“So this is what you do all these nights. That’s how you found me.” You say accusingly and harsher than you mean to when Bruce finally takes you to the cave after incessant whining and begging. It didn’t take him this long with Dick and Jason to reveal his secret but with you it took months, even though he knew you waited outside his room every night for him to get back before running back to yours.
“Yes.” He responds and suddenly grabs your arm to make sure you don’t trip over a cracking spot on the stairs.
You laugh because now all the dots connect. “And here I thought billionaire Bruce Wayne randomly hand-picked me to be his heir.”
When he doesn’t respond, you resist the urge to roll your eyes because he has never been a man of many words, not with you or anyone which honestly works out pretty well because you love to run your mouth (and you think that he secretly likes it too). Be as that may, it’s hard to even formulate a thought as you scan the room. There’s a huge dinosaur which could be real or could be fake, a computer bigger than one you’ve ever seen before, the Batman costume displayed in a case, and another one that’s red and green.
“Robin.” You say, more to yourself than anything as you stand in front of it. Even through the glass reflection it seems to fit you perfectly, calling out your name and you can’t help but think you look quite good in these colors. Entranced in your reflection and thoughts, you don’t notice the look of distress that appears on Bruce’s face.
This is precisely the reason he never wanted to take you down here, knowing that you’ll be as drawn to that as your predecessor before. Perhaps in the past he would have given it a shot but after Jason there was going to be no other Robin, ever. That was something he promised himself along with never taking in another ward but when he saw you protecting your mom from one of the Joker’s thugs, he couldn’t resist. And even though he might not want to admit it, he saw a bit of Jason in you. The bravery when you weld a knife against a dangerous man, the anger and fury in your eyes when you finally registered the horrible state your mom was in, and the despair when she died. So he broke another promise, one of many, and the Wayne manor finally had another presence to grace it, and he, another companion.
Nearly jumping out of your skin when he sidles up behind you, you whip around to face him but not before you see the startling size difference between you two. He is obviously bigger than you, bigger than most men even so you aren’t sure why you’re getting shivers up your spine. It must be because the cave is so cold. Yes, it must.
The two of you lock eyes for a while and you hate the fact that he has the ability to make you feel so small in his presence without even trying. Perhaps he just has that effect on people.
“Come,” he says, clasping a hand on your shoulder. “I have something to show you that I think you’ll appreciate.”
After a few clicks on the computer, you see a news headline about a criminal apprehended by Batman.
An eyebrow cocked, you ask him, “What’s this got to do with me? Not that you don’t do a good job keeping Gotham safe and all, B , but don’t you put a few dozen guys away like every night?”
“Read harder.” He encourages, eyes flickering away to the screen but still watching your face as you read.
After a minute, your entire demeanor changes. It’s something that has always stunned him about you, that you have absolutely no poker face and wear your heart proudly on your sleeve.
“This is the man who killed my mom.” You say with a clenched jaw and curled fights, nails biting into the palm of your hand which are sure to leave red marks later.
The two of you have not lived together that long and he’s away working long hours anyways, but he still likes to think he knows you. He would even go so far as to say that of all of his wards, you two have bonded the most in the shortest amount of time. Probably only due to the fact that you were a girl who had an absent father and whatnot, but still. After all, it was you who refused to leave him alone and angsty on the one year anniversary of Jason’s death (even though Alfred told you it was best to give him space because he was grieving), you who showed him your favorite childhood movie that you used to watch with your mom and made him a sandwich because he hadn’t eaten all day, you who managed to get him to laugh when he thought he’d never crack a smile again.
So, yes, he definitely knows you but he has never known you to be angry. Irritable and hot-headed and even impetuous, sure, much like someone else who lived here long ago. The rope coils forming deep in his stomach and hurting his chest is reminiscent of another child from another time, digging up memories he has worked hard to bury.
“Yes. I put him away. He won’t be able to hurt anyone else for a long time.” He says this without ego, without an expectation for praise or a thanks.
Your eyes narrow and you look up at him. He has seen the same exact expression you have now on another face and he grudgingly knows what is coming next to his dismay.
