Pre-flashpoint. This is basically porn. Set immediately after Birds of Prey vol 2 #10 if you're looking for context.
Barbara can be ominous when she wants to be, which is really most of the time. So, when she tells Dinah that Bruce wants to see her...nothing good is going to come of it, that much she is sure of. Nevermind that he couldn't seem to ask her himself. Over the years her and the Dark Knight were hardly close, as much as true as she simply decides to see what he wants. Neither were touchy, feely people, and certainly not when in the company of another.
Not exactly social people either.
Usually when he is speaking to her he's scolding her for some reason or another. She's so often tuning him out, hardly as if she's going to listen anyway. Not with Bruce, not when he expects to glare or use that stern voice and she'll just fall in line. Sometimes they'll meet when she needs to give him a piece of her mind, only those are few and far between. He's been dead for so long. Not dead, Barbara said, without going to explain in detail.
She thinks it's not that important where he was, only that he's back now.
Downtown Gotham is seedy, that's putting it nicely, and meeting Bruce there is...unexpected. Meeting him in street clothes is just as unexpected, only she doesn't question it.
The bar is dark with only a few patrons in it. Quiet, smells like smoke, smells even more like alcohol, and if she hadn't stepped foot in it for a very specific person she thinks she'd end up in some kind of bar fight.
The last thing she needs.
Bruce stands out. He always does. Everything about him is expensive. She notes the white shirt that cost more than her apartment rent, yet the missing coat. His slacks hold the shine that all expensive clothes do, as she gets closer she knows that cologne. Ollie wore it exactly one before deciding he smelled too much like Bruce. She'd given it to Barbara who no doubt gave it to Dick, and if she has to guess it's sitting on a table never to be worn because it is Bruce through and through.
It's silly, the way the scent throws her through a whirlwind of thoughts for no reason.
The drink she likes is already there. She's not surprised, not when Bruce probably knows everything about her in one handy little file. Not everything. Some things she's kept to herself and other things Ollie only knows. A different life. One she isn't a part of any more. She's part of the one that keeps her in Gotham and sitting next to a billionaire who happens to dress up like a bat.
"You never pick public places." She speaks after taking a sip of her drink, simply because he isn't speaking. He could be quiet for hours before saying anything, and she wants to get some sleep.
"I thought you could use a drink."
He isn't wrong. She likes the drink and knows she can drink many more before the numbness finds her. Rough day, rough year, rough life. It clouds her a lot more now than it used to. Maybe because she's alone and all she has is her work. That's a sad thought, one she won't entertain. "Just spit it out Bruce."
"I know inner hell can be difficult."
"Are you asking me if I'm okay?" This is new...makes her suspicious. "Let's recap. I'm wanted for murder, the whole world knows my identity, I don't get to see my daughter, Ollie and I are divorced, and I'm suddenly aware of my failings. Which, for fun, are a lot. A lot, a lot." Yeah, okay, she's not going to cry because that would just make things more awkward. More awkward than Bruce Fucking Wayne spending more than five seconds worrying about her.
"I'm sorry," are the two words that slip from him after exactly twenty-three seconds of silence.
Yeah, she counted.
"Me too." But she really has no interest in focusing on any of that. It makes her think too hard, listen to he mother's words, think about Roy, think about Ollie…think, think, think. When she thinks it all goes to hell and she doesn't really think she can do anything other than beat some people up. Not entirely out of the realm of possibility with the bar they were in. "Death does you well." The shift isn't smooth but it's needed.
He turns to her then, "Is that a compliment?"
"Yes." She replies without missing a beat. "A little setting me on edge because when has Bruce Wayne ever been nice?"
"I'm nice."
"To people you care about. I just didn't know I was on that list." She knows she is in the general way, the Bruce isn't letting people die on his watch way, the fight next to her like it's an art form way, the heroes stick together way. Not the grab a drink way or so openly.
"You never had a reason to be."
"I don't now either." Her response is instinctive and she simply can't help herself. Not when she's been working in a man's world since she was a teenager and half of them treat her like she's a doll. "I can take care of myself."
"I know that." His response is as calm as ever as he nurses his own drink. "Not everyone pulls themselves from their personal hell."
"Thank you." She says suddenly, eyes casting downward, staring at him being too much. "Barbara told me you brought me in."
"I'm glad you're okay."
"You were worried." It clicks then, the worrying, the carrying, it's genuine. It's new. It is nice, maybe. Too simple of a word but the only one that seems to fit. "You have a heart. I mean, you have like five hundred kids so you have to have a heart, but you have that whole brooding thing going on."
"You could have died."
