Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-12-14 22:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, catwoman |
Who: Luke and Wren
What: Putting up the Christmas tree. (2/3)
Where: Luke and Wren's new house~
When: Continuation of this.
Warnings/Rating: Foreplay.
Wren considered staying close enough to listen, no, to eavesdrop, but her heart was in her throat, and she was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to hear through the door's heavy wood. So she crossed back to the living room, and she paced. The house was laid out so that the smaller bedrooms were on one side, and the master bedroom was clear on the other side, and she considered going and switching on the baby monitor she'd set up that afternoon, since Gus' room was going to be so far away, the one that was sitting on a box in the master bedroom. But she managed to resist that too. She'd left the room to give them their privacy, and she didn't want to intrude on it. She busied herself by stacking logs in the unlit fireplace, and then by find some instrumental Christmas music to soothe her nerves. In the end, she went to the kitchen, and she poured herself a glass of sweet Moscato, which she returned to the living room with, ready to pace and sip for as long as she needed to. She didn't turn on any lights other than the tree, and the twinkle of lights was, at least, a little soothing. The minutes crawled, and she envisioned Gus hiding under the bed, crying, asking a million angry-hurt questions. The wine helped a little, but she was still a bundle of nerves when she heard Luke's footsteps coming down the hall.
She stopped, wine glass in her hand, lifted partway to her lips, and she just watched the hallway opening, waiting for him to round the corner. She only hesitated a second when Luke raised his hand to the back of his neck. She set the wine aside on the coffee table, and she crossed to him, stopping just a few feet in front of him. She knew that gesture, knew it from back when he was a boy and he was trying not to show what he was feeling. But it was the shaky smile that broke her heart, and she didn't have any idea how it had gone just then. All she knew was that he was there, and that he was having a hard time with whatever he was feeling. There was no hesitation at all when she closed the remaining distance between them, and there was no hesitation when her arms slipped over his shoulders. She was close enough to feel warmth through that snug black shirt he wore, and she moved closer still, her sock-covered toes bumping against his, something she'd done a lot when they were young. "Hi," she said, the greeting a quiet thing with a small, worried smile. "He is. He gets it from you," she said of Gus' cuteness. Her grey-gaze scanned his face, and she tried to make out his emotions in the light-shadows of the Christmas tree lights, but it was hard, and there was a definite question in her features. "What did he say?" she finally asked, and she couldn't keep her hands still, nerves and the fact that he was finally close enough for her to touch for the first time in months. Her hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, fingers smoothing the fabric there, the ring on her finger picking up the glow from the twinkling lights on the tree.
Luke tipped his head to the side and watched as she approached, torn between meeting her in the middle and letting her close the remaining distance. It wasn’t that things had gone badly, or that he thought Gus was going to wake up tomorrow morning in tears, but he still didn’t think he deserved to be a father, and he wanted so desperately to be a good one. He wanted to be like his father, not like Thomas, and he didn’t want the little boy growing up with doubts, always unsure of how his parents felt about him. All of that was wrapped up in a maelstrom behind his eyes, and he exhaled in relief when she stepped forward, arms slipping over his shoulders, reciprocating by sliding his arms around her waist. “Hi,” he echoed, smiling a little as her feet bumped against his, the gesture harkening back to when they were just teenagers. “I think he gets some from you too. That’s why I can never tell him no.” He was expecting her to ask; waiting for it, really, and he tugged on the hem of her shirt before responding. "I told him I'd be his daddy forever, and then he asked about you being his mother, and I told him the same," he said, shifting closer still, until there was barely even a hint of space between them. "I told him we love him too," he added. "I think he was too tired to ask questions, but it didn't go too badly, right?" The movement of her fingers against his chest was soothing, and her ran one hand down along her arm, smiling a little at the way her ring caught the light.
"I missed you," he said a few moments later, voice slightly muffled as he stretched against her to whisper in her ear.
