She heard the sickening, deafening crack and knew the sound would be forever emblazoned upon her memory. He was right - she'd made a serious mistake. She never wanted for this to happen, but really, should she have expected anything else?
She thought that the worst was over now, but the night still had one more great shock in store for her. As she stood clutching the iron grate with tense, gloved fingers, she watched as Bane casually stripped the mask from the fallen Batman's face. She stopped breathing as the mask clanked to the ground.
It was him. Bane had been correct when he greeted Batman as "Bruce Wayne". It really was him.
Her fingers curled around the iron even tighter, cutting off her circulation as she felt a shocked tear begin to fight it's way from her eye.
She could only wish to feel mere guilt, rather than the wretched self-hatred she was feeling bubbling up inside of her. It was bad enough, what she'd done to Bruce Wayne in selling his fingerprints and sinking his company, but this was inexcusable and unforgivable.
What made it so exquisitely worse was the idiot billionaire hadn't even recognized her when they first crossed paths in the East Wing of Wayne Manor. She wasn't exactly surprised that he didn't recognize her, but she had been disappointed. She used that disappointment to further justify her actions, telling herself that he was no different from any other rich prick who forgot all the different women that they'd bedded in the last decade, even though they themselves were forever imprinted on the women's memories.
But he was different. And she'd just condemned him to a fate she wouldn't wish upon her worst enemy.
She cursed that day, nearly eight years ago, that she met Bruce Wayne, and she would curse herself for what she had just done until the day she stopped breathing.
Seven and a half years earlier
His eyelids closed, and behind them he saw a flash of sweet, tender blue eyes. Blue eyes full of life, full of love that had never been his. Beautiful blue eyes that he'd first looked into as a child. Eyes that had been one of the few constants in his life.
Blue eyes so full of life, but now lifeless, now nothing more than ash.
"Well, what do you think, Bruce?"
Eyes belonging to a woman he loved, the only one he loved, whom he failed.
"Bruce?"
He blinked and looked into the face of John Alexander, who was seated beside him and grinning amusedly as he waited for an answer. He looked around the table at the four other men he was dining with, all important contacts and colleagues involved in his new groundbreaking energy project, all under 40, all completely ignorant of why it was nearly impossible for Bruce to endure their company tonight, or any night.
A waiter came by, picking up some of the used dishes from the table, and Bruce glanced wearily around the restaurant of the hotel that he owned as he spoke. "I think we should talk about what we came here to talk about."
John laughed. "Geez, Wayne, you're such a buzzkill lately. Seriously, what's going on with you? You used to be able to spend hours talking about Victoria's Secret models. Now we're the ones doing all the talking while you, like... brood."
Bruce sighed, finger circling the rim of his water glass as he stared into it. "Maybe I'm more concerned with the energy project than hearing about how many pairs of pants you've managed to get into, John."
"Well," another man, Eric Burns, chimed in from across the table, "there's not a lot we can do about the project right now, Bruce. Why don't you have a drink and take it easy for tonight?"
Bruce fought the overwhelming desire to roll his eyes and looked back down at his water glass. He then made the mistake of closing his eyes for just a moment, and Rachel's eyes flashed behind his eyelids once more, instantly.
Sometimes, when he was alone, he'd sit down and close his eyes for the sole purpose of seeing her face again. At first, Alfred had thought he'd taken a fancy to taking naps for the first time in his young life, but Bruce suspected now that Alfred was catching on to his less-than-healthy habits.
Getting out of bed in the morning was hard enough. Rachel was dead. Harvey was dead. Batman was hated and reviled as a murderer. In light of all of that, Bruce refused to be ashamed of doing what he had to do to get through the day. Even if staring into a mental picture of Rachel's face was as gut-wrenching as it was addicting.
"Actually, I think we could all use drinks," John said, leaning back in his chair. Why don't we head to the bar? I could stand to stretch my legs."
"No," Bruce said quickly, eyes open once more. "I'll get drinks. What's everyone want?"
In truth, he just wanted a few minutes away from the chattering, obnoxious men. As they started rattling off what they wanted, and promptly dissolved into guffaws and jeers because one of them said "appletini", Bruce let his weary eyes wander off to the bar across the restaurant. He was surprised to meet a pair of large, chocolate brown eyes staring openly into his hazel ones underneath a curtain of side swept dark auburn bangs.
She was tall, he could tell, though she was seated at the bar. She wore a black dress that fit her slim but curved body like a glove, strapless and short, ending mid-thigh and showing off legs long enough to be the envy of any woman. Her hair was long and wavy, half of it tied back loosely and the rest spilling down to her mid-back. Her deep red lips upturned at one corner into a smile as he held her gaze, and he watched as she brought a small glass of amber to those full lips and sipped delicately.
"Did you get all that?"
