The Bird Catches the Cat

Oswald Cobblepot sipped his glass of Champagne, washing down his mouthful of raw salmon. His thick fingers handled a pair of ivory chopsticks with surprising delicacy as he snatched up another slice of sashimi from the platter in front of him and stuffed it in his mouth.

Across the table from him was a woman. She was dressed in expensive, but unfashionable, clothes. It was the sort of outfit that the modestly wealthy assumed the extremely wealthy would dress in. It was poorly tailored and didn't suit her body or face in the slightest but it did glitter with pointless adornments and overpriced tat.

She was talking, but Oswald hadn't been listening for quite some time, only making the occasional reassuring grunt or humorless chuckle to serve as punctuation for her mindless babbling. She was wealthy enough to earn his presence at the table but not enough for his attention or respect. Hopefully, this inane conversation would result in her renting the Iceberg Lounge for an event of some kind but in the meantime, Cobblepot simply attempted to enjoy his dinner as best he could.

This long-winded stalemate continued for several more minutes until Cobblepot spotted Marko making his way through the crowd. Marko was one of his top men...that rare breed of henchman who was as comfortable when dressed in a tux and bow tie as he was when electrically castrating a stool pigeon. He wouldn't be interrupting Cobblepot's dinner, especially dinner with a potential client, if there wasn't an important matter that needed to be brought to his attention.

"Just a moment, my dear. I believe there's a message for me." He offered his banal tablemate a feigned smile as he waved Marko over. The henchman approached, leaning down to whisper in Cobblepot's ear.

"You've got a visitor in your office." Marko was straight to the point. He knew better than to waste time apologizing for the interruption. "It's Mister Kuttler. Says he's managed to find something."

Cobblepot's smile widened into a genuine, wicked grin. He downed the dregs of his drink and got to his feet.

"We simply must meet again some time miss..." He struggled to remember the simpering woman's name before giving up. She wasn't worth the effort. "But I'm afraid I must cut our engagement short, some rather pressing business has come up that I absolutely must attend to.."

"Oswald, no!" She pleaded, her whining voice grating on his nerves. "I was just about to get to the best part of the story!"

"And I cannot wait to hear how the tale ends!" He assured her, taking her hand and patting it with false joviality. "But I really must be going for now. Please, let my man Marko know when you're next available and I assure you that you'll have my undivided attention!"

He tried to pull away but she held firmly onto his hand.

"Come now, Ozzy...surely you can put off this business just a biiit longer. For me?" She looked up at him, her face twisted into a theatrical pout. She leaned forward, allowing her low cut dress to expose cleavage that had seen far better decades. He had no idea where she had gotten the idea that she had any charms, let alone that he had fallen for them, but it seemed that the foolish woman was trying to flirt with him!

He leaned in close, his long nose nearly touching hers.

"Listen to me, you stupid cow." His voice was a harsh, angry whisper, "Let go of my hand or I will snap those fat fingers off and feed them to my birds."

Her eyes widened in shock and her grip loosened. He pulled free and instantly switched back to his sugary demeanor.

"Feel free to enjoy the buffet and the entertainment, but I must really be going."

She watched in horrified disbelief, unable to muster a retort or question, as he strode off towards the private elevator to the upper levels of the Iceberg Lounge.

*********

"Hello, Penguin" Noah Kuttler was sitting comfortably in an overstuffed armchair, beside the window overlooking the Iceberg Lounge's central clubroom. He looked up as Cobblepot entered, offering the shorter man a thin smile. "Sorry to interrupt your dinner."

Cobblepot barely managed to suppress an open sneer and looked at the henchmen standing by the doorway, left by Marko to keep an eye on Kuttler. "He hasn't touched anything, has he? Anything at all?"

"What? No, no sir. Just sittin' there since Marko went to get you." The man was burly and scarred, the look of dumb muscle. Like a side of beef squeezed into a tuxedo and taught to walk like a man.

"What's the matter, Penguin. Don't trust me?" Noah Kuttler got to his feet, showing his spread hands to indicate they were empty. "Don't worry your little head. I'm a professional...wouldn't steal from a client."

Cobblepot glowered at him but waved at his henchman to leave the room. Like many in the criminal underworld, Noah Kuttler was known more commonly by an alias: The Calculator. An information broker, hacker for hire and blackmailer.