She shook her head when he said Gus got some of the cute from her. "No, you can never tell him no because you're a good father, Luke," she said, not even a hint of uncertainty lingering in her voice. "When I was small, I used to imagine what having a father must be like, and I always imagined someone like you." She smiled. "Well, maybe I imagined someone a little older," she added, her tone a happy, teasing thing. "You have so much endless patience with him, and you never, ever seem like you just want to be somewhere else. My maman did that sometimes. I could see it in her eyes, that she just wished for another life than me. You never do that with him. He may be small, but he can tell," she assured him, her smile growing bolder a second later. "Plus, you are very pretty," she teased, even if her eyes were still damp with emotion. She dragged in a deep breath, and she looked down and watched his fingers on the hem of her shirt. "Do you think he believed you?" she asked of his reassurances that they would be there forever. It was a quiet question, one that was unsurely asked. "I know," she said a second later, only a breathe later, really, "it's going to take time. and no, I don't think it went too badly. He didn't demand other parents, and he didn't tell us he blamed us for everything in his life." Her smile was tentative, and there was worry in the teasing curve of her lips. "I think that's supposed to happen when he's a teenager, though, and if we were anything to go by, well, we're going have our work cut out for us." But it didn't seem daunting just then. Maybe it should, but it didn't.
The press of his body against hers, combined with the whisper in her ear, made her stifle a whimper. "Me too," she admitted, simply and inarticulately. "Dieu, Luke, me too." Her hands slid down over the black fabric of his shirt to his stomach, and she used that slow drag of fingertips catching on fabric to make herself breathe and calm down. It worked, a little, and by the time she pulled back a tiny bit and lifted her gaze to his, there was a dangerous little smile on her lips. "I was thinking of making you wait until after the new year," she told him with mock seriousness, her expression going teasingly thoughtful, "It might be good for you to have to abstain another month." Her fingers tugged on the hem of his shirt, a mirror of his own fingers on the hem of her shirt just moments earlier. "But you can ask me to dance, if you take this off," she offered, glancing toward Gus' room. "There are bells on his door. We'll hear him if he goes near the it," she assured him, and then she glanced toward the fireplace, stepping back entirely and putting a good foot of distance between them. "Oh," she added, as if she'd just remembered. "The fireplace first." And she managed a very innocent smile, somehow.
In all honesty, Luke didn’t think he’d been a father long enough to constitute as a good one or a bad one. Until very, very recently, Gus hadn’t even known he was his father, and he probably still hadn’t fully absorbed it yet either. He shrugged, because he didn’t want to argue, but he didn’t have enough self-esteem to agree that he was a good father, even for her sake. “You imagined someone like me?” He raised his eyebrows, though he was mostly teasing in his skepticism. “I’m not sure how to take that, even if it would have been an older version of me. This doesn’t make things creepy, does it?” His lips twitched with the effort of holding back a laugh, and in the end one slipped out despite his failed attempts to turn it into a subtle couch. Some of the humor ebbed away from his expression, however, when she described his patience, and how he never seemed like he wanted to be somewhere else; that was the last thing he’d ever want to do to his son, and besides, he didn’t actually want to be anywhere else. “I guess... I guess I know what both sides are like,” he admitted. “I know what it’s like to feel loved and wanted, and I know what it’s like to not. I don’t-- I don’t ever want Gus to feel like he’s not good enough, or like he doesn’t know whether or not we care. I want him to always know, no matter what.” He tipped his head to the side and grinned down at her, tugging on the hem of her shirt again. “What does me being pretty have to do with anything? Not that I’m agreeing with you,” he added quickly. As for whether or not Gus believed him, it was too soon to tell. “I think so... but he was pretty tired. We’ll just have to wait and see, and make sure we do everything we can to make sure he does believe us. His teenage years probably won’t be easy, but we’ll deal with that when it comes,” he said. “Hey, we weren’t that bad.” Maybe things had been tough, and they weren’t exactly the easiest teenagers to deal with, but circumstances hadn’t exactly been fair either and in his mind they’d done the best they could.
He took her agreement that she’d missed him too as an opening of sorts, and he murmured his approval as his lips found the underside of her jaw, then went lower, mouthing along her throat until she pulled back. His gaze had already gone darkened and hazy, so it took a few moments for it to clear, and there was no shortage of dismay in his expression as she suggested making him wait until the new year. “Then you’d have to abstain too,” he countered. “And a month is a really, really long time, especially since we’re living together now." Dancing was a start, though, and he laughed when she said there were bells on Gus' door. That laughter vanished when she stepped back, and he folded his arms over his chest as he regarded her with a raise of his eyebrows that was nothing short of challenging. "Okay," he agreed, and even though he usually lost these kinds of games, he always got points for effort.
