30/30 - Opening Credits A collaborative fanfiction with stories and ideas from 'rith, Chicago, Darklady, Hotspur, ManEaterLad, nw's chick, SKH, Smitty, and StarStorm. Disclaimers: This series of stories makes use of characters that are owned by DC Comics. They were borrowed for fun and not for profit. Continuity note: Year 2 in the J'onnverse, after "Paper." Canon Notes: Challenge: Clark Kent's renown as a novelist is canon; his nom de plum "Lavender Larkspur" is a J'onnverse invention compliments of Darklady. J'onn graciously plays the part of Lavender when book tours and publicity stills are requested by Clark's publisher. Show Business: Plasticman's son Luke was introduced in JLA #65. Eel's real first name is Patrick as revealed in JLA #50. Lyrics from "I'm Gonna Wash that Man Right out of my Hair" copyright 1941. Tales from the Bloody Rudder: The Wayne family history has been cobbled together from various Bat books and borrows from the Legend of Leatherwing among others. Just Casing the Joint: J'onn's Goldie Johnston identity appears in MM #26. She was working for the World Register and at that point was arguing about the sidebarring of her story on Martians building the Sphinx. Going to the Dogs: The Bathound reference is a tribute to canon stories gone by which don't quite fit the J'onnverse continuity and seemed to have been retconned out of comic continuity as well. The Bodyguard: J'onn's affection for movies is canonical, particularly noted in the American Dreams mini. The movie and accompanying song are copyright 1992. Don't Try this at Home: "Space Trek" was a show in the DCU which included Garfield Logan among its stars. Empty Orchestra: Tana was Superboy's girlfriend, killed during "Sins of Youth." Divides: Barry Allen's final walk of earth struck me as something I must have pulled out of canon, but I don't think it is. It would be during Crisis on Infinite Earths if it's from anything. Workout: Ollie and Bruce did at one time see each other socially, while Ollie was still rich and less politically motivated. Is that a Rabbit in Your Pocket?: Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is copyright 1988. The Song "Why Don't you Do Right?" is copyright 1942. May I Have This Dance?: J'onn's identities, as explained in the MM monthly, are usually derived from real people who died prematurely. He has a few identities that were never real people. Late Night Double Feature: The semi-organic nature of Martian tech is touched on in JLA: New World Order and elsewhere. J'onn's cabinets full of Chocos are canon, particularly in the JLI days. Paco really was a break-dancer as well as the superhero Vibe before he was killed by a Professor Ivo android (Detroit JLA). J'onn's ability to project images of what people think they are seeing was demonstrated most recently in JLA #57. Canonically at various points, Bruce has slept with Ivy (very early on), Catwoman, and Talia. The MM "Ghosts" Annual reveals J'onn's love of his Chevy Impala, as well as the demise of that car. J'onn loves to drive, and canonically gets towed often (various issues of MM). Chicago (the movie) is copyright 2002 . "All that Jazz" is copyright 1957. For a Song: ok, just in case no one cares... the four players in the gay mob soap opera were based on some of my favorite anime characters. only two of them were recognizable. since no one cares... Hidden Beauty: John Johnstone (one of J'onn's identities) helped on the Kent farm during Clark Kent's youth (MM #20 and Action Comics #774). Tomasso the cat appeared as one of J'onn's identities in MM #17 and that identity was killed in MM #31. Jazz: The Pour House was the site of Batman's confrontation with Matatoa in GK #16. Batman's invitation to the jazz club and his first visit there are from the Batman: Jazz mini. J'onn's first meeting with Batman as the Bronze Wraith is presented in MM #22. The League's publicity visit to Gotham and the resulting battle, as well as Batman's displeasure at their presence, come from JLA: Year One. The history of Batman bringing J'onn to the club is elaborated from the story J'onn told Barbara about the event in the story "Homecoming." Rating: stories run from G to NC-17 Archive: Batslash and Martian Manlove page. Others please ask. ********************************** 30/30: The Challenge by Chicago and Darklady Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: R Bruce paused in the doorway of his bedroom, surprised for a moment. He *hadn't* imagined the smirk in Alfred's eyes; the old man *had* been hiding something from him. Or rather, not mentioning something. Or more to the point, not mentioning *someone*. The huge bed was a spacious playground for the beauty lounging there now. Wisps of fabric that *might* have passed for a robe draped over her, a flutter of chiffon with a line of feathers that rested just at the juncture where ass met thigh. Slim legs kicked up at the knee, stirring the air lazily with matching feathered mules. She hadn't looked up, apparently engrossed by the printer's galleys that spread over the bed around her. A sweet touch, playing unaware. Letting him clear his throat and purr, "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" as he entered the room and closed the door. Light green eyes lifted, lit by the lazy smile that curled the lips beneath them. "Chapter 2," she answered, gesturing at the pages around her. "Remind your lover that you can surprise him." Bruce smiled and sat on an unpapered edge of the bed, leaning down to the pale pink lips she raised to him. "You needed a book to inspire you?" he asked teasingly when they broke apart, tracing a hand down her cheek and along the line of her jaw. Lavender closed her eyes at the contact. "Never," she answered throatily, leaning her cheek into his palm, "but I had to do something while I waited for you to come home." Bruce lifted an eyebrow and pulled over a stack of pages. "'Chapter 5: Spicing Things Up,'" he read. "A romance help book?" Lavender stretched indulgently and shifted to her side. "I figure if I am going to have to tour this book, I should know what I wrote." A corner of Bruce's mouth curled into a smirk. "This is _Clark's_ latest opus?" Lavender reached out a finger and placed it firmly over Bruce's lips. "Don't you dare laugh." Bruce shook his head and kissed the stilling finger. "Don't tell me you think there's something to this advice?" Lavender shrugged. "I have no idea. I am still rather mystified at human mating practices. Maybe an instruction manual *is* needed." Bruce snorted. "Please. And people are going to take advice from a romance novelist? Who gets his facts wrong to boot?" Lavender pouted and flounced into a sitting position. "Bru-uce," she protested, tossing her honey blonde tresses. "People believe in my work. My public needs me." "Your _public_," he reminded her, sweeping an arm around her and pushing her back among the papers with a kiss, "is being duped by a pair of aliens." His lips moved lower down her throat, playing with whisper touches across the soft skin there. He felt her swallow hard, then her hands were at his shoulders, pushing him up. "Bruce, at least let's not crumple the galleys." "Fine," Bruce agreed amiably, helping her gather up the papers. He turned one stack over to find the cover page. "'Revive your Romance: Tips for Putting Zest Back in Your Love Life collected by Lavender Larkspur.'" He looked up at his lover incredulously. "He didn't even write this? He *collected* it?" "He wrote parts of it, I think," Lavender answered, holding out her hands to add Bruce's stack of pages to her own. "What did he - no, never mind. I don't want to know." "Good." Lavender stretched out to set the galleys on an end table, the gesture causing her "robe" to drape in very... interesting ways. She turned back to him with half-lidded eyes. "Because I don't want to *talk* romance." Bruce nodded, reaching his fingers out to the edge of the robe, pushing it back from where the feathered edge rested across Lavender's pert breast. The brush of the feathers stiffened her nipple to attention, and Bruce caught the rising flesh between his thumb and forefinger. "Duly noted," he murmured, then set his lips to more appreciated work. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ The door to the monitor womb whisked open, and Superman looked up to see Batman stalking toward him, a portfolio binder in his hands. "J'onn asked me to return this to you," the Dark Knight stated without inflection. Superman accepted it with a slight smirk. "So'd you read it?" he asked. "Cl.. Kal." The dark knight stiffened ever so slightly, covered in the Watchtower's programmed shadows. "I hardly think that some... housewife in Coast City... is the best advisor for *my* romantic life." "You're right. Not enough imagination." Superman's trademark farm boy smile spread farther, taking a puckish edge. "So...? Lets see what a more...venturesome...group can come up with." Broad hands merged into a general blur over the touch-pad keyboard. "Oraclenet/meta/socialchat/alt." "You d..." Black gloved hands reach out. "Relax, Br...Batman." Both Superman and the keyboard moved wisely out of range. "I didn't use your name." The raised eyebrow added 'either of them'. One flawless nail underlined the single line of text. BIG BLUE - QUESTION? LIMITED TO THIS PLANET _ WHAT WOULD YOU SUGGEST AS AN IDEAL DATE? ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Bruce Wayne sat easily in the high-backed chair, flipping though the fan pleated list that had just been - quite literally - dropped in his lap. "Why..." Clark Kent settled lightly into a second chair, brushing back the single curl that had fallen forward during his flight. "I believe in my work." "Even..." The wave to the bookshelf was almost general, but both men knew Bruce meant the row of Lavender Larkspur paperbacks. The thin volumes filled most of a row, the bright spines and curled covers contrasted with the gold-edged bindings of the more mint volumes above and below. Clark thumbed the pages of his newest applicant to their ranks. "This advice book may not be exactly my next best Pulitzer hope - but" His voice dropped down, almost imperceptibly. "I would not have put my name on it..." At a *look* from an fragile blonde sipping hot chocolate on the sofa, Clark corrected. "Well, *her* name on it." He shrugged the detail off. "What I'm saying is...I wouldn't just put something out if I didn't think it had *some* merit." "Which in this case is...?" One raised eyebrow added the question mark. "To break couples out of their ruts." Clark looked over to 'Lavender', obviously seeking support. "To help them see... the possibilities." Bruce leaned forward. He had caught the look, and the Bat had long past broken any impulse to pull the blows when an opponent weakened. "By..." Clark rallied. "By doing something new. Something they might not have had the courage to suggest on their own. Something that might help them learn more about their partners - about themselves." Blue eyes met darker blue, confident now. "Aren't you the one who is always insisting we must *exceed* what we believe we can do?" "One does not *train* for one's ... love life." The revived ghost of Solomon Wayne - and countless other Wayne patriarchs since and before - echoed in that shocked sentence. This time it was Clark Kent with the raised eyebrow - and Bruce Wayne that called for help. "J'onn.. you would never..." "Actually, Bruce." A tall green male was now holding Lavenders chocolate. "I do not know enough about humans to make a definitive statement." He nibbled the edge of a fudge-dripped strawberry. "However, on Mars there *was* a period of transformative contemplation when..." "Deal, Bruce." Clark shifted again - into his editor persona. "You try it. Thirty days. Nights." His eyes moved from Bruce to J'onn then back to Bruce. "If both of you say you leaned *nothing*? Nothing at all? I pull the book." "But my publishers!" Lavender Larkspur pressed one delicate hand to her throat. "The book is practically..." "It's not on the press yet. If I... you... say they pull it? It's dead. I can give them a cook book instead. " Clark stood, holding out his hand. "Do we have a deal?" To be continued... ******************date 1*********************** 30/30: The First Date by Darklady Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G For the first time in memory Bruce Wayne strolled though the glowing halls of the JLA Watchtower. As he passed, the Green Lantern looked up from his sketchpad. "Date night?" Wayne's usually agile fingers fumbled a bit on his tie. Unfortunately Superman's use of the JLA line had assured that *everyone* knew about the bet. Well - Bruce conceded in a regrettable moment of fairness - everyone who was a full member of the JLA on current active status. Which was still at least one and quite possibly five people too many. "Nice suit." Kyle stroked a few lines at the top of the sheet then set it down. "Where are you going?" "Dinner in Paris." "Whooo. Some folks know who to do it right!" Plas shot his own hands into a ceiling- steep high-five. The nearest door slid open. "Double that Whoo-hoo", The humorous hero's eyes bulged - several inches - while his neck traced a series of 90 degree turns. J'onn struck a 'model' pose. At least - everyone assumed it was J'onn. There really wasn't anyone else on the station that could carry off that dress. Or that body. Shockingly exotic, a single swatch of near-transparent gold silk tucked and twisted from tightly beaded sable hair, over at least six feet of cafe au lait skin, and at length puddled around gold-painted toenails. Bruce froze. Kyle reached for his sketch pad. Superman flew in from the observation deck. "Nice dress. Mondovatti, isn't it?" At four shocked gasps, he explained. "Photographic memory. Plus, Lois made me cover his Paris show." "Oui." J'onn - the presumed J'onn - sashayed over and finished knotting Bruce's tie. "Les Lyons deserves no less." Superman seemed excessively interested in that announcement. "Les Lyons, eh?" He floated over to the pair. "In Paris, I assume?" Bruce Wayne straightened his cuff links. "Les Lyons is hardly a chain." "So for your first 'date'..." Superman's eyes narrowed. "You are going to dinner. In Paris. At your *favorite* restaurant. Where the chef ... if I recall our *last* lunch there... not only knows you by name but has the Grillade de Coquilles on the table *before* you sit down." Two men looked confused. One... woman... looked uncertain. Bruce Wayne *smirked*. "It was on the list. By name." Which Superman didn't doubt. Les Lyons was a 'new' name on the Paris food scene, but a daily more famous one. Still... "The purpose of the 'dates' is to try something new." Plas added another two inches to his eye-balls. In J'onn's direction. "Tha..that's something new, all right." Everyone ignored him. Superman settled into a more human pose. "You gave your word, Bruce." There was a *very* quiet pause before Bruce Wayne turned to his companion. Taking the lady's hand gently in his own, he asked. "What would you say to Maison l'Argent, my dear? I hear the chef is supposed to be... quite original." To be continued... **********date 2******************** 30/30: Try the Crab by Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG "Aurora, there you are, darling!" Bruce Wayne effused, breezing up beside the elegant socialite an attendant divested her of her wrap. Aurora offered a high society smile and accepted Bruce's arm. "Lovely party, Brucie. All the right people are here." "I always aim to please," he preened, leading her across the room and claiming some champagne glasses for both of them. Aurora accepted the glass he offered with a gracious expression. "Thank you, Brucie." "Of course, my dear. Oh, and you MUST try the crab," he suggested, plucking some hors d'oeurves from a passing waiter's tray. "It's truly phenomenal." Before Bruce could say another word, Aurora had swept closer, snugging her body close to his. Her lips brushed with feather lightness over his mouth, her tongue slipping out to urge his lips open. Then she pressed against him, her tongue thoroughly exploring his mouth as her lips moved hungrily. There was a sound of a champagne flute bouncing off the carpet, although the splash of alcohol did not distract either of them from the depth of their kiss. Aurora had to press a hand to Bruce's chest to steady him when they finally pulled apart, and she could feel his heart racing. "You're right," she purred. "The crab IS phenomenal." To be continued... ***********date 3******************** Datus Interruptus By Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG-13 "Damn! Jesse get me in closer!" Arsenal hollered, bracing himself in the open bay door of the T-jet. "Argent, Troia - they're getting too close to landfall." "They've lost interest in us, Roy," Donna's voice crackled over the receiver. "They're too caught up in their own battle." "Shit! Jesse-" Arsenal half-ducked as a rocket zoomed too close to the T-jet, the sound deafening as the jet bounced between the pull of its own evasive maneuver and the wash of the missile. *"Arsenal!"* Jesse's voice barked. "You still with me? Arsenal!" "I'm here. *Head's up, Tempest!*" he shouted as the missile splashed into the Atlantic. "I see it," Garth reported calmly. A moment later a spout of water came shooting up from the ocean. *"Garth!"* The answering line was staticky. "The projectiles are on a timer of some sort, designed to lodge before they explode. Look lively if they get another one off - you're getting awfully close to the shore line." "Tell me something I don't know," Roy muttered, reshouldering his net cannon. What was it with giant robot armor people locked in mortal combat that compelled them to do so next to large population centers? He'd wonder what compelled them to pick Earth as their battle ground, but he'd already consigned that question to one of the mysteries of the cosmos. They came, superheroes stopped them. Just part of the job description. "Tempest," he ordered, " see if you can raise a water wall to -" "Working on it," Tempest replied. "They might already be too close to shore to get enough height..." Arsenal's sharp eyes picked out the surging surf rising into the night, glinting from the sparks and flames produced by the battle. A battle which, while still raging, was becoming more stationary in the sky. "Perfect!" Arsenal yelled over the roar of the wind. "Jesse, another pass!" "You got it," the speedster confirmed, arcing the T-jet into a wide turn. Roy put his eye to the sight as Jesse wheeled to the land side of the battle, swinging the jet between Tempest's water wall and the fight. The smaller of the two armored robots had moved in on the larger, seemed now to be winning. Not that Roy cared - he just needed them a little closer together... "Argent! Troia! Get clear!" he barked, his finger tightening on the trigger. He could see the smaller robot reaching back, seeming ready to toss its antagonist, the larger armored giant throwing back its head... BAM! The recoil from the net cannon threw him back into the strapping he had anchored himself in, but he didn't take his eyes off the scene. The STAR Labs energy net unfurled almost gracefully as it shot through the air, expanding in a wide circle, catching on armor, wrapping... A split second too late to stop the final defensive round of the larger robot. The air erupted with the contrail of a dozen missiles, and then the energy net tangled around both robots, sending them plunging toward the ocean. "Stop the missiles! Jesse, turn us. Go! Go!" Arsenal was scrambling for another weapon, his eyes barely leaving the sky. He could see Donna and Toni catching rockets, detonating them, racing them through the falling water wall to the city skyline. "Garth," he warned, "you've got incoming." "I'm on it. Worry about the missiles." The jet swayed with Jesse's course changes, and Arsenal finally came up with the desired gun. A bow would be better, but under these conditions? He fired a shot faster than thought, and another explosion lit the sky. Folks on the ground probably thought they were watching fireworks. Another shot, another explosion. He was aware of incendiary displays all around him as he stayed focus, and the conversation in his ear. "Troia, I missed that one. Can you-" "Hands full right now!" Another explosion lit the sky. "Arsenal? South south-west of your position- oh, SHIT!" Arsenal squeezed off another shot. "What is it? Donna, talk to me!" "Regency Tower. Dammit! I'm going in -" "Argent, help her!" Arsenal barked, unleashing another round. The explosion he triggered was matched by another where he had last seen Toni, and then a silver-white form streaked across the sky. "One more, Arsenal," Jesse said steadily, and Roy brought his gun back to his shoulder to blow the final rocket from the sky and pray that there were no casualties at the Regency Tower. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Troia shot through the air, following the arc of the missile that had just careened into the top floor of the Regency Tower. She could see where it punched through the east wall, plowing into the Tip Top restaurant. "Don't blow up," she whispered to herself. "Don't blow up, don't blow up, don't -" She felt Argent streaking by her, beating her by half a second through the breach in the wall and to the missile. It made the difference as Argent threw up a containment shield just as the outer casing of the explosive began to crack. Screams pierced the air as the roar from the contained detonation cracked the reinforced glass of the restaurant windows. Long practice and faith in her teammate allowed Donna to ignore the cacophony and the incandescent blast and scan the restaurant for wounded or dying. Luckily, the missile had pierced the building through the elevator shaft, slicing away from any tables. The relatively low number of patrons meant no one had been waiting to be seated, and the maitre-d' was standing nearby in shock, but unharmed. "Arsenal, we have contained the blast," she reported into her comlink as she moved to Toni's side. The younger woman was already trembling from exertion and reaction. "Casualties?" Donna could hear how he didn't want to ask the question. She was just about to reassure him when a crashing sound echoed up from the elevator shaft. Toni turned wide eyes to Donna. The elevator shaft, Donna cursed as she ordered, "Stay here," and dove down after the crashed elevator. The missile had cut through the elevator shaft and cut the cables... How had she not noticed when she entered? Silly question, she knew - explosions, missiles, potential victims up top - but still. She hoped against hope that the elevator had been heading down empty to collect someone. From the length of time it had taken to crash? It had plummeted from near the top of its shaft. Ninety-three stories to the sub-basement. She slowed, unconsciously hesitating as she neared the elevator car. There were two options, really, no matter how much she might want it to be otherwise. Either the car was empty, or whoever inside was a pulp. Maybe several pulps, mashed together unrecognizably. The last thing she expected was the screech of bending metal as the access panel atop the elevator begin to move, revealing a crack of light in the darkened shaft. Troia wasted no time closing the final distance to the elevator. "Hold on," she called. "I'll help get you out!" She wrapped her fingers over the edge of access panel, noticing the pink-tipped nails that were curling around from the underside. "I'm going to pull off the panel," she warned, and the fingers let go. "Troia, what's your status?" Arsenal's voice came over her comlink. The metal groaned as Donna pried the panel from its twisted frame and peered into the elevator. "I've got survivors. I'll call you back." She heard Argent's "Thank god," right before she closed her signal. The interior of the elevator was lit by a small pen light, and a well dressed couple was staring up at her. "See, Bruce," the woman remarked, "superhero." "Yes, I see," Bruce Wayne remarked dryly. "Are you folks okay?" Troia asked, trying to keep her shock from her face. "I'm fine," Bruce answered. "Susan?" His hand reached gently to his companion's cheek. "A bit rattled," the brunette confessed, meeting Bruce's eyes, and suddenly Donna felt like she was intruding. "What on earth happened?" Susan asked, breaking the spell. "We should get you out of here, have the paramedics take a look at you," Donna suggested. Susan's green eyes darted up toward her. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that. Just a bit unnerved is all. But maybe Bruce..." Shock, Donna decided, as Bruce Wayne shook his head and again said, "I'm fine. What did happen, anyway?" There was no way they were fine. Even if Bruce had some Bat- trick that kept them alive, his date was *way* too calm. "How about if we decide about medical attention after I get you out of there?" Donna suggested, stretching down a hand. "Good idea. Although if you need to take care of someone else-" Susan agreed, accepting a leg up from Bruce and reaching up to grasp Donna's hand. "Everyone's fine. Just you two in the elevator." There was a tearing sound as Donna pulled Susan from the elevator. "So much for this dress," Susan remarked ruefully. "Brucie, you're going to have to buy me a new one," she called down. Surreal, Donna reflected, settling Susan on her feet. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked again, her eyes running over Susan's body. No blood, no visible broken bones. "Hey, it's awfully dark down here," Bruce complained, and Donna realized Susan was holding the pen light. "Hold on," Donna called. "Can you aim the light?" she asked Susan, who smiled in response. "Sure," she replied, aiming the penlight toward the access panel. She was holding it at an angle, Donna noticed, such that it didn't shine down into Bruce's eyes but would allow him to see Donna's outstretched hand. A moment later, Bruce was also atop the elevator, reaching a possessive arm out to hook Susan's waist. They exchanged a quick kiss. "Um, Troia, is it?" Bruce asked. "Listen, can you get us out of here discreetly? Away from any press or emergency workers or -" Donna stared at him. "Mr. Wayne, you have just plunged hundreds of feet down an elevator shaft-" "And I'm fine." "Maybe you are. But your date-" "Miss Troy." Donna froze and turned to Susan. Except it wasn't Susan. "We're both fine," Martian Manhunter assured her. "I was able to cushion our fall." "J'onn," Bruce protested softly. "She won't let us go otherwise," J'onn said quietly, morphing back into Susan's form and pressing a gentle kiss to Bruce's cheek. "Any more than you would in the same situation." Bruce's expression remained stony, but he did not object. *This is not what it looks like,* Donna told herself, trying not to gape. Her eyes inadvertently met Susan's. *Yes it is,* she heard J'onn J'onzz say in her head. Aloud, though, Bruce Wayne's date said, "You won't mind if we see ourselves out?" Donna could only shake her head numbly. She watched, incredulous, as Susan wrapped her arms around Bruce Wayne, lifting into the air as she stretched to completely surround him. Suddenly they winked out of sight, invisible. There was a ping in her ear, and she reopened her comlink. "Donna, what's going on? You need help?" "No, no," Donna replied. "Everything's okay, Arsenal. Argent?" "I'm about ready to turn things over to the local authorities. You need paramedics down there?" "Negative." "Troia? You said you had survivors." Arsenal sounded torn between concern and irritation. "White hats," she offered, hoping that would suffice. "What? Who? We had no -" "In civvies," she explained, flying up the elevator shaft to join Toni. "On a date." There was a snort over the line from Roy. "Sounds like their love life is like mine." Donna thought about the tenderness with which J'onn had enfolded Bruce as they lifted into the air. "Or not," she murmured, touching down on the restaurant floor. "Come on, Argent," she ordered her younger teammate, "let's go home." To be continued... **********date 4**************** 30/30 - Show Business by Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: R An ear stretched toward one of four banks of monitors, leading back to its owner along a narrow tendril. Eel O'Brian watched the other three monitor banks in the same fashion, giving each an eye or an ear while his arms stretched back to the coffee station by the monitor womb door. He poured two cups - black - and pulled one back to his own position. The other he lifted, stretching his arm to the upper monitor platform to set the full mug beside Martian Manhunter. "Thank you, Eel," J'onn said, picking up the coffee and taking a sip. "De nada," Plasticman replied. "So what's on the date agenda tonight?" "Broadway," J'onn revealed. "The revival of South Pacific opens tonight." Eel's face shot up to J'onn's level, and the stretchy superhero dropped his jaw dramatically. "I LOVE South Pacific! How on earth did you get tickets?" J'onn smiled and gestured toward the monitors. "Back to work, Eel. And Bruce gets invitations to Opening Nights all the time. He just never accepts them." "Never?" "Apparently." "Man, if they ever bring Damn Yankees through Chicago..." "Woozy's choice, I'm guessing?" Plas' face returned to offer a lewd grin. "Well, yeah, but I score tickets to that and I'll be-" "Enough, Eel," J'onn said sternly. Plasticman brought his hands up to lace under his chin, propping himself on his elbows on the upper platform. "C'mon, J'onn, how can I vicariously live a billionaire lifestyle if you don't use your new connections?" J'onn raised an eyebrow. "A year is hardly 'new.'" "Yeah, well-" The buzz of the teleporter alert brought Eel to attention, and suddenly there was a WHOOSH as the Flash entered the Monitor Room. "HiJ'onnhiPlasIwaswonderingifmaybe-" "Wallace," J'onn interrupted. "Slow down." The Flash grimaced, but when he spoke again, he was intelligible. "I need to trade out monitor duty with someone for next Tuesday." "No can do, Flasherooni," Eel said, assuming the shape of the scales of justice. "Court date." Flash sighed and looked up toward J'onn. "J'onn? I know we ask you all the time and you've probably got date plans and maybe if you could just cover long enough for me to go to Linda's ultrasound appointment and-" "Whoa, hold on there, Fleet Feet!" Plas interrupted. "Ultrasound? As in-" He morphed into a stork carrying a baby. Wally's face split into a huge grin. "Yep!" "WOO HOO!" Eel whooped. "Congratulations, Daddy to be!" J'onn floated down from the platform above and clapped Wally's shoulder. "So Linda finally told you you could tell?" he asked with an amused smile. "She made me wait three whole months! Can you believe that? But yeah, I'm going to be a papa!" "You should tell the others," J'onn suggested. "And I can cover the daytime hours on your shift." "ThanksJ'onnyou'rethebest!" Wally rattled, zipping back out of the monitor womb. J'onn shook his head after the speedster, then turned back toward his other teammate. "Eel?" A sigh escaped the League's funny man. "I should've been that excited, back when-" J'onn rested a hand on Eel's shoulder reassuringly. "There's still time to get to know Luke, Patrick." Eel turned rapidly, staring at J'onn. "Don't take this the wrong way, J'onn, but right there you reminded me of Sister Mary Xavier." J'onn smiled enigmatically and shrugged. "I've been accused of worse. Just - don't let too much time go by. They grow fast." "I know," Eel sighed. "Listen, shouldn't you be getting ready for your date? Hate to keep Brucie waiting." "I don't think he minds being fashionably late," J'onn pointed out. "Well, *I* mind," Eel retorted. "If you've got opening night tickets to South Pacific and miss a single moment-" "Very well," J'onn conceded. "Have a good night, Eel." "Uh huhn," Eel agreed absently, his eyes tracking something on one of the monitors. J'onn waited a moment, then turned to leave. He smiled a little as he reached the door and heard Eel begin to hum, "Some Enchanted Evening." He'd have to tell Bruce to order a couple of tickets for the Chicago leg of the touring production. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "If you laugh at different comics, If you root for different teams, Waste no time Weep no more Show him what the door is for..." "That girl of yours has a good set of pipes," remarked Syd Lyotard, handing Bruce another glass of champagne and settling back in next to his victim. The director was skilled at this evening's task; he had a deft and flattering touch and knew all the right things to say to cajole and coax well-heeled investors into investing in Broadway. He had obviously selected Bruce as the prize of the evening, a rare opportunity to get real money behind his next project, and had equally obviously figured Bruce for a hard sell. Bruce had been unable to lose him for more than a few minutes since he and Mona had joined the post-show party. "Oh, Mona?" Bruce said carelessly, accepting the champagne and buying the director's moment of distraction to pour part of it into the drinking fountain at his elbow. "She did college theater or something in some school in the Midwest." Lyotard raised an eyebrow. "An aspiring actress, hmm? Well, she and Bianca seem to be getting along famously." Maybe too famously, Bruce conceded, as the two women launched into another show tune from the night's entertainment. Mona seemed genuinely awed to have caught the notice of the show's lead, her eyes bright and her color high with excitement and champagne. Bianca had become her bosom companion in the space of a little over an hour, and Bruce was not oblivious to the way that the actress was circling in like a shark. To Lyotard, he only said, "Mona's got a great spirit." "Well, with her looks and that voice and a good personality, she could go far in this town. In fact," Lyotard swirled his half-finished champagne as if in thought rather than in calculation, "I think she may have the qualities I'm looking for in one of the parts in my next show." There's the hook, Bruce noted as Lyotard took a deep swallow of champagne. Unfortunately for Lyotard, he had brought fishing tackle to try to hunt bear. "Oh yeah?" he asked blandly. "I'll have to mention that to her, tell her to watch for the casting call." Across the room, Mona and Bianca garnered another round of applause and toasted their audience of blue-haired-but-wealthy theater patrons. Bianca whispered something to Mona that caused her to blush and giggle, and Bruce noticed that the small knot of men and women that had begun the evening with Mona and Bianca had gradually eroded. One man stubbornly remained to hand, whether in an effort to capture Mona or Bianca Bruce couldn't say. "You know," Lyotard was saying, bringing Bruce back into the conversation, "I'm sure she could get cast on her own merits, but I'm often able to ensure certain roles for the friends of producers and donors. And I'm sure Mona could appreciate something like that." Bruce turned to look Lyotard full in the face, his expression a little incredulous, and he began to laugh. "You think - oh, no! I just brought Mona out as a favor to her father. Business stuff, you know. I'm just not that much into theatre." He kept his tone airy. "Besides, I don't think her father is that keen to have her get into this life. He's indulging her you know, but..." Lyotard drained the last of his champagne to hide the scowl that crossed his face. "Wish someone asked me to do favors like that," he remarked bitterly. "Hey, now, don't be like that," Bruce counseled. "It's business, you know. And-" He broke off, distracted by a little shrieking laugh from across the room. He turned to see that Bianca had 'inadvertently' spilled a full glass of champagne down the front of Mona's dress and was trying ineffectually to blot away the liquid with her handkerchief. Or rather, she was *appearing* as if that was what she was trying to do; in reality she was rather effectively finding an excuse to touch Mona's exquisite breasts - now quite well presented in wet, clinging silk. "Sorry, Syd, I'm afraid I have to go rescue my date." Lyotard grumbled something as Bruce slipped away, but Bruce ignored whatever it was. He approached Mona and Bianca with a casual air, sliding in beside Mona and slipping an arm around her waist, forcing Bianca back a step. "Hello, darling. Looks like you had a bit of a spill." Mona giggled. "Champagne," she explained. "Bianca was just helping-" "Bianca! Already on a first name basis. I tell you, Ms. Stoller, Mona could not stop talking about seeing her idol Ms. Stoller all the way to the theater. I told you she would be lovely in person, didn't I, Mona?" "Yes, you did," Mona agreed, tiptoeing to give Bruce a peck on the cheek. "And you were right. And where are my manners! Bianca, this is Bruce Wayne. He's my escort for the evening." Bianca smiled a warmly artificial smile that didn't pretend to reach her eyes. "Yes, so you were telling me. And this is the famous Mr. Wayne. Pleased to meet you." Her tone said something more ambiguous. Bruce took the hand she offered with a gracious smile and brought it to his lips. "The pleasure is mine. Your performance tonight was captivating." "Wasn't it, though?" Mona bubbled. "I was just telling Bianca-" "Hush, dear, you can tell me about it on the way home. Alfred's waiting." "Oh, Brucie!" Mona pouted. "Yes, c'mon, Brucie," Bianca added, moving in to rest her chin on Mona's shoulder and look up at Bruce with something more lascivious in her eyes than concern for Mona's disappointment. As he looked down at the two of them, each beautiful in her own way, a little corner of his own mind added, "Go for it, Brucie." He forcefully suppressed the idle fantasy and made his face stern. "Now, Mona, it is getting late. There'll be other opening nights." Mona looked about to protest again, then sighed. "Okay. Bianca, it was so nice to really meet you in person and everything." Bianca leaned in for an air kiss - that caught a little more than air, Bruce noticed - and smiled at Mona. "Likewise, my dear. Do call me some day - we'll do lunch." "Of course," Mona replied, eyes shining. "Mr. Wayne," Bianca said more formally, holding out her hand and this time making it clear she would accept only a handshake. "Ms. Stoller," Bruce acknowledged. "Come on, Mona, let's get our coats." