Title: Rewarding Respite
Fandom: Catwoman (Movieverse)
Pairing: Laurel/Patience
Rating: NC-17
Length: 498 words
Summary: The only woman Laurel's interested in helping is herself, but Catwoman doesn't need to know that.


Black leather, red lips, those piercing eyes. Laurel’s always had an appreciation for beautiful things, and this one, this Catwoman, she’s stunning.

Catwoman is danger, a thrill, a knife edge waiting for blood. But Laurel can see something else beneath that, see a hint of sweetness underneath. A good heart, most likely, and there’s little Laurel despises more than a good heart and all the morality that comes with it, but when the package is this pretty, she’s willing to make an exception.

“I appreciate your help,” Catwoman says, purrs really. Full lips forming around a voice as luxurious as any diamonds or pearls. Pressing into Laurel’s space with a sway of her hips, and Laurel’s always had her classical beauty, a sensuality born of power and grace, but Catwoman is raw sex.

“Anytime,” Laurel murmurs. Because it’s Catwoman who’s helping her, who’ll rattle George’s cage, who’ll make a perfect patsy if necessary. It’s almost a shame to know she’ll be pinning the blame on Catwoman when the time comes, because Laurel can see the potential in this woman, see the anger that’s spurring her on.

If it weren’t for that damn good heart, they’d make one hell of a team.

But they can have tonight, at least.

She kisses Catwoman, sudden but clearly not unexpected. Catwoman makes a pleased sound against Laurel’s lips, hauls her in, claws ripping lines through the flimsy fabric of her nightclothes. Careful not to touch Laurel’s skin with them, though, careful not to draw blood.

Not that Catwoman could. Beau-Line has done its work, and although Laurel’s skin may be soft to the touch, it’s as impervious to harm as marble. Still, no need to let Catwoman know that little detail - it’s Laurel’s trump card, after all.

She digs her teeth into Catwoman’s lower lip, taste of lipstick on her tongue. Laurel can’t feel touch, not properly, but she can feel pressure, feel the push of Catwoman’s chest against her own. She gets a hand between them, squeezes Catwoman’s breast hard enough to make her sigh. Yanking the leather cup down so she can get at the dark nipple beneath, pinch at it beneath her fingers and grin against Catwoman’s lips.

Laurel misses the feel of that kind of touch.

Still, the Beau-Line hasn’t diminished sensation everywhere. After all, Laurel only applied it to her skin where photographs might catch the signs of aging. Between her legs she’s as sensitive as ever, and Catwoman goes to her knees with only the slightest nudge. Smirking up at Laurel as she shreds the last of her clothing with nimble claws, pushing her back against the banister, and then Catwoman’s lapping greedily at Laurel’s pussy.

Laurel moans and spreads for Catwoman’s eager tongue.

God, she wants to keep this one.

She won’t, though. Laurel’s learned that there’s only one woman she can rely on, and that’s herself. But she’s been working hard, with Beau-Line’s imminent release and George’s imminent death.

She’s earned this treat.