A/N: Don't ask me why, but somehow my brain decided to make this a two-shot. I've missed these two stubborn folks and I hope you enjoy the conclusion.
"Remind me why you know how to do this?" Diana, princess of Themyscira and Amazon goddess, asked, her periwinkle blue eyes filled with amusement as she stared at Gotham's Dark Knight from across a massage table.
"The benefits of good circulation," Bruce Wayne explained dispassionately, only because he knew she was trying to tease him. Not that she needed to. The scenario was utterly ludicrous. He'd refused her several times, until he'd passed by her in the gym one morning and saw that her reflexes were slower and her movements weren't as smooth as they should've been after their fight on Apokolips. It wasn't her technique. She'd fought the Furies. She'd suffered some pretty extensive damage, and while her metahuman body had healed the surface damage, he could tell she needed a deep tissue massage and perhaps even realignment. He'd recommended several experts, but Diana had done a screening with all five of them and turned them down one by one. Finally frustrated, Bruce agreed to do it himself.
"I don't have the powers of a god," he drawled, his own blue eyes glinting slyly. "But I do have the reflexes of one thanks to this."
Diana rolled her eyes. "Vanity, thy name is Bruce."
He chuckled. "Whenever you're ready, Princess."
He turned towards the dresser politely. She eyed him, her lips pursed, wondering if he'd be tempted like any man would to peek at her. Then again, his level of restraint was legendary, much to her slight dismay. She untied her fluffy terrycloth robe and climbed onto the table, draping the cloth across herself from shoulders to calves. She rested her arms beneath her head and crossed them, closing her eyes and reminding herself that she was safe. Hell, there were only three places in the world where she could make such a claim. She tried not to think about it too much, how familiar Wayne Manor had become to her by now, how she almost felt like it was a home away from home. Bruce would be furious to hear such a thing.
She exhaled to calm her distracted thoughts and creaked one eyelid up to watch him. He had rolled up the sleeves to his plain white dress shirt, tucked into spotless black jeans, and was applying a scentless lotion to his large hands.
"And exactly who taught you this?"
She watched his shoulders knot with tension. "An old acquaintance."
Diana had been around him long enough to know an evasion when she heard it. "You mean old girlfriend."
"Not exactly the word I would use."
Diana arched an eyebrow. "Ms. Kyle, I presume?"
"Diana," he growled, his tone full of warning.
"Just curious," she said, trying to soothe him. "I doubted Alfred had the patience to teach you. He'd probably have to strap you down to get you still enough for a massage."
"I don't recall you being fond of staying in one place much either," he said, the heat retreating from his voice. "Let me know if I need to go get the restraints."
"Why, Mr. Wayne," she purred. "How forward. I'm not that kind of girl."
Bruce sighed as she laughed lightly. "I suppose I walked right into that one."
"You did."
He turned and walked towards her with a small bottle of lavender oil. She slipped her eye closed to avoid having to look at him. It was probably for the best. She'd gotten used to the way he looked with his mask on or off, but there was something so terribly attractive about him when he was relaxed in his own space. He rarely smiled—she could get him to do it if she tried hard enough, working just the right angle, teasing him, drawing that sarcastic part of his personality to the surface—but he didn't need to smile to still be handsome.
She managed not to flinch or shiver as a few droplets of oil sprinkled onto her shoulders and along the base of her neck. The oil had been warmed and actually felt rather good on her perfect skin. Bruce set the bottle aside and took a deep breath as he reached for Diana's bare shoulders. He reminded himself that he'd seen them before and there was no reason to lose his composure. They were just two very good friends…in his guest bedroom…alone…with dim lighting…one of them completely naked underneath one flimsy little white sheet…
Thankfully, Diana didn't moan or make a sound at all as his fingers slid across the smooth expanse of her shoulders. He'd have walked right the hell out the door if she had. She breathed evenly, seeming to analyze what he was doing. All he did at first was rub the oil across her soft flesh until he got it evenly coated and then he slid his fingers up the nape of her neck. Her hair was neatly pinned into a bun and he carefully moved tiny wisps that had fallen free as he started to massage her neck. He felt the elegant bones there and tested her movements with small experimental shifts, detecting the first source of tension in her. He worked them out in slow, flowing movements, relaxing the muscles and joints there before moving lower towards her shoulders.
