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Selina knows how to read people, knows how to determine their motives and their threat level from thirty yards out. If she didn't, she wouldn't be here. Not just in the metaphorical sense, like she wouldn't be in this particular career, but also in the literal ‘she might be dead by now’ sense.
The streets of Gotham weren't known for being particularly kind to young waifs. She learned quickly who to trust, who to avoid, and who made an easy mark. She doesn't have the scars to prove it. Because she knew when curiosity might kill her and she's still got all nine of her lives.
Maybe eight, because there was this one time she stretched and cracked her neck so hard she swore she saw God for a millisecond. But that's neither here nor there.
The thing is, Selina knows how to read people. She knows what they want and more importantly, she knows when they're lying to her. And that's the thing about this unassuming nerd hunched on her couch; he is lying to her. And he is dangerous.
But he doesn't feel like a threat.
It's not just the fake name. That's table stakes in this line of work. Most of the men here want to use a fake name and as long as they hand over all their cash up front, everyone at the front desk is content to ignore the blatantly fake IDs and ‘Oh, oops I must have forgotten my driver's license’ lines. Selina doesn’t really care, is the thing. She doesn’t really care if their names are actually John or Richard or whatever, she doesn’t care that some of them want her to whip them until they cry, she doesn’t care that some of them want to be forced to put on pretty dresses and have their make up done— honestly, Selina does kind of love that one, but that’s not the point. Selina tells them all to call her Mistress Luna, so it’s not like she gives them her government name either.
It’s not that he’s just lying about his name. He's lying about why he’s even here. He's not here for her. Which might have been an insult if Selina got any validation out of this more than just the joy of $500 an hour and getting to slap the occasional obnoxious rich man in the face and make him say thank you. He's not a cop; Selina doesn't do cops. Even if everything they do here is perfectly legal — she even has a W-2 — she's not going to take the risk. It's way better than trying to come up with an excuse for how the painting she fenced brought her $20,000 in cash; much easier to fudge the client's hours and say she got generous tips.
Even Al Capone couldn't hide from the IRS. If she intends to remain a free woman, she's got to file her taxes.
It's just an intake session with Mr. Fake Name today, so she's not all dolled up like Dominatrix Barbie. You have to pay extra for that. Getting in and out of a corset when she's got her nails on is a chore she expects to be compensated for. She doesn't even have her nails on today, just her naturals, painted black and starting to chip at the edges.
She is dressed in leather pants and a Mucous Membrane shirt that, statistically speaking, is more hole than shirt these days. Her leopard print bralette peeks through and she's got her dark hair slicked back and last night’s eyeliner making an encore.
She crosses the room and takes a seat in the chair across from him, tucking her stockinged feet up onto the chair with her. You have to pay extra for the heels too.
The nervousness, that's not faked. Interesting. Very interesting.
“Did you get a chance to fill out the forms?” she asks, starting the first session like she always does.
“Um,” he's red. So red. Selina didn’t think humans turned that shade. “Yes. I… yeah. I left some blank because I…” he shakes his head, mouth open like the words are refusing to come out.
She reaches over and takes the packet. She moves slowly— no sudden or strange movements. Can't frighten the little lamb off already.
“That's okay, That's just a way for us to establish the sorts of things you might like from the sorts of things you never want to try. You can always choose to change your answers at any time.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, and he sounds so frustrated with himself, “sorry… I don't. It's just—”
Selina has met a lot of self-hating subs and it always makes that protective streak in her flare to life. It's usually men. Men who have been told their whole life to behave a particular way or else they were wrong. Told that what they wanted to do was not natural. Selina thinks the whole thing is bullshit, obviously.
“First time?” Selina injects as much sympathy into her tone as she can before it feels condescending.
“I haven't ever—” he just shakes his head, still looking at his knees and the floor and anywhere but her eyes.
“That's okay,” Selina says, “we can figure it out together.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look up.
“Look at me,” Selina commands. His head snaps up quickly and his eyes lock onto hers.
“Good boy,” she purrs, “you're doing so well.”
There's no mistaking that flash of need in his pretty blue eyes.
“Come over here, darling,” he nods, stumbling in his eagerness to get off the couch and come to stand in front of her.
“Down on your knees for me,” she instructs next and he's kneeling in front of her now, gaze focused down on the old plush Persian rug Selina found in a thrift store and tossed down for that one client who loves to kneel for most of his session but has bad knees.
