Gotham's Prince
The blinding sunlight of a late morning shone through the large windows that overlooked Gotham City, illuminating the urban penthouse suite. The furnishings weren't elaborate, but they didn't need to be. A luxurious bed rested in the far corner, the sheets untouched. Two lonely chairs sat in the opposite corner, facing the daunting skyline. Across a sea of flawless white tile, a black leather sofa stretched across the length of the room. With a sophisticated setting such as this, one would think the owner whould spend as much time here as possible, amoungst the towers of Gotham. But in truth, Bruce Wayne was seldom there. Yes he held lavish dinner parties and fundraisers here, but only to keep his reputation-and his alter-ego secret-safe. No one outside his inner circle knew about the billionaire's late night heroics as the imfamous Batman, Gotham's mysterious hero.While the city was divided in their opinion of their caped crusader, whether he was friend or foe, they were convinced that Bruce Wayne was clearly someone to be admired. Though he appeared flawless with both personas, Bruce was still human. His sleep patterns were completely out of whack, for he finished his patrols of the city at dawn, and slept until at least three in the afternoon. As the sun would set, he'd do it all over again.Thankfully the string of crimes had decreased; it was a mircoscopical difference, but a difference nonetheless. As such, Bruce was able to spend an uneventful evening at the office, looking over the papers that would finalize a mergor with another of Gotham's major companies. As was usual with his nightly routine, he headed for home just before dawn. He was surprised to find he could hardly keep his eyes open, the image of the road fading between dreams and reality. Thankfully he made it to his penthouse without incident. slinking into the dark garage just as the sky changed from purple to a soft blue. Without so much as a greeting for his elderly butler and friend, Alfred, he draped his black blazer lazily over the back of the couch and stretched across the leather seat, the dark abyss engulfing him within minutes.
That was were Bruce resided now, the blinding light that filled the large space having little success rousing him from his deep slumber. The room was silent, save for his deep, steady breathing, until a flutter of voices approached the modern living space.
"Was he really there all night?" the smooth voice of Rachel Dawes bounced off of the glossy floor.
"Most definitely," Alfred replied, lowering his voice as they neared the man in question. "It's the first time I've seen him focused on his work in months."
The slender brunette nodded, all too familar with her childhood friend's tricky and often dangerous double life. He had brought a sense of justice to the city, not to mention the many times he had saved her life; he deserved every glimpse of normalcy he could get. A smile crept across her delicate features as she looked down on him. She remembered the innocent times, when they were children, when he had slept in his mother's arms, displaying the same peaceful look she saw now. One could not understand how he could lose both his parents in a single breath and still survive, but survive he did, and she loved him all the more for it.
"Should I wake him for you?" Alfred asked, pulling her out of her reverie. "Surely he'd like to know you're here."
Rachel shook her head. "Thank you, but no," she decided. "I'd like to leave him as he is. He seems exhausted and I wouldn't want to rob him of the little sleep he's going to get."
Alfred watched with interest as her face took on an intimate expression, a look he had seen too often from his young master. Smartly, he gave a discreet farewell and swiftly left the room, a smile of his own curving on his lips.
Alone at last, Rachel took the liberty of looking her lover over in detail. He had certainly wasted no time; the only thing that seemed to have moved was the slightly loosened black tie around his neck, clashing perfectly with his white collared shirt. She sat down slowly on the couch, careful not to disturb him. Above that chisled jawline, two full, pink lips called out to her, longingly awaiting her kiss. She returned that longing ten-fold, but a mixture of bad timing and failed courage kept her from accepting that invitation. Beyond them was a face she felt blessed to see, if rarely. The light shining through the windows sent the perfect contors of his nose and cheekbones into shadow. He was beautiful, unwordly even, and he had the world at his feet. He could live life in a world of leisure and comfort, yet he chose to risk his life every night as this mysterious hero everyone knew so little about. She tentatively reached out her hand to carress his glossy black bangs, her fingertips touching his brow ever-so-slightly. If only he knew he wasn't just a hero in Gotham's eyes, but a hero in hers.
"Oh Bruce," she whispered, leaning over him. " If only you knew how much you mean to me."
Somwhere in the sleep-induced fog of his subcounsious, Bruce sensed another presence, a light weight pressing on his chest. This presence leaned closer, surrounding him with a familiar scent. Rachel... he thought vauguely. It had to be. His suspicions were confirmed when he felt a pair of sweet lips caress his own, tasting faintly of lip-gloss. He tried to rouse himeslf, to respond with his whole heart, but exhaustion held him back, and by the time his eyes fluttered open, Rachel was long gone.