Bruce was on autopilot between the Batcave and his bedroom. Usually when he got home, Alfred tried to make him eat something. He was too tired to notice the lack of this.
Until three steps into his bedroom, after peeling off his shirt. Where he noticed that his bed was occupied.
Selina Kyle was very comfortably nestled in the arms of Diana of Themyscira. Selina was wearing just a sweatshirt. Diana was wearing nothing at all. His bedroom smelled like sex. There were sex toys and lingerie scattered over his floor.
He shut his eyes, and tried not to lose his balance.
Had he fallen asleep? It seemed like he had fallen asleep. But, no. If he'd been sleeping, Selina would have been wearing the black cashmere instead of his goddamn sweatshirt again.
Furthermore: he had a very nice comforter. It was thousand-fill goose down wrapped in a twenty-five momme black silk duvet cover designed to match his sheets. It was extremely, extraordinarily expensive. They were not using it. Instead they were laying on top of it, after having twisted it just out of shape enough that there was not enough left for anyone else to use. He also had a very nice throw blanket. It was black mink, hand stitched from reclaimed vintage coats. They had wrapped it around their waists, and just their waists.
It was seven in the morning. It was fucking freezing outside. His entire circulatory system had been suddenly rerouted into his dick. His erection, in defiance of all logic, was also fucking freezing. Two women who had been sexually sated before he even got there had stolen five grand worth of bedding that they weren't even using.
If he tried to take a cold shower, he would pass out in the tub. If he tried to take any kind of a shower, he would pass out halfway to the tub.
Resigned, he fell into the side of his bed least full of women, and lost consciousness.
Bruce woke up at nine. This was, for him, uncomfortably late. He still hadn't slept as much as he should have.
There were still two women sleeping in his bed.
They had, while he had slept, sprawled out enough to push him to a small sliver of the bed.
He sat up. He didn't mean to stare at them. He stared. They looked soft and warm and utterly content. They were in his bed. It would be so easy to just—
He could reach over and just—
They were always saying—
It wouldn't be—
His hand hovered about five inches away from Diana's shoulder.
With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and headed for a cold shower.
Bruce felt like hell. He also looked like hell. Oliver Queen looked chipper as ever.
It was the facial hair. Anyone would look chipper with a beard like that.
"Long night?" Ollie asked. He was grinning. He didn't know that Bruce Wayne was Batman. Didn't think Bruce knew what Luthor had been up to in Star City. Thought coming straight to Bruce in person for the records he wanted wouldn't leave a paper trail. Girlfriend had already tried to hack in and get it. She was good. Not as good as Tim and Barbara combined.
"Work," Bruce said. His voice sounded rough to his own ears. Probably sounded worse. He drank his coffee. He should have offered Oliver a seat in the parlor. They continued to stand in the front hall.
"Right, right." They were the same age. Bruce had always felt older. Ollie had always thought he was patronizing. The difference had been worse, before. Queen and Wayne and Luthor. A spectrum of billionaires from frivolous to overbearing. Queen still wasn't comfortable around him. Thought they had nothing in common. "Sorry to bother you so early."
"It's fine." He took another drink of his coffee, and waited for Ollie to get to the point.
"I had a question I was hoping you could answer for me — not to be cloak and dagger, you just know how the Journal is."
"You were looking at buying a robotics company a while back, weren't you?"
"You're going to have to be more specific," Bruce said, as if he didn't already know.
"Something about land-based drones…?"
Bruce sighed. "Ah. Yeah. Supposed to be for search and rescue during natural disasters. Ended up accepting some other offer, we never found out who." Luthor. It was always Luthor. Who else would it be?
"Right! That's the one. I know the information they gave you on their projects during negotiations would have been classified, but I don't suppose I could take a peek?" Ollie had an air of affected sheepishness. "I'm just curious about something."
"Yeah, that seems fine." It didn't. Queen was horrible at this. How did he even still have a secret identity? If Bruce hadn't been tired, he might have actually made him work for it. Come up with a plausible excuse. One that hadn't been shot through with arrows. Put Bruce's law degree to good use: fucking with Oliver Queen. "You're going to want to meet with Lucius, I'll call and—"
A door opening and closing too loudly. Giggling. Laughing. He should have powered through it. He shouldn't have looked. He looked. So did Oliver.
Diana and Selina were wearing his shirts. They were looking down over the railing at the two men in the front hall. They looked surprised.
"Ah — sorry!" Diana announced, immediately steering Selina back toward the bedroom. "We didn't realize you had company, so sorry."
She didn't sound that sorry. Bruce had been seen in public with Diana before. Same for Selina. As far as Bruce knew, Oliver didn't know that Selina was Catwoman. If he did, this was going to make Bruce's own identity fairly obvious.
Ollie looked from where the women had retreated back to Bruce, eyes narrowed. "Work, huh?"
They had a silent staring contest. Bruce sipped his coffee and did not break eye contact. Then Oliver shook his head.
"You're a real asshole, you know that?"
Bruce sighed. "… yeah." He looked back toward the second floor. "Yeah."