Pairing: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson
Fic Title: Children of the Night Series
Rating/Warning(s): Mature, heavy warnings for Child Abuse and prostitution
Genre: Comic-related. Dark/angst. Epic. Drama/crime solving.
WIP?: No. Though the series is ongoing, the last piece is left at some sense of closure.
Why This Must Be Read: This is based off the comics, rather than the movies, so it's got a lot of characters that some might be unfamiliar with (Slam Bradley, Leslie Thompkins, Oracle, Batgirl, etc...) but don't let that stop you. You'll be able to follow along perfectly because this story is so engrossing and well written that it'll suck you in and you'll waste a day away reading the entire series. It's about 140k long, all total, so prepare yourself for a long read. Worth it, though. The plot and characterization are so hardcore honest, almost brutally, because this fic doesn't pull punches. It examines in an honest light how Selina and Bruce could come together, and how that could effect relationships all around them. The thorney issues don't go away just because they finally sleep together. The entire plot, too, is exceptionally well done.
“I’ll need your help with this,” he said, reaching up and behind his neck to remove his cowl.
Selina didn’t react. Slowly, she reached up to accept the mask as he peeled the Nomex away from his face. She watched, fascinated at the transformation. As the mask of the Bat fell away, his lips and jawline seemed to soften, become more…human, she supposed. Bruce’s blue eyes were steel, watching her intently for some sign of surprise. She didn’t bother to lie with her body language.
“How long have you known?” he asked softly. Selina shrugged, tossing his discarded cowl onto the couch.
“About as long as you’ve known about me, I guess.” She tugged his gloves off, putting them with the mask. “I mean, I’m not the World’s Greatest Detective, but I have kissed both Bruce Wayne and Batman before. There was never any difference.”
He frowned, having trouble concentrating on the movement of her lips. He knew hypothermia was beginning to set in. It was ridiculous, of course. He’d trained himself to remain conscious and active in much colder water than could found in Gotham Harbor in November, but for some reason, all of his preparations had failed him. He would need to design a new protocol, Bruce decided, pulling off the Kevlar-lined tunic and shucking his leotard quickly, knowing the hot shower was becoming more necessary by the second. Selina handed him a towel and he wrapped it around his waist, noting the slightly blue tinge of his skin. Selina had stripped off the Catwoman costume and she pulled his arm over her shoulders, ignoring her nudity.
“Bathroom’s this way,” she told him and he stopped short of revealing that he’d memorized the floor plan of her apartment long ago. “Hurry,” Selina whispered. “We both took a dive in the East River, and we’re starting to smell like it.”
He gasped as the hot spray of water gushed over his cold, tired muscles, burning through his exhaustion with tiny pinpricks of heat. Bruce closed his eyes rather than watch Selina as she sagged against the tiled wall, absorbing the heat and steam with unadulterated pleasure. He opened his eyes when he felt her touch, tracing the long, ugly ridge of an old scar across his stomach. His body was mottled by acid burns, knife wounds and bullet holes. If any of Bruce Wayne’s occasional flings had ever made it to the stage of seeing him shirtless, he would have had a lot of explaining to do.
“Better?” she asked, her hands rubbing warmth into his chest muscles. Selina’s eyes lingered over the old scars, focusing on the remains of a whip’s cruel lash. He took her hand, his large palm swallowing hers.
“That wasn’t one of yours,” he told her. Selina knew he hadn’t misread the motion of her lips.
“But I’m responsible for a few of them, aren’t I?” she asked, casting green eyes downward, scanning the rest of his body. Even his legs were a white mass of scar tissue.
Bruce nodded, honesty forcing him to add, “And I gave you a few.” He touched a faded pink scar on her shoulder, caused by the razor-sharp wing of a Batarang. His own diamond-threaded nylon rope had left miniscule abrasions on her wrists, and James Gordon’s gun had left a 9mm bullet wound in her thigh.
Selina closed her eyes, breathing in the steam and concentrating on the warm, sure touch of his hands on her naked shoulder. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that his body had begun to react to the warm water and her presence. His face, typically, betrayed nothing, and she angled her mouth to touch his, her breasts brushing against his chest.
Water surged around them, silently.