Bruce blinked, gritting his teeth and looking back to John as he replied, "Two bourbons, two scotches, and one appletini. I got it."
He then got to his feet and started heading towards the bar, looking at the woman once more. She was looking down at her drink now, and he turned his eyes away, towards the bartender as he approached.
She was stunning, and he knew what the piercing look and smirk of a smile that she'd given meant. But her brown eyes weren't the ones he wanted to get lost in.
A small spike of adrenaline rushed through Selina Kyle's veins as she watched her newly designated mark approach the bar out of her peripheral vision. She couldn't believe it - her first time doing this alone, and of all the wealthy men in Gotham to prey on, she ends up in the same hotel restaurant as Bruce Wayne.
The very same Bruce Wayne, she noted, that she'd grown up seeing on TV and on tabloid covers, and even harbored a crush on during her adolescent years before life went to hell and she had no time for such things anymore. He was richer than rich, and as handsome today as he ever was, or perhaps even more so.
Still, his misery wasn't hard to pinpoint, and that was what sealed his fate. Misery would make him vulnerable, and since he was known as a bit of an airhead anyway, her first big solo score was as good as done.
It was all far too easy.
She watched from the corner of her eye as he walked up to the bar - with a limp so slight she barely noticed it - and ordered a round of drinks for the guys back at his table, and when the bartender turned and started working on the drinks, she turned her eyes on him fully.
When she spoke, she made sure to speak in a sultry, but friendly, voice. "Who knew the hotel's owner had to order his own drinks like the rest of us."
He gave her a sideways glance as he pulled out his wallet and extracted enough bills for a tip. She wondered which she lusted for most, his wallet or him. It was close - he was even more attractive in person. Still, she was sure the money won out in the end. It always did. "Yeah."
One word answer, she noted. Then the bartender apologized to Bruce and told him he had to run back to the stock room for more bourbon, and Bruce nodded tiredly before taking a seat on the stool next to Selina's.
She held out a finely manicured hand to him and purred, "Irena."
He looked at her hand for a moment before taking it and shaking gently. He opened his mouth but she quickly said, "No need to introduce yourself, Mr. Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you."
He nodded as she withdrew her hand, then quickly stared forward to the bar. He was obviously not up for much of a conversation, but she had ways of getting around that. "No supermodels or Russian ballerinas on your arm tonight," she pointed out, turning her body towards him. "Rough night?"
He shook his head. "Just a long one."
"Sorry to hear that," she lied. As handsome as Bruce Wayne may be, he was still the epitome of all that she despised. Good looks didn't excuse his crime of being rich, proud and obnoxious. Even if he appeared to be none of those things tonight.
"It happens," he shrugged, glancing at the glass in her hands. "What are you drinking?"
"Scotch," she replied, a but surprised he'd asked her anything at all. He seemed equally surprised by her answer.
"Wow. Even I can't drink that stuff."
She grinned, taking a sip of the hard liquor and staining the glass' rim red with her lipstick. "It's an acquired taste. What's your drink of choice?"
He paused for a moment, chuckling hollowly as he then replied, "Anything I can get down without choking."
"Charming," she smirked. "That narrows it down."
The bartender had returned without her realizing, and Bruce thanked the man as he filled his hands with the glasses. He turned to Selina and smiled politely as he said, "It was nice meeting you, Irena. Have a good night."
"I plan to," she replied, giving him that look again, and getting the same flat reaction as he turned his eyes away and headed back to his table. She sighed and ordered another scotch, then looked across the room back to Bruce, wondering how exactly she was going to reel this one in.
Obnoxious men always became worse with alcohol, and Bruce's colleagues were no exception to the rule. He endured the next hour as best he could, knowing that he could very well leave whenever he pleased, but the thought of going home was somehow worse than the thought of suffering here.
Wayne Manor was partially rebuilt but not yet liveable quite yet, and he planned to sell the penthouse when it was, but neither place provided any comfort anymore. Alfred was perpetually concerned, perpetually worried, and most days, he was the only reason Bruce bothered to get out of bed and go to work. He knew that if he didn't, the look on Alfred's face would be unbearable, and Bruce couldn't handle that at the moment.
As the men around him talked loudly and drank their fill, Bruce allowed his eyes to close once more. The flash of Rachel's face appeared to greet him, and he slid into the comforting, familiar pain awaiting him in his mind.
But then, something was different. He felt... odd. It took him a moment to pinpoint what it was, but when he opened his eyes and glanced around the room, he realized that "Irena" had been staring at him from the bar. He'd felt her gaze. She didn't try to hide it, either. Instead, she raised her glass to him, and then took a long drink.
Again, he couldn't help but notice her beauty. She really was gorgeous, and he couldn't deny this fact. But it didn't matter. He loved one woman, and she was gone. He couldn't replace her with some beauty sitting in a hotel bar. He couldn't replace her with anything, or anyone.
