Hotter than Hell

Catwoman scoffed and shook her head in disgust.

"What the hell do you know? You're just a privileged pretty boy playing hero."

She turned to leave but he grabbed her by the arm, causing her to spin and slash at his chest. Her claws sliced through the fabric of his suit, surprising him with three lengthy gashes that dug deep into his skin. He grunted, his grip loosening around her and allowing her to slip free.

Bounding away with cat-like grace and a quick glance over her shoulder, she made it only a few steps before Batman recovered, and she couldn't help but be impressed--until, that is, his arm swung and his grappling hook sprung towards her, catching her around a leg and making her trip. She twisted into the fall, cushioning it by her behind and shoulder, but then he was on top of her, big, heavy, pinning her arms above her by the wrists.

"If you wanted to play rough all you had to do was ask," she gasped.

He looked down at her, panting from excitement, the blood in his head pounding like mad. Their eyes met, and he observed within hers a sparkling of amusement, a dash of felicity, and despite everything that had just occurred he found himself grinning back at her. She was so small beneath him, but warm and willing, and her knees lifted to press against his hips. Her back arched, the zipper of her suit still hanging so dangerously low, and her head lifted even as he kept her hands pinned above her. Lovely. Even in this position, atop a roof and disheveled from their little scuffle with nothing but the light of the moon to illuminate her, she looked lovely.

She gazed up at him with a coy expression on her face, with lips that wanted to be kissed, and so he obliged her, pressing his lips against hers, sharing a moan of fiery passion; and at some point he let go, of himself, of her, and she was reaching between them again, fidgeting with his belt.

It clicked loose, and this time his awareness was only of her and her warm body against his.

The Batmobile cruised through the clustered stone and concrete forest of Gotham's streets, its destination uncertain, its driver beholden to the complex emotions of any man with both ideals and desires, and the balancing thereof.

Selina was seated next to him, nodding along to Dua Lipa's "Hallucinate" on the radio--which she refused to turn off, or down--and looking slightly bored as she peered out of the window. Her leg shook, her foot tapped, and she glanced over at him, giving him a curious wink before turning her attention back to the moving picture outside her window.

He had apprehended her for breaking into a law firm nearly half an hour ago. An unusual caper for her, with an even more unusual reasoning: in her own words, he had been "rubbing off on her," for she was doing a bit of investigating of her own. The attorney whose office she had raided was rumored to have connections to the local mafia, as well as to the recent murders of a judge and his wife only two years prior. The FBI was involved. He was involved. And now she was trying to get involved. It was admirable, in a way, and no doubt a better use of her talents than committing grand theft. Still, she had committed a crime, and now he had the difficult decision of turning her in to GCPD, or letting her go. He looked over at her, weighing the decision and trying to manage his desires with his ethics.

Selina went through catsuits like he went through batarangs: her suit was black now, more practical in design, albeit just as enticing as ever. On top of this, she had cut her hair a week or so prior, executing her long flowing locks in favor of a shorter cut. It made her look mature, classy, like Elizabeth Taylor or Audrey Hepburn, and when he had told her that he liked it she remarked upon how unusual it was for him to provide compliments, smiled, and then kissed him. It was, to his immediate recollection, a kiss devoid of lust. It was gentle, appreciative, defined not by the fury of passion, but a softness meant to distinguish itself as something more than just sexual desire. For them, it was a rare kind of kiss, making it all the more meaningful.

It was also confusing given the complicated nature of their relationship.

He stopped the car and popped her door open. The decision had been made.

"Get out."

She gave him a confused look and finally lowered the radio.

"This isn't GCPD."

"No. It isn't." He fixed her with his best "Don't do it again" look which only served to make him look even more handsome. "But next time, it will be."

Selina burst out laughing, throaty, feminine, almost erotic, and when she was finished a charming smile remained.

"What am I, Bat, some high school kid you're trying to scare out of doing drugs?"

"You don't belong in there."

"Mmm... Where do I belong then, baby?"

"That's up to you to decide."

Not taking her eyes off his, Selina closed the door to the Batmobile, shutting out the audience of gawking onlookers that had assembled along the sidewalk, and leaned over the console, one hand on his.

