“You have great strength, Clark,” Diana says, as she feints around his left swing, “but your technique leaves something to be desired.”
Deep in the desert, the sunlight causes the ground to shimmer for miles around, and the heat bakes everything it touches, including the two sparring heroes. Their sweat, dripping off both of them, causes steam to rise from the ground, mingling with the red dust that billows around them and clinging to their skin. Now they pause, watching each other, senses heightened for even the slightest of wrong moves. The ground around them is dry, cracked and broken, footprints and imprints of hands and bodies slammed with superhumanly great force into the ground lingering remnants of their sparring. Any living thing for miles around would be discouraged from investigating further by the lingering echoes of the fight rolling through the sky like thunder.
There is something refreshing, Clark thinks, about having someone who can keep up with you in your life.
“You rely heavily on your strength,” Diana asserts. “Too heavily, possibly.”
“Strength’s always worked for me so far,” he responds. And it has. When you can lift a tank over your head and punch through a solid concrete wall, most of the fights you get into tend to be short ones.
“I’m sure it has.” The corner of Diana’s lip quirks. Her eyes run up and down his bare chest; even Kryptonians are not immune to the Australian heat, it turns out, and as much as Clark has had reason to question the design of Diana’s uniform (yes, it’s the farm-bred Kansas lad in him...), it turns out to be a lot more practical for the middle of the outback than red and blue armour. “But technique is not to be dismissed. Strength will only take you so far. You must, after all, consider the possibility of your strength leaving you.”
Sadly, a good point. The longer fights Clark tends to get into tend to involve people with an active desire in making his strength disappear and the cunning and resources to try and make this particular desire a reality.
“What do you suggest, then?”
“Training. Practice. The more the better. Preferably with someone who can keep up.” Diana looks at the devastation their sparring has caused critically. “And perhaps somewhere a little less ... fragile.”
It’s hard to find people who can keep up with a Kryptonian or an Amazonian. And harder still to find places remote enough to allow a Kryptonian or an Amazonian to fully let loose harmlessly. Even in the Fortress, even here, supposedly in the middle of ‘nowhere’, there is wind pressure and atmosphere to consider, the movement of tectonic plates, a thousand natural processes that when interrupted together could create catastrophe. Clark is forced to keep track of a lot of butterflies to prevent chaos, and he’s always wary of becoming one himself.
“Easier said than done on both counts.”
“The latter, perhaps.” Diana steps forward, close enough that Clark can feel her body heat. She has a certain look in her eyes, one Clark has only recently discovered but very much enjoys seeing. “The former ... I’d be happy to help out.”
“I’m happy to hear it.”
“It’s only natural. You need an equal, and in strength at least, I’d say we were equals. In technique, I’m naturally the superior.”
It’s true, perhaps, but she has that look in her eyes, the one that makes Clark want to challenge her on principle, because when he does, it leads somewhere good. And he’s just about to, when the JL communicator on his wrist beeps three times.
It’s the crisis alert. They’re in the skies, flying towards whatever’s coming out of an extra-dimensional portal that’s just opened over suburban Cardiff in under sixty seconds.
There is some very refreshing, Clark thinks, about having someone who can keep up with you in your life.
The temperature drop and the time difference between Australia and Wales is noticeable, Diana keeps sneaking glances at him in that way, and there’s something about the dimensional intruders (cyborgs, Clark can see the organic matter inside the metal shells with his vision) and their voices, the electronic way they screech things like exterminate and we are the superior beings that makes them incredibly infuriating to be around. It means that Clark is very distracted by the time they’ve shoved the last one back through, and as they float for a moment in the night sky, he meets Diana’s eyes, and he can tell instantly the hunger in them matches his own.
“Where?” she asks, her voice rough.
Which is the problem. He still hasn’t fixed up the Fortress from last time, Nepal risks avalanches, the ocean risks tsunamis, almost everywhere else earthquakes or storms or a any number of natural disasters.
He looks up into the sky. Behind Diana, the moon is large and yellow in the sky.
“I have an idea,” he replies.
(They’re gone before anyone notices. Superheroes never stick around to hear the thanks from the grateful population. Sometimes it’s out of modesty. Other times, modesty’s the last reason why.)
The moon isn’t incredibly comfortable. They’ve had to rig up an oxygen generator and some lights on the dark side, and the last time they tried a mattress for non-powered humans they’d shredded it a few seconds in.
But oh, it’s empty, and there’s no one there to notice when the ground shakes as he thrusts into her, no one there to care as she rides him, no one to worry about being harmed as they unleash every ounce of their lust and passion and desire for each other. Even as the ground cracks and shakes, even as they unleash everything they’re capable of with each other, there’s no need to worry about anything.
There’s no one there to hear their cries of pleasure as they climax together, their sweat and cum running into the dirt and causing steam to rise, mixing with the grey dust that billows around them, clinging to their naked skin.
“You were saying something about my technique?” Clark asked moments afterwards, as they hovered naked together a few feet off the surface.
“As I said, Clark,” Diana pants, “I’m always happy to practice with you.”
“And the location?
“Not ideal, but sturdy enough, I suppose.”
“And I didn’t rely too heavily on my strength?”
Diana grins, reaches out, strokes his face.
“In this, Clark,” she replied, “both in strength and technique, you excel.”
Clark grins back. There is some very refreshing, he thinks, about having someone who can keep up with you in your life.