He clicked his brain over to its clinical mode as he let his palms glide across her shoulder blades, searching for the problem areas. Little knots greeted his fingertips. He worked them one at a time, applying changing amounts of pressure until he felt them dissipate. Once he finished, he cleared his throat again and spoke, hoping he didn't sound husky.
"Princess?"
"Hmm," she asked in a dreamy, sleepy voice that made him want to fly straight to the Himalayas and become a monk.
"Are you experiencing any discomfort?"
"Trust me, you'd know it if I were," she answered mildly. "You may continue, Mr. Wayne."
It was beneath him to roll his eyes, but he felt the urge. "Any specific problems areas I should target?"
She opened one eye enough to look at him. He glared. She smiled widely and seemed to suppress whatever she'd been intending to say the first time. "My lower back. I seem to get a crick in it every time I bend over."
He grunted in affirmation and swept the sheet down further. Terrible idea. His heart rate all but tripled as the creamy skin of her naked spine greeted his eyes. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen it before—her uniform left all that luscious skin bare every time she wore it—but when she was in costume, he could lock his mind into business mode. Not when she was lying there bare and breathless and utterly tempting and just inches away from him.
Bruce steeled himself. No. He wasn't some hormonal teenager who was about to kiss a girl for the first time. This was a woman he respected. A woman who demanded his respect. Not only that, but a lady and a princess and a treasured friend. Not some sex object. He would perform precisely the duty he had been asked to perform, no more, no less. He would certainly not slide his hands around the sloping lines of her waist and yank her up against him and bury his hand in that thick, beautiful hair and kiss her absolutely senseless—
Damn it! Think about Clark. Pretend you're massaging Clark, for God's sake.
That snapped him out of it. At least the Boy Scout was good for something.
However, it was all for naught. He slid his hands along the wondrous curves of her spine and he heard her inhale sharply. She'd been quiet, but he had excellent hearing. Burning hot blood rushed through his ears and started heading southward. He viciously beat his libido down with inescapable knowledge. So what if she'd started breathing faster? It was a pleasant sensation, skin on skin. She'd have that reaction if anyone touched her there.
Liar, liar, pants on—
SHUT UP.
Bruce smoothed his thumbs along the dimples over her backside. A sigh escaped her. Sweat beaded on his brow that had absolutely nothing to do with the labor involved with the massage. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt as covertly as possible before intently focusing on the small of her back and relieving the tension held there. He nearly lost his composure as the heels of his hands brushed the glorious swell just below the area, but he finished his work, pulled the sheet back across her voluptuous form, and moved down to her legs.
Not that it would go all that better for him. He adored her legs. Toned, creamy, firm skin that stretched for what felt like miles. She'd painted her toes red. He pretended it wasn't adorable.
He'd almost finished massaging her legs when his hands swept towards her ankles and Diana flinched away. He raised his eyebrows wordlessly. Diana lifted her head enough so he could see her face and he couldn't help but grin as he noticed she'd turned pink.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Ticklish."
"Interesting spot to be ticklish," Bruce mused, gripping one of her feet instead. "I don't suppose you're related to Achilles."
Diana pursed her lips. "It's entirely possible, but I don't much care for your tone, Mr. Wayne."
"My apologies, Princess," he said, his thumbs circling over the ball of her foot. She inhaled sharply, her eyelids fluttering, and the evil thing inside Bruce's chest that he kept chained up whenever he was in her presence started rattling its cage like a maniac.
"I believe Wally mentioned something about this to me once," she said, her voice softer, huskier, now, and the temperature of the room seemed to skyrocket as a result.
"Did he now?"
"Yes. I believe it was after we were watching that movie by that famous director…Tarantela?"
Bruce smiled a bit as he switched to her other foot. "Quentin Tarantino."
"Ah. That's the one. Pulp Fiction, I believe was the name."
