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It had been almost a year since you left Gotham City. Batman went on to save the day, and the night, time and time again. It wasn't like being alone was a new thing for him but...ever since you two met, he's kind of grown attached. Attached. Something he never allowed himself to be. Didn't have any friends or family besides Alfred but his world changed when you slipped your way into his life.
He found himself thinking about you almost all the time. Your voice, your kisses,--especially your goodbye kiss--your eyes, the way you moved, the way you fought, your determination...His stoic expression would remain the same but sometimes it would soften--when he was alone. It was becoming a bit distracting during work, too. Not having the push-and-pull force to keep him on his toes was messing with him, and it started to drive him a little crazy.
So, on a rather slow day when he wasn't being summoned by the bat symbol in the sky, he decided to track you down and check up on you. He didn't know if he intended to actually see you face to face, or if he was going to keep his distance and watch from afar. Like he usually did.
You came back to your upstate studio home outside of Gotham City after you hit a bank not too far from here, shutting the door and happily humming as you placed the bag down on the table. You stretched and crouched to greet your two cats when you heard a knock at the door, standing up quickly and narrowing your eyes. A second knock didn't come but you quickly took off your boots and hid the duffel bag in a nearby safe that looked like a regular item in the house.
You crept up to the door with a gun at your hip and checked the peephole. Your brows furrowed before you scoffed playfully and lowered the gun, unlocking all nine locks and opened the door with a hand on your hip.
"Batman." You said with sarcastic enthusiasm. "Of course you would show up on a random Wednesday night in costume. Totally not weird at all."
He stood there, in his full, dark costume and mask, arms folded with that typical stoic expression on his face. His gaze was cold and unreadable. But behind the mask, his eyes lingered on you, taking in every detail.
He said your name in that low, familiar voice that only further emphasized the emotionless nature of his presence. He waited a moment, taking a step closer. "I need to talk to you."
"Okay..." you gave him a skeptical look. "Shoes off when you come in."
He hesitated for a second since he hadn't expected such a rule from someone like you. But, nonetheless, he stepped forward into your home and took off his boots without another word.
Batman didn’t do social calls. He had to be here for something more important... right?
But as soon as he crossed the threshold and saw your cats circling around him, that stoic resolve wavered slightly beneath layers of that meticulously made suit.
"...You still have two." A statement more than anything else, though there was an odd weight behind it. As if he'd expected otherwise after all this time apart from Gotham's streets where your paths used to cross so often before now.
"I told you, I have a thing about strays," you crouched down and scratched one of them on the head with a small smile. "They still like you."
He hums, "they just recognize my scent."
"Two things can be true at the same time." You stood up and headed to the small kitchen before grabbing a water bottle. "You want anything to drink before we talk?"
"No."
He watched you move into the kitchen, still standing near the front door. If he was being honest, the offer of a drink did sound appealing, especially with the dry feeling in his throat suddenly becoming prominent. He mentally dismissed the idea and pushed it aside. He was here to talk. To find out what he needed to know and get out of here.
"I won't be staying long." he added in that emotionless tone of his, his chin up in the usual cold confidence.
"Must not be that important then," you jumped up to sit on the counter and took a generous gulp. "What is it?"
He didn't respond right away. It was becoming clearer with every second of silence that he didn't plan this all the way through.
"...I need a favor."
You gave him a look. "You drove two hours to ask me for a favor?"
"Do you want to hear it or not?"
"Hmm...well, I am intrigued by whatever the fuss is about," you mused, "Hit me."
"There’s a shipment of high-grade explosives coming into Gotham in two days." He pauses. "And I need someone to intercept it before some goons do."
"I thought you didn't like my methods."
"I don't," he replies. Quicker than you both expected. "...but you're the only one I can trust with this mission."
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "Look, I'm not a hero or some kind of highly intelligent vigilante with money to blow," you gestured to him, "I'm a petty thief who stays out of the way. Aim high, lay low."
He huffs and takes a few steps closer, "don't mock me."
"I'm not mocking you," you reassure, unmoved. "I'm just saying, how are you so sure you can trust the likes of someone like me?"
He stops a little over an arm's length away.
"You know how."
The words were sharp, laced with something he couldn't quite place. Anger? Frustration? Regret? He wasn’t sure anymore. But he knew you understood what he meant by it because the way your eyes never looked away from his told him everything.
"Not very safe to assume that, now is it?" You asked as you came down from the counter. "I'm gonna need explicit wording here."
