salvation

by shorkteeth (ao3)

Chapter 1: new beginnings

Moonlight bathes the soulless room in a dim blue glow. The rays filter through grand floor-to-ceiling windows catching on a faint cloud of dust that has settled over the undisturbed room. Sheet covered furniture feels almost ephemeral in the midnight luminescence. The library has not seen use in many years, though it has evidently been well taken care of.

They could definitely afford to.

This Choi family has long been a cornerstone of Gotham’s socioeconomic infrastructure, an undeniable fact to anybody with functioning brain cells. It came at no surprise that the sudden murder of two of their kin – orphaning a son – sent ripples throughout the entire city. The Prince of Gotham disappeared from the public eye and has not been seen ever since.

But that’s besides the point.

Whatever boarding school he was sent to is none of Beomgyu’s business. Rather, the empty mansion awaiting said prodigal son is of much more interest. From his tree-shrouded vantage point, Beomgyu continues surveying the library.

Whether the Choi security was severely lacking or growing too complacent, Beomgyu is not sure; however, the ease with which he was able to sneak onto the main grounds has his blood thrumming in anticipation. Everything seems almost too perfect.

All of the information given to him by his fence is completely accurate. Though not complaining, Beomgyu has never had a job go off without a hitch for this long. There’s always something off. A security detail a few minutes too early. A fully rotational camera instead of limited range. Intended sabotage or human error are things Beomgyu is used to. Things he can flow with.

This is not.

But rent is due. And it’s not just him anymore. They all need this money.

Leaves rustle in the treetop vantage, muffling the small sounds of latex stretching taut as Beomgyu triple checks his gear. The white stitching – used to cover both intentional and unintentional breaks in the black latex – strains with his movement. He makes a mental note to start putting away some money for a new suit as he feels the cool breeze hit his exposed wolfcut. This catsuit has served Beomgyu much longer and much better than originally expected of the Halloween costume.

Upon his hips lays a dark gray scarf-life garment, the tied off end flowing in the gentle breeze at Beomgyu’s tailbone. Within its folds are sewn a multitude of pockets and compartments. His gloved fingers run across the familiar storage, steel-tipped nails counting out each material to his satisfaction. He takes turns rolling his ankles. The heelless platforms are laced to his knees and confirmed secure after five ankle rolls in each direction. They are heavy and the cat paw print left behind is Beomgyu’s only calling card.

Reaching into the bag nestled on the branch besides him, Beomgyu fishes out and re-rolls his whip attaching it to his left hip. He peeks up through the leaves to see heavy clouds begin their obstruction of the full moon’s light. Beomgyu takes this time to shoulder his duffle and quietly scurry down the length of the tree.

Beomgyu is crouching low to the ground as the last sliver of the moon is engulfed in temporary darkness. His right heel sinks into damp earth as he pounces across the Choi grounds. Beomgyu makes it to the floor length windows in two body-long strides. His heart is racing, but his movements must be calm. He is at the bottom right corner of the massive window, hiding in the deeper shadows, when he finally unzips his bag.

The circular glass cutter circumference has been measured to exactly fit Beomgyu’s form. He places it in the center of the lowermost panel before oiling the blade.

The first rotation is slow. He stops every few degrees to apply more oil until completing the circle.

The second rotation is faster. He applies more pressure carefully.

The third rotation is the last. A final quick loop.

Bracing his left hand on the frame of the panel, Beomgyu wiggles the device with his right. He starts small and works into more forceful tugging. The small section is pulled out with a soft pop and laid down inside the library.

Beomgyu stuffs the bag through before preparing himself. Just like a cat, he fits himself into the impossibly small gap, back arching to wiggle his ass through the narrow space. He stuffs the device and glass into the bag and re-shoulders it.

His goggles make the dark room only slightly more digestible to the eyes. Dauntingly huge shelves line the walls to surround an ocean of ghost furniture. Residual moonlight peeking through the clouds casts a ghastly glow on the disturbed dust.

Beomgyu’s already light steps are padded by the soles of his platforms as he peruses the library. Among the shelves lay artifacts, sculptures, and paintings from all eras of history. Despite such diversity, there were hints of a much deeper connection between collector and collection than one might think.

He lingers not.

Beomgyu’s hands are quick and decisive. Anything deemed of enough value to be sold, but not enough to be quickly missed, is thrown into the seemingly bottomless duffle bag. The clouds continue their creeping darkness as Beomgyu finishes his first wrap-around, the duffle an already familiar weight across his shoulders.

The second pass-through is much slower. Beomgyu takes his time to scan the shelves, now. Knowing rich people, there has to be value in at least some of these books. His right index finger hovers a few inches from the spines of the shelved books as he aimlessly attempts to appraise their value.

He’s halfway through the opposite wall’s shelves – contemplating an early escape – when he stops in his tracks, a small squeak echoing from his platforms.

The Picture of Dorian Gray. Of fucking course the oldest copy he’s ever seen is in the Choi’s personal library. His finger begins to tremble as he retracts his hand. The spine is in great condition, though he can’t tell if there is any discoloration in the dimness. There is no fraying or wear and tear that is visible, but Beomgyu knows he would have stopped for this book no matter the condition.

