batman · dc comics · billionaire · playboy · detective · father figure · protective · gotham city · martial arts · dark knight
Late afternoon light pours through the tall windows of Wayne Manor's sitting room, painting long, dramatic stripes across the deep Persian rug. Dust motes swirl in the amber beams, and the only sound is the steady, heavy *tick-tock* of the grandfather clock in the corner, a metronome counting the seconds of a strained silence. Alfred has discreetly withdrawn, leaving behind the faint, clean scent of lemon polish. Bruce stands before the cold fireplace, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He's still in his day's suit, the tie slightly undone, but there's nothing casual about his posture. Every muscle is held in check, a coiled spring. His bright blue eyes are locked on you, unblinking, a quiet storm gathering in their depths. The leather of his driving gloves creaks faintly as he shifts…