“But he still can. When he gets out he can do it again, to another child just like me. And that kid won’t have someone like you to save them.”
“No. If you had read the article like I told you to, you would see that he’s in Blackgate for life. The only way he’s leaving is through a body bag and when that happens, you won’t even care. You’ll probably have a good job, with a boy or girlfriend, maybe even a dog like you’ve always wanted. You’ll be happy. ”
If you weren’t so angry you would laugh and gloat at his slightly condescending tone and fatherly approach. Like most girls who did not have a father, you were glad to finally have something like one and he was the closest you would ever get (even if sometimes the lines were blurred and crossed and your relationship with him was not so much a father-daughter one).
You give him one long, haughty look before saying, “You should have killed him, B.”
And if he thinks that if he weren’t a better man and so controlled by his moral constraints that he would because he would pretty much do anything for you.
He keeps a closer eye on you after that and starts observing you more under the guise of spending quality time together.
He’s awake the second the door creaks open and you step foot into his room. Since finding out about his nighttime extracurricular activities, you’ve been on a mission to sneak up on him which has failed so far.
“Sneaking up on me when I’m asleep does not count.” He reminds you fondly, voice still groggy with sleep.
You’re standing at the foot of his bed, wrapped around your favorite blanket that you take with you everywhere because the manor is massive, often drafty, and you seem to be against wearing anything but tiny clothing that is not weather—and amongst other things—appropriate.
“I wasn’t trying to this time. I had a nightmare. Can I sleep with you?” you ask in a small, timid voice.
It takes him a few beats longer to say yes than usual. Most of your requests are readily accepted by him except the ones that could potentially put your life in danger, like being Robin. But this one was tricky because although he has never raised a teenage girl before, one thing he’s sure of is that climbing into bed with an older man you aren’t having relations with is not exactly normal.
Still, your body is moving to its own accord and you’re already making your way to his California King sized bed which would dwarf most men who sleep alone but seems perfect for how broad his body is. You shiver when you slide under his covers, pulling the blanket over your body, and slide over to Bruce even though he has left you half the bed. You don’t notice the way his body stiffens under your touch when you sling an arm and leg on top of him, inhaling in his scent. He’s basically a human furnace, running hot at all times and you remember how offended you were when he told you he only takes cold showers.
“You haven’t been patrolling much these past days.” You mumble, content and drowsy. It’s much easier to sleep when you’re in bed with someone else, especially feeling as protected as you do whenever you’re with him.
“The crime rate has gone down a bit the past few days since Nightwing has been in town,” he explains. “And I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you. I think it’s only right we get to know each other since you’re going to live here for another year or so.” He hopes you stay longer than that, longer than Dick or Jason did but he doesn’t see the point in voicing this wish to you. One of his biggest flaws is that he hates seeming vulnerable and opening up to people has always been more difficult than it should be.
“Only one more year?” you repeat, almost sadly.
“No, I misspoke. At least one more year is what I should have said. Longer, if you would like to attend Gotham University or work at my company or do whatever you like, really. You can be a socialite and attend charity galas for all I care.” he says hastily, not wanting you to misunderstand what he meant. “But if your heart takes you elsewhere, you can of course leave Gotham.” If you weren’t already half asleep, you would register how reluctant and displeased he sounded adding on that last part. Almost like he just knows that something he should say but didn’t mean it.
Your eyes are closed and practically half of your body is resting on top of him so he assumes you’ve fallen asleep until you stir.
“I just want to stay with you, if you’ll have me. I’ll go wherever you go.” You drowsily say into his neck, your breath causing shivers to run down his spine.
He knows that you’re more or less half asleep so he shouldn’t take anything you say as of this moment seriously and that you’re so young your mind will probably change at least a dozen times throughout the next year but he can’t help but think this is the happiest he’s been for a long time.
He knew this would happen. The questions and pleading and pouty lips after taking you to the cave.
“No, you absolutely cannot try the costume on. It wouldn’t fit you anyways. It’s not meant for a girl.” Bruce says, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. The book that he was reading has been long discarded the moment you stepped into his study, almost like he was ashamed and hiding it from you or something.