"I'll be right back," he said, and ducked out of the living room before she could protest. When he returned, newspaper in hand, there was no sign whatsoever that he'd very quickly Googled how to start a fire on his phone, and he set the crumpled paper down in front of the fireplace before tugging off his shirt, entirely careless and casual as he tossed it aside. From there, Luke set about getting things prepared, since Google had informed him that just lighting up the logs and hoping for the best was probably a good way to burn the house down.
She didn't realize he was questioning his own, newly minted parenting skills. In her mind, he'd had Gus since the day she'd walked into prison, and he'd never made her doubt that particular choice, not when it came to the little boy. Now, months and months later, there was no doubt that Gus was more attached to him than he was to anyone in the world (save maybe Finch), and that counted for a lot with a little boy that was scared of people as Gus was. Not only that, but Gus was actually doing better with each passing day, even with setbacks thanks to Gotham. It was all a really big accomplishment, and she was proud of him, which caused her to give his arm a swat when he teasingly joked about her imagining someone like him, about whether or not it was creepy. She did laugh, though, even as her hand connected with his shoulder lightly. "Stop that, Luke Henry. You know what I meant," she chided, smiling when his lips twitched and that smile overtook his features. She ran her fingers along the line of his cheekbones when his expression became serious again, and she couldn't help the tiny bit of added pressure from her fingertips when he admitted to knowing what it was like to be on both sides of the good-bad parenting scale. It made sense, especially given what he'd experienced with Thomas, but she had a hard time hearing it and staying still. She rocked on her feet, and her fingers dragged down to his jaw, and she tried to get her anger at Thomas under control before she spoke. "You being pretty has everything to do with everything," she teased, using his subsequent statement to dampen her anger. "We were terrors," she exaggerated, before her own expression went as serious as his had been seconds earlier. "I'm proud of you. Quit trying to squirm out of the complement. You're a good father, and you might just need get used to hearing it a lot, just like you got used to hearing me tell you how pretty you are."
Wren liked playing this particular game with him. The one where she got him all wound up. He always lost, but then maybe she lost too, and maybe they both won in the end. Either way, she liked the thrill of it, and the way it made her warm all over. But that didn't change the fact that it was unbelievably difficult to take that step back when his lips were on jaw, then on her throat. She wanted to stay, stay, stay, and never leave. But she managed to move, and she gave him a smile that was all lush lips and heavy-lidded eyes when he said she'd have to abstain too, and that it would be hard with them living together now. "There are a lot of rooms, Luke. We don't actually have to sleep together, just because we're under the same roof." The devious little twinkle in her gaze left no doubt that she was playing with him, but she might just follow it through and torment them both if he wasn't careful. Granted, that pause where he folded his arms over his chest and just regarded her made it a little harder to stand her ground.
She took a deep breath when he left the room, and she finished the glass of Moscato and brought out the bottle, which she set on the side table after pouring herself another glass of the sweet, pale wine. She gave the newspaper in his hand a curious look as she sat on the edge of the wooden coffee table. She had no idea how to start a fire, and she would have burned the whole thing to the ground herself, had she been the one to try it. Her gaze went from curious to warm when he pulled the shirt off, and she took a sip of the wine as she watched the play of muscles beneath the light-kissed skin of his back. She could just make out scars from this distance, but that isn't what drew her attention, and it certainly wasn't what she was thinking about. "Do you know what you're doing?" she asked, voice gone a little husky, because she had to concentrate on something other that how much she wanted him to turn around.
