It's Irresistible

“You’re going to spoil us, Miss Bex,” Max says and delicately cuts another triangle of pancake. Bex could watch the graceful movement of the woman’s hands for hours, but she keeps getting distracted by the sound of Jade’s boots against the floor.

“Everyone deserves some pampering every now and then,” Bex says easily. Victor snorts behind her, and she reclines back against his chest. They’re sitting out on the patio, enjoying breakfast instead of brunch, and the weak sunlight feels good against her skin.

“The meeting?” Victor prompts. Jade is humming under her breath, a song that Bex can’t name, and Max dabs at the corner of her lips before answering.

“Cobblepot is still looking for whoever orchestrated the Arkham breakout. No one knows who did it. There was some yelling, Cobblepot got to fire a shot into the ceiling, and the whole thing was pretty much useless. Saw something interesting on my way out though.” Bex has her legs splayed on either side of Victor’s thighs, and she tenses her legs as she leans forward to drop her elbows onto the table.

“How interesting?” she asks.

“Saw a woman going in while the rest of us were leaving. Not someone I recognized.”

“Or me,” Jade adds before going back to her food. Max continues as if she was never interrupted.

“So we stuck around. Cobblepot left with her, without Butch. Came back an hour later, and he didn’t look happy. Something went down last night.” With that said and done, Max returns to eating her breakfast. Bex leans back against Victor and turns to look at him.

“Should we look into it?” she asks him. As Oswald’s nightclub singer, she can’t really do much. Victor, on the other hand, can make a different call.

“He would have called me if it was something serious,” Victor says after a moment.

“So what’s the plan for today, boss lady?” Jade asks her. Her face doesn’t hurt quite as bad this morning, but she still feels a little fuzzy around the edges. She nearly tripped trying to get out of the shower, so she’s still off balance. As much as she hates to admit it, she needs to stay put. For at least another day.

“Light day for me, days maybe. Depends on how long it takes for the concussion to fuzz out. Can one of you check in on Ivy tonight?” she asks the girls. Jade looks over at Max, and Bex watches on as the two women have a silent conversation. She finds it fascinating that the two of them can speak without ever uttering a single word.

“I’m looking forward to meeting the little doll,” Max says with a slow smile.

“And what about you, boss man?” Jade asks.

“I’m staying with Bex. Unless you need me to hold your hand?” Max rolls her eyes while Jade cackles, and Bex turns to nuzzle against Victor’s neck. Maybe she should leave a mark above the edge of his collar. It’s only fair since she has her share of visible bruises.

“Call us if you need us,” Max says to her after breakfast has been cleared away.

“Or if you get bored,” Jade grins. Victor shoos them away, and Bex waves to them with her good hand until the front door closes behind them. Once they’re gone, Bex sags against Victor’s side. She’s been awake for two hours, barely, but she feels absolutely exhausted. She’s blaming the concussion.

“As much as I would love to throw you to the ground and have my wicked way with you, I think we’ll have to postpone until my brain is repaired.” Victor’s laugh is quiet, more of a forceful exhale tinged with humor, but her laugh is loud and echoing as he scoops her up into his arms.

“Where to?” he asks her. They could go back to bed and spend the day cuddling, but her thoughts get too loud without something to occupy her. Since she doesn’t feel strong enough to occupy herself with exploring every inch of Victor, the bedroom is probably not the best idea.

“Couch. I wanna watch my soaps.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Despite the words, Victor is already walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. He settles himself down on the couch, lying down with his head propped on one of the little throw pillows, and he places her on his torso. She curls up on top of him, pain-free cheek on his chest, and tangles her legs with his as she starts to click through channels.

“Any preferences?” Victor just grunts, which she takes as an answer of don’t-care. She can work with that.

The morning doesn’t drag by or fly; it’s hard to keep track of time at all as she flips between daytime soap operas and talk shows. She only knows it’s noon when the news comes on, and she puts the remote down as she listens to the reporter. Mayoral candidates. Fun. Then the woman is talking about that billionaire from the Hospital Gala. The guy who killed the redhead. (The kid had so much potential; she’s a little sad that he’s dead.) Theo Galavan. That’s the billionaire’s name. The man is receiving some kind of award or something when someone starts shooting at him, but he manages to duck and remain unscathed. Then he’s talking about running for Mayor.

“There’s something not right about him.” Victor’s been so quiet that she thought he was asleep, but his chest rumbles under her cheek when he speaks. She stretches on top of him to get into a more comfortable position and listens as the man gets into the high points of his speech.