This was his fate, he'd decided months ago. He just had to live with it.
"Why aren't you drinking, Wayne?" John asked, giving Bruce a nudge with his elbow.
"Not in the mood," Bruce muttered. In reality, he just didn't feel like drinking ginger ale and pretending it was something stronger. Even with his cowl hung up, he still didn't drink, probably because he didn't trust himself at this point in time to not become a raging alcoholic.
He could feel those eyes on him again. He wanted to ignore them, but vague, barely-there curiosity got the better of him, and he looked to the bar.
He wasn't drinking, and that was disappointing. Tipsy men were so easy to rip off. One kiss to distract them, a swipe of their wallet and watch, then a lusty look before disappearing and leaving them to realize they'd been robbed. She'd been taught well over the last couple of years, and she knew all of the tricks.
Still, this wasn't what she wanted to do for long. She was more interested in bigger paydays, and honing her already considerable safe-cracking skills. This was just to get her by while she found her place among Gotham's criminal elite.
She was a protege of a much older woman, one who had raised hell her whole life and taught Selina everything she knew before succumbing to lung cancer last month. Now, at only 20 years old, Selina was on her own again, armed with a fake ID and her cunning survival skills, as well as killer looks that she took full advantage of. Nobody ever guessed that she'd still been a teenager only a few months ago, and she certainly didn't feel as young as she was on the inside, either. The streets of Gotham tended to age you beyond your years.
There was something similar in Bruce's eyes that she could see from all the way at the bar, she noted. A weariness, an oldness, like he'd seen too much too early. She supposed that was a side effect of being famously orphaned as a boy, but what she saw in his eyes seemed much fresher than that. Speaking from experience, she knew how the pain of losing your parents dulled over time and faded as it only naturally did, even if it always lingered beneath the surface. But there was nothing dull about the pain in Bruce Wayne's eyes.
She didn't know how much time had passed when she saw the other men get up, loud and happy from their alcohol consumption, and start heading to the doors in search of cabs to take home. Bruce stayed behind, leaned his forehead against his fingers, closing his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. If he was so tired, she wondered why he hasn't gone home a long time ago.
When he dropped his fingers and opened his eyes again, his gaze met hers once more, but not from across the room. She crossed her legs and leaned back into the seat next to his at the table, grinning as she said, "You look like you could use some better company than what you've had all night."
He chuckled. "I could say the same for you."
"Which is why I'm here," she smiled.
"Unfortunately," he replied gently, brushing back his hair with the palm of his hand, "I'm not going to have what you're looking for."
"And how do you know what it is I'm looking for, Mr. Wayne?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
His eyes flickered down from her eyes to her dress, and she felt an odd flutter in her stomach that felt utterly foreign to her. "I read body language pretty well."
"Oh?" she twisted towards him more, giving him the best view that she could without going totally tart with herself. "Tell me what I'm saying, then."
He smiled, and it was that same polite, completely dead and empty smile. "I know my reputation, Miss... Irena. But I haven't lived up to it in awhile."
"I can see that," she replied. "What happened to you, Mr. Wayne?"
He blinked. "What happened to me?"
"Yes. Did someone break your heart... leave you... betray you?"
He stared at her, lips just slightly parted, as she tilted her head to the side and continued. "You have gorgeous hazel eyes, Bruce. But they're dead. Like someone zapped the light out of them and ran away with it."
Those eyes grew sad at her words, and as she watched him search for words to answer her with, she thought she just might be getting somewhere tonight at last.
"I lost someone."
The words came out in a mutter, and he was surprised they came out at all. She was a stranger, a beautiful stranger with a clear agenda, and the longer she looked at him, the more he knew that he needed to go home. But he still didn't want to.
"I'm sorry," her smooth voice answered. "You can talk about it if you'd like."
He shook his head, staring off and away from the girl. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Then if you don't want to talk," she said, "what would you like to do?"
He had to put a stop to this now, before this got out of hand. "Look, Irena..."
She held up a hand and smiled. "My apologies. I don't mean to be so... forward."
He grinned emptily and shrugged. "At least you're honest. Most people aren't." Including me, he thought.
"Most people also never get what they want because they're too timid to ask for it. I'd like to think I don't have that problem."
He highly doubted she'd ever had that problem, or ever would.
"Tell me... when was the last time you got something you really wanted?"
His answer to that was easy. He thought back to his last conversation with Rachel, to that kiss they'd shared, and her assurance that they would be together after he turned himself in. That was what he wanted, and for that briefest moment in time, he'd had it. And then she was ripped away from him in the cruelest way possible.
"That's a more complicated question than you'd think," he finally replied.
