Rooftop Encounters
Rating: PG
Summary: She goes where the darkness takes her but she's playing a game and she aims to win. Cats never lose after all.
She fed on the darkness, moving liquidly from shadow to shadow, a grin undulating her lips as it softened and sharpened to the ebb and flow of the adrenaline rushing her body. She was a bright spot in the darkness ...when she let herself be seen. She never stepped into the light though, never allowed the flickering street lamps to illuminate the skin-soft-tight purple she wore almost like a badge. She was hunting.
Her hair flounced freely behind her as she executed a perfect somersault. Easy, easy girl. Her muscles were warmed and stretched and obeyed immediately as she scampered up the ornate, solid construction of Gotham's oldest buildings. She paused on the twenty-third floor of the Jefferson building, the balls of her feet firm against curliqued protrusions and her right hand steady on a window-sill. She flicked a dancing curl away from her face and cocked her head. Something was in the air.
She made it to the roof in record time, vaulting herself easily over onto the parapet. The wind teased her hair into a dark cloud and slid sinuously around her body, raising goosebumps against the leather that snuggled her skin. Then she knew.
"Catwoman."
His voice was gravelly, low and rough around the edges. Dark. Just like him.
She turned with a ready smile. He always got the same one, a special one that made her green eyes shimmer. She didn't think he knew that though. She toyed with the idea of telling him but she never did.
"Batman," she purred and released her whip, the tip of it scoring the ground right in front of his feet. It was her very own brand of greeting.
"What are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously, all business as his steel blue eyes bore into her.
Always the same. So tedious, she thought, as if he really believed that ever-present sharp-hot-electric current didn't arc between them. As if he really believed she didn't notice that barely half-note lowering of his voice and couldn't imagine the havoc she played with his body just by standing a few feet away.
She knew. So she smiled again. "Waiting for you, handsome." Check. She didn't like chess that much, too cerebral to her oftentime intuitive mode of being, but she bet he did.
"Catwoman," he ground out, as he stepped closer, his cloak billowing behind him.
Men and their dramatics.
"Come now," she said as she matched his movement. "If you really thought I was after something... legally questionable, you'd have waited to catch me..." She closed the distance and breathed the words out, her head tipped back, "...in the act..."
He didn't move but she was a betting girl and she was willing to bet that he tensed. "I never catch you in the act," he said, ignoring the double entendre, but his tone was oddly more open, even a little self-deprecating.
"Meow," she whispered against his lips. And that said it all for her. She heard his shallow exhale. Mate. The next step was his now and she just turned around and dove off the roof, her whip at ready to catch her and swing her to the point of safety. She continued to run though she knew he wouldn't chase. This time.
But that wouldn't stop him from watching her till she disappeared out of view. She grinned. Meow.