“He’s up to no good. Only the nefarious can give speeches that passionate,” she agrees. She can feel eyes on her, so she twists a little to meet Victor’s eyes. He looks amused, probably at her word choice, and she grins toothily at him. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong. He’s up to something.” Victor’s brows draw together as he thinks something over, and she reaches up to touch the wrinkles above the ridge of his nose. She expects him to speculate on Galavan’s insidious plot, but he’s clearly moved on to more important things. “Leftover soup for lunch?”


His breathing is still out of rhythm when his phone starts ringing, and Bex huffs out a laugh against his chest. The warm puffs of air tingle against his sweat slick skin, and he hisses quietly when Bex drags her teeth across his sternum. The leather of the couch squeaks under his back as he stretches to reach the phone on the table, and he can feel Bex’s bare skin sliding against his as he brings the phone to his ear.

“What?” If the call had come in two minutes earlier, the word would have been snapped out. Or, more likely, the call would have been ignored completely. Instead he sounds relaxed, because he is. Bex teased him for what felt like hours, the muscles in his legs and back feel stretched, but he can’t remember the last time he felt this…content.

“Jade and I tailed Cobblepot after that guy was shot at this morning. Followed him to Janice Caulfield’s office,” Max reports without any further prompting.

“She’s super dead, by the way!” Jade calls out. Since Bex is pressed flush against him, she can hear everything that’s being said. She makes a quiet sound in her throat, but it sounds rough because of her strained vocal cords.

“Cobblepot has no reason to kill Caulfield,” Victor points out. His own voice sounds a little rough, but Max and Jade wisely don’t comment on it.

“He did. Why would Cobblepot kill anyone?” Max asks.

“That’s what we’re for!” Jade adds. Caulfield is high profile, so Cobblepot should have come to him first.

“Keep an eye on him,” Victor finally says. He waits for Max to give a hum of acknowledgement before ending the call, and he drops the phone onto the table before looking at Bex. Her left cheek is still a little red, flush from being so active, but the sweat coating them is starting to dry.

“Nefarious things are afoot,” Bex whispers and flicks her tongue out to catch a drop of sweat on his collarbone. He tightens his hand in her hair and pulls her up for a biting kiss, and he doesn’t let go until he tastes copper. When she pulls back, she’s smiling and starting to breathe shallowly again.

“Something isn’t right. Cobblepot leaves the dirty work to us.” Some jobs are tasked to Victor directly; others are handed down to him to do with as he sees fit, and he passes on the smaller jobs to one of his girls. Cobblepot killing someone like Caulfield makes no sense.

“Maybe you should talk to him tomorrow?” Bex offers as she sits up. Her tan skin is crisscrossed with scars, and he runs careful fingers along the softest parts of her.

“Tomorrow?” he asks her. It’s late, decent people are in bed at this hour, and Bex shifts her hips as she looks down at him.

“Definitely tomorrow. Right now, I think it’s time for a bath. Don’t you?” Her laugh is raspy as he tightens an arm around the small of her back and moves to his feet, and she darts forward to bite along the line of his shoulder. Tomorrow. He’ll figure out what’s going on with Cobblepot tomorrow.


“I hate waiting.” Brown eyes peer at her from over a full coffee cup, even though the sun set about two hours ago, and she knows for sure that she didn’t buy the coffee that he’s drinking. So how’d it get into her apartment? When?

“I remember.” Jackson smiles at her, more of a smirk than anything else, and she rolls her eyes. “Surprised you have the energy to be antsy.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says with her most innocent look. It’s a little hard to make doe eyes when her face is still all bruised up, but she thinks she manages. Jackson reaches out, and she leans back out of the way before he can poke the left side of her neck.

“Pretty sure it was fadin’ the other day. Now I’m sure I can see teeth marks along the edges. Don’t that hurt?” They’re sitting in the living room, on opposite ends of the couch, with their feet kicked up on the coffee table. Bex’s feet are bare, toes wiggling free, but Jackson is wearing his usual heavy work boots.

“In the best kind of way,” she grins. She spent most of the day with Victor, mostly undressed, and she felt better with each passing hour. She nearly feels like her old self, except for the itchiness of her stitches. Victor left about an hour ago after getting a call from Oswald, so she called Jackson over for a friendly visit. She’s missed her mentor.

“Please tell me you left your own mark on him. Equality and all that,” Jackson drawls out. The smile he quirks at her reveals the deep dimple in his left cheek, and she smiles at the look. She’s always loved it when Jackson was relaxed, and he rarely ever really smiles at anyone. Just wide toothy grins and sharp smirks. She prefers his cute dimple.