Neither of them particularly liked the other. Both were more or less in the same business...and competition in the criminal world could be lethal. Kuttler had been trying to poach the Penguin's clients for years, but Cobblepot managed to keep an edge in Gotham with his contacts within organized crime. The old families didn't trust or understand modern information-gathering techniques and they put a lot of stock in reputation and civility...Kuttler's brash, unpleasant personality rubbed them the wrong way, allowing Cobblepot to keep a tight grip on Gotham's underworld.

Unfortunately, when it came right down to it...he had to admit that Kuttler was the best at what he did: the man was brilliant, resourceful and tapped into the digital world in ways that Cobblepot just couldn't match. Which is exactly why he had hired him for this particular job.

That didn't mean he had to like the man.

Cobblepot stomped over to his desk and sat down heavily into his expensive executive chair. Kuttler approached the desk, still smiling that shit-eating grin, but he didn't say a word. He was waiting for Cobblepot to break the silence...a petty little power play.

"Kuttler," Cobblepot growled. "If you're wasting my time then I'll just hire someone else and my man Marko can spend some quality time with his cattle prod and your prostate. Understood?"

That wiped the smirk off of Kuttler's face.

"Penguin, if anything happens to me-"

"Yes, yes..." Cobblepot waved a hand dismissively, fishing a large cigar from his desk draw, along with a gold-plated cigar cutter. "I'm sure you have some packet of information ready to send to my enemies or the FBI or whoever. I'm not impressed. I've been arrested twelve times...been sent to Blackgate four times and even spent a few unpleasant months in Arkham once. I always get out. I always rebuild."

He punctuated his statement by slicing the tip from his cigar before pulling out a matching lighter and igniting the tip. He inhaled, blowing a jet of smoke towards Kuttler, who scrunched up his face and coughed in annoyance.

"You may very well have something that could annoy or inconvenience me...but you won't live to see how I get out of it. Like my birds, I am quite waterproof."

There was a moment of silence as Kuttler digested that threat. Cobblepot could see the gears working. True to his nickname, Kuttler was good at assessing the odds. He grimaced slightly as his internal calculations painted a grim picture.

"Fine." He pulled a large smartphone from a padded "holster" on his hip and his fingers danced across the screen. "I found her."

Cobblepot's eyes widened in anticipation, his quick intake of breath turning the tip of his cigar cherry-red before he exhaled a cloud of smoke through his oversized nose. "You have? Her name. I need her name!"

"Cool down, Penguin," Kuttler smirked again, shaking his head. "I've got what you need. Although didn't she run with you and your gang for a few months? And you never bothered to find out her real name? Sloppy."

Cobblepot's teeth tightened around his cigar and he slammed his fist onto the desk, causing the crystal tumblers and decanter of whiskey to rattle. "I'm not interested in your opinion, Kuttler! I want the information!!"

"There." Kuttler put the phone on the desk. Displayed on the screen was a text file, accompanied by several photos of a green-eyed beauty. Her short, black hair and dark red lipstick contrasted sharply with her smooth, pale skin. "Selina Kyle. AKA Catwoman."

"Selina Kyle..." The Cobblepot repeated, savoring the name he had spent almost a year and a half searching for. "I found you..."

"Well, I think you'll find that I found her." Kuttler's smirk broadened. "Technically speaking."

"What has she been doing? She hasn't been seen in Gotham since we...parted ways. Where is she? London? Star City?"

"She's actually still here in Gotham...I think she may have retired."

"What?!"

"Get this...she's apparently living full time with Bruce Wayne of all people. At first, I assumed it was some kind of long con...maybe even a black widow maneuver...but I think she may have actually settled down."

"With Bruce Wayne...that...that mindless playboy?!"

"Well, Wayne may be a himbo but he's loaded. I guess she figured there wasn't much point in stealing if you're living with one of the richest men alive."

"How dare she!" Cobblepot sputtered in fury. "Playing at being arm candy for some...some...empty-headed trust fund moron!!"

Kuttler raised an eyebrow at Cobblepot's fury. "So...I take it this is more than just business...If you like I could help you work out a plan to get into Wayne manor. It's got good security but barely any staff...shouldn't be hard...for the right price."

"No." Cobblepot glared up at Kuttler, blue-gray tobacco smoke forming an ominous cloud around his head. "Your job is done here. Catwoman...Selina Kyle...is going to be resuming her former position shortly. So...keep in mind that if you decide to share this information with anyone else then I will consider it a personal attack on my business. Understood, Kuttler?"

