“The guard will be rotating in three minutes.”
“Make it go faster.”
He does that thing, not a smile, but where the left corner of his lips twitch slightly. “It’s not that easy.”
She watches as his fingers twitch, fluttering near his ear like he had a comm unit in place, before they drop back down. They’re going in without backup tonight on Diana’s insistence.
She didn’t need backup, whereas Bruce used it like a crutch.
“If it comes to a fight-”
“I would rather it didn’t come to that,” he says, staring at the screen in front of them. Ten minutes until the encryption would be finished, but three until the guards returned to check this area of the hallway. “Not all of us are bulletproof.”
She does not have time to correct him.
They need a plan.
A plan that apparently does not involve fighting everyone that stands in their way.
“Should’ve brought your suit.”
“Thank you,” he quips sarcastically.
She likes that tone on him.
Likes it enough to openly invite it at any chance she can.
“Step into the hallway with me.”
“Diana, if we’re in here they might at least-”
“For the greatest detective in the world,” she mutters under her breath, before fixing him a hard stare. “I have a plan. Stop being a stubborn man, and listen to me.”
After a second’s most hesitation he obliques. Stepping back from the screen, and raising his hands in resignation. She takes one of those hands, slips her fingers through them, easy and practiced as if they have done this thousands of times before.
It hasn’t nearly been that long and yet.
Each time they work together she feels something within her, a sense of the familiar, a sense that this is where she belongs. Perhaps she will stay in this world, in this time just a bit longer, if only to encourage more of these encounters.
She watches as his facade slips back in place the second that they step into the hall. No longer is there the Bruce she is so familiar with from their working together over the past few weeks, nor is it the infamous Bat of Gotham.
This is Bruce Wayne, a man who knows exactly which part he is supposed to play.
She pushes him up against the wall, because it’s easy - because he’ll go where she pushes him without even hesitating. Diana has known many men like the one before her. Men who think too much of themselves, but also too little.
Bruce Wayne is more of a mask than a man at this point.
The practiced quirk of his lips, the teasing tones, the hands that linger just a bit too long on the centerfold’s waist.
(Batman is different. Diana can at least respect that version of him.)
So she pushes him against the wall, pushes Mr. Wayne against the wall where he goes all too easily. His hands settling against her waist as if this is where they belong, bunching up the chiffon. When she surges forward to kiss him, her turns her movements without any hesitation, opens his mouth far too easily.
He is easy.
If she were in the mood, if they were not in the middle of a mission, she could have him right there, against the wall of Mr. Dent’s hallways, as it was…
Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.
A long held truth that holds such even now.
Here in the dimly lit unused hall, they could have their way with each other while the guards were none the wiser. No one would think to look beyond them. No one would suspect that Mr. Wayne and his latest supermodel could have anything to do with the encryption currently running on the household security system.
She holds the fantasy in her mind too long.
Pushes against him a bit too easily, when his hands fall to her thighs she does not deny his touch. In fact, she leans into it encourages him, kisses him with new fire - fire to match that which rages inside of her. A constant ebb and flow, increasing by the second with their proximity.
He breaks the kiss to moves his lips to her neck. She can feel the stubble he refuses to shave clean, rubbing against her soft sensitive skin. Were she any fair maiden she might let her eyes slip shut, might let a low moan escape from her lips.
Instead she keeps her eyes open, just ever so slightly, locked on the edge of the hallway, waiting in anticipation for the guards to come past. If these guards are as predictable as she knows people to generally be they will not focus too long on the couple necking in the hallway, and they certainly won’t bother to check the office that is supposed to be empty at the end of their hallway.
She keeps her eyes focused there, while her mind focuses on other things.
The touch of teeth along the side of her neck.
The hands that have gotten bored with her thighs and slide up higher now, underneath the thin layers of her dress.
“Fuck, Di-” he says, as she reaches up to pull a hand through his hair, tightened and slotting his mouth back against her for a long moment. It’s long enough for him to switch their positions, so now it’s she pressed against the wall.
A better vantage point.
She lets out a noise, not quite a gasp, not quite a moan, as he now pushes her against the wall.
From there he goes back to pressing kisses against every inch of exposed skin that she has.
It’s in that position that she sees them, the guards a low chuckle from a man not being paid nearly enough, not nearly surprised enough to see a couple having their way with each other.
Bruce most notice her stilling, for he leans ever so slightly back from her, to cast a look at the guards.
It’s with every ounce of Bruce Wayne charm when he speaks - “If you wouldn’t mind letting me finish?”
The guards make themselves a second later. A second too long for her liking.
A part of her expects them to drop the act the second their target is out of range, but before Bruce can slink away from her - before he can turn back into a man on a mission rather than a man with a beautiful woman in his arms - she kisses him, hot and heavy, open mouthed and needy.
He responds in kind, even though there is no reason to do so now.
When she pushes him away from her this time, she can see it in his face, the longing that is so obvious to her, familiar, and predictable in the way men are.
“Later,” she tells him. It is not a promise or even an offer, simply a statement of fact. “We have a job to finish, do we not?”