“Of course. I’m just a little more tactful and leave my marks on places that can be covered up. Victor’s slightly more possessive.” She pokes the side of her neck as she finishes speaking and curls her toes against the hot ache. There’s a similar bite mark above her right knee and another one against her left shoulder blade.

“Good. It means he knows he’s got something good.” The sound she makes is faux outrage, and she presses her right hand against her chest as she narrows her eyes.

“Are you calling me a possession?”

“Never, sweetheart.” Their grins are like mirror images, and Bex sighs as she leans her head back against the couch. One hour and she’s already missing him.

“Do you think he’s having fun?” she asks as she looks up at the ceiling.

“I’m sure he’s painting the town red.” That image is enough to have her laughing, loud and unrestrained, and she’s happy to hear Jackson’s own roaring laughter joining her. It feels good to laugh, especially to the image of Victor letting loose and having a good time.


“Are you bleeding in my car?” Cobblepot is looking over his shoulder and into the backseat, and Victor meets his eyes with one hand pressed tight against his left shoulder. He’s got blood on his new pin.

“I’ll have one of my girls clean it up,” Victor grits out as he gets his phone. He sends a quick text to Jade, telling her to take his car back to the house, and then looks up to meet Cobblepot’s eyes.

“Do you need a doctor?” He shifts so that he can feel the back of his shoulder, the sharp burn of an exit wound, and shakes his head.

“Just drop me off at Bex’s. Sir.” The honorific gets added in as an afterthought, but Cobblepot’s eyes still narrow on him.

“Is that wise in your condition?” Most people would probably be alarmed at the sight of a gunshot wound, and Bex is playing at being a normal person. For the most part anyway.

“She has experience in patching people up.” Her actual experience, that he knows of, comes from patching herself up. She’s tended to her own gunshot wounds, and this one is fairly straightforward. Through and through. Cobblepot nods and tells Butch where to go, and Victor closes his eyes as the car rolls down the streets. He doesn’t open his eyes again until the car comes to a stop, and Cobblepot is already looking at him.

“If either of you need anything.” Cobblepot doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to.

“Of course, sir.” He slides out of the car with ease and takes the back stairs instead of the elevator, just in case, and he lets himself into the apartment. The first thing he hears is Bex’s raised voice, followed by Jackson’s high-pitched yell, and then laughter. He closes the door behind him, loud enough to register, and hears the laughter trail off.

“My honey’s home!” Bex’s yell is accompanied by the sound of bare feet on hardwood floors, and he only gets to see Bex’s wide smile and shining eyes for a few seconds. Her eyes only meet his for a heartbeat before looking at his shoulder, and he can tell that she can see the blood despite the dark fabric. “What happened?”

“Nothing serious,” he answers quickly. Jackson walks up behind her, and the man quickly takes in the way that Victor is holding himself.

“Looks like honey went and got himself shot.” Bex’s eyes darken as color floods her cheeks, clear signs of growing anger, and he watches as her entire body tenses up to what has to be the point of pain. “Should I go?”

“No. I can’t sew for shit with my right hand. Can Jackson patch you up?” Bex asks him. He knows that if he refuses, Bex will send the man away. He can see the way that her right hand is shaking though, and he wants to get these holes closed up as quickly as possible.

“Does he know how?” Jackson snorts, and Bex reaches back blindly to slap her knuckles against his chest. He rocks back on his heels but doesn’t make a sound, and Bex quickly walks over to where Victor is still standing. She grabs his left wrist and starts pulling him towards the stairs, and he follows after her. He can sense Jackson behind him, even if he can’t hear him, and Bex pulls him all the way to the bathroom.

“First-aid kit is under the sink,” Bex says as she turns to face him. He can hear Jackson moving behind him, but he keeps his eyes on Bex’s face as her shaking right hand starts unbuttoning his jacket and shirt. “Alright, now tell us what happened. I want details, Victor.”

“Is that an order?”

“You bet your ass it is.” She grins up at him, but her eyes still look dark. When the second to last button on his shirt refuses to budge, she growls under her breath and just tugs to rip the last two buttons off. Effective.

“Cobblepot sent me after Hobbs…”

As he goes over the details of the night, Bex pulls his jacket and shirt off. His holsters and guns are already on the sink, and he doesn’t remember her disarming him. That’s not a good sign. When Bex lightly pushes on his right shoulder, he goes with the push and sits on the edge of the tub. Bex sits on his right thigh and asks quiet questions whenever he pauses while Jackson cleans the blood off him. He stops a few times as Jackson carefully cleans the bullet holes and sews him up, but Bex gets the full story out of him. He finishes a few minutes before Jackson does, and all three of them are quiet as Jackson tapes up his shoulder. It limits his mobility.

