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Wonder Woman had always supposed that the tales of Poison Ivy’s sex pollen were lurid exaggeration. Just one breath of this pollen and you were compelled to turn to the nearest warm body, even a complete stranger, your inhibitions erased? It had all struck her as a very convenient excuse.
As she awoke, squished between two strong bodies and…and sticky with residue…Diana was forced to admit that a handy excuse eluded her just at the moment.
There had a been a gala event here in Gotham. The opening of a museum exhibit dedicated to the heroes and heroines of ancient Greece. Diana had been invited as the special guest of honor to open it. As she cut the ribbon, Bruce at her side and Clark nearby to cover the event for the Planet, she had spotted a petite redhead moving through the crowd. There had been a look of determined purpose on the woman’s face, but as her only weapon appeared to a perfume atomizer Diana had tamped down any sense of concern and continued with the ceremony.
She carefully extricated herself from between Bruce and Clark and sat up, her naked back against the headboard as more details came back to her. Minutes later, she had watched with escalating dismay as a veritable bacchanal broke out at the museum. Just as she had wondered if everyone had lost their minds, she had seen the woman she now knew was Poison Ivy again, accompanied by another woman who could only be the notorious Harley Quinn, with several hired thugs in tow. All of them were clearly intent upon looting the exhibit now that all of the museum visitors were otherwise occupied.
Although she felt unwell—hot and woozy, with a strange ache that had rapidly spread throughout her body--Diana had instantly waded into the fray with Superman quickly at her shoulder and Batman only a little slower to join them. They had made quick work of Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, and the thugs, all the artifacts safely restored, and the pollen in the air dispersed by a blast of super breath. They were fortunate, Diana had thought, that Clark’s Kryptonian physiology made him immune to the effects of the pollen, and that her Amazonian heritage protected her as well. She had believed that right up to the instant she pressed herself into Bruce’s ardent embrace and hungrily returned his kisses.
Things blurred after that, although a few images stood out starkly. Superman had scooped them both up—“Better get you two somewhere safe.”—and flown off to deposit them at Wayne Manor. There was a flash of Alfred Pennyworth’s startled face that made her own cheeks burn with embarrassment even now.
They had made it to Bruce’s bedroom, the door securely locked behind them, and Superman had stepped out onto the balcony, ready to depart. She and Bruce had dragged him back inside…
Oh, Hera help her! Had they forced themselves upon him? She hugged her knees to her and looked at Clark stretched out beside her, on his back and faintly smiling as the first rays of morning sun gilded his body. His glorious, magnificent, naked body, she considered and felt a lascivious spark ignite anew as she admired him.
Other memories swiftly crowded back to ease her concern. Clark had hesitated there on the balcony and glanced back at them with such wistful longing and need on his face. “Three’s a crowd, right?” he’d said, trying to make a joke of it and failing badly. There had been such desolation in his eyes. Diana had started forward to tell him no, three wasn’t a crowd at all, but Bruce had gotten there first. He had stepped forward to rest a hand on Clark’s arm, the other, still gauntleted and cupped along Clark’s cheek. “Stay,” Bruce had whispered and kissed him as Diana looked on, eager to claim her share of that beauty.
They had drawn Clark back into the room with them. There had been urgency, yes—to taste, to touch, to strip away cloth and worship the flesh laid bare. Urgency and a passionate thirst to quench, but no force. No cause for shame at all, she realized as she looked at the two of them.
Clark had turned onto his side, into the sunlight, as if unconsciously wanting to get as close as possible to the energy that filled him with power. Bruce lay on his stomach, face half-smooshed into a pillow, raven hair tousled. His naked back, with its map of pale, faded scars and others that looked more recent, bruises and scratches, could have told the story of his vigilance over Gotham. Diana had watched as Clark paid tender homage to those scars with kisses and caresses that had made Bruce shudder and cry out. If not for the pollen, she thought he might have bolted then, afraid of having his every vulnerability laid so bare. That she and Clark were trusted with this was, she knew, a gift beyond price.
Was it wrong of her, Diana wondered, to feel some slight gratitude for that pollen and its effects? Without it, she might never have enjoyed the vicarious thrill of watching as these two men discovered each other. This was new to them. That realization had hit her so suddenly and with utter conviction. These stunning, ridiculous men had never touched each other like this before; hadn’t even allowed themselves to want it. Diana suspected they might have gone all the rest of their lives without admitting their feelings for each other, much less ever done anything about them.
She shook her head, fondly exasperated—and then frowned as she envisioned how things would go when they awoke, like this. They would blame it on Poison Ivy, on the pollen. There would be no admission that the pollen had only encouraged them to reach for what they had always wanted. They would agree to forget it happened and never mention it again. They would ask her to agree and go along with this plan.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she murmured to herself.
“Uhn?” That was Bruce, as he shifted over onto his back and blinked slowly, eyes dazzled by the sunlight.
