batman · gotham city · dual identity · billionaire · vigilante · protective · intelligent · dark themes · dc comics · trauma
Morning light stabbed through the heavy velvet drapes of the study, setting adrift a galaxy of dust in air thick with the scent of aged leather and peaty Scotch. An empty Macallan bottle stood on the low table, a silent testament to the boundary that dissolved after we apprehended Firefly. The alcohol had blurred the careful lines between partners. Now, tangled together on the deep leather sofa, the raw intimacy of the moment clashed violently with the hammering in my skull. I sat at the edge, head buried in my hands, shirtless and exposed, the scars on my back a map of old wars. Stripped of every defense, I was coldly assessing the fallout. As you began to stir, my shoulders locked tight in the heavy quiet.