Superman/Wonder Woman: Power Couple


Story 1: Beautiful and a Little Bit Strange


Author's Note:

"Beautiful and a Little Bit Strange" begins what will become a series of gapfillers for the new Superman/Wonder Woman comic. All the stories will be added here as new chapters but will, in truth, be new stories (one-shots) based on some "missing" aspect/scene/character reflection, etc. of the ongoing SM/WW comic that I would like to explore. In essence, scenes I would like to have seen, conversations I would like to have read, or a perspective I think should have been further developed. This is just a fun idea for me that I will devote time to when it permits and when story-worthy ideas manifest. Hope you enjoy.


London

Thousands of miles in the air and a mile from his destination, Clark glided to a stop. Hovering, he stayed precisely where he was, simply enjoying the radiance of the sun shining down on him. It was a lovely London day, not a rain cloud in sight. And while Clark could bask in the beauty of the capital of England, a leading global city with strengths in the arts, commerce, education, entertainment, fashion, finance, healthcare, media, professional services, tourism and transport, it paled in comparison to the goddess awaiting him.

There, a mile to the south, standing on a balcony, raven tresses billowing in the wind, was beauty personified. Diana. Her name came unbidden to his mind, her image rolling over him in a nervous tide of anticipation and desire.

From his perch in the clouds, Clark took advantage of his inhuman sight and did something he never did when they were together or in the presence of others. He drank her in, staring with a boyish awe Clark thought he'd long ago outgrown. Yet here he was, risking being late for their dinner date just to watch her lovely form.

Diana of Themyscria was undoubtedly the most stunning woman Clark had ever met. To pretend otherwise would be a lie. To act as if he were too upright in his thinking, too civilized, or too well raised to not notice and appreciate a woman as gorgeously made as Diana was both laughable and ridiculous. Alien or not, superhero or not, farm boy or not, at the end of the day Clark Kent was a man. And this man, the one unashamedly watching the woman watching the skies for him, couldn't not take a private minute to, like the rays of the sun, bask in the warmth and glory that was Diana.

But it wasn't for just a minute. One turned into two then into five and finally into ten. Holding firm to his present for Diana in one hand, Clark knew it was past time for him to go to her. Still, he didn't move, not quite ready to end his star gazing. With reluctance at having to set aside his guilty pleasure, as well as an eagerness to begin his date, Clark smiled then shot through the air, a speeding bullet of anticipation.

Increasing velocity the nearer he got, Clark, in a blur, circled around Diana who waited for him on her balcony. While her hearing and sight were not as acute as his own, Clark knew Diana had spotted him long before he landed behind her. Still, he was in a playful and, yes, somewhat nervous mood.

She turned, and Diana's welcoming smile did all kinds of weird things to Clark's steel stomach. Shoulder propped against a wall, right hand in his pocket, his gift in his left hand, Clark was going for cool and confident. His simple, "Hi," and a coy smile all he managed when Diana turned her spectacular sapphire eyes on him.

Handing Diana the flower and swallowing his nerves, Clark carefully observed her reaction. Like everything she said and did, her reaction was honest and worth the wait. "This is lovely. I've never seen anything like it. Thank you."

She liked it. Inside he beamed but his outward response was casual. "It's a cutting from one of the plants I keep in the Fortress. You can't water it. Use cooking oil instead." What he didn't say was how long it had taken him to select the perfect gift, the perfect plant, the perfect cutting.

Instead, he said, after Diana had taken the multicolored plant from his hand so she could place it on the small table for two behind him, "It's beautiful and a little bit strange. It made me think of you."

Dammit, had he just said that aloud? Had he just called Diana . . . Wonder Woman strange? Thankfully her back was to him so she didn't see him wince. He was trying far too hard, and her words of, "Oh . . . Clark. If I wanted smooth I'd be with Hal Jordan," proved it.

Ah, yeah, right. Well, Clark didn't exactly like Diana, even in jest, talking about being with anyone but him. But then she tilted her head and gazed at him with wonder and sincerity, and Clark relaxed.

"You have so many wonderful things up in that Fortress of yours. Have you ever thought about just letting people see some of them? After all, if people knew more about us, if they knew there wasn't anything to be afraid of, we—"

Clark knew where this was going. It wasn't, unfortunately, a new topic for them. Hoping to keep the conversation from escalating to a place Clark wasn't ready to go, he moved behind Diana and wrapped her in his arms. Warm, soft, and sexy, she always felt so amazing in his arms. But he felt her tension as well, in the way she closed her eyes and held her back with far too much rigidity.

