A Look Back Year One: Fun and Games

March 15, 2011

As an anniversary treat, I’d like to revisit some special moments from each year of Cat-Tales.

Cat-Tales #7: Fun and Games

Bruce Wayne took a deep whiff of cognac and closed his eyes as the lone­ly tones of Schu­bert’s Im­promp­tu #90 waft­ed through the air.  Re­lax­ing in the sit­ting room ad­ja­cent to his bed­room, with a roar­ing fire, hand­made silk ki­mono, Wa­ter­ford snifter, and clas­si­cal mu­sic play­ing on the cost­ly ul­tra-​sleek stereo, he was the pic­ture of the bil­lion­aire bach­elor at home alone.

He didn’t hear the first dis­tant click, nor the sec­ond.  The third he at­tribut­ed to Al­fred, though it was more than an hour since the old man said he’d be re­tir­ing for the night.  The me­ow he couldn’t dis­miss so eas­ily and he rose to in­ves­ti­gate…

His eyes went square as he stood in the door­way to his bed­room, ob­serv­ing a dark sil­hou­ette flick­er be­fore the open safe.  Cat­wom­an?

“Me­ow,” be­gan the in­trud­er, as an ap­prais­ing eye scanned him up and down.  “You’re a lot younger than the av­er­age fos­sil one finds home alone in these big hous­es.”

He was be­gin­ning to re­gret that sec­ond cognac; he need­ed a clear head… Bruce Wayne shouldn’t be too con­fi­dent or con­fronta­tion­al with this wom­an.  He had to find an­oth­er way.  As the fig­ure swayed en­tic­ing­ly in­to the light, he re­mem­bered he was a known wom­an­iz­er.  He al­lowed a fas­ci­nat­ed leer to over­take his fea­tures.

“Can I, ah, help you with any­thing?” he man­aged as she touched a sin­gle claw to the cen­ter of his chest and stepped for­ward, back­ing him slow­ly but firm­ly in­to the sit­ting room and the chair he’d oc­cu­pied be­fore.  She stood over him now, twirling his great grand­moth­er’s ru­by neck­lace.

“Not any more. I have what I came for… more or less.”

She leaned over the chair, hov­er­ing tan­ta­liz­ing­ly above him, more de­lib­er­ate­ly volup­tuous than she ev­er was with Bat­man… Bruce felt his hand reach­ing round her waist and mov­ing gen­tly up her back as she con­tin­ued, “What’s a hand­some, rich, ath­let­ic guy like you do­ing all alone at mid­night any­way?”

As Cat­wom­an low­ered her mouth on­to his, he re­turned the kiss in­stinc­tive­ly; nev­er stop­ping to think of the times he’d kissed her as Bat­man…

He didn’t see her hand move silent­ly to the pouch in her belt and fin­ger the bulb of knock­out gas… then pause and change course, com­ing to rest in­stead on the belt of his ki­mono and slash­ing it with a swift stroke of her claws.

He didn’t hear the neck­lace hit the floor as she freed the oth­er hand to ex­plore his abs, chest, shoul­der and back.

He did feel when her body tensed sud­den­ly, but she al­lowed him to twist her round and un­der­neath him, as he groped for the clasp that un­did her cos­tume.

As the pur­ple leather fell away, Bruce broke the kiss fi­nal­ly to work down her neck and those lus­cious, ex­traor­di­nary…

Their eyes met then, and he saw it.

She knew….

… Or did she?

Im­pos­si­ble to tell and, at the mo­ment, im­pos­si­ble to care.  Af­ter all these years, af­ter all the teas­ing, af­ter all the games, he would fi­nal­ly have her.

*** *** ***

“Well, that was fun,” Seli­na purred.  “You got any oth­er fan­tasies you want to take out for a spin?”

Bruce Wayne, the char­ac­ter of the night be­fore, might have blushed or stam­mered.  The Bruce of this morn­ing stroked her leg as he whis­pered omi­nous­ly,  “You don’t think Bat­man’s go­ing to sim­ply ig­nore your break­ing in­to Wayne Manor, do you?”

She con­sid­ered this, then said, “But I didn’t leave with any­thing.  And I don’t think Bruce Wayne is go­ing to be press­ing charges for break­ing and en­ter­ing.”

“You can’t ex­act­ly tell Bat­man that part, can you?”

She raised an eye­brow.

“Bet me.”

Bruce couldn’t quite be­lieve how slow he’d been to take ad­van­tage of the sit­ua­tion—of ex­act­ly who his girl­friend was now.  Pro­to­cols!  He’d asked her about pro­to­cols, but nev­er so much as hint­ed—okay, the idea had tanked when he’d float­ed it past pre­vi­ous lovers; truth be told, that’s what re­al­ly broke up him and Sil­ver St. Cloud—but Seli­na was not Sil­ver.  She was Cat­wom­an.  She was re­al­ly Cat­wom­an.  She didn’t think hav­ing fan­tasies about cos­tumed night dwellers was re­mote­ly odd; she un­doubt­ed­ly had a few of her own.  She was down­right pleased to learn he thought about her that way, and she was ex­cit­ed (she was quite SPEC­TAC­ULAR­LY ex­cit­ed) to try out his Cat­wom­an-​break­ing-​in­to-​the-​manor sce­nario.

And he owed it all to Gio­van­ni D’An­nun­zio be­ing a snob, the Velk­stad Bal­let be­ing a bore, and the Jok­er be­ing in­sane.

*** *** ***

Read the complete tale now on the Cat-Tales website or mobile-friendly Cat-Tales.mobi

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