"Well then," she breathed, her voice a sultry whisper, "how about underneath you in bed? I've got a place not far from here..."

He stiffened, swallowed, and his jaw moved in a way that, being so attuned to that visible half of his face as she was by now, told her that he was nervous.

"That's not what I--"

"I know. But that's what I've decided. That's where I belong right now, getting punished by you. Hard, rough, dirty..."

Nimbly, she climbed into his lap, straddling him and holding his face between her hands. She kissed him so softly, teased at his bottom lip with her teeth.

"This thing has an auto-pilot, right?" she purred.

He licked his lips, their mouths not even an inch apart.

"Yeah."

Selina smiled, input the address, and then kissed him again.

Her apartment--which she told him actually belonged to a vacationing girl friend of hers--was above average as far as quality of living in Gotham was concerned, yet small and clearly built for function over aesthetics or anything else. It was feminine in its furnishings, as much a woman as an apartment could be, and it gripped him in a snug embrace as Selina led him inside through a window that was certainly not meant to be used as a door. She shut it behind him, lowered the blinds, and then clapped her hands whilst making her way further into the apartment. The gesture confused him, but when he heard the distinct sound of frenzied rustling, claws on wooden flooring, and the tinkling shake of a collar he understood immediately.

To both his surprise and amusement, a dog raced out of an adjoining room, an excited mass of white fur that ran straight past Selina and towards him. It jumped and he caught it by both of its extended legs, setting it back down and then kneeling to mollify its curiosity and desire to be pet.

"Batman, Lucy: Lucy, Batman." Selina eyed them both, arms crossed in a way that immediately suggested she was not too happy with the dog. She informed him that it was a Slovak Cuvac, aged four, and that she regularly practiced her own stealth abilities by entering the apartment without alerting it. Unsurprisingly, Selina was not a dog person. Still, she admitted that the dog was of admirable temperament, and its owner kept it well groomed. She shied away from admitting that she liked it, or any emotion that came close to such an implication.

"I'm surprised you agreed to this," he said, rubbing behind one of the hound's ears.

"I don't have a lot of friends, so when one asks me for a favor..." Selina shrugged, not finishing her sentence.

"Right." He patted Lucy on the head and then stood up, a question coming to mind. "And who exactly were you going to ask to take care of her if you'd been thrown in jail?"

She opened her mouth then closed it, looking down, to the side, anywhere but at him. He made a noise in his throat and she finally met his gaze, fixing him with her best innocent-little-girl face. Him, the answer was him.

"You're joking."

"Look at her! She already likes you more than she likes me."

"I'm not a dog sitter, Cat."

Somehow, at some point, their... relationship? had developed into a stage where they both used pet names. Truthfully, Selina didn't know what the hell their relationship even was. It had been years since she broke up with her girlfriend and this was... different, to say the least. For one, he was a guy. Secondly, he was Batman, and she didn't even know his damn name, so pet names were all she had. It was wonky, but she liked him. Perhaps a bit more than she should.

"Well then, all the more reason not to throw me in jail," she quipped.

Ignoring the dirty look he gave her, Selina turned and made her way towards the kitchen to give the dog a snack, a purposeful sway in her step designed to make his blood run hot.

It worked every time.

Her curves were luscious, and she flaunted them to him knowingly, her sleek black catsuit acting as little more than a second skin and emphasizing the impressive roundness of her backside. The dog didn't move to follow, instead looking up at him while he eyed Selina, but when it heard the opening of a bag it bolted away. Selina returned soon after, her own hunger not yet sated.

Her demeanor had changed in the brief interval of time spent in the kitchen, her eyes predatory, her face a mask of blatant arousal. There was a simmering tension between them now, hot and heavy. Selina couldn't wait any longer. Neither could he. They crossed the gap between each other in a quick second, like they'd burst into flames if they stayed apart for another moment.