Soft fingertips then grazed the ends of his hair above the side of his neck, and the unexpectedness of the touch sent a shiver down his spine. He looked at Irena then, just as she murmured, "I know exactly how complicated that question is."
Her big brown eyes were so unlike those blue ones he saw every time he closed his eyes. They were different, foreign, and almost a little bit frightening with their clear intent and daring glint. She didn't wear a lot of makeup on her eyes, and he was glad for that. It would have only distracted from the far more powerful natural beauty there.
He brought his hand up and gently grabbed her hand, ignoring the odd little something he felt at the contact, and lowered it down to her lap, then let go. "I'm sorry."
His tone was one of resigned finality, and she knew then that she wasn't going to get anywhere tonight. Not with Bruce Wayne, anyway. She doubted she could even distract him with a kiss long enough to slip his watch from his wrist.
She nodded understandingly. "No need to apologize. I do hope you find a way to get what you want."
She then stood up, and his eyes fell on her legs, then moved to his water glass. She smiled and leaned down to whisper in his ear as she walked by him. "Goodnight, Mr. Wayne."
The night was still relatively young, and the city was full of marks just waiting to give her their money, Selina thought as she walked away, her black clutch in her hands and her shoulders squared. She wasn't going to let one depressed billionaire's rejection get her down.
"Wait."
She stopped in her tracks. Genuine surprise colored the grin that spread across her lips as she turned and found Bruce on his feet, uncertainty clear in his eyes. She watched and waited for him to speak.
"Look, I... it was nice... talking to you tonight. If you wanted, I wouldn't mind..."
"Talking a bit more?" she ventured. He nodded, and she could see how silly he felt. It was sort of cute.
She felt a bit torn - she knew she could salvage the night elsewhere, but Bruce was a gamble. She didn't like gambling, but considering the situation... well, maybe she was due for a good roll of the dice.
"Let's sit at the bar."
Irena was great conversation, he had to admit. She was blunt and charming, confident and just guarded enough to gain his interest. She drank like a man but was the epitome of femininity, and the more of her that he observed and tried to figure out, the less completely miserable he felt.
It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself a distraction, and now that he had, he was grateful to this woman for allowing it.
She said that she was 24 years old, born and raised in Gotham, daughter of parents killed in a car accident when she was ten. An aunt had raised her from then on, and she now interned at a marketing firm after finishing college last year. He listened to her story with unfeigned interest, not knowing that it was nearly all fabricated, chastising himself when he found himself staring at her full red lips as she spoke.
Guilt spread through him at his slightest involuntary thought or silent acknowledgment of Irena's beauty. He had no business looking at her, or any other woman. Not when the woman he was supposed to be with was dead.
He wondered during a pause in the conversation what he was doing. This girl had made her intentions clear, and here he was, sitting next to her at the hotel bar, hoping he wasn't leading her on but knowing he was.
"So," she said after the pause ended, "are all the rumors true?"
"Which ones?" he asked, knowing there were many.
"A different actress or model, or both, in your bed every night," she said.
He shook his head. "Not every night. Especially not lately."
"Not at all lately?"
He gave her a sideways look. "No."
"Someone must have done a number on you," she said, setting her glass down. "Because that's just a waste."
He grinned his empty grin again. "There's a lot of waste in Gotham."
"True. But some of it can be helped."
"Most can't."
"Don't you think then," she said in a low voice, as he sensed her getting closer, "that it's all the more important to make sure we do what we can for what we can help?"
Then her hand was on his leg, and he knew she was waiting for him to either reject her again or give her the signal to continue. He didn't want to do either, so he stared ahead and waited to see what she'd do next.
A moment later, he felt her breath on his ear and her lips grazing his skin. Another shiver shot down his spine and he closed his eyes, too distracted to notice the fact that Rachel's face didn't flash behind his eyelids this time. He felt her other hand on the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his hair as she dropped her lips by an inch and kissed his neck.
It was a soft, brief but lingering kiss, and he turned his face towards hers slowly as he opened his eyes. His lips were parted and he felt nervous, conflicted beyond words and like he wanted to bolt out the door, but the look in her eyes brought him to a standstill. They were so close, sharing the same breaths and almost nose to nose, and he was starting to lose his ability to think straight.
Then her hands were on either side of his face, and she gently pulled him closer, brushing her lips against his. It was just enough to give him a taste of her and entice him into wanting more, and he knew it.
He opened his eyes and looked into hers again, then looked down at her lips, so full and ready, waiting to be taken by him.
She thought this was the moment he'd end the night at. Whatever it was, or whoever it was, that had made him so miserable and pathetic, would rear their head and he'd run, and her night would have been wasted.
So that made it all the more shocking, then, when he leaned down and kissed her more forcefully than she would have ever expected.
She felt a jolt of something electric and lost her breath for a moment, completely getting knocked off her game when she opened her mouth to suck in a breath and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue in gently.
