#this bit in shadow strays I actually caught myself going “that’s so sexy” just out loud to myself <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[chalantness]

I love your batcat smut! For the kink meme, can I get batcat, at a party, with 32, 49, 117 and/or 163? Thank you so much!

“117, 124,149,160 please for batcat( also Selina should be the bottom ;).  )” requested by an anon

“If you’re still taking requests: 17,49,72,99,115,124 for batcat ;)” requested by another anon

17. Begging or offering + 32. Coming in or on one’s partner + 49. Exposure + 72. Hand fetishization + 99. Messiness and markers of arousal + 117. Possessiveness or jealousy + 124. Rough sex + 149. Submission + 160. Urgency for sex+ 163. Vaginal penetration (kink meme)

also inspired by this post and this gif (nsfw)

She’s felt his stare all evening, and more than once, she’s caught his eyes from across the room, her lips curving at the corners as he sipped on his glass of scotch and openly watched her. She wanted to be annoyed by it, wanted to be annoyed by the charming lines he’d no doubt given to anyone that realized his attention was elsewhere. He’s never had a problem making conversation at these galas before, yet he’s taken to simply staring at her, acting every bit the smitten fiance and getting away with it while she indulges in questions about venues and centerpieces and silverware. She’s never been a fan of small talk, and especially not when it involves people attempting to pry in her life, but the annoyance she keeps expecting to come - just doesn’t.

She’s actually a little bit charmed by their attention, by his attention, and honestly, that’s when she knows she’s kind of screwed right now.

She feels someone come to stand behind her, a large, warm, calloused hand sliding over the small of her back and up her spine, bared by the low dip of her dress. She bites on the inside of her lip, fighting off a shiver. “I missed you,” he murmurs against her temple, and her lips curve into a smile as she rolls her eyes, his comment drawing a few giggles from the young socialites that she’s been talking to for the better half of the hour. They were genuinely interested in discussing the art being featured in this gallery opening, at least before they’d started asking Selina about wedding preparations, and it’s been refreshing.

“Please.” She tilts her head to meet his eyes, finding them dark and hazy. Hungry. “It’s only been an hour.”

“An hour and twenty-four minutes, actually,” he corrects, earning a few more giggles from the girls, and Selina really shouldn’t be so charmed right now. Not when she knows that he’s saying things like this - playing the doting, enamored fiance - in hopes of getting them out of this evening as soon as possible.

But the thing is? She also knows that he means it. That he’s been keeping track of the time since they were whisked away from each other to mingle, and she would be lying if she said she hasn’t been counting down the minutes until it was appropriately acceptable for them to leave. If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all, really. And as much as she loves putting on something silky and sexy for Bruce to peel her out of later, she’d much rather have stayed home.

(God, she’s becoming as much of a home body as he is.)

“You were supposed to be paying attention to the artwork, not the clock,” she teases, leaning into his touch just a little bit more. He rubs a small circle in her skin with his thumb and she hums, just low enough for only him to hear.

“Mm.” He brushes his lips to her temple. “You were being distracting.”

“I was talking.”

His breath is warm as it fans over her ear, making her feel tingly, hazy. She vaguely remembers to say goodbye when the girls all giggle and say that they’ll catch up with her later, and then Bruce brings his hand around to her stomach and presses her flushed against him, nipping at the shell of her ear. Her gaze slides across the room, and no, no one is paying them attention right now. But still. Bruce has never been one for public affection, but right now, he doesn’t seem to care at all about where they are, who might be watching.

He tucks her under his arm, swiftly guiding her toward one of the back exits of the gallery, and her heels echo against the marbled floors as he guides her down the shadowed hallway. Technically, they’re not allowed to stray past the gallery and into the rest of the museum for the rest of the evening, but she knows that there’s a private, family bathroom at the other end of this hallway, and she’s not at all surprised when Bruce pulls her into it, clicking the lock into place behind them.

“After this, we’re going home,” he tells her, his tone firm.

She arches an eyebrow. “Why not just leave now?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. She still wants him to say it, though.