Bruce was often reluctant at first, but when he got going he really got going. He took what he wanted, feeling at her as if he couldn't hold enough of her in his hands, and she let him, wanting him to do whatever he pleased, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling herself into him. He took her lips, took her breath, and then his gloves were off and he was unzipping her suit so that he could slip a hand inside to cup at one of her breasts, taking a good handful. He palmed at it, lifted it, his mouth leaving kisses upon her temple, her cheek, her neck, sucking a mark to the surface and making her moan.

It was unfair, him in his armored suit treating her like this while she could only cling to him, but his kisses made her pulse race like crazy and when he twisted at one of her puckered nipples she gasped, the little nub hard between his fingers. The pain stung, but it was a sweet kind of pain, and she arched her back into him for more even as she threw her head back and gave him better access to her neck. He buried himself in that neck, kissing down to her collarbone, tweaking a nipple then switching to the other, making her heart drum and her sex throb between her legs, an ache that tugged and tugged.

They feasted on each other like they couldn't get enough. There was the whisper of his breath on her skin, the delicate quiver of her moans, the drowning rush of longing, the pulsing of desire that flooded their veins. It was a fever that engulfed them, hot enough to make even the sanest person go mad. It was so much. Too much. And when his free hand ventured low, over her navel, across the tight yet feminine muscles of her abdomen, and cupped at her mound, she almost lost it. His palm brushed against the neatly trimmed hair of her sex, his fingers slipped up and down her slit, feeling her wetness, spreading her wetness; his thumb pressed at her hooded clit, freeing it, teasing it, flicking it, and then his fingers slipped inside and that was it. She was done.

"Fffuck," she groaned, eyes fluttering and hips pushing into his probing digits. He was inserting them to the knuckle, curling them up and using the pads of his fingertips to rub at her insides while she came around them, quick and easy like she had been waiting ages for him to finger-fuck her.

She had been. And when she came down from the clouds she pressed both of her hands against his chest and pushed. Her efforts barely budged him, but he pulled back some, his hands remaining on her hips.

"Strip," she ordered, sharp and serious. She needed him. Now. Yesterday.

His lips quirked into a subtle, infuriating smile, and God, she almost shoved him even harder just for being so sexy and smug at the same time. He complied though, slowly, his new suit far more difficult to remove than his old one. Seconds and seconds and seconds. A belt, braces, straps undone. She wanted to scream.

"You know, I really prefer your old suit, Bat. What the hell is this stuff made of anyway?" she asked, tapping her knuckles against his chest.

"A double fiber tri-weave mesh dipped in titanium, with an added layer of magnetorheological fluid armor between."

"Right. Hurry up and take it off."

He hurried just a little, and so as not to distract him and his agonizingly slow efforts, she only began to strip out of her own clothing when he was nearly finished. His cowl was the sole thing that remained afterwards, making him look both sexy and, oddly enough, amusing. She was probably the only person to see the Batman naked with nothing but his mask on, and when she looked at it as if eyeing a prize, he shifted nervously.

"Be careful not to--" he began, but she interrupted him.

"I know. I'm not going to force you. When you take off that mask and show me who you are"--Her hands rubbed up the lengths of his sides, feeling at his muscles--"you're going to do it because you want to. Because you need me to know."

He nodded, and that was that.

She looked up at him and he down at her, each momentarily star-struck by the other's physique. Bruce was so much bigger than her, a monument of beautiful muscle and sleek lines crisscrossed here and there by scars. She, in comparison, was small, albeit with long legs and the kind of toned muscles that only made the softness of her ample curves more alluring. She had her own scars, but they dotted the landscape of her body far less frequently than his.

There was only so much ogling they could endure, and in a flash of shared longing they came together again, hot skin on hot skin, his hands on her hips and her body so close to his that the erect tips of her breasts were pressing against him. Kissing, holding, feeling. Savoring every second, so grateful they could barely breathe, so good they could hardly believe the other was real. She clung to him, hands impossible to hold still, impossible to keep off his body; and at some point, through the rhythm of his deep, skillful kisses that pulled away and rolled back against her mouth, she discovered that she was grinding herself against him.

Needy, so damn needy. Her leg was raised, curling around his thigh and trying to climb him like a vine, or a tree, and her sex was drooling against his skin even as his manhood felt like it was trying to imprint its shape onto her stomach.