He hesitated again and this time it was more obvious.
"I trust my gut," he said, mentally scolding himself for such a weak answer. "Are you in or out?"
"Mm... I'll pass." You grabbed your water and walked past him. His eyes widened in genuine surprise before he grabbed your arm to stop you mid-step--your eyes meeting his again. His hold was unyielding yet as gentle as he has ever held onto to anyone before. Or at least in a long, long time.
"Don't brush me off."
Your eyes dart from his hand back to his face. "Then tell me why you really travelled over an hour and a half to randomly show up at my apartment asking for favors."
He froze. The silence in the room was deafening as he tried to gather his thoughts--or rather, he tried to figure out how much he should say. His mind was going a hundred miles per hour, his pulse pounding in his ears, and the heat from your body was making his heart rate spike.
Finally, he exhaled heavily released you and spoke as honestly and vulnerable as possible.
"...Because I miss you."
Your brow raised for a moment, not thinking he'd actually say it out loud. "Yeah?" You asked, impressed, while standing fully in front of him.
"Yes."
"You don't even know me," you said with a short laugh and toyed with the part of his cape that started at the shoulders.
"I know enough."
"I'm a killer, Batman," you reminded him. "Thought you weren't too fond of those."
He didn't reply. He knew what you were. You were a criminal. A thief. A liar. He knew that. You're wrong for him in every way. Bad for him in every sense of the word. And yet, he still felt that tug of desire when you were near. Still yearned for you when you moved. Still thought about you all too often when he was supposed to be focused on other things. Literally anything else.
"Sooner or later..." you continue, your sharp nail softly caressing his chin. "You're either going to want to take me in...or have to keep letting me go."
He let you trace his jawline all the way up to his bottom lip then grabbed the back of your hand, placing your palm on his mask-covered cheek. There was a moment where he just looked at you; took you in. Just when he thought his dreams could ever compare. Without another thought he found himself leaning down like gravity doubled itself. But just when he got close enough, you slid your hand to his chest.
"Mm mm," you shook your head and added in a murmur, "mask off."
He goes rigid. More than usual. Was it fear? Defiance? Every instinct in his body screaming 'NO' at the top of its lungs? Batman has almost lost his life more times than he could count. He's fought nearly every kind of villain in the book and came back home looking like a human punching bag. But this, this request from the very woman that flipped his entire world upside had him at a genuine loss for what to do. What to say.
Not to mention, you've expressed your distaste for Bruce Wayne enough to feel some kind of way about it.
"If I do that," he starts, choosing his words carefully, "you might not like what you see."
"Oh, come on. I'm not as shallow as you think I am."
"It's not about...that."
"I think I deserve to know the man who knows everything about me. Even down to when i scratch my nose." You add playfully. "You trust me, right?"
"You know I do."
"Then show me."
His lips thin for a moment before he just bites the bullet, reaching up with both gloved hands and slowly removing the cowl. Bruce's bright blue eyes smothered in black hesitate to meet yours as he anticipated how you'd react.
"No shit..." you whispered, both brows raised, "Bruce...fuckin' Wayne." Your hands carefully held his now bare face, like you still couldn't believe it. "Gotham's golden boy is the Batman..."
Bruce let you feel on his face in awe as he found it oddly satisfying. He was becoming more relaxed by the second.
"...so?" He muttered, but just loud enough. He felt ridiculous. All you could think about in that moment was how many times you've rolled your eyes every time he popped up on TV. How many times you've bad mouthed him to people, and--unbeknownst--to his face. How much time you've spent wondering when he was actually going to contribute to society, not knowing...
You caressed his cheekbones before closing the distance with a soft, tender kiss. For a moment, he was frozen. His body stiffening at the unexpected contact. It was a sensation he'd only experienced the couple of times you two have kissed and, honestly, he's now just realizing how badly he missed this. Needed this.
He deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a sense of urgency. He poured all of his pent up longing and desire into that one action, his heart soaring in his chest as he pulled you closer. You were like home, like something he'd been searching for his entire life without even realizing it.
"Take this off," you whispered in between your mouths moving in sync, nail dragging against his suit. "Wanna feel you."
He pulled back with a soft pant, 2 inches from you as he quickly worked it off his body. Belt and chest plate along with padding that was under gone in seconds. Now just his bare chest and his pants. His pale skin made his scars look worse than they probably were.
"I... didn't think you'd actually do it," you said, impressed. The sides of your fingers grazed his old wounds that told their own story. This earned a very slight huff of amusement from him.
