Work Text:
It was late Christmas Eve in Gotham City, and for the most part, its residents slept peacefully, dreaming of the presents to come the next day. Cookies and milk were set beside fireplaces, stockings hung from the mantle, and lights blinked merrily from their place in Christmas trees.
It was Christmas Eve, but that still didn't mean that Batman took the night off.
He had already stopped two muggings, dragging the perpetrators off to the police department. He had gotten a couple of friendly ribs from a few of the older, seasoned cops, but he didn't acknowledge the teasing taunts. He had no one to share the holiday with, so what was the point of taking it off? There was Alfred of course, but they only exchanged holiday greetings over breakfast. Christmas, to him, without family, was just another day.
So he stood, and kept his vigil.
By about two in the morning, he was considering making a very early night of things. Those two muggings around eight had been it for the night.
"I thought that I would find you up here," a voice purred.
He didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Only one woman seemed to be able to sneak up on him, only one woman had that purring, husky voice. Selina Kyle, the infamous Catwoman. He turned around slowly, trying to taper down his body's instinctive reaction to her. His heart always raced, his palms got a bit sweaty, and his mouth dried out. She was standing there in her mask, but bundled up in a knee-length wool coat. The wind gusted and blew her coat open a little, exposing the intricate beadwork on the tops of her well-worn blue jeans and the bottom edge of a white shirt. Her lips, now painted an inviting red, were stretched up into a slight smile, and her cheeks were tinged pink with the cold.
"Didn't anyone tell you that it's a holiday, and even the bad little criminals are all tucked in their beds, waiting for Santa to bring them presents?" she teased.
"Crime never takes a vacation," he replied. It was rote, and he knew it.
"Even notorious crime fighters need a vacation. Think of it as a Christmas gift to yourself." Now she was slightly chiding. It made him feel like he was being scolded.
"I was just thinking about retiring for the night." He mentally frowned. Why the hell was he explaining himself to her, of all people? Her lips stretched more firmly upwards, and his eyes flashed. "You aren't planning any last minute shopping tonight, are you?" he asked, suspicious.
Her face took on a hurt look. It made him feel like an absolute heel. "No." Her voice was as cold as the bitter wind that swirled against them.
He sighed, not normally something he did. "I apologize. That was uncalled for."
Her hurt look faded a bit, but he could still see the lingering sadness in her eyes. "You know," she started, "I have to wonder sometimes why I'm even attracted to you in the first place." She sighed.
"Same here," he said. He'd said the words before it even registered that he was speaking.
She snorted very daintily as she walked closer to him and the edge of the building. He turned as she passed by, and another gust of wind blew the scent of her perfume into his nose. She smelled... friendly, inviting, and sensual. She looked out over the sleeping city with half-interest. "Are all the residents of Gotham City tucked safe and sound into their little beds?"
"It seems that way."
She nodded once. Her hands came out of her pockets to rub her arms, and he saw that she wore her gloves. How very her. He saw a shiver run through her body and he frowned. She had to be freezing up there. "You're cold."
She slanted him a look. "It's a little below freezing out here, in case you haven't noticed. Do you have internal heaters in that suit or something?"
He shrugged. "I got used to the cold some time ago."
He had been cold for so long, it was a bit hard to stand next to her warmth, and then leave it. But like a moth to a flame, he kept coming closer and closer, knowing that he could be burned.
She bit her lips for a second before speaking again. "You don't have to be alone on the holidays, you know."
"I'm not alone," he protested. But it was hollow and he knew it.
She ducked her head for a second before bringing it around to look up at him. "When you decide that you're too cold, you're welcome to join me." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from the ledge, away from him.
"Selina, wait. Please."
He felt her pause. He turned around to face her. "I have been alone for a very long time."
She took her hands out of her pockets and stretched one out invitingly. "Come with me?" She smiled, and it made her even more attractive. "Trust the police to do their jobs tonight."
He reached out and took her hand. He may get burned, but the heat would feel so nice.
