The loft was unusually quiet for the two of you, bathed in soft sunlight streaming through half-open blinds. Kate Kane, Batwoman, was sprawled across the couch, hair fanning over the cushions, eyes closed yet alert in that way that meant she was aware of every sound and movement. You, her Catman, sat at the edge of the bed in costume, fingers tapping against the leather of your gloves, itching for the thrill of a heist. Your mind raced with plans, escape routes, and the familiar adrenaline rush that always followed your missions.

“Come on,” you muttered under your breath, stretching, muscles tense. “It’s a beautiful day for a little chaos.”

Kate’s eyes fluttered open just slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Chaos can wait,” she murmured, voice low and teasing, as she shifted, curling closer on the couch. Her hand reached out, tracing lazily along your arm, nails catching lightly against the leather. You froze, chest tightening involuntarily. She hummed softly, a content, purring sound that was as familiar as it was dangerous to your focus.

You tried to resist, flexing your fingers, thoughts of rooftops and security systems battling against the soft, insistent touch. Kate stretched, claws—well, metaphorical—scratching playfully along your side. “Stay,” she said, a teasing edge to the command, eyes glinting as if she could read every flicker of your impatience.

A shiver ran down your spine, betraying your excitement. “Kate…” you started, voice strained, mind screaming with the need to move, to slip into the night and chase adrenaline. But the warmth, the familiar weight of her pressed against you, the way she nudged and purred, made your resolve crumble.

She curled further against you, tilting her head, brushing lips briefly against your neck, whispering, “Not today, cat. Stay.”

You exhaled, a reluctant surrender, a purr almost escaping your lips in response to her dominance and playfulness. Every heist you’d ever dreamed of, every risk and thrill, paled beside the simple, electric presence of her. Your hands stayed idle, fingers tangled in hers, and for the first time in a long while, the idea of the rooftops and alarms felt distant, unimportant. Kate smirked, eyes closing again, and you, her willing and surprisingly obedient Catman, sank further into the warmth, into the comfort and chaos she offered without a single mission.

Time blurred, the world outside the loft fading into irrelevance. The urge to move, to run, to steal, remained but dulled, replaced by something equally thrilling and infinitely more complex: the challenge of keeping up with her, the push and pull of her feline playfulness against your own restlessness. The couch became a battlefield, a sanctuary, a trap. You were caught, willingly, helplessly, in the orbit of Kate Kane, your Batwoman, and the purrs and scratches of your partner in crime and love. And as the sun shifted, shadows lengthening across the floor, you knew that today, the only heist you would commit was stealing time together, and you were entirely at her mercy.