First Kisses

Ugly_Girl

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Don't make money from them, although I wish to hell I did.

Summary: A conversation leads to a kiss. One shot. Inspired by Trinity #3. Ignores JLA #90. BM/WW ship. Rated PG-13.

"Diana, what about you?"

Looking up in surprise, Diana halted. She'd come to the embassy kitchen expecting it to be empty – it was 2:00 AM, after all – but Rachel and Jonah were sitting at the table, sharing what looked like several bottles of wine. Probably celebrating the end of Diana's successful book tour.

Rachel tilted a bottle, refilling her glass. Hiding a smile, Diana wondered, "What about me?"

Jonah leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head as he gazed at his employer. Well, tried to gaze. Diana noticed that he seemed to have trouble focusing on her. "Your first kiss. Was it Superman?"

Jonah had met Superman in person his first day at work, and his hero-worship had grown by leaps and bounds since. He couldn't think of anything more romantic than the Man of Steel giving Wonder Woman her first kiss.

Jonah mentioned that last part out loud, but Diana didn't think he'd meant to, or even realized that he did.

She smiled, remembering the first time she had kissed Superman. She'd had a young woman's crush on him; Clark had taken her by surprise with his kiss, and she hadn't known exactly how to respond. And she discovered that she hadn't exactly wanted to respond. They'd decided to remain friends afterwards.

"No, Superman wasn't my first," she finally said, grabbing an apple and leaning against a counter.

"Was it Aquaman? Is there something to that rumor that you two had a romance when you were teenagers?"

Diana burst into laughter. "There is a rumor that says that?" She laughed harder, trying to imagine such a scenario between a teen Arthur and herself.

Jonah blinked at her. "I've heard that one, too. It makes sense, Diana," he said with the urgency of a drunk man trying to win an argument that didn't matter. "You lived on an island. Surrounded by water." He emphasized the last word, as if she wouldn't make the connection herself.

Diana grinned. "No, he wasn't my first, either. Although he did kiss me to wake me from the spell of a fairy tale sorceress once."

Rachel leaned forward, her eyes dreamy. "Really? Tell us about it," she said.

"Later," Jonah said. "We've still got to hear about her first one. Was it one of the Greek gods? Overcome by your beauty?"

Smiling, Diana pushed herself away from the counter. "It would disappoint you, Jonah. It was from a human man."

"Was it good?" Rachel asked.

"It was…unexpected," Diana said slowly, remembering.

Her first mission with Batman and Superman. A battle with Ra's Al-Ghul and Bizarro had left Diana so injured she'd been forced to use the Lazarus Pit to heal herself. Unfortunately, however, the magic in the pit had overwhelmed her, forcing her to retreat to Themyscira to regain control over herself. Batman and Superman, out of concern, had followed her to the island.

Batman had come upon her while she'd been bathing the last of the effects of the pit from her skin; overwhelmed by the island, and Diana herself, he'd pulled her against him, kissing her breathless.

She'd punched him, of course.

Rachel and Jonah were waiting expectantly for her to continue; when she didn't, Jonah urged, "Was it good, Diana? First kisses always should be the most romantic, don't you think?" He looked to Rachel for confirmation, who nodded agreement.

"No," Diana said. "It wasn't romantic. I didn't even like him at the time."

"But you do now?"

"Have you kissed him since?"

They spoke at the same time. Diana smiled mysteriously, and walked to the door. At the last moment, she turned, said, "Yes. To both your questions."

Jonah's final question floated down the hall after her. "Well, was the second better than the first?"

Munching her apple, Diana strolled to the transporter, thinking about that question. Was the second better? It had been just as unexpected as the first, but mutual. She remembered the screaming pain in her shoulder, the furious beating of her heart, her blood heated from battle. The despair mixed with hope as Bruce outlined the plan that would lead them to their deaths at the hands of ancient warriors from Obsidian Age Atlantis. The desperation and comfort she found as she leaned toward him, and he reached for her. They'd kissed, and then she'd died holding his hand.

It hadn't been romantic in the sense Jonah and Rachel meant, but it had been right.

The Watchtower was quiet, and she didn't see anyone on her way to the Monitor Womb. Inside the room, Batman sat in front of the bank of monitors. She paused in surprise.

"Monitor duty before seven in the morning, Batman? Who's in Gotham?"

"Batgirl and Robin." He stood and stretched, a rare sign of his susceptibility to human discomforts that he probably wouldn't have shown in front of anyone else. "I had to use the lab up here anyway, so I volunteered for duty tonight."

"Two birds with one stone, so to speak?"

"Something like that," he said.

She settled into the monitoring chair, listened as he updated her on a couple of developing situations. When he finished, she looked up at him curiously.

"Who was your first kiss?"

If he was surprised by her question, he didn't show it. "Why?" he asked bluntly.

"Rachel and Jonah were asking me about mine," she said. "They seemed to find something inherently magical and romantic in a first kiss. I was thinking about it when I transported here, and now that I've seen you I wondered if yours was."

He remained silent for a moment, then finally said, "Stacy Miller. First grade. It was a dare."

"Was it good?" she unconsciously echoed Rachel's question.

"Good?" A slight smile touched his mouth. "Yes. As good as a kiss in first grade can be."

"What about after puberty? When girls weren't 'icky' anymore." Her voice was laced with humor.

All traces of his smile disappeared. "I don't think you want to know that one."

She grabbed his hand when he would have turned to go. "Yes, I do."