“Right, because you’ve only had boy Robins before. Sexist, much?” you joke, hanging off the edge of his loveseat. You nearly fall off because even though the seat is meant for two, his body dwarfs it all and he reaches out and grabs you.
“I’m just kidding, B,” you say as you grab onto his forearms when he hoists you up. There’s fine lines and a frown etched into his handsome face and he doesn’t even look phased when your hands touch the sides of his mouth to pull it into a forced grimace. “You’re so serious all the time. Let’s do something fun.”
You have that look in your eyes again, the one that convinced him to let you adopt a three year old German Shepherd from the pound with aggression issues who pretty much only listened to you.
“I think what we’re doing right now is fun.” He responds before seeing your slow smile regretting his words. He simply meant just lounging around together but it was obvious that you thought he meant pertaining to the position you two were in.
Your legs were now on either side of him, straddling him in the chair with a fluffy throw blanket carelessly thrown over your shoulder. The light pink silk nightgown that was your favorite (and his) slipped off your shoulder on one side and he reached up to fix the strap, trying not to notice that the bottom of your dress was riding up your thighs.
“I didn’t know this was your idea of fun.” You tease, grinning like a cheshire cat.
He should have never let it get to this point. You were always a touchy girl since the day he found you, clinging onto him as if the hard armour in his suit didn’t bother you as a white sheet was pulled over your dead mother’s body. Then the cuddling when he finally had time to binge watch Disney movies with you like he had promised even though the couch was spacious enough for half a dozen people. Still, he thought it was innocent. He told himself it was just because you weren’t used to having a father figure and growing up without one would probably cause some slightly inappropriate situations like climbing into bed with him whenever you had nightmares.
He was going to bring it up to you, that there had to be some boundaries and lines that could not be crossed but then you guys would go out to dinner or a grocery store and someone would refer to him as your father and your face would light up. So he never did, just let it progress and turn into whatever this is and maybe even some horrible part of him wanted it to.
“No, we can’t do this.” He ground out, hands clutching the armrests of the chair whilst you hugged onto his broad shoulders. His body was stiff and you knew he was trying to make a point to not touch you or react or your touches.
“Why? You do it with a lot of other women, B.” You respond coyly, lifting your head up from the crook of his neck. “I do read the headlines about you, you know.”
The sight of you leaves him speechless. How soft and innocent you look, hair falling around your face and the strap of your nightgown has slipped down again, leaving your shoulder and collarbones so bare and if it slipped down just a bit further he would be able to see the top of your breasts. It must be cold in his study because he can see the outline of your nipples and felt them even through his shirt when you hugged him.
“I haven’t for a long time.” He admits to you.
“Why? Because of me, right?”
It normally is not hard for him to keep his mouth shut. He is a man of very few words, after all, but he has to refrain from telling you that yes, it is because of you.
“B.” you whisper breathily when he doesn’t respond and press a soft kiss to his clenched jaw. You notice that his fists are slowly uncurling then curling again. In any other instance this would probably mean he’s upset, but you know now that he’s trying to stay in control. Which means that you’re close to making him lose it.
More boldly now, you plant small kisses on his jaw and cheek and then finally to his mouth which is stiff, like the rest of his body. He isn’t kissing you back to your dismay but he hasn’t pushed you off either.
“Don’t you want me? After all, you found me.” You say and make your eyes all big and round and peer up at him beneath your lashes, a look that gets you pretty much anything you want from him from shopping trips and expensive bracelets to letting you sit in at his board meetings even though you grew bored of them like he said you would.
“I did find you, but not for this purpose.”
“Then what, B? It’s not like I was some little kid who couldn't work or take care of myself. You took me in either to train me as Robin or to be your live-in girlfriend and considering you’re not letting me go anywhere near that costume, this is what we’re doing instead.”
He huffs, leans his head back, and closes his eyes. This was a look of acquiescence and one that you had seen many times before he enthusiastically agreed to whatever you wanted. So he was either going to start training you as Robin or make out with you. Either way, it was a win-win (for you, at least).
“Get changed and get down to the cave. Your training starts today.”