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Mona bounced into the limousine, barely waiting for Alfred to raise the privacy screen before she hopped into Bruce's lap and kissed him breathless. Her mouth tasted of champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries, and her restless body wriggled against him most... alluringly. Finally she pulled back with a laugh. "That was so *fun*!" she exclaimed, her eyes dancing. Bruce let his arms capture her in a loose circle, holding her on his lap. "You liked that, did you?" he asked with mild amusement. He was trying to figure out where the line between persona and Martian blurred. Mona had been practically *skipping* as they left the theatre, talking fast enough to give Wally a run for his money, stumbling a little on the curb and blaming the champagne as she pressed against him for balance. Mona nodded, charmingly excited and awed. "I never imagined I would get to meet - and it was so cool!" she gushed. "You know, Bianca even said I have the talent to maybe get cast in one of these big shows. Wouldn't that be so *exciting*? I can picture it, my name on the marquee: Mona-" She paused and frowned a little. "Bianca said I'd need to change my last name though." Bruce ran a hand along Mona's upper thigh. "She doesn't like Olafsdorn?" Mona wrinkled her nose. "She said it sounded too... country. The wrong kind of foreign. She said I needed a more glamorous name to fit my stage presence." Bruce began kissing a line from Mona's ear to her collar bone, following the curve of her neck. "I think Bianca was just trying to get in your panties," he commented, his own hand sliding under the edge of Mona's skirt. "Bru-uce," Mona objected, pushing his head back but letting his hand continue its exploration. "Help me think up a good stage name." "Mmmm," Bruce considered, nudging her coat open in order to nuzzle the still champagne-damp silk over her breasts. "How about Mona Loverly?" There was a faint gasp as Bruce's mouth thoroughly explored Mona's chest. "That - mmm - sounds too... too sexy..." she objected, shifting to allow Bruce to slide her dress further up her leg, planting small kisses on his hair. Bruce raised his face as his fingers caught hold of Mona's thong. His lips met Mona's, and for a moment there was nothing said. Then, "I don't think a name can be too sexy for you," he breathed, his free hand helping her remove her coat. Mona wriggled free of the coat, shifting so she straddled Bruce's lap. "Oooh," she sighed, pressing forward against his hand. "It shouldn't sound so... mmm... needs to be classier." She pushed his head back and loosened his tie, beginning to rock in his lap. "Classier, hmmm?" Bruce repeated, letting his second hand travel down to Mona's hip. "I'll have to think about that." Mona's teeth caught his earlobe as her fingers worked deftly down his shirt front. Her voice sounded throaty when she spoke again, her hands urging Ace away and unbuttoning Bruce's pants. "You liked that, the idea of Bianca..." Bruce felt a flush increase through his body at the image J'onn projected into his mind. He tucked his lips next to Mona's ear. "You are all the women, all the anything... mmm... I'll ever need." After that, there were no more words. To be continued... *********date 5***************** ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) Tales from the Bloody Rudder by Darklady Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "Did Alfred send up my blue tux?" The figure crossing the main station of the JLA Watchtower was the Darknight Detective, but the voice was pure Bruce Wayne. Alfred had, however, so Superman congenially pointed to the folded suit bag. "Dining out *again*?" If there was a critical note in the world- famous baritone, this time the usually astute detective missed it. Or ignored it. In any case, the reply was Bruce-bland. "Most dates involve food." "Food yes - but this?" Superman gave a vague wave that could - but apparently did not - take in the entire planet centered on the screen. "This is the Bruce Wayne Tour of Overpriced Dining." "Your suggestion?" A bit of Bat edged back onto the armored posture. "Given that not *all* of us can snack on a sunbeam." "Don't you know any CASUAL places?" Superman tried to keep the question light. Not that - to Bruce - most of the worlds great restaurant weren't casual. The man probably wore a tux more in one month then Clark would in a whole year. And that was now that Clark was keeping up with *Lois's* social schedule. But even by Wayne standards, the last few dates had been society column fodder. Which Clark should know - since he had to *edit* those columns. Bad enough that Bruce was being pretentious. Did he have to be boring as well? "It hardly matters what*I* know..." Both Brucie and Bat vanished into the true Bruce. Who was - in Clark's opinion - a bit of a spoiled snark. As proved by the arched eyebrow aimed from under the usual expressionless cowl. "The bet requires that we chose from your... list." East coast drawl turned the last word into four letters not so innocent. True - to be fair. But right now Clark Kent was totally bored and not particularly feeling like being fair. "Heck. If you need it on the list... Superman's fingers blurred over the keyboard, and a new line appeared on the monitor screen nearest the Bat. "Go someplace you *don't* need to wear a tux." Clark mentally added 'somewhere I don't need to find space for in the morning Calendar section.' "In fact?" Superman's smile showed just a few too many teeth. "Make it someplace you wouldn't wear a suit at all. " The flashing blue eyes added 'I dare you'. "Bruce?" J'onn drifted into the room. Still in green, so not yet impatient, but with the body language of one who was wondering what the holdup was. "J'onn?" The word was nothing - but Superman caught the slight glaze in expression that meant an entire dialogue was taking place on another plane. "Casual *would* be different." A statement without discernible intonation, but again - the Martian hardly required the use of speech. "Very well." A statement to the third party. J'onn didn't need words. The Bat had made his decision. ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) Twenty minutes later two new figures were standing on a narrow strip of white sand weaving between the blue of sea and the green of inland foliage. Separating the two was a ramble of buildings that might - had they been better organized - made up a small town. As it was currently laid out? Extraterrestrial visitors might have considered it the work of an extremely advances species of beaver. Bruce Wayne pulled off his 'Gotham Yacht Club' baseball cap and pointed it at one of the more impressive piles of hammered planking. "My favorite casual restaurant - The Bloody Rudder." "Bruce." The feminine whimper and the clutch at his t-shirt sleeve were half acting - but only half. "Clark said casual - not capsized." Bruce smiled as he guided the slim, dark-haired woman over the driftwood-cluttered beach. "Trust me." "With my life, yes, but...." The young woman came to a sudden stop as he read the faded sign over the door. It was a ax carved slab with the restaurants name and a Spanish motto : Alimento Malo - Cerveza Débil. "Bruce - this place *advertises* its bad food." Chuckling, he pulled back the cork-draped net that passed for a front door. "They make up for it in atmosphere." "Bruce." The female form didn't move. " We're in the Caribbean. If this is a bar? Aren't I supposed to go in though the 'ladies' entrance?" "Dat's Jamaica. Doll. We ain't be British 'round dis Island." The booming voice came from a woman with vaguely Indo-African features. Although - at nearly 300 pounds and dressed in colors that would shame a parrot - her ancestry was the only even slightly vague thing about her. "Sides - ain't never a la-de-da lady *come* to de Rudder - so we don need no door for such. Although? " Rolling out from the darkened interior, the speaker took her time eyeballing the new visitor. "You, honey chile? You might be fixin to be the first. Brucie-lad?" If the last was a question, the question was 'where are your manners'. "LaTasha Martinez, Mama Jo." Bruce offered the introduction with all the formality of the Founders Club Cotillion. "A *seriously* good friend of mine. And as honest a woman as you are yourself." He held up one hand in mock-scouting fashion. "I swear it." "Well, then?" The lady scanned 'LaTasha' with a penetration that an MRI would envy. "I be that happy for you. Come along." Mama Jo swung her fluorescent self back towards the cluttered interior of the restaurant. "My nephew come in lucky - we got dolphin on de grill." <> The mental question was joined by a not-only-mental shiver. <> Bruce thought back. <> The wave of relief was palatable. Unfortunately - it was also fleeting. LaTasha stopped dead about three inches past the threshold. << Bruce - there are *knives* stuck in that wall! >> It took a moment for Bruce to process what J'onn was angsting about. Not because he couldn't see it too. After all - a three foot machete tended to be hard to overlook. Except - as in this case - when they were an expected part of the scenery <> He reassured J'onn. <> <> <> Following the proprietress, Bruce stepped past J'onn's female form and headed for a table in the corner. <> Not to mention that the concept of one of the most powerful metas on the planet being put off by a little harborside dust-up was... ridiculous. But if J'onn wanted to play out his current persona? Bruce had no objection to thoroughness. Especially when this one of J'onn's creations was so thoroughly delectable. He pulled the curved body closer. "I'll protect you." "No need fo that, boy. You know folks don give my guests no trouble." Mama Jo guided LaTasha to a table made from a packing crate. "Now you just be sittin here, chiles. I go fetch you some supper." Seeing that Bruce was waiting also, J'onn gave in. Bruce held the cut down barrel for his date. <> J'onn looked around cautiously. <> <> For once Bruce Wayne's mental smile reached his face. "Mama's place. What mama cooks we eat." J'onn gave in. And sat down. <> Bruce laughed as he took his own seat on a three-legged chair. <> Mental exchanges are fast - but apparently Mama Jo was faster. By the time they had settled into their chairs she was back behind Bruce. "Here." The drinks clattered as she slammed them onto the table. J'onn lifted one cup carefully. "She serves drinks in tin cans?" "Pewter." Bruce's grin grew wider. "These tankards are probably old enough to drop jaws at Butterfield's." Picking up his own, he took a deep swallow. "Mama doesn't allow glass bottles. Folks break them in fights - and then she doesn't get her deposit back." Seeing the hesitation in his dates eyes - or possibly in his mind - Bruce added a mental whisper. <> <> J'onn's eyes searched to corners - although whether for seams in the illusion or just for the toe- nibbling local crabs was anyone's guess. <> "All real." Bruce shifted his seat to allow a better view of the bar. Just because the place *seemed* peaceable this early...well, Mama's machete policy wasn't instituted just because. "The Rudder hasn't changed since..." Bruce considered a moment. "Probably not since the back half of the Unlucky Lady washed up... pretty much where it is today. Local palm is not much good for shipbuilding, so...well, repairing it was pretty much out of the question. Even if they could have gotten the front half back off Cat's Cove. So... Alfonzo, I think it was... anyway the ship's cook took what he could salvage and turned what was left of his galley into a tavern." "A tradition that continues, I gather." Bruce finished his drink and held up the cup for a refill. Mama responded by tossing over a jug. Plastic, fortunately. Plus with reflexes he'd never show in Gotham, Bruce did manage to catch it. "Pretty much." Bruce refilled his cup, ignoring J'onn as 'LaTasha' hadn't even started on hers. "The island is pretty good for simple crops, but after that? The locals import or make do. Mostly make do." "Living by their wits?" "Their wits are a lot more reliable then the government mail boat." J'onn took a sniff of his own cup - and almost shifted back to green. From the fumes alone. "This is the 'weak beer'?" Because it was more likely that he had been slipped a jug of medical alcohol. Or embalming fluid. "Cane punch." Bruce rolled his own drink casually on his tongue, as if savoring a fine wine. "About a thousand times stronger then beer. Although the beer isn't all that weak." J'onn took a small sip. A very small one. And even that made the terran throat close from the pure chemistry. "You *DRINK* this?!" Bruce passed over his jug. "*I* have fruit juice." Mama Jo rolled over to crowd the small table with two heaping platters of vegetables and broiled fish. "Brucie-boy have a weak stomach since childhood. All de fault of yo mama listen to that doctor man." "Mama Jo." A note of... could that be embarrassment? "I know." The tone implied she knew no such thing. "He be your daddy. But that don' make him wise. Shoulda let me set you up. My boys - they don' have no problem eat or drink anything." Bruce pulled his platter over - making room for salt and red sauce. "That's because you're such a good cook." Mama Jo gave a pleased bow. "I am... say that." Dropping two spoons beside the plates, she headed back to the bar. Bruce smiled at his date. "Dig in." LaTasha stared at the heaping plate. <> <> J'onn's perception marched from Bruce - who was digging in to the broiled corn with unexpected vigor - to the decorations of the pub - nonexistent - unless beer ads counted - to the few other patrons - all busy with both business and beer. This was hardly the Wayne boyhood of legend, but... Bruce did not lie. Evade, yes. Frequently and with impressive skill. But lie? Not to his friends. Of course, the absence of lies was not the presence of truth. Which meant. "Bruce?" J'onn waited until his date finished off a final bit of a roast banana. "You brought me here as some sort of a ... game? Test?" "Not at all." Bruce broke off a corner of crispy fish and held it up for 'LaTasha'. "This really *IS* my favorite restaurant on the whole world." J'onn sat back - and let that action demand an explanation. "My ... I think it was great -great-grandfather. Or maybe it was a generation back." The rest of the fish temporarily distracted Bruce from his thoughts. "Anyway - the family acquired an island a few miles over." LaTasha rolled her eyes at that. "I refuse to believe you don't know when Pere Wayne bought it." To the day. Make that the hour. Possibly the minute. "What bought?" Bruce's answering expression was pure smirk. "I mean we *HAVE* an island. Since the days when Leatherwing sailed the main. And as no one has actually *disputed* our sovereignty..." "You're joking?" "About property?" "Oh - right." Those who thought *Batman* was a humorless fanatic had never seen Bruce Wayne at a zoning hearing. The phrase 'my town' applied to Gotham in more then a vigilante sense. LaTasha sniffed at her own potatoes. In a very ladylike fashion, of course. "Go on." "Anyway. My father used to bring us down here for the summer." An ear of corn was waved in what J'onn assumed was the general direction of the mentioned island. "He'd take the boat off on a clinic tour - and my mother would paint... and I would just... I mostly a ran wild." Thomas Wayne's son and heir - running wild. *That* was less likely then a Wayne overlooking real estate. J'onn's expression must have said as much. "Believe it." Picking up the tankard Bruce watered the sand with J'onn's untouched cane punch. Apparently even Martian physiology had its stress limits. "Mama Jo has pictures that Vesper would kill for. Well - maybe not kill but..."" He poured a fresh glass from the bottle of fruit juice and passed it back. "That one up there. J'onn followed the pointed finger. "That's *you*???" The age was perhaps right - judging by the fading of the image - and the coloring - but the prospect of a Wayne of any age decked out in nothing but a straw hat and sandals was...." "Bruce Wayne - age four." Bruce reinforced the printed image with a flurry of happy memories. "The islanders have their... rough side... But they are very *very* fond of children. I could play freely here in ways that I just... couldn't... back in Gotham." La Tasha reached for Bruce's hand. "That's why it's your favorite place?" That and...well... most of the kids I played with are still here. They leave to fish a little - or to work at the tourist hotels in the big islands- but the locals tend to come back. So here I'm just... Bruce." And not Wayne or Brucie or the Bat or any of the other willing and unwilling masks that covered so much of his reality, J'onn finished mentally. "They don't ask you for anything." Bruce laughed. Honestly and loud. "Oh - they ask me for lots of things. We'll be lucky if we get out tonight without my being conscripted to unload at least ONE load of fish. But..." "That's different." J'onn finished. "Exactly." J'onn understood. *How* he understood. His own spirit had been similarly gated - by duty first and then by tragedy. "A very good reason to value a place." "Well, that and.." Bruce waved his now-empty platter at Mama Jo. "Do try the fish." To be continued... ************date 6********************** 30/30: Splash Zone by Darklady and Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G Bruce Wayne lay back, the tropical warmth weighing down his eyes. The polychrome sail just inches overhead swelled in the regular gusts. Low waves slapped the hull below him in seeming rhythm to the creaking of the mast. He plucked the covered glass of lemonade from it's holder and took a long pull. His bare toes pulled at the running lines , only to be caught and held by a strong but feminine hand. Lips brushed the instep before the limb was released back to him. Not a long touch, but more then enough to draw his thoughts from the spectacle of the cloudless horizon to far nearer beauties. "Now *this*.." He smiled at his companion, whose bikini clad form was draped over the other float of their catamaran. The noon sun drew highlights of fire over the auburn hair, contrasting artistically with the deep blue of the Caribbean sea. "*This* is nice." Letting his gaze wander to the leaping school of pink dolphins that followed their wake, Bruce's Bat side added automatically. "As long as none of those dolphins are working for Orin." The athletically svelte young woman reached for a bottle of coconut oil, as if that would affect the few freckles that broke the even bronzing of what *should* be milk-white skin. Really, Bruce thought admiringly, J'onn was an *artist* of the human form. He should have picked up a camera. Better yet - he would have a word with Kyle. Brigitte O'Mahenan - Bruce blessed the trained memory that let him retain all of J'onn's names - definitely deserved a permanent commemoration. Both the tanning oil and one long leg were passed over in Bruce's direction. "Only you, Bruce, could possibly..." As if called by name, one dolphin broke from the circling pod. A bottle-nosed face tapped gently against the fiberglass hull. J'onn reached over, arm shifting to green to gain the needed length. When he pulled the hand back, he was holding a fist-sized clam shell, nacred shut and tied with seaweed. Slitting the shell open with a razored nail, he pulled out a rolled length of sea- weed paper. "It's for you." Bruce accepted the scrolled paper with a scowl and unrolled it. His eyes scanned the handwritten message, his face darkening. "Damn plant manager," he muttered. "Ever since Lucius-" He stopped himself and sighed. "One of my plants in Guatemala has relaxed environmental protocols," he explained. "I thought there was something fishy about their profitability report." He reached for the jib line. "Arthur's right, though. It needs immediate attention." J'onn nodded, watching as a hint of Bat tinged the purposeful movements of Bruce Wayne, irritated business mogul. The school of dolphins gave the catamaran space as it began the wide arcing turn back toward port. As the boat heeled around, Bruce gave "Brigitte" a rueful look. "You think you could play an environmental inspector for me?" he asked. J'onn stretched Brigitte's toes to rub over Bruce's calf. "When we get back to port," he promised. "Whatever you need." "We'll come back sometime," Bruce promised. Brigitte's face broke into a warm smile with a hint of impishness dancing in her green eyes. "I'll hold you to that, Bruce. I really will." To be continued... ***********date 7****************** Just Casing the Joint By Darklady Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G J'onn J'onzz paused and knocked before drifting through the door to the Batman's personal quarters. Normally he would have found the darknight detective in the monitor room, but Batman had turned the monitor over to Wonder Woman the moment his shift was over. Apparently the day's lack of crisis - whatever the Batman's official policy towards such things - had managed to bore Bruce as well. That, or there was some crisis waiting in Gotham. No. J'onn admitted a certain relief as he watched Bruce pull on a tee-shirt. Neither Wayne or the Bat would respond to a disaster dressed so casually. Which meant that Bruce had some... no one would ever all it spare time. Not where Bruce could overhear it. Still? "Hello J'onn." Bruce reached for a pair of faded corduroy pants. "Finished in Keystone city?" "Finished with the bridge collapse." J'onn settled lightly on the bed to enjoy the view. True, Bruce was currently going in the wrong direction - clothing wise. But dressing or undressing he was still pleasant to observe. "West is assisting the local authorities with the injured." Which, fortunately, had not been many, thanks to the Flashes' speedy response. Heading to the closet, Bruce asked, "So what's next?" The question was casual - distracted - but as it lead where J'onn wanted? J'onn held out an envelope. "This." "Candlelight Tour?" Bruce eyes flicked down the folded brochure inside. "I don't *think* so. "I was thinking of the day trip." Sliding one long green tendril down the sheet, J'onn underscored the line 'see Keystone City's greatest historic homes.' "For our next date." Returning the sheet to J'onn, Bruce shook out a brightly colored plaid jacket. "I thought the agreement was to do something original." "And this you've done?" "Wayne Manor has been *on* the tour since..." Bruce squinted at his reflection in the dresser mirror. " ... my grandmothers time." A mutter added. "And I haven't yet managed to get it off." "Perhaps." J'onn watched with interest as a quick comb though and a handful of pomade transformed Bruce Wayne's stylist cut into Matches' Malone's greaser shag. "But have you *gone* on the tour?" A pinch of powder gave a thinning edge to the not-actually- receding forehead. "I think I've been to every damn..." "Not what I asked." J'onn slid closer. "Have you even *taken* the tour." "I'd hardly have time when..." A careful mis-comb gave an Elvis edge to the sideburns. "Exactly." "Why?" "Why not?" J'onn slid the tickets onto Malone's breast pocket. "I got these from Wallace - who get them from his wife - who was supposed to write up the tour for the Keystone City Chronicle." "But?" The Flash is gong to be busy with the bridge. Plus he got tickets to that new production of Damn Yankees. Which Linda preferred." There was an implication there that Linda was not the only one with that taste. "So Goldie Johnston gets the Stately Homes Tour assignment." "I thought Goldie focused on Venusians building Stonehenge. Or whatever the World Register is passing off as information these days. Unless you're telling me that this is a haunted mansion?" "Goldie hasn't sold a story in three months. If she doesn't get a paycheck soon the IRS is going to start wondering." "Oh." No need to say more. Bruce had the same problem with his own covert personas. Generally not with the IRS, but now and then one of the Gotham gangsters would wonder why Matches had cash when he wasn't taking their jobs. Fortunately, there were generally enough non-arsonous but suspicious fires to give Matches a decent resume. "Sorry - J'onn." Bruce looked down at his disguise. "I don't think I'll have time to change. I only have about two hours before I have to be at the bar." "So don't." Shrinking in to a blonder - and female - form, the now-Goldie ran her hands down her 'dates' fraying lapels. "I'll assume Malone doesn't have any actual warrants out. Anyway - this is in Keystone City - who will recognize him?" Bruce frowned. That was true, but....but...Matches Malone on a Stately Homes Tour? The idea would be funny if it wasn't to ludicrous. Or was that ludicrous if it wasn't funny? His lips began to curl unconsciously. "Tell you what." J'onn stretched out an arm for Matches' hat. "If we transport down this should only take an hour. After that? I'll go with you on your stake out." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) They beamed down behind a cluster of eucalyptus. Matches checked his battered Timex. "Just in time." J'onn looked over the strangely uniform company that was slowly sifting onto the brightly painted tour bus. While the age varied a bit - perhaps more then a bit, if the range from fifty to ninety were considered numerically, the gender was constant. And the clothes? Again, uniform was the more then apt word. "Interesting." Bruce seemed to have a set insistence as to age, but as to the other details? "Perhaps..." At J'onn's suggestion zo'ok shifted again. A longer skirt, a print blouse, and a short strand of blue and red beads. Plus J'onn shortened and tucked back Goldie's usually scattered blonde curls. "J'onn." Bruce shuddered. Actually shuddered. " You look like... my mother." J'onn hesitated. "Inappropriate ?" Generally Bruce had a sharp eyes for characterization, but? At least half of the females boarding the bus were wearing a similar outfit. "No, but" Bruce shifted uneasily. "Don't expect a good night kiss." "Very well." Zo'ok quivered, then contracted at least ten inches at the hem and neckline. "Is that better?" "Much." J'onn shook his head. "I will never understand Terrans." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "Oh! Dear!" A sixty-something lady in flowered silk called out as Goldie stepped onto the bus. "I believe the Las Vegas junket leaves from the other side of the building. Just follow the signs and..." "Thanks. but..." Goldie held out the pair of tickets. "We're here for the Gracious Homes Afternoon?" "You are?" The lady did a quick half-step back. "I mean... you are... in the right place then." "Vegas?" The lady gave Matches a hopeful look. "Nope." Matches held up a hand, just in case another step might take the older lady off the bus completely. "Tour." The lady shut her eyes. "Oh dear." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) J'onn was still questioning Bruce's fashion sense at the end of the short bus ride. Quite a few of the older passengers had been... surprisingly eager... to yield their seat to the new couple. Then to find a new seat for themselves at the other end of the bus. Plus now he noticed that many of their fellow visitors stepped back away as Matches escorted Goldie up the flower lined walkway to the imposing front door. The red jacketed guide, however, moved closer. Goldie leaned closer, whispering in Matches ear. "I still think I made a mistake." "No." Matches whispered back, giving one gray haired harpy a wide and evil grin. "Flawless as always." Was he suddenly blind? Goldie nodded towards the docent waiting at the door. "That woman is staring at us." Matches grinned. Wickedly. "She just thinks we're likely to steal the silver, that's all." Then again - maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. Matches Malone wasn't the nicest guy on the planet. ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "On behalf of the Keystone City Garden Society, I'd like to welcome... all of you... to VanderHoot Mansion. Mrs. Betsie VanderHoot fingered her pearls nervously as Matches eased Goldie towards the front of the audience. "Thank you, Elizabeth, for sharing your lovely home." "I'm Ilsa Smoot, Vice-President of the Keystone City Garden Club and your guide for this years very special Tour." The lady from the front door took center stage. "Life in Keystone City Society was... quite different... from what some of you might be... used to. But I'm sure that with a little patience our volunteers can help you understand the importance of the VanderHoot contribution to our culture. " "Ya think so?" Matches looked at Goldie. "I guess I'm gonna learn sompin' on this shindig after all." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) A tall woman with two inch fingernails pointed down the cellar stairs. "Mr. VanderHoot served only the finest French wines, importing it by the barrel. They were decanted in this small butlers pantry. Matches sniffed near a barrel Labeled Chateau Picard, 1804. Empty. Pity. "Hell of a kegger." "Beer and local wines," she glared at Matches. "Were only considered fit for the servants. Matches grinned. "Like those better myself." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) A silver-curled matron in lilac chiffon ran her hand half an inch over the gleaming wood of the long mahogany table. "The VanderHoot's had the largest formal dining room in the city. When they added the leaves they could seat as many as one hundred guests." She frowned at Goldie, who was leaning over for a closer look. "It must be hard for... young people today... to imagine. Most parties are more... casual... I imagine." Goldie turned back to her date. "You?" she whispered. "Two hundred and fourteen - last Easter." "Oh yes." Goldie laced her fingers together - basket-fashion. "I remember that one." Matches closed his eyes at the memory. "As do we all." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "I'm sure the young lady will like this." This time, the sharply tailored guide waved Goldie forward. "These dishes were designed my the first Mrs. VanderHoot. That shade of bright pink is the rarest of all the porcelain colors, and was never used for any other dinner set." Matches leaned over to Goldie. "Because most people have taste." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "The foyer chandelier overhead holds over three hundred candles. Fully loaded, it took the butler over an hour to light them all. Of course," the third guide smirked at the other gray haired ladies who were oohing from the doorway. "We won't do that until you... those who are members of the Garden Society... come back tonight." "Fortunately." Matches whispered. "It is... large." Goldie stepped carefully around the side of the room. "Even bigger then...." "Size isn't everything." Matches snorted. Goldie giggled. "Does that mean this time yours *isn't* bigger?" "Mine's big enough." Matches stopped the blush before anyone else could sense it. "You only need that many candles if you're planning on singing opera." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "The Royal Bedroom " Maroon lace floated out as the speaker spun slowly, arms outstretched as if to embrace the crammed display of brocade and gilt carving. "The furniture you see was all imported from France." She patted the top pillow on the heavily fringed pile. "The beds are shorter then we are used to, because people back then were also short. Today's people's heights are the result of our better diets." Bruce watched her eyes shift uncertainly from the grandmotherly crowd, up to Goldie and Matches. "In most cases." Goldie raised an eyebrow. "That true?" "Sieur deVane?" Matches whispered back, referring to the semi- legendary founder of the Wayne line. "Two inches taller then I am. I've worn the armor." "Unlike the lesser guest rooms, this one was reserved for the Governor, when he came to town, and other civic leaders ." Matches stepped gingerly over a bit of ruffle that had snuck under the restraining rope. "Makes the guillotine look merciful." "Have you ever seen anything like it?" The guide sparkled - then faltered as Goldie sashayed past. "Well, maybe... commercially." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "This is the Grand Ballroom." A sharp featured lady in sharper tailoring threw open the tall doors, then stepped back to let most of the visitors go through. She stepped in just behind Matches and Goldie. "The inlaid floor was easily scuffed, so the first Mrs. VanderHoot came up with a clever way to keep it shiny. She required all her servants to wear large... well, I'd guess today you'd call them fuzzy slippers... when they cleaned the ballroom. That way the floor was polished at the same time." Matches looked at Goldie. Goldie looked at Matches. Matches grinned. "I'm imagining Alfred's face." Goldie shivered. "I'm imagining Cassandra's" ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "And here we have the VanderHoot collection of European Masters." Ilsa Smoot reclaimed the end of the tour. "Dead people as wallpaper." Matches stepped though the portrait gallery with the same enthusiasm most people reserved for mine fields. "Good that West didn't offer those tickets for Kyle. It could disable an artist faster then anything the Bat would ever do." "Be fair." Goldie aimed a gentle elbow into Matches ribs. "YOUR walls are covered with 'dead people'." "My portraits are of *relatives*." Bruce hissed back. "Whose names I know." Goldie paused before one particularly florid exemplar. 'Man in a Turban' - according to the plaque. "You don't think he's related?" "Impossible." Matches caught her elbow before it could hit again, and steered Goldie towards the exit. "Nothing sentient would mate with something that looked like that." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "And now for the prize of our collection. Rinehart Von Rolfens 'Woman with Four Cats." Ms. Smoot pulled back a curtain - exposing (and given her lack of garb Bruce considered that exposed was indeed the word) the peeling oil of a Dutch matron that - also in Bruce's opinion - even Turban-lad wouldn't have married. J'onn caught the thought. In fact - it was loud enough that he wondered how even the non-empathic locals could have missed it. "Be nice, 'Matches"." Goldie tried for a glare. Which tactic this particular persona wasn't well suited for, and which seldom worked on Bruce anyway, but since he was too alert for another elbow? "Or else I'll tell Kyle you made fun of the art." "That is not art." Matches's eyes frosted over to pure-Bruce-Wayne. "That... is vulgarity in a frame." The guide had, fortunately, missed the exchange. "This special work", she continued, "was purchased from a Dutch collector for eighty million dollars." Goldie tossed Matches a big smile - since she couldn't get in anything more solid. "Proof that *someone* must appreciate it." "Proof that if you *have* eighty million - it *costs* eighty million" "Come on. Rinehart Von Rolfen is famous." "Not for that, he isn't. You couldn't *hire* Selina to haul that away." Spotting the sparks in his date's eyes, Bruce shook his head. "Trust me on this. I may not always know what I like - but I do know art." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "Well" Goldie gave a half dance as they caught sight of the formal gardens. "Now for the part that at least *I* will like. Dessert." "What?" Matches stopped - and was almost stampeded by the heard of little old ladies rushing onto the rose lawn. A lawn which currently hosted a fresh planting of tables. "Read your ticket Matches." Goldie moved purposely towards a table for two. "This is the 'tea' tour. Complete with - and I quote - over one hundred unique tastes from the cities finest restaurants and bakeries." "And most of them chocolate." Matches nodded in mock-cynicism. "Now I know why you took the tickets." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) The white-coated teenager sneered at Matches. "Would Sir care for the Chocolate Kir Tart or the Mocha Espresso Cheese Cake?" "Gimme both." Matches returned the expression - and on him it worked. "It's in the ticket - right?" "Matches!" The cry turned heads. Bruce ambled back to the blonde. "Just staying in character." Goldie put one hand on his shoulder - and the other on the Kir Tart. "You won't eat either." "But you will." Matches lifted Goldie's spare hand, kissing it lightly before wrapping the fingers around the second dessert. "Waste not- want not." That earned a snort. "*Waist* not in your case." "Which is why I'm not eating them." Matches - or rather Bruce - whispered back in the voice of reason. "Besides - at the price of these tickets?" "Which you didn't pay for." Goldie moved the four empty plates aside, making room for the two newcomers. "I can send a donation later." Bruce took a sip of the coffee that Goldie had picked out for him. Caffeine free, no sugar, no cream. "Confess. You didn't *want* to choose between them." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "What are they..." Matches squinted at the waiters, who were observably delivering long stemmed red roses to all the *other* tables. "Donation envelopes." Goldie answered after a blink. At the very Bruce eyebrow, J'onn smiled. "You didn't think they were doing this *just* for the ticket sales. This is...What was it you called it last Christmas? The polite shake down." Bruce nodded - then frowned. "Why didn't we get one?" He raised his hand. "Hey! Buddy! Yeh - you!" The waiter vanished. Bat-style. Goldie giggled. "What?" That brought another giggle. "Guess we don't look like donors." "Hey! Back there!" Matches waved again - this time at a fast moving shadow behind the rose hedge. "Matches!" Goldie caught his hand. "You couldn't write a check anyway, could you?" "No but" Bruce grinned his too-rare little boy grin. "I was enjoying the thought of their faces when..." Pulling out Malone's battered vinyl wallet, he fanned a stack of hundreds. "You could give it to Ilsa Smoot on the way out." Matches half-stood. Then slumped back. "Nah. Then they'd know. That takes all the fun out of it." ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) "Thank you for coming." Mrs. Betsie VanderHoot fluttered as the ladies strolled out the front doors, distributing air kisses. "Muffy. Buffy." She patted shoulders. "Sharleene, dearest, always a pleasure." Another three gray heads, and another flurry of chiffon. "Laurie. Donna. Marcie - Such a joy to see you here. I hope you..." She reached the Malone pair, and stepped back. "Ummm... all... enjoyed the tour." "Ya. Great place ya got here." "Oh!" Another step back. Another clutch at the pearls. "Umm. How... kind of you... Mr..." "Malone." Bruce gave her the smile that somehow - against all evidence - convinced one that the speaker was missing at least one tooth. "Matches Malone." "Quite a... surprise." Ilsa Smoot hustled up. "We get so few... gentlemen on these tours. And... " A look at Goldie - followed by what was not quite a shiver. "Younger ladies." "I sorta noticed." Ilsa moved between the pair and the way back. "Do you have... interest ... in historical architecture? "Nah!" Matches held out his arm, ready to help Goldie onto the bus. "Just casing the joint!" To be continued... **********date 8******************* 30/30: Among Us by nw's chick Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G * indicates emphasis * / indicates telepathy / ~*~ It was a crisp autumn morning, the quaint college town bedecked in the finest the season had to offer; rows of trees in full fall plumage, bright blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds, the air refreshingly cool, and the ground crunching under their feet from the fallen leaves. Perfect football weather, everyone around them said as they passed. "*This* is a perfect date?" Bruce's tone was clearly derisive. J'onn grinned, pretending to sigh. "It *is* different, you can't argue with that!" "Who would think of a college football game as a perfect date?" Bruce was glaring at the chosen form of his lover with suspicion. Shrugging, "Someone who is a fan of college football. C'mon, get into the spirit of things! It's a beautiful day, it's supposed to be a great game, and we should be back from the requisite date early enough for you to catch up with your night work." Frowning, Bruce looked at his watch, a cheap grocery store Seiko, to fit in with his 'costume.' "Well, the game doesn't start for hours. What are we supposed to do until then?" "According to my research, this school is famous for tailgating. We could join up, bum some beer off of people... On second thought, never mind..." J'onn never got tired of teasing him. "Are you hungry? There's supposed to be a great stand selling steak sandwiches around here somewhere..." J'onn dragged Bruce around the charming campus, never relenting in his hunt for the elusive steak sandwich. Bruce had to repress the urge to pout. It wasn't so much that he minded being here; he just preferred to spend time with J'onn alone. The swarms of people here were disconcerting, to say the least. Of course, his annoyance was only heightened by the fact that J'onn blended in perfectly. They were both wearing jeans, shirts, and sweatshirts emblazoned with the school's logo, but J'onn's brunette ponytail, lean but not slim hips, and curvy soccer-momish body made the Martian seem just like any other woman wearing the school colors on campus. There were times when, no matter how good his cover was, Bruce could just *feel* how poorly he blended in. When they finally found the steak sandwich vendor, Bruce recoiled in disgust. "You *are* kidding. That must be at least 80% cholesterol!" He tried to use his stern voice, but that was a waste of time with J'onn. Rolling her eyes, J'onn grinned at him wickedly. "Right, and escargot is soooo healthy. Now, c'mon! Don't be a spoilsport! After we get some food, we'll go find the band. Oh, and the cheerleaders are performing around here somewhere too! We can find them, then listen to the band, then follow them to the game. It'll be great!" Bruce sighed internally. They did find the cheerleaders, and the band, and J'onn cheered along with the crowd as they made their way to the stadium. "I could have gotten us a skybox, you know," Bruce grumbled as they elbowed their way up the stairs to their seats. J'onn sighed. "That's not the point, silly! Fifty yard line, home team side, right in the middle of the lower section! Best seats in the house. I checked." Bruce let out an infinitesimal sigh. The stadium was old, one of the oldest in the country, so for seats there were benches with closely packed numbers for each 'seat.' Bruce resisted a mumbled protest as he had to wedge himself in between his lover and a stocky guy with a huge drink, a plate of nachos, a portable TV, and a pair of binoculars dangling from his neck. /Stop being such a grump!