"Do you invite all the birds out for drinks after they almost die?" Dinah's pushing then and she knows it. She's searching for a why to a question that might not ever be answered.
"No."
"Maybe you should invite your girlfriend."
His head shifts back so he's looking straight ahead, finishing his drink in one sip. "She's not my girlfriend."
"Then how did you know who I was talking about?"
"Have you spoken to Oliver?" His name is icy, fitting.
Her own drink is finished, trying not to think of him. She's not him, she can't be him, not when...just not. "That was unfair."
"Completely fair."
"Fine." But she is in no mood to continue the conversation. "Dance with me."
"Here?"
"There's music and it's a little seedy but that's half the fun. You picked this place." Slowly, she rises from the stool and leans over him just enough. "Or, I can tell you about the male strippers we went to see before everything became a mess."
"Please don't"
"Great." Victory. "You need to smile more."
"I smile enough." He dismisses as he grabs her hand, leading her to where no one else was, just the pair.
Her eyes roll in a clear gesture of disbelief. "I'm sure."
"I'm not Oliver Queen."
Tension fills her near instantly and she swallows to keep herself composed. "You're not a murderer."
"He was acquitted."
"Oh, that's right, you were there." Accusing him of something she shouldn't be. Not when she knows the Justice League was there. Clark, Diana, Hal, whoever else, because she tuned out the minute Barbara filled her in. No interest in knowing about Ollie's affairs, only interested in keeping as much space between them as possible. Bruce helps with that. He's protective of Gotham and it's the only time in her life she's wanted to thank him for it. She doesn't. Not as the music shifts to something slow and he pulls her against him. She's a couple of inches shorter than him. Looking up she searches his features, trying to find where the line of conversation is going. She never could read Bruce, can't now.
There's no ulterior motive in his tone, "Why weren't you?"
"Because I'm not his wife." She's bitter but there's no regret in her decision. Maybe she reads the things the press says, leaving him when he arguably needed her most. She might also read about her own wanted status, a perfect pair, crime and all. Babs cut her off from reading any of the news sites and she's grateful for that. Going mad is not on the list of things she wants.
"You always did deserve better." Bruce whispers, softly moving as the song plays in the background.
She really wonders if she does, however. Appreciates what he says, no matter he's most definitely talking out of his ass.
It doesn't take long after that for him to end up in his car. They should be elsewhere, pretend to hide, pretend to be decent people, but they don't. Instead she's on his lap and only careful not to press her back against the car horn. Instead she leans against him and when she kisses him, hot, heavy, messy, like he's needed for her to survive, like she can only exist off of his life force.
She kissed him before. Just because she wanted to, because she just needed to know what it felt like, and to set him on edge. Only he's far more receptive now and she's burning at her very core for him. Burning for touch, for something, for Bruce to stop being nice and touch her. God, why wasn't he touching her?
"Bruce, just."
"Yes, Dinah?"
Oh, now that's criminal. The way he looks up at her with that barely there smirk and he just waits. He's settled into the seat and his arms just rest, his whole body does, he just watches her like she's a prize. It makes her feel hotter. Too long since anyone looked at her that way. Her colorful year makes her not the most desirable unless you were Selina.
She knows he's not going to do anything until she asks.
"Not to sound like a cheesy romance novel but touch me." Dinah wastes no time as she pulls her shirt off and is tugging at his. Seeing him as Batman and seeing him there as Bruce, the way too expensive button up, is such a disconnect. She's messy and impatient as she tries to get the buttons undone before she simply gives up, doesn't need him naked anyway there's only one really important part of him.
It definitely sounds like she's using him and maybe, in a little way she is.
It's not love and happily ever after. They know what they're doing and she simply doesn't care.
She wants to feel wanted and he wants her.
No harm, no foul.
Definitely not as she begins to rock against him. It's slow and steady, a roll of her hips mixed in, spreading her legs enough to feel him harden beneath her. Something she's never thought of as a real possibility of experiencing. She's not complaining. Instantly distracted by the sheer hotness of him. That's not entirely new either. Her brief stint with power is gone when his hand makes it's way to inside her shorts, beneath the lace, invading her in ways only she has in months. She's needy and desperate, tries not to be, only there's something about the roughness of his hands that only makes her body respond to his touch.
"You're soaked." Bruce whispers in her ear as his free arm snakes around her and pulls her so her chest is flush against him. "I barely even touched you."
"You're barely touching me now." It's true, he's not. Her legs spread as far as she can, wondering why she ever bothered to keep her shorts on, not when her chest is exposed in all it's glory. His fingers spread her open and she's feeling heightened, needs more, something, anything. Desperate. She rocks against him as her lips part, breath growing heavy, needing something more. Anything. She can't even feel his cock against his trousers anymore and that's a pity in itself.