One of his hands was on her cheek now, while the other planted itself nervously on one of her sides, and her own hands were clutching handfuls of his hair as she fought to gain control of the kiss. He was good at this, very good, she was happy to admit, and her body was responding rapidly all on its own.
One of her hands moved down to clutch the lapel of his suit jacket as he let her taste him, his fingers curling down on her hip as she swirled her tongue around his, making him tense and breathless.
As good as it was, they were both suffocating, and they pulled away from each other at the same moment, gasping and opening their eyes to look at each other in shock.
She knew why Bruce was shocked, or at least, partially why he was. She herself was shocked because that kiss alone was better than most of the sex she'd had in her life so far, and her heart was pounding out of her chest and pumping a huge amount of blood all to one very specific part of her body.
She almost forgot that she was here to do a job.
Bruce cleared his throat and looked around the bar, his hands slowly leaving her body and moving up to smooth down his hair. His lips were smeared with red and his eyes started to look like he was torn between utter panic and devouring her again.
Being the generous thief that she was, she decided to make the decision for him.
She slid off of the stool and took his hand in hers, giving him a pointed look as she purred, "Come on. Let's go."
He didn't realize what he'd done until he was pulling into the garage underneath his penthouse. He looked over to Irena in the passenger seat, running her hand along the leather seat underneath her and looking at the interior of his Lamborghini almost as lustfully as she'd looked at him back at the bar.
He felt his ears grow hot as it hit him, the kiss and the quick getaway, and now, the very short drive back to his place. Guilt returned, and chest-wringing pain, and as he turned off the engine and took out the car key, he knew he couldn't go through with this.
Her sultry voice cut through the sudden silence. "Not going to make me open my own door, are you?"
He looked at her then, and the way her body fit the leather seat, the way her legs went on for days and how her bangs did nothing to hide the mischief in her eyes as she grinned at him.
He remembered her lips on his, the taste of her mouth, the way she moved her tongue with his that made his blood pressure spike.
She was watching him, and waiting for him again.
He got out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door and offering a gentlemanly hand to help her out. She took it, and a few moments later, they stepped onto the elevator that would take them up to his penthouse.
As soon as the doors closed, she turned to him and pushed him back against the elevator wall with her hands against his chest. Her heels made them nearly the same height, helping her make short work of claiming his lips again, more ferociously than before, hard and full of desire. He surprised himself by taking her hips in his hands and turning them around, slamming her against the wall and taking control, letting something other than his brain take the lead for once.
By the time the elevator dinged, his hair was ruined and a tiny droplet of blood had appeared on his bottom lip after she'd bit down on it in the chaos of their kiss. The doors opened, and she pulled down the hem her dress from where Bruce's hands had not fully unintentionally brought it up indecently high on her hips. Then they looked at each other again, and she followed quietly as he led her into the penthouse.
As soon as they were inside and he'd closed the door behind them, she didn't even give him the chance to turn on any lights before she was on him again. Her hands slipped under his jacket and slid it down from his shoulders as their lips collided again, and he started moving them towards his bedroom, trying not to trip over anything on the way.
She'd ripped off his tie and was working on the buttons of his shirt while she kissed and suckled his neck by the time he got them to the bed. She pushed him down quickly on the edge and straddled him, long legs on either side of his waist, and her hair fell in curtains around his face as she kissed him hungrily. His hands were everywhere and his breath was nonexistent, and when her lips left his to trail down over his neck on her way to his chest, he made the mistake of opening his eyes and letting them land on the large wall-length window to the right of the bed.
Like a knife to his chest, the flashback hit him sharply and without mercy. Rachel standing there, the last time he'd seen her alive, looking up at him with those brown eyes and telling him exactly what he'd wanted to hear. Her kiss, gentle on his lips, a promise of many more to come, of so much more to come...
"I can't," he gasped out, grabbing Irena by her shoulders and gently pulling her off of his body. "I can't do this."
He placed her down gently on the edge of the bed and then scrambled to his feet, and she watched dumbfounded as he started trying to refasten his belt. By the bewildered look he had in his own eyes, he didn't appear to remember his belt being undone in the first place, but after he'd gotten it back on and started trying to button his shirt back up with shaky fingers, she knew she had to step in.
She approached him from behind and grabbed his hands, and he immediately turned away from her. But she tightened her grip on his hands and held him in place. "Tell me what's wrong."
He shook his head. "I just... I can't."
She pursed her lips for a moment, and realized that as hungrily as he'd kissed her and touched her, he hadn't even tried to take her dress off while she'd been stripping him. He'd only been half there, and now, he was a million miles away.
She told herself it was all for the job at hand that she did what she did next.
"Bruce," she said softly, placing her hand on his cheek. She let a moment pass, looking into his tortured eyes before saying gently, "Someone died, didn't they? Someone you loved."
