Re: Chinatown Apt: Robert/Selina
She paid attention to his movements over his words, to the way he moved forward, to the way his shoulder felt against hers, the way his arm felt as he slid it across the tense line of her body against the wall. Trapped, maybe, but she breathed through it, she breathed through it. It was inhale. And it was exhale. And it was a world that wanted to spiral. His words caught up after, as his lips pressed against her hair. And she wanted that to be the fix, the cure, the thing that made everything that was trapped inside her disappear.
She turned her body toward his, and she really wasn't registering his words. The eggs were threatening to come back, and the water she'd drank too quickly sloshed in her belly like a protest. She wanted to let her eyes close again, but she feared it, and she felt exposed without that layer of Gotham dirt on her skin.
She didn't register his words; she registered the tone.
Reassuring and not Ra's and not angry, and she could handle that. She knew, maybe, that he was still talking about them, but it didn't matter. His tone was a balm, and she just tuned out the rest. She dragged her knees up, between them, against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face to the salt-warmth of the crook of his neck. She needed something to hold onto. Just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, and then she'd find an alias and a life and a way that didn't involve being a piece on other men's chess boards.
The scabs on her palms scratched at his neck, at the nape of his neck, and her fingers dug in just below his hairline. Just shhhh. Just this.