“Because I can’t wait that long,” he growls, reaching her in one long stride and pinning the small of her back against the edge of the sink counter as he kisses her, hard and hungry and deep. She lets out this little noise from the back of her throat, winds her arms around him and parts her lips when he licks at them.

One of his large, calloused hands is smoothing down her back, his fingers trailing over the curve of her spine, and her lips tug into a smirk at the touch. She’d worn this dress on purpose, knowing how much it drives him crazy when she bares her skin like this. Part of it is because of jealousy, though not out of genuine belief that she wants someone to flirt with her, or that she’d even entertain the idea. She knows that he just doesn’t like all of the attention that it brings, and the fact that men think they can get away with saying something shady and almost always shitty simply because of what she’s wearing.

But part of what drives him crazy is because of how much he wants to touch her. She knows he’s spent all night staring at her back, imagining his nails dragging across her skin in that way that she loves, imagining how soft and warm and pliant she always feels under his touch,

He draws his lips from hers, kisses her cheek, the bridge of her nose, the top of her eyelid. “Turn around,” he tells her.

Her heart sort of skips in her chest as she holds his gaze. His eyes are bright and almost mischievous, and she bites on the inside of her lip to keep from smiling too widely. He’s always so damn composed, so damn serious, but she kind of loves it at the same time. She loves that she’s the only person he’ll be this playful with.

“Turn around,” he repeats after another moment, and, other than a challenging arch of an eyebrow, she doesn’t try to resist.

She turns around slowly, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, and she presses her palms flat against the cold, smooth marble and bends forward a little, bracing herself against the counter. His gaze flicks down the dip of her cleavage at this angle, his lips twitching at the corners, and she feels a warmth shoot through her veins. It’s kind of ridiculous how she could feel so turned on by this - so vulnerable yet empowered all at once, knowing that she has this kind of hold over him, even as she’s bent over at his command.

Slowly, teasingly, he reaches down and gathers the hem of her dress in his fingers, lets his knuckles drag against her thighs through the thin material of her stockings as he pushes her dress up higher. He bunches it just over her breasts, and she shivers lightly as he pushes her now-bared torso flat against the counter, then reaches for the lace waistband of her panties and drags them down the curve of her ass. She’s wet, and honestly, she can’t even pretend to be embarrassed by it. Not with Bruce.

Her hips jump as he brushes two fingers over the slick folds of her sex, rubbing gently, and he bends himself over her to kiss the back of her neck.

“The next time you try to talk me into being social, remind me to say no.”

She breathes out a laugh, which tapers off at the end as his fingers find her little bundle of nerves, massaging it gently. Fuck, she’s so wet that he has to wipe some of it off on the inside of her thigh before finding her clit again to tease it. “I’d just leave you at home and come by myself,” she taunts, and because she knows the man she loves, she’s not surprised when he gives her little bundle a soft pinch, making her suck in a gasp.

“I’d make sure you were too exhausted to leave,” he promises, and her heart flutters, her eyes falling closed. “I’d make sure you couldn’t get out of bed.”

“Promises, promises,” she breathes out, and then her spine is arching off of the counter as he sinks two fingers into her without warning, her nails scratching at the marble as she catches his gaze again in the reflection. She looks just as desperate as she feels, and, judging by how hard the front of his slacks feel pressed against her hip, she knows he’s wound up just as tightly.

He knows her, knows her body like the back of his hand. He knows that toying with her clit is the quickest way to build up her pleasure, that constant circles and just a little bit of pressure will have her shaking, biting back pleas of more. She rolls her hips back, trying to find his rhythm, but he’s toying with her, never quite letting her find it, and it’s driving her crazy.

“Fuck.” She lets her forehead fall against her forearm. “Fuck me, Bruce.”

She hears him groan softly, and she very nearly whimpers when he pulls his fingers out, circles her flit once, twice, three times, and then sinks three fingers back into her. She lets out a soft, sharp cry, and then his thumb presses against her bundle of nerves, circling, and she’s right there, right there–

His lips brush against the back of her neck in another soft, feather-light kiss as her orgasm bursts over her, his mouth lingering, nipping at her skin as he stills his hand, letting her rock back against his fingers, her sex tightening around them. She can feel her wetness sliding down the inside of her thighs, and it’s a good thing she wore a floor-length gown, because her stockings are probably ruined now.

