The cool night air slides across my throat and face, but the delicious embrace of my leather second skin keeps me warm everywhere else. I land effortlessly on my feet but allow myself to tip onto all fours anyway. I slink forward along the flat rooftop, my muscles protesting not at all at the effort of maintaining the pose. Every hour of work to build them is worthwhile when it's time to play.
I've shed the trappings of normal existence for another night, with all the false and tedious expectations that come with it. Tonight the city is mine and my whims are the only law. Even so, I've passed up a few chances to pull off a cat-burglary already. There was nothing shiny or thematic enough to be irresistible, although I'd normally have done it anyway just to teach the careless a lesson. But tonight I'm hunting a different prey.
Finding him is next to impossible so it's really just a matter of waiting for him to find you. Up here, boldly trespassing on his territory, that should happen soon enough. Most people would be casting around trying to look everywhere at once. But I know him too well and need only keep an eye on the full moon hanging low in the night sky. When something eclipses it, my lips curl into a smile and I turn my head.
Silhouetted above a raised section of the roof, the unmistakable shape of the Dark Knight cuts into the sky. The image of invincible retribution that brings terror to the heart of every criminal in Gotham City. Even these days, the sight makes my heart lurch and gives me a little buzz of adrenaline. I welcome it. Whatever he might be when he takes the mask off, this is the power that makes me want him.
He moves forward and drops down onto the main level. There's that slight hesitation that I always notice when we meet like this. I rise and walk towards him like I own the whole place. His gaze moves downward to track my swaying torso as I advance. Tactically, this is smart – tracking my centre of gravity is the proper way to keep ahead of my moves and would do more to keep him alive in combat than trying to read my face.
That isn't why he's doing it. I doubt he could look away if Grundy was about to take his head off.
I raise my right fore-paw and take the flesh of the glove between my teeth, sliding my hand out and dropping it with a push from my tongue. I'm a good enough kitty to know that you should sheath your claws before you jump on someone. There is an involuntary flicker of movement in that famously stoic lower jaw.
My mind flickers briefly to my gal pal/ mortal enemy Poison Ivy. She's been trying to perfect her pheromone-assisted uber-Dom routine for so long, with the desperate aim of finally breaking down the inscrutable Batman. All these years and she still hasn't managed it. I've been... much more successful.
I could put it down to her massive amount of closeted lesbianism – when your sex life needs a reality check from Harley Quinn, you clearly haven't been loving yourself well enough to make it work with someone else. But the truth is a little more complicated than that. Ivy always saw the outfit and the persona as a disguise, wanted to peel it back and get to the man underneath. She couldn't understand that the masked and leather-clad figure before me is the ultimate expression of who he truly is. I can, because I am Catwoman more than I am Selina Kyle. We were both completely naked every time we fought, but nobody else could tell. Small wonder that events took the path they did.
I reach him and place my left paw on the immovable wall of his armoured chest, running my claws lightly across the surface. He's breathing quite hard by his extraordinary standards as his eyes slide up to meet mine. I can feel an urgent hunger and – I like to tell myself – an honest affection in his gaze, but his body language contains a degree of reserve brought on by his bottomless distaste for crime. Whatever else we are to each other, part of me will always be a bad girl to him – and he'll always feel some degree of need to overpower and punish me until I truly learn my lesson.
The thought courses through my body and gets me halfway to orgasm before he's even touched me.
I take what I want and I don't care about rules – but honestly, I would normally ask someone if they were sure before I went any further than this. With him, however, it's time for me to play detective. I step close and move to kiss him. He turns to meet it and I taste the familiar sweetness of his mouth mingled with the scents of fresh air and a well-kept costume. Using the distraction, I slide my bare hand across to pick-pocket that dorky belt of his. I slip open the third pouch on the left – and find that once again he's replaced the condoms since last time. Preparation is one of his best skills.
I step back and lift one of them up in front of me as I open it one-handed. I give him a stern look, trying to mimic the vivid image in my memory of him producing a stolen diamond from the pouches of my outfit as exactly as I can. I think he gets the reference, a reproachful pout battling with an amused smile across what I can see of his features.
I dip suddenly and pull his legs out from under him. He doesn't resist or counter, instead falling expertly without even winding himself. His cloak is spread out like a blanket beneath him. I stand full height above him for a moment, letting him take in the view, before I drop down astride him.
