Hey all! Sorry for the long wait, this summer kinda kicked my ass. Anywho, here's my latest story, please stay tuned for updates. Much gratitude to ObeliskX, the man who requested this story, and his patience with me. As always, read, comment, rate, but overall, enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Young Justice and all characters portrayed are the rightful property of DC comics, Brandon Vietti, and Greg Weisman. I make no money from this submission.

Alone in the mission room of Mount Justice, lit only by the soft white light of the training floor, Bobbie Gordon worked through the forms that his mentor, Batwoman, had taught him so many years ago. Stripped to the waist, his chest gleamed with the sweat of exertion that made his skin pebble in the cool air and his shaggy red hair lie flat. He resisted the urge to shiver, pushing himself past the distraction.

It wasn't the first time he'd come to train this late. Whenever the young redhead had trouble sleeping, he always came here to work in the dead of night. Practicing like this usually did the trick, leaving him all but exhausted and ready for bed. Tonight, however, something was different. He'd already been here for nearly four hours, drilling himself through every martial art he knew, but somehow he knew that going to bed would be a useless endeavor. Maybe tonight would be a good night to catch up on his casework instead.

Abruptly, Bobbie's concentration slipped, and he stumbled through the last form of the exercise. He grunted as he regained his balance enough to keep himself from falling on his face, sloppy and unprofessional, then growled in frustration. He dropped into the ready stance, preparing to start over from the beginning.

"Good thing Bryce isn't here to see that."

Bobbie spun at the chiming, giggling voice, even though he already knew whom it belonged to.

Diane Grayson leaned casually against the tunnel entrance, wearing a blue tank top and shorts. Her black hair hung midway down her back and framed her face. Blue eyes stared at him above a grinning mouth. Inwardly, Bobbie groaned. Diane never smiled like that unless she was up to no good.

"Can't sleep again?" She asked sweetly, standing up to walk over onto the training floor. Bobbie couldn't help but notice her hips as she moved, swaying sensuously from side to side.

"No," he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from her hourglass figure. "I thought I'd get in some training, try to make myself tired."

"Oh, that'll never work," Diane said casually. She now stood only a few feet away from him, and she put her arms over her head to stretch luxuriantly. Her top lifted, revealing a taut stomach, and she pushed her chest out towards him. Once again, Bobbie's eyes glued themselves to her. She let out a small sigh as she brought her arms back down.

"Working alone doesn't make you nearly tired enough to sleep," she continued, noticing his gaze. She grinned wider. "Sparring usually does the trick. Want me to help you out?" There was a slight teasing quality to her voice, a musical tone that sent a shiver down Bobbie's spine.

"No thanks," he said, a little gruffly. He turned away from her. "I prefer to practice on my own."

"Aw, what's the matter?" Diane cooed behind him. "Are you afraid you can't take me, Kid Bat?"

Anger flashed through Bobbie at the name and he spun back to face the young woman.

"It's Batboy, Diane. Bat…Boy. Not Kid Bat."

Diane snickered. "I don't know why Bryce let you pick that name. It's so childish."

"What, and Robyn wasn't?" Bobbie shot back.

"It's Nightwing now," she replied coolly, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Besides, you didn't answer my question: don't you think you can take me?"

She looked serious, one hand on her hip, head tilted to one side, but Bobbie still laughed.

"Of course I can take you. Anytime, anywhere." He spread his arms wide, inviting her to try her luck. "Maybe you've had a few more years under Batwoman's wing than I have, but I train harder than you do."

"Oh?" Diane smirked at him, eyeing him up and down. For an instant, there was an odd sort of gleam to her eye, but it was gone so fast that Bobbie might have imagined it. "How about we see who's the better fighter then?"

Bobbie frowned. Did she really want to fight him? He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about which of them was the better fighter. He'd even asked some of the other team members, but one and all they'd blatantly refused to answer him. But now that the opportunity had presented itself…

"Nah," he laughed, hoping she didn't hear the uncertainty in his voice. "There's nothing to gain from fighting you. Besides, I think I'm tired enough now to sleep." He faked a yawn, turning his back to her to walk away. It looked like tonight was definitely a casework night.

"How about a wager then," Diane called after him. Bobbie chuckled, but kept walking. She was going to have to do better than that if she really…

"I'll let you fuck me."

The words, delivered in a singsong tease, stopped Bobbie in the act of picking up his shirt. Incredulity warred with a sudden, intense desire within him. She couldn't possibly…could she? He half-turned back to the young woman, but her expression was still coy innocence.

"A wager," Diane went on. "One match, no holds barred. The winner gets to do with the loser whatever he, or she, wants."

Several seconds went by as the words slowly registered inside of Bobbie's mind. He'd been trained by arguably the greatest detective and smartest person in the world to make snap decisions in the heat of the action, but he took his time before speaking.

"Anything?" He asked hesitantly.

"Anything at all," she replied huskily, leaning forward to give him a tantalizing view down the front of her shirt. That gleam was back in her eye, Bobbie noticed.

"All right," Bobbie grinned, striding forward. His mind began to spin with possibilities, naughty things he wanted to do to her. He'd wipe that self-satisfied grin right off her face once and for all. "One match, nothing held back. First one on the floor loses." He held out his hand to her, and she sealed the bargain eagerly with her own.

I can take her, he thought. He really did train much harder than she did, but all the same, a sudden wave of uncertainty passed through him.

She's Nightwing! Some part of him screamed at himself. Batwoman, the Batwoman, was training her years before he even knew that you existed. This can only end badly for you!

Rational thought died, however, when Diane suddenly pulled her shirt over her head, tossed it aside, then began sliding her shorts over her hips. Underneath both she wore black lace bra and panties.

"Wh – what do you think you're doing," Bobbie demanded, taking a few steps back. He was torn between chivalrously averting his gaze and openly ogling her. After all, why would she be taking them off if she didn't want him to look?

"I'm getting ready to fight," she giggled as her shorts joined her shirt. "Nothing held back, remember?" She made a great show of stretching, all of which gave Bobbie impressive views of her pale, creamy skin. She even bent over, touching fingers to toes, and at the same time wiggled her ass at him.

So that's her game, Bobbie thought bitterly. Trying to distract me and put me off balance. Personal feelings aside, it was a good strategy: he had no means of countering, and he couldn't just tell her to put her clothes back on. He'd agreed to, "nothing held back," after all. He gave himself a shake and dropped into a ready stance. He wasn't going to be distracted by a little extra skin.

Diane spun gracefully and dropped into her own combat stance. Despite himself, Bobbie couldn't help but notice her breasts jiggling as she moved, the way her legs seemed to gleam from the lights underneath, how…

Diane uncoiled like a striking snake, and Bobbie barely managed to catch her foot with the back of his hand before it connected with his skull.

Focus, you idiot! He screamed internally.

Diane pivoted smoothly on one foot, ducking under his fist to drive her own into his middle. Bobbie staggered back as air was driven out of his lungs, and Diane followed him. Before he could even think of retaliating, he was flat on his back, and she was straddling his chest.

"Looks like I win," she said, grinning ear to ear. She leaned forward, mashing her nearly bare breasts against his chest, to whisper throatily into his ear. "And to the victor go the spoils…"

To Be Continued