Author's Notes:
Hello there! This is my first story! I hope you like it! I welcome feedback wholeheartedly, whether it be good or bad. Also, I would like to add that this story was heavily inspired by some geersart batcat panels. Check them out!
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, etc.
Rating: Rated T for suggestive themes.
Selina's Penthouse, 3 a.m.
The euphonious harmony of a harp resonates throughout the bedroom, emitting from an iPhone encased in a purple case. Selina arches her back, lifting it up towards the ceiling, arms outstretched dramatically as though she were a swan splaying its downy wings. She releases a loud, lusty yawn, rolling over to the right side of her bed and reaching for her phone to set off the alarm. She lingers for a moment longer, basking in the feeling of her plush sheets streaming over her naked skin. Her dark locks cascade atop her pillow as she twists her stiff joints. After deeming herself ready to start the night, she bounces out of bed.
Swaggering her way to the closet, her feet glide along the wooden floor. She reaches inside, bending over to get her purple catsuit, black thigh-high boots, and slick gloves, which are hidden underneath heaps of clothing and shoes on the floor. At least the mess is somewhat convenient, she thought. As she dresses herself, her tabby, which she named Kato, glides between her legs, purring.
She says, "I know you want to come along, but tonight is a night I prefer to work alone," while stroking his silky ears. Slipping on her gloves, she ponders where she will go tonight. It wasn't a particularly busy week, nothing good on the market, well, her market. If there were, she would plan much further in advance by memorizing grids, deciding what was the fastest getaway, and strategizing Machiavellian-style.
After she was fully clad in purple leather, she figures tonight she would wing it. Deciding it was best to hit some rich widow's safe, she grabs her whip, which lies underneath her bed, and walks to her balcony, leaping out into the shadows till they surge over her like a waterfall.
Various rooftops, 5 a.m.
Catwoman runs, hurdles, leaps, and dives over Gotham's rooftops. She feels one with the city, soaring through the night. Right now, she is cocky, just getting away with the prize, fast as a flick of water or the soaring of great winds. After figuring out the combination to the rich woman's safe, she had grabbed her favorite: an extravagant emerald necklace that matched her eyes. Instantly, she had sported it around her neck.
Before she sees him, she senses him like one senses the soft fingers of Death upon their lips just before the moment of reckoning. Batman. They'd run into each other many times. Some "dates" were better than others. On the nights he was stressed, he was angrier than usual, but some nights he was gentler. She could even get a kiss out of him.
Once she feels that he is close, she stops in her tracks, turns to face him, and says, "You're not too busy for me tonight, are you?"
He gravels, "I'm never too busy to put someone in jail," standing over her, trying to be imposing. It never worked on her.
She snorts, "Oh Batman, when have you ever put me in jail?" swaying her hip to one side.
He huffs in defeat. Deep down he knew that he should try harder to catch her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, so he'd let her escape, sometimes with the prize, sometimes without.
Catwoman withdraws from him and leans against a pole, arching her back. She figures she could buy some time if she prodds him further. Pointing to the foggy sky, she says "Looks like you're free tonight. No Batsignal in sight."
Batman replies, "There's always something, but for right now it looks like I'm all yours," while shrugging his shoulders.
"Mmm, do you like my necklace?" Bending her knee, she places one foot against the pole and sets her arms back gracefully, grasping the cylinder. Taking a deep breath, her breasts surge forward. "I wore it just for you." Grazing her fingers across the glittering jewels, she dips her head back and laughs.
"I've seen you do better, but looks expensive." He walks toward her slowly, closing in on her. He extends his arm, each muscle contracting, and places both hands above her, leaning his chest onto her breasts.
Her jaw drops, the lower lip puckering. She isn't used to him being so forward. He usually liked to keep distance between them. She bites her lower lip, then clears her throat. "What can I say? I have expensive tastes."
He senses her surprise, and he likes it. He wants to make her gasp but not on a freakin rooftop. He'd much prefer the luxurious silk sheets of his bedroom beneath them, and her legs, splayed for him. His body tenses as he realizes that he can't allow such fantasies from his psyche to spill into his actions. But as long as he has her in this position, he could take advantage of the situation. Tipping his head forward, he nuzzles her, breathing in her scent: a mixture of lavender lotion, leather, and sweat.
"Oh, Batman. I always knew you'd come around eventually."
While he leans into her, their knees buckling, hips jarred forward, he places his hands over hers, pinning them above her head.
Catwoman senses a shift in his body from warm and welcoming to imposing and halting. She almost knew what he was going to do next.
Finding a bar right above them, he slips her hands into his batcuffs with a "click."
She exclaims, "What the fuck!" and shakes her head, rolling her eyes. "And we were having such a good time." Before he can bolt away from her, she hooks her legs, wrapping them around his waist, the jewels shaking around her neck. "You must think you're pretty clever, huh? Using your looks and charm as a weapon."
"Sounds a lot like what you do," he growls.
"Yes and I'm much better at it. You know that I could be out of these in less than two minutes, but I think it's more fun to watch you squirm." She flashes him a sly grin and tightens her grip around his waist, squeezing him like snakes do just before they consume their prey. He gasps, and she feels a bulge forming, tense and hot. Her nipples harden beneath her costume. "That's more like it," she grunts. "And to think the only thing separating us is these damn clothes."
"Let me go," he whispers while clenching his teeth.
"Only if you promise to let me go."
"Fine," he stutters.
She releases him, and he unhooks the cuffs. They both steady themselves. As she circles her fingers around her wrists, she notices him backing away from her. She grabs his arm and says, "Wait, you're not going to just leave it like that, are you?!"
"That was nothing but a momentary lapse of control."
She scoffs. "You and I both know that isn't true. This isn't one of your goddamn missions." Sighing, she adds, "You know it doesn't have to be like this, right?" Placing her hand on his heart, where she scratched him so long ago in a frantic exit.
He emits a long breath. "Right now, this is all I can afford." He steps toward, cupping her cheek in his hand and kisses her. Not rough and passionate after the heat of battle like so many times before, but softer, like he's trying to reach something deep inside himself and let it pour into her. They envelope each other, arms encircling and necks tilting to fit each other.
He pulls away suddenly, as he always does, latching his grappling gun onto the a ledge on the next roof, leaping away from her. But this time as she catches a glimpse of his countenance, she doesn't see guilt or regret in his eyes. She sees something that yearns for more, like that moment when waves draw back after they've grazed the shoreline. When he left, she discovered that she wants to peel him apart from the inside, layer by layer, petal by petal. It would take more than one night, for sure, but the prospect of many nights together was very tempting. And she wasn't just talking about the possibility of sex, but of something more, whatever that was.