"Loud and clear." Kuttler looked curious, clearly trying to piece together the background behind Cobblepot's anger. "As far as the second half of the payment...?"

"I have the bank account details. I'll make a call and you'll receive the transfer in a few hours. Just as agreed."

"Pleasure doing business with you." Kuttler gave Cobblepot a mocking bow and retrieved his phone, leaving a small thumb drive in its place. "That's your copy of all the details."

Cobblepot watched him leave, puffing on his cigar, weighing the pros and cons of having Marko eliminate the man. With a long drag and a plume of smoke, he decided against it...just because he could weather a disaster and rebuild didn't mean he relished the idea. Kuttler knew better than to go to war by airing out Cobblepot's dirty laundry without a good reason. He ground out the smoldering remains of his cigar in the ashtray on his desk.

After Kuttler left the room, Cobblepot walked over to the painting on the wall, depicting topless mermaids luring seamen to their deaths, and slid it aside to reveal a wall safe embedded deeply in the concrete. A few numbers tapped into the keypad and a retinal scan caused the safe to pop open. Inside was a small box, which Cobblepot retrieved, forcing himself to suppress his excitement and handle it carefully. He opened the box to inspect the contents.

Inside, nestled in velvet, were two pieces of jewelry: a silver and gold pocket watch and a gaudy, black choker in the form of a collar. Dangling from the front of the collar was a heart-shaped red diamond in a platinum setting.

He retrieved the pocket watch and pressed the switch on the top causing the case to pop open, revealing an identical red jewel. Almost sixteen months ago, Cobblepot had used these enchanted gems to take control of the virtuoso thief known as Catwoman, making her his willing servant and lover.

He gripped the watch tightly, remembering those hot, eager nights spent with his beautiful pet. Remembering the feeling of her smooth, creamy skin under his fingers...the curve and heft of her breasts...the scent and taste of her...

Unfortunately, he had allowed himself to become distracted and complacent...drunk on the pleasure of Catwoman's body. He had neglected the usual careful planning and caution that served him so well in the Gotham underworld. The meddling bastard Batman had caught wind of a weapon deal going down at the Gotham docks and showed up to wreak havoc. Desperate to avoid being captured, Cobblepot had ordered Catwoman to kill Batman.

Unfortunately, it seemed that he had shown his hand too clearly...and perhaps the flashy affectation of the collar was a little obvious. Batman seemed to catch onto his influence over Catwoman. He had torn the collar free, releasing Catwoman from the gem's spell. She had immediately fainted, forcing Batman to flee with her as Cobblepot's men tried to capture both of them. The one silver lining was that the meddling 'hero' had dropped the collar as he fled.

That was the last time Cobblepot had seen Catwoman. He knew she and the bat had been uneasy allies at times but he had still expected her to be handed over to the police and confined to Blackgate, given her long criminal history. But as the days and weeks went by it became clear that Batman had either let her loose or she had escaped on her own.

He had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to try and track her down, or at least find out some of her background, with no success. Every day he cursed himself for not forcing her to divulge her private identity while she was still under his sway. At the time he simply hadn't cared...her previous life wasn't important anymore, after all, she was his pet. His Catwoman. Her "civilian" identity was of no interest to him...until she vanished without a trace and left him without even a name to search for.

Eventually, he had no choice but to swallow his pride and pay a ludicrous price for Kuttler's assistance.

Fortunately, that had proven to be a worthwhile investment. He knew her name now...knew that she was close by, in Gotham no less. He grinned down at the jewelry in his hands. That would be everything he needed...he may not be an expert in magical artifacts but he did know two things. First, no one could stay under that enchantment for so long without some lingering connection.

And secondly...in magic, names had power.

*********

The crack of a whip echoed against the walls of the stately master bedroom of the equally stately Wayne Manor, followed by a wicked, feminine laugh. The walls had recently been decorated with the portraits of various dignified Wayne ancestors, mostly because the current head of the Wayne household never particularly cared about decor.

That had changed once the master bedroom gained a second full-time occupant, relegating the ancient artwork to a storage room. Now the only decoration on the wall was a large oval mirror and a wall clock in the shape of a black cat. The clock's swinging tail and shifty eyes clicked ever-so-slightly out of time with the deeper, more dignified tick-tocking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner.

