Chapter Text
I.
In the last days of August, the nights in Gotham felt like being stuck in an oven. The fumes from the nighttime activities, cars, and restaurants in the most populated parts of the city made some neighborhoods suffocating.
To escape -and get some fresh air- one must get a little higher, not necessarily high-rises but the taller buildings of Robbinsville gave a nice view of the bay and an even nicer breeze.
One particular night, uncharacteristically uneventful, the batman climbed on top of the tower crane working on a new bridge.
The construction site was empty, except for a few night guards hiding in the AC'd office, and the wind coming from the sea was exceptionally pleasant.
He laid his eyes over the city, the one he swore to protect, the one for whom he sacrificed himself every night, the god of his martyrdom. The many lights made it look like a sleeping woman wearing a sparkly tassel dress.
And speaking of women, on the last floor of the nearest building, away from the leering eyes of most men, was a most attractive light.
The open balcony had a couple of flower pots on it, not enough to shield the view but just enough to give it quite the rococo frame. Inside, sitting in front of her vanity, a voluptuous blond was brushing her hair. The dim light, her blond hair and her white robe gave him the sensation of dreaming.
In the back of his mind, loud and nagging, was the dawning realisation that he was spying on an innocent woman for no reason other than his own perversion, yet another voice, smaller but oh so convincing telling him that there's no harm, she'll never be in danger while you're watching over her, she'll never be more safe than she is right now.
Power without abuse has no charm, he couldn't remember where he heard it but it was echoing through his mind as would an evergrowing scream.
He should turn around and leave, in his ear Barbara was telling them that they could take it easy for the night, Dick and Stephanie were volunteering to keep watch, a quick report from Cass let him know that there was no movement in Arkham. Everything was in his rightful place.
Except for him.
Him. strongly nailed on that crane, eyes watching the movement on the hairbrush again and again. a moth to a flame, a flame that threatened to burn him whole if he didn't leave fast.
He tried to rationalize it: it's been a long time, the rare times it happened weren't satisfactory, playing the role of the imbecile playboy for a giggling lot of women eyeing him like a tool for and end took a toll on his mind and the general pressure of being batman did not help.
He deserved a break, he deserved to do something that wasn't carefully calculated and studied a thousand times before.
He held himself back from getting closer, from standing in the balcony to see better.
A movement, a flickering light, she disappeared from view.
Next door there was light from a smaller window covered with curtains, he assumed it was the bathroom.
He could not discern any movement, the temptation to draw closer stronger than ever, his grapple gun almost felt heavier, he could use it to land easily on the balcony, there was even a terrasse for an easier landing, it was so easy and so ...forbidden.
He was growing jittery, imagining her under the shower, bringing together pieces of what he thought her body might look like. Against the warm leather of his gloves he could almost feel the wet slippery skin against his palm.
When he seriously considered jumping on the balcony, she appeared again.
She couldn't hear him, and unless she was actively looking for him, she most likely couldn't see him either; yet he kept perfectly immobile and held his breath of fear to be seen.
There in the room, wrapped only in a towel, she stood undiscerning, unknowing of his turmoil.
Then, all the oxygen left his lungs when she dropped the towel. How embarrassing if anyone knew that the Batman was a voyeur so shameless he didn't blink when seeing a naked woman.
He thought he knew all about fear, yet the fear of missing a single detail of her body took over him so fast his heartbeat couldn't keep up.
The rivulet of her wet blond hair drew rivers on her shoulders and on her ample breasts, small tears following the slightly rounded shape of her stomach and the voluptuous curves of her hips moving through her thighs and all the way to her feet.
Slowly he took a deep breath and blinked, once, twice, three times.
She dried herself slowly, lazily, as if she couldn't be bothered, maybe she was tired.
He watched as he put on her underwear, followed the movement of the fabric moving up her legs and settling snugly against her ass, then she slipped on a light pink night-gown that caressed her body to her mid-thigh. Every mundane move seemed eerily sensual, the universe was at the edge of its seat watching in anticipation, the moon and the stars were clutching their hearts in front of this theater waiting for...for...
more.
Then, out of sight. The frame of the balcony was empty. The light turned off. The show's over.
the sounds of the city came back all at once when he broke out of his reverie. The heat was more suffocating than ever. He turned around slowly, finally noticing his sweaty brow and his half-mast.