“Stop what?” He adopted an expression of surprised innocence, even as her hand lightly connected with his shoulder. “I’m just clarifying, that’s all. No need to use my full name, Wren Maheu,” he teased. The feel of her fingers along his cheekbones would have soothed away whatever anger might have been rekindled by thoughts of Thomas, but his feelings towards the man were complicated at best, and he always had a hard time staying angry at him. Hurt was the most predominant emotion, followed by bitterness, and he seemed to overlook the fact that Wren might be angry at him too whenever he brought up the things he’d done in the past. It wasn’t something he expected to change, though, and even in his weak moments he could only ever manage a half-hearted attempt to defend him. “You always think me being pretty has to do with everything,” he said, shaking his head, but there was audible fondness in his voice. “We were not terrors. We just had our terror-like moments, that’s all. Completely different.” There was a flicker of something like uncertainty in his expression when she said she was proud of him, because he was so, so very unaccustomed to hearing those words that he didn’t even know what to do with them. No one was ever proud of him, not even those select few whom he knew cared, and he shook his head in attempt to articulate how a few simple words could make him feel. “I’m not trying to squirm out of anything,” he managed. “I’m just-- I’m not used to anyone being proud of me, that’s all, and I guess I worry so much about not being a good father that I’m too afraid to believe I might be one.” He almost ducked his head, but caught himself just in time. “You’re a good mother too, you know,” he added. “He’s gotten a lot better with you lately. He adores you now.” It was true, really. They’d both made so much progress, and that alone made him happy in a way few things could.
The thought of the two of them sleeping in separate rooms made him frown, and he turned it into an exaggerated pout as he looked at her. “We don’t have to, but you want to, don’t you?” He flashed her a bright, boyish grin, reminiscent of his teenage years; she was better at this than him, sure, but he had his tricks too. “I’d get too lonely, sleeping on my own, and who’s supposed to keep me warm at night? Gus has dibs on Finch.” Not that he thought she would actually delegate him to sleeping in a room on his own, of course. She might tease him, and she might torment him, but in the end, she always capitulated in one way or another.
Admittedly, it took a hell of a lot of effort to keep his back to her in favor of focusing on the stupid fire, but he resisted the urge to turn, despite the fact that his lack of shirt meant the tightness of his muscles would be visible. “Of course I do,” he quipped, shooting her a glance over his shoulder. He had his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, elbows on his knees, and after the upper part of his body disappeared into the fireplace for a moment--had to make sure the smoke went up the chimney instead of spewing back into the living room--he leaned back and gave her another look, this one no less challenging, as a small smile played on his lips. “All I have to do now is light the fire. Come here, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
"Using your full name makes you pay attention," she explained playfully, her voice softening a second later. "And you being pretty is something that you just need to be constantly reminded of, along with the fact that you're wonderful with Gus, and that you make both of us very, very happy." Which was true. Even with everything that had happened in the past year, all the things that had gone wrong, other women and secrets, she was still happier in that living room than she would be anywhere else. She knew that got lost sometimes, that truth, with all the fighting and uncertainty, but it didn't make it any less true. The bad stuff hurt more, but it was only because the good was like this, and she'd yet to find anything else in her life that could compare. "You're a squirmer," she added, the voice of certainty. She'd been watching him squirm since she met him. He did it less now, but he still did it, and she smiled when he almost ducked his head. "You almost did it just now," she pointed out fondly, but then she bit her lip and did her own kind of squirming when he pointed out that Gus had gotten better with her lately. She looked down, and she tugged on the side of one of her leggings at the thigh. She almost said that it was easier now that it was just her and Gus a lot of the time, but she didn't. She was as worried about Jack as he was, and she didn't want him taking that to mean she didn't want Jack in the house, as much as she loved this, it just being the three of them. "It's better," she admitted. It wasn't perfect, but it was much better. She still wouldn't categorize herself as a good mother, though, not with everything she'd unintentionally put the little boy through. But at least she'd gotten him back, gotten him to Luke, and that was helping to assuage her guilt a lot these days. He could still be out there, with the Johnsons. Or worse, that car accident- She shook her head, refusing to think about it.