“Police officers armed with automatics. Gotham really is something else,” Jackson says quietly. The bullet went through the top of his shoulder, without damaging bone or anything important, but it’ll still mess him up for at least a week. That’s all he’ll allow.

“Jackson? You can show yourself out, right?” Bex asks without looking away from Victor’s face.

“Can do, sweetheart. I’ll bring by nourishment tomorrow.” Jackson takes a few steps back, and Victor looks away from Bex’s dark eyes and over at the man who just stitched him up. He’s washing the blood off of his hands in the sink, sleeves pushed up to just under his elbows, and he’s humming quietly. He uses the corner of a bloody towel to dry himself off, and he pulls his sleeves back down as he looks over at the two of them. “Take it easy, honey.”

Jackson is already out of the room, possibly the apartment, when Victor realizes that the last part was directed at him. It does explain Bex’s quiet huff that followed the statement. Victor looks over at Bex, who is still perched on his right thigh, once he’s sure that the apartment is empty except for the two of them. The look in her eyes is still dark, still murderous, and he watches as a small tremor rocks her body. It’s like she’s fighting to hold herself back. When he just keeps looking at her, she shifts so that she’s standing between his spread knees.

“You should probably lay down,” she says and lightly touches his cheek. He shakes his head and enjoys the feeling of her fingertips moving across his skin.

“Tallies first.” He won’t be able to sleep until his count is accurate, and the pain in his shoulder dims as Bex leans to the side to grab the small knife in the first-aid kit. Most of his left arm, from wrist to elbow, is lined with tallies. There’s one above his elbow, under the curve of his bicep, and Bex holds his arm steady as she presses the knife next to that singular mark.

“Four, right?” she asks as she drags the knife down. It’s the same length as the scabbed over mark, the same depth, and her eyes flick over to his as she moves the knife to make another mark.

“Four,” he says after the second tally is made. The third is created soon after, and Bex briefly squeezes his arm before cutting the fourth tally into his skin. The scabbed over mark splits as the grouping is completed, but Bex is cleaning the blood away before his next deep breath. He notices that her right hand is still shaking as she swabs him with disinfectant and then carefully slaps a Band-Aid on him, and it takes her two tries to close the first-aid kit. He reaches over with his right hand to grab her shaking fingers, and she bites the corner of her lip as she looks at him.

“I want to kill them. I want to march into the precinct and rip out their throats with my bare hands. They hurt you.” Her last sentence is said from between clenched teeth, and he realizes that she’s shaking all over now. Not violently. Barely noticeable. Small shivers are showing in her bare arms, because she’s wearing a plain yellow tank top that’s lightly splattered with his blood now.

“It’s superficial.” He’s been shot before, will probably be shot again, but Bex looks like she’s ready go on a full-blown killing spree. For him. Her shaking hand grips the back of his neck as her forehead presses against his, and he can feel her rapid breaths against his dry lips.

“Some asshole shot you.” Her voice has dropped into a low growl, and he can feel her nails digging into the back of his neck. She’s shaking like she’s going to fall apart. Tense enough to break. It takes some quick maneuvering, but he uses his right arm to hold her up and then pull her down against him. His arm is braced against her back and he’s moved his legs between hers, spread wide so that she’s balancing carefully to straddle his thighs, and he grunts out a quiet sound of pain as her arms scramble to wrap around his shoulders. His left shoulder is barely jarred, but the pain is fresh and clears out his head. “Shit! Victor! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“You’re too tense.” That’s stating the obvious. Now that she’s holding onto him to stay upright, since she’s balanced a little precariously on his lap while he sits on the edge of the tub, he moves his right arm around to the front of her body. She makes a curious sound as his fingers slip under her tank top and trail along the top of her shorts, and he can feel how out of rhythm her breathing is because their chests are pushed together.

“I’m not tense. I’m pissed off. There’s a difference.” His fingers dip below the waistline of her shorts and panties in one go, and she stills against him. Even her breath stutters to a stop before picking up in double-time. “I don’t think now is the time.”

“You need to relax.” He says it as his fingers trail down the line of her, and she tries to buck her hips but can’t because of the way she’s sitting. He can feel the muscles of her thighs shifting as she manages to move, but he slips two fingers inside of her before she can slip away from him. Her arms tighten around his neck as she cries out, and he curls his fingers as she whines high in the back of her throat.

“Victor.” She pauses after she says his name, lets out another quiet sound as he pushes against her, and he feels her breathe out against his ear. “You’re hurt.”