She mewls as he draws his hand back, and she lifts her head, catching his stare in the reflection as he wraps his lips around his fingers, sucking her release off. Her heart stutters in her chest, and, even as the tremors of her orgasm ripple over her, she knows she wants more. Fuck, she always wants more from this man. She rolls her hip, pressing back against the hard front of his slacks, and draws his hand from his lips and reaches for his belt.

“I don’t have anything with me,” he warns.

“I don’t care.” She practically hisses it in frustration, and honestly, she can’t even be bothered by the amused twitch of his lips. No, this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve gone without protection - because they’re both so damn impatient - but she still gets the same sort of rush at the idea of it, at the anticipation of feeling him bare against her, stretching her, pressing against her folds.

He undoes the buckle of his belt and tugs the zipper of his slacks down, and she can’t quite help the way she licks her lips when he pulls his length out. Then her eyes dart up to his, and a stupid warmth spreads across her cheeks.

“Hi, Cat.”

She wants to laugh. “Hi, Bat.”

He guides his length to her folds and rolls his hips slowly, sliding through her slickness. He leans over, kisses the top of her hair. “I love you.”

“Sap,” she teases, and he smiles - soft and small, but stupidly, giddily bright - and her heart flutters in her chest. “I love you, too.”

She reaches back, hooks a hand over the back of his neck and pulls his lips to hers as he presses right at her entrance, and then he’s pushing into her, licking into her mouth when she parts it in a moan. The counter is biting into her hips but even that feels fucking amazing right now, her muscles quivering, tightening in pleasure as he pulls out and then back in, faster, deeper.

He presses one hand against the flat of her stomach and slides up and under her dress, fingers fumbling to squeeze one of her breasts, like he can’t quite help but want to touch her, to feel every inch of her skin against every inch of his. His other hand tucks under her lacy garter belt, finding the spot just over her left hipbone that always, always makes a shudder of pleasure roll down her spine. She feels dizzy and light and weightless, and even the hard edge of the counter pressing into her skin isn’t enough to cut through the haze of arousal.

She arches her spine, nails scratching at his neck, digging into his skin. He drops his face into the curve of her shoulder, muffling a groan.

“Fuck,” he growls, pressing his hand flat against her thrumming heart.

She’s close, and she knows he is, too, and he slides his hand from her hip and between her legs, finding her slick clit and circling, making her cry out.

White-hot pleasure pulses over her as her body arches against his, trembling and shaking, and he kisses the racing pulse in her neck with a groan as she flutters and tightens around him. He thrusts in a little harder, scratching down her stomach in a sharp bite of pleasure as he chases his high, following her over that edge a few thrusts later. She whimpers as she feels his warmth spill inside her, making a fresh burst of pleasure ripple through her veins as their orgasms wash over them.

She feels as if her muscles are melting, feels weightless, boneless, and the only thing really keeping her from sagging against the counter is Bruce’s arms wrapped around her, holding her against his chest. She feels his lips brush against the shell of her ear, feels his teeth playfully nip at her lobe.

Her eyelashes flutter open as she starts to float back down from her high, their heavy breaths filling the small space of the bathroom, and she feels a tingle in her stomach as she catches sight of herself in the reflection. Her skin is flushed all over, her lips a little puffy and swollen, her dress bunched and twisted around her torso, and she knows that she must look as wet and filthy as she feels where Bruce is still inside her, their wetness slowly sliding down her legs.

She looks fucked. Truly, thoroughly fucked.

“We’ll have to skip our goodbyes,” he says, his voice rough and a little bit raspy as he lifts his hand, traces the curve of his cheek with his knuckles. “Because the sight of you like this will no doubt upstage every piece of art in that exhibit.”

She breathes out a laugh, turns her head to kiss the line of his jaw.

“Then take me home, darling.”