Your giggle fills the otherwise silent room, high pitched and without a care in the world like you had been told the best news of your life. You launch yourself off of his lap and run towards the door before you dash back and kiss his cheek, like an afterthought.
You’ve left the room again before he can say or do anything and all he can do is sit in the chair, missing your body heat. He has never been able to deny you anything.
“Pinned you.” You shout, voice echoing all around the cave. It’s taken months, probably longer than Dick or Jason took even though you were a lot older than them when you began training.
“Yes, it appears that you have but most criminals would not go as easy on you like I do.” Bruce says from the ground with a crooked smile. He’s acting nonchalant and collected as always but you can tell he’s proud of you from the way he’s looking at you to the way he frees one of his hands from your grip to hold the side of your face.
You grin down at him, one that suggests you are about to ask something you shouldn’t. “What’s my prize?” You ask.
“I wasn’t aware that there was a prize, or I would have asked for mine the hundreds of times I must’ve pinned you by now.” He counters, obviously amused. He’s been in a good mood all day. He ate the omelette that you made him and even let you switch out his coffee for a smoothie (you guess all that bitching to him about caffeine increasing the chances of a heart attack which he, of all people, definitely doesn’t need, finally got through to him).
“You know I would give you anything, B. You’re the one who doesn’t want to take it.” You respond. The small smile drops off his face, replaced by his usual stoic mask and he sits up to move you off of him but you push his shoulders back with a thud. And just like that the good mood was gone.
The two of you have been closer the past few months than you’ve been with anyone else your entire life, and you suspect that's the case for him too. To your disappointment, he has not gone further with you than your normal touches and hugs and he even allows you to kiss him although he never returns them. Still, you know he wants to and you tell yourself that everything will change when you become of age.
“I’m not a virgin, you know. I mean I would’ve waited if I knew you were going to come into my life but you don’t have to feel guilty for wanting to fuck me. I can feel how hard you are, B.” You confess casually, like you are talking about giving Bruce a drawing or something instead of a piece of you. It’s dangerous to provoke him like this and most other people wouldn’t even dare, but you aren’t most people and neither is he.
It’s not often that he interacts with people who left him speechless, but it seems like a regular occurrence with you. The way you have no poker face or wear your heart on your sleeve, baring your emotions for anyone to see. It’s an endearing and almost admirable trait, albeit not one that he envies in having for himself. It’s also one that reflects your age, or more specifically, how young you are. If anything, this is more incentive that he should not get involved with you—naive and innocent and pure, even if you think otherwise. You deserve a better man than him, one not tempted by a girl who he adopted as his daughter who wasn’t even fully a woman yet (and no, acting and dressing like one does not count). He makes himself sick to his stomach, the butterflies he had seconds ago turning into moths attacking his insides.
“Don’t ever say something like that again. Even for you, that was incredibly inappropriate,” Bruce growls and grips your arms tightly. “Never say anything like that again, do you understand me?” He asks, voice raising. He knows he’s overreacting a bit but he’s repulsed with how hard he gets with you just simply sitting on top of him.
The look on your face breaks his heart, he’s never seen you like this before but he’s also never yelled at you ever. Even when you used to break curfew all the time and parade around in tiny clothing, displaying the hickeys you received from boys trying to make him jealous. It’s quite obvious that he’s pushed you to the brink of tears since your eyes are brimming with them and your lower lip is jutted out and slightly trembling. Before he can apologize and coddle you, you run upstairs, nearly even tripping a few times.
He sighs and a groan of frustration leaves his lips. Even though he also fought with Dick and Jason (well, more the latter than the former), you were a whole different story. Not only because you were a girl and more sensitive but because you had feelings for him that his sons didn’t, making you more susceptible to getting your feelings hurt.
When he makes it upstairs, Alfed is dusting some cabinets but stops to give him a pointed look.
“Any idea where she’s gone off to, Alfred?” Bruce asks.
“I believe that she ran up to the study crying, sir,” He responds and goes back to his dusting. “Though it does pain me so to see her so upset, I am glad you are showing some… maturity.”
Bruce makes a noncommittal grunt and with an arched eyebrow asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”.