He nodded reluctantly, staring at the wall.
"How long ago?"
"Six months," he whispered.
She let a long silence take hold, putting together what she wanted to say in her head, too distracted to be shocked by the real sympathy she felt for this man. He seemed so broken and lost, afraid of his own desires and afraid to live.
Finally, after guiding his face towards hers and forcing him to look her in the eyes, she spoke softly. "You can't change the past. Denying yourself won't change a thing. Just be here, with me. Just for one night. I can help you forget."
He shook his head. "I can't forget."
"Try," she said simply. "Do you want this?"
She stepped closer to him, her hand sliding from his cheek to his hair, and he let out a hollow ghost of a laugh. "Of course I do."
"Then focus on that," she said, leaning in and leaving a soft kiss on his jaw. "Focus on me." Another soft kiss on his chin, and then she looked up at him, bringing her lips just a breath away from his. "Just forget."
Just forget.
She made it sound so simple, those two words falling delicately from her swollen red lips. Her hair was a beautiful mess, falling over her shoulders in knots that he'd put there, framing a face that he wanted to kiss the hell out of again. He wanted all of her, and he didn't want to hold back.
But could he forgive himself for letting go? What would Rach -
"Take me back to bed," she said, interrupting his attempt to talk himself out of what he wanted.
He closed his eyes for one split second, taking in a deep breath, and Rachel's eyes flashed before him.
He exhaled, and before opening his eyes, spoke two silent words into the abyss of his mind. I'm sorry.
Selina's feet were off the floor in seconds, and his lips were devouring hers again as his strong arms held her up, pulling her as closely against him as he could while her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms secured themselves around his neck. Then she was back on the bed, on her back this time, and Bruce was finally there.
His weight on top of her felt amazing, and the way his body felt as it molded into hers was as enticing as it was foreign to her. His suddenly starving lips moved to her neck while his hands started clawing at her dress, searching for a zipper or a button but coming up short, so he tore it down the middle as she giggled underneath him.
"The zipper was on the side," she chided as he pulled the fabric away and tossed it off the bed.
"Sorry," he groaned, too busy reaching under her and fumbling around for the clasp of her strapless black bra. Once he found it, it was off in a flash, and his mouth and hands lavished attention on the new exposed flesh. She arched into his touch, her fingers twisting deep into his hair as his hand squeezed and tongue swirled along the pink flesh of her shapely breasts, and she knew now, without a doubt, that this was truly Bruce Wayne doing these things to her. He was focused and caught up high in the moment, in whatever this was, and she was even more lost in him.
She managed to sit up after a moment, grabbing his collar and pulling him up by it, kissing him as she started undoing his shirt for the second time that night. He was on his knees, closing his eyes as she kissed his neck, and when her tongue ran over his rapid pulse, he let out a groan that revealed his sensitivity there. She grinned and then attacked that spot mercilessly as she pulled off his shirt and then reached down between them to undo his belt.
She was almost able to push his pants down from his hips, but he growled, apparently unable to take anymore of her assaults on his neck, and half-threw her back down on the bed. He covered every inch of her body with his, tasting her mouth once more as her insistent hands kept trying to rid him of his pants.
When she finally succeeded, he didn't give her a chance to reap the rewards before he ripped off the last remaining piece of fabric between them and made her gasp with the sudden contact of his hand inching up her inner thigh towards her warmth. She clutched at his shoulders and tensed, almost as if she was nervous, and he watched her as he brushed his fingers against her.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she quickly assured him, but her legs were stiff and barely moved when he tried to nudge them further apart.
"Irena... tell me what's wrong."
She swallowed, not wanting to talk about it but seeing no other choice now. "Nobody's ever... accomplished anything... that way."
He furrowed his brows and looked incredulous. "Are you kidding? But you're... 24 years old. You've never found anyone who knew what they were doing?"
God, she groaned inwardly. She never blushed, but her face was heating up, and she knew he could see. "Not when it came to that, no, I guess not."
It also helped that she was actually 20 and, while she hadn't been a virgin for a few years, she had far less experience than he thought she did.
"Well," Bruce said, quite honestly relishing the idea of being the first man to properly manipulate her body, "now you have."
He kissed her again, a bit more gently this time, and started running his hand down her leg, over her thigh and under it, and then moved his mouth to her ear. Feeling her body tremble with the shivers it caused, he whispered, "Relax."
He heard her let out a long, deep breath, and when he gently tried to spread her legs a little further, she let him this time. He nibbled her ear as he brought his hand back to her thigh, then pulled away to look her in the face as he brushed his fingers against her once more.