His exaggerated pout dragged her out of her morbid thoughts, and she smiled a bright smile. "It might be good for you to sleep alone for a little bit," she said, and she pretended to become very, very thoughtful a second later. "Maybe I gave in too quickly," she mused, and when he mentioned that Gus had dibs on Finch, her smile grew even warmer. "We can get you a puppy for Christmas," she said, her voice turning playful placating. But he was right, of course; she had no intention of sending him to sleep somewhere alone. There was no need to actually say that though, not just then. Instead, she pressed her toes into the rug beneath the coffee table, and she watched him work at the fireplace. Her gaze was warm, intent, and he would have caught her staring those few times he looked back; she didn't even bother trying to hide it. That challenging smile when he leaned back and issued the invitation made her cock her head to the side, blonde hair curling along her shoulder and upper arm as she pretended to consider whether or not she would go. "I wouldn't want to distract you," she finally said, all mock seriousness. "Fire safety is really important, Luke," she added, and it took effort not to laugh midway through that sentence. In the end, she pushed off from the coffee table, and she walked toward him slowly. "You have to keep focusing, though. Don't let me distract you," she cautioned just before she stopped behind him. She didn't kneel at first. She just traced the line of his shoulder with one fingertip, end to end, with a slow caress to the nape of his neck on the way back. Her fingertips lingered on his shoulder then, and she moved just a little closer, to his side, heat-sway and linger before she finally dropped to her knees next to him. Her shoulder pressed against his bare arm, and she didn't look at him at all. Her attention remained entirely on the fireplace, and she licked her lips slowly before crossing her ankles behind her, and then sitting back against them. "Okay. Teach me," she said innocently.
“There are other ways to make me pay attention, you know, that don’t require any words at all,” he informed her, entirely innocent, though the glint in his eyes gave that facade away fairly easily. Being pretty and wonderful with Gus were things he’d come to accept that she would never stop believing when it came to him, but that he made them happy--especially her--that was probably going to take more time to accept. He always felt like he made her miserable instead, no matter how hard he tried, and it wasn’t always easy to believe that he could make her happy after all of that. “Okay, how about this. You can constantly remind me of whatever you want, as long as I can constantly remind you that you’re beautiful, and wonderful, and being with you makes me the luckiest guy in the world.” He really did intend to do better from now on, though; no more women, no more secrets, no more misunderstandings. He’d already had more chances than he deserved and it was about time he stepped up and started acting like the kind of man someone like her was worthy of. “I do not squirm,” he insisted, despite his near head duck, and he grinned at her when she did exactly what she accused him of doing. “You, on the other hand, you’re definitely a squirmer.” He thought it was nothing short of endearing, and he didn’t even think of Jack, of how his absence might have changed things for her and Gus; he still had no idea when, or if, the other man was coming back, and he didn’t realize she might have preferred it to be just the three of them from now on. “It is better,” he agreed, “and it’s just going to keep getting better. I know it is.” They’d already gone through so much, after all, surely from here there was nowhere left to go but up.
He shook his head when she suggested that sleeping alone might be good for him, staunchly refusing to give up his mock pout. “It’ll be torture for both of us. Me especially. And besides, I’ve already been sleeping on my own for weeks, while you were at the Bellagio. Haven’t I waited long enough?” The prospect of a puppy for Christmas made him laugh, because while Gus would probably be thrilled, Finch and the cat were enough pets for him just then. “A puppy wouldn’t be the same. That’s the point,” he explained. Even when his back was turned, he could feel her gaze on him, and the few times when he did look at her over his shoulder, oh, he caught her staring. It made him feel pleasantly warm, and while he waited for her decision to either come or stay where she was, it was hard to keep his expression neutral, like he didn’t care, rather than little-boy hopeful that she’d agree. He just wanted her close, that was all. For now, anyway. “You won’t distract me,” he insisted with a grin, watching with barely concealed interested as she approached before forcing himself to look away and back towards the fireplace. That was a lie, of course, evident by the way he rolled his shoulders back beneath her touch, and by the time she kneeled next to him he was actually struggling to keep himself still. God, he just wanted to touch her, and he watched her from the corner of his eye, but she didn’t even look at him, and he stifled a groan.
Right. Lighting the fire. He could do that. “Okay,” he said, fumbling, and tore his gaze from her to focus at the task at hand. “Well, first I opened the damper, and made sure it wasn’t too cold up there. In the chimney, I mean. Then, see, you have to stack the logs,” he explained, doing just that, his arm brushing her shoulder as he leaned forward to demonstrate. “I’m going largest to smallest, and then the starter and newspaper around, you know, so the flames spread, and then.. you light it up.” He was pretty much hoping it would work, and Google hadn’t failed him, and after a few false starts the newspaper did catch fire, and he nudged her back with him as the flames began to spread. Total success, or at least moderate success, as though he’d had any doubt. “Obviously,” he added, “I’m just a natural.”