“Just that you were certainly never this way with Jason or Dick, Master Bruce. Perhaps you have evolved into someone more emotionally intelligent, or you just have a soft spot for the girl.”
He ponders what Alfred said as he walks to the study, quietly rapping on the door before opening it. He has always loved all his proteges ferociously, even if he did not correctly show it but you did hold a special place in his heart, as he hoped was obvious to you.
You’re sniffling in the corner of the room and when he comes closer he sees that your eyes are red from crying. He has not felt this guilty in a long time and he doesn’t like the pit in stomach you are easily able to cause.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you. I was more upset with myself and I shouldn’t have said that.” He apologizes, holding out a hand and waiting for you to nuzzle it with your face as you always do. Instead, you stare at him and wrap your arms around your knees even tighter. He can’t help but think you look adorable in this cocooned position, only the top half of your face showing.
You’re unusually stubborn today, never missing an opportunity to touch or to hug or to feel him, especially when he offers it. That just means he’ll have to work extra hard.
He scoots closer to you and grabs your arm, pulling you into his body. The sniffling starts again and you cry into his chest while he strokes your hair.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over again.
You stop crying after a while but your grip on him doesn’t cease until you fall asleep. It’s a common thing, he supposes, to be tired after sparring and crying. Luckily, you were quite a heavy sleeper and so light that carrying you upstairs to your bedroom was no issue at all. Except when he tries to tuck you into bed, you do wake and demand that he lay in bed with you until you fall asleep. He had never accepted this request before because somehow you climbing in bed with him in the middle of the night due to your nightmares was more innocent than him sleeping in your bed just because.
But it was hard to deny you when you are holding his hand, trying to tug him into your bed and pulling down your three fuzzy blankets (because you got so cold at night, as he knows) to make room for him.
So he doesn’t.
You were mad at him. Extremely, infuriatingly, truly mad, and he absolutely deserved it. Although many thought Batman to be a myth or legend, and even you yourself have always revered him as a god with a golden heart, Bruce Wayne is still a man and men still have desires. Carnal, lustful ones that you could not possibly fulfill even though you desperately wanted to until you were at least old enough to.
He brought home a nameless woman who miraculously resembled you one night when he thought you would be at a sleepover at a friend’s house. Imagine his surprise when he opened the door to his bedroom to escort her out and found you there, about to knock.
Not a word came out of your mouth which was rare for you but your cheeks became flaming red instead and you ran to your room, locking the door. You stayed there the rest of the night and halfway through the next day. Ignoring Bruce and even Alfred’s pleas to come and eat. You only came out after Alfred said he was going to break down the door which you honestly didn't mind because your stomach had been rumbling for a few hours.
Bruce was already downstairs when you came down and Alfred had mysteriously disappeared from the room as he often did whenever you and Bruce got into a disagreement. You fled from the room after swooping in and taking two waffles and ran back upstairs, but not before he caught up with you.
“I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew you were home. You shouldn’t have had to see that. I’m sorry.” he apologizes.
“That’s not the point, B. It’s not that I saw it, it’s that you’re bringing women home, even though I’m here every night.”
“We’ve had this talk already, many times,” he counters, making sure to keep his voice calm and steady. He definitely did not want a repeat of last time happening, even if remembering the sight of you trying to pull him into your bed made his heart swell. “You’re not old enough and even if you were, you’re practically my daughter.”
“Not practically. We don’t share the same DNA and you found me when I was already seventeen. That doesn’t count.”
“You’re still half my age. That counts for something.”
“I’ve been with men older than you.” You shoot back and have to stop yourself from grinning when he visibly recoils.
It’s times like these that Bruce isn’t sure whether you’re just saying things to get a reaction out of him or not but he hopes that you are. The thought of you with anyone else makes him sick to his stomach and a possessiveness fills him as if he’s some predator claiming his prey (which he might as well have been).
“That’s illegal.” he finally says when nothing else comes to mind.
“That’s illegal? You parade around Gotham dressed as a bat and beat the shit out of criminals. When has something being against the law stopped you before?”
“Don’t compare those two things. What I do is illegal, yes, but it does help people. What you want me to do to you doesn’t help anyone. I would just be another man taking advantage of you. I would be exactly like the men that I put away every goddamn night.”
