"Good," Lady Shiva said as she rose from the floor, ignoring the trickle of blood that was winding down her chin. "Again."
Her body blurred into an attack routine. He met it head on and countered, fists and feet flashing out in a perfect balance of attack and defense. It ended with her on the ground again. When she stood, there was a hint of a smile on her normally impassive face.
"Again!"
They fought for nearly an hour, kicks and strikes and punches that would make the finest martial artists in the world shake their collective heads in wonder. A superlative blend of speed and power and grace.
She hit him several times.
He hit her more.
"Enough!" she said suddenly. Her chest was heaving. He froze, mirroring her stance less than a foot away. Lines of sweat tickled his nose.
She pulled back and placed her right fist against an open left palm, in the traditional greeting of fighters. Eyebrow raised, he kept his guard up, even tensed his body.
His jaw dropped when, for the first time ever, Lady Shiva Woo-san bowed to him. It was a smooth, sensual gesture, a side he had never before seen from her. Her dark almond eyes, exuding an almost predatory gleam, were locked onto his.
He blinked.
She advanced toward him.
Confused, he took a step back. "Lady?" he asked.
"I have succeeded at last, my little bat." Noting his bewildered look, she gave a wry chuckle. "So surprised. What did you think my purpose was in training you all these years?"
"I—you said Grandfather was paying you—"
She made a dismissive noise in her throat ."Money. I have enough of it to drown a city and no use for more." She turned away from him and walked lithely to the corner of the dojo where towels and other supplies were kept. He finally dropped his guard, puzzled eyes following her every move.
She picked up a steamed towel and wiped sweat from her face as she spoke. "You have heard of my loss to the Batgirl?" He nodded. "I was…troubled…for a period following that defeat," she said. "My life's purpose had been to seek out and conquer the greatest fighters in the world, and for the first time I had lost." Her eyes were clouded. "It is…a difficult thing, to discover that your life has lost its meaning."
"It must have been difficult," he blurted out.
In the past, such an interruption would have earned a cuff on the head. Now she glared at him but almost immediately gave a short laugh. "It will be hard getting used to this," she said.
"Getting used to what?"
Shiva stared at him with an unfamiliar look in her eyes, a predator eyeing its prey. He felt dizzy.
When she spoke again, it was as if he hadn't interrupted. "After that defeat, I traveled to the highest peak of the Tibetan mountains and meditated for weeks without food or sleep. When I emerged from the cave, I found that the quest of combat for the sake of combat no longer held my interest. I decided that I would put my time and skills to another purpose: I sought a companion in life, a man who was worthy of me and would challenge and inspire me. But I could not find a man who was my equal. So I had to make one."
His eyes widened as she went on. "I have taught the greatest fighters in the world, but no pupil has ever surpassed me…until now. I never taught them everything—until now. Now, I have passed everything I know on to you. You are that man."
Ibn was at a loss for words. Then her words sank in and he had a sudden, dizzying shift of perception. For the first time he saw her not as Lady Shiva, the teacher, but as Shiva the woman.
She was still speaking. "You have bested me, and your training is at an end. You may claim your reward. But I will not force your decision; it is up to you. I will be retiring to my room. You may follow me, or not, as you will. It is your choice, Ibn al Xu'ffasch." His name rolled off her tongue.
His eyes bored into her, specifically the shifting of her toned body as she walked out of the dojo.
He followed.
His steps grew longer, faster. He was almost drunk with the sensation of power, that he had conquered this mightiest of opponents.
She was already nude when he entered her quarters. Her back was to him, revealing the twisted coil of a serpent around her shoulders and down her back. Her body was perfectly sculpted, hardened from years of combat but retaining a dangerous, sensual femininity. A tigress.
Yes, indeed, he thought to himself moments later, as they tumbled in a furious, writhing heap onto her bed. His mouth devoured hers as she scratched and clawed passionately at his back. A tigress.
-
-
-
Chapter Two
The armored police wagon rolled steadily down the highway. It was night in this part of the world and the roads were deserted, but the vehicle stayed well under the speed limit. No sense in taking chances with this cargo.
Inside the carrier, three guards glared at the prisoner they were escorting. A white-skinned maniac, bundled in an orange jumpsuit and chained from head to toe, gazed back at them.
