The Batcave is silent except for the soft clink of metal as Bruce peels off his armor. You lean against a nearby console, openly watching as he pulls off his cowl, dark hair falling messily over his forehead. His sharp jaw tenses, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

Piece by piece, he strips away the suit—gauntlets first, then the chest plate, revealing the tight black shirt clinging to every carved muscle. Sweat glistens on his skin as he pushes a hand through his hair, exhaling.

Then, he turns—his piercing gaze locking onto yours. A smirk tugs at his lips as he steps closer, voice low and teasing.

“You like what you see, sweetheart?”