She closed her eyes and let her mouth drop open a little bit, and then he applied some pressure against her most sensitive place. Her hands found his shoulders again, but this time her grip was anything but anxious. Her nails dug in to his skin when he started rubbing circles with two of his fingers, and he brought his lips to hers when he couldn't stand to just watch anymore, needing to taste her as her body shuddered and moved underneath his.
His own pulsing arousal was getting to the point of painful neglect but he put it aside, focusing on her and her pleasure, watching her get closer to release, knowing she wouldn't last much longer when she started shaking under him.
He broke away from her lips when her shaking reached its pinnacle and she let out a shocked, utterly satisfied moan from the depths of her throat, her nails leaving scratches down his back that would make it appear later that he'd been attacked by a crazed cat.
She panted as she came down from her high, every muscle in her body turning limp and her dark auburn hair fanning out around her face. Her eyes were closed and her lips were perfectly parted, and he couldn't help the words that spilled from his lips next.
"You're beautiful."
His unexpectedly tender words roused her from her pleasant haze. She opened her eyes and looked into his hazel ones, feeling a shift take place inside of herself.
A self-satisfied grin was spreading across his lips, and she knew he was probably high on some male ego boost of being a woman's first real pleasurable experience. It was adorably obnoxious, she decided as she flipped them over and pushed him down on his back.
She felt different now, sexier, more powerful, and she wasn't sure why that was exactly, but it felt almost like a drug, and she let it fuel her as she swung her legs on either side of Bruce and straddled him just a few inches above where he wanted her most.
He tried to touch her and she grabbed his hands quickly, then placed them above his head as she leaned down and kissed him teasingly. He played along, letting her hold his hands over his head as her mouth started wandering downwards, and with the moonlight as her guide, she noticed his scars for the first time.
Once she saw one or two of them, she suddenly saw many littering his entire body. She kissed one on his collarbone and let her finger trace one on his left upper arm - was that an animal bite of some kind? - and she knew the one above his abdomen that she trailed with her tongue was definitely the result of a stab wound.
She kissed and licked her way back up his body, then looked down into his half-lidded eyes as she commented, "Some life you must have, Mr. Wayne."
"I had a... skydiving accident last year," he replied, and she didn't believe him for a second, and he knew it.
"Hmm," was her only reply before she shifted her hips a little bit and grazed the tip of his erection with her entrance, noting the hitch in his breath and the way his hands tightened on her hips at her teasing.
She moved her hips around and ran her tongue over his pulse on his neck again, enjoying the way he tensed and wriggled, trying to find relief that she was keeping just out of his reach.
"Irena..."
She frowned a little bit at his groan, suddenly wishing that he knew her real name. She'd love to hear her name on his tongue, to hear him moan it as she returned the favor he'd given her...
Ending her little torturous game at last, she sat up straight on top of him, giving him a view to die for, and finally took his length inside of her. He let out a groan of relief and she inhaled sharply, needing a minute to adjust to him - he was not small, and it had been months since the last time she'd done this.
His hand moved up her body and ended up on her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear as she slowly started moving on him. Once she got going, and got used to the sensation of being so filled by this man, the mild pain she'd felt faded. She'd just hit her stride when Bruce brought himself up and shifted them, putting her in his lap and kissing her madly.
She held on to him tightly, one hand gripping his hair and the other one digging into his back again as he kissed her shoulder, moving together and creating a delicious, perfect friction that had Bruce moving more and more erratically. She wasn't surprised, then, when he picked her up and put her on her back one more time.
She felt perfect - too perfect, and it only illustrated how little he knew about this gorgeous creature that was in his bed. Earlier tonight, he'd had no doubt that she lived up to her sex kitten looks and had as much sexual experience to rival his own. But knowing what he knew now, and considering how breathtakingly tight she was around him, he realized that she was every last bit a complete stranger to him still.
On top of her once more, he entered her again, picking up one of her legs and lifting it high until it was resting on his shoulder. He angled himself and thrust into her, pleased at the way she arched and tightened her grip in his hair. He knew he'd found the right spot, and he hit it over and over, without mercy, determined to make her see stars one more time before he finally found his own release.
He got his wish quickly, watching as she unravelled again, her body quivering and quaking as she tightened even more around him and pulsed wildly, and it was too much - he was done for, throwing himself forward and burying his face in her neck as he filled her with his release.
His eyes closed and lungs working hard to pull in oxygen, he lay on her for an unknown number of moments afterwards, still inside of her and holding her as her fingers ran gently through his hair. He felt a shaky, unstable, fleeting sense of peace lying like this, but he knew it would dissolve into pain within a matter of moments.
She'd told him to forget, and he'd done his best. He thought he'd been successful, far more successful than he would have predicted. He credited her with this, whoever she really was underneath that auburn hair and pale skin.
Eventually, they ended up on their sides, under sheets that he pulled up over them, facing one another and having not a clue who they were really dealing with.
Selina was the first to speak.