"And?"
"And it's criminal."
Bruce smirks more times in that car than she's ever seen before, half thinks anyone has ever seen before.
"What do you want, Dinah?" His voice is barely above a whisper, yet cocky, pushing a line.
She watches him as she feels his fingers moving against her. Vaguely she wonders how wet they are. She can feel herself only growing more aroused, thinks about coating his hand, coating him. Her eyes fall to his lips. Riding his face sounds nice. He has to be skilled with his tongue, doesn't he? Her cunt aches, more so when he just barely, barely, brushes against her swelling clit. He stops as soon as he started, teasing her further, exploring, grazing against her, not daring to give her anything real.
"You're praying on my desperation and it's mean."
He stills completely. "All you have to do is ask."
"Put your fingers inside me, Bruce. Fuck me, I need it. I want it." Her resolve should have lasted longer but she holds no regret for her words and the way they spill from her.
He complies effortlessly as his fingers enter her. It's too good of a feeling, reliving some of her ache. She does it herself more often than not, but it's not the same. The touch of another is what really she needs. He's not gentle either, a perk, not having to tell him. It's Bruce, Batman, a man she's had a good fantasy for. None of them gentle. She doesn't need love, she needs sex, raw, passionate, dirty, to be fucked into a certain level of submission, taken and played with until neither wants to play anymore.
She takes what she wants because of that. Her hips move to fuck herself on his fingers, her cunt squeezing around him, pushing herself down harder on him. He's good, not that she ever had any doubts. It's her own pleasure she's focusing on, he'll get his turn. The thought of his fingers turning into his cock help, riding him as hard as she could manage, letting out a louder moan as a third finger enters her.
"My clit, touch my clit." The command comes as she arches her back from him, letting her body simply move.
Her fingers dig into his shoulder as he continues, his eyes falling to her chest. Dinah spends so much time fighting against the creeps who look at her like she's nothing more than an object. Bruce's gaze burns through her and she just wants more, almost to put on a show for him, let her tits bounce as her body does, her blonde hair fall behind her, mouth agape as the pleasure consumes her. Nails dig into his shoulder, pleased as he obeys, sending her to an edge she doesn't want to topple over just yet. Almost, almost she wants to relieve the fire that's burning hot throughout her. She looks desperate and part of her is, wishing she'd taken off the rest of her clothing.
She wants to spread herself open for him, completely, let him see, let him do whatever he wants to her. No doubt in her mind he's as depraved as she is, too caught in the lust to care about anything than carrying out all the dirty little fantasies she has.
Whatever dynamic they held before is gone, but it's the thought of his cock that is on the forefront.
Bruce comes with tales through the city of Gotham, some true, maybe some not. She doesn't know. It doesn't stop her from thinking, though. She wants to stumble back into her apartment and think about what he did to her. Pass out from exhaustion and satisfaction. Tomorrow when she's on patrol she wants to be able to feel the ache, know that none other than Batman did that to her, nearly broke her, made her feel better than she'd felt in months.
Her hand grips his wrist and he stops, his steel blue eyes looking at her, questioning.
"You stop and I'll scream your windows into pieces." Her threat isn't entirely empty, even though the words barely come out.
When his fingers move again she encourages him, forces his hand harder, fingering herself through him.
"Look at me." He says then. It's not a suggestion, he's not asking, it's a command.
Somehow, it makes her worse. It makes her thrust herself down on his fingers as much as she could, which is not quite what she needs. Not really, not as he moves them and she's so close. so, so close. "Right there," she murmurs, closing her eyes.
"Look at me, Dinah or you're not coming. Unsatisfied, empty cunt. With nothing. No fingers, no cock, just home, you'll have to satisfy yourself." His voice is darker, harsher, only cut with a smirk, one that screams power.
"No, please. Don't. Just. Let me come. I need to." Her eyes shoot open as she begs and she wonders when he got all the power and she's acting like a little girl who has never been touched before. "Please."
"Not yet."
"How are you so controlled?" She practically hisses at him, hates him and is impressed all at the time. She can't take much more, doesn't want to, it's all building. the fire is in the pit of her stomach and if he stops she'll die. Dramatic, maybe, but feeling as if it's the truth. Her whole body isn't against him, digging into him, holding onto him. She needs this. Her forehead rests against his and she plays the good girl part of keeping her eyes open. Barely.
"Practice."