"There are?" she asked about ways to make him pay attention without words. She managed to sound entirely innocent too, somehow. "You'll have to tell me about them, after you show me how to start a fire in the fireplace," she said, all attentive student. She gave him a questioning little look when he pointed out the things he would remind her about, and the look said she wanted to know if he was really sure about, if she hadn't rushed him into deciding, but she kept that question; it would hold until later. And she couldn't argue with being a squirmer; there wasn't any point. And it was anyone's guess which of them Gus had inherited it from, but between biting his lip and ducking his head, the little boy had definitely gotten the shy and squirmy end of the genetic stick.
Once she was at his side, she pretended to think very carefully about whether or not he'd waited long enough. His arguments about puppies were listened to - attentively - while looking forward at the fireplace, as if it was the most interesting thing in all the world. She almost gave in when he stifled that groan, but she pressed her fingernails into her palms, and she resisted. "Don't you like having the entire bed to yourself?" she finally asked and, God, was it hard to ask that question with any faux innocence at all. She managed it, though, and his attention to the fire a second later gave her a chance to breathe again, to fold her hands in her lap and control the overwhelming desire to run her fingers over more of that bare skin at this shoulder. The truth was, that she didn't hear one word of his explanation. Well, she heard him, but she wasn't really listening, because she couldn't really focus. It was almost a surprise when the flame caught, because she was too busy watching him out of the corner of her eye, and it was a good thing he nudged her back when he did. Luckily, the novelty of the fire did capture her attention long enough to make her heart slow again, and she looked over and gave him a bright smile, one that was a complete deviation from the game she'd been playing a second earlier. From aloof to warm in a second, and she bit her lip shyly and looked back at the climbing flames. "Isn't it strange?" she asked, the glow of the flames casting golden shadows on her face. "We used to talk about this kind of thing. Isn't it weird to actually have it?" she asked, sounding younger than her years then, a little scared, a little awed. "It's a little like a dream, and I'm scared to wake up," she said with complete candor. She looked away from the flames then, and she looked at his face for a few seconds, quiet and still and just that. She'd always been better than him at that, at looking.
"Were you going to ask me to dance?" she asked quietly, and then she remembered her game, adding, "not very close, though," with a teasing little smile. She unfolded her hands from her lap, and she held one out to him, a very proper thing that didn't fit very well with the laughter that was threatening to bubble up. She was caught between nerves and desire, and she felt so young just then. It was like playing house, except it wasn't at all. It had the added fear and thrill of being real, of really being something that could go up in smoke in a second flat, and it just made her want to hold onto every moment for as long as she possibly could. It made her think of what Ivy had said, that everything had been for nothing at all; maybe that wasn't true.
Oh, Luke knew what that questioning look was for, but since he meant every word of what he said, he simply tipped his head to the side and smiled. It was better than arguing, better, even, than trying to convince her of things he would simply have to prove and give her time to believe, though he was admittedly relieved that she didn’t actually ask if he was sure. “I could tell you about them,” he agreed, mock thoughtful, “or I could do you one better and show you.” There was a hint of promise there, of things to come, but for just then he left it at that.
He liked the way she sounded when she asked if he liked having the bed to himself, if only because he could tell she was having difficulty clinging to that facade of innocence, like she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her, and knowing otherwise was always a heady thing. “No, I don’t,” he said, blunt and direct, coupled with a long, heated look that only ended once he returned his attention back to the fireplace. Even though he’d never admit it, part of him was surprised that he’d actually started to manage a fire at all, and he returned her bright smile with one of his own. It was nice, seeing her smile like that. “I guess it is kind of strange,” he admitted, his attention entirely on her while she watched the fire, rather than on the flames themselves. “When we were younger, none of it ever seemed real, and now it is. I know what you mean, it being like a dream, but it’s not,” he reassured her, “and you aren’t going to wake up, because you’re already awake. Keeping this, making it last, that’s all I want.” He fought the urge to avert his gaze when she looked at him, since she’d always been better at that sort of directness. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to refrain, despite the heat that started at the back of his neck as he fought to keep from squirming just as she’d accused him of doing.