I pop open the fastenings of his breastplate with practised ease and toss it aside before sliding up the shirt front beneath. As always, the sculpted perfection of his body makes my breath catch. I don't know how old he is now, but maintaining this kind of figure for as long as he has is even more impressive than attaining it in the first place. I wonder how he finds the time to do anything except hit the gym.
Even so, he couldn't be a model without a lot of help from Photoshop. His skin is a network of varied scars, a monument to Gotham's substantial criminal element. My bare fingers trace a pale quartet of parallel lines that I'm pretty confident were my doing. There's no mistaking the reproach in his face now.
I hook my claw into the oversized ring on my zipper and pull slowly. The zip goes as far down as down goes. My chest rises and parts as it is freed, and I arch my back so that the long scar on my side left by one of his bat-shuriken things catches the light. All defiance and disapproval fades out of his mesmerised face.
I open a couple of other fastenings to expose my crotch properly – I redesigned this version of the suit for convenience in that regard. I let him look for another moment before unfastening the codpiece of his armour. A glance beneath tell me that his knack for preparation hasn't failed him here either.
I throw the armoured plate away and hook my claws into the fabric of his underwear. His frame stiffens but he does not falter as I delicately tear away the last obstruction. I smile as I apply his less restrictive form of protection.
I raise myself above the tip and envelop him as I descend. I hear him groan with pleasure as the sensation fills me. I make full use of my leg strength, rising high and descending smoothly in an easy rhythm. I send a gymnastic rippling movement through my body with each downward motion, intensifying the sight and the sensation for him as I revel in the internal fireworks of each self-inflicted thrust. He endures my caress for only a few minutes before being utterly overcome.
Hungry for more, I drop downward onto him. My breeze-chilled nipples press into the warmer flesh of his chest as my mouth finds his once again. I lose myself in his kiss as his hand gently grasps the side of my head. As he starts to slacken off my claws find his side and lightly but cruelly rake their way down his torso. His hand tightens and his passion redoubles.
He rallies himself after only a couple of minutes and accesses his belt pouch with impressive dexterity for a guy in heavy gloves. I lift myself off him as he finishes preparing himself.
When he moves, he moves like lightning. His powerful hands grasp me and he flips us over, slamming me against the roof hard enough to make me cry out. Suddenly my clawed paw is twisted behind my back and my bare hand is pressed down above my head with my wrist in his iron grip. His face is inches away from mine.
“Yes?” His voice is soft, speaking for the first time since we met tonight. I lock my eyes in his, as firm and certain as I can be. “Yes” I reply.
His grip begins to tighten, while the other hand twists my other arm toward the limit of even my flexibility. At the threshold of pain I let out a gasp. The machine that is his body tightens brutally one more time and I moan with joy as I open myself wide for him.
I am more than prepared and there is no problem with him going hard from the outset. He thunders through me in wave after wave. As each tide of sweetness recedes, the savoury relish of the pain resurfaces before being flooded out by the next. His face is a picture of concentration, his whole self focused utterly upon the task. I cannot move my arms or torso even an inch and the useless freedom of movement of my parted legs only enhances the feeling of helplessness.
My world shrinks in every dimension, becoming smaller and simpler and more momentary. Eventually I cannot contain the overwhelming sensations and throwing back my head I let them come pouring out of my mouth. As I climax he releases himself, his body sagging as his hands ease themselves off me.
He rolls aside and lands on his back next to me. I slowly become able to hear his breathing as my own panting begins to subside. I draw myself closer and curl up against him.
In the quietness and stillness the sounds of the city start to drift into my ears. The rumbling and shouting of oblivious cars and pedestrians, the skyward cries of distant cats answering the voice of one of their own. But it all seems as unimaginably remote as the stars winking above us beyond the clouds. In the warmth and peace I feel there is only myself and him. I could stay like this for hours.
Sadly, it only seems like a few minutes before the world intrudes. A new light flashes into life in the corner of my eye. I turn to see a beam of light striking skyward, painting a cloud with the most familiar symbol in the city.
He sits up immediately, alert in an instant. I'd call it obsession, but there is a reluctance in his movements as he goes to retrieve his armour that speaks of a different kind of compulsion. It's beyond my comprehension how a guy can genuinely feel obligated to do as much as he does. But it's something I respect about him, that I lo- like about him a lot.
I close myself up with little more than a long upward pull. Rolling back onto all fours, I slink back to my discarded glove and complete the embrace by pulling it up to my aching wrist.
“Think you're going to need back-up?” I call over to him. He turns and smiles broadly at me, cocking his head as if to say 'are you kidding me?' I grin back and launch myself into the night.