(no subject)
Title: Mercy Oh Murcielago
Fandom: Phantom of the Opera/Batman
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Christine Wayne
Prompt: Playful
Word Count: 740
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Summary: Even those who've grown old can be young at heart.
For 100moods
It's in the driveway. Tank is full. Top is down. Bright and shiny like it just rolled off the showroom floor. Lamborghini Murcielago. Silver. Zero to 60 in 3.8 seconds. A true sports car for the most well known of playboys.
Bruce Wayne considers the vehicle from the steps of the Manor. He's a married man now. His playboy days are over. Looking at the automobile though, he can't help but feel young again.
The door opens behind him. He glances back over his shoulder as Christine advances to join him. Twenty-three years as his wife and she looks lovelier than the day they first met. She ties off the scarf and slips on her sunglasses before giving him the sweetest of smiles. Nervousness taints her happy face. Even after all this time, riding in a car still makes her uncomfortable. He reaches for her hand, to comfort and to reassure.
She face drifts skywards. The smile grows stronger. "It's a beautiful day," she observes.
He squeezes her hand. "Let's not waste it."
Moments later they're racing towards the north-west. Away from the coast. Away from The City. Away from their cares.
"Damn thing carves corners," Bruce mutters. He down shifts into second, puts speed on coming out of the curve and floors it on the straight away. He skips third all together and up shifts into forth. Christine grabs the closest handhold and forces herself to breathe.
The road opens up. Eighty stretches into one hundred. One hundred becomes one fifty. One fifty blasts into two thirty. Two hundred forty. The draft catches Christine's scarf and rips it from her head. She cries out and makes a grab for the material. It's long gone though, sailing in the wake of Bruce's excess speed.
He moves his foot to the brake for a smooth deceleration. Christine turns to glare.
"Sorry. Got carried away."
Her wildly beating heart begins to slow. "That was my favorite scarf, Bruce."
He drops his gaze briefly. Turning back he knows will be of little use. The silk will ride the gusty winds for miles. He alternates between watching the road and meeting the stare of his wife. The question that follows is entirely sincere. "Can I make it up to you?"
One of her greatest assets. Christine rarely stays angry for long. "You may," she finally says.
Her disapproving frown soon returns to a smile.
"There's a great place not too far from here. Overlooks the ocean. Haven't been out there in years. What do you say?"
The smile widens. "That would be lovely, Bruce."
They've come nearly full circle, returning to the stretch of road that runs from Bristol north up the Atlantic. Bruce cuts the engine at Benson Point. The front wheels come to rest just feet from the edge. Trees line both sides of the strip.
"It's beautiful!"
On this clear summer day, she can see for miles out over the water. "Oh Bruce, why haven't we ever come out here before?"
He takes off his sunglasses. Somethings are easier to communicate without words. Benson Point represents the past. Another time. Another life. Another woman.
She examines him intently and eventually nods. "I understand."
She leans toward him and places her head on his shoulder. He in turn wraps his arm around her. They sit in silence and watch the waves. The hours bleed away. The sun begins to set.
"Come sit with me," he whispers.
"I am sitting with you." She doesn't move from her favored position.
"No. Come sit with me."
From her hollow, she glances up. The light eventually dawns. She flings herself upright. "Out here? For anyone to see?! Bruce!"
He grins. Seems there's more playboy left in the married man than suspected. Watching her squirm is half the fun. "Who's going to see us?"
Immediately she begins looking around. From tree to tree she wanders.
"The birds won't tell," he teases.
If she could place her hands on her hips, she would do so. Instead, she play slaps him across the chest. "Robins know everything!"
He seizes the opportunity. In one fowl swoop, he's lifted her into his lap. There's barely enough room for her legs next to his massive thighs.
"Bruce Wayne!"
The sound that follows her complete and utter shock is a noise rarely heard. Laughter. Laughter from the man who does not smile. Love indeed can make any man young again.
Fandom: Phantom of the Opera/Batman
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Christine Wayne
Prompt: Playful
Word Count: 740
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Summary: Even those who've grown old can be young at heart.
For 100moods
It's in the driveway. Tank is full. Top is down. Bright and shiny like it just rolled off the showroom floor. Lamborghini Murcielago. Silver. Zero to 60 in 3.8 seconds. A true sports car for the most well known of playboys.
Bruce Wayne considers the vehicle from the steps of the Manor. He's a married man now. His playboy days are over. Looking at the automobile though, he can't help but feel young again.
The door opens behind him. He glances back over his shoulder as Christine advances to join him. Twenty-three years as his wife and she looks lovelier than the day they first met. She ties off the scarf and slips on her sunglasses before giving him the sweetest of smiles. Nervousness taints her happy face. Even after all this time, riding in a car still makes her uncomfortable. He reaches for her hand, to comfort and to reassure.
She face drifts skywards. The smile grows stronger. "It's a beautiful day," she observes.
He squeezes her hand. "Let's not waste it."
Moments later they're racing towards the north-west. Away from the coast. Away from The City. Away from their cares.
"Damn thing carves corners," Bruce mutters. He down shifts into second, puts speed on coming out of the curve and floors it on the straight away. He skips third all together and up shifts into forth. Christine grabs the closest handhold and forces herself to breathe.
The road opens up. Eighty stretches into one hundred. One hundred becomes one fifty. One fifty blasts into two thirty. Two hundred forty. The draft catches Christine's scarf and rips it from her head. She cries out and makes a grab for the material. It's long gone though, sailing in the wake of Bruce's excess speed.
He moves his foot to the brake for a smooth deceleration. Christine turns to glare.
"Sorry. Got carried away."
Her wildly beating heart begins to slow. "That was my favorite scarf, Bruce."
He drops his gaze briefly. Turning back he knows will be of little use. The silk will ride the gusty winds for miles. He alternates between watching the road and meeting the stare of his wife. The question that follows is entirely sincere. "Can I make it up to you?"
One of her greatest assets. Christine rarely stays angry for long. "You may," she finally says.
Her disapproving frown soon returns to a smile.
"There's a great place not too far from here. Overlooks the ocean. Haven't been out there in years. What do you say?"
The smile widens. "That would be lovely, Bruce."
They've come nearly full circle, returning to the stretch of road that runs from Bristol north up the Atlantic. Bruce cuts the engine at Benson Point. The front wheels come to rest just feet from the edge. Trees line both sides of the strip.
"It's beautiful!"
On this clear summer day, she can see for miles out over the water. "Oh Bruce, why haven't we ever come out here before?"
He takes off his sunglasses. Somethings are easier to communicate without words. Benson Point represents the past. Another time. Another life. Another woman.
She examines him intently and eventually nods. "I understand."
She leans toward him and places her head on his shoulder. He in turn wraps his arm around her. They sit in silence and watch the waves. The hours bleed away. The sun begins to set.
"Come sit with me," he whispers.
"I am sitting with you." She doesn't move from her favored position.
"No. Come sit with me."
From her hollow, she glances up. The light eventually dawns. She flings herself upright. "Out here? For anyone to see?! Bruce!"
He grins. Seems there's more playboy left in the married man than suspected. Watching her squirm is half the fun. "Who's going to see us?"
Immediately she begins looking around. From tree to tree she wanders.
"The birds won't tell," he teases.
If she could place her hands on her hips, she would do so. Instead, she play slaps him across the chest. "Robins know everything!"
He seizes the opportunity. In one fowl swoop, he's lifted her into his lap. There's barely enough room for her legs next to his massive thighs.
"Bruce Wayne!"
The sound that follows her complete and utter shock is a noise rarely heard. Laughter. Laughter from the man who does not smile. Love indeed can make any man young again.