“Even though I want you to? There’s no one else I care about or trust more than you, B.”
“And that's precisely the reason I can’t do what you want me to and betray your trust.” he grits out through his teeth and promptly leaves you.
It’s your 18th birthday and Bruce has thrown you a huge party with all your school friends and random Gotham socialites who gift you expensive bracelets and necklaces in hopes of getting in good graces with him. He tries avoiding you the entire day, except to wish you happy birthday and to give you a pearl necklace like the one his mother had—exactly like the one she had since it’s custom made by the same jeweler and everything. You are not one to be materialistic and he could have gotten you a hair tie for all you care but the gift is much more sentimental than anything.
It was hard to miss the glassy look in his eyes when you demurely asked him to put it on for you, sweeping your hair off the nape of your neck (one his favorite spots on your body and one that he was prone to touching a lot). He quickly found a reason to go after that intimate moment and not talk to you the rest of the day due to one reason or the next. Even now at your party, he’s deep in conversation with some men that would otherwise seriously bore him while a few women are hanging off his arm. It’s obvious why he’s avoiding you since you have taken the pleasure of letting him know that the day you turned of age you were going to let him have his way with you (much to his displeasure when you used that exact term).
Maybe any other girl would have been happy with being gifted a pearl necklace costing a few thousand dollars and a party costing a few thousand more but all you wanted for your birthday was his company.
“B,” you say, grabbing onto his arm as the crowds of people swarming him part for you and stare at you with wide eyes. This used to happen all the time in the beginning when you’d accompany him to whatever event he had to make an appearance at. You remember how special you felt when he told you he could only bear going to these things with you by his side and it was an inside joke between the two of you whenever he said a certain phrase talking to someone and gave you a glance with his twinkling eyes.
“The birthday girl, everyone.” he says loudly as his eyes look you up and down and the smile on his face turns much more forced. The dress that you’re wearing is very scandalous and you’re much too brazenly dressed for an event like this especially since you have just turned of age but you wore it for a reason. If you couldn’t get his attention you had to make sure something else did. The pearls he gave you make such a contrast to how scantily dressed you are and you can feel all eyes on you for more than one reason.
“Thank you for throwing me such a beautiful party with all these amazing people. There’s no one else I would rather spend my birthday with.” you say with a bright grin, one you have perfected from watching him do it so much.
With everyone's eyes on the both of you, there’s no way he can deny you a hug now. You stand on your tip-toes even though you’re already dangerously high heels and reach up to him, inhaling in the smell of his aftershave. He hugs you back but it’s obvious he’s uncomfortable and makes sure to keep his hands on your back and nowhere else but you hear the crowd literally go ‘ooh’ and ‘aww’.
When you finally pull back you make a point to look up at him beneath your lashes, a look that you know drives him crazy and his grip tightens around your waist before suddenly cupping the nape of your neck to introduce you to some of his business associates. It’s a distraction so he doesn’t have to talk to you obviously and you’re so annoyed that you decide to put on a show.
You don’t miss his right eye twitching and his clenched jaw as you brazenly flirt with the son of one of his friends.
“They grow up so quickly, don’t they?” says the father to Bruce who is gazing at you both with a displeased, flat look. To anyone else he just looks like a protective father who probably isn’t too happy about his freshly legal daughter flirting up with a storm with a notorious playboy but you know better. His jealousy is only something you’ve wanted the pleasure of feeling.
Bruce has always been a stoic, something you know he prides himself on but a man can still only take so much before snapping. You’re not sure what the last straw for him was—you sweeping all your hair onto one side to reveal the barely there strap of your neck and plunging neckline or when you reached up and whispered something in the ear, making sure your hand lingered on his chest.
Before you knew yet, a firm hand was guiding you out of the ballroom and into one of the Wayne Manor’s many empty rooms. Bruce usually wasn’t one to cause a scene or show any emotion really, so this was a pleasant surprise.
“That was rude,” you remark, feigning offense to him pulling you away. “You cut my conversation short. He was a really nice guy.”
“Nice guys don’t exist and if they do then it’s no one at this party, I’ll guarantee you that.”