Fuck, she thought. How the hell can the goddamn Batman be so good at kissing?

Bruce's hands shifted, one supporting the small of her back and the other moving to her head, grasping at the slender nape of her neck with that big hand of his. It was firm, possessive, and when his tongue finally slipped back inside of her mouth, wet and hot and glorious, she nearly buckled His fingers played at her hair, at her scalp, petting her so sweetly in some grand betrayal of the terrible things his mouth was doing to her, and then she really did buckle against him. She let out a little moan that he devoured, like it nourished him, and he lost what little sense he had.

He guided her to the sofa, a confusing mix of limbs over limbs that struggled not to trip over one another, and then he was on top of her, admiring her swollen lips, flushed face, and those intense green eyes that begged him to go further. Her chest rose and fell, more than a little high on his kisses, and she spread her legs for him while pushing herself up against the arm of the sofa so that she was half-sitting, half-lying. Selina was grinning at him, offering herself to him on a silver platter, and he wasn't about to waste any more time.

His fingers found her shortly before his tongue did, slipping between slick velvet and prying her apart, exploring her pink. She murmured a surprised Oh! and the cocky bastard gave her a grin of his own.

"Selina... I've barely touched you and you're already this wet?"

What was she supposed to say? That his voice alone could make her wet? That a kiss could have her gushing? There was no hiding it. There may as well have been a damn water park between her legs, and to top it off she was laid completely bare to him as he gazed at it. Teased it with his fingers, traced it with his tongue, licking at every fold and nook and crevice, treating her so good. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, her breath escaping her in a shaky sigh.

But Bruce wasn't going to let her hide behind her eyelids. He spread her wetness, tongue curling at just the right angle each time, and when his thumb found her poor clit her eyes shot open like a pair of wide, verdant moons. She reached forward, grasped at his hair--or what would have been his hair if not for the cover of his mask--and bit back a moan, her teeth raking at her plump bottom lip. Another circular lick followed by the flat of his tongue tracing her folds like she was candy with a creamy center and she cried out some incomprehensible expletive about bats, that tension within her rising, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat in her thighs, her stomach, everywhere. Selina was going to explode. Batman was killing her, murdering her with just his tongue and his bulky fingers. But he just kept building her up and letting her back down, not quite pulling the trigger.

"Bat," she choked, her voice loaded with pleasure and set to go off with a loud scream at a moments notice.

He slowed, pulled back just slightly, and a thin, glistening trail of her nectar clung to his lower lip.

"Yes?"

Calm and measured but deep like molten rock, and so in control that even his voice seemed to be too much for her. She shivered.

"Dammit, please. I need to come." Selina Kyle didn't beg... but for this? For him? She'd make an exception.

He moved a hand to her thigh, caressed it and then gave it a squeeze.

"Didn't you want me to punish you?" He asked, innocent-like, and a teasing lick had her hissing air between her teeth, exhaling with a little whimper.

This fucker.

She wanted to rip his mask off, to strangle him, to suck his dick and feel his fingers fucking her all at the same time. Most of all, she wanted to come.

"Punish me later. Just--Oh, fuuck!"

A finger slipped inside of her, big and bold, and then its twin joined in, stretching and fucking her juicy cunt in a way that made her thighs quiver and her legs feel like overcooked pasta. So close. Just one more flick of his tongue against her swollen clit and she came apart with what sounded like a mix between a shriek and a sob. She had too much joy, too much pleasure to contain, and it escaped out of her overstimulated body through her eyes, welling with happy tears and blurring her vision.

Bruce slowed but didn't stop, his fingers curling and probing while her pussy rippled around him like it was the greediest little thing on earth, trying to milk a cock that wasn't even there. He watched her face, deriving pleasure from the way she struggled to process the sensations raging through her body, and when her eyes focused back on him he couldn't help but rise up like a blanket over her, the hair on his chest tickling at her skin. As if expecting this, as if it was just natural, her arms reached out to embrace him. His hand tangled itself in the short, fashionable blackness of her hair, pulling her into his mouth. They kissed. Rough yet gentle, and when they unmet she glazed her tongue up the sharp edge of his jawline.