Work Text:
After the death of Bruce's parents, Batman starts visiting him every night. Its shape changes gradually with time, becomes closer to human. It slips in through the open window, soundless when immaterial. The cape never rustles, the leather-looking suit never creaks.
It's there, but it's not there, at least not judging by certain senses.
But when they are close, when Batman enters Bruce's bed, joins him under the covers, he can touch it.
Not smell. Not hear.
He can see. He can feel. And he can taste.
Their bodies fit each other perfectly, familiar by now after years spent together. Embracing each other like two halves of one being, long separated but finally reunited.
Batman's lips taste like ice and feel like winter. Bruce shares his warmth with Batman, and Batman swallows what it is offered greedily, hungry like a bottomless well.
Batman pulls back when it had enough, the kiss ends too quickly for Bruce's liking. Neither of them are ever fully sated by it. They want more. But more between them would be dangerous.
Batman touches his cheek with a rough, dark hand. It is warmer after the kiss, more real.
Thank you, its presence announces.
Bruce's brain cannot comprehend the sensation of that voice. It's not a voice, not really. Perhaps it's a thought that is stealing space inside his own brain, replacing his own and filling his mind entirely with what can only be described as Batman's essence.
Bruce falls asleep in Batman's arms but wakes up alone each morning.