Intimate Solitude
by Athena Phoenix
Author's Note: Set after JLU ended. Fanfic 100 prompt: Moon. Thanks to DC Lady for the beta.
Selina rested her head on Bruce's chest. She felt his hand stroke her hair, and wondered if the gesture stemmed from affection, or mere habit.
It had been eight months since his first appearance on her balcony. She had thought he had come to interrogate, to threaten, or to warn.
His kiss had surprised her, as had his need. Later, in the moonlight, she had traced his many scars, nearly asking if any had been her doing.
He had left in silence from their first encounter, and she had concluded that it had been an aberration, a momentary weakening of his will. But he had returned another night, and another.
She never knew when to expect him, but she did know that he would eventually find his way into her arms. To her chagrin, she'd found herself staying home some evenings when a week had passed without his presence. Had that been part of his plan? She didn't like the implication, even though he'd always made it worth her while.
Selina raised her head and looked into Bruce's eyes, then followed his gaze to the window. No Bat-signal shone in the Gotham night, but that wouldn't prevent him from leaving her. It was difficult to fully enjoy the afterglow, knowing that at any moment he could decide to disappear into the night.
So it was almost a relief when he finally said, "I have to go." He eased her body away from his, and she watched him pick up his clothing from the chair.
She couldn't help letting out a sigh as he pulled his uniform pants up. He turned his head to glance at her, eyebrow raised.
"Pity," she said. "An ass that fine shouldn't be covered up."
He buckled his utility belt around his waist. There was no reply.
As always, he took the tiny bag containing the used condom, and put it into one of the belt's many compartments.
As always, she wanted to ask him when he'd ever trust her with his DNA. And as always, she decided against it. She didn't want to know the answer.
He stepped onto her balcony, cape billowing in the wind. He readied his grapple gun.
She leaned out the open door. "What's your hurry? I make a good omelet."
He fired, and the grappling hook caught on a cornice of the neighboring building. As he swung away, she could barely hear his response.
"Maybe next time."