Actions

Work Header

In the Closet

Work Text:

Wayne Manor, at the late hours of a Friday a lonesome taxi, slid to a halt just outside the gates. Selina Kyle paid her fare, collected her bag and headed beyond the gates. From her feet, a sharp and narrow shadow shot out from the headlights of the taxi. When the taxi turned, the night pounced her and swallowed her whole. An owl hooted its nightly greeting while Selina walked the long, lonesome road up to the manor. Her bag rested heavy on her shoulder, shifting it from one to the other a few times before she finally reached the stairs.

The elegant heels on her shoes clicked with a loud and hollow sound across the marble floor. Lights were dim and low, this was a house of shadows and silence. Despite the size of the place, Selina walked with direction and purpose. No matter how many doors or twisting hallways the manor threw at her, Selina found her way. Plenty of rooms hosted a clutter of furniture hidden under ghostly white sheets while others were painfully empty.

For the first time since she arrived, Selina stopped and hesitated. In front of her was a door, much like any of the other dozen or so doors she’d confidently walked past. Dark wood coated with a thick layer of shadow and night, in stark contrast to the orange light that just barely managed to squeeze through the frame. Even the keyhole seemed to glare at her with an infernal anger. She drew a trembling breath, the hairs on her arms and neck rose to the occasion. Fingers coiled around the strap of her bag, the leather creaked out a soft protest. Slowly her hand reached forward, shaping itself around the door handle. As it clicked open, the hinges gave a swift cry the moment she stepped inside.

“Bruce,” she said, the bag dropped to the floor with a thud.

He sat by the fireplace, half swallowed by shadow, half basking in the golden light of the flames. On his impressive frame, he wore a simple, timeless suit. The tie had been undone completely, hanging loosely around his broad neck. As for the shirt, it had been buttoned down for comfort. It's been a long day for him, she could tell so easily. The relaxed, almost drained way he sat in the chair, his drowsy breathing and of course, how his $200 aftershave was yielding for a more… primal scent. He was ready. Chances are he didn’t know it, or if he did, he stubbornly deny it. All the more reason why this night would prove interesting.

“Good evening Ms. Kyle,” Alfred greeted her with all the stiff formality so iconic to a butler, “care for some refreshments?”

“Evening Alfred,” Selina didn’t remove her gaze from Bruce, “not right now, thank you. Perhaps later.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see that Alfred allowed himself a quick glance down at the bag by her feet. “Very well Ms. Kyle. Would you require anything master Bruce?”

“No, not right now. Good night Alfred.”

He stood up, the leather in the chair groaned and creaked in relief. Bruce carried himself like a warrior, broad shoulders back, strong chest out and his arms never quite rested at his side. Subtle twitches started to appear on Selina’s face and she found it hard not to embrace herself to stop herself from trembling. The things she could do to this man for this night alone, chip away that façade, peer underneath the pitch black mask he wore at all times. Her breathing took a light tremble to it, her delicate hand found his face.

“Just promise me, whatever we say, or whatever we do to each other… for now we'll make a vow to just keep it in the closet.”

She smiled in agreement. Smooth skin, warm and tender to the touch. Her fingers beckoned him, guided his lips down to hers. His warm breath washed over her face like a firm spring breeze, his hard exterior starting to warm up to her. Strong hands found her arms, taking charge, whether out of habit or instinct was anyone’s guess. The firm, yet gentle she pushed his hands off. He’d have to wait like an obedient kitten. It went against years and years of habits, his kiss grew firmer in protest yet she did not yield.

“Pants,” the word slipped out like an odd mixture of comment and command as soon as her lips parted from his.

His frustration seemed to simmer just beneath his collected exterior, she could tell from his blue eyes. Their glare was sharper and colder than usual. Hands moved and paused just in front of his belt. A moment passed, then another before she raised an eyebrow in a silent dare. Something rumbled at the back of his throat for a second, then with fast and frustrated fingers belt, button and zipper was undone. The pants landed around his ankles with a soft fluff.

Slowly her eyes ran a gaze in a broad stroke, from ankle to shoulders. The fire cracked and sparks darted around, colliding against the solid bricks. Her fingertips teased around the bottom button of his shirt, patiently. It came undone. Then another. She tasted his abs and skin with her hand, soaking in its texture. Her hand retreated, running past and under her nose much like a cigar. A deep breath, savoring the smell and her eyes glowed with approval.

A sharp yank, sudden and without warning the tie was gone. His eyes darted from her face to his shoulder, surprised and uneasy. Before he could recover, her fingers worked fast and made short of the remaining buttons on his shirt. It was pulled aside like a set of wide curtains, a gust of his scent washed over her. His chest, naked and bare was a prime example of masculinity. Strong, solid and battered. Little chips here, scars there yet they complimented him more than degrade him. They were medallions, achievements – proof that he was a man amongst men.