“Head on my lap, kitten.” He hesitates for a moment, but then places his cheek gently on her thigh.
“Take a deep breath,” she says quietly, fingers slipping into his hair, “hold… exhale. Again. Good job.”
He's relaxed into her, letting some of his weight sink into her. His curls are soft. She could spend an hour like this.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
He looks up at her, brilliant eyes glazed and calm behind his slightly askew glasses.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispers, voice low and throaty.
“I-” he starts again, hesitates, swallows, tries again valiantly, “I-”
Selina stays silent, just keeps her hand in his hair and waits for him to find his words. She is paid by the hour after all. If it takes him three sessions to know what he really wants, that pays her rent.
“I'm so tired,” he finally manages after a few more false starts. “Everyone, everyone always needs something from me. I just… I just. I can’t do it. I'm going to mess up and everyone is going to—” he sucks in a sharp breath.
“There's nothing else you need to be doing right now, kitten. You're exactly where you're supposed to be and you're doing such a good job for me. Close your eyes, baby, and just rest.”
⁂
The next session, he shyly introduces himself as ‘Kal’.
He’s not lying. Selina can tell.
⁂
He comes in once a month after that. He doesn't want to be hit, which is a little disappointing if Selina is being honest, but she's getting paid so she shouldn't complain. And besides, he looks lovely all knotted up in her ropes.
He's a very sweet sub. She likes their sessions. She looks forward to his visit every month.
⁂
When she realizes, mid session on his fifth visit, that she wants more, the first thing she feels is angry.
It's stupid. She's getting paid to tie up and boss around a handsome man and she's still not satisfied. It's still not enough.
That's the thing about Selina. It's never enough. She always wants more. Always.
Sometimes she wonders if she got made wrong. If there's some crack inside her that everything seeps out of.
If that's why she can never just be satisfied. Why she's always reaching, always wanting.
She wants so badly, it makes her fingernails hurt.
⁂
She lets their aftercare run long. She has since that first session. She made excuses for herself at first, getting him comfortable, losing track of time, the real reason is just that she liked it and wanted it to go on for longer.
“I want to see you more often,” she says without preamble. It's been three sessions since that urge to consume him hit her. Three months. She tried her best to burn it out, but that just made it stronger. Kal’s head is in her lap, her fingers are in his hair.
He smiles into her thigh, eyes closed, breathing steady.
“I wish I could, but I can't fit that into my budget.”
“Kal,” she says after a moment, her fingers tighten in his hair, “this isn't very professional of me, but… but I think you feel it too, don't you?”
Kal blinks up at her, confused, hesitant… hopeful?
“And far be it for me to say no to more money, but… I want to see you more than once a month. And I want to do things to you that I don't do at work… and I think you feel the same way, Kal. Don't you?”
“Okay,” Kal says quietly, “yeah.”
“Selina,” she says, loosening the grip and petting his curls again, “you can call me Selina.”
⁂
Selina refuses to be embarrassed about her apartment. Sure, it's not in the best part of town, but that's by design. She can get a bigger place for cheap out here. Not to mention the roof access. Makes it much easier to slip inside after a long night of work.
She doesn't have him over until the next week though, to make sure it's clean enough. When she lets him inside, a three-legged calico trills excitedly and rushes to greet him.
“Wow!” Kal says, “I didn't know you had a cat.”
“I don't have any cats,” Selina responds. Kal looks down at the cat he is petting and then up at Selina and then down back at the cat.
“I volunteer at the ASPCA,” she says just as a Maine Coon barrels in and headbutts Kal’s knee with enough force to knock some folks off balance, “trap, fix, release. I just let them wander in through the balcony if they need a free meal or the weather’s bad. None of them are mine.”
“There's something I have to tell you,” Kal blurts out, calico in his arms, “I'm trans.”
“Oh,” she says and nods.
“It just seemed like, y’know, if this is going to be adding a sexual element. I should let you know before you, before more clothes come off.”
Selina lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since you first knelt for me and there is nothing I want more than to tear your clothes off and have my way with you right now, but I guess I can keep it in my pants until we talk like responsible adults,” she flops dramatically back down on her sofa. It frightens a black cat napping on the ottoman, but the cat rushes over to the food like it planned the whole thing and wasn't scared at all.