Even then he's quiet and calm, put together, someone with years under his belt. It drives her mad and only makes her want him more, which is also criminal. He's always been hot and she's always found him slightly terrifying, maybe not as much now. Because he's knuckle deep in her and he circles her clit faster then, so no, he can't really be that scary. Not that it's surprising if that is what's getting her off.
"Please, Bruce." She murmurs, eyes softening in hopes she can break him. He only shakes his head. She's a mess now, unable, feeling overwhelmed, almost as if she could cry. Only it's so good, her body filled with so much, needing him. He curves against her and she has to actively think of something to keep her from coming. "I can't. I'll do whatever you want just let me come."
"Let go, Dinah," he encourages, running his fingers along her cheek, soft, new, different. "Come on my fingers."
His voice pushes her over that last edge. She's gone, whispers his name like it's a prayer, holding onto him, rocking herself to get all she wants. She shakes, actually shakes, riding it out, gripping at him as hard as she can, it's too much, way too much, and yet, it's perfect. Better than anything she's done by herself. She leans forward and steals a kiss, needing it, needing more of him, like she's an addict and he's her drug. He's everything in that moment, the only thing worth worrying about, barely able to catch her breath.
When she manages to come to his fingers are gone from her. She doesn't hesitate as she grabs his hand, sucking his fingers into his mouth, calmer, no less wanting, swirling her tongue around them. The barely there groan is music to her ears, causing her to smirk.
Dinah gives him his hand back and untangles herself from him, slipping off of him so she can remove her shorts. She needs to fuck him, actually fuck him, no mess of clothes and restriction.
"I never thought I'd be naked in Bruce Wayne's car." She speaks almost to herself as she slips off the rest of her clothes. a small note to herself tells her if she's meeting him to just wear a skirt.
"You say my full name like I'm not real."
"You aren't." She shrugs, watching the way he watches her. "We all know we spend more time in our hero than out."
"Things can change."
"I'm wanted for murder."
"Don't think about that, Dinah." His tone is gentle, as gentle as his touch, softly gripping her arm and pulling her on his lap once more.
She listens, something impressive in itself, looking down at him. "You're overdressed." She distracts herself as she undoes the rest of his shirt, shoving it open, nails running down his chest and abdomen, teeth sinking into her lower lip.
It only takes moments before he's paying much needed attention to her nipples, leaning forward his lips graze along her neck, biting and soothing, driving her just as mad as before.
"Did you think about this when you told Babs you wanted to see me?"
"Did I plan this? No." He denies as his kisses move along her neck.
She abandons his chest and works down to his hardened cock, still hidden beneath the layer of cloth. He's leaking, a stain unlikely to come out, she amuses herself by explaining that one to Alfred. "Hm. Pity."
"Should I have an elaborate sex plan?"
"Considering I'm naked and ruining your pants, no."
Cupping her cheek, he cause their eyes to meet, not kissing her quite yet. "Worth it."
Her palm runs along him, attempting to break his resolve. Few things she found hotter than simply listening to a man, especially him, so often composed, never even giving a hint to when he is injured. It takes a moment but it comes, filling the car, her senses, a smirk as he kisses her. They're as gentle as each other. It won't last, she knows, but as she undoes his trousers and slips her hand to feel skin against skin, she's content where she is. Her movements are lazy, soft, teasing, enjoying the way he doesn't hold himself back.
He moves against her hand, slowly trying to earn himself more, a soft series of moans hitting her ears. Seeing him as human, even if the most basic of ways, only causes her to run hotter.
She allows herself to kiss him back then, the sensual moment stolen for the moment, a rough day breaking her more than normal. Just a little. It's a fun moment, surely, but she still really needs to be fucked. A lot. Hard. Half of her is annoyed that she settled for the car because she really wants to see if what he can do. She just couldn't wait. Not even then as her cunt throbs and it takes all her strength to not allow her fingers to find her clit, give her a little.
Only when they're both desperate for much needed air does he speak, "There's a condom in the glove compartment."
Wasting no time she leaned herself over to find it, slipping it on him with ease. She needs him too much to play a fun little game of teasing.
"I'm not patient."
"That's not news."
"I don't have to ride you."
"You don't," he agrees, running his fingers through her blonde hair, "you will though."
When his words finish his grip on her hair is firm, nothing she's breaking free from, nothing wanted as he tugs at her. She curses herself for moaning, curses how she felt herself wetter than before, curses that she has half a mind to defy him just so he can punish her. "You sound confident."
"I am."
"That how it works? Pretty little girl half your age. Can't resist the Bruce Wayne."
