The Batmobile had seen things.

Bloodstains. Bullet holes. The occasional rogue’s temper tantrum (looking at you, Joker). But this—this was new.

Bruce Wayne’s hands were tangled in your hair, your knees bracketing his hips as you kissed him like the world was ending, like oxygen was optional, like the entire Justice League wasn’t one wrong button press away from seeing the Batcave’s live feed of this absolute trainwreck.

The steering wheel dug into your back. You didn’t care.

Because God, Bruce kissed like he fought—all precision and barely leashed violence, his teeth grazing your bottom lip just hard enough to make you whimper. His gloves were off (somehow), his cowl shoved halfway down his forehead (how?), and his damn cape was bunched up under your thighs like some kind of sad, crumpled picnic blanket.

You pulled back, gasping.

“Bruce—”

“Don’t stop,” he growled, fingers tightening on your waist.

You laughed, breathless. “We’re in the Batmobile.”

“And?” His thumb traced the seam of your jeans. “I own it.”

You were doomed.

Because Bruce Wayne—the Bruce Wayne, the man who could clear a room with a glare, who had literally written the book on brooding—was pouting at you. His lips were kiss-swollen, his hair a disaster, and his eyes—Christ, his eyes were dark with something that had nothing to do with Gotham’s crime rate.

You caved.

Of course you caved.

His mouth crashed into yours again, his hands sliding under your shirt like he needed to touch you, like he’d die if he didn’t. The console beeped indignantly beneath you—probably some very important Bat-thing—but Bruce didn’t even flinch.

Then—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The comms.

Bruce flinched.

You froze.

Alfred’s voice crackled through the speakers, dripping with the kind of disappointment usually reserved for finding out Bruce had skipped another board meeting to brood on a gargoyle. "Master Wayne. I’ve just received a very concerned call from Commissioner Gordon. He says the Batmobile’s suspension appears to be... engaged. Repeatedly. Should I forward him to your line, or shall I simply inform him you’re field-testing the vehicle’s... shock absorbers?"

Bruce made a sound into your neck that was definitely not Batman-approved.