Author's Note: This is my response to the prompt for the second Chair Week on tumblr, role-playing. Inspired by the interview with Sean T. Collins on the Gossip Girl zine, some of the dialogue was borrowed from the cartoon version of another Dark Knight.

She tiptoes across the room, prowls towards the object displayed in the middle of the room upon which she is fixated. The diamonds sparkle brilliantly as the streetlight shines through the series of windows, but she hugs the shadows and hides her face from view as she creeps closer and closer. Stealthy and smooth, she steps out of the shadows and reaches for the object of her desire.

"Retract the claws, kitten," he commands.

Her neutral features twist into a sultry smirk and her fingers – with the claws very much out – continue to stretch towards the string of gems.

"Spare me your morality," she replies with a sigh. "Who deserves this symbol of superiority more than I?"

"You've let larceny taint your loveliness," he pauses for a moment and then underscores his point by dropping his voice even lower. "Allow me to help rehabilitate you."

"Aw, always trying to declaw me," she purrs in appreciation. "Which is why I must clip your wings. Permanently."

She snatches the necklace off the table and tries to slip away agilely, but he moves quickly and she finds herself pressed between him and the desk. One hand moves to loosen the claws clasped tightly around her heist while the other splays against the hip clad in leather before sliding down her stomach to press suggestively between her thighs.

"Not if I collar you first," he replies darkly in her ear.

His words are laden with heat, and he tilts her hips against him in a blatant move. She waits just a moment, allows him to think he has the upper hand and then she moves her free hand – with the claws very much out – to dig painfully into his leg. He hisses and steps away just enough for her to dart away from him. She fingers the jewels appreciatively in her palm, counts out the carts in her head before looking up and offering him a smirk.

"You chose the wrong career," she informs him saucily. "We could be partners in crime. The perfect power couple."

She turns away, turns to escape but she finds herself being pulled backwards rather than moving forwards. And then she's flush against him as he murmurs about justice and light versus dark in her ear. The diamond necklace is swiped from her palm, and she blinks in surprise at how quickly he managed to thwart her escape.

But the streetlight causes the diamonds to glint once more, and the temptation is far too much to surrender so easily. She slides her hand down the plane of his chest, down past the belt secured around his waist.

"What can I say?" She asks as her eyes dance with explicit excitement and she clasps her hand around him through the thin layer of fabric. "I'm a girl with the taste for only the finest."

He nearly swallows his tongue when her tongue darts out to lick across her lips, when her claws scrap down him with just enough pressure. Her fingers uncurl just long enough to slide up and unclasp the belt around his waist, to slide down and caress him without the barrier of fabric between them.

"I can show how good I am at," she pauses and darts her eyes downward suggestively for effect, "grooming."

He jerks at the suggestion, jerks as her nail trails one bulging vein. His jaw and legs lock, releases just long enough to press a kiss against her lips and press her back against the desk. The diamonds fall from his hand as he returns it to her hip, as the other skims up the leather to cup her breast.

He bends his head, nudges hers aside, and touches his lips to her skin, and she gasps at the way she has lost the upper hand in an instant. Because every taunting sweep of his tongue and graze of his teeth against her throat clouds her thoughts and sends her body stretching evocatively against him.

The hand at her waist holds her upright against him, and the fingers at her breast slip under the stiffness of her leather corset to reach and strain towards the nipple pebbling beneath. He growls in frustration when the fabric impedes his reach, and he mumble incoherently against her neck as she gasps and tightens her grip around him.

And maybe this isn't how her alter ego would give in, but her breathing is quick and her thoughts far to muddled to care when his lips cruse against the line of her throat and his fingers abandoned her breasts to tug on the black leggings tucked under her leather corset. She releases him to help pull the leggings down, to help expose her legs and her bottom to the cool night air and to him.

"Naughty kitten," he says when he discovers her lack of panties, when his fingers cruise the inside of her thighs to meet swollen, wet folds between them. "Pretty pus—"

Her eyes flash and she growls at his word choice. The chuckle deep from within his throat smothers the word, and the release of hot air brushes against the skin of her throat. His mouth covers the pulse point at the base of her throat, and she throws her head back with a moan as he parts her and presses deep. The mane of hair sweeps across the hand at her waist and tickles mercilessly as he holds her and strokes his fingers inside her.

She presses forward, rolls her hips to force him to brush himself against the hand between them, and then grins wickedly when he groans. But he bends her further against the desk and withdraws his fingers from between her thighs in response. She whimpers at the loss of contact and digs her claws into his back to make him comply.

"Retract the claws, kitten," he instructs. She digs in a little tighter and then releases just to prove her point, to play her role. He grimaces against her neck as he works himself loose, digs his own claws into her thigh as he pushes apart her legs and the guides himself inside her.

He holds still for just a moment, feels her contract around him, and then he pushes deeper until she stretches up onto her toes. The sound that falls from her lips is part sob, part moan, resonating loudly in his ears as he withdraws and thrust deeper with a long, heavy stroke.

She gives up control as she gasps, sheds her role at the caress of his breath on her neck and the feeling of him inside her. Her hands slide from his back, her fingers move to thread through his hair, and her claws make quick work of the mask that prevent her from digging her nails into his scalp.

He gives up control as she contracts, sheds his role at the feeling of her tightening and pulsing around him. His hands slide to hold her hips, his fingers move to brush against the leather of her corset, and her claws sink and dig into him without care as he moves them both higher and higher and push her off the edge.

She shatters with a soft cry, with a mewling of delight, and she contracts about him once, twice until he follows her with a deep groan. He buries the sound in her neck, buries himself for a long moment until he can find the strength to slide out and step away. She reaches out to the desk beside her, expecting to snatch the abandoned necklace away in her manicured claws before he notices her.

"Looking for this?" He questions, holding up the object of her heist tonight. Her face falls to a pout, falls in disbelief that he managed to outmaneuver her once more. But he only smirks as he steps forward, as he sweeps away her hair and drapes the necklace he gave her for her birthday years ago around the collar of her neck.

"Giving up so easily?" She teases, reaching up to touch the heart at the center of the necklace. "I always knew you'd fall for the darkness, Batman."