He tugged his hand from hers, crossed his arms across his chest, but he didn't leave. "I was fifteen. I don't know her name. I never knew," he admitted.

"Why not?"

"Because I'd decided that one way to relieve myself of the pain and anger I felt was through sex, and made it my mission for the better part of two years," he said. His tone was self-mocking, as if the boy he'd been should have known better. "I met a girl, kissed her, then screwed her. I was young and rich and good-looking, and they lined up."

Diana didn't let her pity for that boy show, knowing he'd hate it, reject it. "Well, obviously sex didn't work," she observed dryly instead, looking at his costume.

Her comment startled him; he gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. "No. No, it didn't," he agreed.

They smiled at each other for a moment, until he said, "And you?"

"You."

"No," he said patiently, "I mean, 'what about you?'"

"It was you," she said, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "On Themyscira."

His face was expressionless. "Does that bother you?"

"Bother me?" Diana laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I wasn't a girl that dreamed of men or women, or her first kiss," she said. A flicker of disappointment flashed across his face briefly, but she didn't see it. "So it wasn't as if you shattered some fantasy of mine. And now," she admitted, finally looking back up at him, "it's a memory that I look on with fondness."

"Fondness?" He looked pained at the word.

"I suppose that isn't very flattering to your male ego, hmm?" she said, grinning.

"About as flattering as your punch," he said, rubbing his jaw at the memory.

"I wouldn't have hit you if I knew you as I do now,' she said. "You were such an arrogant ass. Well, you still are," she amended with a smile, "but it's tolerable now. So I'm very fond of our kisses."

"I'm thrilled that you think so," he said sardonically. "I wouldn't have kissed you if I knew you as I do now."

Her breath caught at the cruelty of the statement, but he didn't give her time to respond. He leaned in, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair. "At the time, I was overwhelmed by your beauty, by paradise," he intoned, his voice gravelly. "And I kissed you because of that. But if I had known then how you can get under a man's skin, make him dream of you and everything you represent without hope of attainment, I would never have touched you. At least in Atlantis I had you for that brief moment. That dream attained. Now, it's gone again, and only looked on with fondness." He spit the last word out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

He straightened and left, leaving her stunned, staring after him.

****

He berated himself as he showered the grime of Gotham from his body. He'd patrolled from the time he'd left the Watchtower until dawn streaked across the sky, but the night had been quiet and only given him additional time to brood over his outburst in the monitor room.

An outburst that was triggered by anger at himself, he admitted. Diana's first kiss had been a virtual rape of her privacy, of her mouth, and he had been the one to do it. He had been under some kind of influence, he knew – but that didn't excuse it.

And she looked on it with fondness. As she did their kiss before dying.

He swore, twisted the knob viciously, stopping the stream of water. The bathroom was filled with thick steam, and he reached out of the glass partition blindly, pulling a towel from the warmer. He wrapped it loosely around his waist, and stepped out onto the plush bath mat.

He froze, immediately recognizing the figure in black standing next to the marble sink.

"Diana—"

She strode toward him—

"—what are you—"

—closer, lifting her arms—

"—doing here—"

She pulled his head down to hers, cutting off his question with her lips. His own mouth opened in surprise, and she took advantage of it, teasing his tongue with her own, until he finally regained his wits and held her close, burying his hands in her hair as he returned the kiss.

She stepped back eventually, uncaring that the front of her black turtleneck sweater was soaked, clinging to her form like a second skin. Her breathing was ragged, as was his.

They stared at each other.

He finally broke the silence, somewhat dumbly, he thought later. "How did you get in?"

She looked down at herself, gesturing to the outfit that would have suited a cat burglar. "I was going to break in, but Alfred opened the door for me instead."

Not sure whether to thank Alfred or be angry at him, he said, "Why?"

"Because he's a very good butler?" she said, eyes dancing with humor.

He closed his, said patiently, "Why did you come?"

She regarded him seriously before saying, "To tell you that first kisses are never the most important. Last ones are." When he didn't respond, but simply stood watching her, she turned and walked out of the bathroom into his bedroom, counting on him to follow her.

He did, not bothering to put on the robe hanging next to the bathroom door. She stood by the French doors leading to his balcony, the early morning sun lighting her face almost reverently.

She opened the door, and he realized that she was going to leave. The cool air brushed his wet skin, and he shivered involuntarily. "Diana?"

She turned. "That first kiss was just that: a first kiss. Nothing more, nothing less. On Atlantis, it was the first time I kissed someone because I loved him."

"And here?" He had to know. She'd mentioned last kisses – did she intend this to be their last? He didn't question why that idea made his stomach clench. Or was it their last kiss so far?

She looked him up and down, over his wet, slicked hair, chiseled features, defined musculature. She flicked a glance to the bed, then back to him. "It was a first kiss that leads to other firsts. Or it was the last kiss plagued by uncertainty. For me, it was my first kiss born of passion for a man. But it won't be my last."

"Our last," he said, as if warning her, and she smiled.

She turned, lifted into the air, hovering over his balcony. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He watched her until she disappeared from view, then softly shut the doors. Pressing a button on an intercom, he said, "Thank you, Alfred."

The older man replied in his cultured tones, "I can not take the credit, sir. I was overwhelmed."

Bruce looked out the window, and the place he'd last seen her. He could still taste her on his lips. She'd been imprinted there since their encounter in paradise. "So was I," he said.

The end.