Re: Old Gotham: Selina/Bruce
[Perhaps it was telling, the fact that she didn't try to fight his grip on her wrists. Just like that, and she stopped fighting, as if she'd just been waiting for the fingers to close around the black of gloves over suit's sleeves. She didn't fight, and a beat passed, two, three. And then she wrenched her grip free of his and her hands slid over his shoulders again. But it was different this time. No blows, no violence, no anger, and she tried to find purchase that eluded fingertips in the sleek kevlar-black. But the cape, the cape she could cling to, and she did. At the shoulders, where it disappeared beneath that unforgiving black, and her claws were silver-tipped and bloodstained, the scent of iron mingling as she twisted the not-fabric and used it as a grounding thing, sanity in the fluidity wound tight in her grip.
Her weight against him was heavier than her slightly frame would suggest, deceptively lean muscle beneath skin and slink, even with the recent weight up-down-up.
So, she clung, and she almost told him that she wasn't hitting him because he deserved it. Almost. But the thought was fleeting, chases away by a kiss - another sob, teeth and bite and the unforgiving slant over her mouth over his as she used the cape to gain leverage and height against him, a knee against the wall at his back, along the outside of his thigh. Her lips were exhaustion cold, and her skin was pushed-to-the-limits warm, and she was a line of tense shoulders and fingers gone white beneath the gloves from her grip.]