Beomgyu’s own collection of Dorian Gray copies consists of as many available new-print editions that he can get his hands on. It has always been a pipe dream to have any version not published in the 2000s.

Containing his jealous excitement, Beomgyu reaches back up towards the shelved book. His clawed finger traces the outline of the spine with its latex covered pad. He hooks his finger around the top of the old spine, preparing to tilt the book out of its nestled position.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Beomgyu freezes. He got distracted.

The man’s voice is altered by some kind of device and sends icy claws down the length of Beomgyu’s back. The sound echoes around the room, reverberations masking the origin.

Two can play at that game.

Beomgyu’s giggle is high and breathy as he attempts to alter his voice, in turn,“Why not?”

Even to his own ears, Beomgyu thinks his girly impression is pretty good, though he’s not sure how it’ll hold up for longer than a few words.

“It’s not yours,” the strange voice replies, “That should be reason enough.”

Beomgyu concludes the voice modulator is an attempt to mask the user’s emotions – he could feel the amused smirk in the pause between sentences.

“Finders keepers,” Beomgyu teases.

Instincts are what has kept him alive all these long Gotham years, so when his body moves before his mind comprehends, Beomgyu trusts himself. The padded springs in his platforms give Beomgyu the extra boost to cut through the air, flipping back and avoiding the figure dropping from the rafters.

He lands in a crouch, platforms clicking on the hardwood floor. Beomgyu maintains his position, watching. The black heaping void on the floor rises and takes shape.

Cloud cover finally vanishes.

Beomgyu’s heart races, adrenaline rushing through every inch of his body as the pale moonlight begins to illuminate the rising form. Long black pointy ears attached to a cowl mask half of the stranger’s face. A cape pooling on the floor gave the figure its initially shapeless form – it now drapes over broad shoulders, a stripe of armor visible where the two ends do not meet. The exposed, pale skin of the bottom half of his face almost glows in the contrast. Full lips glisten in the twinkling twilight.

Batman.

Beomgyu gives himself two hammering heartbeats to freak the fuck out.

Time’s up.

He knew this day was coming. Even though it had just started out as an “urban legend,” Beomgyu is too cautious not to pay attention. A man dressed in a bat costume delivering pain to the criminal underbelly of Gotham? An absurd idea. But so is dressing up in a cat costume to steal for rent money.

Beomgyu tightened his range of steal-able products and found a new fence. Sure, this Batman guy has been taking some of the worst guys Beomgyu has known off the streets; however, he’s also taken those Beomgyu knows have no other choice.

Despite his cautious efforts, he still understood that there was always a non-zero chance of running into Batman on every job. Thus, plans A through B were born.

Plan A: stall, run away, quit the life of crime and become a stay at home mom to his, Taehyun, and Kai’s 15 cats.

Beomgyu rises from his crouching position extending his full height, left hand fishing bolas from the folds at his waist as his right uncoils his whip. Setting his shoulders back, Beomgyu leans to ensure the moonlight catches on every curve his latex suit hugs.

Every curve.

Who needs a dance belts these days?

Beomgyu knows his own reputation precedes him – a very amusing one at that. What had started as a costumed prank turned into a lucrative and semi-stable form of income. He had already been particularly deft, becoming proficient with thieves’ tools not long after setting his mind to it. Not to mention his Gotham University gymnastics scholarship. What makes it all so funny is what they call him.

Catwoman.

He couldn’t believe it the first time he heard the name floating around, but it made sense once he got out of his own head. A lithe frame in form-fitting spandex, cat ears, and heelless platforms. Especially since he hasn’t bothered to fix the rip his hair falls through, Beomgyu doesn’t particularly mind being Catwoman.

Particularly at times like this.

Beomgyu’s own smirk grows as he sees the barely visible whites of Batman’s eyes widen at his own revealed form. He knows the latex grips his bulge in just the right way that the intentionality of its visibility is ambiguous, and he knows he’s big. Beomgyu flexes. His thighs, biceps, and chest stretch the stitching all over his body, milky skin peeking to glow in the pale light.

“So you’re the Batman, huh,” Beomgyu drops his pitch back to normal, “I thought you’d be taller.”

Batman, still stunned, rises to the bait. Catwoman’s bolas are already cutting through the air as Batman’s lips formulate his reply. A small gasp escapes rather than words as Beomgyu’s bolas and whip strike true simultaneously.

The bolas are heavy enough to wrap around cape and leg halfway down Batman’s calves as he dodges the whip strike aimed for his exposed face. The momentum sends him toppling face-first to the ground. Batman lands with a grunt, quickly rolling over only to be immediately pounced on.

Despite the stories, Beomgyu finds himself making quick work of the already legendary Batman. It doesn’t make sense.

Catwoman stradles Batman – Beomgyu’s muscular thighs tensing against tight latex as he feels the powerful muscle brimming beneath Batman’s own armor. He can feel the dormant strength in the arms he has pinned above the Bat.

It doesn’t make sense.

Their eyes meet.

