Hi, I'm back. Sorry for not writing for so long. Life got in the way.
Disclaimer: Bats and Alf aren't mine.
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Rapture
Bruce walks in grinning, a sight to behold and Alfred finds himself taking that moment, folding it carefully and tucking it away safely, deep in his heart.
"Another new toy from Lucius, Master Bruce?"
"Not a toy, Alfred," Bruce says, "a-a…" His grin fades into a frown as he tries to find the right words to describe the… whateveritis. So he simply gestures for Alfred to follow him and moves deeper into the cave.
Bruce turns on the lights and Alfred finds himself momentarily blinded by the harsh white lights. He blinks and – it's a tank. It's not a car, it's a bloody tank.
And Bruce is totally besotted in it. His hands don't stop moving, roaming across the sleek black expanse, petting it, trailing his fingers across sharp black angles. His smile is that of a five-year-old's on Christmas morning.
Alfred can foresee many hours, maybe even days spent in the cave with thing. And if he'd been younger he believes that he would have loved it too, loved the sharp angles, the glossy blackness, the horsepower Bruce is reciting in smitten reverence, the sleekness, the exciting promise of danger and adrenaline.
Bruce looks up smiling and again Alfred takes that rare, precious thing and locks it in his heart for safekeeping. "She's beautiful, Alfred, isn't she?"
And Alfred knows he is lost, totally, utterly lost.
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In real life, guys and their weird love of hunks of metal, engine and wheels annoys me. In fictionland, they're adorable. XD But you have to admit, the Batmobile is one damn sexy car. 3
Writing feels a little weird, I'm so out of practice. Hopefully, I'll start updating more frequently soon. Beware fuzzy Christmas fics lurking around corners!!!