“I was,” he began, before she added that not very close. He raised his eyebrows and took her proffered hand, tugging her to her feet as he stood, making no attempt whatsoever to keep distance between them. “I’m not sure I know how to dance if we’re not very close.” It was all false innocence, that not-confession, and his free hand slid over her hip and around to the small of her back as he nudged her closer, almost testing to see if she'd push him away or allow it.
She wasn't accustomed to this new tactic of his, and the head tip that came without anger or frustration left her uncertain about how to react. She had nothing to argue against, and nothing to feel insecure about when he didn't get mad at her, and the confusion that crossed her features was entirely genuine. She managed not to poke, prod or ask, though, and she just hummed a thoughtful little hum as she pressed her lips together. As for his response about making her pay attention without words, that earned him a smile. "I guess you would have to show me, since you couldn't use words." And maybe that was cheating, his response, because it immediately made her start wondering about what he had in mind. His blunt assurance that he didn't like having the bed to himself didn't change that, and the heated look that accompanied his blunt statement only made her gaze drop to his mouth and linger there longer than was proper. It was hard to concentrate on anything after that, but his assertion that he wanted this to last, that managed to get her attention and hold it. She looked over at him, expression thoughtful after that long stare. "I want to ask what happens when you wake up one day," she told him, because that was just what she instinctively began to do. To assume he didn't know what he was saying, and that he'd changed his mind once he did. "But I won't. I'll just ask how you know, instead. How you know that this is what you want, I mean." She motioned to the house a little, just a flick of one wrist.
That eyebrow raise before he took her hand let her know that he wasn't going to just let her get away with that demand for distance while they danced, and she had a few seconds while she stood to try to figure out a plan to keep him at arm's length. But the hand on her hip made her second-guess herself. And when that hand slid to the small of her back and nudged her closer, she decided it wouldn't hurt to give in just a little bit. Instead of just letting him nudge, she pressed into him. The soft curve of her hip pressed against the hard planes his, and her free hand rested on his shoulder for a second before climbing and cupping the nape of his neck. The hand he held in his was tugged on, and she brought his fingers to her other hip, leaving his hand there before sliding her fingers over his bare side, up over his ribs, and then over his chest. She repeated the motion of fingers over shoulder, and the fingers of both of her hands ended up caressing his nape and tangling in his hair. "Okay, just this once," she said, gaze settled on his lips as she swayed softly against him to the music. "Do you remember the first time we danced together?" she asked him, knowing he wouldn't; men never remembered those things, right? But he might surprise her, and she'd get to see him stammer and blush if he didn't remember. Either way, she'd get to see his lips move, and since she hadn't looked away from them for even a second, well, that was a very good thing.
It was like testing new waters, this tactic of his, but Luke had learned that arguing or objecting only made her defensive, bringing her insecurities closer to the surface, and then he’d get frustrated, and in the end they’d up fighting over something completely insignificant and the real issue would be buried beneath mountains of stupid little things they never should have fought about in the first place. Now, though, he’d said what he needed to say and left it at that, and he was trying really, really hard to be okay with the fact that she was probably always going to doubt him a little bit, and he couldn’t fix that overnight. If Bruce could fight tooth and nail to change his nature, then so could he. A look of mock thoughtfulness crossed his features when she agreed that he’d have to show her, and it was a minor victory, distracting her long enough to avert her gaze elsewhere. There was a flicker of something like disappointment, however, too quickly to be seen, when she said she wanted to ask what happened when he woke up, and he sucked in a breath, almost certain that this time he was going to lose the battle to keep from arguing that he was already awake. But then she said she wasn’t going to, and it was his turn to look confused, because that definitely wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “How I know,” he repeated, mulling over the question. “I know because the thought of losing this terrifies me, Wren, and it makes me want to do whatever I can do make sure I don’t. I know because I’m happy, right now, and the thought of being here with you and Gus makes me happy, and I look forward to it. To being with you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the way after that.” He smiled then, almost shyly. “I don’t see a future for me without the two of you.” And it was true; how could he? Without them, he didn’t have a future, because his life had been heading in one direction before he found her again, and on his own he’d just continue down until he hit the rock bottom he’d come so close to in the past.