Kal laughs as he easily lifts her feet up and takes a seat on her couch. His hands are so warm as they knead her arches.
“We don't need a lot of talking,” Kal says, “I… it's just been a while. Since I was with someone. I haven't been, not since I transitioned, but I like sex. I like being useful. Tell me what you like and I’ll take care of you.”
“Really?” She says and bats her eyelashes at him, an affectation he clearly knows she's doing to be ridiculous, but he still finds it endearing. It still works.
“Really.”
“Is there anywhere you don't like to be touched? Anything you don't want me to say?”
“You can touch me anywhere, Selina. I don't mind if you call it my cunt,” Selina’s eyes watch in delight as the flush rises to the tips of Kal’s ears, “I’d like it if you talked about my cock, though. Both for me and my strap.”
“You kneel so pretty, Kal,” Selina purrs. Kal’s mouth is slack, eyes a little glazed, “I want you between my thighs first. And then as a reward, for being so good for me, I'm going to suck your cock. Does that sound good?”
Kal is on his knees and hiking up her skirt before she finishes the sentence.
⁂
She swears, sometimes it feels like his tongue is vibrating. She's never come so hard in her life.
⁂
He's even better in her bedroom than he was in the dungeon. It’s like his main goal in life is to make her come. It's impressive. She has to tie him down and blindfold him sometimes to get him to let her focus on him. He takes her strap so well and the noises he makes are delicious.
It's nice. They have something good going. He's had to reschedule a few times and cancel kind of late. Work, he says. She hasn't bothered to ask him what he does, but she can tell it's important.
Each time he says an emergency has come up and he wishes he could stay, he means it. She can tell.
⁂
“Here's what you're going to do,” Selina says with a smile as she grabs Kal by the hair and tugs his head down between her thighs.
“You're going to fuck me until I tap out, and when I tap out you're going to wring one more out of me, do you understand?”
Kal nods eagerly, already kissing her inner thigh. She loves the sharp scrape of his teeth, a little nip before a kiss.
“Yes,” he says, “absolutely.”
He uses his mouth on her for the first. His hand for the second. And he slides his cock in her so slowly it's driving her mad.
She's fantasized about those fucking machines before, but she's never actually used one. She imagines that this is what it would feel like, constantly on the edge.
When she thinks she can't take it anymore she taps on his shoulder and he starts moving a little faster.
“I’ve got you, Sel,” his whispers against her neck, “I've got you.” There is a small hitch in his thrust, a little gasp of breath. She loves it when he comes while fucking her. He bites her shoulder, leaving behind a bruise.
He keeps going, until she can't focus on more than the building cascade in her body. Until there’s nothing left.
⁂
“Good job, kitten,” Selina mumbles after lord knows how long, “very good boy for me.”
⁂
Kal isn't next to her when she wakes up.
She checks the bathroom, the balcony, does a sweep of the living room. She's about to check the roof when he steps in through the balcony doors.
“Sorry,” he says with that sweet boyish smile that makes her want to spank him and then kiss him, he wiggles his phone at her before shoving it in his pocket, “work thing, but it's done now. I'm all yours.”
“I checked out there for you,” she says, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and yawning.
“Then whose balcony was I on?” He asks, eyes widened in faux fear. She doesn't always laugh at his dumb jokes, but she's usually bad at hiding her smile.
She rolls on to her tiptoes to kiss him.
He smells like sea salt, ash, and redwoods.
⁂
Selina renews her lease on her apartment. It's a first. She's never stayed in a place for more than a year.
She’s never wanted to before.
⁂
Selina is…
Happy?
She’s got a kind, handsome man who adores her. A day job that doesn't make her want to tear her hair out. And three cats that just won't leave.
⁂
Selina is happy.
She wants more, but she’s happy.
⁂
The heist goes off without a hitch. All the security is focused on displaying the lost Rembrandt; it's like they forgot they had millions of dollars worth of antiquities just sitting in their storage archives. She's returning a few to embassies, selling a few to private collectors.
It's partly a pay day and partly a fuck you and those are always Selina’s favorite jobs.
It's not even like taking candy from a baby. It's like the baby handing you the candy and smiling while they do it because they're a stupid baby who doesn't understand the value of candy yet.
