes shut in ecstasy and arches her back. He comes hard, his forehead buried in her hair.
"What are you doing to mother!"
The shriek freezes them both. Diana's cheeks are flushed and her breathing hard and erratic. She's bent over the table and her pants are down her ankles. He is shirtless and still buried inside her. Hippolyte stands in the opening door, his five-year-old eyes wide in horror.
"Go outside Hippolyte," Diana somehow manages to articulate, though she sounds breathless. "I'll be there in a moment."
"But-"
"Go." She orders sharply. "And close the door."
He obeys reluctantly.
Bruce pulls out –his son's interruption has put a sharp halt to the mood –and tries to clean himself with his shirt. Diana pulls her pants back up, hiding the lovely view. They face each other in embarrassment and, if honest, light amusement.
"Is he going to hate me?" Bruce asks; it is no secret that Hippolyte is a mama's boy. Diana rolls her eyes but smile.
"I'll talk to him."
She finds her son sitting on the staircase, shifting nervously as he expects her arrival. When she shows in his sight, he runs to her and hugs her tight. Her heart soars as she realizes how worried he is for her, so crouches to be at his level, forcing him to stand back. Hippolyte stares at her with his father's blue irises, his lower lip trembling in anxiety.
"Was he hurting you?" he whispers, though Bruce is nowhere near. Diana cups her son's cheek and smiles soothingly.
"No little one, he wasn't."
She does not want to imagine what had gone through her little boy's mind after catching his parents in a very compromising position. Her calmness ensures his, and though Hippolyte looks mildly reassured, he still frowns in confusion.
"But then why were you shouting?"
Diana paused. How was she to explain the mechanics of lovemaking to a five year old?
"It's…" she starts, hoping the words will follow through somehow.
"Were you trying to make a baby?"
Diana blinks.
"Uh?"
"Bruce was mounting you like horses do when they reproduce," he goes on, unabashed and bold in the way she both loathes and adores. He repeats seriously: "Were you trying to make a baby?"
Diana is stunned into silence. Her cheeks flush involuntarily and she's at loss for words. She hasn't really considered having another child –Hippolyte is more than enough –and she doubts Bruce would agree to bring another being in this world. They don't really know how her divinity will impact Hip, if he will inherit powers of his own or have a mortal life. As one of Zeus' bloodline, she assumes he will develop some special capacity, and perhaps the presence of a sibling would leave his less alone. Still, she has to answer his honest inquiry and doesn't know where to start.
"We…eh…" she racks her brain for a polite answer.
"It's practice."
Both mother and child jump at the third voice. Bruce is standing in the doorway, wearing a clean shirt, his hands in his pockets. He's not as self-assured as he tries to sound, but she's grateful for his intervention even though she had no idea where he's going with this.
"Practice?" Hippolyte replies, intrigued.
"When parents want a baby, they work for it," Bruce blurts, and she would berate him if she didn't feel so embarrassed. "But they don't always succeed the first time, so they have to practice."
"Oh." He pauses, contemplates Bruce's words. Diana crosses her fingers he will leave it there, but knowing her son… "So you and mother are practicing to try for a baby later?"
"Practicing feels good," Bruce goes on. "That's why adults like to practice a lot."
Hippolyte nods, apparently satisfied with the answer. Diana notes that Bruce hasn't broached the 'extra baby' question.
"So…mother shouted because it felt…good?" He inquires further, trying to wrap things together. Diana knows her cheeks are growing warmer by the second and is relieved to see Bruce's turn pink.
"That's it," she confirms. "But it's private and we should have locked the door. It won't happen again Hip, don't worry."
Hippolyte looks a bit confused by the last part but shrugs anyway; he has the reassurance and some answers he sought for.
"Okay." Then he turns to Bruce and announce with a very serious air: "Father, you have to make mother shout like that more often. If she says it's good, then do it."
Said man turns an interesting shade of red. Diana would laugh if she wasn't equally embarrassed.
"I'll work on it," Bruce assures the boy and she senses he is a bit proud that his voice doesn't tremble. "Off you go now."
Their son darts back to his bedroom, probably to unleash some mayhem he will charm Alfred to clean later. Diana stares at her husband.
"I'll work on it?" she repeats in disbelief. "Really?"
Bruce shrugs, then he pulls her to him and gives her a deep, passionate kiss. When they break to breathe, Diana feels dizzy.
"Again?" she rasps. Bruce grins mischievously, which makes him look a decade younger.
"Hip did give his blessing."
Diana can't help it. She laughs.
2.
"You could have told me about Lois's plan to visit at work instead of you."
Diana looks up and spots her husband, dressed in his customary three-piece suit, freshly walking home from work. He's glaring at her mildly, his knee is a little stiff from his encounter with another thug the previous night. They both know he ought to put down the cowl soon, he's not as young as he used to be and two hyperactive children aren't arranging matters.
"I figured it might be a pleasant surprise," she replies lightly before turning serious: "Kal asked for help with a tsunami in India. He skipped his date with Lois, I supposed she went to you for comfort."
Bruce puts his briefcase on the table, still frowning.
"We were supposed to eat together," he protests petulantly, but it's mostly for show; she knows he doesn't blame her for ditching him to save people's lives, far from it. At this point, these pointless arguments are mostly for sport…and preludes to something else. "I had reservations in that great place…"
Diana smirks and stands. She's wearing the pumps that make her legs look miles long and that skirt that clings to her ass like a second skin. Given the look on Bruce's face, she won't be wearing it very long. She walks up to him, presses a hand on his firm chest and kisses his lips gently.
