grayce427

[grayce427]

Nights With You

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

2,170 words

cw: explicit / nsfw 18+, smut, fluff

a/n: first ever fic for fun, result of my most recent hyperfixation, enjoy !! also on ao3.

The faint, musty scent of mildew permeated the old walls of Wayne Tower. A hint of smoke from the fireplace downstairs drifted into your room and swirled around your bed. It smelled lonely.

You were used to these solitary nights, when the only sounds that permeated the still dark twilight were your own breathing and the incessant tick-tock of the grandfather clock in your bedroom, counting down the seconds until Bruce returned.

It was during times like these that your thoughts were left alone to wander.

You understood the sense of duty that impelled Bruce to don his black armor and cape every night. You understood why he chose to leave tired every night and return even more so, always covered in new scrapes and cuts and bruises.

And you were the one who washed away the blood on his clothes, both his and others’, darkened by grease and mud and shadows. You were the one who carefully cleaned his wounds, who gently bandaged his injuries, who kissed away his pain and exhaustion.

Sometimes you thought that Bruce’s irrepressible need to “save” Gotham was almost like a love of some sorts. And you of all people knew that when Bruce loved something, he would stop at no lengths to protect it.

Sometimes you thought that this stubborn, unmoving commitment would be the end of him. One day, the villains would outnumber or outsmart him, and the Dark Knight would finally fall.

It was often difficult for you to not ask Bruce to stop throwing himself into danger, to beg him to stay with you in the comfort and safety of your shared bed. However, you knew that you could never bar him from defending his city, so instead you chose to support his mission.

But even if you could completely extinguish your misgivings and worries, it was impossible to quell your other wants.

Because no matter how plush and feathery your pricey silk pillows and velvet quilts were, you always felt a little cold laying in bed alone.

And nights too long and lonely always left you a little needy.

So when you heard the telltale albeit muffled screech of the Batmobile’s brakes in Bruce’s lair, you were already out of bed and tiptoeing downstairs.

You avoided the creaky wood planks of the stairs, taking care not to awaken Alfred. If how you felt already meant anything, then things were bound to get heated tonight, and you didn’t want the poor butler to see or hear anything that would provoke a heart attack.

As you rounded the corner, Bruce finally emerged from his Batcave, blinking at the dim lights you had turned on in the manor. His eyes widened when he saw you, taking in your lithe frame, draped with only lacy black undergarments that left little to the imagination.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked, clearly both concerned and amused at your current disheveled state.

Bruce had only just slipped out of his armor, and was dressed in a simple black oversized T-shirt and sweatpants. His mussed brown hair was still damp with sweat from his cowl, and his black eye paint had not yet been completely wiped away, the remaining residue deepening the shadows underneath his eyes.

If anyone else had seen him, they probably would have thought that he was a depressed insomniac who hadn’t slept in days. And honestly, he probably hadn’t.

But to you, he was the most beautiful thing in the whole universe. He looked ethereal, like an angel, his pale skin glowing in the comparative dark of this sacrosanct moment, when it wasn’t quite night anymore but also not quite yet morning.

After so many years together, slipping into this eccentric pattern of dusks in solitude and dawns together in bliss had become your norm. But still, to you, Bruce’s beauty and charm never faded over time, and you never ceased to admire and revere this man who had become your everything.

“I was waiting for you,” you whispered.

The space between your bodies was almost excruciating. All of your nerves protested the frigid air touching your goosebump-covered skin and yearned for Bruce’s blessed touch. Inadvertently, you leaned forward towards your own piece of heaven.

“Sure that’s the only reason?” Bruce smirked. He cleared the remaining distance in a few powerful steps.

Bruce usually played the gentleman, respecting and delivering your pleasure whenever you desired it, but teasing you still granted him a little novelty and excitement.

And usually, you played along, but today you were too far gone to slow down.

You delved into Bruce’s arms in an instant, relishing his strength and warmth. He chuckled and lightly pecked your forehead. You raised your face and moved your soft lips to his in a single chaste kiss.

You felt his rough stubble on your cheeks and breathed him in, perceiving the scent of rain, of car grease, of Gotham. And underneath that was his expensive cologne, the scent of cedarwood, of musk, of the woods.

When you separated, you looked up. He was smiling, and that rare, endearing smile was one of the things you treasured most in this unforgiving world. And if this one kiss was all that you had, just making Bruce smile would have been enough.

But where was the fun in that?

You grinned devilishly and slowly licked your lips. You watched as Bruce’s eyes tracked your tongue’s deliberate movement, left to right and then back again.

“Looks like someone’s a little feisty today,” he murmured, so tantalizingly close. And then suddenly, his own tongue shot out, grazed your ear, and traveled down your face to your lips.

At first, it caught you by surprise. Then you thought,

Two can play that game.

You slid your right hand under his shirt and up his chiseled stomach to his chest. Bruce’s arousal was obvious even underneath the thick gray fabric of his loose sweatpants. Without looking down, you moved your left hand to his growing bulge and squeezed lightly. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.

You felt his hands snake up to your breasts, felt the slight squeeze he gave them, once on each side. His touch was warm, so warm, but you felt chills vibrate down your spine, all the way from your neck to your waist.