He’d half-expected her to pull away, to keep the distance between them, and so when she pressed herself against him instead he let out a low whimper, surprise and pleasure mixed together, with a fair amount of desire to be close to her thrown in. When she tugged on his hand, he eagerly complied with her lead, which meant that both hands ended up firmly on her hips while her own fingers slid up over bare skin and into his hair. The touch made him sigh, added warmth in the already warm room, and he wasn’t dancing so much as letting her sway against him and enjoying the feel of her body, though she was wearing a little too much clothing for his liking. He tugged on the hem of her shirt before slipping his fingers beneath the fabric, idly exploring the skin beneath as she spoke. “I remember the planetarium,” he said slowly, making an actual effort to think back all those years and remember. “I don’t know if that was our first time, though. There was that one Christmas... mhm, I remember that one. And I think I danced with you a couple times when you were in the hospital.” He held her a little tighter as he recalled all those hospital visits, as though afraid that she’d somehow disappear otherwise, and brought his forehead to hers.
His mock thoughtfulness made her shy. She knew she got all worked up about things that normal people didn't think anything about and, just like him, she really was trying. It seemed pointless to pretend they both weren't obviously making an effort, and she shook her head a little, blonde hair falling against her cheeks. "Do you think other people have this much trouble just talking about things?" she asked him. Luckily, she knew that relationships were difficult, and even Evie and Will (the most solid couple she knew) had more problems than anyone on the outside would ever notice. If it wasn't for Evie talking to her about their issues, Wren would have pictured them to be entirely perfect. It helped, knowing that other people had to work at it, even if they loved each other. But then there was MK and Adam, too, who loved each other, but who never, ever seemed to work out okay. Even now, just when they'd gotten back together, Adam was sleeping with another girl, and MK was drinking again. She sighed without even realizing it, her thoughts dragging the sound from her, and she refocused on his answer to her question, just catching that flicker of disappointment in his gaze. "You're giving up a future of pretty girls and parties," she told him, and though she was teasing, there was some seriousness lurking behind her words. "Race tracks, and all nighters. Going out and breaking into basements and playing hero, and being what all our friends expect us to be." Because that was part of it, wasn't it? She could help MK, but helping MK meant going to her, and drinking, and partying, because that was where MK lived, in that world. And the same went for Luke and his friends. Even Jack lived a life that wasn't exactly kid friendly. But, even with that, she knew he was wrong about the future. Because even without her, Gus had changed things for him; he just, maybe, didn't realize it yet.
But none of that seemed important with his hands on her hips like they were, and he always made it hard for her to think when he was close. That sigh and whimper almost made her sorry that she'd made him wait this long to touch her again, but the desire there made her glad for the evening's delay, at least. There was something about him burning that made her feel special. Maybe it shouldn't. Maybe it was a bad thing to become addicted to, that look in his eyes, like he couldn't wait a second longer to touch her. But it was too late to change that, and she really didn't want to. "You aren't dancing," she chastised, but she didn't care. When he stayed still like that, she could press against him to her heart's content, feel every single bit of that solid strength that was entirely him. She took advantage of it, and there was barely enough room to breathe between them by the time his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt.
The scar from the incident in Gotham was thin, thanks to a very sharp blade, and while it was frighteningly long, bisecting her entire torso in a diagonal, it was was entirely healed and barely raised at all. It didn't hurt, and all she felt was the rough brush of his fingers on skin, the touch making her arch into him more as he spoke. Her fingers mussed his hair, tugging and twisting strands at the ends, and she had her fingers on his cheeks by the time she registered his words. She smiled, looking away from his mouth for just a moment. "The planetarium," she agreed, surprised that he remembered that at all. The mention of the hospital visits (so prevalent then) was unexpected, and it was that tiny thing that made her give up the fight not to kiss him. She had to stretch on her shoeless feet, but she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his lower lip, and her hands slid down over his jaw, fingers trailing down to his throat, and then to his chest again. She stepped back a tiny bit, putting space and warm air between them, dislodging his fingers from beneath her shirt with the movement. She gave him a look that was all tease, all challenge, but she didn't do anything else. Just space, more of it as she took two steps back, and her fingers sliding down over his bare belly before she stopped touching him altogether.