"Boys," the prisoner drawled, the dischordant tone of voice making one of them wince, "I know I'm good-looking, but could you go easy on the staring? You're making me blush."
"Shut up," growled one of the guards.
The Joker's smile disappeared. "Now you're just being mean." His eyes narrowed a fraction. "I absolutely despise mean people."
"Shut up!" the guard's voice was louder. His hand was on the electric baton belted to his side.
The Joker ignored him and went on. "I mean, it's one thing to be crazy—that's actually a good thing, see—and I don't mind that. In fact, I try to help everyone become like me. Sharing the wealth, so to speak."
"Shut. your. mouth." This through gritted teeth.
"But you, well, all I can say is that your mother must have brought you up the wrong way, because you're just being plain rude."
The guard stood, electric baton raised and crackling.
"I said, shut the fu—"
There was a deafening crash, and the world turned upside down.
----------
A dozen black clad figures swarmed over the overturned carrier. Several more were pouring out of a large truck fitted with a battering ram, the reason for the GCPD vehicle's upheaval.
With a silent and practiced efficiency, the figures dragged five men from the battered carrier: a dead driver, three unconscious guards, and a dazed Joker.
A limousine pulled up behind the truck. A well dressed man stepped out of the limo and moved forward to speak with the still-chained prisoner. "Mister Joker?" he asked with a deferential nod.
"Who the hell are you?" the clown demanded.
The man spread his hands in a pacifying gesture. "My name is Samuel. I am a messenger, nothing more."
"Messenger? From who? What's the message?"
"Ibn al Xu'ffasch wishes to request an audience with you."
A pale green brow furrowed. "Albino who?"
"Ibn al Xu'ffasch. You may not be familiar with his name, but I am to say this to pique your interest: he is the son of the Bat, and wishes to meet with you regarding his father.'"
The Joker's eyes widened. "Batsy had a kid? A real kid? I always thought he was gay…I mean with the Robins and everything, who knew what he was doing with them?"
"So you will accept the invitation?" the man asked.
The Joker tried to scratch his chin, but was stopped by the cuffs. "What happens if I don't?" he asked suspiciously.
Samuel shrugged. "Nothing. We will go to our next contact and make the same request of him. Unfortunately we are pressed for time, which means we will be unable to offer you our assistance." He glanced at the chains, then at the guards, who were beginning to groan and rise. "Their orders are to check in with the Gotham City Police Department at fifteen minute intervals. There are seven minutes remaining before the next check-in. So I must ask again, will you come with me? I assure you that you will derive great satisfaction from this meeting."
There was a long pause, then the Joker shrugged. "Sure. Why the hell not?"
The man smiled. "Excellent. Our plane is waiting. If you will join me in the limousine, we will further discuss the situation."
"What about them?" the Joker jerked his thumb at the semi-conscious guards sprawled on the ground.
Samuel nodded. "Of course. We would not deny you the chance to avenge such an insult." He snapped his fingers, and one of the black-clad figures strode forward to strip away the Joker's chains. The man then retrieved an electric baton from one of the guards and presented it hilt-first to the former prisoner.
Long, slender fingers closed around the baton handle and a smile broke out on his pale face. He flicked the switch, and the humming sound filled him with happiness. Just like one of his joy buzzers.
He advanced on the whimpering guards.
----------
Ibn stared at the file, absorbing every nuance of the Martian Manhunter, aka J'onn J'onzz. An alien philosopher and lover of peace who possessed some of the greatest tools with which to make war.
The Martian race's main weakness had been fire, a result of eons-past Oan tinkering with their genetic makeup. The Batman had taken advantage of that weakness by designing nanites that burst into flame upon contact with air, thereby crippling the alien. But that mental block had been banished recently, resulting in a massive battle between the League and the rogue Martian that crisscrossed the continent, a trial by fire which left the city of Pyongyang in nuclear ruin. Flame was no longer an option for incapacitating the most versatile member of the League.
What other method, then? By far the most fearsome of the Martian's abilities was his telepathy: the ability to read, influence, and control people's thoughts. Batman's files listed an instance where the Martian had scanned through the minds of every person in the world. What could mere humans do against such incredible power?
"Turn your opponent's strength into his weakness," Shiva had taught him. Was there some way to turn even telepathy into a weakness? The power of the mind was different from that of brute force; by its very nature it was impossible to twist or use against its wielder.