"Flowers aren't the only thing I keep in the Fortress, Diana. I agree with you—I don't like keeping secrets. But some things you have to."

With lightning reflexes he'd seen before but never failed to astound, Diana spun out of his arms and faced Clark, hurt and anger in her eyes and voice. "Like us?"

And the conversation he did not want to have had just escalated. Hell.

"Like us," he said on a sigh. "A secret we have to keep and one I want to keep." Diana didn't understand, Clark could see it in her eyes, so he added with a vulnerability he knew Diana would never take advantage of, "We give them everything. This is ours. At least for now."

Superman and Wonder Woman did give the world everything – their blood, sweat, and tears. Why couldn't Clark and Diana have this? Why couldn't they pretend, at least for a bit longer, that only the two of them existed?

Diana stared at him and Clark at her, neither budging from their respective islands. She didn't get it, how their neat and tidy relationship could unravel so easily once others began to put their worthless two cents in. For Diana, who never had to hide a thing about herself, despite the fact that, until recently, her true parentage was unknown to her, she didn't fully grasp the importance of keeping some of herself for herself. The public, as much as Clark loved and protected them, could be vicious. And Superman and Wonder Woman dating would be the perfect fodder for sensationalists and conspiracy theorists. Every aspect of their work on the Justice League, as well as them as individuals would be subjected to scrutiny. No doubt some people wouldn't care less while others would wish them well, but then there would be those who would fear their union. And it was the prospect of that reaction that most put Clark on edge.

He should've explained all of this to Diana. He should've said and done something more than look down at her as if his word were law and that was the end of the conversation. It wasn't. That much was obvious. Worst, he knew he wasn't being totally fair to Diana. Keeping their relationship a secret, from a woman as open as Diana, was probably tantamount to saying that Clark was ashamed of being with her. She didn't use that word, but the way Diana stared back at him, silent thoughts shimmering in her eyes, something told Clark he'd read her correctly.

Without saying a word, she pivoted away from him, walking back towards the small table where she'd placed his flower. "I have a gift for you as well."

"Oh?" he asked, relieved the standoff was over, but also intrigued by the thought of Diana having a gift for him.

"Yes, something from my culture. You're the most powerful being on the planet—or at least one of them." Diana faced Clark, a shiny and oh so damn sharp short sword in her hand. "My brother Hephaestus made this for me. He tells me it's sharp enough to split an atom in two. It's a staggeringly powerful weapon."

Diana expertly held the weapon, and Clark wondered what in the world she was getting at. And, considering their "agree to disagree" standoff only a moment ago, he didn't like the way she was looking at him.

"That's incredibly generous, Diana, but I don't need a—"

Extending the short sword, Diana leveled it at Clark. "Just like you, Clark. But it doesn't matter how powerful your weapon is . . ."

God dammit, before he knew it, the blade came at him. Clark quickly dodged to his left. "Whoa!"

The deadly blade came again. Clark maneuvered to avoid being sliced and diced. What in the hell? Then Diana stopped, the tip of her sword lined too perfectly with the tip of his nose.

" . . . if you can't hit anything with it," she finished.

Clark ran a confused hand through his hair. When he'd called Diana strange earlier, it may have lacked finesse but his assessment was nose on. Pun definitely intended.

Giving him her back once more, Diana, short sword in hand, walked towards the table where she'd retrieved that wicked blade of hers.

"You're so strong, Clark, but you've never been trained to fight. Power isn't everything. I, on the other hand, studied under the actual God of War since I was a child."

And there went that unabashed honesty of Diana's. Who in the hell went around saying stuff like that? Sure, it was only said to Clark but he knew Diana would think nothing of blurting the same to a reporter or an interested kid or grandma, not thinking how such honesty would be perceived. Being trained by a war god was simply part of her adolescence, nothing to be ashamed of, from her perspective. But to the non-meta population, all they would hear would be "War," and think Diana even more capable of killing them or taking over the world, which, Clark had no problem believing, many already thought them both capable, perhaps even likely to one day do so.

But as Clark watched her respectfully, carefully place the sword beside the table, so confident of who and what she was, he couldn't help but admire Diana. She never hid, not even from herself. She was Princess Diana of Themyscria but also firmly Wonder Woman. For her, there was no push-pull duality the way it was for Clark. She never hid from the world because she wasn't raised to believe that people would fear or hate her for being herself. How wonderful that must have been. As much as Clark and Diana were alike, and they did share much in common, their differences, while not legion, were critical to who they were and what they brought to the relationship.