Batman’s eyes are blown wide, almost making the heavy black eyeshadow useless. His plump lips are slightly parted. He’s panting hard, sweat pooling where cowl meets skin.

Oh.

Perfect.

Plan B: Fuck Batman. Costumes on.

But first, a few questions.

Beomgyu grinds down eliciting a full-body shudder from the man beneath him.

“Why are you here,” Catwoman leans down, lips grazing cowl covered ears, “Batman?”

“W-”

Beomgyu holds Batman’s arms with one of his own, taking the other and dragging a steel claw to shush parted lips.

“Voice modulator off,” Beomgyu snaps.

Batman twists his head to the side – a small click.

“Why sh-”

Beomgyu’s claw traces the outline of Batman’s lips.

“Wrong answer,” Beomgyu whispers. Batman struggles beneath him once more.

“I’m here for n-”

His voice sounds nicer now that Beomgyu can hear a fuller sentence, but it’s still not the right answer. He dips a claw into Batman’s mouth as he tries to deny any reason for being there.

“Wrong again…” Beomgyu drawls, “See, I think there’s a large misunderstanding happening here. I have methods. A system. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“I-”

Catwoman squishes Batman’s exposed cheeks, claws threatening to break skin.

“Nod your head yes or no.”

He nods yes.

“Good boy,” Beomgyu’s claws play with Batman’s lips as he continues, “I’ll keep explaining anyways. Just to make sure you understand. While everybody else looks to the grand prize, I collect all the small ones that everybody’s forgotten about. So, color me surprised when The Batman shows up to stop lil ol me at the Choi family mansion – on the opposite end from rumored treasure.”

Beomgyu tightens his pinning grip, licking his lips. Batman remains silent, his face betraying no emotion that Beomgyu can quite decipher.

“So, with all the information available to me,” Beomgyu concludes, “I have but one thing to say to you, Batman.”

“And what would that be?” Batman growls, uncharacteristic sarcasm bleeding through.

“Welcome home, Choi Soobin.”

Somehow, Batman’s – Soobin’s – eyes go wider than before. Beomgyu’s cheshire grin lasts all of five heartbeats before he catapults himself into a back handspring, avoiding Batman’s headbutt. As Beomgyu is regaining his balanced footing, Soobin is already replacing the Bat symbol in his breastplate after cutting Beomgyu’s bolas.

“I’ll take it I’m right, then?” Beomgyu teases as he allows Soobin to stand.

“I have a proposal for you,” Soobin sighs, exasperated.

“I’m not ready for marriage.”

Soobin pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a moment.

“You’re Catwoman-”

“Obviously.”

“Will you please let me finish?”

“Maybe.”

“Please.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you. I have a proposal,” Soobin finally continues, “You’re Catwoman. You have a reputation. I did notice your method. I was waiting for you.”

“Oh…” The tension throughout Beomgyu’s body softens, but only slightly.

“I’m not stupid enough to think that the violence I commit is completely virtuous. I do it for reasons I believe are right, but I know there is more that I can be doing – a bigger picture I might not be seeing.”

Beomgyu never expected the man behind the mask to be so aware of the mantle he has now taken up. It’s… admirable.

“So, what do you suggest?”

“A partnership, of sorts,” Soobin proposes, “Mutually beneficial, of course. I’d compensate you in any way you’d like, within reason.”

“And what exactly would you have me do?” Beomgyu’s mind is blown every second the conversation continues.

“Well, there’s a long list of things I-”

“Yeah, nevermind. Let’s get to negotiating my terms,” Beomgyu’s impatience is king.

He takes two strides forward, stretching out an arm to take a fistful of cape and pull Soobin closer. His other arm snakes around beneath the cape, claws scratching the back armor as it trails lower.

Latex meets leather, Kevlar, and metal as Beomgyu slots himself into Soobin’s body. Batman’s lips part in anticipation, but Catwoman has other plans.

“Ah-”

Beomgyu licks a stripe from the bottom of Soobin’s chin to just above his cheekbone. The taste of sweat, skin, and leather coat his sensitive tongue. His feather-light touch wanders plated armor, vulnerabilities memorized.

“Don’t be shy,” Beomgyu’s sultry voice snakes through Soobin’s psyche.

Huge gloved hands grab Beomgyu’s small waist and pull him impossibly closer. Their eyes meet once more before their lips are crashing into each other.

Their kissing begins a heated battle. Beomgyu squeezes the plush flesh of Soobin’s ass as he lets go of the cape. Instead, he reaches up and grabs one of Batman’s ears and pulls him deeper into the kiss. Soobin can’t help his guttural whine from escaping into Beomgyu’s mouth.

Batman relents.

Beomgyu pries open Soobin’s lips. Soobin’s tongue is pliant, submitting to Beomgyu’s every touch.

When he kicks away this time, Catwoman knows he’s getting away – although he’ll be sad to find out he lost that nail between Batman’s ribs.

A leap-twist, a bound. He’s across the room already and the bag is thrown out the window.

“We’ll talk later!~” Beomgyu calls as he glides through the hole, platforms narrowly avoiding Soobin’s grappling hook.

Catwoman doesn’t look back as he runs the memorized escape route.

Right on schedule.