"I told you I'd help you forget."
His fingers in her long hair were tender, grateful even. He replied in barely more than a whisper. "Thank you."
She could still barely believe how good it had been. Never, ever, had she felt anything like what he'd done to her. Just his lips on hers felt like an open flame, powerful enough to be completely terrifying. She couldn't even begin to describe the rest.
And as she looked into his increasingly heavy eyes, she realized something. As little as she truly knew about him - those scarred maps on his body painted a much different picture of who Bruce Wayne was than what the public knew - she knew that this was a man she could like. A lot. Quickly. And deeply.
And that was when she knew she could never see him again after tonight.
He was asleep within only a few minutes. The idea of stealing a few moments of sleep in his arms was tempting, but Selina knew better than that. Instead, she waited until she knew for sure he wouldn't wake, and then crept out of his bed.
She slipped her bra and underwear back on quietly, then tried not to smirk at her ruined, torn dress on the floor next to the bed. She grabbed Bruce's white shirt and put it on, then decided now was time to get down to business.
He slept soundly as she snooped around the penthouse, looking for her payday. She saw his car keys, flung carelessly to the floor near the front door, but she moved on.
He had no safe, no jewelry, not even any family heirlooms that she could see anywhere in the place. She assumed that must mean that all of those things were at Wayne Manor rather than here.
A bit disappointed, she walked back into the bedroom and checked his closet last. She came up short there too, but took a comfy-looking blue hoodie and black pants that were way too big for her but had to do until she got home to her own apartment and her own clothes.
She then left the closet and crept towards the bed, careful to make no noise or cause him to stir. He was in a deep sleep, and she watched him intently until she realized what she was doing and shook herself back to reality.
A silver glimmer from his nightstand caught her attention. She walked to the small table and peered down, finding the glimmer coming from a very expensive looking watch lying near the edge.
It could fetch a few months' rent, she thought as she pocketed the watch. Then she looked back to Bruce's sleeping form, and imagined him waking up to find her gone and himself robbed.
He'd think it had all been a lie, all just a way to get in and score some cash. And that's what it had been at first.
How drastically, and quickly, that had changed.
She suddenly knew that she was definitely not going to swipe his car, nor anything else other than the watch in her pocket. And it wasn't because she felt bad about taking any of it - she knew he'd replace whatever she could take within five minutes and without so much as blinking.
The truth was, she couldn't bear the thought of him finding out who and what she really was. That instead of a 24 year old marketing intern, he'd actually bedded a barely 20 year old thief who broke out of her first jail at the age of 15.
And this was another reason why she needed to run away as fast as she could. She hated being ashamed of who she was.
She was gone in mere minutes, willing herself not to look back to the sleeping billionaire once as she left. Tonight had been a mistake - an extremely pleasurable one, but a huge one nonetheless. She'd screwed up and screwed up bad, and never again would she let compassion or desire get in the way of a job. That was the only way she'd survive.
She'd make sure she never saw Bruce Wayne again. And she didn't, until seven and a half years later, when she set a series of terrible events into motion by stealing his fingerprints.
Present day
He'd unwittingly helped mold her into the woman that she was today. She'd learned from her night with him to never let weakness get the best of her, to never put anyone's interests ahead of her own and to always, above all, remain detached. It was how she'd survived, and it was also why Bruce Wayne was now at Bane's mercy.
Selina returned home to her apartment in Old Town that night and ignored Jen's questions of what was wrong as she locked herself in her bedroom. She peeled off her catsuit and left it a heap on the floor, falling into bed before she could make it to the shower to rinse away the grime of the night. Nothing could make her truly clean, she knew that.
She lay in bed on her side, curled up slightly, and for once in her life, let herself fall apart for a minute. She cried, and it was more than just a single tear.
She cried for herself, for becoming what she was today, for having to live this way to continue to live at all. She cried for Bruce, who was at best badly injured and at worst dead, who didn't deserve what she'd dealt to him.
But the tears did come to an end that night, as do all things, and when they did, she resolved to leave Gotham in the morning. It was the best, and only, viable option for her.
She would leave, and she would make herself forget. She'd block tonight from her memory as best she could, try to forget the name Bruce Wayne and forget all that had transpired between them since that day she first met him all those years ago. If he could forget, then so could she.
She clung to that thought as sleep found her. She knew it was impossible, however, when the nightmares came, and she listened to that resounding crack over and over until dawn awoke her.
She would always remember.
A/N: So, I've had this written for a very long time, with the intention of turning it into an AU, very long multi-chapter story. But, I decided to turn it into a oneshot instead, because it never would have seen the light of day otherwise, if I'm being honest. I hope you guys like it, and I hope it helps make up for my several-month-long break here recently :) Love you all, let me know what you think! :D And thank you to midnightwings96 for being a freaking amazing person as always :D