disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: to eight-hour flights when I've got nothing else to do.
notes: every fucking time I rewatch this movie, I end up wanting to write for it. and catwoman always ends up being brought into the equation, I don't even know how this happens.

title: lies (don't wanna know)
summary: The bite mark lasts a week. — Mia/Nicholas.






"Is this a thing we do, now?"

"God, it should be."

Her breath hissed out though her teeth, jaw clenched around her vowels even as her thighs parted at the touch of his warm palms. She could hear the chatter of the guests down the hall; the pull of oxygen into her lungs was a sharp thing, and she bit down on his collarbone to stifle the sound of it. If anyone found them here—the unwed Queen of Genovia and the man who had, for all intents and purposes, tried to steal her throne—there would be an uproar. They'd agreed to do this properly. Agreed they'd get married and make it official, and then the country would be stable and—

Nicholas moaned, loud and unashamed.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Mia gasped against his shoulder, "someone's gonna hear!"

"Let 'em," Nicholas said, teeth white as a shark's when his lips parted, kissed her mouth until it puffy and aching. He caught on her underwear, lace flimsy beneath his fingers, and dragged. "Let 'em know how filthy their precious girl is."

"Oh my god, I like you so much better when your mouth is shut," Mia said, and kicked him hard enough in the shin that he doubled over for a second and gave her the leverage to shove him downwards.

"But you do like me," he said, looked up at her from where he was on his knees and grinned like a shithead.

"I tolerate you," Mia said, magnanimous. She promptly had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking—he'd leaned forwards and bit her high on the thigh, hard enough to leave a mark. "Never mind, I take it back, I hate. What are you doing, don't stop!"

"Someone's gonna hear," he parroted at her.

"I'll kick you again," Mia told him breathlessly. "I actually will."

"Go ahead," he said happily, and tore the lace right off her.

"I liked those!" she hissed, even as her hands tightened in his hair and jerked hard enough to expose his throat.

"Keyword: liked," Nicholas said, and tucked them away in his pocket. God, he was such a weirdo, he was always stealing her underwear, what kind of person even did that

"Do you always have to do that?" she demanded, trying not to chew on her lip because that was so passé. Please, like she was going to let him ruffle her that much. Afterwards, she still had to go back and smile at people and pretend like she hadn't just gotten laid.

"Yes," he said, simply, looking up at her like she was—was something like salvation or magic or—or—or something.

He was absolutely going to be the death of her.

(He was right. She did like him, especially like this; violence was kind of their modus operandi, and when his eyes were wide and reverent, hazed over with lust, Mia knew she could do anything to him, and he'd take it simply because she'd given it.)

"Fucking move," she ordered.

When he pressed his face into the vee of her thighs, Mia's thoughts spiraled. They went something like this:

he knows all of you, all the dark sticky places, and he's still here—god, he's so good at this, too good, tastes like blood and champagne, hot burning am I dying probably not but oh god I want to fucking wreck him leave him to bleed oh god oh god oh god

Her vision went a little wonky for a minute, too-tense muscles relaxing all at once. Nicholas was looking up at her again, and for a hysteric second Mia almost ended up laughing.

This was ridiculous. They were so ridiculous.

"You are such a shithead," she murmured wryly, the taste of her own come thick on her lips when he kissed her soft and slow.

"That I am," he chuckled lowly, "but I also like getting you off."

"How are you even real, anyway, what kind of supervillain gets off on getting his nemesis off?" she asked, poking at his shoulder. Her skirt was all out of place and her hair was probably even worse and probably—probably everyone would know. Somehow, though, it didn't matter very much.

"Batman?" Nicholas said, nonplussed.

"Are you talking about Catwoman? Oh my god, you are talking about Catwoman. Who gave you comics? Have you been on the internet again? I told you that place is bad for you, it'll make you sick!"

"You're not the boss of me, Mia," he snickered at her.

"Oh?" she asked. A slow, dark smile crossed over Mia's lips, pulled into something sticky-sugar sweet and just as dangerous. "I think I am. Remember who happens to be Queen around here, lover boy."

He was quiet for a minute, thumb rubbing circles into her wrist. When he spoke, his voice was like chilly hot chocolate, dark and smooth and spicy enough to burn the tongue. "Queen you are. Just remember who's waiting in Catwoman's bed tonight."

"Mmmmm," Mia hummed, mirth in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "She's one lucky girl, isn't she."

"I don't know. You'd have to ask her."

"She thinks she's pretty lucky," she told him, smiling into his mouth. "You ready to go back and face my loyal subjects?"

"If I have to," Nicholas sighed theatrically.

"God," Mia rolled her eyes as she fixed her skirt and patted at her hair, "you are such a shithead!"

His laughter followed her all the way out of the closet, and back into the real world. Mia was happy about that, although she had no idea why, and when his hand came up to rest on the small of her back, she let herself sink into him.

"I love you," Nicholas told her quietly.

"I know, Batman," she told him gently. "I know."