She smiled. A simple, harmless and disarming gesture. He stood still, hesitant and out of his element, yet compliant. His eyes read her, her face, her movement, and every other detail. She could tell, behind those blue eyes of his, his mind was racing to anticipate her next move. He’d probably caught the obvious things by now; the hands fresh with lotion, fingernails cut and filed smooth as glass and how both perfume and shampoo complimented one another.

The heels of her shoes made muffled stabs against the thick carpet. She took a seat on the end of the bed. Baffled, if not flabbergasted he looked at her. Helpless and confused, he was in such unbalance that he could hardly tell right from left. A coy little smile from her, followed by a subtle nod towards her bag set him in motion.

“Ah, ah, ah…” she said the moment he reached down to hoist up his pants.

Half bent down he looked at her, the rage was boiling. Unimpressive. She’d seen it so many times before, though rarely unmasked. His steps were short and fast, restricted by a pair of pants that cost a small fortune. She hid her smile behind her hand and chuckled lightly to herself. Finally, he stood over her, tall and intimidating. The bag dropped dead by his feet, a protest of a sort. Rage gave him strength, gave him resolve. No matter, these little games of two steps forward, one step back was half the fun.

“Over the knees.”

He looked at her, his resolve already started to crack. Small twitches and gestures in his face suggested that he was just a hair's width away from giving her a solid piece of his mind, yet he remained silent. His teeth found his lower lip and he bit down. The shirt came off in a defiant huff, tossed aside as if making a point. As he kneeled down and bent over her knees, his whole frame seemed tense and rigid. It was anyone’s guess whether he was trembling with rage or fear. She bent over, hugged him close and listened through his shoulders as his breathing seemed to settle down. Not as smooth and natural as she’d like, the calming was a habit of years of training. Artificial control rather than genuine trust.

Thumbs formed hooks that latched on to his briefs and swooped them down his thighs in one smooth motion. His head shot around and he barely managed to swallow a small yelp. Before he could come to terms with it, she bent down and fished out an item from the bag. She was slow and deliberate in her movement, making sure he’d catch it in the corner of his eye. Again his head turned, eyes fixated on the item. Body lotion, rose scented. Ordinary, boring body lotion. At the very least if the label was to be trusted.

“One thing in life you must understand; the truth of lust, woman to man. So open the door and you will see; there are no secrets, make your move, set yourself free.”

Her tone was calm, soothing. The warmth of her breath, brushing so tenderly against his ear while the cold and moist lotion got pumped from the bottle into the palm of his hand. A silent plea in his eyes was met with a serene expectation in hers. He’d follow through, wouldn’t he? Jaws locked in an odd mix of determination and surrender, his hand reached around to apply the lotion. The palm of his hand smacked against the firm butt cheek and rubbed around. Shifting his weight and his support, he looked at her with a red face and silent held up his other hand for another fill.

Threads of lotion traced after his fingers as they lifted from his glistening butt. She let the moment between them grow, the silence sunk down on him like an oppressing sea, pressing him down on the ocean floor. He swallowed, the first pearls of sweat was given birth on his forehead. A finger tender and soft to the touch traced down his spine. His shoulder shuddered and she could feel the texture of his skin getting bumpy. Goose skin. She held a lazy yawn back behind her teeth as she stretched one arm high up to the ceiling.

SMACK. Her hand came down fast and hard as a wrecking ball, the full surface of her palm stuck to his lotion clad skin like a coat of paint. He did not breathe, his jaw looked like it had taken a dive down to the wine cellar. Those eyes of his, open and wide with amazement, surprise and shock. He looked but at the same time was not really seeing. She pulled her hand back, slowly her palm and fingers traced over his skin like a soaking wet piece of heavy cloth.

SMACK. His flesh wobbled around for a small second before settling. The faintest of whimpers barely managed to creep out from the depths of his throat. His tongue traced around his mouth, his breath started to sound like short panting. She watched him closely, like a predator stalking its prey. Waiting. Watching. Evaluating. Anticipating. It would come, eventually. The moment. His head shuddered and he blinked, tearing himself away from the depths that she was dragging him down to.

SMACK. SMACK. A fat drop of saliva escaped from his lips, tracing down his chin and dangled in a silvery thread from his jaw line. His broad chest heaved deeply, pressing against her thighs. Strong muscles contorted and shifted underneath the skin of his back. Shocks were reaching his core, why else would he regroup his defenses? Her fingers found his jet black hair, coiled through it like baby snakes and strangled a solid grip. With a firm yank, she brought his head up and back as far as it’d go.

Her lips brushed against the tip of his ear as she whispered, “Admit it.”

