Title: Let In The Sunlight
Rating: T for mild implications
Word Count: 2,000+
Characters: Bruce/Selina
Summary: She tastes like cinnamon and spices with a little dash of cream, an odd combination that suits her very well and that he's always loved despite his natural aversion to anything too sweet.
Prompt: #106: coffee
Other Inspirations: "Morning handsome" by remidar (fanart link on my profile) & the quote: "When it's real, you can't walk away" said by Lexi on The Vampire Diaries
Let In The Sunlight
He knows they'll probably get mad at him once they find out that he's watching video camera footage from his laptop.
Today's supposed to be his day off from anything and everything (Clark and Diana are taking over League business and Alfred is monitoring duties at Wayne Tech), and everyone pretty much forced him into taking one because he may have collapsed from fatigue on their last mission and they'd decided he was pushing himself too hard. He would've just dismissed it. In fact, he was really, really close to.
Except, as always, he seemed to have underestimated just how persuasive the woman lying beside him could be and, well, he couldn't exactly say no once Diana put the idea in her head.
"You're supposed to be sleeping."
"I woke up an hour ago," he mumbles, eyes never leaving the screen.
"I know you did." He looks and finds Selina watching him from over her bare shoulder, a smile on her lips. "Your laptop isn't as quiet as you think."
He hums absently. "Well, I'm sorry I woke you, then," he says, meaning it. "Though, you could've just gone back to sleep."
"I can be very patient when I want to be," she reminds. "Part of me was hoping you'd wise up and turn that thing off and go back to sleep yourself. I should've known better."
"You do," he reassures, trailing his knuckles lightly down her spine and watching the way her smile grows and her body shivers a bit as she purrs. "You just want me to make the most of my day off and actually sleep in. I, on the other hand, don't see the same satisfactory in doing so as you do."
"What's this?" she asks. "You're actually admitting that something I want is for the better? Just how hard did you hit your head on that mission yesterday?"
His chest rumbles in a deep chuckle as she's turning onto her side to face him and he's snaking an arm around her waist, a hand on the small of her back. She's looking up at him from underneath her long eyelashes and has an ever-amused expression on her face, and he wonders what was it he did that was so good that—after everything he's done—he gets to have her in his life.
"Not hard enough, considering I was up all night."
She tips her head back as she laughs. He's always loved that sound.
He sets his laptop down on the nightstand as she shifts and wraps her arms around his neck, curls spilling over her shoulders as she lies against his chest with their foreheads pressed together. He slides his hand down her spine to settle at her waist and pushes the other through her hair.
Her skin is glowing in the morning sunlight that's washing over them from the tall windows, and it never fails to amaze him how breathtaking she is.
"I never would've taken you for the morning cuddling type," he mumbles against her lips.
"I'm a cat, Bruce. We always love to cuddle."
"Noted," he hums, and slants his lips over hers. She tastes like cinnamon and spices with a little dash of cream, an odd combination that suits her very well and that he's always loved despite his natural aversion to anything too sweet.
She braces a hand against his shoulder, trailing her fingers along the jagged scars there—her claw marks.
He wonders what goes through her head every time she does that, because he'd told her that his scars were like his memories and he's never taken her as the type to regret anything. She may just tell him if he asks, but he supposes even in marriage, it's the mysteries between them that will always make their relationship.
When they have to part for air, she pulls back and licks her lips. "Let's have breakfast," she tells him, smiling, and he knows she's actually being serious about it.
So much for lounging in bed all day.
Rolling her eyes, she retorts playfully at his unspoken comment, "You missed your chance at sleeping in. Besides, having a day off doesn't mean you get to be a bum. Come on."
He mostly watches her from the bed instead of following as she slips out from underneath the covers and walks over to her dresser. She knows this, too, because her hips sway when she walks and takes longer than she needs to when slipping into a bra and panties. Then she slips into some socks and this green cashmere sweater that Clark and Diana gave her for Christmas that he knows she loves.
She reaches into his drawer and tosses a pair of boxers at him from across the room, placing a hand at her hip. "I'm not eating breakfast by myself."
"I wasn't planning on making you," he says simply as he pulls them on. In the back of his head, he wonders why she can go around in a sweater and underwear and only he in boxers, but she stops him in the doorway on their way out and splays her fingers across his abs as they kiss, so he figures that's why.
When they get to the kitchen, he hears her begin to fumble around with the coffee maker while he walks over to the cabinets and pulls them open.
"I'm no Alfred, but I can make some amazing French toast."
"Why's that?" she asks.
"It's been Dick's favorite breakfast since I first took him," he explains. "Alfred taught me how to make it for him because on slow mornings, he liked to sit on the counter and talk to me while I cooked."