"I'll make it up to you," she purrs while her other hand trails down his stomach and straight for her final goal. Bruce barely raises an eyebrow –but once again, that's for show, she knows the sudden hunger in his eyes, the dilated pupils and unless she is sorely mistaken, in one, two, three…
He pushes her against the kitchen counter, devours her mouth with his own. His hands are already pulling her skirt upwards and parting her thighs. Diana gasps when he pulls back and kneels between her legs. She closes her eyes and sighs deeply. Her fingers clench into Bruce's mane as an involuntary reflex and encouragement. Without the support of the furniture, her wobbly legs would struggle to stand.
"Don't move," he growls in warning against her thigh and drops a kiss on the sensitive skin before returning to task. He licks and sucks hard, electing soft moans from the back of her throat. Her body arches at the fire building in her lower stomach. He always eats her out thoroughly, his right hand firm on her hips and while his left guides her leg over his shoulder for a better stability.
"Bru-ah!"
He replaces his tongue with a finger, pushing deep and then curling inside her. He thrusts in and out, slowly, before adding a second one without stopping his mouthing on her clit. Diana braces herself against the wall. She shuts her eyes close, bites her lower lip in a vain attempt to smoother her urge to whimper. Her insides clench harder around the now three fingers pumping in and out with a desperately slow rhythm. She feels so close…
Bruce suddenly stands up, depriving her from her climax. Diana glares at him full force.
"Oh don't you-"
"That is for the lack of warning about Lois," he growls. His face is inches from hers; she can feel his warmth and smell his arousal. "And I have half a mind leaving you like that."
Her eyes flash in anger.
"So that's your idea of revenge?" she hisses and lays a flat palm over his crotch. He is hard as stone and stiffens in reaction to her touch. She applies just enough pressure to rub him. "I think that is petty."
"I said I had half a mind," he nuances and reaches for his pants, a growing smirk on his face. "Now-"
The door opens wide. Both turned and fall face-to-face with Hippolyte. Bruce removes his hand from his zipper while Diana inconspicuously rearrange her skirt. The ten year old boy scowls in disgust.
"You guys know there are like, five bedrooms in this place?"
He walks past them, carefully avoiding looking too closely, and picks up the box of cookies he has been aiming for. Then he heads back out, still not granting them a second glance. Before leaving the room, he points an accusing finger at them:
"You are lucky it wasn't Brianna. Now get out. Or I'm telling Alfred."
Then he shuts the door with a little more force than necessary. The two exchange a glance.
"I guess we deserved it?" Bruce hazards. Diana glares.
"You're the one who assaulted me in the kitchen," she accuses. In spite of her son's interruption, her body is still humming for release. "If you're not going to finish the job, I'll take care of it myself," she adds and promptly departs with as much dignity as she can muster. Bruce is staring at her contemplatively when she turns to close the door behind.
"Can I watch?" he asks with a little too much hopefulness in his tone. Her lower regions renew into a blazing fire. The idea of him sitting across the room, his hungry stare on her while she works herself off is not supposed to make her hornier.
"Fine," she snaps, and watching him nearly trips himself as he follows her almost makes it worth it.
Somewhere in the house, a quizzical Brianna asks her big brother what he means when he mutters about horses, rutting parents and extra siblings.
3.
Hippolyte stares suspiciously at the table. The marks of the feet don't fit their usual spots and he can't figure out why anyone would have a reason to shift its position. He crosses his arms and frowns. Occam's razor has a very simple explanation, but he doesn't want to confront the potential suspects in fear of giving them ideas. The table is really heavy and Bree usually comes clean when she accidentally uses her super strength for anything. Not that moving a table is capital crime to begin with, but he would really favor the thought of his sister moving around the furniture than the alternative. Especially if, according to his calculation, the crime must have been committed barely hours ago.
"Everything alright Hip?"
Bruce steps in the kitchen, looking particularly grumpy. Hippolyte assesses him: the tips of his greying hair are slightly damp, his clothes fresh and the line between his eyebrows not too pronounced. His shoulders are a bit stiff though and Hip's deduction leaves him groaning and knowing he will have to petition Alfred for a new table very soon.
"Yeah, I'm good." He mutters. "What about you?"
Bruce sits on the chair across the table, wincing as he does.
"My back is acting up again," he grumbles. Hippolyte rolls his eyes.
"You mean you and mother argued for the sake of arguing again, had a great session of make-up sex on the table and then you ended up hurting your back?"
Bruce freezes. The reddening ears are a dead giveaway. Hippolyte resists the urge to roll his eyes again; the man had his ass plastered on ten different trash magazines and he still can't bring himself to talk about having sex with his wife in front of his children. He briefly wonders if his first interruption ten years ago might have played a part in that prudish behavior. Neither Brianna nor Thomas had the chance to witness his parents in action growing up, so he supposes it does.
"That," Bruce says in a very dignified tone, "is none of your business."
"I eat on that table," Hippolyte points out. "It is my business."
"You make it sound like Diana and I keep getting at it."
"Well, since you retired from being the Dark Knight and all, it's understandable that you need to focus all that extra stamina on something…" he suddenly grins. "Or in this case, someone."
Bruce throws the first thing that falls under his hand –a napkin -at the teenager. Hippolyte ducks and gracefully exits the kitchen. He peeks back inside, with the same grin that means he is about to say something absurdly outrageous.
"But hey, I think it's great. It keeps mother happy and you in shape."
This time, Hippolyte does use the speed inherited from his mother to duck the shuriken that flies in his direction.