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Sometimes—sometimes it’s slow. Selina will settle herself in his lap and move her hips in gut-twisting figure eights as he groans into her skin and tries to hang on.
Sometimes he kneels between her thighs and brings her off with his fingers and mouth instead, curling his tongue into her until his chin is soaked and his scalp is tender from how hard she’s pulled his hair.
Sometimes they just curl together in his bedsheets and kiss and kiss and kiss, like kissing is fucking, like kissing is the whole point and not just a means to an end. She’ll stroke her hands over his face, press her thumbs to the soft skin under his eyes, and it’ll be nothing to her and mean everything to him at the same time.
And sometimes, it’s this: one hand planted between her shoulder blades and feeling the shift of her muscles, the other gripping her hipbone to hold her in place as he fucks into her. The desk is moving underneath them with each thrust, scraping against the floor but he can’t stop. He’s high on adrenaline and exhaustion and she feels too fucking good.
The room is a tip, papers and files strewn everywhere.
He’d stopped kissing her long enough to drag her suit down her body as he mauled her neck and tits, and then gotten carried away biting at her thighs, licking at her blood-flushed clit before she’d dragged him up.
He’d have called her out for being impatient as she fought with the fly of his pants, but then she was turning around and her fingers were linking around his cock and she was dragging him against her and he was groaning into her hair as she took him inch by blessed inch.
And suddenly he didn’t care how they got to that point.
“Baby,” she’s saying, arching her back somehow even further, hips tilting so he sinks deeper into her. “Fuck, baby—”
“Selina,” he whines, gritting his teeth at the tight clench of her, eyeing the sweat-damp hair curling over her ear and giving in to the urge.
She purrs a little when he kisses her there, nuzzling back at him almost playfully, and it’s such a stark contrast to the savage way he’s fucking her that he has to hide his face for a moment and catch his breath. Being inside her is always an exercise in self-restraint but when she turns it into this, into something more than just mindless fucking, he almost can’t take it. He’s never been a wordsmith, never been able to collect his thoughts together for polite conversation, let alone talking during sex.
He can barely keep himself from spitting out stupid thoughtless sentences, things like, I want you like this all the time and do you think about me as much as I think about you and sometimes, when he’s especially defeated, does this mean as much for you as it does for me?
“Hi, baby,” she coos, oblivious.
Don’t call me that, he wants to say, don’t make this more than it is.
“M’close,” he says instead, bowing forward to tuck his nose against her jaw, pressed as deep as he can go and grinding his hips.
Selina squeaks at the motion, fingers flexing and then flaring on nothing when he repeats it, chases the white-hot pleasure coursing through him, knowing it’s a spot of oversensitivity for her, the too-full sensation when he’s this deep inside.
“You feel so good,” he whispers, clutching both of her hips now as he rears back, pushes all the way back in, and she’s so fucking wet, it sounds obscene each time he enters her. He can’t decide what’s better: the sight of his cock disappearing into her glistening cunt, or the loud squelching sound it makes. “Fuck.”
“Please,” she whimpers, wriggling in his grasp before stilling completely when he folds back over her, clasps a hand on the nape of her neck.
“Don’t,” he says, because if she keeps moving then he’s going to come and he doesn’t want to, not yet. He’s not nearly as trigger happy anymore. “M’too close.”
Selina hisses at him. “Baby—”
“It’s okay,” he shushes her, rubbing his thumb over the nape of her neck where she’s sensitive, watching the skin on her arms break into goosebumps. “I’ve got you.”
She smiles at that, tears clinging to her lashes, and he mouths messily at her cheekbone, drags kisses down her throat until the urge to come ebbs.
“I’ve got you,” he repeats, biting down on her shoulder as he begins to fuck her again, less frantic now, more purposeful.
She’s making little broken noises every time he pushes into her, hands curled into fists on the desk, and it’s still so loud, hips slapping against hers wetly.
“Please,” she breathes, and Jesus, the desperation of her voice nearly ruins him, “please…”
His orgasm is suddenly so close then, swirling uncontrollably in his belly, and he tucks his face against her neck, reaches out to lay his palms over hers and twine their fingers together.