Or was it? There were ways to neutralize the Martian's telepathic abilities; Batman's files held detailed notes on the design of neural circuitry that could cloak and even shield a mind from psychic attack. Ibn knew of half a dozen other prototypes under development at LexCorp and STAR Labs, fledgling experiments that had proven successful in turning a telepath's power back against him—albeit on a tiny scale. Less than a gnat against an elephant.
Gnats could not hurt an elephant. He drummed his fingers against the table.
A million gnats, though…
He cocked his head and stared into the distance, then began to write. Hours later, the files before him were filled with scribblings and sketches. The door opened and he looked up for the first time since beginning his work.
His impassive face broke into a smile at the sight of the newcomer. "Lady," he said.
Lady Shiva strolled to his desk, then leaned down so their faces were next to each other. They shared a languid kiss.
"How is it going?" she asked after they had broken apart.
He pushed the file aside. "Slowly," he admitted. "It is difficult work, plotting the demise of aliens."
She laughed, then settled cat-like into a chair and crossed her legs. "How can I help?"
"This is a task I must handle alone," he told her. "As Grandfather instructed."
"Mmm." She flipped through his notes. "Then perhaps you can share your thoughts with me. It may help clarify the process."
He shrugged. "Unlikely, but as you wish. I am currently studying the Martian. He has no true weakness anymore, not since overcoming his vulnerability to fire. And his abilities are numerous: extreme strength, flight, shapeshifting, telepathy. A fearsome opponent."
"And what are your plans?"
He leaned back and stared at the files on the desk. "His greatest strength lies is his telepathic abilities. Right now I am studying prototypes for psychic feedback generators, something that can latch on to a psychic probe and send a retaliatory current back to its source. But the designs are cumbersome and will not work for what I have in mind."
"Which is?"
"If I can develop a situation where the Martian would feel…compelled…to reach out to every mind he could, then by setting up enough units to amplify and return a high level of neural feedback…" he trailed off, staring into the distance.
Shiva waited. When he didn't speak again, she prodded him gently. "And that brings you back to?"
He shook his head as if awakening from a trance. "A moment. I have an idea." He grabbed the file and began scribbling furiously. She leaned back and watched him.
Several minutes later he looked up, nodding. "It might work. Ironically, by adapting one of WayneTech's designs." He glanced at her. "It did help—you were right."
"As always," she replied.
The familiar curl of her lips made him smile. He settled back into his chair and gazed at her. "Even now, teaching me," he teased.
"As I said long ago, I have already taught you everything. Now I merely remind you of what you have learned."
He inclined his head in a mock bow.
"So," she said. "Go on."
He closed the file and pushed it aside. "In the end, it still comes back to Superman. As the true strength of the League, he is the target, and he is the one whose collapse will bring down the others. Like saplings toppled by a falling oak."
"And how will you topple him?"
Ibn stroked his chin thoughtfully. "His main weakness is well known; his lesser failings are not. I am working on those and they may prove to be his undoing, but we will still need Kryptonite. Unfortunately, it is the rarest material on this earth and not easily synthesized."
"Then how…?"
"We must consult the only human who time and time again has shown the cunning to battle Superman to a draw."
He tapped a button on the computer before him. The screen changed to show the profile of a bald man, still regal despite the vagaries of age.
----------
"This is an…interesting proposal, Mr. Xu'ffasch."
"Please, call me Ibn."
Lex Luthor nodded. "A moment." He tapped several buttons on his desk in rapid succession. A faint humming noise filled the room.
"Sonic generators and sound dampeners," Luthor explained, gesturing at the walls. "One can never be too careful."
Ibn gave an easy smile. "Of course." He didn't mention the devices built into his watch and ring that served the same purpose.
His tone made Luthor glare. "I had my people run background searches on you," the older man warned. "You check out, but I still don't like this. Give me half a reason and you won't leave this room alive. If your grandfather is screwing with me I'll make sure he regrets it."
Ibn's smile didn't waver. "Will you now?"
Luthor growled. Then, "Mercy!" he shouted.
A smartly dressed woman materialized at his side. Her blond hair was wrapped into a long braid and a pistol was belted at her hip.
"I say the word, boy, and Mercy splatters your brains across this carpet. It'll be a waste of a Persian rug, but worth an end to your lip."