In the giant four-poster bed lay Bruce Wayne. He was naked, with only a white silk sheet covering his waist, leaving his muscular chest and torso bare. He was also bound, his arms and legs handcuffed to each of the bedposts by fuzzy, pink cuffs. Despite the situation, his expression was mostly one of bemused detachment.

There was another whip crack as Selina Kyle popped her whip just a few inches above Wayne's bare chest. She was standing at the foot of the bed, one leg up on the footboard, and grinning evilly down at the helpless figure of Bruce Wayne. She was barely wearing more than he was: stiletto heels with thigh-high stockings and a lacey, nearly translucent, set of black lingerie. Her short, black hair was tucked into the cat-eared cowl of her old costume, long unused.

"The great Batman, helpless at last." She purred, cracking the whip one more time, slightly disappointed that Bruce didn't flinch as the cord snapped only scant inches from his flesh. "Any last words, great detective?"

"..." Bruce raised one eyebrow. "...was I supposed to have dialogue prepared?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Bruce." Selina planted her face in one open palm, shaking her head from side to side. "Would it kill you to play along?"

"I'm trying, Selina. Really." He looked at the fuzzy handcuffs binding his wrists. "I'm just not sure where to go with this scenario."

"Are you telling me that you spent all those years training with ninjas and fighting bears-"

"Bears?"

"Yeah, fighting bears in Siberia or whatever."

"I never fought any bears. Beating up dumb beasts isn't training, it's just animal cruelty."

"Whatever!" Selina growled. "You spent all those years training and getting like fifty PHDs and you didn't take a single improv class?"

"I took ballet for my arts and humanities credits." Bruce's answer didn't contain a trace of irony or humor. "It provided excellent flexibility and movement training."

"Grrrrr..."

"Look, Selina, I'm sorry. Why don't we keep going...I'll try and do better. I promise."

"Fine." Selina coiled up the whip, setting it aside, and did her best not to let the interruption ruin her mood. She took a few deep breaths before the wide, wicked smile returned to her face. "I have you now, Batman. Right where I want you!"

"You'll...never get away with this, Catwoman!" Bruce's dialogue was spoken like an amateur actor reading from a script. "I'll get out of here and put you behind bars...right?"

Oh God...at least he's trying. Selina did her best to suppress a grimace at his terrible acting. "Now, now Batman...don't pretend like this isn't what you want as well. This isn't the first time I've had you tied up...I could see the bulge in those little black tights. I think you might enjoy being at my mercy, Dark Knight!"

As she spoke, she crawled onto the bed, slowly prowling towards Bruce's bound form. She let her fingers trace their way over the surface of the silk sheets, making an appreciative noise as she found the outline where the sheets molded themselves against Bruce's semi-hard manhood. He may not be very imaginative but a big cock, along with years of flexibility and endurance training, made up for a lot of shortcomings.

"I wear a cup."

"What." Selina's voice was deadpan as she glared up at Bruce, distracted by the non-sequitur.

"My costume." He explained calmly. "It has a rigid protective jockstrap built-in. An erection would be impossible to detect. Also, I can't recall any such incident."

"Bruce..." She looked at him with a pleading expression, unable to believe he was really talking about his costume's armored crotch right now. "Bruce...it's just dirty talk. Don't you know how this works?"

"Of course, but surely it would be better if it were more accurate."

Selina just stared at him, her mouth pursed tightly and her eyes wide with frustration and disbelief. Bruce stared back, a slightly confused expression on his face, apparently unsure what the problem was.

"Forget it!" Selina snarled, yanking the silk sheets back and revealing Bruce's full body. The night was cloudy but the dim moonlight from the bedroom window still glistened on his taut muscles and she could make out the faint scars of old battles. Some she may have even left herself.

I'll give him a few more if he doesn't shut up.

Giving up on the roleplay, she took his cock in her hands, feeling the satisfying heat and weight of it. The tiny little jerks it made as it stiffened at her touch until it stood fully erect. Despite the frustration at Bruce's denseness, the sight of him still ignited a hot, tight feeling in the pit of her stomach. With one hand she started to stroke the shaft of his cock gently up and down, appreciating the gleam of moonlight on the smooth, firm head and the feeling of his rapid heartbeat against her palm.