You deepened the kiss, no longer maintaining any image of innocence, and searched with your tongue for his.

You were both underwater, engulfed by a vast ocean of desire, and neither of you wanted to return to the surface. After an eternity you wanted to never end, you finally let go, gasping for air. But still, you wanted to plunge back in even deeper.

“Fuck,” you inhaled. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Lucky for you, then,” Bruce rumbled.

He dipped back down for another kiss. Your hands kept roaming, feeling his body, feeling the staccato of his heartbeat, that rapid thump-thump-thump that meant that he was here and present and alive with exhilaration and passion and love.

You felt him moving, felt yourself moving, but everything was fluid like time and space didn’t exist and you were just together until you weren’t and then there you were, lying on your bed, and there he was, slamming the door shut.

He turned around and you gazed into his ice-blue eyes, darkened by a blazing fire, and you thought to yourself that you would do anything to keep those flames burning, even if they consumed you too.

When he joined you once again, neither of you hesitated. He tore off your bra in one swift and easy motion, and you fumbled with his shirt until his long fingers covered yours and he pulled it off himself.

He trailed delicate kisses down your neck, down your collarbone, down to your bare chest and stomach.

He reached your thighs, nipping your sensitive skin, closer and closer to your clit.

“Jesus,” Bruce heaved. “So wet already, baby.”

Impatiently, you wiggled your damp panties off and pitched them off the bed, not caring where the hell they landed. Bruce had one hand gripping your leg and the other grappling with the strings of his pants until somehow they unknotted themselves and slid off with his boxers, joining the rest of the clothes on the floor.

Now you were completely body to body, skin to skin, but still you wanted more.

“Bruce,” you gasped. “I need you in me.”

He slid one finger into your leaking slit experimentally and when you whined, long and loud, he joined it with another and then another. He slowly glided his fingers back and forth inside your aching pussy.

Bruce reveled in this vulnerability that you exposed only for him. He loved how he was the singular person who could unravel you into such a mess of wet spasms and ragged moans.

His fingers never stopped moving, but now he began to kiss and suck at your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. He left angry red marks on your skin, like they were a claim to you, a label that showed everyone that you were his and only his.

You fell apart in his arms and he fell in love with you all over again, as he did each time, and now all he wanted was to please you, to be the one to bring you to your climax.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Please, baby. Fuck me, please.”

Slowly, he lowered himself, inch by inch, into your writhing body. He savored your whimpers and whines at every slight shift of his bulky cock.

You were reflexively bucking your hips up and down, agonizingly trying to near your release. Ever the gentleman, Bruce began to help with strong, powerful thrusts, in and almost out and all the way back in again.

Your five senses were magnified by your arousal, and each contact Bruce made with you was a sensory overload, an electric shock, an explosion of thrill and intensity. You were on fire, alight with warmth and lust and desire.

You felt the blaze deep in your stomach increase in heat and power. You were grasping Bruce’s shoulders, his back, his hair, anything that you could reach. His lips found yours again and you didn’t care if you couldn’t breathe, didn’t care if the overwhelming pleasure became pain, because you were holding onto each other, in each other, and that was all that mattered.

But you were right on the edge, so close to your release, and Bruce was right behind you.

His name was the only thing your voice formed, like it was a mantra, like it was the only thing tying you down to Earth.

“I’ve got you,” he assured you huskily. “I’ve got you, love.”

So he gave you one last push and you let go, let the waves of pleasure wash you away, let yourself disappear back into that ocean of emotion and passion. And soon, you felt Bruce join you in your paradise of ecstasy and love. You wanted this moment of fulfillment and bliss to last forever, to be able to lay in his arms forever and never return to reality.

But as with every sea, the tides eventually bring everything back to shore. When the world came crashing back into focus, the first thing you saw was Bruce smiling softly at you. And that made so much sense to you, because that was exactly what he was - your world.

“Hope that satisfied you,” he teased, breaking the silence first, silent laughter and mirth dancing in his beautiful blue eyes.

“Would’ve rated that ten out of five stars,” you returned his banter. You felt so full, both literally and figuratively, that your heart felt like it would burst.

You pulled Bruce close, ever closer, always closer, and buried your face in his chest.

“I love you,” you sighed contentedly, tracing patterns of love on his skin. Tenderly, he kissed your forehead. You knew he wasn’t adept at expressing his feelings with words, but that single compassionate action was enough.

After such an eventful night, you were both tired and sleepy. Bruce hugged you tightly and then relaxed, allowing you to choose how you wanted to rest. You didn’t pull away, instead intertwining your hands with his again in a tangle of limbs and intimacy.

You watched the slow, peaceful rise and fall of his chest, marveling at this wonder of a man.

During the night, he was the vigilante Batman, and during the day, he was the billionaire Bruce Wayne. But during this sacred time, when it was only the two of you, he was just Bruce. And he was completely yours.

The warm dawn gradually bathed the room as the sun rose over Gotham, painting your bodies with glowing shades of light and infusing life into Bruce’s pale face.

You breathed him in, the scent of the man you loved.

He smelled like nights in the streets of Gotham. He smelled like nights at fancy charity galas. But most of all, he smelled like nights with you.