It was all going according to plan before the primary colored slab of alien floats down in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, and having the gall to look disappointed in her.
“Down boy,” Selina purrs, and just for a moment, she swears she sees something go sweet and placid in those intense blue eyes of his. She doesn't linger on that moment to see where it goes, she flips backwards off the edge building, lands in the fire escape, slips into an apartment, slips out of another one, ends up with a nice new dress for her troubles as she casually strolls out and into the bustling crowd of museum patrons still flooding the streets.
Superman is still up there, she notices, looking in her direction, but not moving.
She winks.
It's stupid, probably. But being humble isn't any fun.
⁂
She's not expecting Kal to find one of the statues, but he does.
“Yes,” she says after a second of trying to decide the best way to lie her way out of this, “I'm a thief.”
“But… but it's wrong.”
“Look, Kal, you're sweet. I…. I have a lot of,” she clicks her tongue then lets out a puff of air, “a lot of feelings about you. I don't want to end this. I’m… fond of you. I can go all in on my speech about how there really aren't victims here, about how we're living in a late stage capitalist hellscape, and how I pick my marks carefully. I can tell you all my justifications and all my reasonings about what I do and why I do it, but if you're… if you've already made up your mind about me, then you should go because you're not going to change me.”
⁂
He goes.
⁂
Selina is thinking about skipping town.
⁂
Selina is treating herself to an iced coffee and a pastry at a cafe downtown. She's been thinking that stealing some things would make her feel better, but she's got a $10,000 dollar Cartier watch tucked in her purse courtesy of some rude bitch in the last store and she doesn't feel any better. She's still staring at her drink, watching the condensation slide down the glass, and thinking about Kal so hard she does a double take when she realizes he is actually walking by her table and she’s not hallucinating.
She makes eye contact with him as he brushes past her; he looks away quickly.
No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. Not with her. Oh, Selina is furious. She puts on her sweetest smile as she yanks him by the elbow and pulls him back towards her.
She hopes she leaves a mark. She hopes he sees it later, when he's changing and he thinks about her and he aches as much as she does.
“You're not even going to say hi?” she bats her eyelashes at him.
“Um,” Kal starts and then says nothing.
There's a woman with him. Short, dark hair. Fierce. Beautiful eyes.
He has a type.
She doesn't know what's going on between them, but Selina has this urge to seduce her, take her back to her place and show her the time of her life. But, well, Selina can read people well and this woman is a top. The fantasy shifts for a moment, the two of them sharing Kal. She pushes it away.
“Oh, he didn't tell you about me?” Selina is glad she dressed up today, she's glad she looks flawless. She keeps one hand possessively on his elbow. Her nails are digging in.
“I'm Selina,” she says, “the ex.”
The woman's dark eyes light up like Christmas came early. Okay, maybe she misjudged their vibe slightly. Maybe he's not on a date.
“Oh! Well, I'll go wait for our drinks and give you two some space to… catch up?”
Kal is looking at this woman, eyes pleading, and that just makes Selina angrier. How dare he plead to anyone but her?
“You don't get to pretend I don't exist,” she hisses at him as soon as the woman is out of earshot, “You don't get to ignore me.”
“Selina,” Kal says softly, “please. We talked about this.”
“We didn't talk,” Selina says, “you left.”
And then, like the reckless idiot she is, the secret masochist at the center of her asks the question she's been thinking for weeks, for her whole life, really: “Am I really that easy to walk away from?”
Kal says nothing.
“Kent!” The woman calls over, “Let’s get a move on. We’re going to be late to our interview.”
She thinks about not letting go. About keeping her nails digging into his elbow. About making him rip his shirt to free himself. Making him gnaw off his own arm to escape her.
His other hand rests on hers, gently, and releases her hold on him. She can’t believe it's that soft touch that makes the tears well up at the edges of her eyes for the first time since he walked out.
It doesn't matter, she supposes as she watches him walk out of the cafe, about how tight she clings to anything. How deep she sinks her claws in to keep them there.
The choice is never hers.
⁂
Selina is thinking about skipping town.
⁂
A private buyer wants some hideous acid-green earrings from the 80s. 1980s, not 1880. It's in some old lady’s penthouse which is empty because she's down in Florida.
It's not going to be hard and it'll pay well. She can pack it all up and move on. That's the plan at least, and it's all going great until fucking Superman of all people grabs her as she's jumping between rooftops.