Ibn smiled and inclined his head at the woman. "Mercy, is it?" he asked. "Mr. Luthor's… assistant. I have heard of you. The tales of your prowess are very flattering." Ignoring her sneer, his gaze shifted to Luthor. "You have an imposing woman, Mr. Luthor. I have one, too. Would you like to meet her?"
Luthor raised a trimmed eyebrow.
"Lady Shiva," Ibn called, without raising his voice.
There was a loud crack behind him and the office door flew off its hinges. Four bodies—members of Luthor's elite security team—thudded to the ground as Shiva stepped into the room. Ibn watched in amusement as both Luthor and Mercy stiffened at the appearance of the Asian woman.
Shiva sauntered toward them and stopped casually by Ibn's side. She locked gazes with Mercy for just a moment before the blonde-haired woman blanched and looked away.
"I have a woman too, Mr. Luthor," Ibn continued. His tone was even; he could have been discussing the weather. "Just so we are perfectly clear."
Luthor glared at him. But he avoided looking at Shiva, who had a devilish smirk on her lips.
Ibn smiled at the older man. "Shall we begin?"
----------
Half a continent away, Bruce Wayne swiveled in an office chair as his butler entered the room. Alfred held a bundle of clothing in his wiry arms.
"Master Bruce, you will be late for your dinner."
"I don't think I'm going to go."
"Nonsense." The butler began setting out the clothes—starched shirts, ties, slacks, and dress shoes polished to a perfect shine.
"It's not a good idea, Alfred."
"And why not?"
Bruce glared at the older man. "You know why."
The butler was silent for several moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was grave. "I know very few things for certain, Master Bruce. What I do know is that gallivanting around town wearing cape and cowl is but one aspect of life. And as you grow…wiser, you will find yourself missing out on the things which make life worthwhile."
"Wiser? You were going to say 'older.'"
"That is neither here nor there, sir. And even so, what of it? I myself manage to suffer through my dotage while retaining a good deal of my faculties. Most people find me quite sane…intelligent, even. Save perhaps for my choice in employers."
"Alfred—"
The butler was merciless. "Despite your sometime interest in Miss Kyle, I believe that deep down inside you are well aware of the mismatch between you two. I understand that a man needs an occasional distraction, especially if his life consists of crawling around rooftops and foiling burglaries. But, delightful as she is," Alfred's voice made it clear that he didn't find her delightful, "Miss Kyle is not the sort of woman with whom you can share a future. Begging her pardon."
Bruce shifted lower into his chair and glanced away, looking for all the world very much like a young boy being lectured on manners. "What's come over you, Alfred? Are you drunk?"
The English gentleman pursed his lips. "Hardly. But there are certain things a father must do for his son, and I believe that your father, rest his soul, would not disapprove." There was a pause as the sharp line of his mouth softened. He sighed. "There are nights, Master Bruce, when I feel my years catching up to me and despair that after I am gone, there will be no one to watch over you. This is one of those nights. I fear for your loneliness, and as I promised your father that I would take care of you, 'pre-date jitters' shall not stand in my way. Now," he picked up a garment, his tone indicating that the discussion was over, "blue shirt or brown?"
Bruce stared at his longtime butler, friend, and father figure. Then he sighed. "Whatever you think is best."
Alfred nodded. "Very good, sir."
----------
Ibn pointed to the screen. The two men had just watched the confrontation between Superman and 666 in Metropolis, as well as the battle's aftermath. The bum was in the picture, his soda can in mid-flight.
"You see?" Ibn asked. "All that power, the strength to move planets, yet the demands of one man can turn him aside."
Luthor stared at the tape. Then he barked a laugh. "That German fellow. One of yours?"
"Of course. Though he did not know it. Many of my grandfather's laboratory experiments have recently come to fruition."
"And you threw him out there just to bait Superman?"
Ibn shrugged. "He was the product of years of genetic manipulation and gene splicing, the culmination of our efforts. But as you can see, even that was not enough. It was yet another reminder that despite our greatest efforts, none on this earth have the raw might to match Superman. So, we will not use might."
Luthor snorted. "What are you going to do, ask him nicely to step aside?"
Ibn gestured again at the screen, where the bum was frozen in mid shout and Superman was drifting away. "As I said, our greatest efforts failed to budge Superman. Yet one man—a single, worthless man whose life is less than a rat on the streets, barely a speck of dust to you or I…that man was able to move him. This is something you must have learned about superheroes. They are incredibly strong, even godlike, yet powerless in the right situation."
