PART ONE: After an altercation, you’re left with the choice to trust Batman with your secret, or risk him leaving you to bleed in the alley.
PART TWO: You and your Bat finally try to get back into the swing of things, but the two of you can’t shake the clouds over your collective heads.
PART THREE: It’s been a few weeks since Batman has caught up with you - hiding yourself from him means you don’t get a moment’s rest. You’re hot on the tail of his main target, but you’re too close to slipping up for your own comfort.
PART THREE (2): Everyone needs a filler episode, right?
PART FOUR: What has your bat been up to in the days you were so unwell?
PART FIVE: It’s a slow day at home, chores to do, wounds to clean. You know how it is.
PART SIX: Time for a little action on your part, don’t you think?
PART SEVEN: You find yourself, dare you say, in too deep, in more ways than one.
He’s clammed up at first, refusing to keep his eyes open, but you never bring it up. You weren’t technically not doing your job, you were keeping enemy number one busy and out of your boss’s business, so what’s the harm in being lenient on methods.
You kept the lights low in your new digs, the small stove-light casts a warm, orange glow over your bodies. It was like magma, slow moving and burning anything it touched, his hand resting too lightly on your hips while his head was tipped back just-so. Your legs are spread almost uncomfortably to accommodate the size of his thighs while you sit over him, the dingy couch you’d picked up creaking in mild protest. He looked like a renaissance painting come to life, spilling drops of oil over your skin as you pitched forward, resting a head in his neck while his hands trail up and up, dragging the fabric of your loose shirt under his palms. His mouth is hot, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the column, rolling over tendons, working you up.
This is how it goes, you’ve learned the steps to his dance. His gloves get set on your stove, the light is flicked on, and he pulls you from behind until you’re throwing a leg over his lap. It felt like high school, it seemed like he was always worried about someone catching him.
You feel the low hum in his chest as you roll your hips in his lap, hands splayed over the bat that teases, you’re not entirely sure he can feel anything through the bullet-proof armor, but you think he gets off on being so close to you, feeling skin instead of the leather of gloves. His head is thrown back and you dare to ask, “can I take this off?” He doesn’t reply, you know the rules, the helmet stays on. Just in case, he’d always say into your hair.
His hard nose-piece drags into your scalp, inhaling you a bit. His hands find refuge on your shoulders and he pulls you deeper into his chest, finally tipping his head to meet yours, he’s still slow-moving to kiss you, but his lips feel like spring, they thaw your cold core. You breathe in through your nose, getting dizzy from the lack of air.
He’s reckless with his smiles these days, almost like he’s relishing in the ability to do so now that the seal has been broken. You laugh a little and pull away, perching on your shins until they ache with the pressure. You’d sit like this for ten years to see the way his teeth graze his bottom lip, you see the roses blooming from under the eyeless mask. You ached more to pull it from his head, spread your lips over his neck, breathe him in for a change. You see the way his eyes flick open for just a moment and you take the chance to grab his chin, tiling it up you catch him in another kiss - you want him to see you, not hide away like he was so keen on doing.
He’s breathing in through his nose when you pull back to sit at your full height against him, hands on his shoulders for support.
He looks almost human for once.
You wonder what he must think of you.
Large hands play with the hem of your shirt before they dare to run under, feeling the muscles flex in your back as you arch into his touch, pressing yourself into his chest, his nose presses tough into your neck as he bites on the skin - “Ow - hey, baby, careful.” Your mask covers the marks, but they still sit heavy against your skin whilst he’s away. He gives a boyish smirk and you melt for him at that moment. The tight bubbles start to form in your throat and your nose burns a bit. You wiggle your legs closer to the back of the couch and wrap your arms around his neck, you’re looming over him, watching the way his finally-open eyes look over your face, your hair, your neck.
You want so badly to take the mask off, but you know on some level, you’ve started down the path of falling for that eyeless mask, not the man behind it. You think he knows that, too.
a/n: he’s just checking on you. he’s gotta go soon, though, you know.