/ J'onn teased him through their bond. /Can't you enjoy the pageantry at all?/ /It's not my thing, really. I mean, look at all these people! They're all so... so.../ Instead of words, Bruce transmitted an impression, a feeling, of being alone in the middle of a crowd, of being surrounded by a mass of people who he could never be a part of, people who were *normal* in ways he could never even dream of being. All these people had families and jobs and hobbies and gripes and pet peeves and friends and ex-boyfriends or girlfriends and watched sitcoms and debated the news and bought mutual funds. He had no frame of reference with which to understand them. J'onn responded with a warm wave of understanding. Before he tried to form words with his thoughts, he let his consciousness snuggle up to Bruce's, dispelling his sense of isolation. /Of course I know what you mean, Bruce. When I first came to Earth, everything I saw and heard and sensed just... confused me. I wore the face of the people I was surrounded by, but they were as foreign to me in every conceivable way as could be. /It took time for me to understand humanity well enough to feel comfortable amongst them. What I learned was, though, I didn't need to understand them to feel comfortable. I could wear their faces, and talk as they did, and say what they expected of me, and no one would think me in the slightest way odd./ J'onn paused, obviously composing his thoughts. Bruce respected the silence, letting his own thoughts drift over what J'onn had already said. /Today, you get to be like me, in a way. Certainly, these people are as alien to you as they are to me, but we both are undercover among them, so to speak, infiltrating their ranks. Look around you, Bruce. There are 80,000 people here! The game is less than 30 yards away from us! We are part of this, alien or not. We are part of this game, this experience... We get to pretend, for a time, that we belong here with everyone else./ Along with the words, washes of emotion and concepts not framed in expression spilled into Bruce. He looked around, at the coziness of the stadium, at how rapidly it had filled up with humanity, at how close they were to the action, at how everyone blended together in a unit, extensions of the teams they came to watch win. He could feel from J'onn what something like this meant, the chance to be a part of a society, to be one among many who were alike, even if it was undercover. Smiling, Bruce turned to watch the band play the national anthem, squeezing J'onn's soft hand in his affectionately. They watched the kickoff, cheering with the rest of the home team crowd, getting to their feet at the end of the first quarter as the receiver ran long to just catch the pass right before falling into the end zone. They booed the ref when he penalized them 15 yards in a questionable call few in the stadium could see well enough to judge. They jumped up and down at the interception. During halftime, they stood in line with dozens of others to get hot chocolate, and a soft pretzel to share, getting back in time to see the home team's band do a little dance that looked goofy and funny. They cheered with the crowds, they watched the bands, they groused about the TV time outs, they made a bathroom break (during which J'onn considered morphing into a male just so that he wouldn't have to wait in the long line for the ladies' room), they screamed when the final seconds were ticking down and the team was fighting for each yard that would get them closer to field goal range, they gave everyone around them high-fives when they ended up winning in the last minute, and they sang along with everyone else as the band played the fight song and the alma mater. Driving back to the small airport the private jet was waiting, Bruce held J'onn's hand, resting on J'onn's thigh, and was grateful that the link between them made any words of apology for lack of faith in J'onn's pick for a perfect date unnecessary. Just as they were about to reach the car rental drop-off, Bruce pulled over enough to grab J'onn's face, a little ruddy from the day and the excitement, and kissed her. They lingered for ever-stretching moments, just comfortably tasting each other. Resting his forehead against J'onn's, Bruce smiled with his eyes closed. "Do you suppose," he whispered, as if it were a secret, "that there is anything wrong with me, that I have more in common with a Martian than with other humans?" J'onn playfully grinned, his tapers fingers toying with the tendrils of hair around Bruce's ears. "I can't think of a think wrong with that. Certainly works well for me." "You *may* be biased." "Yes, but I don't see anything wrong with that, either." ~*~ To be continued... ************date 9*************** 30/30: On Ice by Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G "Oof!" Two slender legs splayed straight out at right angles to one another. A pleated mini- skirt fluttered down to settle over tights-clad thighs and describe a circle of powder blue on the ice. Three feet higher, blue-green eyes opened wide in surprise. *shshisishhshhh* Black skate boots skidded to a stop. A glove clad hand reached down, offering aid. Beyond the outstretched hand, a pair of clear blue eyes gazed down, accompanied by a kindly smile. "Madeleine," Bruce Wayne said, helping the flustered and slightly winded blonde to her feet. "Yes, Bruce?" the woman replied, her teeth beginning to chatter. Bruce gallantly wrapped his arms around her from behind, sharing his body heat with her and kissing her ear. "I don't think ice skating is us." Madeleine van Landingham nodded in agreement, letting Bruce hold her close and help her pick her way gingerly to the safety of the ice rink wall. If she leaned on him perhaps more than she truly needed to? Shivered with the cold that couldn't touch her, prompting him to hold her closer? Close enough that she could feel his warmth, could smell the aftershave and sweat that mingled into an intoxicating musk on his skin? And if Bruce felt compelled to brush his hands lightly across her backside, assuring himself that she hadn't been injured in her fall? All merely confirmation of his statement. Ice-skating wasn't for them. She closed her eyes as Bruce Wayne planted a soft kiss at the base of her neck. No, definitely not for them. To be continued... *******************date 10************************************ 30/30 - Going to the Dogs by Darklady and Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG Lavender Larkspur sat in the lilac sitting room of Wayne Manor , her lover's purple iBook open on her lap. "This is different." She turned the machine out so Bruce could see the square of text marked out by the turquoise highlighter. "A *dog* show?" The tone carried not only the obvious question, but several others. Such as... `what the hell are you up to now' and `what response will get me out of this'. Not to mention a bit of `how the hell did I let myself get talked *into* this game in the first place'. "The Coast City Grand National All-Breeds Show." An edge of pout tinted the rose petal lips. Not serious - or taken so by either party - but still a message that the suggestion was not merely a artifact of J'onn's strange humor. Or rather that - while it very well might be - the chances were still dangerously high that they were in fact headed to Coast City. Bruce summoned his inner tactician - considered the odds - and surrendered. "As long as you don't plan on going as a dog." After all how much trouble could a bunch of pups be? And if it got dull? Since its restoration, Coast City had reclaimed it's reputation as one America's most romantic cities. He was *sure* he and... whoever.. could find some way to... amuse themselves. ^^^^^^^^^^^^ Desiree Lessing admired the prize Bichon Frise and listened idly to a pair of older women kibitzing about the injustice of such a fine specimen being denied Best in Show. She smiled to herself as they expressed the incomprehensibility that a BOXER of all breeds should have taken top honors. The travesty! Her thoughts were interrupted as a pair of arms snaked around her waist and a chin lowered onto her shoulder. "Looks like that dog spent more time in front of the mirror this morning than you did," Bruce remarked. Desiree elbowed him in the ribs good-naturedly. "Beauty is not effortless," she pointed out. Bruce's lips brushed the space behind her ear. "It is for you," he whispered. "Can we go now?" Desiree pulled out of his arms and shook her head at him. "Bruce, we've barely been here half an hour." Bruce shrugged. "How long does it take to look at a bunch of dogs?" She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a *look,* earning a sigh from him. "Fine, we'll look at more dogs." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and began leading her away from the Bichon Frise breeder. "But at least let's look at something other than an old lady dog." One of the women Desiree had been eavesdropping on earlier gave Bruce a hostile look, and Desiree leaned into him a little in a half shielding gesture. Not that Bruce noticed; he was heading toward the part of the show arena where most of the Doberman and Rottweiler breeders were. Not that he wanted to be there, either. Desiree read his feeling easily and stopped, halting them both. Bruce gave her an inquiring look. "You're having a miserable time, aren't you?" Desiree asked. Bruce started to shrug, then seemed to realize the futility of pretending to be at best indifferent. "I'm not enjoying it," he confessed. "I keep thinking I'll realize why you were so keen to do this..." Desiree reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze, then led him to the nearest breeder display. One of the handlers there was working with an Australian Terrier, and Desiree nodded in that direction. "Watch the dog," she remarked, noting the alertness with which it responded to its handler. "And look at the human, the bond of trust that just radiates there." Bruce followed Desiree's gaze and obediently watched for a moment. "J'onn," he protested quietly, "I don't need dogs to teach me about trust." Desiree shook her head. "That's not the point, Bruce. Didn't you ever have - well, want - a dog?" "No," Bruce answered flatly. "When would I have time for one? Alfred wouldn't-" "Never?" Desiree pushed. Bruce turned and began walking, forcing Desiree to take a couple of quick steps to catch up with him. "Bruce?" She reached out to halt him again, and he allowed her to. "I never did want a dog," he reiterated. "But-" Bruce glanced around the spacious convention center. "Can we go outside?" Desiree caught his arm and began to steer him towards the nearest exit. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I never got a sense from you that dogs -" "No, it's not like that. They don't -" Bruce sighed as Desiree pushed open the exit door and led him out onto a grassy lawn which looked out over the ocean. "Explain," she urged, spying a stone bench and heading toward it. He waited until they were seated to begin speaking again. "Dick wanted a dog, back when he was a boy." A surprised expression crossed Desiree's face. "And you said no? I'm surprised -" "I didn't say no," Bruce corrected, and Desiree noticed that his watch had loosened and was trailing down his hand to tangle in his fingers. Bruce watched Ace play for a moment with a hint of a smile, then turned his gaze out toward the view of the ocean. "It wasn't long after Dick had come to live with me, when he was really just beginning his training as Robin. He missed all the animals at the circus." Desiree nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine." "Alfred said something about it to me first, that maybe a pet would fill some of the ache for Dick. I think he knew I wouldn't expect it as something Dick would want, but the warning was enough for me to be ready when Dick asked." "What happened?" Bruce blinked and looked back down at Ace, running a thumb over the surface of the little zo'ok. "He asked if I would let him have a dog -" a hint of a smile crossed Bruce's features - "even came up with this notion of a Bathound and how great it would be." "Bathound?" Bruce glanced at Desiree. "You didn't honestly think I originally named the car the Batmobile, did you?" A dimple showed on Desiree's right cheek as she smiled at the image. "So you've been humoring him all this time. Uh huh. But what happened? About the dog." "I told him to research how much time a dog would take and come back with a proposal." "You didn't. Bruce, he was -" "Nine. And yes, I did. I reminded him to factor in his responsibilities in the Cave and to school. I explained that he could not rely on Alfred to take care of feeding and housebreaking and all the other things a dog would require." "And?" "He was ecstatic. He was only half-listening to me in his eagerness to see what was in the family library and write up a list of questions." Desiree smiled, resting a hand on Bruce's knee. "I can picture that. He still gets that eager look sometimes." "Yeah, I know." Bruce's tone was heavy. "Bruce?" "He never mentioned it again. He went off to do his research and I think he realized-" Desiree scooted closer and rested her head on Bruce's shoulder, wrapping on arm around him and stroking her hand over his torso comfortingly. "He realized what you wanted him to realize. That it was a bad idea." Bruce stared at Ace with the kind of focus that implied he wasn't seeing it at all. "Yeah," he admitted softly. "I felt bad, though. We could've found a way, and it would have made him happy..." "Oh, Bruce," Desiree breathed, pulling him toward her and letting him pillow his head against her breast. She kissed the top of his head as she held him and stared out over the ocean, wondering how shocked the hero world would be at the all-too-feeling heart of the Bat. He had carried this regret so long... A little bark sounded, and both Bruce and Desiree started. At their feet, a very small puppy sat and wagged its tail eagerly, barking again. "What-?" Desiree began. "Ace?" Bruce asked. The puppy barked once more, rising up to rest its front paws on Bruce's pants leg and wagging its tail more energetically. "Ace?" Desiree echoed, staring incredulously at the excited brown eyes of the puppy. "I've never-" "Down, Ace," Bruce ordered, and the puppy instantly obeyed, returning to its sitting position and still gazing at Bruce adoringly. Desiree shook her head. "Something new every day," she remarked, reaching down to pet the silky ears of the puppy. It managed a wriggle without shifting from its position, and Bruce smiled. He slapped his knee a couple of times in a signal, and Ace abruptly leapt up, abandoning puppy form, and twined around Bruce's wrist to again become his watch. "I guess if it can be a furry it makes just as much sense..." Desiree nodded, conceding the point, tearing her eyes away from the now-watch to meet Bruce's lightened expression. "Are we done with the dog show?" she asked. "If you still want-" She shook her head, brushing her fingers through his hair. "No. I think I'd rather go home and watch old movies with my favorite boyfriend and his dog, Spot." Bruce raised his eyebrow at her. "You've been hanging out in southern California again, haven't you?" "Duh," Desiree remarked, straightening up and making a half-conscious check of her coiffe. "Where else would a successful print ad designer live?" "Gotham?" he ventured, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She turned her head to catch his lips, easily coaxing a warm kiss from him. "Mmm, Mr. Wayne," she purred. "I could be persuaded." Bruce kissed her again, then pulled back. "Wait. What do you mean 'favorite' boyfriend?" Desiree laughed and rose to her feet, holding her hand out to him. "Most liked, regarded with special affection," she recited. "I.e. you." She met his lips again as he stood and felt herself swept into the passion of a thorough kiss that left her breathless. "Yeah," she sighed. "Definitely you." To be continued... ************date 11******************** Puppy Love By Darklady and Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G Bruce Wayne rested his head against the leather wing of the leather armchair, dismay shading into despair as a black and tan ball of fluff toothed though the tassels of one of his abandoned loafers. A Papillion, to go by the ears. Which was, Bruce wearily conceded, and improvement on the Yorkie that had terrorized this same chamber fifteen minutes before. At least in terms of volume. The dog show may have bored Bruce - but it had inspired Ace. Since breakfast, the little Martian creature had morphed it's way though a copious number of toy breeds - presumably all pulled from Bruce's personal recollections of past mis-encounters. Unfortunately... Bruce watched the furry form morph again. Black and white this time. A Shih Tzu, by the flat nose. No change to the teeth, to judge by the dissolution rate of his former footwear. *Unfortunately*... Bruce Wayne life had apparently intersected with a shocking number of the little pests. Starting with 'Aunt Harriet's' obese poodle, and working trough to which ever imposition on his social forbearance this particular specimen had been. Despite the... cultivated... general belief, neither Bruce Wayne nor the Batman's memory was *actually* elephantine. Retention required a certain... attentiveness. Attentiveness which he had not devoted to the sundry lap yappers of his female acquaintances. But then? "Please! Ace!" Bruce lifted his foot quickly out of range. The loafer might be lost - but he drew the line at yielding a sock. Before today he had not entered 'companion breeds' on his list of potential threats. Apparently an oversight. Bruce glowered as the now- Chihuahua left off pawing at his toes in favor of a maddened race around the room - apparently in pursuit of invisible mice. Or some such. Whoever would have though tiny toenails could make so much *noise*? Bruce sighed. He couldn't leave the little creature. It was - after all - a symbiote. And an animal. And thus acting innocently according to its nature. A little voice inside his head mocked him with the reminder of just where he had heard all those arguments before - and just how little he had been moved by them at the time. Still, as the dog book said... He glanced down at the volume open on his lap... a misbehaving animal was the sign of an unprepared owner. Which meant it was *his* duty and his alone to correct matters. He ignored the section in chapter one subheaded 'Why Some People Should Not Own Dogs.' He had one, so... "Ace?" Bruce kept his voice low but firm, just as recommended in chapter two. He patted the side of the chair gently, exactly as suggested in chapter three. The King Charles Spaniel trotted over. Excellent. Exactly as predicted. "Good Ace!" Positive feedback - just as in chapter four. The tiny plumed tail thumped the floor. So far - so good. Opening the book to its center section, Bruce picked out once of the large color photos. Lowering it to just one inch before Ace's twitching ebony nose, he commanded. "Rottweiler, Ace! Rottweiler!" The spaniel cocked its head curiously, looking up at Bruce with inquiring brown eyes. Bruce kept his expression stern, and Ace began to grow, its fur getting shorter and glossier over muscled dog flesh. Bruce allowed himself a trace of a grin. "That's better," he stated approvingly, closing the book. Ace took advantage of his fleeting distraction to plant its front paws on the edge of the chair and begin licking Bruce's face. "Ace!" Bruce objected ineffectually, pushing his hands against the chest of what he suddenly realized was meant by a large breed. "Master Bruce? What-" Before Alfred could finish his alarmed sentence, Ace suddenly shrunk down, abandoning any hint of canine form and zipping up Bruce's sleeve. Bruce reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, scrubbing at his dog-slobbered features. "Yes, Alfred?" Alfred gave him a puzzled look. "Am I to infer that what I just witnessed was something to do with this 'zo'ok' you have mentioned before?" "That's Ace, yes," Bruce confirmed, eager to change the subject. Alfred bent down to pick up one of the much abused loafers on the floor, wrinkling his nose in well-mannered disdain. "I trust this will not become a habitual use of your footwear." Bruce hid a guilty wince. "Maybe we should keep that pair around," he suggested awkwardly. A little bark reinforced the point, and Bruce realized belatedly that Ace had once again found its way to the floor, this time taking on the dimensions of a miniature Dachshund puppy. Its tail wagged eagerly as it sat at Bruce's feet and looked appealingly up at Alfred. Alfred looked from puppy to shoe and back. "Very well. I will put these *downstairs* where the furnishings are more suited to the ravages of housebreaking." "Yes, Alfred," Bruce agreed meekly, reaching down to stroke Ace's ears and encourage the little zo'ok back to its normal disguise as his wrist watch. Alfred picked up the second demolished loafer. "Miss Sareeta Punjabnalaram is waiting for you downstairs. I believe you have a date?" Bruce nodded and stood up, careful not to step on the still-puppy-form Ace. "Please let her know I will be down shortly." "Very well, Master Bruce." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Rottweiler Ace barked and kept pace at Bruce's side as he loped over the lawn. "It's working!" Sareeta exclaimed with delight, watching as the kite she released caught the brisk autumn wind and began to rise in the air. Bruce slowed his run, letting out line as fast as the kite would take it, careful not to allow it to go slack. The brightly colored kite rose higher and higher against the crisp blue of the sky. Sareeta caught up to Bruce and Ace, eyes wide and laughing. "It's so pretty," she remarked. "You want to try it?" Bruce asked, carefully maintaining the line tension. Sareeta smiled shyly. "You think I could do it?" Bruce nodded, settling the spool into one hand and reaching the other invitingly to Sareeta. Sareeta moved into the circle of his arms, pressing her back against his body as he placed her hands on the spool. "You want to feed it as much line as it can take without letting it go slack," he explained. "Okay," she said hesitantly, putting her hands gingerly beside his. "Get a better grip there," he directed. "Can you feel it?" "It's fighting me!" she delighted, moving her arms against the tug of the kite. "That's it," Bruce encouraged, leaning his face forward to breathe in the scent of her ebony hair. He lowered his lips to her ear. "Let a little more line out... that's it..." "I've never done this before," Sareeta marveled. "It feels almost like it's alive." "I know," Bruce agreed. "You ready to take full charge?" "Um-" "I'll be right here," he promised. "Hold tight." She nervously obeyed as Bruce removed his hands from the spool. "Keep letting out line," he coached. She complied, struggling a little as a sudden gust caught the soaring kite. Then the line went unexpectedly slack, and the kite began to dive toward the ground. "Oh!" Sareeta gasped, and beside them Ace began to bark. Bruce reached forward, reclaiming the spool, expertly halting the kite's dive and steering it back to a steady current. "It's okay," he reassured. "Ace, calm down. See, Sareeta. It's heading back up." "Wow," Sareeta breathed, her hands under Bruce's tightening on the spool. Bruce brushed a kiss over her ear. "A few more minutes and we should be able to plant the spool and just watch it." Sareeta nodded, intent on keeping the kite aloft. "You ready to take charge again?" Bruce asked. Another distracted nod, earning a smile as Bruce released the kite string and stepped back. "I'll set up the picnic, then," he told her. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "Y'know," Sareeta commented, "I've never seen a zo'ok do something like this before." Bruce pulled her closer on the blanket. "So you mentioned yesterday. What's different about it?" Sareeta gestured toward the Rottweiler sniffing around the blanket. "This kind of independent animal." "Not so independent," Bruce pointed out. "It won't go more than 20 feet away from me." "Well, it's still a symbiote, but still." She fingered the zipper of the windbreaker she was wearing. "Zo'ok is always part of me. It acts on its own to a limited degree, but the kind of bond..." Bruce kissed Sareeta's forehead. "You're Martian. Natural environment." "True enough. It's still interesting, the way it's half bonded. It makes me wonder at the adaptability. And the way perhaps Mars limited-" "Shh," Bruce interrupted. "No weird guilt over zo'oks allowed." As if to emphasize the point, Ace paused in its restless exploration of the blanket's edge and stuck its nose in Sareeta's face, giving a rough lick to one cheek. Sareeta laughed and pushed the zo'ok away. "Fine, fine," she conceded. She settled more comfortably against Bruce's chest and sighed. "It really is a beautiful day." Bruce nodded, kissing her neck. "And beautiful company." Sareeta smiled and turned, giving him access to her lips. He leaned her back, putting a fiery intensity into their kiss that was interrupted when her eyes suddenly went wide and she pushed him back. "The kite!" Bruce looked up as the line snapped and the wind carried the brightly colored silk off over the Bristol cliffs. Ace froze in its exploration and gave a little yip, disappearing up Bruce's sleeve. Bruce patted the little creature reassuringly. "We can get another one," he pointed out. Ace only trembled and stayed at Bruce's wrist. Bruce looked at Sareeta, who shrugged and took Bruce's hand. The fabric of her windbreaker brushed Bruce's wrist, and she leaned in to kiss him again. "Don't worry, Ace," she murmured as Bruce's hands pulled her closer. "We're not letting anything else get away." "Agreed," Bruce confirmed, once more claiming Sareeta's lips and proving he meant his promise. To be continued... ********date 12************** The Bodyguard by nw's chick Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G ~*~ Eliza didn't even look up as the door to the apartment swung open. Still keeping her gaze fixed on the textbook she was pretending to be reading, she asked her roommates, "And where have you guys been all day?" Chelsea was practically bouncing with glee. "Where else?!? We went to the Symposium for Extraterrestrial Exobiology and Sociology! And you'll never guess what happened?!?!" Eliza continued to highlight random passages in her text. "You went to an alien convention." "We met Martian Manhunter! *The* Martian Manhunter! From the Justice League!" She continued to bounce in place as their third roommate rolled her eyes. Delia plopped down on the couch, completely unimpressed by their afternoon's excursion. "It would have been cooler if it was Superman. Or Superboy!" "You went to an alien convention." Eliza spared her roommates a moment's glance. Chelsea huffed, annoyed. "Superboy isn't an alien, Delia, he's a clone. I think. Anyway, I can't believe you weren't more impressed! Wasn't he a great public speaker? The way he talked... it was like we were there! Oh, Eliza, you would have loved it! He talked for over an hour, all about Martian culture and civilization, and what happened to them, and Martian physiology, what kind of powers he has... He's so cool! He can be invisible, and change forms!" She sighed, breathily. "He's just *so* great." Delia snorted. "You're stalking him, aren't you? You should be careful, Chelse, he's in the Justice League you know..." "Alien convention." Eliza drew a box around a diagram, filling in some of the blank spaces absently. Chelsea blushed. "I'm not stalking him! I just think he's really interesting!" "And cool. And funny. And smart. And sexy..." Delia rolled her eyes as she searched the couch cushions for the remote. Chelsea sputtered. "I... I didn't... I don't...! Well, he *is* sexy! I mean, he's green, I know, but... still! He *is* smart, and the brain is the largest sexual organ, isn't it?" Delia just rolled her eyes again. "And anyway, I can't believe that you weren't more excited! There are whole other worlds out there, galaxies and planets that we know nothing about, but that have fully evolved sociopolitical systems, and cultures... I just can't understand why anyone *wouldn't* be excited about the prospect of learning about new and alien cultures!" Chelsea sat down in a huff. Her roommates were so limited sometimes. "Aliens." Eliza twirled the highlighter, trying to keep it in motion for as long as possible. "Well... there was that one thing..." Delia sat up, a smile creeping across her face. "Yeah?" Chelsea sat forward. Finally, Delia was going to admit that she was interested! "Didja get a look at his bodyguard? Talk about a man!" Delia's eyes went distant as she remembered the Martian's tall, muscular bodyguard... his close-cropped, bleach blonde hair slicked back, those steely-cool shades, and that sexy scar running down his cheek... Chelsea groaned. "The bodyguard! Oh, man... That guy was a jerk! Did you see how he was glaring at everyone who went up to get the Martian Manhunter's autograph?" Delia grinned. "Oh, yeah, he looked like a real tiger..." Eliza and Chelsea shared a look. Delia and her dangerous men... "What did he need a bodyguard for, anyway? He's in the freakin' Justice League! What was going to happen that the bodyguard could take care of, but he couldn't?" Chelsea crossed her arms over her chest, put out. Delia winked at her. "Maybe he just keeps him around for sex!" "Ew!" Chelsea threw a small pillow at her roommate. "Get your mind out of the gutter!" Eliza snapped her text shut. "You are both... so *weird*." ~*~ Bruce pulled the scar off his face. He was glad to be rid of the skullcap and wig; it had been itching like crazy. "I hate to say this, but... I think we need to go out again tonight." J'onn looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?" "Well, that wasn't much of a date, was it? We didn't even get to wander off alone at any point... I was your body guard." Bruce shrugged. "That can't count, can it?" Smirking, J'onn sashayed closer. "You obviously don't know much about bodyguarding." Before Bruce could react, J'onn simultaneously leapt into his arms and transformed. Bruce found himself holding a smirking Whitney Houston dressed in a silvery, slutty costume. "See, there's still the part where you carry me off to safety can comfort me for all my pain and anguish..." J'onn fluttered his Whitney eyes, smirking uncontrollably. Bruce managed to smirk back as he lowered his face slightly to J'onn's Whitney face. "You should transform again quickly, before I decide to let you fall on your tush." J'onn laughed, transforming into a leggy redhead, with ample, well-revealed cleavage. Bruce smiled, squeezing J'onn gently in his arms. "*Much* better." He only took two steps towards the bed when J'onn started crooning, "And I-eee-I, will al-ways lo-ove you-oooooh!" Bruce dropped the arm under her legs first at least, so that she had a fighting chance of landing on her feet. "There is a point, you know, where your obsession with movies becomes less charming and more annoying." ~*~ To be continued... **********date 13*********** Two Step By Smitty Disclaimers in "Opening Credits" Rating: PG Sanderson Hawkins looked down at the woman whose legs were wrapped around his waist. His back ached and sweat beaded around his hairline and on the back of his neck. He gripped her hips tightly and grinned savagely, hiking her body further up his torso. He dipped low, tilting her head to the floor and hoping she'd thrown her feet high. He shoved her body to the left, twisting her under his arm and throwing her over his back. A step and pivot and she was back in his arms. Palms pressed together, he pushed her arm up, then stepped past her and to the side, tugging her brusquely around and throwing her over his arm as the last exclamatory notes of "Sing, Sing, Sing" echoed through the room. He eased his partner down, steadying her on her feet before wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. "Whew," he breathed, using his fingertips to pluck at the sweat-soaked shirt he wore. "Sorry if I was a bit off," he apologized. "I think the band was dragging a little. It felt a little slow to me." "Ah..." Kendra Saunders replied breathlessly, resting shaky hands on her hips and bending at the waist to catch her breath. "Slow. Uh-huh." Sand became aware of clapping behind them and turned to see Jack Knight and Dinah Lance grinning at the younger--in body at least--pair. "You didn't tell me you'd be doing stuff like that," Jack said wryly, then quirked his mouth to soften the admonition. "Sorry," Sand said between long breaths. "When did we lose you?" "Oh, about when you threw Kendra between your legs," Dinah clarified. "You know, three, four seconds into the song." Sand wrinkled his nose with a grin and accepted the bottle of water Dinah passed over to him. "Thanks. I guess I got carried away." "Ahh," Kendra nodded, still looking shaky. "Carried away." She nodded again. "Ok. I'll be in the bathroom, wishing I hadn't had sushi for dinner, if anyone needs me," she told them, staggering off. "You think she's ok?" Sand asked gingerly, watching her go. "She's fine," Dinah assured him, pulling him over to the small table she and Jack had appropriated and offering him a chair. He collapsed into it gratefully and took a long pull from the water bottle. "We've been people watching," Jack told him. "There's a guy over there who's about a hundred and eight and might dance better than you, but he's your only competition." "I have competition?" Sand frowned. "Don't worry," Dinah assured him. "Jack'll clock him in the knee with a two by four." Sand's frown deepened, the reference lost on him. "Hey, is that Bruce Wayne?" Jack cut in to divert the attention away from Sand's confusion, nodding across the room at a tall, dark-haired man. "Dinah, you know rich people. That him?" "Sure looks like him," Dinah answered mildly, hiding a slight smile behind her bottle of water. "That man," Jack informed Sand, taking a massive swig of his own water as he paused to put his hand on Sand's shoulder, "is so filthy rich, his butler has a butler." "That's not quite right," Dinah corrected futilely. "He's so rich," Jack continued enthusiastically, no one's ever seen him drive the same car twice." Dinah coughed discreetly into her hand. "The man's so rich," Jack declared, sliding his arm around Sand's shoulder and shaking him soundly, "he's got women lining up to go out with him. I saw him on the news four times last week--four times! And with a different woman each time! And Dinah heard from Roy who was on monitor duty--" "Missile duty," Sand corrected. "--when Troia and the girl speedster, the looker, pulled his ass out of the fire last Thursday--" "Thursday before last," Sand corrected. "--and said he was in the elevator with some knockout chick who I guess was a meta or something...Oh, and even before that, he was in *France* of all places, with some diva with legs that went all the way down to the floor, if you know what I mean--" "He was at the opening night of the 'South Pacific' revival," Sand muttered wistfully. "Box seats." "-- and then I was watching the Coast City Dog Show--" "You were watching a dog show?" Sand interrupted, his water stalled halfway to his mouth. "Hey, it was on after 'Blacksheep Squadron'" Jack protested. "And I had this little chow when I was a kid..." "A *chow*? You had a chow?" "Hey, I like dogs," Jack said defensively. "Anyway, Bruce Wayne likes them too. He was there with some *other* woman." "You mean one different from the previous five?" "Four." "Whatever." "So I wonder what he's doing in this little dive?" Jack wondered, drinking again from his bottle of water. "I mean, not that *I* don't think it's great," he assured Sand, whose left eyebrow was starting to creep up his forehead, "but if I had billions of dollars to blow...so, um, what do you think he's doing here?" Jack finished lamely. "Maybe he wanted to go swing dancing," Sand pointed out. "In New York?" Jack asked, slouching in his chair. "Surely there's someplace closer to home. What do you think, Dinah? Why are they here?" "I think," Dinah said carefully, a mischievous smile on her face, "that is sounds like someone's idea of a perfect date." Sand's face blanked in recognition first, but Jack was the one who spit it out: "Bruce Wayne knows Big Blue?" "Swing dancing was *my* perfect date," Sand said thoughtfully. "You think Superman is trying to help Bruce Wayne come up with places to take his dates?" "Like Bruce Wayne needs help," Jack scoffed. "More like helping Bruce Wayne's dates find places to take him." "That's not possible," Sand pointed out, gesturing vaguely with his water bottle. "You said yourself that he has a different date each time. Superman can't possibly know *all* those women." He paused. "Unless they were all the *same* woman." "Nah," Jack agreed. "There's no way all those girls could be the same person. I mean it's more than just haircolor and whatever. That one girl had to be six feet tall." "Boys, boys, boys," Dinah said, clapping them both on the shoulders and poking her face between them. "Things are not always what they seem." She squeezed them both into a hug and then disappeared, ostensibly back to the bar. "J'onn J'onzz could do it," Sand said so quietly Jack almost didn't hear him. "Who--wha--hey..." Jack pondered this. "You're right." He squinted at the honey- blonde ponytail bobbing against Bruce Wayne's shoulder across the room. "You think that's really J'onzz?" "I don't know," Sand confessed, still thoughtful. "Could be." "So he's just morphing into different women to date Bruce Wayne?" Jack looked vaguely distressed. "I mean the guy's fun, but...does he *know*?" "You mean that he's dating a Martian?" Sand looked dubious. "His bodyguard can't be too happy about that." "What bodyguard?" "Doesn't Wayne have a bodyguard? Some blonde chick with--" "If you say legs that go down to the floor--" "A really big gun?" Jack substituted, with a hopeful grin at Sand. Sand just shook his head and chuckled. "She's a hottie," Jack explained. "I just can't imagine that she likes him dating a different random chick each day." "Because she's hot?" "Well, ok, say she *doesn't* have the hots for Wayne. What kind of pain in the ass must it be to guard a guy who insists on picking up a new girl each time he goes out?" "Point." Sand studied the people on the other side of the room. "I don't see a bodyguard. Where is she?" "I dunno," Jack admitted. "I haven't seen her in a while." "In a while tonight or in a while, since you've been obsessed with this Bruce Wayne's Social Life thing?" "She used to trail him around," Jack explained. "She was tall and skinny and looked like she wanted to bite his head off and chew on it. And she's not here tonight. And I haven't seen her in...well, a while." "Maybe she quit," Sand suggested. "Or maybe he fired her." His eyebrows raised as something occurred to him. "Maybe J'onzz is guarding Wayne. That'd be a hell of a cover, wouldn't it?" Jack's eyebrow shot up. "You think they're..." He glanced sideways at Sand. "You know?" "Jack," Sand admonished. "Not everyone's so--" He trailed off as he thought about it. "There's probably something extremely wrong with me," Jack murmured softly, sliding one hand into his pocket, "but I think it's time to go home." Sand watched Bruce Wayne nuzzle the cheek of the petite woman dancing to "All That Jazz" with him and bit the inside of his cheek. "I think that's probably a good idea," he replied, his voice husky. "Ok, I'm back," Kendra announced, coming up behind them with Dinah. "What'd I miss?" Jack and Sand shared a look and smiled. "Nothing," Sand told her. "Nothing at all." To be continued... **********date 14******************** Daily Planet Society Pages DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME By Clark Kent Gotham-based billionaire Bruce Wayne made quite a splash at the Metropolitan Club's annual masquerade ball. Or rather, his date did. Mr. Wayne arrived at the downtown Comorant Arms hotel with the winsome Ellery D'Ares on his arm. The flashbulbs were popping as Mr. Wayne emerged from his limo in the costume of Captain John D. Marcus from the 1960s hit "Space Trek." While Wayne cut a dashing figure, it was D'Ares who wowed the crowd, impressively made up as a green alien princess. The daring Ellery shed even her trademark buzz cut, shaving her head to the skin to pull off the effect. Her skin was entirely colored green; a notable feat given the little coverage her costume provided. Unfortunately, the party organizers failed to warn Mr. Wayne and Miss D'Ares that a Space Trek convention was being held at the Skyway Suites across the street. Several conventioneers, believing Wayne and D'Ares were heading to the wrong location, sought to redirect the couple, running afoul of their bodyguards. No one on site was able to give a clear account of what happened when the police arrived, but in the course of the melee, it seems Mr. Wayne was unable to adequately shield Miss D'Ares from the disruptive throng. The lady found herself dunked in the fountain in front of the Comorant Arms - an event which also tragically revealed the relatively permanent nature of the dye with which she had colored her skin. Miss D'Ares was visibly upset as she was taken home by her bodyguard. Mr. Wayne departed the party soon afterwards, leaving a clear impression that Ellery has lost her place on his dance card. -30- (30/30 fic by Chicago, Disclaimers in "Opening Credits".) ************date 15*********************** ========= 30/30: FOURTH AND GOAL ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ By SKH (c)September 2002 Rating: PG-13 Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Dick Grayson leaped up, caught the football, and landed. Taking two steps to the side, he signaled with one arm for his receiver, Tim Drake, to "go long." The teen did as directed, and Dick pitched a perfect spiral to Tim, who caught it at dead-center of his chest. Taking a few steps forward, Tim hurled the football back. The petite dark-haired woman picked that very moment to step off the terrace steps and walk briskly across the leaf-littered rear lawn at Wayne Manor. "Look out!" Both young men called out as they started toward the woman. Alana turned just as the football reached her, staring in surprise at the incoming missile. The ball struck her just above the bridge of her nose, and "disappeared," passing completely into her face. Alana gave a tiny shiver and fluidly morphed into a much taller, broader, *greener* body. As Dick and Tim slowed on their approach -- Tim mouth-agape, Dick amused -- J'onn extended one hand. A bulge traveled down his arm until the football emerged from the palm of his hand. "I apologize. I didn't mean to interrupt your recreation," said the Martian, handing the ball to the grinning Grayson. "God, I'm never going to get used to that!" Tim gasped, seating himself heavily on the fall-crisp grass. "That wouldn't have happened if you could just throw the ball straight, Tim," Dick scolded the teen as he spun and balanced the football on the tip of his finger. "Dick," J'onn interrupted, "may I have a word with you?" "Sure!" Dick chirped. He nudged Tim in the butt with the toe of his shoe. "Grab us a couple of bottles of Sport-Ade, will ya, Tim?" he asked. "'Kay," the teen answered, getting to his feet. "Back in a few." When Tim was out of earshot, Dick asked cheerfully, "What can I do you for, J'onn?" At J'onn's suggestion, the two heroes, Titan and Justice Leaguer, walked across the leaves to the footpath. "I don't doubt that you've heard about a certain... challenge issued by Clark, regarding --" "The date challenge?" Dick grinned, tossing the football up and catching it. "Yeah. Not from Bruce, of course. I think Wally called me up about five seconds after *he* heard about it." Dick tossed the ball up again, and when he caught it and looked over at his companion, it was Alana who now walked beside him. "Would you mind if I asked your advice?" she asked. "The purpose of this exercise is to... learn about one another through new, unfamiliar experiences." Dick laughed, "Then cross out leather body suits and whips!" Chuckling, he continued, a little less irreverently. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. Bruce has always been so methodical by nature and... provincial in his attitude about sex. That *I* know about," Dick smiled. "Yes, I understand he was not supportive of your relationship with Princess Koriand'r," Alana said sympathetically. "I assure you, he *has* become somewhat enlightened in that respect." "It's hard to tell sometimes, but *I* think he's even, dare I say it? Happier. At least as far as 'happy' can be applied to Bruce." Dick held the ball still for a moment as he looked over at Alana. "So... it kind of seems like you don't really *need* my advice, Alana. But whatever I can do...." "Just a suggestion, really," said Alana. "I know his mind, his heart, but it would be just a little invasive to pick apart his imagination." "Hmm," Dick murmured thoughtfully, tossing the football again. "What's something unfamiliar that Bruce might gain a little appreciation of... with the right company?" He caught the ball sharply, looked at it, then turned, smiling, to Alana. Handing the ball to her, Dick said, "I think I have an idea." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "Haven't we done that?" Batman asked as he peered into the eyepiece of a microscope in the Batcave's evidence lab. "And, if memory serves, merely a week ago. My ears are still ringing from the stadium horns. I thought the idea of this... challenge... was to experience different venues, and different activities." The slide in microscopic view was suddenly flooded with green, and Batman found himself looking at two blinking red eyes. His head snapped up; he leaned back in his chair, removed his cowl, and rubbed his hand over his eyes. When he opened them, Alana stood in front of him, smiling demurely. "Thank you for giving me your undivided attention, Bruce," she said. "This date isn't to *watch* another football game, it's to *participate* in one." "You think physical combat against a gang of cerebrally underdeveloped hulks will bring some kind of romantic epiphany? If so, why don't you join me when I patrol Gotham City?" Batman remarked dryly. "The teams will be comprised of people we know... family, in fact," Alana countered, climbing onto Batman's lap. Bruce felt an undulating pressure in his lap, yet Alana's lovely face was pleasantly unaffected. "Family... who?" he asked, shifting uneasily from his growing reaction to his lover's method of persuasion. Her hands stroked his face softly, yet tendrils released his belt and crept inside his clothing. "Yours, mine, ours... Dick suggested we all have an outing and play touch football. I liked the concept of touch...." she cooed. "Dick suggested it?" Bruce uttered, straining to maintain his composure against the pleasant invasion of dozens of touches in all the right places. "Just for that, *he's* on the opposing team, and are you sure it can't be *tackle* football?" Alana dipped her mouth close to Bruce's, then halted. "Funny... he said you'd say that," she smiled, pressing her lips to his. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ That Saturday morning, Dick Grayson and Tim Drake arrived early to mark the lawn to create a playing field to the more abbreviated indoor football specifications. They made goal posts from PVC pipe. Alfred prepared a sandwich buffet, which he served on the rear terrace. Before long, members of the Justice League and the Titans arrived for the game. The "green shirts" consisted of J'onn, Bruce, Tim, Eel O'Brien, and Clark Kent. On the "red shirt" team were Dick, Kyle Rayner, Wally West, Roy Harper and Donna Troy. Minutes before the game began, Clark was called away for an emergency. He apologized briefly, then took off. The "job for Superman" didn't include touch football. Dinah Lance, who had tagged along with Babs and Cassandra as a spectator, took the field in Clark's place. The Red team won the flip of the coin and chose to receive. Quarterback Harper nailed a bullet pass to Dick, who pushed past Tim and vaulted over J'onn, only to be slammed roughly to the ground by Bruce. "*Touch*," Dick wheezed to his adopted father. "The game is *touch* football, Bruce!" "I *did* touch you," came the taciturn reply. The team of present and former Titans returned to their huddle. Once again, Roy hit Dick with a dead-on shot, and once again, Dick came up with a mouthful of grass, compliments of his mentor-father. What was worse, he fumbled the ball, which Tim recovered. Tim was quickly tagged -- legitimately -- by Wally. "You were right," Bruce said, giving his filthy and bruised son a hand up. "I'm starting to like this game." "Of course you know," Dick warned, spitting the dirt from his mouth, "this means war." Bruce grinned evilly. "Bring it on." ======= From the terrace overlooking the rear lawn, Barbara Gordon and Cassandra Cain watched the game. Cassandra pointed at the players. "TV football not like *this*," she observed with an enlightened grin. "This game lots better!" "You got that right," Babs laughed. "We have a *real* 'super' bowl out there." Alfred clucked his discontent. "I fear the end result will be a 'dustbowl' for my poor lawn. Barbara looked up at the Wayne Manor major-domo, and then reached for the laptop computer that was in her backpack. ======= The Greens lined up with Tim at center and Bruce quarterbacking. Bruce threw the ball to J'onn, who phased to near invisibility to avoid being touched by Wally. The Scarlet Speedster pursued the Martian at human speed, repeatedly slapping his hands through J'onn's transparent hips. "No fair!" Wally yelled when J'onn crossed the goal line. "I thought this was supposed to be a 'straight' game!" "Heaven forbid straight!" exclaimed Eel, wrapping his hands around his ears several times. Wally glared the malleable man before returning to his team. Before the Green team lined up for the extra point kick, Bruce warned them, "I believe all bets are off now. Be prepared for anything." Anything was an accurate assessment. Donna Troy flew up to deflect the Green team's field goal. Kyle caught the kick return, sealed himself in an invulnerable green bubble and ran the ball back for a touchdown. Eel stretched out wider than the goalposts to block the Red's extra point attempt. Dinah caught the next kick return for the Greens and was legitimately tagged by Roy, who knew she'd kill him if he was any rougher than that. On the Green's first down, immediately after the snap, Bruce elected to run the ball. J'onn instantly shape-shifted, creating the illusion of a second Bruce -- complete with a second football. Dick chose the real Bruce, whom he'd been watching all along, and directed Kyle to cover J'onn/Bruce. Dick dove for Bruce, and Tim dove for Dick. Kyle snared J'onn/Bruce in a green energy bubble and Eel stretched out like a bed sheet to completely envelope Kyle. As Dick, Bruce, and Tim wrestled on the ground, Dinah scooped up the fumbled ball and was immediately slammed by Donna. The ball shot out like a greased pigskin. J'onn phased below ground and surfaced to retrieve the ball. He flew to the goal line and was halted by a small tornado, created by Wally running in circles at super-speed. An ear-piercing whistle split the air in repeated bursts. All the players froze, and turned toward the sound. Alfred Pennyworth stepped off the lower patio onto the lawn, blowing on a coach's whistle until his face turned red. He spat the noisemaker out as he marched onto the playing field. "This game is over now. I declare it a draw. Kindly remove yourselves from what's left of the lawn and report to table of refreshments on the terrace." Tim looked at Bruce. "Uh-oh. Game called on account of Alfred," he winced. The teams of heroes exited the grass like contrite children. Their subdued attitude vanished as they fell on Alfred's buffet with gusto. Bruce surveyed the "field," noting the extent of the damage. Skid and scuffmarks, divots, gouges, and a deep "doughnut" where Wally had run in circles had turned the lawn into a veritable pig wallow. He looked up at his companions, who were smiling, laughing, and recounting the highlights of the game. J'onn stood at the foot of the terrace steps, waiting for him. // "I believe you enjoyed this." // J'onn's thoughts tickled Bruce's mind, earning a smile from the master of Wayne Manor. The Martian's eyes glanced up, followed by Bruce's. A dark speck in the sky grew larger, until Superman landed, placing two pallets of new sod on the ground next to the football field. Brushing dirt from his hands, he approached his teammates. "Oracle said you'd need that to preserve domestic tranquility," he smiled. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Kyle lounged in a deck chair, eating a sandwich, and carefully bull-dozed the damaged turf from the lawn with his power ring. Alfred supervised, directing him around the sprinkler system. Superman laid down the new sod, and in a matter of minutes, the lawn was restored. "I'm glad he's doing that," said Dick, as he and Barbara ate lunch together. "I was sure Tim and I were going to get stuck with the job of resodding the yard." "Well, this way you get to preserve your strength, so you can demonstrate some of that 'backfield in motion' stuff to me... in private," Babs winked, eliciting a mile-wide grin from the Former Boy Wonder. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Afternoon gave way to evening, then to night, and the work it brought. In the wee, small hours, Bruce finally crept into bed. Alana, naked, warm, and waiting, snuggled next to him. Wrapping his arms around her, Bruce asked, "Did you learn anything of interest today?" // "About you? I learn more with every heartbeat," // came the mental reply. Verbally, Alana answered, "You are very competitive, and even though you made your son pay for suggesting our date, you enjoyed the recreation." Bruce lightly stroked Alana's cheek, drawing the touch down to thumb an erect nipple. "You were clever with your play," he said. // "I'm *always* clever with my play." // J'onn's affirmation flooded Bruce's mind. Alana's mouth descended on his as dozens of other mouths and hands proved J'onn's point. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To be continued.... **********date 16*************** Empty Orchestra By StarStorm (w/ help from nw's chick) Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G ** A quick tour of the JLA Watchtower had turned into a training room brawl between Young Justice and the few League members that were in attendance. After a few minutes of fighting - actually they were doing more laughing than scrapping- everyone called a draw and started to head to the teleporter. Flash saw Superboy nudge Impulse as they walked past the Monitor Womb, but Bart shook his head and moved to the other side of the group. The Teen of Steel started pestering the little ghost girl... Secret?... Wally couldn't remember... but whatever it was he wanted, she wouldn't do it either. They were almost passed the big room, Superboy was bothering Lobo now, when the team's newly returned archer snatched the paper Kon was holding and, growling; "scared of your own shadow. He's JLA for Pete's sake, he won't hurt anyone," marched through the door. Flash stopped the group and waited for the girl to come out, glancing at Robin with a silent question. The Teen Wonder shrugged, "No idea." Head held high, studiously ignoring everyone's stares, Arrowette exited the Monitor Womb a moment later, and rejoined her team. As they started walking again, Flash could hear Young Justice muttering to themselves, excluding Robin and the blonde. The Junior Justice League started teleporting down to Earth, until, by Wally's design, Impulse was the only one left. As the younger speedster stepped onto the pad, Flash asked casually, "What was Superboy bugging you about?" "HewantedmetogiveourdatethingstoManhunterforhimandBatmanbutIsaidno." "Date things?" Flash stalled, "for J'onn and *who?*" Impulse rolled his eyes behind his goggles, bouncing from foot to foot. "BATMAN," he half-yelled. "CanIgonow?" Wally forced a laugh, "Batman dating. That's funny." "Youdon'thavetokeepitsecret," Bart answered consolingly. "Arsenaltoldme. CanIgonow?" The Scarlet Speedster made a note to kill Roy Harper then and there. Either that, or cut out the man's tongue. Trying to preserve some of Batman's rep - J'onn wasn't worried about intimidating the kids - Wally growled, "Don't believe everything Roy says Imp. I told you before you joined the Titans that that man lies like a rug." Impulse shrugged. Clearly, truth or not, he wasn't interested. Flash hit the teleport button and sent his erstwhile protégé planetside, then went to find a place to hide until the end of the shift. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Later that afternoon, Manhunter met Superman in the conference room. "Kal, do you have a moment?" "Anything to get out of this paperwork," the Man of Steel answered. "What's up?" "I haven't told Bruce yet," J'onn stated, "but it appears word of the bet, and our relationship, has gotten out to Young Justice." "Oh good God," Kal groaned. "How'd that happen?" "I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count." "Obviously Robin didn't say anything. I doubt that Nightwing or Oracle would. That leaves..." He thought for a moment. "Diana, Wally... or someone from the Titans. Kyle, Eel and Orin don't have anything to do with the kids." "According to Wallace, Roy told Impulse." "And it got around to the rest of the team." Another groan, "I do not want to be in Tim's boots. It might not be his fault, but Bruce'll take it out on him anyway, for not putting a stop to the rumors." Red eyes flashed. "I'll deal with the Bat. I thought I should give you a head's up, though, just in case." Then J'onn grinned mischievously, reaching into his cape. "On the bright side, here's another chapter for the book; `Dating Tips from the Mouths of Babes.'" Kal raised an eyebrow, "Oh really? Anything interesting?" "Someone has a very strange idea of what two people should do on a date." J'onn handed over a few sheets of paper. Scanning one, the Kryptonian answered, "Judging from the handwriting, I'd say it's Lobo." He winced, "I don't even want to know if that's anatomically possible." "For myself or Plasticman perhaps," J'onn replied, knowing exactly what the other man was referring to. A withering look. "I said I *didn't* want to know." "My apologies." Another look, this time mixed with suspicion, then Kal turned the page. "Hmm, drive in movie. Hard to find one of those around anymore." "There are a few, if you know where to look." "I'll take your word for it. I was never into public sex." Superman continued reading. He didn't need to see the mock outraged expression on Manhunter's face to enjoy it. "Go to a rock concert...share fries and ice cream sodas at the mall...push each other on the swings at a playground." Another page, and sadness crept into the younger man's voice. "Dinner and dancing on the beach, watching the sun go down. Lie on the sand and make up new stories for the constellations, or retell old ones." Puzzled by what he was sensing, J'onn reached out, "Kal?" Superman sighed. "It's Kon's suggestion. He and Tana must have..." With the soft words, understanding blossomed. "Oh." Shaking it off, Kal continued, "A carnival. Go-cart racing...I can see Bruce getting leg cramps. Crafts fair - never thought of that one. Wine tasting weekend... that'll never happen." Morphing into a ravishing redhead, J'onn smiled sexily. "Oh, I don't know, I can be *very* persuasive." "That's too much info J'onn. Waay too much info." Something danced across the edge of J'onn consciousness, but he didn't pursue it. "Ah-ha! That's definitely one I can't see you getting Bruce to do, no matter how much you pout at him!" "And just what would that be?" Kal turned to J'onn with a purely evil look. "Karaoke." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Comfortably settled in Monitor Womb, Diana of Themyscira looked up from her mug of hot chocolate to see J'onn J'onzz materialize in the teleportation tube. The Martian Manhunter entered the room a few minutes and settled heavily into a seat above the ambassador. "J'onn, what's the matter?" she asked. "I'm beginning to wonder if this bet is worth winning," he answered with a sigh, rubbing his temples. "Did something go wrong?" "You could say that." "Do you want to talk about it?" Diana's voice grew more concerned as she walked up the stairs towards him. "The first part of the evening was fine," J'onn shifted to look at her. "We had dinner at a new steakhouse in Keystone, and then we went to a bar." "A bar?" A slender, black eyebrow rose in surprise. "I thought Bruce was a teetotaler?" J'onn shook his head. "He only drank club soda. But that's not the half of it." The eyebrow arched a little higher, but Diana waited until J'onn was ready. "I would never have chosen the date if I'd've known," the Last Son of Mars said finally. "Someone should have warned me." "About what J'onn?" "Have you ever heard Batman sing?" She blinked, "No." "It's not something I'd inflict on my worst enemy," he shuddered. Understanding dawned on the Amazon Princess and her jaw dropped. "You sang karaoke?" "I didn't. We were thrown out before I had a chance." "You're kidding!" J'onn slowly shook his head again. "Bruce got up onto the stage, and let's just say, he did *not* Survive." To be continued... *********date 17*************** 30/30 - Divides by Darklady and Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G Plasticman morphed into a giant Barcolounger as Green Lantern shut off the Watchtower Alarm. Another disaster averted for the Earth - another long day for it's champions. Even Kal-El sighed a bit as he pulled out his glasses and reached for his laptop. "Not going home?" Kyle Rayner asked as he ringed over a cup of coffee. Normally he would have asked Wally to run out for Radu's, but after the day they just had? Even a Speedsters feet had their limits. Wallace West's were currently bootless and resting on a pillow. Kyle took that as a hint that his fellow JLA member wouldn't be moving any time soon. "Have to write this up." Clark settled himself feet-up on one of the Observation Lounge sofas. "Then finish that romance column." "Right. I remember." Kyle's voice held the knowing sympathy of someone in the same business. "Miss Faithful ran off with that fencing champion." He ringed up his own couch - then let it flicker out and opted for the real thing. The way his concentration felt, the ring construct would likely vanish and dump him onto the floor. "White stuck you with covering for her." "Ah, the burdens of duty." Even the Batman's tone was less snarky then usual. Possibly friendship. More likely plain exhaustion. Although? Kyle considered the point. He hadn't noticed hard missions making the Caped Critic any more amiable in the past. "I do so regret I shan't be able to contribute to your efforts *this* time." Now that - Kyle smiled - was more the Bat. He hadn't exactly *said* anything when one of his recent 'dates' had ended up in the Daily Planet's lifestyle section under the headline "Don't Try This At Home" But then? Kyle deliberately averted his eyes as Plas tried to stretch out an upholstered arm in Wonder Woman's direction. He hadn't *had* to. One didn't qualify for the JLA by being *completely* obtuse. However much some of the members might *try* for that image. "Why not?" Clark's blue eyes were mischief-bright over his glasses. Kyle shuddered. And the Guardian's thought *he* was 'The Man Without Fear"? Batman moved into a pool of shadow. One that - no doubt co- incidentally - held another lounge chair. "As it is now 11:30 in Gotham?" A lifting eyebrow showed thought the eye hole of the grey-black cowl. "Hardly time for a date." "Perhaps." The Martian Manhunter drifted in from his task of securing the space-bay doors. "But we might at least *check* if any of today's suggestions would work." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Gladys Beauregard had worked at the Peak Diner for 27 years, sharing the overnight shift first with the wonderfully surly Oscar Ramirez, God rest his soul, and then with the taciturn Betsy Windflyer, who shocked everyone when she fell in love with one of the long distance truck drivers who came through twice a week and one day hung her apron on a hook and hopped into his rig to join his life on the road. Nowadays, the 9 pm-5 am shift belonged to her and Juan Frederickson, old man Frederickson's pup by the mysterious Luisa Francisca Cortez. Everyone agreed that Juan was a damned fine short order cook, but he was spooky. Everyone but Gladys. Gladys knew better. He wasn't spooky; he was spooked. Haunted. It had unnerved Gladys at first, sharing a shift with the quiet half-breed. Unnerved her more when the first ghosts started coming through, making their confused way to the other side with a final stop on the continental divide for a slice of pie or a cup of coffee. After a while, though, she got used to it, got to even like it. The spooks were drawn by Juan, but they were good to Gladys, brought out the mother in her. It made her feel good, just by being on this overnight shift in this particular place, she could give the recently departed a final taste of living before they resigned themselves to their dying. They came early this night, a couple looking to be in their late 30s. Married, to judge by the way they moved together, with a taste of long familiarity. Gladys swallowed a bit of sadness. Young ones were always hard to see over, and this pair were definitely spooks. They had walked in from the dark night, no glare of headlights preceding the little tinkle of the bell that marked their entrance. Juan's eyes had flashed to the door with the exact expression that always accompanied the arrival of the dead. Gladys gave them a moment to choose a booth, trying to suss out what kind of ghosts these were. They had a certain solidity to them that bespoke an unawareness of their death, and she wondered what sudden event had taken them from the world. Something unexpected, to be sure, and as yet unrealized, to judge by the confident way the man turned over the two coffee cups on the table in the universal signal for coffee. The ghosts who suspected they were dead were always more tentative, lost-looking. Gladys picked up her coffee pot and sashayed to the table, her brightest grin on her face. "Evenin', folks," she greeted pleasantly, filling their cups. "Menus are just there and the specials tonight are chicken fried steak and chili con carne." She studied the couple surreptitiously, taking in their athletic builds and mountain hiker clothing. "'less you folks are vegetarian. Then I can get Juan to whip up something salad like or some omelettes." A look passed between the man and woman, smiles on both their faces. It was the man who looked up to answer Gladys. "Oh, we're not really up for dinner. Maybe just some pie?" Gladys set the coffee pot on the table and pulled out her order pad, shifting her weight to one hip as she rattled off the options. "We've got pumpkin, apple, cherry, blueberry, peach, rhubarb, banana cream, lemon-" "Wow," the woman interrupted, giving Gladys a marveling look. "How do you remember so many?" "Years of practice," Gladys replied. "''Course, I always have to say them in the same order or I'll forget some." The woman smiled, glancing at the man across from her. "Well, I haven't had rhubarb pie in ages." "Is it good?" the man asked. "Bruce!" The woman sounded surprised. "You've never had rhubarb pie?" The man - Bruce - shrugged. "Not yet." He turned back to Gladys with a warm smile. "Guess that'll change tonight." "Two slices of rhubarb pie, then," Gladys acknowledged. "A la mode?" "Please," the woman decided, and Bruce nodded. "You got it," Gladys said, picking up her coffee pot and returning to her station by the kitchen. The smile on her face disappeared when she was away from the view of her customers, and as she handed the order slip back to Juan, she sighed. "So sad." Juan did not reply, did not even accept the order slip from her fingers. Instead he continued to stare at the couple. "Juan?" Gladys turned to follow his gaze, watching as the woman rose and crossed to the juke box sitting silently against the wall. She began flipping through selections, and after a moment, Bruce left the booth and joined her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his head on her shoulder as they went through the selections together. Gladys turned away again, stung by the idea of young lovers taken from life to soon. "Juan, they want some rhubarb pie," she said with a roughened voice, shaking the order slip at him. This time Juan looked at her and took the order slip. "They're not ghosts," he said succinctly. Gladys started. "Juan, of course they are. They didn't come in a car, they don't look like they've been out camping. They don't have any gear." Juan shook his head firmly. "Not ghosts. Something else." Then he turned and retreated to the walk in cooler. There was a hiss and crackle in the air as the jukebox needle found the groove of a 45. Gladys turned in time to see Bruce and his wife? girlfriend? face each other and wrap their arms around one another, his hands at her waist, hers on his shoulders. And then the music started, the first bars of "Unchained Melody" filling the small diner. Gladys felt her eyes fill with unexpected tears, and she turned away, blinking fiercely. No one played that song here anymore. They didn't take it off the juke box, but everyone knew better. All the regulars, anyone who might ever stop at the Peak Diner on their way from coast to coast - everyone left it alone. Only the spooks might play it, but most ghosts never looked twice at the juke box. Everyone here knew about the night shortly after Juan Frederickson began working at the Peak Diner, when it seemed the world was ending but there was nothing to do but carry on. How on that night - right about this time, Gladys remembered suddenly - the little bell above the door had tinkled and a real live - well, dead - superhero walked through the door. Everyone who had occasion to frequent the Peak Diner knew about the night that the ghost of Barry Allen came in and danced with the ghost of some sweetheart to "Unchained Melody." Just exactly the way that this "Bruce" and his lady friend were dancing now. A ping came from the microwave, and Gladys watched as Juan removed plates and scooped ice cream onto the two pieces of pie. When he handed the plates across to her, his eyes were again riveted by the still dancing couple. Gladys took the plates and turned, pausing for a moment as the song wound down. Bruce and the woman had settled into what was more a full body hug than a dance pose, swaying together silently to the music. The woman's blonde head rested on Bruce's shoulder, her eyes staring out unseeingly, the hint of tears in them evident even where Gladys stood. The startling sea-green of her eyes was a shade that only came with the gloss of unshed tears. Bruce for his part was resting his cheek on top of his woman's head, turning his face as the song ended to press a gentle kiss to the blonde hair. Gladys bustled to their table, feeling strangely voyeuristic. Behind her, she heard Bruce murmur, "I love you, Jenn." The reply was a gasping sort of chuckle. "You better, Bruce." His tone came back solemnly. "Always." Then more lightly. "Unless this rhubarb pie is not all you make it out to be." Gladys stepped back from the table as the couple approached. "There you are, folks. Enjoy." "We will," Jenn promised, shooting an amused glance at Bruce. Gladys retreated again, returning to the table twice to refill coffee and to present the check. The check was a formality, really - most spooks couldn't pay. It was often the moment that they realized they were no longer of the world, the moment when they would dissipate into the night. But Juan had said these weren't ghosts... Twenty-five minutes after they arrived, Jenn and Bruce left the way they came - through the door. They didn't stop to pay their check. No car started up outside; the darkness beyond the light of the parking lot merely swallowed them whole. Spooks, Gladys was certain. Except... She went to bus their table, still saddened by such a young couple so clearly in love having lost their lives. They hadn't forgotten to pay their bill. Not at all. Lined up in a neat row were five stacks of $100 bills, 10 to a stack. "Juan!" Gladys called, reaching out with trembling fingers. Juan was at her side in an instant. "Madre de dios!" he exclaimed, staring at the green. $5000. Enough money in this neck of the woods to cover both their rents for a year. Beside the row of bills, there was a note written on a napkin. Gladys picked it up, reading the words. "The pie was excellent, thank you. And thank you for keeping that song on the juke box. If you could play it once in a while - for Barry, and for us - it would make the ghosts happy." Nothing else. No clue who "Bruce" and "Jenn" might be. Just another ghost story for the Peak Diner, the eatery at the edge of the continental divide. To be continued... ************date 18**************************** Building by Hotspur Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: somewhere between R and NC-17 "Just a couple more, Mr. Wayne. If we can just get you handing the keys to Ms. Kostas again-" Bruce Wayne smiled charmingly as he presented the Elena Kostas with the keys to the Dodge Ram parked behind him. Elena's hand hovered in mid-air, as if caught in the motion of accepting the keys, and the click and whir of cameras began again. Through her fixed smile, Bruce could hear her muttering, "Please say we don't have to do this a ninth time." "All right, all right," Bruce said, stepping back from Elena and nodding to the various representatives of the press. "We've got a house to build here and taking pictures of the crew chief isn't helping that get done." His smile grew a little more suggestive. "Even if she is remarkably photogenic." Elena was already at the back of the truck, helping her volunteer crew slide 2 by 4s out of the back. "Thanks for the publicity and the donation, Mr. Wayne, but we do have work to do. Why don't you go and-" "Oh, don't chase me off, Ms. Kostas. I'm here to help." Elena paused, studying the billionaire before her. He was wearing stiff workman's jeans, obviously being worn for the first time. A crisp white t-shirt was visible through the open top button of his bright red and black flannel shirt. Unscuffed buff-colored boots covered his feet. She considered for a moment, then returned to dragging lumber out of the truck. "Okay, Mr. Wayne. Let's see what you can do." As she hefted some wood onto her shoulder, she glimpsed him rummaging in the cab of the truck, reaching for something across the seat and bending enough to highlight the curve of his ass. Not bad for a rich boy, she decided, striding to the foundation with her load and settling it down easily. "Elena, what are we gonna do with Mr. Playboy? He's just gonna get in our way." Elena glanced at George, sympathizing with the local crew chief. "I'll worry about our benefactor," she decreed. "You just get the team started on framing up the walls." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ By afternoon, the fall chill had burned out of the air. Elena had stripped off the top of her coveralls and tied the sleeves around her waist as she helped secure the roof joists. It was still hot, though, with the sun blazing down and the effort of their work. She mopped her hand across her brow as she waited for the next framed section to come up. She used the moment's break to see how her billionaire was faring. She had been impressed when he had opted to stay through lunch and continue working; she initially thought he would be ready to return to his office after a few hours' work. And he had proven fairly competent with a saw and with a hammer - enough that he didn't require constant supervision. Of course, Elena didn't mind watching a little more than was strictly necessary. The jeans were beginning to get grungy, breaking at the knees and shaping themselves to the curves of Mr. Wayne's backside. His flannel had been abandoned as the day had warmed, and the white t-shirt? Well, it was no longer crisp. The collar was stretched from being pulled up to mop at Wayne's sweaty face, and streaks of dust and dirt marred its whiteness. More than that, though - the unexpected afternoon heat had them all sweating profusely. Bruce Wayne's t-shirt was soaked, the wet fabric sticking to his chest and back, presenting both well muscled surfaces in detailed relief. As Elena watched, Wayne stood and stretched, accepting a water bottle from one of the other volunteers and leaning back to take a large swallow. The motion caused the t-shirt to cling more thoroughly to his upper body, revealing perfectly sculpted abs. "Heads up!" Elena dragged her eyes away from the appealing sights to accept the roof section that was being handed up. Atop the opposite wall, Rita gave her a grin and a raised eyebrow, mouthing the word, "Fine." Elena could not disagree. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Elena plunged her entire head into the five gallon bucket of water, gasping and grinning as she stood back up and flung water from her short hair. She accepted a damply grubby towel that Dmitri handed her. "Whoo!" she shouted, drying her face and scrubbing the towel over her hair. "Now that's what I call a good day's work," she remarked, admiring the fully framed house in front of her, now roofed and half-clad in insulation boards. "You got that right," George agreed, cracking a beer and handing it over to her. "Hey, Wayne! Want one?" Bruce Wayne shook his head and hopped onto the tailgate of the pickup, claiming a bottle of water. "I'll stick with water, thanks." He took a swig, his gaze turned toward the soon-to-be home he'd helped build. "You already know who's going to live here?" he asked. Elena nodded. "Family - grandma and ma and three kids. Real sharp little guys, too. Good in school, oldest one is a huge football fan, baby's just starting kindergarten." Bruce nodded. "It's good to see this part of the city coming back." Elena regarded him for a minute. "Y'know, Wayne? You're not a bad guy." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Usually I hear slightly less ambivalent remarks from people whose organizations have just received a million dollar grant from the Wayne Foundation." Elena shrugged. "Well, there's a difference between being a swell donor and not a bad guy." She raised her beer in a silent toast and turned to walk back to the crew gathered around boxes of pizza. "By the way," she tossed over her shoulder, "nice tool belt." Unobserved by anyone, Bruce Wayne brushed his fingers over the mentioned tool belt and grinned. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ The light was fading in the west, and the stars were coming out. Seventeen volunteers and three paid crew coordinators had headed for home. In the bed of a one ton pick- up, Bruce Wayne sighed wistfully. "I should get ready for patrol." Beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, Elena Kostas said, "I liked this." "Oh?" "Yeah." She rolled onto her side, turning her gaze from the emerging stars to the billionaire lying beside her. "It is good work. And it's nice to see you flex some muscle in the daytime." "Well, you weren't looking so bad yourself." Elena leaned closer, breathing in the musky smell of him. "No?" He reached a hand to touch her sleeve. "Who knew anyone could make coveralls look good?" She trailed tickling fingers down his stomach. "I've been admiring your six-pack all day." He shivered a little, bringing his hand up her arm to brush her cheek. "And here I thought you were just impressed with how well I handled a saw." Her hand moved lower, rubbing across his tool belt and sending it skittering across to loop watch-like around Bruce's wrist. She smiled as Ace's absence gave her access to a growing bulge in the front of Bruce's jeans. "I've always liked the way you handle tools," she breathed, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck. He pulled her face toward him, their kiss salty and urgent under the night sky. Before he released her she had his jeans unbuttoned to the fifth button. He gasped slightly. "How-?" "Very dexterous fingers," she answered, slipping said fingers under the waistband of his boxers. Her coveralls were melting away as he watched. "Elena, what if-?" She sucked lightly on the side of his neck, slipping her body half over his. Through the layers of his t-shirt and hers, he felt her breasts cushion against his chest as her fingers teased over his cock. "There's an 8 foot security fence around the site," she pointed out. "But-ooh." She grinned, her shirt disappearing as she sat up, straddling him. He stared at her small breasts, nipples puckering in the evening cool, standing pertly over a decently muscled chest. He watched her upper arm flex as she grasped his cock, giving it a pull and forcing a hissing breath between his teeth. "God. Elena-" She pushed his t-shirt up and leaned down to lap at his chest, her tongue warm and slightly rough in contrast to the kiss of the autumn air. He didn't object as she urged his shoulders up, peeled the shirts from his body. He didn't complain when she stripped away his jeans, pausing to suck on his inner calves as she untied his boots. And when the warm wetness between her legs settled over his stiff cock? He only squirmed and shifted until he was able to thrust into her willing body. And as Elena writhed above him then rolled him so he was on top with her ankles around his neck, he fervently hoped Oracle wasn't watching the cameras he'd ordered her to install at the construction site. To be continued... *********date 19****************** 30/30 - Workout by Darklady and Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG "What about Gardner's suggestion?" As J'onn read, one line on Batman's monitor screen glowed green. "A class at a Fitness Club is a great place to take girls." "I'm sure he means to *pick up* girls." Batman rapidly scrolled down the list. "Guy Gardner *not* being a figure I think of when I hear the word 'romantic'." J'onn brought the disputed text back up. "Have you done it?" The cowled man automatically shot off the 'excuse me' look - only by last-minute effort managing to soften it to the milder 'What?' This might be an exercise in new experiences, but Bruce was fairly certain that being exiled to his own sofa was neither romantic not an experience he desired. The disputed line again appeared - this time in bold. "I asked if you had *tried* it?" "I belong to the Gotham Athletic Club." Batman wasn't sure where J'onn was going - but he hadn't become tactician of he JLA without learning a certain caution around traps. Which this most evidently was. Unfortunately - recognizing a trap was not the same as knowing how to diffuse it. "Sometimes Ollie and I used play racquetball." There - Batman thought. An unenticing image if ever there was one. He risked a glance at J'onn. Who was... the hair rose at the nape of Batman's neck... smiling. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "Jasmina darling!" an effusive male voice called, followed an instant later by the appearance of a tall, well built, olive skinned man with a good tan and perfect teeth. He mounted the final stairs up to the observation level of the gym and met Jasmina del Marte with air kisses that she returned. "What have you been up to, you naughty thing?" the man scolded. "Canceling appointments, running around with ..." His voice trailed off as he saw Jasmina's companion, who extended his hand. "Bruce Wayne," he introduced himself. "I see," the first man commented with a hint of disdain before returning his attention to Jasmina. "Well, I see you're still attached, silly girl. At least you've been keeping your figure, but I do think you've been skimping on your glute exercises." "Oh, I don't think so," Bruce remarked, an undercurrent of danger lurking beneath the mild tone. "Bruce," Jasmina chided. "This is Raoul, my personal trainer. Raoul, be nice to Bruce." Raoul sniffed in a vaguely affronted fashion. "Come along, then, *Bruce.*" His eyes scanned Bruce's body critically. "We'll see if you can keep up with Jasmina's regimen." Raoul turned without further comment, making a vague beckoning gesture toward Jasmina. "Let's get going, girlfriend." Jasmina gave Bruce a warning look, which was answered by something very close to a Bat glare. She took his hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Be good," she ordered, then led him down to the gym floor. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "Let me take some of the weight-" "That won't be necessary," Bruce stated brusquely, settling under the chest press. Raoul raised his hands. "You want to kill yourself, it's all good." "Bruce-" Jasmina stopped, recognizing the futility of dissuading Bruce from his ego- bruised display. She wasn't sure how Raoul had managed to get beneath the "Brucie" skin, but as Bruce settled on the nautilus bench, it was clear that he was going to put on a show of strength. She shook her head and returned to her pilates, pausing when Raoul's coaching suddenly trailed off. "Ay, mama," he murmured softly, and Jasmina followed his gaze. Bruce was doing reps at a steady pace, sweat beginning to show on his body and stick his t-shirt to his chest. The flex of his pecs was obvious, and the sculpted quality of his body was not lost on Raoul. "Raoul," she complained, with a pout. "Mine." "I got no problem with seconds," Raoul answered with a hint of a leer. "I see why you keep him around though." "Mine and straight," Jasmina said pointedly. Raoul glanced down at her. "He just hasn't met the right man." "Raoul-" But she could tell it was already too late. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "So if you're ever in Rio, look me up." Raoul held Bruce's handshake a moment too long, met his eyes a little too meaningfully. Jasmina could feel Bruce mentally squirming. "I'll do that," he lied blandly, his free hand clenching Jasmina's as his mind projected a firm "let's go" message. "I'll see you next month, Raoul," Jasmina stated, pulling Bruce toward the door and forcing Raoul to release Bruce's hand. "Mmm-hmm. I'll see you both then. Ta!" Raoul barely had time for a finger waggling wave before Bruce had Jasmina out in the street and walking briskly away from the gym. "That was AWFUL," he complained. Jasmina gave him a sideways look. "I dunno. I'm glad my trainer thinks you're cute. He has good taste." "He's a vapid... HIMBO!" "Bruce!" Jasmina sounded shocked. "Where on earth did you pick up *that* word?" Her flippancy earned a glower from her lover. "Oh, poor Bruce," she soothed, resting her fingers on his shoulders. "You're so tense!" "You're surprised? Let's get back to Gotham so I can get to work." "It's barely noon, Bruce." "I've got cases open," he muttered, stalking down the street and only pausing when he realized Jasmina had stopped steps behind. "What?" he snapped. She crossed her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "I'm sorry. I just -" He shuddered. She shook her head. "I think what you need right now is not work. I think what you need is a nice hotel and a massage." He gave her a suspicious look that provoked a laugh from her. "No, no, I won't make you fend off another of Jasmina's circle." She projected an image into his mind of a auburn haired beauty. "You'll like Elaine. She's an excellent masseuse." Bruce relented, once more clasping Jasmina's hand and directing their steps toward the curb to hail a taxi. "Okay," he conceded. "When we get back to Gotham." To be continued... ***********date 19a******************* 30/30 - Hot Oil By ManEaterLad Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: NC-17 Elaine straddled Bruce's back, her slender fingers moving over his skin in lazy circles. The massage oil made Bruce's skin glisten in the faint light from the streets. She traced the glittering trail of his spine, from the nape of his neck to just above his buttocks. He shifted beneath her and Elaine smiled. She could feel Bruce's buttocks clenching and unclenching beneath her. Her fingers traced lazy circles on the small of his back and Bruce sighed. A moment later he gave a little cry as Elaine poured warm oil all over his back. He twisted, looked over his shoulder at the grinning face of his companion. The scent of warm oil filled his nostrils. Elaine's fingernails were scraping his skin, tracing the alphabet on his flesh. He could feel the course hair of her pussy as she leaned forward and kissed his face. Her breasts were soft weights pressing into his back. Bruce could feel her nipples hardening. She was grinding a little, into him, her mane of auburn hair spilling around her head. Her hands were skittering over his ribs and Bruce fought the urge to giggle as she found his ticklish spots with unerring accuracy. "Turn over, Bruce." Her voice was soft, throaty. He felt her rising to her knees, and Bruce rolled slowly onto his back. "This oil is going to stain the sheets," he said, amused. Elaine was kneeling over him now, a shadowclad figure, silhouetted by the light from the balcony. He watched as she settled back, resting her buttocks on his upper thighs. His cock, rising and insistent, jutted up before her legs. She touched it with her hand, gripping the base and squeezing for a moment. He grunted and she released him and bent over to retrieve the bottle of oil. In one smooth motion, Elaine lifted the bottle and poured its contents over herself. Bruce stared, entranced, as Elaine slid her hands over her own flesh. Her hands were on his thighs then, nails tickling him. She moved back a little more, then leaned forward. The tip of her stiff nipple brushed Bruce's erection. He shivered and made to sit up, but she shook her head and shoved him back down. Gyrating, Elaine moved forward and back, her full breasts scraping Bruce's aching hard-on. He squirmed beneath her. She was on her hands and knees now, above him, bending forward to crush his cock between the valley of her breasts. He reached for her, touched her hair and was rewarded with a smirk before her mouth enveloped his fingers. She sucked the digit, her tongue swirling around the fingertip, before releasing it. Bruce wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't. He was powerless, captivated by her. And he knew that she knew. Smiling, Elaine lowered her head to regard his cock. Her hands cupped her breasts, fingers tweaking the cinnamon-colored nipples. Bending, she pressed her breasts together, around Bruce's cock. The flesh was warm and slick, her skin gleaming with the oil. Slowly, Elaine began to move, fucking his cock with her breasts. Bruce groaned at the sensation, twisted his hips to thrust his dick between his lover's mammaries. He nearly screamed when Elaine suddenly freed his cock, first in frustration, then in pleasure as she slid her cherry lips over his manhood. Shuddering, Bruce arched his hips, trying to push more of his dick into her wet mouth. Elaine let him, settling herself against his lower body, sliding her hands beneath him to cup Bruce's muscular ass. He fell back against the bed, and she lowered her head, swallowing him. Bruce shut his eyes, his hands moving to brush her hair, splayed against his legs. Her tongue was slipping around his cock in ways no human woman could ever compete with. Teasing him. Tantalizing him. Bruce concentrated on breathing, on the feel of her hair, the smell of the oil in the air. He lost the capacity for rational thought, however, when Elaine thrust her finger up his asshole. The world fell apart in a blaze of pleasure. Bruce wasn't aware of crying out, of his hips rising up, fucking the beautiful woman's mouth. He wasn't aware of his asshole, burning and spasming around the finger penetrating it. The silk sheets of the hotel bed, the shadowplay against the far wall, everything vanished, consumed in a blaze of white light. "Bruce?" Elaine's voice brought him back to himself. Opening his eyes, Bruce was aware of her, cuddled next to him, her head on his shoulder. One of her long legs was draped across his hips. He shut his eyes and exhaled. "That was. . .intense." Elaine giggled and pressed a kiss into the juncture of throat and shoulder. He turned his head, and claimed her mouth with a surprising fierceness. She responded in kind. They parted and Bruce stared into her sea-green eyes. His hand rested lightly on her hip, drawing her closer to him. "You make me crazy," he whispered. "No one else does that. No one." Elaine smiled and shifted her leg. His cock brushed her pussy. She was wet. Bruce had the sudden desire to go down, devour that silky flesh, worship it with his mouth. "Sometimes," Elaine said, "you need to get crazy." Bruce grunted and then slid down, kissing a trail from Elaine's throat, over her quivering belly to the moist juncture between her legs. His tongue brushed her and she sighed, spread her legs wider for him. He kissed her bush and looked up at her face. He grinned. "Sometimes, you're right." Then he buried his head between her slim thighs and nothing was said for a very long time. To be continued... ***********date 20******************* 30/30 - Child's Play By Smitty Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG "So whose great idea was this one, anyway?" Bruce growled in a voice that was very nearly the Voice save a cape and cowl. "Aw, aren't you having fun, Brucie?" Summer Levy bubbled into his ear, bouncing to the beat of N*Beat's 'I Will Love U 4-Ever'. Bruce dodged her wildly swinging blonde ponytail and pasted a wide toothpaste- commercial grin on his tense face. "They could at least learn to spell," he murmured, one hand sliding around Summer's waist to splay over her bared midriff. "Brucie!" Summer cuddled up to him, throwing both tanned--in October--arms around his neck and grinning winningly up at him. "People will start to talk and Daddy'll just hate that," she pointed out, tilting her head cutely. Bruce repressed another growl and turned his gaze skyward. "I feel like a child molester anyway," he sighed, removing his hands from 'Summer's' tight little abdominal area. "Aww," Summer sympathized, turning to rub her bottom against his thighs. "Really?" Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm going to kill Clark," he promised himself, just loud enough for Summer to hear. "I swear." "No, you won't," Summer teased. "Not after I..." She grinned and leaned up to whisper to Bruce exactly what J'onn was going to do with Summer's just-barely-legal body. Parts of Bruce were interested. Others...just weren't. "I'm thinking green," he suggested, plucking the strap of Summer's tank top back up onto her shoulder. "Very green." Summer gave him a smile well past her years. "I think we can arrange that," she told him. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "All I want to know is WHAT were you thinking?" Bruce asked, more in despair than in disgust. "Wonder Girl," J'onn announced serenely. "Wonder Girl? Who let Young Justice in on this?" "Bruce. There are some things that I believe even you don't want to know." Bruce thought about this. "It was Superboy, wasn't it?" "Don't hurt the meta, Bruce." "He's a clone. We can just make another one." "There, there. You're all tense." J'onn grinned, amused by his own lack of sympathy. "After all, it all worked out in the end, didn't it?" Bruce's rate of respiration increased as a smooth green tendril wound its way up his leg. He didn't reply, but rolled J'onn over and pulled up the covers as the stereo played the sweet strains of Miles Davis in the background. To be continued... **********date 21****************** 30/30: Is that a Rabbit in Your Pocket? By Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G To: GreenGuy@jlanet.org From: Oracle@jlanet.org RE: The Plan Hey J'onn- I've checked all my sources, and unless he watched it on his own (yeah, right), he's never seen the movie. In fact, Dick mentioned that when it came out, he had tried to get him to go, and he was very much down on the idea. Garfield is absolutely tickled, BTW, and is programming my holo-room as I type. I can make myself scarce Tuesday night, but I have no idea how you're going to get him to go for it, even with the bet running. Keep me posted. Oracle ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: Batman@jlanet.org From: GreenGuy@jlanet.org RE: Date #72 At 7:43 PM -0600, Bullseye wrote: >My ideal date would be watching movies with a bunch of friends. Clocktower, Tuesday, 8 pm before patrol. J ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: sandstorm@jsa.org From: GreenGuy@jlanet.org RE: lyrics? Hello Sand: I am in need of the sheet music to a song called, "Why Don't You Do Right (Get Me Some Money Too)." Have you any idea where I might obtain it? Sincerely, J'onn J'onzz ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: stardude@jsa.org From: sandstorm@jsa.org RE: Fwd: lyrics? Jack- Figured you could help J'onn out. Sand At 8:07 PM -0600 , GreenGuy wrote: >Hello Sand: > >I am in need of the sheet music to a >song called, "Why Don't You Do Right >(Get Me Some Money Too)." Have >you any idea where I might obtain it? > >Sincerely, >J'onn J'onzz ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: sandstorm@jsa.org From: stardude@jsa.org RE: RE: Fwd: lyrics? Yo Sand- Scanned it in and sent it .pdf. I wondered if they'd try Date #26. Think we can get footage? -Jack ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: GreenGuy@jlanet.org From: changeling@titanswest.net RE: You're set J'onn, my man! Got the whole scene programmed in, minus the detective and Jessica, of course. This so rocks! Gar ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: GreenGuy@jlanet.org From: Batman@jlanet.org RE: Tuesday's date I thought #72 was out because it wasn't new? -B P.S. You know how I feel about those YJ suggestions. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: GreenGuy@jlanet.org From: Big.Blue@jlanet.org RE: The Plan J'onn, Just thought I'd warn you Batman is getting suspicious. And it seems the bet has leaked to an even wider public, if this email I just got from Arsenal is any indication. Figured you'd like a head's up. Kal ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: DarkKnight@cave.net From: MM@cave.net RE: Tuesday's date Kal cleared it. And after last night, I think we *earned* the right to something less new. Although... I'd like it if you wore that 1920s cut suit with a fedora. And maybe a trench coat. Love, J'onn ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: GreenGuy@jlanet.org From: Wingster@titans.net RE: Date night Okay, I've got him convinced it's really date #72. Old movies, period dress, popcorn, etc. I'll get him to the Clocktower and then me and Babs will find an excuse to make ourselves scarce. Up to you to get him in the holo-room. NW P.S. I'm leaving a copy of the DVD under the cutlery holder in the kitchen drawer next to the sink. Figured after this stunt he'll want to see the whole movie. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: MM@cave.net From: DarkKnight@cave.net RE: RE: Tuesday's date At 3:52 AM -0600, MM wrote: >Kal cleared it. And after last night, I think > we *earned* the right to something less new. Agreed. >Although... > >I'd like it if you wore that 1920s cut suit > with a fedora. And maybe a trench coat. Oh really? Dressing me up as John Jones? *This* should be interesting. >Love, Always, Bruce ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: GreenGuy@jlanet.org From: Oracle@jlanet.org RE: Tuesday Hey J'onn! NW and I are planning to spend the night elsewhere, so no need to rush your plans. I'm also arranging for Oracle coverage through the Cave. Have fun playing patty cake! *smirk* Oracle ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To: JRabbit@weconnect.com From: Top_Player@weconnect.com RE: Last Night Hi Jessica- Just wanted to let you know I'm sitting at the office with the DVD player running, and that scene just came on. *grin* We should play patty cake more often. See you tonight? Bruce ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ To be continued... ************date 22***************** MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE? By ManEaterLad Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G It was past dusk, and the last fingers of light were slipping beneath the western horizon as the first stars appeared in the east. The sky was a dark, luscious purple. Bruce Wayne stared at the woman on the swings, kicking her legs, rising higher and higher. She was lovely, slender and pale, with a mane of light brown hair that fell in ringlets down her back. Her features were lovely, and her laughter was that of a child. Smiling, Bruce walked to the swings and took a place behind her. She dragged her bare feet on the earth to stop the swing. Bruce's hand touched the space between her shoulders, steadying her. She twisted her head around and looked at him with warm green eyes. Her smile was mischievous. "You're late." Bruce smirked and bent to kiss her. "The meeting ran over." She laughed and turned away from him. "I suppose I could forgive you if you'd give me a push." "All right." He placed his hands on her back, felt the subtle shift of muscle over bone. She leaned back into his touch, legs rising in front of her. Her mass of brown hair brushed his hands and she was looking at him upside down, grinning with childish glee. Bruce couldn't resist bending forward and kissing her nose. It was slightly upturned, a little crooked. Adorable, he thought and saw her eyes crinkle with amusement. "Push me." He did, gently, just enough to get the swing moving. She worked her hips, her legs, to gain momentum. Back and forth she went, her gauzy white dress flowing around her. Bruce pushed her, content to stand and watch her rise higher and higher. She laughed, urging him on. "Higher! Higher!" Bruce grinned and pushed harder. "Careful, or you'll go all the way around." Her laughter tickled his ears and she was falling back, a pale phantasm riding the night breeze. Bruce pushed her again and she flew up and simply . . . vanished. He blinked and caught the empty swing. The chain creaked beneath his hand, still warm from where she had gripped it. Slender white arms wrapped around his waist. He felt her rest her cheek against his back. She was warm and smelt like baby powder. For a moment, he stood there, while she hugged him. Releasing the swing, Bruce touched her hand. The skin was flawless, soft as silk. He traced the curve of her wrist with his thumb. "What's the matter?" Her grip on him tightened. "What makes you think anything is the matter?" Her voice was soft and sleepy. Bruce turned in her embrace. She smiled up at him and lay her head against his chest. He stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head. "I know you," Bruce said quietly. "Something is bothering you." She shifted in his arms. Her grip on him tightened. "It's nothing." He hugged her back, bent his head to inhale the sweet scent of her. "It's something. Tell me?" "I . . . miss her." "Her?" Bruce asked gently. She looked up at him and her eyes were glittering. He frowned and stroked her cheek. "I've never seen you like this before." She moved away from him, one hand resting lightly on his chest, above his heart. "Her name was Taryn Connor." Bruce took her hand, clasped it between his own. "She was very pretty." "Yes, I know." "What happened?" "She died." Something in her voice made Bruce wary. "J'onn?" "Taryn wasn't like the others. She was . . . me." He reached for her, but his fingers slid through dress and flesh as if they were vapor. "I made her up," said the woman. Her head was bent, her hair falling around her face like a veil. Bruce couldn't see her expression, and her body language gave nothing away. "She just showed up at party one night, about twenty-five years ago. No one there knew her, but she was fun and easy to talk to and she liked to dance." "Taryn sounds . . . very nice." "She was. Everyone said so." "What happened to her?" Asked Bruce. "Did she move away and live happily ever after?" "No. She was at a party at the country club and there was a fire. Eleven people died. She was one of them." "Oh." Bruce blinked, peered at the spectral woman standing in front of him. In the dark, he could see the merry-go-round through her. "Why?" "Why what?" "Why did Taryn have to die? There were other survivors." "Because she couldn't live," whispered the woman. "Not after what happened, not after running away." Bruce stepped forward and spoke very softly. "But here she is." "I know," whispered the ghost. "Someone suggested a date at a swing set and . . . there she was. Back from the grave." "Welcome back, Taryn," murmured Bruce. He held out his hand. "Would you like to dance?" For just a moment, he thought she would vanish entirely, but then her fingers closed around his. He could feel her trembling. Gently, Bruce drew her toward him. By the moonlight, he could see her eyes, shining with unshed tears. "There's no music," Taryn said softly. Bruce drew her close, wrapped his arms around her. "That's strange. I could swear I hear music." He began to softly hum. She pressed her face into his chest and let him lead her in a slow, quiet waltz around the merry-go-round. To be continued... ************date 23**************** Late Night Double Feature By Chicago and 'rith Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG-13 The teleporter tingle faded, and Bruce Wayne looked around with interest. He was early, he knew, but he knew J'onn wouldn't mind. He had spent so little time in his lover's Denver apartment that he had half-intentionally plotted to beat J'onn home, knowing that the teleporter would be infinitely faster than J'onn's commute through the downtown rush hour. So he was early, standing in the living room of a three room apartment, and the urge he had had to appear in a vintage letterman's jacket struck him again. This place practically *screamed* 1950s; staid, utilitarian brown furniture, a linoleum tiled kitchen visible through an open door, a bakelite transistor radio next to a vintage lamp on the end table beside the sofa... "It was cutting edge when I decorated," J'onn had excused wryly on one of their fleeting visits. It did have a certain austere warmth, Bruce decided, walking around the small living room. It was tidy, and, he noted, running a finger along the top of a framed print, dust free. He was not quite sure how J'onn managed that trick, given how infrequently he stayed here. His lips quirked as he noted the television set, color, at least, but still with two sets of knobs for VHF and UHF and not a remote to be seen. Correction. There *was* a remote for the VCR, the one item in the room that suggested there was life after 1970. Curious, Bruce peered behind the television, taking note of the array of converters and wires that trailed down to the VCR. Apparently J'onn's technological proficiency extended to primitive systems as well as to the semi-organic phantasmagoria of advanced Martian tech. Although for all that, the VCR still blinked 12:00 in the Denver dusk. Bruce resisted the urge to set it, opting instead to wander into the kitchen. It was small, but light and airy, with the fire escape running directly outside the window. There was an unwashed coffee cup in the single well sink and a pot, a plate and a fork in a dish drainer to the side. The range had a built in clock, also woefully inaccurate, with a timer, and the electric elements coiled over immaculately clean drip pans. A survey of the cupboards showed some cold cereal, a can of ground coffee, crackers, and several packages of Chocos. There were a few mismatched plates and plastic cups, a veritable testament of bachelorhood. The squat refrigerator was equally bare, holding only a quart of recently purchased milk and a package of hot dogs with one frankfurter missing. Obviously for show, Bruce decided, given J'onn really did not have to eat. Bruce chuckled to himself. "John Jones, minimalist," he mused aloud, closing the refrigerator and migrating to the bedroom. The furniture was no newer than it was anywhere else in the apartment, but the bedroom managed to convey a more contemporary feel. The bedspread and area rug looked newish, and a CD player sat atop the chest of drawers, a short row of CDs lined up beside it. Bruce cocked his head to read the titles, aware of the jingle of keys at the front door. "Everything pass muster?" John Jones asked from the bedroom doorway, his low rumble colored with amusement. Bruce glanced up and returned to his perusal. "Interesting collection," he remarked. He slid a CD from the row and held it up. "Break-dance Hits?" "Paco," John answered quietly. "Vibe." Bruce suddenly felt disrespectful. John's voice began to shift registers as he crossed toward Bruce. "He left some tapes at headquarters, and his brother didn't want them." Slim arms slid around Bruce's waist, and he felt a kiss between his shoulder blades. "I replaced them with CDs a few years ago." Bruce put the CD back in its place on the shelf and turned in the circle of what were now Alana's arms. He enfolded her, gently kissing her forehead. "So all of these-" "Oh, some are my choices. And Gypsy sends me things from time to time, telling me I need to keep up to date. But yes, a lot of them fell to me from the Detroit days or the Task Force. And are you ready to go catch a movie?" Bruce looked down at Alana, who leaned back and gave him a very deliberate 'change the subject' smile. "I still would be happier if we just burned the Young Justice list," Bruce stated. "Cranky," she scolded, giving him a fond poke in the ribs. "Drive-ins are fun. And I still wish we could've taken the Batmobile." "Alana," Bruce rumbled threateningly. She laughed, pulling away from him. "Yeah, I know, urban legend, reputation, etc. etc. I just wanted to hear you growl. Besides," she added over her shoulder, heading back into the living room, "this way *I* get to drive." Bruce lounged against the doorframe, watching as Alana picked up the mail she - John - had dropped on the phone table on the way in and began sorting through it. "I thought traditionally the man drives to these things." Alana snorted and let a few envelopes drop into trash bin. Her slim body grew and bulked into John Jones. "Are you saying you want flaunt societal conventions?" the Denver PI asked with Alana's coy intonation. Bruce raised his hand to his eyes and shook his head. "Remind me again why I'm dating you?" "Because I'm cute," John replied, stepping forward and sidling in to kiss Bruce's cheek. Bruce shuddered at the brush of five o'clock shadow. "Not *that* cute," he objected. John pouted, obligingly changing back into Alana, upon whom the pout had a definite appeal. "I'll never understand this whole gender thing. John's cute in his way." Bruce leaned in to kiss Alana, giving a little nip to the protruding lower lip and making her giggle. "John is *handsome,*" Bruce corrected, "but I prefer a few more curves." He let his hand trace down the side of her body to illustrate the point. "Mmm, Mr. Wayne. Keep that up and we won't get to the movie." "Too bad," Bruce breathed without any sense of regret, spanning the palm of one hand across the small of Alana's back as he nuzzled her neck. Alana squirmed free and snatched up her car keys. She jingled them imperiously in Bruce's face. "*I'm* driving." Bruce chuckled as he reached for her wrist, not entirely surprised when Alana eluded him and gave him a look of impatience. "Fine. You're driving." "And... you've already had a date with Alana." Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I have?" "Remember, football, Kal doing landscaping-?" "I don't think-" "Something new. But not until we get to movie. I have Alana show up here often enough that no one will think twice about her coming out of the apartment -" "But no one will notice me, eh?" Bruce commented. Alana stuck her tongue out at him in a surprisingly un-J'onnlike gesture. "Shows what you know. Anyone who looks will think Alana and her cousin John are going out for the evening." "Fine," Bruce sighed dramatically, "loan me a trench coat." "Uh uhn," Alana denied, grabbing Bruce's hand and leading him to the bathroom. "Look," she ordered. He obeyed, startled to see John Jones looking back at him from the mirror. Alana tiptoed to rest her chin on his shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "Telepathic projection. Too much work to be more than a fun parlor trick, but-" Bruce blinked, trying to force himself to see through the illusion. "Don't," Alana protested. "You'll give us both a headache. I'll drop it once we're out of the neighborhood." She jingled her keys again. "Ready to go?" Bruce gamely allowed her to lead him to the front door. "So what're we going to see, anyway?" She shrugged, propelling him ahead of her and then locking up the apartment. "I haven't been by this week, but last week they were playing 'Chicago."" "A document-?" Bruce began in confusion. "Come on," Alana interrupted. "We need to pick up our pizza on the way." "Pizza?" Alana only shook her head and continued to pull him down the hall and to the garage. ^^^^^^^^^^^ 'Chicago' was, in fact, still playing at the drive-in, and Alana seemed delighted. It wasn't a documentary, that much was certain. Maybe based on a true story, but... "You like?" a breathy little voice asked, and Bruce glanced down to see that Alana had been replaced by a perfect replica of the woman on the giant screen. One of her hands slipped between his legs, and his body answered before he could "J'onn," he protested half-heartedly. The platinum-blonde temptress snuggling up to him in the bucket seat of the T-bird shifted her hand lazily, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Am I distracting you from the plot?" Bruce swallowed hard as the sound of his zipper being pulled down found a lull after a musical number. "J'onn-" Full lips pouted up at him. "My name is Roxie." Her hand tightened a little as one bare leg slipped over his thigh and brought her up to straddle his leg. "Don't you recognize me?" Bruce felt his eyes drifting down the décolletage of her silver, form-fitting dress. "Ummm-" She smiled, taking up one of his hands and pressing it to her bosom. "Mmm, that's it, sugar." With an effort, Bruce pulled his hand away. "No, J'onn," he said firmly. "Roxie Hart was a murderer. She broke the law. All the pretty packaging in the world won't make that attractive." He was proud of how his voice did not have the least tremor, relieved at the strong conviction in his tone that caused Roxie to sit back, if not to disappear. She regarded him for a moment, long enough for him to start feeling nervous. He pointedly pulled his zipper back up, avoiding "Roxie's" eyes. "Not attractive?" she asked. Bruce nodded forcefully. "Not at all." Roxie raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" she said, and abruptly, Roxie was replaced by Talia al- Ghul. "Is." Another shift, this time to Poison Ivy. "That." He squirmed as suddenly Catwoman was on his lap. "So?" Bruce felt the blood surging through his body, could swear he could hear his heart beating, overriding the tap dancing piped into the car through the drive-in sound box. "Well," he sputtered, "maybe *attractive* in a purely... physical... but... but I would never..." J'onn's Catwoman form cocked her head at him. "I mean when I was younger... before I really..." Bruce chuckled nervously. "Hormones, you know, and -" Catwoman blurred back into Roxie Hart, and Bruce realized his zipper was down again. Lipstick red lips pressed against his, silencing another attempt at explanation, and he moaned, half in protest and half in desire. Roxie leaned back and studied him, her expression thoughtful. He met her eyes, his chest heaving for air. Her fingers traced over his lips, and after a moment she reached down to rezip his trousers. He shuddered slightly at the contact. "It... troubles you... that this type of woman... excites you." He continued to focus on getting his breathing under control, focusing... "Don't," Alana whispered, brushing her hand against his cheek and drawing attention to the fact that J'onn had once again changed forms. "This doesn't need the Bat." She placed a chaste kiss on his forehead and shifted off his lap, sliding back to her own seat, negotiating awkwardly over the gear shift. He reached over to catch her hand, and his voice caught a little as he said, "Damn bucket seats." Alana laughed lightly. "Yeah, I miss my old Impala, too." "Impala?" Bruce gaped. "Please tell me you're making that up." "It was a good car - four on the floor, wide bench seats, handled the mountain roads..." "An Impala," Bruce repeated flatly, feeling his body relaxing, his mind latching with relief onto this new, playful discussion. "Well, it's not like John Jones can afford a new Jaguar," Alana pointed out. "And for the amount of time I spend rescuing my car from impound lots-" Bruce gave her an appalled look. "J'onn! Impound lots?" Alana shrugged, leaning across the gap between the seats to rest her head on Bruce's shoulder. "Lot of weird tow zones in Denver. In a lot of cities, actually. Hard to keep straight. Plus when the world is ending its not like you can take a break to feed your meter." Bruce snorted, reaching to rest his arm across Alana's shoulders. "Fine. But the way you drive? You should have something better than an Impala. Better than this T-bird, too. Where did you learn to drive like that, anyway?" Alana smiled. "I like to drive," she said smugly, and Bruce realized that she - that J'onn - meant it, and had meant it for 50 years, and likely had tried every stretch of unpatrolled road in the world. He squeezed her closer. "You never mentioned-" "How often do we ever go driving together?" Not very, Bruce conceded. His eyes drifted back to the screen, caught by the 'razzle- dazzle' of a film he was finding increasingly morally repugnant. "Maybe we should go driving more often," he suggested. "The Batmobile?" Alana asked, hope bleeding into her tone. Bruce hesitated in surprise; it had never occurred to him that J'onn might want to drive- A kiss on his cheek interrupted his thought, and J'onn's mental voice stated, *Who doesn't want to drive the Batmobile?