Luthor leaned forward, lips pursed. "I'm listening."
"You say that Kryptonite can no longer cause him serious harm. This is unfortunate and will make my task more difficult. But the Man of Steel has a weakness greater than Kryptonite, both in size and in scope. And by exploiting that weakness we can bring about his ruin."
"The court of public opinion."
Ibn nodded.
"It won't work. It's been tried before. I've tried it. These people," Luthor's voice grew venomous, "those sheep, they love their Superman. Nothing he does can turn them against him."
Ibn leaned back in his chair and smiled.
----------
"Clark," Bruce muttered in exasperation. "Such a Boy Scout."
Diana laughed. "He gets to you sometimes, doesn't he? Despite your demeanor. The two of you are like brothers, always getting under each other's skin."
They were seated at a table inside the Themiscyran embassy, dining on sandwiches made of cold cuts and cheeses and various kinds of flatbread. "I'm sorry about the food," she had apologized earlier. "I didn't think you would come." After getting over her surprise, she had bustled about the kitchen, refusing his repeated offers to take them out to dinner.
Now he considered her words. "I guess, in a way, you could say that," he mused. "Of course, I would be the older one. The smart one."
She grinned around a mouthful of ham, turkey, and Provolone cheese. After chewing and swallowing, she took a sip of iced tea and patted her lips with a napkin.
"So deep down inside, the Batman really is a family man?"
He snorted. "Hardly." Seeing the opportunity to change the subject, "And how about you?" he ventured. "Growing up in Themyscira with one big happy family?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Happy? Themysciran politics can be every bit as venomous as those here. But," she pointed a finger at him. "you're trying to change the subject, Mister Wayne. We were talking about you, not me."
He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. "So, about Clark," he said innocently.
The Amazon princess laughed, shaking her head and taking another sip of her iced tea. "Bruce, you're impossible."
----------
"Did you know, Superman once decided he would try to feed the world?" Ibn asked.
"I heard something about that." Luthor replied. "It was a long time ago, wasn't it?"
"Yes. He pleaded with your Congress to allow him to deliver surplus food to starving countries. They agreed and he was successful at first, but ran into a dictator who refused to allow him into the country, even fired missiles at the shipment he was carrying. The bombs could not harm him, let alone stop his mission, but they were loaded with poisons which destroyed the grain that he had brought. Superman saw this and despaired—he turned tail and ran. This is a being who could take over the planet if he chose, but some poisoned grain turns him from his course. Powerful…yet powerless."
Luthor stroked his chin. After a long silence, he spoke. "Fine. Let's assume, for the time being, that whatever you have planned might work. But you're forgetting one thing. Superman isn't alone. When you tangle with him now, you lock horns with the rest of the damned JLA. You say you've got a plan to take him down—what happens when the rest of them find out and come after you?"
"They will be under control," Ibn said coolly.
"How?" Luthor demanded. "Excuse my skepticism, but I find it hard to believe that you'll succeed where generations before you have failed."
"If we come to an agreement, Mr. Luthor, my plans will be revealed. For now, suffice it to say that Superman is my target."
Luthor muttered a curse. "I've wasted too much of my life on Superman. I know almost everything there is to know about him. But years ago I discovered that each time I went up against him and the JLA, I was outmatched not by force, but by cunning. I knew that he didn't have that kind of brains, so I spent some time studying the League. And I found out that the mind behind the outfit isn't Superman…it's the Batman. An attack on the JLA won't work if the Bat is left alone."
"The Batman will be handled accordingly."
"How?"
"As I told you earlier," Ibn said patiently, "all will be revealed in due time." He tapped a finger against his chin. "But perhaps I can say this much. To pique your interest in our partnership, I will offer you a prized bit of information. A carefully guarded secret: the identity of the Batman."
Luthor's head jerked up. Before he could speak, Ibn went on. "But first I must have your promise that you will take no action against him at this time. It would upset a delicate balance and ruin the plans I have already set into motion."
"Yeah, whatever. Who is he?"
"Your promise, Mr. Luthor. And I will hold you to it."
Luthor growled. "Fine. You have my word. But this better be good."