“Let go,” he murmurs, even though he’s pretty sure he’s going to be the one to come first. “Let go, I’ve got you.”
“Nngh—fuck—” she gasps, gripping his hands tight. “That’s so good, you’re so good—”
“Selina,” he says, because fuck, she knows what saying shit like that does to him and he’s fighting a losing game. I’ll be good to you, he thinks, I’ll always be good to you.
Determined, he fumbles with her suit, shoving it down so he can seek out her clit. Split apart on his cock, his fingers are clumsy as all hell as they glide over her, unable to find any kind of purchase because of how wet she is but it’s enough because she really starts to beg now.
“Oh, baby, please, yes—” she moans as he tweaks her clit between slippery fingers, tries to keep his touch gentle and light like how she showed him, tries not to rush things, no matter how much he wants to.
“Look at me,” he commands softly, hips synching up nicely with his hand so it’s a continual positive feedback loop for both of them.
She does as he asks, gazing at him over her shoulder through her lashes, mouth opening each time he hits her just right, brow furrowing in pleasure, and, yeah. That’s why he asked her to look at him. Her eyes, pupils blown wide, always so expressive, are fixed solely on him. Her grip on his other hand, the one not currently trying to make her come, is unbreakable. He couldn’t pull away if he tried.
“Baby…” she begs softly, and he kisses her, tries to soak up everything he’s feeling from the warmth of her mouth so he can bottle it all back up.
Because she’s his first in everything. He spent enough years hiding from the world that even looking at someone else was impossible, but she’s never held it against him; never used it to her advantage, instead remaining patient as he fumbled his way through their first few kisses and let her show him how to fuck.
She could have anyone she wanted and yet she’s choosing to be here, underneath him, letting him pound her against his fucking office desk instead of the canopy bed she deserves.
“I’ve got you,” he says, “let go. Let go.”
“Baby,” she says, rubbing her face against the polished surface, “oh fuck I’m gonna come—I’m gonna come—I’m coming, I’m com—fuck, fuck, fuck—”
He holds her down as she comes, covering her trembling body with his own and murmuring encouragement in her ear, heart too big for his chest to contain.
“That’s it,” he says, unable to think as she tightens up further on him. “Let go, Selina.”
She comes in spasms, cunt gushing around his cock and clit twitching between his fingers as he circles it, tries to make her orgasm last as long as possible. She writhes beneath him, pussy clenching rhythmically and it’s that which proves to be his downfall, body locking up before he buries his face in her shoulder and his vision whites out. His hips stutter into her, balls drawing up and cock jerking as he comes deep inside, whimpering into her skin and marvelling at how wondrous it is to be able to do this, at how sacred it feels.
The aftermath is thick.
Bruce lets the firestorm of his orgasm leave before he dares to lift his head, at which point Selina turns herself in his arms, cock slipping free. There’s come sliding down her thighs when he dares to look, the sight so debauched and addictive that it’s a considerable effort to bring his eyes back up to hers.
“Hey,” she says, and then cups his face and kisses him.
“Shower,” he grunts, wanting to get out of his sticky suit.
“Slow down,” she says, hands coming up to grip his cowl. “There’s no rush, baby.”
He closes his eyes at the pet name, lets her tug his cowl off. The air is cool against his cheeks as she combs her nails through his sweat-damp hair, rubs at the black eye paint running down his face.
“There you are,” she smiles, kissing him again, keeping him close with her hands and legs.
And sometimes—sometimes it’s easier to pretend like this. That they’re not fighting an absolute shitshow. That the bruises on each other are from being too rough in the bedroom and not falling down flights of stairs together earlier tonight.
“Shower,” he says again, kissing her back regardless because he can’t not.
“Yeah, baby,” Selina says, mouthing across his cheeks, kissing his eyelids. “We can shower.”
He drags her to him, kisses her as gently and as slowly as he knows how. “Thank you,” he breathes, wanting to say, for saving my ass tonight and for everything you do and sometimes it’s so easy to think you’re mine and sometimes I wish you understood that I’m yours.
She thumbs at his mouth, beams up at him, the best thing he's ever seen. “Whenever you want, baby. Promise.”