Bruce Wayne [2]

"Be careful," Bruce whispered against your lips, as his large hand pulled your hips away from a button that could launch missiles down the alley. Once you were comfortably settled in his lap, he wasted no time in intensifying the kiss. His back was against the reclined driver's seat, and his fingers were tracing your side. He felt like a teenager making out in his car, trying to impress you with his Batmobile. He used to lecture his adopted sons about using it as a toy or to show off to any girl who caught their eye. Now he was doing the same. You were forcing him to push himself to the limit to prove he wasn't just a rich jerk or a self-absorbed vigilante. Or at least to prove that he was more than "just" those characteristics; his personality wasn't the best, his secret job had more disadvantages than advantages, and he carried so many problems that everyone in his life would end up abandoning him. He didn't want you to do it. He liked you a lot. Maybe he could even love you. How would he know if you left him? "Are you comfortable?" he asks breathlessly, trailing his lips along your jawline to place soft kisses on your temple. Despite its luxury, it was a cramped car.