Ibn leaned back in his chair. "He is Bruce Wayne. And I am his son."
---------
"Talia, hmm? She's very beautiful."
Bruce stared at the wineglass he was holding. The first bottle between them was empty; a second was already halfway gone. "It was a long time ago. I was lonely. Not that it's an excuse."
Something in his voice gave her pause. She put down her wineglass—a bit unsteadily—and reached a hand out to cover his. Dressed in a plain sweater and faded jeans, her beauty was no less apparent. "Bruce…you don't need an excuse to be with somebody."
He stared at her smaller hand over his own. Then he looked up. "Your turn."
She frowned ever so slightly and pulled her hand away. "Fine. Her name was…Nera. She was red haired, had a very fiery temper. Kind of like Artemis, now that I think about it."
"That makes six for you, three for me." He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Amazons are more open about their sexuality, Bruce. For us it wasn't some grand production. It was just something we did." She paused and titled her head. "Does that make me promiscuous? A slut?"
He choked on his wine. "A what? No! No…no. Not at all." She hid a smile as he coughed and hastily gulped down the rest of the glass, then poured more wine for both of them.
They drank in silence. Several minutes had passed before she spoke again. "Do you ever think about…that night?"
He didn't need to ask which night she was referring to. He looked at his glass and said nothing.
"Bruce." His eyes returned to see her plaintive gaze. "Do you…do you think we made the right choice?"
He set his wineglass down so the trembling wouldn't betray him. "We made the decision. For us, for the League. It was the right thing to do."
"At the time."
"Nothing's changed, Diana."
Her wineglass joined his on the table. "Perhaps. But perhaps not. Perhaps everything's changed."
"Like what?" he challenged.
There was another long silence, and when she spoke again he had to struggle to hear her words. "Maybe I realized that you didn't actually respond when I asked if you were willing to try."
He didn't say anything, just stared at her.
"Maybe I came to see that my decision might have been a mistake. Maybe…" her cheeks were very red, not all from the wine, "maybe I discovered that I couldn't stop thinking about you." She didn't look at him; her voice was barely a whisper. "Maybe, if you were willing, we could give it another chance."
A motion startled her and made her look up from the floor. He was by her side. Her arms, of their own volition, circled around his neck.
They kissed.
---------
"Bruce Wayne! Bruce godamned Wayne!" Luthor was pacing in his office. He came to an abrupt halt, eyes narrowed. "During No Man's Land, when he stopped my takeover…and then Batman appeared…" He smashed a fist into his palm. "I should have realized it! Bruce Wayne!"
Ibn watched the older man in amusement. Luthor spun on him.
"We'll start tomorrow. LexCorp will start making bids for all of Wayne's subsidiaries. We'll send men to Gotham and begin buying up every damned piece of property in the city. After that, a few phone calls and I'll have half the inmates in Blackgate released. We'll see how Batman handles—"
"Mr. Luthor," Ibn broke in. "Your promise."
Luthor stared at him, his face reddening. Ibn's gaze was nonchalant.
Suddenly, Luthor strode to his desk and sat down opposite the younger man. He brought his hands together. "Very well, boy. It's your show, for now." His voice was surprisingly calm. "But Batman—Wayne—has one of the finest minds on the planet. He's strong. He has vast resources and powerful allies at his beck and call. How exactly do you propose to defeat him?
Ibn leaned forward intently. "With a finer mind, and a stronger body. With resources just as vast, and allies every bit as powerful."
Luthor stared at him, then understanding crossed his harsh features. He barked a laugh. "Ahh. Brilliant. The best way to defeat a Bat…"
Ibn smiled and finished the sentence for him. "…is with another."
----------
Diana burst into a sudden fit of giggles, giving Bruce pause.
"What?" he demanded.
From her prone position on the couch, she looked up at him. "I was just imagining," she broke off into another mirthful fit before recovering enough to speak, "what Kal and the others would say about this."
His lip twitched, but "Screw Kal," he growled.
Her eyes widened teasingly. "Really? I didn't know you were into that kind of thing, Batman. Should I ask him?"
He gave a mock snarl, which made her dissolve into laughter. "I'll get you for that, Princess," he said, and pounced on her. Her laughter was cut off by his mouth over hers. They kissed hungrily as he fumbled at her clothing.
Sometime later they fell off the sofa. Neither of them cared.