Re: Old Gotham: Selina/Bruce
[She hated that suit just then. Hated it. Loved it. Maybe a little of both, but it was hard and there, and even in her current state it was unmistakeably real. He was unmistakeably real, there, alive, and she made a sound into the kiss that was equal parts want and desperation and breathing didn't seem very important. She responded to the sting of teeth, and she was glad for the lack of slow. She didn't need slow, didn't want it as the war raged on the street beneath them. Slow would bring her to her knees, and neither of them had time for that. No, there was anger in the way she rocked against the unforgiving black of his suit, trust in the way she let the hand at her thigh bear her weight.
Minutes, and her teeth scraped against his chin, and it was with great reluctance that she loosened that grip on his cape and drew back just slightly, the movement making the bruises that dotted her stomach ache, and the whimper that escaped her was ache and living. One of her gloved hands gave up its grip on inky black, and fingers traced the path her teeth had just traced along his chin, and the breath she drew in wash shaky, shaky.
She noticed, then, the arm around her waist, the hand at her thigh, and she rocked forward against the suit with age's old expertise in bending that unforgiving thing made of blackness to her will. Illusion of feeling in the rock of her hips, her mouth replaced her fingers again, less bite against his chin this time, more kiss, and it would be so easy to not say anything. She'd always dealt with her fears that way in the past. Vulnerability lost in skin instead of words. But she exhaled against his mouth, green eyes half-lidded and heavy, and she resisted the twitch of fingers that made her want to find the suit's clasps.] I thought you weren't coming back.