She spins out of his grip, kicks him back away from her. And that is when realizes something is wrong with Superman. There's a bead of sweat at his temple. Another on his upper lip.
Superman doesn't sweat.
She cocks her head, hand on the whip at her waist.
“You alright there, sweetheart? You need a timeout?”
She takes a step towards him and he collapses down on his knees.
There's a guilty jolt of arousal that flares through her. She can feel herself pressing her thighs together a little closer. She can't help it. A big strong man, like Superman, down here on his knees for her.
She takes a step towards him.
“Oh what an honor it would be,” she purrs, “to be the one who makes you bleed.”
He reminds her so much of Kal, who isn't speaking to her now. Who is trying to pretend she doesn't exist. Who walked out without another word simply, “Sorry, Selina, I can't do this.”
Because she's so easy to walk away from. She always has been.
She wishes Kal would kneel for her like this, let her bruise him, mark him, hurt him and make him thank her and let her piece him back together.
Ever since she was a kid, she's wanted to destroy everything she loves. Shred it to pieces, devour it until nothing remains. Better to rip it apart than let it get away.
She runs one claw, slowly, across his neck, above the neckline of his suit. She watches it turn red.
“I would take such good care of you,” she says, looking in Superman's muddied eyes and seeing only Kal’s looking back at her. God, she's well and truly fucked.
“I would take such good care of you, kitten. If only you let me.”
She holds him by the chin and looks in his eyes. So blue, but with the tinge of green now in the sclera. She's heard about this before. Some rare, radioactive rock from his homeworld. The only thing that can bring Superman to his knees.
“I'll find these earrings a good home,” Selina smiles, “I know a Bat in Gotham who would pay well above market price for these.”
⁂
She doesn't sell the earrings. She puts them in a lead box and hides them in a security deposit box in Star City.
She's thinking about skipping town.
⁂
Selina is thinking about skipping town.
⁂
Selina is thinking about skipping town.
⁂
Selina goes back to that café every day for a week. She never sees him.
⁂
Selina is thinking about skipping town.
⁂
Selina is watching a rerun of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker when the emergency broadcast message comes through. Superman is fighting some giant alien. They're duking it out near Centennial Park. According to Lois Lane, that's the reporter on the scene, the dark-haired spitfire from coffee, Superman has been fighting for fifteen minutes. Two buildings in downtown have sustained massive damage.
The fight goes on for the better part of an hour and there are a few times when Selina isn't sure Superman is going to stand up again. She wants to turn off the TV and hide under the covers. She can't look away though, because she recognized those eyes. She did the first time and then tried to write it off as a trick of the mind, but the second time confirmed it. When he’s not flying around in a cape he wears ugly glasses and makes stupid jokes.
Kal is out there right now, doing his best to save the city and she can't look away no matter how much she wants to.
Eventually, the creature is secured and the military files in to do cleanup. Selina watches as Superman flies off, bruised, bloody, and covered in dirt.
There's a knock on the door a few minutes later. Kal is standing there, sloppily changed into khakis and a button down.
“Come here, kitten,” she urges gently and guides him into the bathroom. She sits him down on the toilet, lid down and starts the water in the bathtub. She brushes his bangs back out of his face and then goes to the kitchen to get him a bottle of orange juice — it’s his favorite. His hands shake a little as he tries to uncap it, so she does it for him and hands it back.
He's got soot on his body, blood matted in his hair. She's using a washcloth to wipe off the worst of it and watches a cut on his shoulder closes before her eyes. Like watching a time lapse.
The same thing happens with the bruises. They fade from midnight blue and purple to green and yellow before they disappear. They're just... gone. Like nothing ever happened.
Except it did.
“I saw it on the news,” she says as she eases him into the bathtub, stroking the back of his neck, “you did such a good job.”
“I couldn't save everyone—” he chokes out.
“I know, baby, I know. But that's not your fault. You did everything you could and if you hadn't been there, so many people would never have gone home. You did such a good job, Kal.”
⁂
“Stay,” Selina says when they're lying on the couch later, his head in her lap, “I'll order breakfast.” She says it like a command, because she can't bear to think of how she'll feel if his answer is no.
Kal looks over at her and smiles.
“Yeah,” he says, “okay.”