He grunted out a silent refusal, gritting his teeth for what he knew would come.

SMACK.

SMACK. “Say it.” SMACK.

SMACK. “Admit it.”

SMACK. SMACK!

A pause. She could feel how her own hand trembled and ached from the pain. Thousands of tiny threads of pain were spreading from her fingers, palm and down her wrist. His own butt cheeks were sore and red, appearing even more so in the golden light from the fire. She heard him snort in a deep breath, his head sunk low when her fingers released his hair. Both his large, strong hands were like talons of a great eagle, digging defiantly into the carpet.

His voice cracked and trembled as the words started to tumble out of his mouth, “There's something I have to say to you… If you promise you'll understand. I cannot contain myself when in your presence. I'm so humble. Touch me.”

She tilted her head, mildly intrigued. A smile of approval shaped her lipstick covered lips as she saw how those hard and firm talons of his melted back to fingers once more. She leaned down, resisted the urge to give him a reward kiss or even look him in the eye. There was no mistake that his eyes pleaded with her, she could feel their hunger on her face. Her hand worked with skill and purpose inside the bag. Finally, she pulled her hand back into view, making a slow and deliberate show out of it.

The index and middle finger stood out like the barrel of a gun, coated in a thick layer of something transparent and slimy. A wobbly thread of slime made a consistent line from the tip of her fingers into the depths of the bag. The fingers parted and closed slowly, as if mimicking a pair of lips in a sensual breath. More threads parted and formed between her fingers. His eyes were locked on their alluring movement, a mesmerized blank stare. Always quick on his wits, the implication hit him just a short moment after she pulled her hand out of his view.

He squirmed in protest at first, though her arm coiled around his waist like a snake and just as his legs started kicking, the first finger traced between his ass cheeks and slipped inside. He went rigid like a terrified goat before his head rolled around slowly. It was hilarious. This was just the first joint of the first finger. Though she let it sit there for a while, it was after all his first. Where she’d been harsh with the spanking, she was now tender and patient. Slowly she inched her way inside, twisting and turning a little to the left, a little to the right. She listened intently and kept a close, fixed gaze on his reaction.

When she could go no further, she leaned down and purred sensually in his ear, “Want two?”

He turned his head without looking at her, probably terrified to show her what his full face looked like right now. His near flawless jawline, a genuine mess of drool and sweat, trembled as he managed to gasp out a windy yes. The tip of her tongue found his cheek and she allowed herself a quick taste. There was something about the raw, primal taste of a man that was so very different from anything else. She retracted her finger with tender and care, pausing and backtracking just a small inch every now and then. Her ear brushed softly against the back of his rugged shoulders, the smell of sweat and man steamed of his moist skin. In all honesty, she wanted to take a bite, but for now, she restrained herself to his scent and the internal rumbling of his heavy breathing.

Her two fingers bumped hard into one another, a stark contrast to the soft, yet firm embrace they found themselves in. She continued to listen to his breathing, using it as a gauge for how to proceed; slow, fast, advance, pull back, twist or turn. A rhythm form from their union and she smiled to herself as she felt how his own subtle movements complimented and resonated with her own. When she felt that he was growing heavier on her lap, she started to wind down. Gently, with all the love and affection she had for him.

She helped him crawl into bed on trembling hands and shaky knees. He laid there, naked and bare, panting and sweating as he simmered down, simmered down ever so slightly. Silently and gracefully she left, washed her hands in the bathroom just next door and gently sank down on the bed again by his side. One last time she went inside the bag.

A touch, ever so tender and gentle. Cool and soothing to the touch. Bruce blinked out the tears from his bloodshot eyes. As the sensation on his sore butt cheek waned, he turned to look with pleading eyes. Selina sat by his side, so graceful in her care. A small bowl of cream in her hand, scooping up generous portions and applying it to his skin. She was so careful, it almost hurt even though it at the same time smothered the pain. He grew to despise whenever her touch left him, yet celebrated shamelessly in his heart when it returned.

He buried his face in his arms, shame and relief storming around inside him. The eye of the storm surrounded him when Selina spoke up, “It’s cream to prevent swelling. But it’s a little awkward to put it on like this, right Bruce? So can you lift your bum a little?”

A moment came and went, another grew in size before Bruce finally pressed forward his knees and raised his bum as high as his pride would let him. It was burning hot, twinging with pain. He could feel the cool air moving over the skin, the same skin that was stinging with pain. There was a bliss sinking into him from the soft touch of Selina’s delicate fingers. Her cool, soft fingers were gently caressing him. It felt like she was painting pleasure onto his skin. Blissful tears trekked down his cheeks as the sensation of Selina’s fingers drawing away all the heat and all the pain kept on going until the early hours of Saturday morning.