* Bruce could not help himself; he began to laugh. An image - from his own imagination or a suggestion from J'onn? - popped into his head of the Martian Manhunter in a high powered convertible and wearing aviator sunglasses, and he laughed harder. It was a rare belly laugh, rusty from disuse and tinged with relief as the awkward tension of "Roxie's" appeal finally dissipated. He could feel Alana - J'onn - curling into the warmth of that laughter. They were once again snuggled together in his bucket seat when he finally stopped laughing. "I think I've lost the thread of the movie," Bruce confessed, wrapping his arms more securely around his lover. "You're expected to at a drive-in," Alana explained, her voice muffled against his chest. The warmth of her body against his felt... comfortable. Not erotic, just pleasant. "Hmm. That's why one of the kids thought it would be an ideal date, isn't it?" "Semi-sanctioned parking," Alana acknowledged. "Please tell me it wasn't Robin's idea." "Bruce, you know better," Alana reprimanded. "But he is going to be *so* jealous." "Wha- Alana-" Bruce screwed up his face, trying to fathom what Alana was trying to say. "Because I get to drive the Batmobile," she explained. "I-" "You are going to let me, right?" Alana leaned back and studied him with pleading eyes. He sighed. "I am going to learn to resist that look," he promised. "I can drive it, right?" He drew her back to his chest. "You can drive it." He kissed her hair. "Tonight?" she asked. "Don't push it," he cautioned, and he could feel her grin. "Fair enough. Later, then." "Later," he agreed. A reprise of an earlier song began, playing over the sound box, and he realized with a start that he *knew* the song. The first phrases were played and he realized he was half-unconsciously tapping out the two beat pause. Alana lifted her head and grinned. "Sounds like your night life," she remarked, listening to the lyrics. "Speaking of..." "You want to go?" Bruce considered for a moment, looking at the screen. "After this song." "And I get to drive the Batmobile?" An impressive line of scantily clad women began an elaborate dance. "If I get to pick tomorrow's date." Alana climbed back over to the driver's seat. "You have got a deal." Fifteen minutes later, they were heading back to J'onn's apartment, and Bruce realized he was looking forward to the night's second feature. To be continued... **********date 24****************** 30/30: For a Song by nw's chick Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG-13 * indicates emphasis * / indicates telepathy / ~*~ The instructions had been cryptic, at best. A simple note sent to the Watchtower detailing a change in plans for tonight's date. It merely listed a new time, ten thirty, a new location, a seedy bar on 23rd and Ballington called the Seahorse, and some suggestions for how to dress. J'onn smiled at the gruff man at the door, using a small trick of the mind to make him think the business card for a psychologist was actually an license for a Mandy Hepburn, aged 29. Eyeing the image in the glass behind the bouncer, J'onn decided that Bruce would approve. Tugging at the short purple dress, he awkwardly flounced into the bar, taking each step slowly so as not to tumble in his six-inch spiked heels. The bar was dark, with blue and green lights casting shadows over the heavy wooden tables, the shifty-eyed clientele, and the boisterous wait staff. The only white light was over the stage, which was currently empty, decorated with only a tattered blue velvet curtain. Mandy flipped back her bleach blonde hair, and made her way to the bar. Her head was spinning a little. This was certainly not the sort of place she would have thought that Bruce would choose for a date. It was a lot danker than Bruce's choices normally were, plus there was the whole drag cabaret thing going on that surprised her. Still though, she could almost hear Bruce say, 'Well, this *is* different,' so she determined to keep an open mind. The bartender was a tired-looking guy with a droopy goatee and a whole thatch of chest hair sticking out the top of his shirt. He looked her up and down, and then grinned. "What c'n I getcha, little lady?" He leaned over the bar, giving Mandy a better look at his oily skin. "Oh, I'll just have a vodka and cranberry juice, thanks." Mandy smiled, managing a small giggle at the end of her order, as she straightened her dress a little, pushing her small chest out. "And I'll have a whiskey and water, thanks." An arm snaked around her waist as a hot mouth swooped down to nibble on her ear. Mandy giggled, leaning against the body of her boyfriend suggestively. /Interesting venue./ /I thought you might find it a bit different./ Bruce put a twenty down on the bar, picking up the drinks and turning away, earning back the regard of the bartender who obviously felt like he had been duped. /So, what's your cover tonight?/ Mandy sipped at her drink consciously aware of her thick lipstick as she wrapped her lips around the edge of the glass. Bruce steered them to a table in the shadows with a good view of the stage and the side door. /Well, it's a variant of Matches Malone, but I don't use it enough to have a name for him. Call me Lucky./ /We'll see about that.../ Mandy teased, slipping into the chair Bruce held out for her with a swing of her hips. /So, do I look trashy enough?/ Bruce smiled, sliding his chair close to Mandy's, and placing his arm behind her. /You look perfect./ "So we've never been here before, Lucky." Mandy's slightly nasal voice tickled Bruce's ear. "Do you come here often?" "First time. What do you think?" Bruce leaned back, taking a long sip from his drink. Mandy looked around, her eyes trailing across the mix of drag queens, badly dressed gay men, and scruffy older voyeurs. "It *is* different." Bruce winked. "My sentiments exactly. There's a show, too. Should be starting soon." Mandy leaned into the arm behind her. "You've got high hopes for this evening, don't you, *Lucky*?" /So I guess this is why you wanted me to aim for something like a cross between Madonna and Judy Garland. Not an easy combo, by the way.../ Bruce kissed Mandy's shoulder. /No, but you've done your usual magnificent job. *Love* the dress, by the way./ "So, tell me baby, what made ya think of comin' here anyway?" Mandy put her chin on her hands, eyeing her boyfriend critically. "Well." Bruce took another drink, which Mandy noted was a deceptively small sip given the amount of time he had the glass to his lips. "I know you appreciate the male form." He made a small gesture with his hand, as if he were displaying his body. "And I also know you appreciate the feminine graces. I thought... you might actually enjoy something like this, a chance to explore part of your psyche that you don't normally get to, at least, not with me." Bruce shrugged as he finished his explanation, the slight curvature of his lips indicating both a self-depreciating humor and a sense of irony. He sounded sincere, and Mandy could tell that he was. Music swelled up, and the curtain slid back, a cutout of the Eiffel Tower stood askew in stage right, and a glowing red windmill turned slowly on stage left. There was a line of dancers in sequined gowns with plenty of leg exposed in the backstage. Center stage, a figure arose like a flower blooming. 'She' was beautiful, her smooth skin shining with a touch of glitter, and her low-cut dress highlighting her figure perfectly. 'She' wore a purple wig, that somehow managed to look natural, and she had a small beauty mark underneath her right eye. Once 'she' was fully erect, she launched into the first number, predictably Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend. Mandy watched with delighted eyes as the dancers swung their legs up, and dazzled the audience. They were really very good, for a drag show in the low rent district in Gotham. Bruce pulled Mandy a bit closer, enjoying the scent that surrounded her. He was never 100% sure if J'onn created the scent during transformation, or if it was a perfume, but whichever, it was never quite the same scent in each form, and it was always captivating. "There's something else." Mandy sighed as she murmured in her boyfriend's ear. "You're trying to hide it from me, but that's just silly. Now spill." Bruce sighed, bracing himself. "See the guy in the front? Long braid down his back?" He waited until Mandy's eyes were in the right spot. "That's Johnny Dionisiou. Known as Johnny the Queer, for obvious reasons. Don't underestimate him because of his size or hair. He's one of the more deadly assassins working for the Florias family." "I didn't think that the mob would approve of homosexuals much." Mandy studied the boy Bruce had pointed out. He didn't look much older than 20, but there was something about him that suggested he was actually much older. "They don't, but Johnny's other name is the God of Death, so people pretty much leave him to himself." Bruce nudged Mandy's chin with his cheek. "See the lead dancer? His name is Danny Giannios. Youngest son of the head of the Giannios family, age seventeen, four days ago. The Giannios family is an old rival of the Florias family, going back to Sicily. He went missing about three months ago. Family tension has been pretty high since then. Daddy Giannios doesn't know where he is, naturally wouldn't approve if he found out his baby boy was dressing like a woman and singing for a living, and he certainly wouldn't approve of who Danny is living with." "Johnny the Queer." Mandy grinned, hiding her expression from Bruce. Bruce just never understood how anyone could enjoy this sort of thing. "Right. But word is, Daddy knows now. Someone gave them up. See in the corner there, the scary looking guy in the trench?" "Yeah. He's about as subtle as a strobe light." "He's the Giannios family's best hit man, Duke." "So who gave up the lovebirds?" "See the skinny boy at the bar, shaggy brown hair, looks sweet and innocent, watching Johnny like he's the devil? That's Johnny's ex, Oliver. He sold out his ex-lover this afternoon for five grand." "And they say there's nothing like a *woman* scorned." Mandy straightened up, affecting an insulted posture. Bruce chuckled. "Well... I'm sorry for mixing work with pleasure, but I got a bead on this late this afternoon, and I couldn't wait... I *did* think that you might enjoy the show anyway..." "It's great!" Mandy grinned at Bruce, kissing his cheek. "So, what's the plan, Lucky?" Bruce shrugged. "Stop Duke. Warn Johnny and Danny. Live up to the name." Mandy rolled her eyes. "Well, one can always hope..." The next number started up, and Danny made his way off the stage and into the audience. Mandy leaned against Bruce, watching the boy slither through the crowd appreciatively. He had a way about him. He could captivate even the most beleaguered, sad drunk. His voice was half sultry, and half vixen. His eyes were pure wicked joy, and his lips were constantly twitched into a devilish grin. The boy might really be seventeen, but he was never sweet sixteen. Bruce's eyes darted from Danny, to Johnny, to Duke, to Oliver. As the throaty strains of Danny's song wound their way around the bar, Bruce could see into each of his marks better than even J'onn. Danny was living the high life, thinking that he was invincible. He was young, beautiful, and madly in love. Nothing could stop him. Johnny was enthralled. For an assassin known for his deadly arts, he was being unforgivably sloppy tonight. His eyes never left his lover's, and he was so fully under the boy's spell, he wouldn't even notice if someone was standing right behind him. Duke was enjoying the show. He was a man who enjoyed his work. He was looking forward to capping the great God of Death. He might even kill Danny, and tell his boss that it was unavoidable. Oliver wanted Johnny back, and the poor boy thought that this might be the way. It was obvious from the way that the boy was watching Johnny. He was nearly obsessed. Giannios probably promised that he would get his son back, and away from Johnny. How he had managed to convince himself that Johnny would get out alive was a mystery. Probably, he believed that nothing would be able to touch his Johnny. J'onn took a minute to sneak a glance at Bruce, appreciating the way the man was able to discern things without telepathy. It was... beautiful, really. Though J'onn would never had the words to express that to Bruce, but his ability to see into people was one of his more attractive traits. J'onn only knew that things were heating up when Bruce went unobtrusively tense. And it wasn't just the way Danny was rubbing against Johnny. Oliver looked like he was going to break his glass, his eyes twitching with rage as he watched his ex respond to Danny's seduction. Duke had his hand under his trench, and he looked like he was getting off on the idea of whacking them. Mandy slid up against Bruce, letting her hand drift to his lap. /Is it about to go down?/ /This isn't a mobster movie, you know./ /No, this is much better./ Bruce shook his head. He knew that J'onn was well aware of the seriousness of the situation. The players were all in position. Danny had plopped himself into Johnny's lap for the big finale of the song. Duke was poised, ready to move. Oliver was furious, his knuckles clenched tight as he watched. "I'm going to the bar to get another." Bruce had somehow made the glass of whiskey and water disappear while only taking a sip or two. Mandy batted her eyelashes. "Don't be long." It was like watching a house of cards come tumbling down. Bruce made his way to the bar, keeping an eye on Danny and Johnny, apparently enjoying the show. Oliver was ready to leap up and throw Danny off of Johnny. Duke made his move. Oliver jumped up, but whether he was heading for the stage or for the door was irrelevant, because Bruce stumbled into him, causing them both to stumble right into Duke. Duke yelled out, startled as Bruce twisted his body, sending them all to the floor. Johnny's head immediately flicked back to the scene behind him. As soon as he saw Duke, his eyes widened, and he jumped up, displacing Danny and halting the song. Grabbing Danny's arm, Johnny tried to get him to go back stage, but Duke was already pushing Bruce and Oliver out of the way, a large black revolver at the end of his arm. Johnny then threw Danny to the ground, and pulled out his own piece. Oliver screamed, realizing that Duke was pointing a gun at Johnny. He then did something so stupid, no one could ever have believed it. He pushed Bruce out of the way, and stepped in front of the gun. Fortunately, Bruce's reflexes were better than anyone else's on the planet, and he grabbed Oliver's ankle, pulling him down. But Duke and Johnny still had guns to each other's heads, and recognizing each other, they were ready to shoot. That's when Batman jumped out from behind the stage. He landed on Johnny, pushing him out of the way, and sending his shot into the ceiling. Duke's shot hit the wall behind them, harmlessly excepting the plaster. Bruce then tackled Duke, wrapping his arms around Duke's waist. The Bat then pulled Johnny and Danny to their feet, disarming Johnny in the process. In a low, gravely voice, he warned them, "Your father's after you both, Daniel. I think it might be time for the honeymoon." Bruce shook his head, but was too busy struggling with Duke to bother. Pulling the man's belt out, he hog-tied him, ignoring the string of curses spewing out of his mouth. Batman disappeared into the shadows, and Bruce slipped out of the back door as the bar began to erupt as everyone finally was able to react to the ruckus. Bruce found Batman already sitting in the passenger seat of his discretely parked Maserati Spyder. He sighed as he was getting in. Always different, that was life with J'onn, 'dates' or no... "You'd better change back, before I start to have some very odd mental pictures of being with myself that will cause me to make you sleep in the guestroom for the next month." Bruce got the car started before he had finished buckling up, wanting to get as far from the scene of the crime as fast as he could. He watched Batman melt into Mandy from the corner of his eye. For a second, he was overwhelmed. Grabbing Mandy's head with one hand, he pulled her over for a rough kiss. "Have I told you lately how amazing you are?" "Depends on your definition of lately." Mandy smirked cheekily, getting herself comfortable a little closer to Bruce than she was before. "I'm sorry about the date, though. I should have just canceled. I'll make it up, though." "You don't need to apologize." Mandy put her head on Bruce's shoulder. "Would you get mad at me if I said that it was fun, and I wanted to do it again." Bruce just grunted. "Ok, what did I do wrong?" Mandy sighed as she chuckled, putting one hand on Bruce's thigh. For a moment, Bruce didn't want to answer. Then, "Batman's voice isn't that gravelly. You made him sound like a smoker. He would never have said anything like 'I think it might be time for the honeymoon.' And..." "And...?" Mandy grinned, keeping her thoughts about Batman's voice to herself. "And... You let a murderer go free." "It was romantic." "It wasn't a gangster movie. Johnny the Queer has killed a dozen men this year alone." "I think he has more on his mind these days." Bruce was about to chastise him, and then he thought twice. Remembering that J'onn was not Dick or Tim, or even Barbara, he sighed. "I suppose that's based on more than just wishful thinking?" "He really loves that boy, Bruce." Mandy arched her neck so that she could see Bruce's eye. "He would die for him." "That boy is seventeen, and he was sixteen when Johnny seduced him." "I... don't think that's how it worked. I think it was entirely the other way around. At least, from what I gathered from Danny." Bruce mulled over this information for a moment. "All right. No harm, I suppose. I am sorry that our date was ruined. I really did think that you might enjoy a show like that, although not in such a sleazy dive. Danny *was* good though, wasn't he?" Mandy's hand slipped down to Bruce's inner thigh. "Yeah, he was great. And anyway, this date... Well, it's not over yet... *Lucky*." Bruce's lips twitched. He made a mental note to call Barbara and have her monitor Tim and Cass while they patrolled. He had to finish his date. ~*~ To be continued... *************date 25****************** 30/30: Fair Fare by Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG-13, possibly R "Sticky," Kelli Taybor commented, holding out pink stained fingers to demonstrate. Bruce caught her hand and teasingly tasted one sugary finger. "What did you expect from cotton candy?" he asked, pulling a tiny tuft off the diminishing ball of confection. Kelli smiled and tiptoed to kiss him, the cotton candy dissolving between their tongues when Bruce leaned down to deepen the kiss. Kelli finally pulled away and wiped the back of her forearm over her mouth with a grin. "Sticky," she said again, green eyes glinting mischievously. Bruce chuckled a little and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugging her from the back and kissing the space behind her ear. "So does that mean you like it?" he murmured into her hair. "I like you," she replied, leaning back into him for a moment before slipping out of his embrace and dropping the last of the cotton candy into a green painted oil barrel that served as a trash can. Bruce raised an eyebrow. "A little wasteful?" "I can feel my teeth rotting," she answered sunnily, and Bruce shook his head at her. J'onn had picked perfectly for an afternoon at the Gotham State Fair. "Kelli" was a perfect archetype of the kind of former ingénue turned idealist that staffed so many of the non-profits supported by the Wayne Foundation. Business-like when need be but never with the high polish of professionalism that characterized the Fortune 500 set. Smart - often very smart - but always retaining a "gee whiz" sensibility just under the veneer of big city activism. Only J'onn would pick up the occasional surge of desire Bruce felt for this type of woman, so far out of his usual social set as to be a laughable match. "C'mon!" Kelli urged, pulling at his hand. This much sweetness might rot *Bruce's* teeth eventually, but now "Kelli's" delight was only charming - especially as it came close to J'onn's very real delight at experiencing new things. He indulged her now as her short braids bounced against her shoulders and she wove through the crowd with a sense of determination. She stopped finally in front of a contest booth, set up with wooden pins and baseballs. A hawker challenged passersby to knock over the pins with a ball, three chances for a dollar, and look at the lovely prizes! Bruce and Kelli caught his eye and he began to direct his patter: "Win a teddy for your sweetheart. Don't let that pretty face go home disappointed..." Bruce glanced down at Kelli. "It's rigged, you know," he pointed out. "Just one dollar here! Not too much to spend on such a pretty lady..." "Give me a dollar." "You do understand the way the pins are weighted -" He was reaching for his wallet. "Dick told you all that," she pointed out, her hand held out for the requested dollar. "And I don't want *you* to win me anything. I'm going to win myself." She tossed her head defiantly as she stepped up to the booth and handed over the dollar. The barker grinned appreciatively. "She's got spunk!" he noted. "You've got your hands full with this one." He handed over three baseballs. "Right behind that line, young lady. Show your man what it takes." Kelli followed instructions, drawing her arm back and launching a pitch that went wide of the pins by a good margin. "Gonna hafta straighten out that curve," the carnival man encouraged. "I can let your boyfriend take part of your -" "He couldn't hit the broadside of a barn," Kelli snorted, laughter dancing in her eyes as she gave Bruce a teasing look. Bruce shrugged. "She has a point." Kelli unleashed another throw, hitting the pins this time but with so little force that they remained undisturbed. "Just getting warmed up," she assured, rubbing the final baseball in her hands. "And throwing like a girl," Bruce observed. Kelli turned to him and struck a pose. "Go figure," she threw back. "Chest gets in the way." Bruce noticed that he was not the only one appreciating the truth of that particular remark - and he repressed a tangled flash of jealousy and pride to share a look with the carnival man such as men share in such moments. He knew Kelli saw it (or rather, J'onn did), but she had turned back to her task and stood staring at the pins, sticking out the tip of her tongue in concentration. She reared back finally and unleashed a perfect strike, sending the pins sailing. "Damn!" the carnival man started. "You have got some kind of arm there, miss." Kelli smiled sweetly. "It was me and six brothers, plus two neighbor boys. They stuck me in the outfield for both sides until I figured out how to throw a strike home on the fly. And I'll take that one." She pointed to a bright green teddy bear. The barker pulled down the requested plush toy. "Matches your eyes," he noted. "Family trait." Kelli handed the bear to Bruce. "For you." He accepted the bear, noting it did in fact match Kelli's eyes. He studied it for a moment then tucked it under his arm. "So where -" He paused, following her suddenly distant gaze. There was a sign tacked up on a telephone pole in the middle of the midway, garishly promoting the evening's entertainment. Bruce stepped closer to Kelli, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her away from the contest booth. "Do you want to go?" he asked. A sudden blush colored Kelli's cheeks. "Oh. No, I - well -" "We can, you know. If you want to." She looked up into his face earnestly. "I've just - I've never seen them before. On TV a little, enough to know what they are, but..." Bruce tightened his hold and kissed the top of your head. "A little scary?" She nodded. "Yes. I know it's not open flame exactly, but -" "It's okay," he reassured, rubbing his hand over her upper arm. "Do you want to try to watch? We could leave if it's too much." Kelli looked up into his eyes uncertainly. "We don't have to. I know you have things you have to do tonight-" Bruce pulled out his cell phone and began punching in numbers. Kelli watched him wide eyed. "Bruce, you really don't-" "You want to see them?" he asked again as he put the phone to his ear. Kelli responded mutely, J'onn's eyes speaking to him from beneath the facade. "Hi, Barbara! Bruce." Bruce spoke into the receiver. Barbara's careful reply was rich with unspoken comments. "Mr. Wayne! What can I do for you?" "Listen, you know about that project I've been working on?" Wariness tinged with amusement crept into Barbara's tone. "Yes. What about it?" "Well, I was wondering if you could do a little outsourcing for me on tonight's schedule. Looks like I'm going to need more time out here." "Things are going well, then?" Definite amusement now, undercut with vague irritation. "Pretty well, yeah," Bruce acknowledged, glancing down at Kelli's face. "I'll take care of this evening, then," she replied, "but I'll expect an update through the usual channels on this project of yours." Bruce tilted the phone down under his chin. "She wants an update later," he told Kelli. He got a nod in return. "You'll get one," Bruce promised. "Thanks, Barbara." "You're welcome." The undertone was almost a threat not to make a habit of this. Bruce closed his phone. "You didn't have to do that," Kelli pointed out, but her eyes were shining. "I know," Bruce acknowledged, steering her through the crowd. "But it's not everyday a guy has a chance to show a girl fireworks for the first time." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Bruce shifted the green teddy bear and a stuffed aardvark into a firmer hold in the crook of his arm. Kelli had fortunately decided she preferred riding the rides and investigating the show barns to winning contest prizes, or else Bruce feared he would be as burdened as some of the other obvious boyfriends he saw around the fair grounds. Now as the sun set, though, he steered Kelli - sporting a new state fair baseball cap - toward the pavilion. There was a steady traffic heading toward the open air stands which overlooked the Gotham River, and Bruce was mentally considering the remembered layout of the stands when he realized Kelli was hanging back, slowing their pace. He stopped. "Kelli?" Her eyes were hidden by the brim of the cap, but a nervous smile played on her lips. "Just-" she shrugged. Bruce caught her arm and pulled her out of the flow of traffic. "We don't have to do this, you know," he reminded her gently. Kelli tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. "But you made arrangements and-" He stopped her protest with a kiss, angling his face past the cap brim. "So we spend time together somewhere else, if you want. We don't have to watch the fireworks." Kelli's eyes, still closed from the kiss, fluttered open to reveal troubled depths. "I want - " She took a deep breath. "I want to do this." Bruce studied her face. "Are you sure? It's -" Kelli took his free hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "Please. I'll be more upset with myself if I had this opportunity and didn't try." Bruce nodded. "We'll leave right away if it's too much, okay?" "Okay." Kelli's chin jutted out in determination. "Let's go." Kelli led the way this time, and Bruce felt a sense of admiration for J'onn. True, fireworks did not quite have that open flame quality that would completely unhinge him, but he understood the reluctance. What if a stray spark made it to ground and started a fire? What if a particular effect was too fiery? J'onn had explained the ways in which he had schooled himself to handle the presence of open flame, to avoid an extreme reaction to it when in human form. J'onn had regarded that as necessary. The idea of watching dancing fire for entertainment? It was like Russian Roulette, the utter opposite of "fun" in J'onn's mind. But humans loved fireworks, and J'onn wanted to be able to understand. They crossed through the pavilion gates, and Kelli stopped. "Where-?" "Lawn seating," Bruce suggested, taking her hand and drawing her after him. He already had the spot in mind, near to an exit, not quite prime viewing and therefore frequently the last part of the lawn to fill in. Kelli followed him trustingly. Bruce finally stopped, turning to look across the crowd and over to the opposite bank of the river. "We should have brought a blanket," he rued. "We did," Kelli noted, and he blinked to see she had a blanket folded over her arm. A blue blanket of a particular shade... Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Zo'ok?" Kelli spread the blanket over the ground and settled onto it. "Martian's best friend," she remarked, patting the spot beside her. Bruce sat and set down the bear and the aardvark. Kelli immediately grabbed the aardvark and studied it. "I still can't believe they had this." "Niche marketing. Doesn't take that much to recalibrate the-" Kelli's finger was over his lips. "No Bruce Wayne, businessman," she scolded. She held the toy up by her face. "Y'know, I think it kinda looks like me." Bruce shook his head and took the aardvark away from her. "No, it doesn't," he said firmly, pulling her to him. "You look like you, and nothing else comes close." Kelli relaxed unresistingly into his pull, allowing him to wrap his arms around her. "Bruce, you say the sweetest things. And don't worry," she added, "I won't report that." Bruce hugged her to him and then let her shift around until she was resting her back against his chest and gazing out toward the river. "When are they going to start?" she asked. Bruce glanced at the sky. "Probably another 15 minutes. Let it get a little darker." Kelli nodded. "That's right. Y'know, I used to spend the first week of July in the Amazon to avoid fireworks?" "You had to go to the Amazon?" "There are Americans everywhere, Bruce. Someone was bound to set off some noise and light show to celebrate the fourth. Not in the deep Amazon, though." She snuggled back against him, and he held her close. "When I was on the force, I used to take the worst duty anyone could come up with rather than work the fireworks show." "You don't have to explain," Bruce reminded her. He reached out to remove her baseball cap, setting it to one side so he could kiss the top of her head. She sighed. "I know. I guess-" "Shhh," Bruce encouraged, this time kissing her temple. She turned her head, and they kissed deeply - deeply enough to trigger a stronger telepathic link between them. Bruce could feel the mix of anxiety and excitement thrilling through J'onn, along with an odd undercurrent. It was... a desire to be protected? Something close to that, a sentiment so utterly foreign to J'onn that Bruce was half-convinced he was misinterpreting it. But with that desire was a powerful sense of trust, an unshakable faith that Bruce would not allow J'onn to come to harm. When they finally broke the kiss and met each other's eyes, embarrassment colored Kelli's cheeks and she dropped her gaze. "I -" "Don't," Bruce cut her off, wrapping his arms still more securely around his lover and lowering his face so he was speaking into Kelli's ear. "I'm honored," he whispered. Kelli said nothing, but she rested her hands on his forearms where they crossed her chest, and they sat for a while in silence as the crowd began to fill in around them. Then something must have happened, for a cheer arose from those spectators closest to the riverbank and spread through the crowd. Kelli stiffened in Bruce's arms and he gave a reassuring squeeze. Music began to swell through speakers planted throughout the pavilion, and a hush fell over the crowd as they recognized one of a half dozen pieces of classical music traditionally played for fireworks displays. Anticipation built with the opening chords, eyes turning skyward as the measure for the first explosion approached. J'onn could feel that anticipation, Bruce knew, breaking over them like a wave. In his arms, Kelli shivered a little, but she kept her gaze focused on the sky... BOOM! Violet and silver, twisting tangles of sparks stretching down toward the river, shading through red and orange on the way down. The crowd roared approval and Kelli gasped, a sharp "Oh!" escaping her. A mix of enchantment and easing fear stretched back to Bruce through their telepathic link. "It's okay?" he asked her carefully as another series of booms lit the sky. Another explosion sounded, and blue-green sparks lit faces in sickly colors - but Kelli was smiling. "So beautiful," she breathed, pressing her back against Bruce's chest, dropping one hand to rest on his thigh. Bruce nodded, still alert, but relaxing a little. Kelli shuddered with almost every effect, her body staying pressed to Bruce's, taking shelter almost. The pressure of her body and the emotions and raw excitement zinging through her and touching his mind - both forces were proving heady. One of his hands had shifted almost unconsciously to cup her breast through her clothes, and he found himself suddenly aware of her scent - a mix of sweat and lingering soap and a sweet, berry-like scent in her hair. "Bruce," she breathed, and he felt her fingers against his thigh, brushing through the hairs on his leg, phasing through his jeans as if they weren't even there. A rapid series of fireworks froze her for a moment, and Bruce leaned down to kiss the juncture of neck and shoulder, sucking lightly on the flesh. His lips tingled as he felt J'onn stretch out cells, mingling their flesh together for a moment. Bruce shivered as he nibbled a line up Kelli's neck to her ear and took her earlobe in his teeth for the space of a breath. He felt "Kelli's" fingers thinning against his thigh, slipping down into his bloodstream. Across the river, a sudden series of flame towers spouted up. Kelli cried out, twisting her body in Bruce's arms, turning to bury her face in his shoulder. She didn't withdraw her hand as she moved; in fact, J'onn seemed to pour more of his essence into Bruce, drawing a gasp from his lover as they cuddled close. "It's okay," Bruce soothed. "I've got you. It's okay." He could feel Kelli's face pressed against his shoulder, skin to skin, effortlessly ignoring the t-shirt between them. She still had a hand on his thigh, and one of her knees brushed against his groin. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, holding her close, his eyes half focused on the fireworks, his body focused on the warmth of Kelli - of J'onn - pressed against him, their cells intermingling. The quality of her trembling was changing. "It's okay," Bruce continued to murmur. "The flames are gone." Kelli nodded her face against his shoulder, and he felt her lips mouthing kisses over his pectoral muscle. Then she raised her head and peered back out at the night sky. A new explosion startled her, sending a surge of J'onn through Bruce's body and drawing a low moan from Bruce. "J'onn," he whispered, his eyes squeezed closed for a moment. Kelli shifted, kissing his jaw bone. He leaned down to meet those lips, feeling the booming fireworks above them acting as counterpoint to his racing heartbeat. The delight and energy of the crowd was buoying them, coursing through their joined minds to add to the heat flooding between them. J'onn's tangle of fear and wonder was tightening in Bruce's stomach as excitement, raw and wild. Their tongues stroked together and entangled, and even through closed lids, Bruce could sense the color flashing above them. He pulled away, gasping for air. "J'onn," he said again, running the back of his hand over Kelli's cheek but seeing only the Martian shining out from her eyes. Blasts of red and blue blossomed in the sky, each explosion sending an involuntary shiver through Kelli's flesh - through J'onn, still curling through Bruce's body and passing the shiver along. Bruce's eyes fell half closed and he breathed through parted lips, only dimly aware of the crowd and sounds around him. No one would be watching them, he knew, although this feeling of being *touched* so publicly created an echo of J'onn's anxious thrill at the fireworks in his own mind. He rolled his hips a little, pressing into Kelli, feeling J'onn flooding back into him. "You're so beautiful," Kelli said, but her voice was husky, and the intonation was J'onn. Just J'onn. Perhaps the only person from whom he could accept the compliment. Perhaps the only person who could mean it so completely. Bruce ran a hand down her shoulder, down her arm, seeking to anchor his wildly spinning thoughts, reassert control over his body. The music over the PA penetrated his consciousness, and he set his fingers on Kelli's chin, urging her to turn back to the sky. "The grand finale," he whispered, pulling her into him and resting his head on her shoulder. "Any minute -" The sky exploded, the booms overlaying each other almost too fast to distinguish from one another. Colors burst through the night sky, strobing over the crowd, creating an artificial, multi-color day. The people around them oooohed and ahhhhed at the noise and light, and Bruce was lost in it, lost in J'onn, lost in the way J'onn lost himself in him, breathless... And then the darkness fell again, and Bruce came back into himself. Kelli was curled in his arms, contentment almost palpable through her skin. She raised her face to kiss the point of his chin. "Who knew Clark had such good ideas?" she asked. Bruce smiled down at the green eyed beauty in his arms. "You did. But I think in the end? I'm the one winning this bet." To be continued... ***********date 26******************* Hidden Beauty by Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG-13 A freshly scrubbed Bruce Wayne stepped into the teleporter in the Batcave. It had been a long day. He had worked late at Wayne Enterprises without coming appreciably closer to a deal with CurrenTech out in Nevada. Finally, stymied by the close of the business day in the later time zone and the recalcitrance of CurrenTech's CEO, he had given up for the night, hoping patrol would give him opportunity to release some energy. No dice. He and Batgirl had sat surveillance for almost three hours in Tricorner before he finally conceded that Rondoval syndicate was not going to move anything or anybody anytime soon. At least there was tonight's date to look forward to. He had been relieved that J'onn's choice for the evening was something relatively low key, sparing them both the irritation of paparazzi and freeing Bruce from the effort of disguise. He smoothed his sports coat as he activated the teleporter. A romantic dinner on the Watchtower observation deck, under the stars. Not the newest of settings, but even Clark could not object. Bruce certainly had never had a date there before and had rather frowned on the practice when his teammates had so indulged. However, tonight was a rare moment, astronomically speaking; the earth, the moon and Mars were lined up one right behind the other in a straight line from the sun. True, the dates had been limited to "this planet," but so late in the game and on such a special night? Clark had agreed to bend the rules. The usual tingle of teleportation swept through his body, and the Batcave melted away to the brighter surround of the Watchtower teleportation area. He stepped down from the tube, scanning the room... An average looking woman of medium height and build smiled tentatively at him and stepped up to meet him. Straight brown hair fell over her forehead in low bangs and settled over her shoulders tidily, but without any particular style. Her eyes - green, of course - peered at him through wire-framed glasses. She wore a calf-length straight skirt and a conservative blouse. Bruce managed to keep his disappointment off his face, but he couldn't suppress it quickly enough. The woman tiptoed and kissed his cheek. "Not what you expected?" "Well," Bruce hedged. So she wasn't stunningly beautiful. She was still J'onn. "Kristin," she introduced herself, shrugging a little. "Kyle helped me design her." Bruce felt a flare of jealousy. "Ky-" He was hushed by a finger over his lips. "Sketches," Kristin explained soothingly. "Not direct suggestion. Come on. I'll explain." Bruce set his lips and nodded, following as Kristin led him away from the teleporter and toward the lift to the observation deck. She did not move gracefully, although she was not ungainly. It was as if she was accustomed to her body rather than comfortable in it. Her shoulders were slightly hunched as if to hide her bosom, a habitual stance that Bruce recognized as a sign of an early bloomer whose body had raced ahead of her psychological readiness to be a woman. He knew something of the type from the various offices and labs of Wayne Enterprises: competent and often quite intelligent, but neither dangerous nor desirable and hence relatively uninteresting to him beyond their instrumental value in their jobs. There was a moment of awkward silence in the lift, broken when Kristin asked, "So how was your day?" "Long," he replied, aware that his monosyllable bordered on rude. Kristin caught his hand and gave it a little squeeze, and the lift doors opened. Kristin stepped out into the observation deck with a visible sense of relief, and Bruce followed her. He paused to take in the scene. It was impressive, he allowed, noting the centrally placed table draped in flawless linen. It was elegantly set with wine chilling to one side. A faux candle provided the only light, steady where a flame would have flickered, low enough that the view of the star field outside was uncompromised. That view was, of course, breathtaking, and the red star that was Mars stood precisely at the apex of the sky. The shift of a chair drew his eyes back to Kristin, and she again offered her shy smile. "Come sit," she encouraged. Bruce obeyed, unable to get to the table quickly enough to draw Kristin's chair out for her. She had already taken her seat and spread her napkin over her lap. A salad of late greens and vegetables was waiting for him, and as he settled into his seat, Kristin poured two glasses of white wine. "Please," she encouraged, "eat." Well, the salad looked appetizing enough. He poured a bit of vinaigrette over the greens and picked up his sterling salad fork. Kristin's eyes followed as he brought the first bite to his lips. He let his surprise show on his face as he bit into a bit of yellow squash and escarole. "This is excellent," he remarked, meaning it. Even the Manor rarely got vegetables so very fresh. Kristin blushed a little and ducked her head, pouring the vinaigrette over her own salad. "John Johnstone stopped by the Kents to help with the garden," she explained, and after a moment, Bruce clicked to one of J'onn's alter-egos. "Martha insisted on sending something home with him." Bruce nodded, savoring the salad. Kristin worked through her salad in precise bites, occasionally glancing up at Bruce's face. He swallowed a mouthful of tomato and lettuce and studied her for a moment. "You said you would explain," he prompted. She pushed a bit of salad on her plate, then glanced up at him. "Don't be angry." He blinked, feeling suddenly guilty. This was still J'onn, after all, no less his beloved for appearing before him in a frumpy form. "I-" His reply was cut off by a shake of her head. "It's okay. I just-" She met his eyes finally. "Bruce Wayne can have any woman he wants. Sometimes..." she trailed off, moving her fork through her salad again. "Go on," Bruce urged, not certain he wanted to hear this but feeling beholden. "You like strong, beautiful women. Exceptional women. Confident women." He nodded slowly. True enough. Kristin set down her fork. "Ready for soup?" she asked brightly. Bruce frowned and reached out to catch her hand. "Kristin," he said warningly. She twisted free of him. "I just wonder sometimes if you would give an ordinary girl a chance," she said too hastily, picking up her plate and his own and disappearing behind a Japanese screen set to one side. Bruce stared after her, stunned. She returned a moment later, carefully balancing two soup bowls on their plates. She set them down, and Bruce noticed her nails were unadorned. Plain. She sat again, resettling her napkin on her lap and picking up her soup spoon. Bruce remained motionless, still watching her. "J'onn?" Kristin did not respond, dipping her spoon into her soup and lifting it to lipstick-free lips. Bruce took his own spoon uncertainly, spooned out some broth. Subtle spices played across his palate, and again he felt a sense of surprise. He had dined in the best restaurants in the world, and Alfred ensured that meals in the Manor were nothing short of perfection, but this... "This is wonderful," he complimented. Kristin shrugged. "I asked Dolphin for her recipe. Some of the sea salts were hard to find, but..." she shrugged again, taking another sip of her soup. "Well, it's delicious," Bruce stated. Kristin didn't respond, and for a few minutes they ate in silence that for Bruce grew increasingly uncomfortable. Finally he set down his spoon and regarded the woman across from him. "What did you mean by ordinary girl?" he asked. Another shrug. "I know you appreciate beauty. I think sometimes, though..." "Yes?" "Sometimes you don't see beyond surface beauty," Kristin finished reluctantly, setting down her own spoon. "I asked Kyle to draw for me a woman hiding inner beauty." Bruce blinked. "Hiding... are you saying I'm shallow?" He felt like that should make him angry, but instead he was only perplexed. Kristin shook her head. "No. No, not - obviously-" She sighed. Her hands fiddled with the napkin in her lap, and she stared unseeingly into her soup bowl. Bruce sat back in his chair, puzzling through her words. He understood inner beauty. After all, he understood Dick's attraction to Barbara, who was pretty enough in her way, but it was really her strength of personality... strength... He thought about his early reaction to Kristin, to her hesitance, her "safely conservative" clothes, the way she reminded him of other unbeautiful women... Kristin quietly rose and took away their bowls. Bruce didn't stop her, disturbed at his line of thought. Ordinary girls. Well, J'onn was anything but ordinary, and... A new plate was set before him, steaming tantalizingly and making his mouth water in unconscious response. The pinks and whites and reds of fresh seafood spilled over a bed of pasta, and the savory aroma of a butter sauce cut through his thoughts. "Wow," he commented, studying his plate. He took a careful bite, the al dente pasta complimenting perfectly the melt-in-the-mouth sauce. "Is this handmade pasta?" Kristin's cheeks colored and she nodded. Bruce paused and studied her. "You've been cooking all day, haven't you?" More color rose in Kristin's face. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "For me," Bruce stated. Kristin didn't answer, began quietly to eat. He watched her, reached across the table to still her hand. "You're right," he said. She looked up at him with a confused expression. "I am shallow sometimes." She shook her head vigorously. "No. No, you're not. I ... presumed..." He was startled when her eyes began to well with tears. "Kristin? J'onn?" She continued to shake her head, removing her glasses and bringing her napkin to her eyes. "I'm sorry- I-" "No," Bruce said firmly, rising and crossing to her side of the table. She raised her eyes miserably, and Bruce was surprised at the intensity of their green. He touched her cheek. "J'onn?" he asked again. She tried gamely to smile. "It's my fault. I thought... I was thinking about... well, sometimes what a person wants isn't... I thought maybe there were things you wanted that you... that you didn't see. That were buried too deeply for me to read. I... I wanted..." "Shh," Bruce murmured, leaning down and gently pressing his lips to hers. She stiffened for a moment, then began to respond. Her body leaned into his, her breasts pressing against his chest. It was a... soulful kiss, her heart and being poured into it. Bruce broke the contact reluctantly, staring at her with wonder. Her lips were reddened from the kiss, her skin still flushed from her earlier tears, her eyes shining... He cupped her cheek. "Hiding your beauty," he murmured. "I'm sorry," Kristin said again, lowering her face. "Don't be," he answered, nudging her chin up so she met his eyes. "I had a crappy day, and I've been taking it out on you." She shook her head. "I should've-" "No, I should've. Should've lots of things. And right now I'm trying to understand some things, like why I've made the most beautiful being in my life cry." "Bruce-" "Shh. I do want to talk about this. But I also want to eat this glorious pasta you spent all day making before it gets cold. And then I want to take that dessert that I'm sure you've got hiding behind that screen and find a few cushions and stretch out on the floor and feed each other and watch Mars go across the sky." Kristin sniffled a final time and put the napkin to her nose, nodding her assent. Bruce gave her knee a little squeeze and went back to his place. He wound some pasta on his fork. "This really is marvelous. Let me guess. Gypsy? Or maybe someone more unlikely. Eel!" Kristin laughed a little and put her napkin back in her lap. "No, although Eel does make the world's only edible tuna casserole." She reached for her glasses. "I don't want to know how you know that. Do you need those?" he asked, gesturing toward her glasses with his fork. Kristin hesitated. "I suppose not. Why?" "You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen," he answered sincerely. "I couldn't see them before." Kristin blushed and set the glasses back on the table. "You flatter me." He shook his head. "No, actually. But are you going to tell me where the pasta recipe came from?" Kristin took a bite of her dinner and chewed thoughtfully. "You'll laugh." "No, I won't." She looked at him sharply. "Don't tell me you won't, because then you'll have to try to keep a straight face, and I like you better when you let yourself laugh." Bruce started. "Really?" Kristin nodded. "I - I always feel happier when I - you let the weight lift sometimes. I know I can't carry it for you but-" Bruce considered her for a moment, a rush of love for her - for J'onn - warming him. "Okay. If it's funny..." She ducked her head, and this time he found the gesture endearing. "Well, it was this old lady in Venice, Carmella. She used to take me home-" "Take you home?" Bruce interrupted, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Kristin laughed. "Not like that. I was a cat." She grinned and took another bite of food. Bruce stared for a moment. "You were... a cat." "Yes. She called me Tomasso and she would feed me scraps as she cooked." "A cat. She gave her recipe to a cat?" "No, I poached it from her mind." Bruce stared incredulously, then began to laugh. "You stole her recipe!" "It's good!" Kristin defended, and a lightness showed in her eyes that had not been there before. "It tasted a little different when I was a cat, but-" Bruce almost choked on the water he had brought to his lips. He sputtered for a moment as he brought his napkin to his lips. "Warn a guy!" he protested, his eyes smiling. "I said you would laugh," she pointed out primly, and he noticed that when she smiled fully, her face was transformed. He could see her relaxing for the first time all evening, the hunch of her shoulders easing. She took a sip of wine, her eyes dancing over the rim. "That you did," he allowed. He raised his own wine glass. "I propose a toast." "Oh?" "To hidden beauty," he declared, holding his glass out. She hesitated. "Really?" In the glow that the uncertain pleasure brought to her face, Bruce wondered how he had ever thought her plain. "Really." Their glasses clinked together, and they both drank, finishing their dinner in the easy camaraderie that had eluded them before. They retired, then, with a small plate of tiramisu and two dainty dessert forks, curling together on cushions Bruce pulled from a storage bin. Kristin sighed as she nestled against Bruce's shoulder, her hair fanned over his arm. She accepted a bite of the sweet, her eyes fixed on the starscape outside. "It seems so far away," she said wistfully. "I know," Bruce said, setting the plate to one side and running his fingers through her hair. "Some nights I wish there was a way I could bring it back for you." Her eyes remained focused on the sky. "I am sorry about tonight." He shook his head. "Don't be." He trailed his hand over her shoulder absently, deep in thought. "I've never made you cry before." Kristin shrugged dismissively. "Something in the identity. It was... in character." Bruce looked at her suspiciously, but he kept his tone light. "Figuring out the female of the species?" he asked. "Something like that," she agreed, moving closer into the circle of his arm. Her body was soft against his, yielding. Not quite fat, but not muscular, either. Warm. Comfortable. He felt a slow burn of desire growing in him. He dropped his head to let his lips rest against her shoulder for a moment. "I should not have been disappointed when I got here," he said, sincere and contrite. Another shrug. "You had a bad day. You know what you want and you know I know it, so..." "No." He brushed his lips across her temple and touched her chin with his hand, urging her to meet his eyes. "I didn't know I wanted late season vegetables or soup seasoned with rare sea salts or a pasta dish that tastes different to a cat. You know me, and knew I would like those things that I had never known before." She watched him earnestly, studying the depths of his blue eyes. "And I didn't know-" He leaned down, claiming her lips with his own. The sweetness of the tiramisu lingered in her mouth, and her tongue yielded to his as it pressed into her mouth. He slowly backed away, and she sat for a moment with her eyes still closed and her lips still parted. Finally she opened her eyes and ran her tongue thoughtfully over her own lips. "Did you get enough dessert?" she asked. He gazed into her amazing eyes, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he kissed her deeply. "No," he whispered, and his fingers began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She smiled steadily at him, a hand resting softly against the side of his neck as she pressed her body against his exploring hand. "I don't think I did either," she breathed, and as they kissed again, Bruce realized that he had what he wanted. To be continued... *************date 27******************** 30/30 - Bail by Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: PG-13 (R if you're sensitive to language) Nightwing was three blocks from the Clocktower when his earpiece buzzed - not the standard comlink ping or even just the unexpected comment over a line presumed closed, but a warning type buzz signaling a special incoming message. He paused on the corner of 4th and Crescent, opening the line. "Hello?" he answered gruffly. He had to give Babs credit; he barely recognized the nasal tone that answered him. "You have a collect call from Matches Malone. Do you accept the charges?" Dick Grayson gave an internal blink, but his mouth had already gone into cover mode. "What the fuck does he want now?" "Sir, will you accept the charges?" An impatient and indignant edge came into the nasal voice. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Fucking bum." There was a click of a connecting line, then, "Robbie? That you?" "Who you think it is, the tooth fairy? What's wrong with you, man - the guys are over and-" "Need ya to bail me an' my lady out, Rob m'boy. Ran into -" "Wh-whoa- wait. Bail you out? What stupid shit you pull now?" "Long story. Listen, I'm at central PD headquarters. Cops'll let ya bail me an' Cherry out for $500. Ya just gotta-" "You think I made of money now? I should let you rot in there, no matter what you didn't do to deserve it, man. I got people here and -" "Shut up an' listen to me a minute, Rob.. Y'swing by Gert's; she'll front the cash. Ol' dame owes me one anyway." "She know yer with Cherry?" "An' she ain't gonna know, now, is she, Rob?" There was a threatening edge to Matches' tone. Dick waited a beat, then sighed heavily. "Awright, fine. I'll go by Gert's, bail you out. Idiot." "I heard that." "Good." Dick punched the button on his comlink hard, hoping it sounded convincingly enough like a slammed receiver. A second later Barbara's voice was in his ear. "Nice work, Hunk Wonder. I'm embarrassed to know you." "Funny, Babs. You know what happened?" "Bar brawl, believe it or not." Nightwing shot a line across the street, heading away from the Clocktower. "My father, the role model." "Well, it'll help Matches' rep, anyway." "That was tonight's date? C'mon, J'onn, I'll show you how to be a cheap hood?" Barbara's laugh was soft in his ear, warming him as he cut through the night air. "I suspect J'onn could give Bruce a lesson or two on that front." Nightwing landed on a rooftop and sprinted across it, launching off the ledge to tuck and spin en route to a lower roof. "This sounds worse. I don't want to imagine them one-upping each other. What's up with this 'Cherry' ID?" "Pulling the police file... oh, my!" "Babs?" Dick dropped into the alley where he had left his car, bouncing from fire escape to fire escape to make his descent. "Cherry Delight." Nightwing tapped in the security code for the car as he snorted. "Stripper or hooker?" "Oh, no. No, it's way better than that. Although I never in a million years-" "What?" The car door opened, and Nightwing slid inside, already peeling off bits of costume. "You'll have to find out yourself, former boy wonder." "I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Dick grunted as he squirmed out of his costume in the confines of his car and stretched into the back seat for a pair of ratty jeans. "Oooh," Barbara's voice commented, and Dick glanced over his shoulder to see the vid- screen on the dash had cleared to reveal her face. "Nice ass." Dick tapped the dash control with his toe. "Peek later. I gotta go rescue dear old dad." He could hear the pout in Barbara's voice. "Fine. You got enough cash to hand?" Dick twisted to rummage in the glove box. "Yep," he confirmed, pulling a greasy t-shirt over his head and then stowing his costume. "I'll swing by after I finish this mission." "Can I look at your ass then?" Barbara asked suggestively. "Only if I can look at yours," Dick shot back. "Nightwing out." It was a short drive to GCPD central headquarters; it took longer for "Rob" to find parking than it did for him to get there. He rolled the name 'Cherry Delight' over in his mind, wondering why it seemed so familiar. Yeah, it was an obvious kind of name for a working girl, which would be just the kind of date that would add to Matches' credibility - although less a kind of date that Dick expected Bruce and J'onn to go on. Something about the name nagged him, though, like he should recognize it specifically... He shook off that line of thought as he finally heard the start of an engine up the block and pulled his car up behind the soon-to-be-vacated spot. Ten minutes later he was waiting for the duty officer to bring out Matches and Cherry. He slouched, practicing his surly act with a little mental prayer to the police gods to keep his attitude from karmically counting against him on his next shift. He straightened a bit as he saw the cop coming back, then he caught a glimpse of Matches, a bloodied towel pressed to his face. "Jesus!" the word exploded out of him. "You fucking pigs brutalize him or somethin'?" His eyes darted around the room, aware that every officer had come to alert at his outburst. Then a hand pressed against his arm and a throaty voice said, "Calm down, Rob. It happened during the fight, *before* the police got there." He looked down into the earnest green eyes of the blonde who spoke to him and suddenly found himself fighting the mother of all blushes. Cherry Delight - he knew now why she seemed familiar, and a back corner of his mind was cursing Roy Harper. After all, it was Roy Harper who had insisted on a night of pizza and porn as a bonding experience for the guys. Without Roy Harper, Dick Grayson would never have known about "the Cherry Trilogy" - widely regarded as what Roy had described as "the kind of classic erotica the girls won't mind you seeing." Dick hadn't tested the theory, not quite convinced that "Helping Hand," "A Question of Taste," and "Pop!" were the art-house productions any open-minded lady would find enticing. But he had watched them. And he was currently looking right into the eyes of the star who... ...who he knew was really a Martian. J'onn seemed to allow the recognition before he sent reassurances to Dick's brain. *I took over Cherry's identity after she retired from the industry,* he explained. Out loud, Cherry said, "C'mon, Rob, let's get out of here." Dick hesitated. "Talk to me, Matches. You sure they din't rough you up?" Matches lowered the towel, revealing a gash over his left eye still oozing blood. "Ya think I let them cop docs touch me?" "Get out of here, Malone. We heard enough of your whining," the desk cop remarked. "Why-" "Let's go, Matches," Dick urged, grabbing Bruce's arm and well aware that "Cherry" had already headed out the front door. "We gotta get you fixed up." Matches glared at "Rob" for a moment, then grinned and pulled a pack of kitchen matches out of his pocket, lighting one against his thumb and then pinching it out. "Yeah, let's go. I had enough of the stink of this place." He put the unburnt end of the matchstick between his teeth as he gave a final grin to the scowling desk cop, then he followed "Rob" and "Cherry" out to the street. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Dick dropped down into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut with a heavy slam. "Leslie's?" he asked, glancing at Bruce in the passenger seat. He got a single positive incline of Bruce's head - no more Matches here, just pure Bat. But from the backseat? "Yes, please." There was, in Cherry's roughened voice, the exact tone of correction with which Alfred occasionally redressed Bruce. Dick looked into the rearview mirror, but she had scooted directly behind him, as far from Bruce as she could be within the confines of Dick's muscle car. "Right," Dick said, turning on the engine and shifting into reverse, craning in his seat as he cranked the wheel to the right and began unparking the car. With less than an inch clearance he stopped the car and shifted into first, now spinning the wheel all the way to the left. He roared out of the parking spot... and no one said a word. He stopped too short at the end of the block... and no one said a word. He took a left where he should have taken a right... nothing. Just an ongoing and intensifying silence. Dick pulled over and stopped the car, turning in his seat so he could at least see both of them. The were in mirror image poses, both staring out the windows on their respective sides of the car. "Stop it!" Dick ordered. That at least got Bruce's attention. "Dick," he rumbled. "Look, I'll bail you out of jail. I'll watch your back. I'll help you think of a good cover story for that shiner and the stitches you're going to need. But I REFUSE to drive this car with you two arguing telepathically." "Dick?" Cherry this time, sounding bewildered. "Don't tell me you're not. If Cassandra were here, she would've complained about the way your body language is screaming. If you're going to fight, at least do it out loud." "Dick," Bruce - or the Bat dressed as Matches - warned, but Dick heard Cherry's words. "You didn't need to start that fight." Dick blinked, and Batman glared at the blonde in the backseat. "Wait. MATCHES started the brawl?" "You didn't hear what he said," Batman defended, his eyes storming. "I did," Cherry corrected, "the gist of it anyway. He didn't mean any harm." Batman's - Matches' - hands were clenching into fists, and a new trickle of blood ran down from his split brow. "He was asking if you had - it was none of his business." "And that was a reason to hit him?" Cherry challenged him, her chin jutting defiantly. "I didn't hit him hard." That was a Bruce response; Dick recognized a hint of petulant billionaire in the tone. "You knocked him through the men's room door and into the bar!" Cherry contradicted, "Whoa!" Dick interrupted. "Damn, Bruce, what did he -" "Language, Dick." Dick shot a look back at Cherry - at J'onn - then returned his attention to Bruce. "I don't think my language is the worst of your problems right now." "It's an argument I can win," Bruce snapped back, turning his face back toward the car window and pressing the towel in his hand against his seeping wound. "Let's just get to the clinic." Dick looked uncertainly back at Cherry and was surprised to see her scooting into the middle of the seat, reaching forward to touch Bruce's shoulder. Bruce jerked away from her, and Dick saw a sort of exasperation in her eyes. "Go on, Dick," she urged. Dick shook his head and put the car back into gear, this time aiming for the fastest, most direct route to Leslie's clinic. The comlink came alive in the console as he drove, and Oracle's filtered voice filled the stillness of the car. "So how are our jailbirds?" she asked. Dick caught the scowl that flitted across Bruce's face and managed to deflect his jab toward the cut off button. "My car," Dick pointed out. "Oracle, this is not a good time." Any levity in Oracle's synthesized tone was immediately quashed. "Got it. Call me when you are back on patrol. Oracle out." Cherry, still sitting in the middle of the back seat, tilted her head and met Dick's eyes in the rearview mirror. "We're interrupting your plans," she stated. Dick offered a smile back. "No, no more than the average Gotham riff-raff." He could see Bruce's snarl reflected in the passenger window, but he ignored it. "Besides, it's not every day I get to rescue a movie star." "That's enough, Dick," Bruce cut in. "Bruce," Cherry said sternly, "you KNEW Cherry's past before we decided to go out tonight." Bruce scowled. "That was her PAST. Before she was... well, you." "It's still a part of this identity, Bruce. It shaped Cherry's work. Without it she wouldn't have been so desperate to stay alive." "Stay alive?" Dick asked curiously, ignoring the sour expression on Bruce's face. "Cherry died while she was launching Project Pleiades." Cherry's voice was softening and deepening into J'onn's intonation. "That's the organization that helped advocate for more precise laws for the adult film industry, right? Helped educate the consumer and retail markets to force some of the seedier fly-by-night guys out of business." "Yes," J'onn agreed, sounding impressed. "You know -?" "Cop work," Dick explained, with a quick glance at Bruce. His face was still turned away, but Dick was sure he was listening closely. "Guys in vice mentioned it made their work easier." J'onn - Cherry - nodded, and Cherry's voice reasserted itself. "The Project was in a delicate spot when she died; her sponsorship was crucial if it was going to succeed. It cost me little to step in for her, to make a promise that would ease her passing." Dick considered for a moment. "Are all your identities like that? Real people, I mean." "Most of them. Lives ended too soon. Good people." Dick noticed that Cherry's hand had once again found its way to Bruce's shoulder, and this time Bruce let it stay there. "Cherry was proud of her work," J'onn continued, now talking more to Bruce than to Dick. "It was... respectful. Celebratory." Bruce made no reply, and silence fell again. After a few moments, Dick pulled in in front of the Gotham Free Clinic. He set the parking brake and turned off the engine. "All's ashore that's going ashore," he announced. Cherry and Matches both exited, and after a moment, Dick followed. They eschewed the front doors in favor of a side entrance, and Leslie answered herself almost as soon as they buzzed. Barbara, Dick realized. She had undoubtedly figured out that the route Dick was taking was leading here and had called ahead. "Matches Malone, what have you done now?" Leslie scolded, ushering him into the building. "Please don't tell me you got into mischief in the company of this lovely lady." A sullen expression showed on Matches' face as Leslie waited for Cherry and Dick to enter and closed the door behind them. "Don't scowl like that, just head into exam one and I'll be there in a minute." Matches - Bruce - wordlessly obeyed, and Leslie turned her attention to Cherry. "Miss Delight, it is lovely to meet you." Dick managed - just - not to let his jaw drop open. "You know her?" he asked, incredulous. Leslie smiled knowingly at Cherry. "Of course. I'm a big fan." Cherry - J'onn - chuckled and accepted Leslie's handshake. "I am honored. And you do realize-" "Naturally. You'll have to explain this one to me sometime." "We'll have tea." "Agreed. Now let me deal with your other half. Rob, you'll keep Miss Delight company?" Dick felt more like fleeing the scene, still processing Leslie's words, *I'm a big fan.* Nope, he definitely didn't want to think about it. But he nonetheless forced his mouth to work. "Umm, sure." "Good. I'll have Matches stitched up in a flash." Leslie turned and disappeared down the corridor that Matches had proceeded down only a moment earlier. "C'mon, Rob," Cherry suggested, leading him toward the chairs near the side door. Dick followed her numbly and took a seat. After a moment he said, "No offense, J'onn, but I'm not sure I'm crazy about this identity." Cherry laughed. "Like father, like son." Dick shook his head. "I don't think I'd start a brawl over it, but -" A snort sounded from the blonde beside him. "Stubborn protective jerk." Dick blinked. "You're still mad at him?" "Of course I'm mad at him," Cherry replied. "It was a stupid thing to do." She paused for a moment, and a wistful expression appeared on her face. "It was also unbearably sweet." "Sweet," Dick repeated flatly. "Well, yes. Defending my honor, insisting that the others respect me - very chivalrous." "But you're still pissed at him." "Language, Dick," Cherry said primly, but there was a definite sense of humor behind her echo of Bruce's - Matches' - earlier correction. "And yes, he's still a stubborn jerk." Dick released the breath he had drawn in to protest Cherry's chiding and stared at disguised Martian. "J'onn, don't take this the wrong way, but you are talking like a woman." Beside him, Cherry Delight ducked her head a little with a hint of a pleased smile, her eyes sliding coyly up toward him. "I've been practicing," she confessed. Dick froze and closed his eyes. He knew enough about actors to know that their habitual gestures occasionally showed up in their work. There was no way J'onn had intentionally invoked the gesture and tagline that had so famously attached to Cherry Delight's film ego. But there was also no denying that his father's lover had just perfectly delivered from a porn star's mouth the exact words that had been uttered when Cherry's oral skills had been amply demonstrated on screen. "Rob?" Cherry's voice was asking. Then, "Dick?" Dick shook his head to clear it and stood, opening his eyes. He looked at Cherry and forced himself to see J'onn sitting there. Then he squatted in front of her and met her eyes earnestly, resting a hand on her knee. "J'onn, you know I care about you and about Bruce and I'd support you guys whenever you need it. But right now-" Cherry - no, not quite Cherry, because J'onn had altered her features a bit and let his own eyes shine out of her face - brushed her fingers over his hair as if he were a school boy and smiled sympathetically. "A little too weird, isn't it?" Dick nodded. "Leslie's going to be mad at me, but I just really need to bail. You - you'll be okay waiting here?" A warm laugh escaped J'onn. "I could probably protect the whole neighborhood if it came to it," his female voice reminded Dick. "I meant you won't be too lonely," Dick clarified pointedly, earning another smile that seemed to radiate from J'onn's eyes. "You are your father's son," J'onn said. "I'll be fine. Give my best to Barbara." Dick watched J'onn's disguised features earnestly for a moment, then stood, fishing into his pocket. "I can leave the car-" J'onn shook Cherry's head. "No, we'll manage something. Thank you for your help tonight." Dick smiled crookedly. "Just part of the job. Say goodbye to Leslie and Bruce for me?" "Of course." Dick glanced around the hall nervously one more time, then exited the side door with a profound feeling of relief. He was SO ready to get back to the Clocktower and put this night behind him. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Dick had only been gone about ten minutes when Bruce Wayne emerged from the treatment area, the Matches Malone face discarded and a tidy bandage over his left eye. "Where's Dick?" he asked. J'onn - still wearing Cherry's form - stretched and rose to her feet, tiptoeing to kiss Bruce's cheek. "I think we traumatized him enough for one night. I sent him home." "Bruce, here's a couple extra chemical ice packs," Leslie was saying as she came down the hall. "I'll just add it to your tab. Where'd Dick-?" "I sent him home," Cherry repeated. "And Bruce, don't forget you owe him $500." "So does this mean you two will be staying downstairs tonight, or-" Bruce glanced at Cherry, who shrugged. "Maybe we will," he decided. "Leslie, thank you as always." "Yes," Cherry added, "we can't thank you enough-" "Posh," Leslie interrupted. "You two go crash. I'll call Alfred to let him know you're here. And," she continued in a lecturing tone, "I don't want to hear anymore about Matches starting bar brawls." "Yes, Leslie," Bruce acknowledged meekly, wrapping his arm around Cherry's waist. "Good night." "Good night," she replied, heading down another hallway as Bruce led Cherry to a broom closet with an elevator. Neither Bruce nor Cherry said anything as they descended into the hidden sub- basement of Leslie's clinic. Bruce finally broke the silence as he palm-keyed the door to one of the Bat's mini-lairs. "Not quite the Manor, but-" His words were interrupted as Cherry claimed his lips, her tongue softly probing the swelling bruise on the right corner of Bruce's mouth before slipping between his lips. When they parted a moment later, Bruce smiled down at her. "Am I forgiven, then?" "I'm still thinking about it," Cherry revealed. "And I think Lavender's book is going to have to be published." "Oh?" Bruce wrapped his arms around Cherry, his hands loosely clasped against the small of her back. "Yes," Cherry stated, her fingers tracing patterns against Bruce's chest. "I had no idea your jealous streak ran so deep." Bruce tightened his arms, fighting the urge to defend his action. It was the right move, for Cherry smiled at him and reached up to touch his cheek. "You're so sweet, Bruce." Then she tiptoed, drawing his head down to whisper to him, "I was wondering if you wanted to try-" Her voice dropped even lower, and she described exactly the act which had been mentioned once before that evening - and had started the brawl at the bar. A deep flush colored Bruce's cheeks as he listened to Cherry's lips describe... He held her more tightly, letting her feel what her words were doing to his body. "Yes," he breathed. "Oh, yes," he added more emphatically as Cherry's hands began to move. Cherry smiled and led him to the bed. To be continued... ************date 28******************* 30/30: Want by Hotspur Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: NC-17 The bass was almost sub-atmospheric, cranked loud enough that it was little more than an all over vibration, felt through the bar stool he sat on - hell, through the bar itself. He wasn't sure how it quite qualified as music. The lighting was no better, dark but punctuated by strobes and laser effects that skewed the perceptions. Uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as the tight hug of leather to his skin, form fitting, but not in the same way as the kevlar weave that was built to give and stretch with him. More... displaying then protecting. Neither he nor J'onn had been entirely sure whose ideal date this was, but it was ... different. Almost desperate in its anonymity, both in terms of the poster and the scenario. Bruce had instantly reacted to cross it off the list, but something made him hesitate just a split second - and J'onn had seen the hesitation. So Bruce Wayne had concocted a disguise - a subtle one. An old scar across the chin - rakish rather than deforming. A bit of added height to the cheek bones. A rougher, more devil-may-care hairstyle. Colored contacts, shading blue eyes to a dark grey. He'd put on the leather pants - sans underwear - and tucked the white T-shirt into them. He'd thrown a black biker jacket over the ensemble and taken one of his less noteworthy bikes into the city - to this... place. He could feel the eyes on him the moment he entered, appraising, hungry. Somewhere among them were the eyes he wanted to see, but they hadn't shown themselves yet. So now he sat at the bar, sipping at a coke that had earned him a look but not a comment from the bartender. He tendered a five for the two dollar drink and told the man to keep the change. A lithe young man, bare-chested but for a leather harness, had watched the exchange with sudden interest and began to move toward him. Bruce gave a Bat glare, and the man changed course as if he'd been heading elsewhere anyway. A sudden cloying scent of perfume enfolded him and a footstep half-muffled by the throbbing bass was heard too late to prevent the sudden rest of a chin on his shoulder. Blonde curls twisted around a dreamy eyed face as an arm snaked around his body, a hand found its way to his lap. The hand gave a squeeze and Bruce hooked a finger into the studded collar around the woman's neck. "Not interested," he growled, drawing some startled semblance of awareness briefly into distant eyes. But only for a flash, because then she was back in her daze. "Okay, sugar," she agreed easily, letting him go. He tried to force his shoulders to relax, to pretend that he belonged there. He ordered another coke. The bartender supplied with due speed, alert to the half raise of Bruce's hand. What made someone want this, Bruce wondered? The air was heavy, almost unbreathable. Somewhere in the dark he was sure there were drugs changing hands, favors being purchased. Nothing overt. Nothing quite to catch the Bat's radar. But he was sure it was happening. And the noise, the lights. The *hunger.