Fic - Caught In Between (Selina/Bruce) R, 1/1
Title: Caught In Between
Summary: It's just another game of give and take they viciously play, always one step forward, ten steps back, with the lead constantly changing hands.
Rating: R
Author's Notes: 502 words. Kinda sorta movie-verse. Con-crit is a wonderful, lovely thing. All mistakes are mine, these characters however are not.
There are things they don’t say:
I miss you. I need you.
Small little inferences that are left unsaid, but hide under soft touches, glances, fleeting and sparse.
They are there, though, and the two of them take stock of them when they’re needed, discard them carelessly when they aren’t.
It’s just another little game they partake in. Just another game of give and take they viciously play, always one step forward, ten steps back, with the lead constantly changing hands.
Most days, it’s tiring - fighting each other, their attraction - but it’s familiar and Bruce welcomes the consistency.
*
Hands trail over skin and curves, following lines that have long since been memorized. He’s hard where’s she’s soft; her bone where he’s muscle, strong where he’s weak. Selina is jagged edges and cheap thrills hidden behind a teasing smirk, the left corner twitching upwards just a little farther, dangerous. Bruce is honor and humanity, steadfast and strong, everything she is not, and driven by all the things she is blissfully ignorant to.
Together they form the framework to a perfect, indestructible body.
*
Fingers trail, down, down, farther down and they always seem to fuck like they’re running from something.
Harsh, needy, frantic, like they’re running out of time, too, and he opens his eyes to see hers closed, her nails digging into the skin of his back, hard and he finds comfort in the pain, in the feel of her beneath him.
He thinks he’s in love with her, with this woman so beautiful and strong beneath him, but then he realizes as he kisses her mouth, hard and bruising, that he’s really not even sure what love is. And if he is, if this is it?
Can love really be found in-between games of cat and mouse in dark alleys?
Can love really be sustained when the two people involved hide so aptly behind black Kevlar and leather? Between two people who don’t really know each other outside of their masks?
Bending her leg at the knees, he does not wait, does not ask for permission, and she doesn’t seem to care. She whimpers, arches her back beneath him and he gets lost in the sight of her - wanton and beautiful beneath him. It’s harder this way, he knows. Harder to see her, know her this way - the way her body feels around him, the way her toes curl into the skin of his legs - when eventually this thing they’ve been stumbling towards ends.
(Because it will and he knows this just as surely as he knows the sun will rise and tomorrow the signal will shine bright in the sky.
Some things, Bruce knows, you just can’t outrun.)
*
Skin slides against skin, his breath mingling with hers between them and her eyes are still closed.
It‘s easier that way.
Maybe, he thinks, he’s the stronger one after all.
Her lips on his, and she bites down; the taste of copper sneaks through, bitter and familiar.
It’s almost fitting.
Summary: It's just another game of give and take they viciously play, always one step forward, ten steps back, with the lead constantly changing hands.
Rating: R
Author's Notes: 502 words. Kinda sorta movie-verse. Con-crit is a wonderful, lovely thing. All mistakes are mine, these characters however are not.
There are things they don’t say:
I miss you. I need you.
Small little inferences that are left unsaid, but hide under soft touches, glances, fleeting and sparse.
They are there, though, and the two of them take stock of them when they’re needed, discard them carelessly when they aren’t.
It’s just another little game they partake in. Just another game of give and take they viciously play, always one step forward, ten steps back, with the lead constantly changing hands.
Most days, it’s tiring - fighting each other, their attraction - but it’s familiar and Bruce welcomes the consistency.
*
Hands trail over skin and curves, following lines that have long since been memorized. He’s hard where’s she’s soft; her bone where he’s muscle, strong where he’s weak. Selina is jagged edges and cheap thrills hidden behind a teasing smirk, the left corner twitching upwards just a little farther, dangerous. Bruce is honor and humanity, steadfast and strong, everything she is not, and driven by all the things she is blissfully ignorant to.
Together they form the framework to a perfect, indestructible body.
*
Fingers trail, down, down, farther down and they always seem to fuck like they’re running from something.
Harsh, needy, frantic, like they’re running out of time, too, and he opens his eyes to see hers closed, her nails digging into the skin of his back, hard and he finds comfort in the pain, in the feel of her beneath him.
He thinks he’s in love with her, with this woman so beautiful and strong beneath him, but then he realizes as he kisses her mouth, hard and bruising, that he’s really not even sure what love is. And if he is, if this is it?
Can love really be found in-between games of cat and mouse in dark alleys?
Can love really be sustained when the two people involved hide so aptly behind black Kevlar and leather? Between two people who don’t really know each other outside of their masks?
Bending her leg at the knees, he does not wait, does not ask for permission, and she doesn’t seem to care. She whimpers, arches her back beneath him and he gets lost in the sight of her - wanton and beautiful beneath him. It’s harder this way, he knows. Harder to see her, know her this way - the way her body feels around him, the way her toes curl into the skin of his legs - when eventually this thing they’ve been stumbling towards ends.
(Because it will and he knows this just as surely as he knows the sun will rise and tomorrow the signal will shine bright in the sky.
Some things, Bruce knows, you just can’t outrun.)
*
Skin slides against skin, his breath mingling with hers between them and her eyes are still closed.
It‘s easier that way.
Maybe, he thinks, he’s the stronger one after all.
Her lips on his, and she bites down; the taste of copper sneaks through, bitter and familiar.
It’s almost fitting.