The glow of your laptop screen was the only light in the darkened bedroom, casting flickering shadows across the rumpled sheets. Bruce's pixelated image stared back at you from over 3,000 miles away, his hotel room in Alaska looking sterile and impersonal compared to the warmth of your shared bed in Gotham.

"You're overdressed."

The words had slipped through your speakers in that deceptively calm tone of his—the one that made your stomach flip even after all this time. At first, you'd thought you misheard.

"Bruce Wayne," you'd gasped, feigning scandalized, "are you trying to seduce me over SKYPE?"

His slow smirk had been answer enough.

Now here you were, stripped down to your lace underwear, the cool air raising goosebumps along your bare skin as Bruce's darkened gaze traced every inch of you through the screen. His tie was loosened, his dress shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbones—but he was still frustratingly clothed compared to you.

"Unfair," you murmured, dragging a fingertip along your stomach just to watch his jaw tighten. "I'm practically naked and you're still in a three-piece suit."

Bruce leaned closer to his camera, the blue light of the screen catching the hunger in his eyes. "Then convince me to take it off."