* The knot between his shoulders grew tighter. A touch of fingers at his wrist, trailing up his arm, across his shoulders, down the other side. Long, red nails applying just enough pressure to suggest things they *could* do but weren't. He caught the pale hand as it traveled past, locking his fingers around the wrist. A sudden _soto_ move, and he was half pulled off his bar stool, his balance shaken. He looked up into pale - so pale - green eyes as blood red lips leaned toward his ear. "So you want to play rough?" He swallowed hard, aware of the sudden rush of blood to his groin. What if this wasn't - no, it had to be. The balance as she moved, the strength - it didn't quite add up to human. She drew him forward, and he felt teeth on his ear, nipping hard enough to hurt a little. "I have a booth," she whispered. Then she was moving ahead of him, leading him forward in a daze. This wasn't - there - J'onn wasn't like this. Ordering, imperious. There had been something in those eyes... The press of people seemed to part before her, and he felt the stares. He could feel the way they wanted him, wanted her... He almost ran into her when she stopped, the blood pounding in his ears enough to distract him from everything else. It even canceled out the music. He caught himself just in time, found himself staring down at the long length of straight black hair, sleekly polished. He leaned forward to catch the mingled scents of patchouli and sandalwood... and Mars. She turned and caught him by the throat, slim fingers spanning just above his collar bone, pressing just enough to make him *feel* the danger. "Sit," she hissed, steering him back until his knees hit the edge of something and his legs folded. He wanted to protest, object that this wasn't - but he could feel the blood surging in his cock, and it was so hard to swallow... Her red lips descended, claiming his roughly, tongue forcing open his mouth. Her hair draped over both their faces, sealing them into a darkness that was just heat of their mouths and the sudden bite of her teeth on his lower lip. She was pushing him back deeper along what he realized was just a standard restaurant booth, but the lights, the music, the dark... His back was against the wall, the back of the booth on one side, the table on the other, and in front of him, forcing his shoulders against the plaster... He gasped suddenly as her weight pulled away, his eyes opening in surprise. He licked his lips and tasted copper, startling, confusing his muddled senses for that he didn't feel any pain behind the blood. He shook his head, trying to reclaim his mental acuity, to... Oh! Below the table, his knees were pushed apart, making space for the heat of a body. The soft cotton of the T-shirt caressed his skin as it was pulled from waistband of the now much too tight pants, and in the wake of that caress came the raking pressure of sharp nails. Bruce sucked in his breath. "Wait-" he began, desperate, torn between churning anxiety and something more feral. It wasn't like this with J'onn. "Wait -" he tried again, his brain scrambling to find a name to call the woman kneeling between his legs. The button on his pants was undone, the zip pulled slowly down. "You want this," her voice curled up to him, somehow cutting through the music and the haze. "No-" he started to protest, but then her nails found the faint scars on his side, four evenly spaced cuts, old, invisible unless you knew where to look... She traced them with just enough pressure to leave a burning trail in the wake of each nail, to revive the memory of Selina Kyle... a rooftop... years ago... "You want this," she repeated, and her hands spread open the leather that had shielded his cock, exposing him to the heat of her breath. He gasped, feeling two fingers slide down along side his cock to hook under his balls, to pull them free from the constricting leather. The zipper bit into the underside of his sack, but somehow that only made him harder as a tongue lathed across each testicle in turn. Then there was suction, and she claimed first one ball and then the other, working each in the heat of her mouth, letting her teeth scrape across them to remind him of her power - and her restraint. He raised his hips involuntarily, and the pants were whisked down to his thighs, trapping his legs. He squirmed a little, and a hand squeezed around his cock, freezing him. He could feel the edges of her nails digging slightly into his flesh. "You want this," she said again, and before he could object he felt her swallow his cock. He wanted to scream, to tell her to stop, that she was wrong. He wanted to scream because her mouth and throat were undulating along every molecule of his cock, and he had no control over it, and he *wanted* it. God, he wanted it. His hands fisted at his sides, refusing to touch her, to encourage that mouth and ... oh god... that *tongue*... which no human could've sent to roll his balls while still maintaining such a hold on his cock. Another tongue, slenderer... Oh god... Flicking across the skin under his balls... Slipping between the cheeks of his ass... "No," he moaned through clenched teeth, wanting, god, wanting to feel... Her hands caught his wrists, pushing them back against the seat back, pinning them. She leaned her weight forward so his knees were held down by her arms. Her mouth continued its steady massage of his cock, his balls were palmed and bathed and cradled. He strained forward with what little leverage he had, unable to really buck his hips where he sat, unable not to. He hadn't wanted to touch her; now he couldn't. He could just feel her, wrapped around his cock, fondling his balls... Sliding a thin slick digit into his asshole... He felt her purr deep in her throat, the vibration traveling through his cock, through his balls... Through the probing digit that brushed suddenly across his prostate, setting every nerve on fire... He gasped and the grip on his wrists tightened fiercely, painfully, and a voice echoed in his head. "Now." He didn't want to. He didn't. He wouldn't let... couldn't let... he was in control... he was... He was coming, just as she ordered, exploding into her throat as she stroked slowly over his prostate and swallowed his cock impossibly deeper. Blood rushed through his skull as he forgot to breathe, forgot to move, forgot everything but the pressure at his wrists and around his cock and in his ass. His perception greyed at the edges, and he was dimly aware of withdrawal. Gentle kisses replaced harsh commands. His hands were lying limp at his sides. He could feel the bass beat of the music... The club. He opened his eyes in alarm. He had forgotten they were in the club... It took him a moment to focus, to breathe. He scanned the crowd crazily, but no one was paying any attention to him. Correction. A soft, out of character smile was playing on the lips of the woman who had just ravaged him. He realized he had been reclothed, settled back into his pants, his shirt tucked back in. Had he passed out? Or was this woman just so adept... She brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheek, letting the satin smoothness of the surface of her nails tingle across his skin. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her pale green eyes lit with something far less predatory than they had been only moments before. He swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting his voice. He could feel the way his eyes were staring desperately at her, begging reassurance. She gently stroked at his hair. "You want to go home?" she asked. Again he nodded, wanting her to hold him. Just hold him. Her arms pulled him forward, wrapping him gently to her breasts, letting his cheek rest against her half revealed bosom. He closed his eyes, and he felt her wrap more securely around him. She rocked him for a moment, then urged him up. She took his hand again and led him out, out past the hungry eyes, past the desperate passes and lonely looks. He couldn't feel them anymore, only her. Just her hand, anchoring him. In control. He wanted this. To be continued... *********date 29************* 30/30: Jazz by Chicago (w/help from StarStorm) Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G He became aware of a *presence* on the rooftop with him. Silent in approach, but... respectful. A soft mental touch to gradually alert him. "Yes, J'onn?" he asked, not taking his eyes from the warehouse below. "Company?" the Martian asked quietly. Hesitantly? Hard to read sometimes. Batman tucked his binoculars into his belt and shot out a jumpline. J'onn followed. Not Martian Manhunter, Batman noted. The Bronze Wraith. Unusual for him to pull an identity out of retirement. Batman slipped through a loading dock door into an old factory, picking the lock in five seconds. Starlite lenses gathered ambient light, freed him from the need for a flashlight. He moved ninja quiet, softer than a breeze and purposefully swift. He could neither see nor hear the ghostly shadow of his lover trailing after him, but he knew he was there. Batman's fingers planted tracers unobtrusively on various pieces of equipment, moving unerringly to those he wished to follow. The master detective at work, no activity in his city allowed to go unmonitored. Uncontrolled. He exited through an alley fire escape and made his way back to the rooftops. Standard patrol for the next several blocks, then a stake out of the Pour House if all was quiet. Which, as it happened, it was. The Bat settled outside the sometime contact point for out of town thugs looking for work, watching from the roof across the way. The Bronze Wraith settled in his "dead spot," behind and to Batman's left, the traditional weak point of a samurai's defense. The place of a student or apprentice to be a bodily shield more than out of harm's way. A submissive position. Batman ignored him, staring fixedly at the Pour House entrance. Time passed. He listened as Oracle and Batgirl coordinated against a serial mugger and brought him down. He heard Nightwing call in to report he would be staying in the 'Haven. He noted that Robin had run an abbreviated patrol, heading in early with an explanation of homework overload and college applications. No one suspicious had entered or left the Pour House. It was only 10:39. Behind him, there was a rustle of fabric, a conscious warning. A second later he felt J'onn's hand on his shoulder. He stiffened a little. J'onn gave a careful squeeze. "Only two more nights," he said softly. "Enough is enough," Batman growled, his voice quiet and low in his throat. J'onn's hand tightened a little more, and Batman felt dry Martian flesh against his skin, the contact flooding him with awareness of J'onn's sense of regret and apology, of something - fearful? - in his lover. The unclear emotion had almost a taste, and Batman felt himself rolling it in his mouth, trying to understand the occasionally unfathomable Martian. Their last date had been... unsettling. Intense. Not entirely unwanted and more troubling for that Bruce had wanted it in the moment. He had not considered that J'onn might also be disturbed by it. The hand at his shoulder slowly withdrew, leaving behind a memory of the contact like an ache. They needed to finish out the 30 dates, Batman realized - at the very least move past what they had faced in themselves and each other last night. He closed his eyes and gathered himself for a moment before turning to face J'onn, still wearing the aspect of the Bronze Wraith. He gazed at him for a moment, their impassive expressions hiding a maelstrom of emotions on both sides, he was certain. "Where?" he asked finally. One acknowledging nod from the Bronze Wraith, and then they were off across the rooftops again, this time with J'onn in the lead. He realized their destination as they entered the Rosehill neighborhood, half-startled to discover they were following a route that they had traveled before - 16 years ago. He wondered for a moment whether the choice was deliberate, or if J'onn knew only this round about approach to the place they were headed. He suspected the latter, and he realized that had been the last time he had seen the Bronze Wraith. Batman had been young then, just starting his mission. He rarely considered how bare bones his operation had been then, before Dick had joined his crusade. Only the ignorance of youth had seen him through those early years, an unconsciousness of what could not be done had allowed him to defy the impossible. He knew no other responsibility, throwing himself at the streets night after night, setting patterns that would define him in time. He had been terribly lonely. Then he had had a romantic attachment to his loneliness, understanding it as part of his mission. He cultivated cool distances between himself and others, embracing his isolation so completely that he had been oblivious to how it was informing his decisions. He knew now how that loneliness had invited Dick Grayson into his life when he himself had been younger than Dick was now. He understood now that that loneliness was what an old jazz musician had seen in him when he invited him to the club he and J'onn were returning to. If the same circumstances arose now, would he do what he had done then, he wondered? He had accepted the invitation in the persona to which it had been offered - as Batman. The club patrons had closed ranks when he appeared, until a word from the old man dissolved their opposition, if not their distrust. He was brought in, seated at a dark table... How much he didn't know then, twenty-two years old, self-proclaimed guardian of Gotham! His world travels had been in search of training, not culture. He had been harsh on himself when his discipline had wavered - in Prague and in Rio de Janeiro - and had returned to his labors with ascetic rigidity. He had never listened to jazz. That night had been startling, eye opening, and it had belonged to the Bat rather than to Bruce Wayne. The walk of the bass, the wail of the trumpet, the reedy call of the clarinet - all found an answering beat in the heart of the Batman, who knew the night as the music did. He had surprised Alfred the next day by installing a stereo system in the Cave, letting saxophone and syncopated drum beats form the backdrop to his training, to his research. But it wasn't the same. He was drawn back to the club every so often, usually listening from the roof, on rare occasion going in. The music haunted him, spoke to his soul in a way little else had. He found himself yearning to *share* it, and the loneliness had flared then into an ache. The newly formed Justice League visited Gotham around that time, and loneliness became a virtue as a territorial instinct rose in him. They were brash and flashy and on some level he had resented their easy powers and fledgling camaraderie. He had been relieved when then finished their publicity junket and moved on, freeing him from the need to teach them who owned Gotham's streets in a fight he wasn't sure he was ready for. Only one of them hadn't left. The Bronze Wraith was waiting for him now on the rooftop across from the club. He landed lightly beside him. "This isn't new," Batman pointed out quietly. "One of Nightwing's suggestions," J'onn answered. "Go someplace you went before you were dating." Of course, Batman thought, the idea would occur to Dick, even outside the context of Kal's challenge. Dick's relationship with Barbara was about rediscovery. He remembered that long ago night, finding the Bronze Wraith on his rooftops. //"This is my city,"// he had said, echoing the first words he had ever said to J'onn, some six months earlier. //"I know,"// J'onn had answered. //"The League will not interfere."// //"So why are you here?"// Batman had challenged, angered that the League had been there at all, had attracted a battle earlier in the day. The Bronze Wraith - J'onn - had looked at him then, mutely, the eyes behind his mask speaking to Batman's loneliness, echoing it. Batman had no good explanation for why the trust he had withheld on their first meeting flowed so easily in that moment. He had already learned to distrust his gut reactions when confronting people unknown to him; villains like Poison Ivy had demonstrated all too well how instinct could be made to betray. But the haunted loneliness in J'onn's eyes had not been directed, had not sought to find a companion in Bruce Wayne. It had recognized something in *Batman*, and Batman in his turn had felt kinship with it. //"Come,"// he had said then, and he repeated the command now. "Come." He dropped off the rooftop and approached the entrance to the club, knowing the Bronze Wraith was only a step behind. The old musician who had made that first invitation was long dead, but Batman had been back over the years. Occasionally the night would draw him back to the club where no one questioned his arrival, where the same table seemed always to be free. The doorman was not a man Batman had seen before, but he seemed undisturbed to find the shadow of the Bat looming over him. "He with you?" he asked, nodding past Batman to the Bronze Wraith. "Yes." Another nod. "No cover," he said. "Go on in." They did, and the dark, candleless table in the corner was waiting. The band was playing Ellington's "In a Sentimental Mood," the piano evoking rainy evenings as the bass roamed familiar city streets. Glasses of water appeared on the table in front of them, but beyond that they were let alone. The saxophonist began to weave mellow tones through the smoky air. Under the table, J'onn's knee just touched the side of Batman's thigh. They were silent, just as they had been all those years ago. There had been a difference, though. Batman remembered his own sense of pride and ... excitement ... in showing this corner of his world to someone new, someone whom he believed would understand. And J'onn - his awe had been palpable, as had been his yearning. Batman had been pleased that he had gauged correctly, and also scared, although he hadn't admitted to himself until now. He had not been prepared to see how his own loneliness was a pale shadow in the face of what J'onn felt. From within the darkness of his own loss, he had not entertained how someone else's loss could be greater. The jazz had unlocked something in J'onn just as it had in Batman, and that unlocking had revealed how very deep and wide the chasm between them must be. It had not occurred to Bruce how startling, how daunting it must have been for J'onn, to release some of that hurt into the music. He had not known then how much control the Martian normally exerted over his feelings. He knew now, and he knew that the ensuing years had closed the chasm between them. The world had taught Batman about those deeper losses - the loss of a child, the loss of teammates, the loss of love. But it had also taught J'onn to open himself to his adopted home, to trust again, to reach out. He reached out now, the Bronze Wraith's hand finding Batman's under the table, twining fingers together. The band began a Coltrane song. The jazz still evoked the lonely. But now, Batman recognized, it also evoked the love. To be continued... *********date 30************* 30/30 - Start Back to One by Darklady and Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: R Monitor duty was blessedly slow. Either the forces of chaos had decided to take the day off or - more likely - they were just resting up for the next round. In either case - the planet in the middle of the monitor screen was... not untroubled - no planet of umpteen billion people even managed untroubled - but at least currently unafflicted by any disaster which would justify calling out the JLA. Even Batman had non-verbally conceded the point, having propped Bruce Wayne's never-ending pile of business reports on top of the keyboard. Green Lantern was also reading - although from his feet-up posture the topic was decidedly less grim. "Here's a good one." Kyle tapped a button - sending the printer nearest the Bat into a discreet whirl. "Skiing." Batman picked up the sheet without comment. Kyle clicked off his screen. "I took Jade to Sun Valley last year. Stayed at the old Lodge. Wonderful weekend." "Really?" "Definitely recommended." " Kyle continued - undeterred by chill response. He was - after all - without fear. "Perfect powder all day, and afterwards you can snuggle in front of the roaring... Oops..." Right, Kyle remembered. Martians. Fire. Not good. "Or maybe not." The silence thickened as Batman stared unwaveringly at the situation screen. "What else have they got?" ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ He could definitely feel the altitude as he finally crested the forested rise and set his skis back parallel for the more level track. He caught a glimpse of Kenshu Mei's powder blue parka paused on the path far ahead of him and forced back a hint of competitive irritation. Of course it was easier for her - Martians didn't mind thin air. He rapidly disciplined the internal complaint, lecturing himself about shugyo as he pushed his poles into the crusted snow and levered himself forward into the established trail. He was quite certain Kyle had something more resort-like in mind when he suggested skiing, and Bruce had to confess to visions of high speed downhill, but once J'onn entered into the planning? Bruce Wayne was startled to learn that New Concept Industries owned a cabin in the Rockies, isolated in a little private valley accessible only on foot or by helicopter in an emergency. And once the idea of using it was planted? J'onn insisted that it be their final date, that they make an overnight visit if they couldn't swing a whole weekend... He caught up to Mei just as she was closing what seemed to be an oversized mailbox or some kind of wooden food safe perched near the side of the trail. Her backpack was resting at her feet, the top pocket open. "There you are," she remarked cheerfully as Bruce coasted to a stop. Her voice had a brittle loudness in the still cold, and it reached him faintly muffled through his hat and hood. Bruce offered a smile that he knew would be invisible under the scarf wrapped over his face. "Can't ditch me that easily," he shot back, pleased that he didn't sound as breathless as he felt. "What are you doing?" Mei bent to close up her backpack, her gloved fingers fumbling with zippers and clasps. "Just leaving some pipe tobacco and books for Slow Fox." She glanced up at him as she hefted her pack and slung it over her shoulders, resettling the straps. "That way he knows we arrived and he'll stay clear of the cabin." "Caretaker?" Bruce reached out to help resituated Mei's pack. "Something like that," Mei agreed. "Thanks." She took up her ski poles, which were leaning against a tree, and carefully lifted first one ski and then the other to resettle them in the track. "All right. Maybe fifteen minutes more. You holding up okay?" There was a hint of teasing in Mei's tone, followed by a little laugh that suggested she *felt* Bruce's answering scowl. "I can keep up," he replied. A motion of Mei's hood suggested one backward glance as she said, "Good!" Then she was off, moving swiftly across the snow. She was taking her skis off outside the "cabin" when Bruce caught up with her again, her scarf and hood pulled down so Bruce could see the cold rosiness of her cheeks. Bruce wished there were more of a slope leading down to her so he could spray her with snow, but instead he had to struggle up a mild grade to the side of what seemed more like an Alpine chateau than a cabin. "Still worried about getting in a workout tonight?" Mei teased, lifting her skis and leaning them against the wall beside her. Bruce maneuvered around so he could sit beside her. "You should worry you wore me out for *any* kind of workout," he warned. Mei giggled, one hand over her mouth politely. "Poor Bruce. Do I need to teach you Martian mind tricks?" Bruce set his ski poles aside and pulled his scarf down, watching his released breath cloud the air in warm puffs. "I think you might have to practice some Martian massage tricks." He stretched his arms and rotated his shoulders. They would be a little stiff in the morning, the muscles twinging from the less familiar lateral work he'd been demanding of them. Mei smiled and stood, slipping one foot between Bruce's skis in order to lean down and kiss his cheek. Her lips were warm against his chilled flesh. "Don't take too long to come in," she warned. "Your sweat will cool quickly." He reached gloved hands out to rest against her well muffled body and pulled her closer in order to kiss her lips. "Mmm. And I've got the promise of something warm to come in to." From this close, Bruce could see her eyes close beneath her sunglasses, and her teeth pressed against her lower lip as he released her from his kiss. "Don't make me wait too long," she said huskily. Then she cleared her throat and stepped clear of him. "See you inside." Bruce caught her hand. "Promise?" "All of me," she promised, slipping free of him and entering the cabin through a lean-to foyer. Bruce undid his skis quickly and followed Mei's example, leaving them leaning on the outside wall. His first couple of steps were stumbling as he adjusted to moving in his ski boots, but he was soon out of those as well, stripping them off in the foyer and setting them neatly beside the pair Mei had left. Parka and ski pants followed, hung on hooks clearly there for that purpose, and then he stepped into a spacious split-level dwelling, toasty warm despite the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over a spectacular view of the mountains. Mei was nowhere to be seen, but the sound of running water offered a clue to her whereabouts. The sound led him to a spacious bedroom, now hopelessly cluttered with various layers of Mei's clothing. The water sounds were coming from behind a closed door to the left - a door upon which Mei had affixed a piece of legal paper scrawled with coral colored lipstick. Bruce's lips curled up into a smile as he read the note and reached for the buttons of his flannel overshirt. "Join me." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ It was good they arrived when they did, Bruce reflected, watching the swirling snow settle over the landscape. The scent of mulling cider filled the air of the cabin, evoking still distant holidays. Ace draped lightly over Bruce's frame, easily taking the form of a royal blue silk kimono - the color a mental suggestion from Mei, who had commented on how well it suited Bruce's coloring as she tied his belt. He was warm, well fed on a solid meal of venison and potatoes, comfortable, yet... A set of arms wound around his waist from behind, accompanied by the slightest of mental touches that relaxed his suddenly tensed muscles before his fighting instincts kicked in. *It's just me.* Bruce turned in the circle of Mei's arms. "You are the only person who can sneak up on me," he told her, bringing his own arms up in a loose embrace. She tightened her hold and leaned her cheek against his chest. "Something's troubling you." He stroked his hand over the glossy length of her black hair. "Just wondering about your Native American friend." "Native American friend?" "The one you left the tobacco for?" A chuckle sounded from Mei. "Slow Fox? He's not Native American." "No?" "No. Just a deluded New Yorker. He's a harmless old hermit, and he's fine. But you are trying to distract me rather than answer my question." "I can never fool you, can I?" "Not unless I want to be fooled," Mei agreed, leaning back from him so she could study his face. There was concern in her dark green eyes. "Talk to me, Bruce." Bruce traced his fingers over her face before turning back to watch the snow. "I've been thinking about the last month," he confessed. Mei shifted so she was standing beside him, her fingers lacing into his. He watched their reflections, the Gotham billionaire and the pretty Japanese woman in matching kimonos. The window reflection had something of the effect of a fuzzy filter, obscuring Bruce's scars, making them look like Hollywood representations of lovers. "Are you annoyed that Clark is going to win the bet?" Mei suggested. One corner of Bruce's mouth quirked into an ironic smile, and internally, he smiled more deeply for the respectful way in which J'onn was NOT reading his thoughts, but rather letting him talk. "I knew Clark had the bet won on our first date," he revealed. Mei glanced at him. "Really?" "When Sinclaire Johnson gave the maitre-d' at Maison l'Argent that tongue lashing for being a racist? That was ... a learning moment." He saw a smile flit across Mei's face in the reflection. "You were surprised that I would make a scene?" "I don't think it was that so much," Bruce denied. "Sinclaire is not exactly a character given to suffer in silence. It was more..." Bruce trailed off, thinking. The sky was darkening outside, reducing visibility still further as the snow continued to fall. Mei raised his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it, a gesture of patience, letting him know she would listen as long as he would talk. "I - I think I'm actually a little ashamed of my reaction," Bruce decided. "You wanted to ravage me right there on one of the restaurant tables?" Mei suggested, a hint of a smile back on her face. "I often have that reaction to you." "N-no," Bruce paused, suddenly hearing what Mei had said and blushing slightly. "Not that I didn't - I mean -" Now Mei laughed lightly. "I so rarely fluster you," she delighted. Bruce gave her a sidelong look and then put an arm over her shoulders to give her a squeeze. "Another of your unique talents." She leaned into him, relaxing into his warmth. "So are you going to tell me your reaction?" He was quiet for a moment. "I was proud of you." Mei did not respond immediately. "I don't really have a right to be," Bruce continued. "You're not my child or my protégé. I don't own you. And it wasn't like it was about what Sinclaire was doing. It was *you*. When you were standing there cutting that maitre-d' down to size with perfect rapid fire French, I wasn't seeing Sinclaire, I was seeing *you.* J'onn. And I was thinking 'it's about time.'" Mei frowned. "About time?" "Everything that you were saying as Sinclaire, about equal rights and dignity and respect - I know you were playing a role, but ... but that's you, too. *You* deserve all those things, and so often you just..." Bruce trailed off, feeling an unwelcome note of accusation coming into his tone. He wasn't upset with J'onn, he just - *I understand,* J'onn's voice whispered in his mind. With the words came an inexpressible surge of love and warmth, and a faint sense of surprise that still occasionally radiated from J'onn at realizing how deeply Bruce loved him. Someday, Bruce vowed to himself, that surprise would disappear. Outside the window, the darkness had deepened. Now only the light from the cabin illuminated the falling snow, making a crazy, twisting sparkle of furiously swift white flakes seem to explode toward them out of nowhere. It was dizzying, but Bruce continued to watch, his thoughts elsewhere. He was almost startled when Mei's arm gave him another squeeze before releasing him. "I'm going to get us some cider," she said. "Maybe we can retire to the couch to talk some more?" She didn't wait for the nod Bruce gave her, instead heading directly for the kitchen. Bruce watched her go, appreciating the slenderly strong legs that the kimono showed to such advantage. He had at one point been impressed at the variety of beautiful bodies J'onn managed to craft, no two alike and none less beautiful than another. Now he was beginning to suspect that he would find beauty in any identity J'onn assumed. He shook himself, now free of the mesmerizing effect of the snow storm, and turned to take a seat on the luxurious sofa that stretched nine feet long in front of a huge stone fireplace. His gaze settled emptily on the glass framed firebox as he once again lost himself in thought. "We could light it, if you like," Mei's voice suggested, drawing him out of his reverie. "Wh- no. J'onn - Mei - why-" She handed him a mug of cider. "Isn't that the romantic thing to do when you're snowed in in the middle of nowhere? Curl up in front of a fire and - " "And know that your lover is trembling in your arms from raw terror and not because of your technique?" Mei shrugged and settled in on the sofa near to Bruce, bringing her legs up under her as she sipped on her beverage. "If it's behind the fire screen..." "No," Bruce said flatly. He set his cider down on the broad coffee table and turned to watch Mei. She wasn't looking at him, was staring into the middle distance taking tiny sips of hot cider. He moved closer to her, his motion bringing her eyes questioningly to his face. He said nothing, just gently relieved her of her mug, which he set on the coffee table beside his own. He kept hold of one of her hands and studied her face earnestly for a long moment. Mei met his gaze steadily, and Bruce realized she was trying to open a way for him to talk about what he was feeling. He was not quite sure what inspired the fire suggestion, but it did jog something free in Bruce's mind, making him aware of a growing feeling he had not had words to express. "J'onn," he finally said, "this identity is lovely. They've all been lovely. But..." He trailed off, and without further encouragement, Mei's features gave way to green. It was J'onn sitting beside him, there in his trueform, eyes regarding Bruce curiously but without judgment. Bruce ran his thumb over the green hand still clasped in his. "Thirty days. Thirty different lovers. It was... exciting." J'onn nodded, resting the slender fingers of his free hand on Bruce's knee. "I - I won't lie to you - couldn't lie to you. I *like* variety. I like sex, as much as Alfred would be appalled to have me say so so baldly. But..." J'onn's fingers gave a little squeeze, but he didn't interrupt, seeming to sense that Bruce needed to finish what he was saying. Bruce flashed him a grateful little smile before continuing. "I told you before, I fell in love with *you,* not any of the roles you play." Bruce stretched out a hand to touch J'onn's narrow cheek. "I like the array of beauties, I do. But I've been missing you." J'onn's fingers left Bruce's knee to curl over the hand that Bruce still rested against J'onn's cheek. His eyes glowed. "I'm right here," he whispered. Bruce leaned forward, softly pressing his lips to J'onn's. He let his hands travel over the dry green skin, exploring the long, slender body. He finally broke the kiss with a sigh, pressing his forehead to J'onn's. "You are so beautiful," he breathed. J'onn remained still in his arms, and Bruce could sense a certain disbelief in him. Bruce leaned back a little. "You are," he insisted. "Your form is so... perfect to what you are, to who you are." "Alien," J'onn stated quietly, gazing down at the hands that had settled into his lap. "J'onn," Bruce corrected. Then softly, almost hesitantly, "Light to the light." J'onn's eyes shot up, and he studied Bruce wonderingly. "You remember that?" "It is what your mother named you. I could not forget." A sigh escaped J'onn, and he smiled tentatively. "You are a wondrous man, Bruce Wayne." "Not yet," Bruce disagreed mildly. "I am still learning." J'onn's smile grew, and he reached his arms around Bruce, drawing him down to lie beside him on the couch. He shifted as he moved to a more humanoid variation of his trueform, pressing a slim finger to Bruce's lips when his lover frowned. "Martians were not made to lie on their backs," he pointed out. "This is more comfortable for me." Bruce nodded, resting his head on J'onn's shoulder. He breathed in the sandstone scent of his lover, content. "What else have you learned?" J'onn wondered, resting a hand on the leg Bruce hooked possessively around his midsection and running his fingers over it in little circles. Bruce's hand stroked over J'onn's chest, half surprised to find small breasts there to cup and cradle. "You don't-" he began, but J'onn shushed him. "Would you rather I grew chest hair to give your hands something to do?" Bruce chuckled. "No," he allowed, letting the backs of his fingers trail down J'onn's side, smoothing his hand over green skin. He wondered if Ace's version of silk felt different to J'onn's senses than zo'ok's did. "I learned you cheat at football," he teased. J'onn's hand gave his thigh a playful slap. "Hey, it's true!" Bruce objected, rubbing his stinging flesh before settling his hand on J'onn's belly. He pulled himself a little closer to J'onn, nuzzling his cheek against J'onn's chest. "Scratchy," J'onn remarked, bringing his fingers to rub along Bruce's jaw. "Someone interrupted me before I could shave," Bruce observed. "Mmm," J'onn replied, giving Bruce a little squeeze. Bruce sighed comfortably, letting his hand again work its way up J'onn's torso as he thought. "I learned - no, realized-" he corrected, "that I have... issues... with control." He waited for a smart comeback, but J'onn was listening now, recognizing the conscious struggle Bruce was having with this discovery. "It would be very easy for me to... to use you," Bruce confessed. J'onn tightened his arm, and the hand that had returned to Bruce's thigh went still. "You can answer my physical desires so perfectly without me saying even a word. And having Batman and Bruce Wayne in the same place... I... have used... people before. People I love." Bruce felt J'onn's face press against the top of his head in a gentle kiss. "You're getting better," he remarked. Bruce shook his head. "I need to learn... better... how to separate -" He paused, frustrated. "You don't want emotion to cloud your judgment in battle," J'onn offered, earning a nod from Bruce. "But -" he prompted. Bruce contemplated. "I don't want... I guess I don't want us to always be about what I want." "We're not, you know." "I know. Just... this bet..." "I seem to recall that I picked the dog show," J'onn reminded him. "Yeah, but Desiree? That form?" "And that day at the gym." Bruce lifted his head a little. "J'onn." "I'm just saying that we've both -" "J'onn," he said again, frowning slightly. J'onn fell silent, his eyes staring at the ceiling as his hand traced circles against Bruce's shoulder. Bruce kept his tone gentle, not quite certain how to address what was bothering him without ordering or demanding. "We need to talk about that night in the Watchtower." J'onn's hand paused for an instant, then began those lazy circles again. "Okay," he assented, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "I was... upset that you weren't a beautiful woman." J'onn didn't say anything. Bruce pushed up, pulling free of J'onn's hand and propping himself up with one arm. He watched J'onn's face. "You... Kristin... was upset that I didn't want her." J'onn nodded slowly. He was still staring at the ceiling. "Sit up," Bruce directed, pulling his own legs up. J'onn obeyed, sitting cross-legged and looking down at his lap. Bruce reached out, touching J'onn's cheek. "It wasn't just the persona that was crying." "No," J'onn whispered. Bruce waited, not sure how far he should push, not used to taking the lead in this kind of conversation. Finally, "You were upset that I didn't want you." J'onn raised his eyes mutely, and Bruce saw the hurt in them. "Oh, J'onn," he breathed, reaching out to hug his lover to him tightly. "I always want you. I love you. You are-" Words failed him, and he tightened his hold desperately. "Please understand. Even when I'm being stupid. I need you. J'onn..." J'onn's arms came up slowly, wrapped around Bruce. His face pressed into Bruce's shoulder, and they held each other in silence until J'onn finally raised his head and began kissing Bruce's face, softly but with a certain urgency. Their lips finally met, for reassurance rather than out of desire or lust, and Bruce began to stroke J'onn's back soothingly. J'onn relaxed his hold at last, pulling back with a self-conscious kind of gasping laugh, pressing his forehead to Bruce's. He licked his lips and seemed to search for words. "You're not the only one in this relationship who's learning, Bruce," he said hoarsely. Bruce closed his eyes and let one hand come up to the back of J'onn's head, pulling him forward for another kiss. He sent a tentative invitation through Ace: please, J'onn, open your mind to me... There was the soft tickle of telepathic contact, and Bruce tried to convey how much he loved, how deeply... J'onn pushed him back, toppling him onto the couch without breaking contact with his mouth. He straddled Bruce, kisses moving from lips to jaw line to throat to shoulder, then he settled his body against Bruce's, skin to skin, Ace taking its cue and shrinking down to a circlet on Bruce's wrist. Bruce brought his hands around the slim green back, feeling J'onn's body rippling against him, the soft press of J'onn's lips over the artery in his neck. *I need you, too,* J'onn projected. //*Half of my whole.*// Bruce's mind thrilled at their vow, at their truth, his body alive under J'onn's touch. He touched J'onn's chin with his fingertips, leading lips again to lips. The kiss was tender, deep and soft at the same time. Knowing and known. Theirs, like everything else. Greater than 30 different entries into what was possible, a testament to what was. //*Whole of my half,*// Bruce finished the phrase, and in the silence of a snowy mountain night, they completed one another. end *********************** EPILOGUE By Chicago Disclaimers in "Opening Credits". Rating: G Clark Kent waited patiently in a line that wound through the cafe at the downtown Metropolis Boundaries. Soft classical music played soothingly over the store sound system, providing a pleasant background to the muted tones of conversation. "...never would've thought of that office note..." "...my Frank was just..." "...normally don't buy this kind of..." The line shifted forward another few feet, and Clark tucked his book more securely under his arm. "...so romantic..." "...wife didn't know what to say..." "...everything she writes..." Another bit of movement, and now Clark could catch glimpses of the table up front. "...best night since the kids..." "...really adored..." It was almost work to keep the faint smile off his face. After all, here he was just another fan, and one of only a handful of men on queue. He worked on cultivating the distant, I'm not really here gaze that marked the faces of the other males waiting there. The woman in front of him was at the table. "I can't tell you how much this book helped us. We were going through such a rough patch with me going back to work and Jerry changing jobs..." And then it was his turn. He carefully pulled his book out from under his arm and opened it to the flyleaf, smiling at the slender woman sitting at the table. "Hello," she greeted. "Would you like this personalized or just-" Clark cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um, if you could make it to Clark and Lois..." The green-eyed blonde smiled. "Of course." She leaned over the book, her pen flowing across the page. "Here you go, Clark," she said when she was done, handing the book back with a twinkle in her eye. Clark accepted it and headed back out of the store, waiting until he was to the corner of the next street to open it and see what she had written. He grinned broadly at the words, closing the book as the light turned green to allow him to cross back to the Daily Planet building. He was mentally going through his schedule as he stepped into the elevator and headed back to the office, wondering what Lois would say when she read the message set down in a feminine hand on the fly leaf of his copy of "Revive your Romance:" To Clark and Lois- Double Date next Tuesday? "Lavender Larkspur" end