With a challenge to the man and the hero, Diana said, "You have things to learn, and I'm just the woman to teach you."

Her words, while laced with retreating annoyance, heated his blood. Yes, there were definitely things Clark could learn from Diana. And if they involved no clothes or swords, he was onboard.

Needing to soothe the waters and get their dinner date back on track, Clark walked to Diana and pulled her back to his chest again. He whispered into her hair, "I don't want to fight right now. It seems like that's all we ever do." He quickly realized how his statement, after their disagreement, may have sounded to her. "Not you and me," he tried to clarify, "but—"

Diana turned in his arms. "I know what you meant." Sword and disagreement temporarily forgotten, Diana lifted herself, closing the few inches that separated them in height. With her fingers, she touched his lips with a sensual caress.

Clark closed his eyes, the storm finally passed. As beautiful as Diana was to look upon, it was her inner beauty that had him taking a chance and kissing her those many months ago on the Lincoln Memorial. With a single, but so very important difference in belief, their date could've been ruined. But she'd turned the tables on Clark in her unique Amazonian way, respecting his opinion but not conceding her own. But they did agree on one thing, they wanted to be together. And from the way Diana had just taken Clark's hand and was leading him to the balcony doors, Clark knew precisely how Diana wanted them to be together right now.

Following her through the doors, Clark, who'd eaten nothing since breakfast in anticipation of his date with Diana, was suddenly no longer hungry for food. He would simply subsist on the bounty that was his princess.

When Diana pulled him down onto her bed, Clark recalled something else he loved about this woman. With her, there were no games, which suited Clark just fine because he hated the way some women would play with a man's affections. Once he decided to go for it with Diana, Clark hadn't known how refreshing it would be to be with someone who, not only knew his most important secret, but a woman who didn't need either Superman or Clark Kent but who respected, valued, and wanted him as is.

Kicking off his shoes, Clark settled onto Diana's bed. He loved the firm feel of the sturdy mattress and bedframe under him. It was a perfect bed for sleeping, comfortable and inviting, especially with Diana next to him. But neither of them intended to use it for sleeping right now, nor was it rugged enough to handle their more adventurous lovemaking. But the bed was ideal for slow, soft loving.

Diana cuddled up next to him, her lips instantly pressing to his neck, his ear, his chin.

Shivers went through Clark. The way they invariably did when demi-goddess flesh met Kryptonian heat.

Slipping her hand to his shirt, Diana began to unbutton. Sure and steady, each button came undone until only one remained. Not bothering with the last button, Diana's hand found his exposed, muscular chest and began erotically squeezing and plucking his nipples.

"That's . . . ah, that's good."

She smiled, rose onto an elbow, and kissed him.

The kiss was even better, and so was the tongue that found its way inside. Diana's tongue kisses could melt a polar ice cap. Yet, for Clark, they had the opposite effect, hardening him with each stroke, nip, and suck. Being quiet and taking it ever so easy, while appealing in its own reserved way, was an absolute test of Clark's self-control, particularly since Diana was taking such effort to arouse the hell out of him.

Taking the bait with two hands, Clark hoisted Diana closer to him, liking the feel of her ripe breasts and pert nipples pressed against his bare chest.

"Gods, Clark, you taste so good."

Yeah, so did she; and he would taste much more of her once he ditched their clothing. But they had time for that, no need to rush. They could make love, eat dinner and talk, then make love again. It was a good plan. Any plan that involved a naked Diana and food, was a good plan for Clark Kent.

His hand went to her top, found the hem, and lifted, encountering smooth, toned skin. He wanted the shirt off but that would mean he'd have to stop kissing her first. Not ready to release her lips, Clark settled on massaging the skin he'd revealed, enjoying the small moans from Diana each time he skimmed the underside of a breast.

This was good. This was nice, exactly what they needed. Clark sank deeper into the kiss, his body taut from arousal and, because the world obviously hated him and his impressive hard-on, Cyborg had just contacted him on a private Watchtower frequency, requesting that Superman fly to the Norwegian coast to check on a weather anomaly. Hell, that meant he'd have to stop Diana's delicious hands and mouth, squeeze a disgruntled erection into his tight armor, and leave the warmth of Diana's bed, ruining their date and Clark's sex, dinner, sex plan.

"Ugh," he complained, drawing out of the kiss, and, effectively, ending their nice, quiet evening.


THE END


Author's Note:

If you read issue one, you know what happened next, no getting back to where they'd left off. Doomsday doesn't make for a good aphrodisiac and neither will Zod.