Chapter Text
“Twin beds?”
This was what he got for letting Selina make the hotel arrangements. Bruce could feel her smirking from across the room.
“I thought it’d be best,” Selina replied, amusement poorly hidden in her voice. “Considering you're still in recovery.” She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it onto one of the two matching beds. Neither one of them turned on the lights.
“Is that right?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. Selina hummed affirmative, tugging her hair out of its loose ponytail and letting it fall to her shoulders.
“We wouldn’t want those stitches to come undone.” She surveyed the room before turning back to him, smirk barely visible in the half-light. “And I’m a kicker.”
Bruce watched her disappear into the bathroom. He set the luggage down, closing the heavy door behind him. His eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The clock on the nightstand glowed green. It was late; the lobby had been all but deserted when they arrived. He should have been tired, but he wasn’t. His body hummed, still wide awake, still wired.
Bruce discarded his jacket on the back of an armchair; the stitches in his side twinged at the motion. Limited physical activity for two weeks, the emergency room doctor had said. Bruce glanced at the bathroom door.
He wasn’t a fan of the restriction.
Bruce shook his head and wandered toward the large windows, pushing aside heavy curtains. The lights of Prague’s skyline flickered back at him. He held back a sigh as the tightness that seemed ever-present in his shoulders began to ebb.
The last week was a blur of preparations and planning, tying up loose ends. The morning he was discharged from the hospital, Selina disappeared; Bruce hadn’t asked why.
He figured she’d had her own loose ends to tie.
The next time he saw her was that morning at the ticket counter, eyes smiling behind a pair of dark sunglasses, lips painted red. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn't a little surprised she’d shown; he’d half-expected her to skip town.
She was full of surprises.
He watched the ripple of the city lights mirrored in the dark water of the river. He sensed her presence before she spoke.
“Homesick?” There was a teasing edge to her voice, but underneath it was something else. Something honest. She brushed against him on her way to the window sill. Bruce shook his head, gaze fixed on the dark horizon. Her perfume—shampoo—tickled his nose. He was becoming accustomed to the scent. He felt her eyes on him. “You sure?” she asked.
Bruce paused, listening to the sound of the bustling city through the glass, conscious of the warmth of her body so close to his. He focused on the skyline, searching for the pull, that constant tug that had forever tied him to Gotham. He chased the feeling, but it was fleeting. The last wisps faded. A smile tugged at his lips.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Good.” Selina slipped between him and the window, leaning back against the glass. Bruce’s gaze drifted from the cityscape to the smirk playing across her lips. He found himself memorizing the shape of those lips, recalling the feel.
He leaned closer, city lights forgotten.
She slipped out of her heels, her eyes never leaving his face as she sunk into the carpet. A challenge lingered behind them. A tease. A game.
She reached out and nudged him away from the window. One step, then two. He let himself be led, inched backwards until they came to the edge of the nearest bed.
“Sit.”
“Why?” he asked, tilting his head. She reached up, hands settling on his shoulders with authority.
“So I can examine you,” she explained, pressing down on his shoulders. The bed creaked under his weight as he sat. Mischief danced behind her eyes. “Lay back.”
Intrigued, Bruce obliged, leaning back against the plush, if rather narrow, bed. He watched as she climbed over him with purpose, her weight balanced on either side his body, careful of his injured side. Bruce resisted the urge to grit his teeth, kept his face even. She was distracting. Once settled, she scanned him with a critical eye.
“First, let’s check those vitals.” She leaned down, her hair tickling his cheek as she pressed her lips against his forehead. He closed his eyes, breathed her in, his hands settling on her hips. She hummed.
“No fever,” she said. His eyes fluttered open as she retreated, leaning just far enough away to look him square in the eye. He held her gaze. He hadn’t realized how dark her eyes were until now. How easy they were to get lost in.
How lost he already was.
“Hmm,” she said, peering closer. “Slight dilation.”
Bruce snickered.
“I wonder why,” he replied. He opened his lips to speak again, but a quick finger pressed against them, silencing him. His lips twitched, teeth tempted to bite.
“Shh,” Selina said as she inched down again, leaning in until her lips pressed against the curve of his neck. Her tongue flicked against his skin. He inhaled sharply; his grip on her hips tightened.
“Pulse normal,” she said against his neck, the curve of her mouth pressed to his skin. “For now.” Her weight above him, the residual heat of her body, was fast becoming more than a distraction. His hands began to drift, wandering from her hips to her back. She caught his eye and shook her head.
“Stay still,” she ordered, her eyes gleaming. She scooted down, her weight still balanced on either side of him, careful of his injury. She pressed her head against his chest, listening, hair cascading around her. Bruce curbed the impulse to run his hand through it.
After a moment, Selina sat up, shifting her weight to his lap. She grinned, aware of the effect she was having.
“All clear.” Her hands wandered, reaching for the edge of his shirt, tugging it up. “Now, the moment of truth.” Her fingertips traced across his abdomen, outlining the bandage on his side. She worked the edge of the tape, lifting it. He didn’t wince, watching her face as she examined him. There was a rare softness around her eyes, a thoughtful purse to her lips. She glanced back at him, softness replaced by something more familiar, mischievous.
“Not bad,” she said, pushing the edges of the surgical tape back down, securing the gauze in place. “Still, wouldn’t want to take any risks.” She tugged his shirt back into place.
“I think I’d like a second opinion,” he replied, his hard-won patience unraveling.
“How about a compromise?” she asked, fingers still toying with the edge of his shirt. She slipped a hand underneath, raked her fingernails against his skin. He watched her through half-lidded eyes. “I’ll consider waiving the full two-week wait as long as—”
Impatient, he reached up with both hands, intent on bringing her closer. She was faster, catching his hands and interlocking their fingers. She pinned his hands to the bed.
“—as long as you stay perfectly—” she leaned in closer, her eyes locked with his, “—still.”
Bruce’s heart hammered in his ears. He flexed his fingers, still intertwined with hers, tightened his grip. She tilted her head, waiting for his answer. After a moment, he nodded.
“But tomorrow,” he said, leaning to kiss her neck, “we switch rooms.”
She closed the space between them, her silent laughter rumbling against his lips.