Bruce's hands slowed on her foot as he understood the reference. "And?"
"Wally said he agreed with Jules. He'd only given foot massages to women he had romantic intentions for."
"Your point being?"
Her smile looked awful sly. "How many women have gotten foot massages from Bruce Wayne?"
The nerve of her. Lying there naked looking good enough to eat and teasing him about the sexual connotations behind a foot massage. She'd be the death of him, at this rate. The good news was he had finished. The bad news was…he had finished.
"Plenty," Bruce said, not rising to the bait. "Though I can cross princesses off the list now."
"I'm flattered," she said, starting to scowl.
He flashed her a winsome smile. "You should be."
He was loath to do it, but he let her foot slide out of his hand. "How do you feel?"
She gathered the sheet around her and tested her limbs, stretching this way and that. "Wow. I was skeptical, but the difference is immense."
She nodded to him. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne."
"Princess," he said, nodding back, and forcing himself to take the lavender oil and move away from the goddess.
He'd gotten about halfway through the room before she spoke again, this time softly.
"Are you really going to let it end this way?"
Bruce froze. Damn her. It had been going so well, the subtle teasing and underhanded flirting. His heart sprang to life and beat about five times faster than it should have before he could stop it.
"Have I not made it clear that I am available to you?"
Bruce grimaced. Don't turn around. If you do, you'll go over there and do something stupid. Wonderful, but stupid. "I don't do happy endings."
"Damn you," she growled. "Is this what you do when you're out of options? Make insulting references so that I'll get angry and storm off? Does that work with your other women?"
"It has so far," he said. "What do you want from me, Diana? I thought you knew where we stood."
"Don't try that with me. You knew what you had agreed to when you set this up. Do you enjoy toying with my feelings? Is it a rush for you? A conquest? Something to give you warmth on those cold nights alone in that cave of yours?"
Bruce whirled to face her then. "Exactly what did you think would happen, Diana? That I'd take you in my arms the second I closed the door? Suddenly become the romantic you've always dreamt I would be? If that's what you want, look elsewhere."
"I want you exactly the way you are, you insufferable pig!" she spat. "Stop pretending that this is all on me. I am not afraid of you. I am not going to just let you watch me make a fool of myself pursuing you. You can't have it both ways. You can't say you want nothing to do with me, and yet you look at me the way you do and you touch me the way you do. I don't do this for just anyone and you know that. So what is it going to be, Bruce?"
He stared into the fiery depths of those azure eyes. Then he put the lavender oil down and marched towards the door.
Diana shut her eyes, her shoulders curving inward, cursing her foolishness.
Then she heard the lock turn on the bedroom door.
Confused, she turned, and by the time she had, he was right in front of her, kissing her.
Bruce caught her arm and yanked her around to face him, planting his hands on the massage table on either side of her, licking across her lower lip to ask entrance to her mouth. She granted it and shuddered as the kiss deepened, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into the circle of her embrace. She kissed him back with vigor, tasting him, her body alight with wanton need.
Bruce tore his shirt open, scattering tiny ivory buttons everywhere, and shrugged it off in a brisk gesture. He gripped her hips and pulled her into the front of his body, his hands settling on her knees to push them apart. She exhaled a little moan into his lips as he wrapped her legs around his hips and picked her up, carrying her toward the extravagant king-sized bed a few feet away. He hovered above her on his knees, his pupils dilated, his breath shallow and excited, and she understood the look immediately.
Diana pushed up on her elbows and slowly slid the sheet off her naked body.
Bruce's lungs emptied of air. He let his gaze roam over the beauty before him and then inclined his head to her, his voice deep and rough and shaking with anticipation.
"My goddess."
Diana smiled in return and inclined her head as well. "My knight."
They sunk into carnal bliss, long into the night, satisfying themselves again and again after years of being without. Once they were both thoroughly satiated, Bruce flopped onto his side and wrapped her in his arms, pulling the wrinkled sheets over them. Diana sighed happily and rested her head beneath his chin, her cheek cushioned against his wide, barrel chest.
"Best suggestion ever."