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It isn’t often that they have a night off and Bruce savours them whenever they do. It is a rare occasion that no one is trying to kill them, that Bruce is not saving the city, that Selina is not working.
Bruce takes them for what they are—a quiet blessing. An infrequent kindness.
The day does not start out that way. It starts with a nightmare, one filled with Selina below him, bloody and lifeless, and it is only her sleeping form beside him that ebbs the panic. But he is forced to leave soon enough for meetings and work, and when he returns, Selina is gone, surely with Barbara.
She returns in time for dinner, just as he is pulling out what little food he has from the cabinets. Rations are still a necessity in Gotham, even with the help of the Main Land. Still, Bruce thinks he has enough that he can cook them a semi-decent meal.
“What’s this?” she asks from behind him. Bruce doesn’t turn yet, but smiles at the sound of her voice.
“Dinner,” he offers. She huffs a laugh and steps closer, near enough now that he can feel the warmth of her body. His smile falters. He knows why she is so close, why she feels the need to brush her hand along his shoulders, his back.
Why she needs to remind herself that he is really still here.
It has only been a few weeks since he had almost left Gotham, since she had found him at the airport, teary-eyed and miserable. It isn’t a memory he enjoys lingering on. Not one he hopes to ever recreate, either.
But it isn’t one he can ignore, and it’s certainly not one Selina has forgotten about. Bruce has seen how close she stands since that day, the way she always has a hand on his wrist or shoulder or waist. How her eyes are always tracking the room for him, the panic that rises when she can’t find him within a few moments.
Worse, Bruce has seen her trailing her fingers over the letter he had left. She refuses to read it, won’t look back at the parting words, only traces her thumb along his script through hazy vision.
He can’t blame her, not after everything. Not after what he almost did.
Bruce forces himself to smile and turns. Selina is instantly steeping closer and into his chest, her hands rising to wrap around his neck. She lifts herself onto her toes to kiss him once, twice, and he finds himself breathless.
Selina sees the look on his face and giggles. Her hands move to trail down his neck, one moving down his arm, and he nearly gives into her touch before he remembers the food behind him.
He clears his throat uselessly. “I have to finish dinner.”
Selina raises a brow and leans closer. “It can wait.”
If they start now, the soup will never be made. They’ll be forced to eat from cans as they had the past few months.
Selina presses herself even closer, one hand on his jaw as she tilts his face down into hers. Bruce gives in. It is all too easy to sigh into her mouth, span a hand around her hip, clutch her closer. She angles his jaw, kissing him harder, and he wraps one hand loosely into her hair.
The counter digs painfully into his back. He ignores it in favor of kissing Selina more, harder, desperately and fervently. Minutes pass. Maybe hours.
He pulls away eventually, only when the pit of hunger in his stomach begins to grow too large to ignore. Against her mouth, Bruce says, “I really do need to finish dinner.”
She groans, but steps away from his embrace to sit atop the counter. He has to resist grinning. It is a sight he has seen dozens of times at Wayne Manor—her, on tables and counters and places that make Alfred roll his eyes. It only serves to make Bruce fonder of her.
Her leg swings and her foot knocks into his leg as he cuts up meat and vegetables, and the innocent touch is far more distracting than it should be. He has to avoid her gaze, because if he looks at her he will surely give in once more and kiss her breathless.
It is only once the ingredients have been placed inside the broth that Bruce lets her pull him between her legs. Selina wraps them around his waist and he has to resist a low groan. He kisses her instead, letting the sound disappear into her mouth as he brackets his hands at her waist and rubs his thumbs along the dips of her waist.
She shudders against him. He presses harder, kisses her deeper, until they are both panting into each other's mouth. Bruce moves his lips from hers to trail them across her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. She lets her head fall back with a moan as he sucks a bruise into her skin.
She whines and bites gently at his lower lip and he presses his hands to her hips, gripping her firmly. Her hand moves to the nape of his neck, winding into his hair sharply.