Goddess, he was beautiful. Diana trailed her fingers along his shoulder and down his chest, watched as his lips curved with a faint smile at her touch, just barely awake enough to remember. She considered the fineness of his features, the beauty of his bones, and found she entirely approved of the mask; that only a trusted few were permitted to see him like this, a raven-haired Adonis in all of his glory.
She touched his lips--and shivered at the delicious tendril of pleasure that curled through her as he took her fingertip between his lips and sucked. She bit her lip and shifted, legs pressed together, as she remembered those lips at her breasts, that tongue as it explored between her thighs. She had understood in theory that Bruce would be a meticulous lover but had quickly discovered a gloriously erotic difference between theory and firsthand experience.
Oh, yes, Clark and Bruce had made love to each other but in no sense had Diana been neglected. Even when their attention had been almost entirely on each other, she had taken a great delight in the voyeuristic feast on display. Clark, his head between Bruce’s legs, his lips and tongue laving Bruce’s cock before he took it in his mouth. The hollows in Clark’s cheeks as he sucked. Bruce’s hands gripping the sheets, a growl of frustration as if he needed more. Bruce moving, shifting both of them onto their sides so that he could engulf Clark, a look of bliss upon his face as if this was everything he wanted… Diana had lost track of them at that point, her own hand enough to satisfy the ache aroused by their performance.
If some strain of guilt had added extra fuel to their efforts when they turned their attentions upon her, Diana could only count herself extraordinarily fortunate. Whatever expertise Clark might lack—and she considered that a topic far from settled—was more than made up for in being able to take a lover who was a veritable Apollo. Both of them combined, their every effort devoted to her pleasure and making a competition of it, had made her feel like a wanton sex goddess with two exceptionally devoted acolytes.
It had been a contest with three victors, and Diana could name the exact moment of triumph. She straddled Clark, one hand pressed against his flat, hard stomach as he thrust up into her. She bent over him as Bruce caressed her back. His hands slipped around to tease between her legs before they slid up to cup her breasts. On every thrust from Clark, Bruce fondled her breasts. He offered her breasts to Clark and caught his breath in a gasp of pleasure that matched her own as Clark licked her nipples. When she thought she could not possibly bear another second of such sweet torment, Bruce pressed two fingers to Clark’s mouth and then slid those wet fingers down Diana’s stomach to rub her clitoris. She cried out, her body on orgasmic overload as Clark came inside her, and gratefully stretched out on the cool sheets, sensation still coursing through her as she watched Clark and Bruce loom above her, devouring each other’s mouths as Clark’s hand closed around Bruce’s shaft. A few deft strokes and Bruce spurted over Clark’s fingers, both of them finally collapsing to the bed beside her.
That had been round one. The rest was a happy blur of tangled, sweat-slicked bodies, almost impossible to know whose hands or mouth or cock was where. Sometime before dawn the overpowering urgency finally abated and sleep came at last.
Now morning was here and Bruce was fully awake…and staring up at her with something like alarm. “Oh God… What did I do?”
“Nothing we did not want you to,” Diana told him, firm and no nonsense. Even as she watched his eyes go wide at the pronoun, she felt a breeze against her naked skin and turned quickly to find Clark already dressed and halfway to the French doors that let onto the balcony. “Oh no you don’t!” She scrambled off the bed, swiftly located her lasso, and unfurled it, its golden strands securely looped around the Man of Steel.
“Diana!”
She pointed a finger at him. “You stay put. And you,” she turned back to the bed where Bruce sat, no doubt a thousand reasons for why this was a mistake and aberration tumbling through his mind. “There is no shame in what happened, and the pollen only made the inevitable happen sooner.”
“Diana…” Bruce shook his head, glanced at Clark, looked at her with defiance. Defiance, but she would have sworn there was a trace of hope in his face, too. “I’m not sure it was inevitable,” he said, voice quiet.
“Perhaps not with fear standing in the way,” she said.
He looked at her more directly, replied with an almost imperceptible nod, and then looked past her at Clark. “Let him go. You look ridiculous.”
Chin tilted, she smiled. “And hot?”
Bruce rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “And hot. Now let him go.”
She looked at Clark, still poised to launch himself skyward, but with that look of yearning in his eyes once more. “Promise me you’ll stay.”
“Diana--”
She tightened the lasso. “Promise.”
He looked past her to Bruce, sighed, and said, “I promise. Now let me go, please.”
With a twist of her wrist, the golden strands loosened and fell to the floor. Clark carefully stepped away from them, but after one brief glance at the balcony he came over to stand by the bed. He was fully dressed, Bruce had dragged a pillow over to cover his lap; Diana, completely nude, felt certain she looked the least ridiculous of all of them.
“A bath would be lovely,” she said as the silence threatened to become awkward.
The men exchanged looks she couldn’t quite decipher, and Bruce asked, “Shall we attend you, Princess?”
She arched an eyebrow. “That would be agreeable.”
“I should mention, it will be a shower, not a bath.”
She considered that, considered her two lovers, and concluded that a fresh array of delightful possibilities lay ahead. “A shower will do quite nicely.”
And who knew? Perhaps this shower would wash away any doubts that lingered.
It was worth a shot.