Selina and Dick are dangerous. Bruce can't remember who he is when they're around.

Warnings: Non-explicit sexual situation. Kids knowing more than their guardians think they should. Superhero inebriation.

Continuity: In whatever universe this story takes place, Bruce and Selina know about each other's alter egos when Dick Grayson is still very young. The rules, I bend them. This will likely be two chapters. I am more inclined to update when I get reviews, not even gonna lie.

"Ow! For God's sake, Bruce." Selina shoved him away and hopped on one stiletto-clad foot, rubbing her opposite ankle. A picture frame fell off the dresser Bruce had just backed her into, landing safely on the carpet below.

"Sorry," Bruce said in a rush, moving toward her again. He reached for her waist, leaned in toward her lips.

She held out a hand to keep him at bay and plopped down on the carpet, giving her ankle a closer examination. "It never fails to surprise me," she said with a touch of amusement, slipping off her heel and rubbing her foot, "how clumsy you can be in the bedroom. All things considered, I expect an impressive performance."

Her scarlet lips quirked up at him, and her green eyes shone with mischief. Bruce joined her on the carpet, taking her injured leg and putting his lips on the bruised ankle. "It's all part of maintaining a ruse," he murmured, trailing kisses up the silky shin. "I can't have you suspecting anything."

She laughed loudly. "There's a convenient excuse." She laughed again, leaning her weight back on her arms, her smile too wide, her eyes watery as they reflected the overhead lights. God, they were both so drunk.

Bruce never drank. Bruce never took home known criminals and accidentally injured them in his attempt to bed them. Then Selina Kyle would show up at whatever ridiculous gala he was forced to attend, a slit in her fitted black dress almost up to her hip, and he was all billionaire playboy. He'd seen her and wanted her again. Two bottles of wine later- "Oh come on, Bruce. If you can't have a little fun once in awhile, I'll go find someone else who will."- and he absolutely had to have her.

He pulled her arms from under her, pushed her down against the floor with his own body. His fingers grazed the exposed skin under the slit of the dress while he plundered her mouth with his own. Their kiss was sloppy. She tasted like chardonnay and crime.

After a moment, she was pushing against him. "You're too heavy." She said the same thing every time. She didn't like to be on bottom. He knew it had nothing to do with his weight.

He lifted his head and gazed at her, her cropped raven hair splayed like an inkblot against the taupe carpet. She nudged him again, tried to roll him off.

"We have to stop doing this," he said, and he settled back atop her, not letting her escape. He seized her lips again. She moaned a protest against his mouth, and he decided she deserved to suffer a little for stripping him of his reason. "You have to stop doing this to me."

She turned her head aside, freeing her lips from his. "Then throw me in jail, incorruptible crimefighter," she breathed. Her sharp eyes cut back to him, watching for his reaction. "You could end it anytime you wanted."

He eased off her and sat on his knees. She stayed where she was, arms and hair and endless legs sprawled out on his bedroom floor, eyes that knew far too much about him sizing him up.

When he didn't say anything, she sat up and took his hands. "I'm sorry," she said, and the kiss she gave him was softer, slower than before. He allowed her to coax him into standing, to lead him lip-locked to his own bed. The backs of his knees struck the frame and they toppled onto the mattress together.

"I'm sorry for what I said," Selina told him again. She straddled him and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Not for anything else."

"I know you aren't," he ground between his teeth, and he grabbed the flimsy material of the dress, ripping the slit clean up to her waist.

She hissed and popped his hand away. Her lips pursed as she examined the ruined garment. "You're paying for that." And their movements became ferocious then, buttons raining down onto the burgundy blankets, her red nails scratching his arms, his hands bruising her waist. They were going fast. They kept rolling each other over, both fighting to be on top.

"Bruce," someone said, and it wasn't Selina, and the voice was right there in his bedroom. He threw her roughly off him and sat up with a jolt. She followed suit, gasping for air.

A little boy stood on the center rug, dark hair matted and blue eyes wary as he surveyed the scene before him. Bruce had never even heard the door open, but it still stood ajar. God, Selina undid him in every way. "Dick, what is it? Why aren't you in bed?" His voice was breathy. He couldn't imagine what he looked like, clothes askew and red lipstick smudged across his face.

Dick held his hands over his stomach. "I don't feel good," he said. He looked at Selina where she sat on the rumpled bed, frozen as if she were made of marble. "What are you doing in here?"