The timer for the soup dings.
Neither startle, though Selina does huff as Bruce lifts his lips from hers. There is the urge to let the soup burn, let the timer ring, and return to Selina. But she unwraps her legs from his waist and looks pointedly to the soup on the burner.
He steps away fully to finish the soup, trying and failing to regain his breath. It is entirely useless to try and pretend that Selina Kyle does not leave him entirely out of sorts.
Bruce serves them each a bowl while Selina moves from the counter to rest behind him, her arms moving to wrap around his waist and her forehead pressing between his shoulder blades. He can’t tell if it's an attempt to continue what they had started or just to remind herself that he is really in front of her.
His heart stutters in his chest at the thought.
“What’s wrong?” Selina mumbles against his back.
“Nothing,” he says quietly. There is no need to remind her of that day at the airport, of his letter, his attempt at abandoning her. He knows she thinks about it enough of her own. He refuses to mention it on his own, in the small chance that she isn’t thinking about it at all.
Selina steps away to allow him to turn from the counter, trailing a hand down his arm before moving to the table. Bruce follows with bowls and spoons in hand, moving to sit in the chair across from her.
His apartment—theirs, really—is small and practical, as is everyone’s in Gotham now. Bruce can’t quite pretend he’s bothered by the size, by the lack of space, not when it means Selina is nearly always close.
At meals, in bed, when one of them simply walks across the room—she is almost always close enough to pull in for a kiss. She is always near enough to trail a hand down her back, brush her hair aside, tangle his fingers in hers.
It is an adjustment, living in a small apartment compared to Wayne Manor, but Bruce doesn’t mind it. Not when Selina is a factor.
She presses herself against him now, knocking her knee into his as they settle at the table. Her other foot nudges his under the table and Bruce bites back a grin.
They eat quietly, slowly, savouring each other’s presence. It’s been weeks since they have eaten a quiet, cooked meal together, in comparison to rationed meals with company. Bruce lingers in the bliss of it. Of being with Selina.
When they have finished, they clean their bowls together quietly before moving to the couch. The space, the inches between them, seems to span for miles. Bruce can’t help but reach for her, moving one hand to her jaw to trace his thumb along her cheek. She smiles softly and leans into his touch, shifting closer.
Selina tilts herself toward him, not yet crossing the gap, instead letting the space linger. Bruce tries to be as patient as her, tries to bask in the silence of it all, but it is futile. He leans forward finally, inevitably, and kisses her firmly.
She sighs into his mouth and winds a hand into his hair, gripping gently as he kisses her harder. Bruce moves one hand to her thigh, the other to her waist, rubbing slow circles until she shudders against him. He presses harder and she sighs into his mouth.
Bruce tugs at her carefully, pulling her down until she is flat against the couch as he moves to settle over her. Selina wraps her arms around him more firmly, one hand still in his hair while the other presses to his shoulder blade.
His hand lowers on her thigh carefully, lifting her leg to wrap it around his waist to keep her close. She breaks from his mouth to groan, quiet and needy, and Bruce leans down to kiss her again.
Bruce is left breathless as the minutes pass, desperate and frantic even as he keeps his touch gentle. His lips move to her cheeks, her jaw, her collar bones, but still, he keeps his touch tender. Keeps it soft.
Selina has felt enough agony already—she deserves a gentle touch. From him, most of all, after he had nearly left her behind.
Though he does not say it, does not verbalize his regret, Bruce kisses her harder in apology.
There is nothing he can do or say to make up for what he did, but he will try. He will remain by her side, kiss her breathless, offer a hand or shoulder or salvation. There is nothing that can tear him from Selina. Nothing that can take him from her willingly.
Bruce parts from her to lean his forehead against hers, cupping one cheek gently in his hand. She only smiles delicately, turning her head to press a kiss to the edge of his palm. He shudders and pulls her closer, until he cannot tell where she ends and he begins.