They reached her apartment by rooftops, and as soon as they stepped inside, they were greeted by several cats. One in particular, a purely white cat, meowed loudly and rather insistently. She took off her coat, absently shushing her pets. His eyes widened when he saw that she was only wearing a white tank top underneath her coat. Her opera-length purple/black gloves provided a lovely contrast to her skin tone, and he noticed that she hadn't taken her mask off yet.
Tossing her coat over a chair, she led him out of the kitchen. Or she tried to, at least. The white cat halted their progress, meowing. He could have sworn that the cat was almost smug. She looked up, her brows furrowing underneath her mask. Looking up also, he noted with some amusement that there was a sprig of mistletoe hung on the archway. Her cheeks bloomed with color and she would have hurried out into the living room, had his hand on her arm not stopped her. She turned towards him with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth.
"Wouldn't want to break tradition, now would we?" he said softly. He waited for any sound of dissent from her as he lowered his face, but none ever came. Instead, he heard a soft, breathy sigh of acceptance. He saw her eyelids lower as he drew closer, and he could feel her heat consuming him.
When their lips finally connected, they would have sworn that both time and the earth had stood still. Then it suddenly lurched forward in a blur. Her hands came up around his neck, his body pressed against hers, and their mouths parted to let their tongues duel.
She tasted a bit like cream, a bit like rum, and a lot of a spicy taste he couldn't place. But most of all, she was so warm. And he couldn't get enough. It had never been like this before, this sudden release of pent-up emotions.
She was nearly purring when he pulled away, and when her eyes opened languidly, he was more than tempted to kiss her again. He wanted so much more.
"Wow," she breathed. "That was... That was..."
"Amazing," he supplied.
"Yeah." She licked her lips. "Again?"
He gladly obliged her. He didn't know when his gloves came off, or even which one of them took them off, but his hands were suddenly touching the smooth skin of her back, underneath her shirt.
He pulled back. "I-"
She shushed him with a finger to his lips. "I don't share my body readily," she told him in all seriousness. "But I would share it with you."
He was still just a man. "As would I." He'd had a taste of her, and now he was thoroughly addicted. He would give up everything for her.
She pressed herself against him, rubbing against him like a cat would. "Bedroom's second on the left."
He knew that he wouldn't remember the manic flight down the hallway, hands teasing their arousal higher with each step, nor the mad struggle to get her clothes and his tight suit off. What he did remember was the fact that their hands never once wandered up to the other's mask. He remembered her short, sharp pants as his mouth took over for his hands, worshipping her breasts, her toned stomach, and her powerful legs. He remembered the way she arched up off her bed at the first feel of his mouth on her, her hands clawing uselessly at her bedspread. Her high, breathy screams as he sent her flying over the edge were something that he would treasure. Then she flipped him over, earning a surprised look, steadied his erection in one of her warm hands and slowly impaled herself.
He watched her face as she slowly sank down on him and one of her hands that was resting on his bare chest curled into a fist. When her hips met his, she leaned forward, bracing herself on his chest, whimpers mixing with pants for air. He stayed still for a minute, needing to gather his self-control. She felt so good, so tight, so wet, so blasted warm around him. He finally moved, pushing up against her.
She moaned, a thoroughly sexy sound, and rose up slowly. She rode him like that for a few strokes until he put his hands on her hips and started her in on a new, faster rhythm. Her breath was nearly sobbing out of her with each stroke, her nails trying to draw blood on his chest, and her arms were shaking from the strain of holding herself up. He knew that her climax was approaching, just from the way her breathing changed.
A good thing, too, since he was down to his last reserves of self-control.
She started to still against him, and he felt her muscles clench around him a second before her husky moan slid through the room. He gasped and pushed up into her one more time before letting go of reality.
When he came back to himself, she was curled upon his chest, absently playing with a nipple. She looked up at him and gave him such a devastatingly sexy and satisfied smile, he did the only sensible thing: he pulled her up into a kiss. They broke off the kiss for the need of air, and she looked at him. Her mouth curved, but not in feminine satisfaction, but in something else entirely.
"Merry Christmas," she whispered.
He smiled back. "Merry Christmas."