"I'm guessing Dick did most of the talking and you did all the listening." She has this soft smile on her face while she's watching the coffee brew when he looks at her. "You really are sweet in your own way that people rarely get to see," she adds, almost as if talking to herself, and then hums. "French toast it is, then."
She slides him the bread and brings him the stuff he asks for that's on the her side of the kitchen while he's digging out a pan and spatula, and she hops onto the counter beside him as he's switching on a burner and placing the pan over it to warm up. He smiles at her and puts a hand over her knee, squeezing a little and running the pad of his thumb along her skin, and she tilts her head.
"I'm going to ask you about something," she tells him in this soft kind of whisper he's rarely heard her use before, "and it's the last League- or business-related topic that will be mulled over today."
He lifts his eyebrows as he nods and wonders what it could be. Considering how their lives are, there are a number of things up for discussion.
"Those security cameras that you keep watching… they're of the kids, aren't they?"
His thumb stalls ever-so-slightly as it strokes her skin, and he knows that's all the reaction she needs for an answer.
"You're worried." It's a statement, not a question.
"I am," he admits, the tone of his voice shifted to a troubled gravel. "They have been… strained since finding out about Artemis's background and family relations."
Selina nods in understanding. Everyone in the League can tell how big of a blow that secret was to their general togetherness.
It used to be impossible to walk through the Watchtower or Hall of Justice and not run into some League members that were complimenting them or retelling stories they experienced or heard from someone else who supervised them. Barry had accompanied them on this reconnaissance mission once and told them how the kids were telepathically helping each other study for school the entire time.
Now every time he walks into the Cave, the tension is so thick he can slice it with a batarang. The first few days after the secret slipped out, everyone was just so angry and lashed out at each other without warning over the smallest things.
It's gotten a bit better recently, and by better he means that they're actually talking and civil and maybe are beginning to understand Artemis's situation.
"They'll make it through this," Selina tells him.
He just presses his lips together and pulls out a mixing bowl for the French toast batter.
"Bruce, they're good children that love each other deeply," she reminds. "They're never really going to abandon someone they care for. Dick and Barbara didn't."
"Dick and Barbara figured it out without Artemis even knowing, long before any of this," he reminds.
"I wasn't talking about that."
He pauses to look at her again, and she reaches over and pushes her fingers through his tousled hair, running her thumb along his hairline and over the almost nonexistent scar that's there.
"Ivy was always much more persuasive over me before," she tells him almost absently, as if commenting on the weather, and he can tell her mind is going back to the night that he got that scar. "When Harley Quinn shot me and you went after her, I knew that she… I knew she was leading you into that trap. But Ivy got to me and I couldn't bring myself to come after you."
Her hand slides down to his cheek and he leans into her palm a little, eyes meeting hers. She has this fond smile on her face that makes him think of all the wonderful things about that night—seeing her alive, feeling relieved when she came to help him, Dick and Barbara's laughter in the background when Selina had kissed him and said they'll figure it out—instead of the part where he almost died.
"Dick and Barbara found me and convinced me that I was that only one that could do it, and that I'd never forgive myself, under Ivy's influence or not, if I didn't save you."
"Selina…"
She grins. "It's something I've never properly thanked them for."
"What does this have to do with the kids?"
He can't fight the smile from his voice, because he knows her answer already and she can tell. But she can also tell he wants her to say it anyway, so she slips her hand behind his neck and pulls him forward and mumbles, "When it's real, you can't walk away," before pressing their lips together.
She nips his bottom lip before pulling back and patting his cheek as she hops off of the counter. "Do you want coffee?"
He chuckles. "You know I've never said no to coffee."
"That's why they call it a rhetorical question, sweetheart," she purrs. And they only ever use sweetheart or darling in front of select company and when they're being sarcastic with each other, so he gives her a soft shove and she just laughs.
He listens to her hum some song he doesn't know while she's making their coffees and he's making their French toast, and he thinks it's the best he could ask from a forced day off.
When he's dipping the last slice of bread and slipping it onto the pan, her humming died down and he looks over his shoulder at her. She has a mug in one hand and the other braced against the counter and is just sort of watching him with that flirtatious smile that he knows is only his, and he wonders if she would object to dragging her back to their bedroom and just microwaving everything for brunch.
(He doesn't see her being bothered by the idea at all.)
"They love each other more than enough to get through this," she says when she's standing beside him and handing him a mug, switching off the burner. "Tell me if it's too sweet."
He takes a sip and tastes a delicious amount of cream and sugar. Whenever he prepares coffee himself, he always takes it black. He actually dislikes how bitter it tastes and she knows it, too, or must strongly assume it because she's always making some for him if she can help it. And it's not like her to fret over things, either, but she always asks if it's too sweet for him and he thinks she's genuinely worried it might be.
So he just places his free hand on her hip and fingers the hem of her sweater and says, "Everyone needs something sweet in their life."