"You told me to."
His arms wrapped around your waist as he leaned in, but with slight hesitation. Like he was silently asking permission after making out not even a minute ago. But he closed the distance on his own anyway after seeing you crack a little smile.
He took this moment to slide your black pants--that totally had nothing to do with the bank you just robbed and have yet to notice the chunk you took--down your legs with intention, wanting to savor every last moment since neither you nor he knows when you'd get together again. Once they hit the floor, he picked you up by the thighs and went for the big lounge chair in the small living room area.
"Didn't know rich boys got down like this," you mused as he sat down and mapped as much of your body as he could.
"Like what?"
"With low-down, unruly criminals." You whisper before pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra with ease. He nearly stopped breathing, eyes stuck on your chest seconds before you tilt his chin up with one hand and fiddle with his pants zipper with the other. This side of him, Batman...Bruce fucking Wayne...you weren't going to let it go to waste.
"We shouldn't-" he shuddered and groaned softly at the feeling of you pulling him out and stroking him ever so slowly. He whispered your name behind clenched teeth, barely being able to keep his eyes open like you weren't still making him look at you.
"What was that?" You tease, thumb brushing over the reddened tip so his hips would jerk under you. He hasn't been touched like this a day in his life. Like actually. Never. It was usually him that initiated, got the sex over with, then left. But this... this was a whole new realm he'd never been before. And most of all, he was engaging with someone he actually cared about. Someone he was okay with taking it slower at the start.
"We..." he paused with a strained grunt, your nails weren't making it any easier to focus, "we shouldn't-"
The surprised moan that escaped his lips was music to your ears. The faint blush that spread across his cheeks was a sight to behold. You sat so pretty in his lap. Stuffed full to the point of goosebumps littering your skin. His cold hands gripped your hips even tighter and urged you to start riding before he gets lost in the feeling.
You started slow to get used to his size. Back arched, thighs limiting his pelvic mobility. Fingers playing in his hair while you pepper light kisses on some of his scars. Nails just grazing the nape of his neck. Bruce is a goner.
Batman would've never been able to even picture intimacy like this. Bruce could only dream. And it's finally come to life. A part of him is afraid that it'll disappear in a moment's notice, but it's only when you pick up the pace that he's brought right back to reality. This is actually happening and you, his... neither of you know yet, are thoroughly enjoying yourself. In his arms. Letting him touch any kind of way while you do the same.
"Didn't know Batman was sensitive," you whisper in his ear. Not without a shaky, breathy moan to let him know how much fun you're having. Watching him let you take what you wanted from him.
"Don't call me that," he grunted as he slid a hand down your spine before sliding both hands under your thighs for more leeway. By the gods he doesn't know what he did to deserve such a beautiful sight. "I'm not Batman right now...just a man."
He lifted you just enough to be able to meet you with his own thrusts. The sounds in the room only grew louder, more obscene. Filthy. He was finally allowing himself to be selfish for once and he knew that you knew that.
"Bruce Wayne is not 'just a man'," you murmured in between breaths getting heavier by the second. Clenching around him as an automatic signal that you were close. You smile at him, lips so close you could kiss him again, but you settle for breathing in each other's mouths during this silent dance for who's dominating who. "He's my man."
The way you said those words, the conviction behind them... It hit him square in the chest. In that moment, he felt something stir within him. Something he thought he'd locked away long ago. Maybe even lost.
"Is my man gonna make me cum?"
He cursed and shut his eyes for a moment. If anybody could manage to be the death of him, it'd be you. He nods without thinking and looks back up at you, feeling his own release about to pop up any given moment now.
"He's gonna make you cum," he whispers so...gently. Tenderly. Not an ounce of arrogance behind his tone.
And that's what he did. Bruce pulls you off him like it hurts, but he knows he can't make such rash decisions out of pleasure. It's not like him--no matter how badly he wanted to stay inside. You buried your face in his neck and carry out your own high. Arms wrapped around him for comfort, though you're not going to admit that. At least not now. His arms securely around your waist after his last release came. Tired, out of sync breaths fill the small apartment. He leaves soft kisses along your shoulder and holds you even tighter.
Once you're calm enough you shift your weight just a bit, fingers still playing in his messy hair.
"That mission you mentioned earlier," you prompt. You can feel his eyes open against your neck. He doesn't respond but you sit up and look at him anyway, tracing his jaw now with a short, playful scoff.
"I'm in."