"I could ask the same." His lips move along her jawline, only stopping at her ear. "Has Dinah Lance ever met a guy her own age she liked, or is forty the minimum age?"
"Men know what they're doing."
"And you still don't seem interested." He bites at her neck and she's thankful her costume covers it. There'll be a bruise, a mark, she knows it. Half a thought of it being a bat. If only he was that skilled.
"Maybe I don't find your cock all that great."
"Says the girl who begged for my fingers."
"Delirious." Is all she responds with, knows there is no good reply, knows that she did sound like a desperate woman and she was one. But she's not on that edge. "Make me. If you want me, make me."
He pulls back and looks at her for a moment, the thrill of it all is shooting through her, the only face given is one of the expectancy. she wants him, needs him even, but there's no way she's just giving him what he wants without any effort.
It takes him all of two seconds before his fingers are digging into her hip. It hurts, more than she imagined it would, but she only wants more. She's never been good, not the little girl who needs to be treated with kid gloves, not when she's there and she relishes at the way his cock is teasing her.
He slams her down on him without warning and that hurts, in a good way, the best way. the moan confirms that, he doesn't move, not yet. "Fuck."
He smirks and she roughly grabs at his chin. "Fuck me."
He lets go of her hair, wraps his arms around her, tight. She will not let her mind think about the comfort it brings, how it's what she needed after the memories, how something about the man that everyone else feared made her feel safe. None of those thoughts last, not as he thrusts up into her, no mercy, rough, hard, quick, and it drives her mad.
The only sounds are the skin slapping against skin, the heavy breaths, thoughts are few and far between. She holds onto the car seat for better leverage. Mostly, she just lets him take her, lets him fuck her like she's not someone who has known him most of her adult life, like it's a random, hazy, lust filled encounter without care.
"Suck." He demands as he puts two fingers in front of her mouth.
She doesn't question, doesn't throw miles of sass at him, just does as she's told. The complete feeling of comfort is gone but it's a sacrifice she wants to make, just needs someone to take the control, to be the boss, to bring something she's lost. Her body is his and with the waves of pleasure sending her on edge she's fine. She's thankful her first orgasm rode through her so she can last, let him use her, let him do what he wants.
Surprise catches her as his hand meets her ass, the action rippling through her. "Do it again."
He does just as he bites on her ear lobe.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
He shifts her a bit more and it's good, too good, the best. She's so close to singing his praises but keeps her mouth shut, some control, until his fingers are felt at her hole. "Do it, Bruce. Please." She doesn't care how she sounds or how she looks, doesn't expect Bruce to ever judge her for any of this, he's a lot of things, but he's not that.
Certainly not as he moans, proving he's not that quiet. "You're going to wreck me." It takes him a moment before he pushes his middle finger in. It burns, spit is a terrible lube, she doesn't care, not when it feels so good, not when it something that fills her more.
"Let me ride you."
He lets go of her. her palm ends up flat against his chest as takes the pleasure for herself. He's filling her completely, stretching her, making her bite down on her lip to keep herself from screaming, no less quiet, only more reserved barely, she's never been much of a reserved person.
"You should keep lube in your car."
"I'll keep that in mind." His tone is dry, they both smile at that.
His finger pinches her nipple as he allows his index finger to join the middle inside of her. It burns and really, really desiring lube, but she doesn't stop him, doesn't want him to pull from her. She rides him harder, let's him in her, rolls her hips, letting the feeling of his cock and fingers complete her, biting down on his lip.
She's a mess, unable to think, just act. It only takes a few more movements before she's gone, over the edge, closing her eyes, letting her body shake, letting his name roll off her lips, thanking him, unable to do anything else. It almost felt as if it snuck up on her, the pleasure too much for her body to take more, a true and tries mess.
She rides out her pleasure before he comes, a part of her wishing he didn't bother with the condom at all, just so she could feel his come filling her, leaking from her satisfied cunt when she stood. It's depraved, but their whole encounter is, the parking lot of a bar in a not so great part of Gotham, fucking in his car like teenagers.
When kisses her it's far more gentle than anything was, sucks on her lip, pulls his fingers from her and draws her near. It feels good, nice, comforting to have his arms around him, something she needs just as much as she needs anything else from that night. Unwilling to move from him she simply rises, lets him situate himself, only completely resting against him when he returns his arms around him.
Her head rests in the crook of his neck, the sound of his heartbeat in her ear, allowing her finger to lightly glide along his chest. It's quiet, in a good way, not something she thinks often, not with him. So often she's wondering what he's thinking, spent years trying to understand him. It matters little, not when she feels safe, content, like none that happened in the last day will find her.
"Bruce?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for...everything."