BatCat + 16
Prompt: French kiss
Rating: PG for implied sexy times
Selina sat perched on the iron balustrade of the Parisian hotel balcony, dangling her lithe legs over the edge precariously as she looked out towards the midnight city skyline.
Paris was only really beautiful at night. That was the brutal truth of it. During the day, it was bustling mess of tourists, cigarette smoke and littered streets. Tired, agitated waiters and sweaty bodies that mingled with designer shops and grand cathedrals, and the smell of pee.
Selina scrunched up her nose just thinking about it. The city did not deserve it’s reputation as one of the most romantic places in the world. Not during the day.
But at night… at night, the city became illumined in a maze of a million quiet, twinkling lights. Constellations that surrounded the Tour d’Eiffel, Montmartre and the Champs-Élysées. The rosy macaron-pink of the sunset sky gave way to deep shades of blue, and the stars became paths of fire in the distant streets. Sad, crooning blues soon surrendered to onyx, and the pearly moon hung low and pregnant over the rows of apartments.
At night, Paris was perfect.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the delicious, crisp air, the aftertaste of wine still lingering on her tongue, and allowed herself to become lost in the moment. To find rest in her own restless spirit that seemed to urge her onward. Urged her to leave. To move on to the next city, the next heist, the next man.
But Selina found that, for once, she didn’t want to. In an uncharacteristic turn of events, moving on was the last thing she wanted.
She wanted to stay in this stillness forever.
A strong pair of arms strung their way around her chest, startling her into almost losing her balance.
‘You weren’t planning on slipping away, were you?’ Bruce said softly in her ear, his firm grip the only thing keeping her from falling.
Selina turned her face upwards and met Bruce Wayne’s grey-blue eyes with a coy smile.
‘In naught but my dressing gown? My, but wouldn’t that be scandalous,’ she crooned, her voice carrying a mocking lightness as she feigned offence with a small pout.
He said nothing for a long moment, gazing back into her eyes, moving his face closer, until their noses were touching.
‘Do you never get tired of moving, Cat?’ he said, his rough hand caressing her cheek.
She tilted her head at him playfully, running a finger across his lips.
‘Do you ever get tired of sitting still, Bat?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘When I’m with you.’
They sat there, staring out at the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise with a certain sadness, for these were creatures of the night. Bound to it, revelling in it… alive when the long shadows filled the streets with sirens and neon lights and satellites they could make wishes on.
A low growl suddenly emanated from behind Selina, long, drawn out and breaking what had been a very poetic silence by echoing across the rooftops and scaring some pigeons away.
Selina broke down in hysterics as Bruce cursed under his breath, and nearly toppled over the edge. Instead, Bruce pulled her back and she fell into his chest, still struggling to breath as she looked at the very picture of a man whose ego had been pricked.
‘Come on,’ she managed, wiping tears away from the corners of her eyes. ‘Let’s go get you some breakfast.’
‘It’s four in the morning,’ Bruce protested, following her back inside and sitting on the bed with a heavy sigh.
‘This is Paris,’ Selina countered, tossing her silky robe on top of Bruce’s head and shimmying into her black dress from last night. ‘The boulangeries have been up for hours making their pain au chocolate and pépitos.’
‘Hrn. Maybe instead we could stay in bed and you could kiss me again like you did last night.’
Bruce pulled the robe back from his face like a shroud and found himself face-to-face with Selina, her warm breath making his skin tingle.
‘Oh,’ she smiled coyly. ‘You mean, like this?’
The heat rushed to his cheeks, heart racing as she placed a hand against his bare chest and leaned in closer…
Selina pressed her lips against his right cheek and blew a raspberry.
‘That’s not what I had in mind,’ Bruce grumbled, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice, and watched her dejectedly as she fetched her coat.
She slipped on her heels and threw him a devilish, Cheshire-cat grin.
‘We’re in Paris, Bruce. Any kiss is technically a French Kiss. Now put on your clothes and buy me a croissant.’