Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Thank you to Icha/Gothamazon for the challenge, thank you to DaisyJane for the beta. Challenge was issued on the BMWW forum at batmanwonderwoman . com - check it out if you haven't already!

Chess

Pawn.

Rook.

Knight.

Bishop.

Queen.

King.

Not difficult.

Remembering the rules for how each piece moves—also not difficult.

Playing with an Amazon cheating with flagrant disregard for fair play—torture.

Honestly, you think you know a person.

I generally treat life like a game of poker. Sometimes you have to bluff, sometimes you don't, you always have to be sure you're holding the right cards, and you constantly watch for the tells of others. Everyone has a tell; a tick when they're concentrating, an odd smile when they're lying.

Not that Diana ever does lie, of course.

But even she has a tell.

When she's concentrating, one eyebrow goes up, one eyebrow comes down.

Which is how I know this 'What, I'm just thinking hard!' is, as Alfred wouldn't say, utter bollocks.

It's late. We've had dinner. Diana didn't want to go home yet, but sex hasn't come into this whatever our relationship has developed into. Yet. So we're in the library, the chess board between us, fire dying in the grate, two glasses of single-malt on the rocks.

We've been playing for three hours.

And she's been cheating for roughly two point six of those hours.

"I'm not," she says softly.

"Not what?"

"Cheating. I know what you're thinking, Bruce."

I grunt. "Really."

An amused smile quirks her lips. They still manage to be a deep cherry colour despite the lipstick that stains the crystal tumbler by her right hand. "So then, tell me how I am cheating."

"Chronologically, or alphabetically?"

A slender hand moves forward, picks up the glass. One manicured finger extends, swirls the ice around the glass. Said finger then comes up to her mouth. She sucks on it for a second or two. Not the first time this evening she has done something like this. Not the first time it's caused a flush of heat through my entire body. She raises the glass to her mouth, sips. I taste it. Heather, woodsmoke. The faintest trace of honey. Then, of course, that burn as it slips down her throat. Eyelids close on blue eyes as she swallows. The movement forces me to swallow too. She puts the tumbler down gently.

Only after this performance does she answer. "Whichever you like." She leans forward, smiling expectantly.

I point an accusing finger at her. "You're attempting to deliberately manipulate me."

Somehow she actually manages to pull of wounded. "How so?"

She jumps when my hand leaps out, catches her fingers as they oh-so-casually caress the white king. I smirk at her flinch. "Example."

She doesn't pull her hand from my grip, but moves her fingertips lightly over my wrist as a smile ghosts across her face. "Oh, I suppose because it's a phallic object?"

Why does her even saying the word phallic in that dulcet voice of hers make blood rush to my groin? It's like she's talking dirty when she she's talking clinically. This really isn't fair.

"Exactly. Two, you're licking your lips in concentration whenever it's your move. That's not your concentration face. It just draws attention to your mouth."

"Don't you like my mouth?"

You have no idea what I'd do for that mouth. "Irrelevant."

"I don't think so." Again that ghost of a smile.

"Three, that dress is…perfect."

"Perfect?"

"Perfectly fitting," I amend. "It's revealing without being cheap; it technically shows less of your body than your armour does, but you and I have known one another too long for you to think that your armour is anything but that to me. Hence why you're wearing that now."

"I could hardly come to dinner at the manor in my armour, Bruce." One side of her mouth twists up. "So you find such a simple change distracting?" she asked, her gaze sparkling with mirth. "How disappointing, Batman."

"Simple change? Hardly." She's wearing deep green, strapless, a corset-style top, a knee-length skirt. It's tight, but not so much that her breasts are pushed up. She's wearing a simple jet pendent that hangs down, drawing the eye in that direction too. And occasionally her legs—black heels on her feet—brush against mine.

"Four—"

"How many points do you have?" she interjects playfully.

"Four—you keep looking at me."

"Eye contact is generally welcomed during a conversation, Bruce," she smiles.

"I mean you've yet to take your eyes from mine throughout this entire game—except when you close them when you drink. Which you do because you know it appears you're in ecstasy of some kind."

She laughs. The sound is throaty. "Ecstasy of some kind? Just for enjoying all the subtle notes of a fine drink?"

Virgin, yes. Innocent, no. I really could do without the image that conjures. Head thrown back, chest heaving, hand between her—

Cutting my imagination off, she leans forward again. "So I'm distracting you, then?"

"Pride and reputation require me to say no."

"Of course. Batman can't be put off his game by a mere woman."

I snort. "A mere woman?"

"So I am distracting you." She sounds completely delighted by the idea. Her fingers move the queen forward. Her eyes don't move from mine.

"That's an illegal move."

There is a faint crease between her eyebrows. Now she is really thinking. She doesn't want to look down. I give her three seconds before she does. One, two…

Her eyes dart down. "It is not an—"

She started this game, and who I am, a mortal, to deny a goddess? I'll be damned if I'm going to let her win, though. My mouth is already at her ear. Her intoxicating scent hits me hard. "I think that's checkmate."

She turns with a gasp. I kiss her passionately. Oh yes. Definitely checkmate.

A/N: Review please!