Author Note: Holiday spirit engulfs even me. I've found myself wanting to post something. So here it is. Obviously AU. This is something I wrote years ago for a story of mine, so I guess it can be taken as an Elsewhere story for Nolanverse.
Not beta-read, so you possibly will see weird syntax and grammar failures (okay, knowing me, you most certainly will do), and they belong solely to me. Please let me know if you catch something, I'll gladly fix it.
Some Like It Hot; is there anyone who doesn't know about this?
Enjoy.
Edit: The original version of this and the background of the story now can be read in Song of Solomon.
Slowly she presses her lips on his, then applies a little more pressure, and opens her mouth. He doesn't open his but doesn't push her back either. She smiles against his lips, and backs him against the door.
By the time they've made it to his bedroom, Bruce's already started to recuperate, he may have been abstained first but quickly reciprocates; he wants her, very badly, he's just needed to admit it.
Even though he lacks experience, he's got just about everything else what makes a man a good lover; a decent body, a strong will, a high stamina, and a flaming spark to fire it; Bruce Wayne proves himself to be one of those lucky men that bears a burning passion under a restrained personality, and she tells herself that glinting she sees in his eyes is just an illusion of her avid imagination, merely a reflection, pale moonlight over a surface, even though there is no light to reflect.
Hours later, when they've exhausted each other, they're about as close to naked as it's possible to be and still be wearing something. She's let him up from where she had him pinned—at last, on the floor, bedroom is the last point they managed to make. But she's not going far, just drapes herself over him, and his eyes are almost shut as his smile twists, and he doesn't move out from under her even if he could.
His voice isn't more than a rasp as he says, "This was…" he hesitates, eyes still almost shut close, "not what I expected," he finishes at last.
For a moment she can't decide if he's talking about sex, his first, or something entirely else. Momentarily she remembers her name on the screen, red underlined, blinking crimson in an otherwise faultless Word document. Then she remembers the dock, and the stone curling around her fingers, cutting into her flesh; pain, burning deep inside, blood dripping down over her inner thighs, slick and silky, and she smiles. "This is much better."
He shakes his head briefly as if to laugh, yet talks no further, and she doesn't press either. Lifting up on an elbow, she stares at him, brushes her hair from her face, then brushes the scratches her nails have made on his chest with her fingertips. Perhaps there was a time when slow and gentle could work for her too, before, when easy and simple were possible. When emotions didn't delude, when people didn't disappoint, when everything didn't turn to bile in her mouth, when she didn't have to right click on her name and ignore once.
He turns his head, looks at her, and there's a bruise over the angle of his neck. Her hand starts to crawl up, and she wants to put her lips there too, get his salty sweat on the tip of her tongue. Tomorrow he's possibly going to hate her.
Instead she stops her hand, lays it on his heart, and twirls her fingers to dig her nails into his skin, just a little. He arches in answer, his head titling back on something like a gasp and something like pleasure, and his eyes narrow in a way saying to it's about to start again.
Yes, tomorrow he's going to surely hate her, but for tonight, for one night, Bruce Wayne belongs to her.
A/N: Hands up, who hates Selina's name coming up 'faulty' in spell check while writing? That thing bugs me continuously. I always envision a small Selina sitting in front of a computer, looking at her name, and then right click and ignore once. And here we go, Selina Kyle's first breaking law. Story of her life. :)