I do not own Batman or make money off this fic. All rights belong to, um, DC comics and, uh, probs Chris Nolan or something like that. Molly is my original character, however.
AN: So this is our first lemon. Perhaps a bit unexpected, but oh well. Don't like it, don't read it. It's not particularly lemony, anyway. More action (as in adventure) next chapter.
Dinner was quiet, but tense. Molly spent the entire time thinking of both ways to disembowel Vodyanoy and wondering whether Bruce was mad at her about something. He kept watching her with those serious, brown eyes of his and it made her want to do things to wipe the look off his face. Like kiss him, or run her fingers through his hair.
Which was really just a visceral response from her subconscious to all the danger she'd been in. Right?
Right. Just like the kisses they'd shared the night he'd first brought her here.
"Molly?"
She jerked out her thoughts to see him watching her with those dark pools again.
"Sorry."
"I asked you the same question three times," Bruce responded, smiling some. "Are you alright?"
"Fine. Just…tired."
But her cheeks were flushed with dirty thoughts. She felt ashamed, somehow. This city, her sister and grandmother, her kids…they were all in danger and she wanted to, well. She shook her head some.
"What were you asking, Bruce?"
He looked at her as if he didn't believe her, but went ahead and pretended like they both didn't know exactly what was the matter with her.
"If that itch had gone away."
"Oh." She looked down at her arm and then back up at him. She'd rubbed the spot nearly raw when he hadn't been looking, but he didn't need to know that. "Sort of, I guess it did."
Again, that look of disbelief. She stared back at him and he got up and walked over to her seat, knelt in front of it. She rolled her eyes and looked away, but he reached up and caught her face between his hands. Just the touch of his rough fingertips against her cheeks was enough to bring the heat back into her stomach. She fought the urge to squirm uncomfortably.
"Molly," Bruce said, "there don't need to be any lies between us. Not when you're in my care."
She squirmed anyway, put her hands over his and removed them gently.
"I'm fine. Like I said, I'm just feeling tired. Probably this cocktail you have me on."
He remained in front of her, twined his hands around hers as they rested in her lap.
"Doctor's orders, not mine."
"Like I don't know you're monitoring every prescription and diagnosis they gave me."
He smiled a little. "I am?"
"Of course you are."
"If I am, it's for a good reason." He brought one of her hands to his lips, kissed it softly, sweetly. Turned it over and kissed the palm. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Oh? And what reason is that, Doctor Wayne?" Her voice sounded strange, to her ears.
Bruce's lips froze against her hand and she wondered if he'd suddenly come to his senses. But a second later he was standing up and tugging her up to him, cradling her in his arms without any pain to her or any effort for him.
"Bruce?" she gasped.
"Doctor Wayne was my father," he said hoarsely.
"Oh, Bruce, I'm sorry-"
"Don't be," he responded quickly, while heading towards her room with her tucked safely against his chest.
She looked up at him and he smiled softly, eyes glittering with desire.
"I'm not my father," he whispered as he reached the doorway of her room.
"No, you're not," she replied quietly, then slipped her arms around his neck and gave in to the feelings she'd been having all night.
Bruce closed the door behind them without bothering to turn on the lights, a fact Molly was grateful for. She had no desire to hear the same thing that every other man always says during sex when the lights are on. "You're beautiful," and, "You're breathtaking," would only be lies at this point. She knew she wasn't exactly looking her best at the moment. But in the dark, all cats are grey, and she intended to make that very clear to this rich boy.
He laid her on the bed gently and stripped off his own clothes without preamble before stretching out beside her. She'd already begun slipping off the simple lounge clothes she was wearing, letting him know that she wanted this, too. He stayed her motions and brought one of her hands to his lips again.
There went her breath again, too.
"Bruce-"
He shushed her, covered her lips with his. "Let me," he murmured. "Please."
In the darkness she could still feel his eyes boring holes right into her and she flushed hotly, nodded. Her voice was hardly anything when she spoke.
"Okay."
Then his hands were at her shoulders, sliding the fabric away. He bent to kiss the skin he'd exposed, felt her gasp at every touch. He made his way back up her neck to her lips. She put her arms around him again and they lay there, kissing sweetly for she didn't know how long. The kisses worked her into a fever slowly, making her feel safe and warm, making her want to stay in his arms forever, if he could always make her feel this way.
He pressed his lips to hers harder and slid one hand along her head, angling it as he began exploring her mouth with his tongue. She moaned and her hands crept along his chest to his shoulders, his back in an effort to both press him closer and push him away His kiss was driving her crazy, suddenly and she didn't know what she wanted more. Release, or for it to never end.
He sensed her struggle and lifted himself over her, took her hands and placed them on his chest. They were both breathing hard and he smiled.
"Are you-"
"If you ask me if I'm alright, I'll scream," she promised quietly. His chest was hard and hot beneath her hands and she could feel the muscles and skin move with every breath he took. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could just make him out, leaning over her, hair in his face. She lifted a hand and brushed it back, smoothed it out with a suddenly tender touch.
"I know this isn't making love," she began and he tilted his head, brought her hand down from his hair, kissed it.
"It could be," he breathed and this time when he kissed her, he didn't stop and she didn't ask him to. Her hands pressed against his chest and as he covered her body with his, she slid them around him, holding him to her. She hadn't felt these things in a very long time- not because there hadn't been interested parties, no. Mainly because she hadn't wanted to feel these things. People only ever got hurt when love and sex were involved and she had a life. Her kids, her work, they were more important than personal satisfaction.
But being in Bruce Wayne's arms erased every certainty she'd had about her own immunity to those desires. His hands slid along her sides, leaving scorch marks in their wake, lighting every nerve ending on fire. When he cupped her breasts and placed slow, sensual kisses there she gasped with pleasure. And his fingers at her center, spreading her gently, lazily…it was nearly too much. She was afraid she would start crying if he didn't get on with it and her mouth found his earlobe and she latched on in protest. His hands stilled and it was his breath that caught this time. She took the opportunity to dance her fingers down to him. They closed about his member and she ran her hand up and down him as she bit down lightly on his ear. Suddenly his mouth was over hers again and he had her wrists caught in one hand, was holding them hostage while his other hand brought her to the edge.
She didn't have to tell him twice. He was inside her a moment later, moving slowly, tenderly. This time she didn't bother to stop the tears that slipped from her eyes as her lashes fluttered with some emotion she'd buried a long time ago. He kissed them away without comment, just his lips soft against her cheeks as he sent her over the edge with his gentle pressure. He was hot and hard against her and she didn't need anything but the knowledge that he was driving her into darkness to send her spiraling into her climax. She cried out silently, mouth open, head back and he caught her lips with his, covered her mouth and held her tightly. He went after her a second later, but continued to drive in and out of her slowly, bringing them both down from their shuddering highs.
She freed her hands from his grasp and put her arms around him, eager to hold onto him, to hold onto something. He buried his face in her neck once, placing one more kiss against her heated skin before he pulled out. There was a brief moment of cleaning up, and then he was back at her side, arms around her again.
"You wore a condom," she murmured sleepily against his chest, voice disbelieving.
"I did."
"I didn't think you were that much of a gentleman," she said and layered a few weak kisses over his chest. His mouth found hers again and they didn't speak for several minutes. Only when she felt herself drifting off into a sated sleep did she hear his voice again.
"I'm not," he muttered and held her closer. "I never will be. Being a gentleman is the last of my concerns."
"And what's the first?" she managed to ask.
He didn't answer her, just kissed her brow. She was asleep a moment later.