“Not even you? I think you’re a pretty nice guy, B.” you insisted, sauntering up to him and taking his clenched hand in yours. It’s not wise to tease him when he’s like this but you never considered yourself a smart girl.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Why not? Because of your feelings for me?”
There’s a moment of deafening silence before he asks in a strained voice, “What feelings are you speaking of?”
“You don’t have to hide them anymore. I’m eighteen now, B. Besides, you’re what I wished for when I blew out my candles. So technically, that means you have to give me what I want.”
He starts protesting like he always does but not a word leaves his mouth when you undo the dress, let it slip off your body, and pool around your heels (it’s a beautiful dress but mostly the reason you choose it was because it was so easy to take off). It’s quite a special thing to leave Bruce Wayne speechless. A man of his caliber, as you know, is not so easily impressed.
Maybe it’s the two glasses of bubbly champagne you had earlier or just your birthday luck but he doesn’t resist either when you take off his tie and begin unbuttoning his shirt. Nor does he when you pull him down for a kiss and make his hands cup your breasts. He only stops you when you drop down to your knees, pulling you back up before dropping down to his and burying his face between your thighs.
He gives you a warning glance from down below when you cry out in pleasure, one arm snaking up to tweak your nipples as the other steadies you. It’s not your fault, it’s just hard to think about anything else when you’re feeling like this—when he’s the one making you feel like this. Impatiently, you tug at the roots of his dark hair and he lets out a displeased groan (you’ve been joking that he has a receding hairline a bit too much lately). You would love to stay in this position forever, the sight of his raven hair and muscular shoulders while he’s pleasuring you from below but you’ve been waiting for him to take you for ages.
You’re dripping wet now, more than ready when you turn and bend over the arm of the couch. A sharp intake of breath leaves his mouth and when you look over your shoulder, his expression is hungry, gazing at you like he wants to devour you. He strokes your clit a few times and tests your wetness, making sure you’re ready for him. When he slowly presses his length in, he grabs your hair and turns your head so you’re looking at him.
He’s girthy and you know if he hadn’t eaten you out before it would probably hurt a little going in but you adjust to his size easily after a few strokes. You haven’t ever felt insecure with him really because you know he would love and care for you no matter what you did but you can’t help but think of how you must look right now. Moaning so loudly he has to cover your mouth, eyes rolling back into your head when he thrusts into that spot, and trembling like a leaf in the wind.
You reach your hand back and you aren’t sure if you’re trying to press on his stomach because he’s just so big and filling you up all the way and it’s getting to be too much but his other hand finds yours and holds it, clasping it behind your back. Pressing your face into the couch cushion to muffle your moans you cling onto his hand as he fucks you harder and harder. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s silent during sex but for some reason, you just need to hear his voice.
“B,” you cry out in a broken voice that you barely recognize as your own, hoping he hears you. He lifts you up then, pulling your body flush against his chest and kisses the top of your head.
“I’m here, I’m here. What’s wrong?” he asks while pulling out and rearranging you on the couch. You climb on top of him and kiss him like he’s Troy and you were Achilles, born for war. The both of you let out a moan that doesn’t meet the air as you rock your hips against him and he enters you again, in a different angle this time.
You break the kiss to bounce on him, using his shoulders to leverage yourself. His hands are gripping your waist, guiding you and then completely taking over when you get tired and slump onto his body. It feels better like this, when he’s the one thrusting up and in control. Your orgasm comes quick and strong and even biting his shoulder doesn’t stop your strangled, wanton sounds. Not being able to take you tightening around him, he comes soon after that with a few animalistic grunts and burying himself deep inside you. The room is silent afterwards except for the sounds of the two of you panting while he draws patterns on your skin and plants kisses on your face.
“So Bruce Wayne is good at aftercare. Who knew?” you say, removing your face from where it was resting between his neck and shoulder. He laughs, his entire body shaking you as he does. You think to yourself that you’ll never forget this moment ever, that you’ll take it to your deathbed because you both are just so fucking ecstatic and he looks so handsome when he’s not frowning.
And like you said, you always got what you wanted and he was always willing to give it to you.