“Not that hurt,” he says and twists his wrist. This time when she shakes against him, it’s from pleasure instead of anger.

“Don’t have to,” she huffs out as she manages to roll her hips. She shouldn’t be able to, not with the way he’s holding her off balance, but she’s always surprising him.

“Tell me why you’re so angry.” Her arms are tightening across his back as her hips rock harder, and he slips a third finger inside of her so that he can hear her cry out again. Teeth dig into his right shoulder, deep enough to bruise and possibly break skin, and she turns to rest her cheek on his shoulder as her breathing speeds up. Nails are scoring the skin stretched over his shoulder blades, and Bex moans quietly every time he twists his fingers.

“Because you’re mine.” She punctuates the claim with a harsh thrust of her hips, nearly violent enough to tip him backwards, but he doesn’t move with her. Holds his ground instead and listens to Bex’s bitten off scream as he begins to circles his thumb where she’s more sensitive. Her back bows as she pushes closer to him, and she shakes apart with his name howled against the side of his neck.

“Isn’t that better?” Whimpers drift out of her parted lips as she comes back down, and he moves his right hand to grip her hip. It takes a couple of minutes before she can drag herself upright, and the dark look in her eyes has faded into something a little more dazed. Her lips are bitten red and a little swollen, and her lashes are clumped together with moisture.

“You look way too smug for someone who just got shot.” Her voice is a little hoarse, but she’s smiling again.

“Not smug. Just proud of a job well done.” She rolls her eyes but still darts forward to kiss him, slowly like they have all the time in the world, and she doesn’t pull back until his chest is burning with the need to breathe. Then she pulls all the way back, off of his lap, and he notes the way that her thighs shake as her legs move to support her.

“I still wanna kill them,” she says as she reaches forward and pulls him up. She wets the already bloody towel and then swipes it across the top of his back, and he feels the stinging lines. Her nails must have drawn blood. He knows the marks aren’t too deep because she doesn’t move to bandage him. She pats him dry and then drops to her knees.

“Can I talk you into doing this again sometime?” Being shot and losing blood has taken a toll on his body, but his body is still trying to react to the sight of Bex kneeling in front of him. Her steady right hand quickly pulls at the laces on his boots, and he obediently lifts his feet so that she can pull his shoes off.

“Once you’re all better, I’ll do whatever you want.” She actually winks at him as she pops the button on his pants and pulls down the zipper, and he looks up at the ceiling as she pulls his pants completely off. After his clothes have all been tossed into the black laundry basket, Bex pulls him into the bedroom. He’s still wearing boxer briefs, so Bex gently pushes him into bed before disappearing back into the bathroom.

He can hear the quiet rustling of fabric, so he knows that she’s removing her bloodstained clothes. Then there’s the sound of rushing water, which means that she’s washing herself off. Quiet crinkling and hissing signals that she’s tending to her own injuries, and the new aches in his body have dulled into a hot thrum when she walks back out into the bedroom. He watches the way the faint lamp light plays over her bared skin, over tan damp flesh and rough marks. Even the dark ink seems to stand out more as she moves over to the closet. She comes out a few minutes later dressed in one of his black tee shirts and baggy white shorts, and she has one knee on the bed when there’s a knock on the door.

“Don’t answer it,” he says and reaches out to touch the burn scars on top of her thigh.

“Very few people know where I live,” she says and hops backwards. She ducks back into the closet, probably to look at the security feed, and he can hear her laughing quietly. She’s grinning when she steps back into the bedroom. “Oh, I’m definitely answering it. Stay quiet.”

She’s out of the room before he can say anything else, and he forces himself to move out of the bed. He walks over to the closet and looks at the security feed just in time to see Bex greet Detective Gordon.


“I’ll face whatever’s coming to me.”

“As will I. Goodbye, Jim.”

Something about Jim’s exchange with Cobblepot was…off. The criminal had been off. Cobblepot was always a little off, a little unhinged, but something was different tonight. He was more on edge than usual. Then there’s this whole business with the mayoral campaign. None of it is making any sense, and something has Cobblepot on edge. Nothing should be able to ruffle the man’s feathers, so to speak, because he’s supposed to be the leader of the criminal underground. Something isn’t right.

Jim stops walking and looks up, and it takes him a moment to place the apartment building. This is where Bexley Cavanaugh lives. He remembers the address from her report, and he also remembers seeing Zsasz fast asleep at her bedside. He walks inside the building without any hesitation and takes the elevator up to the top floor. There’s only one apartment on this floor, and he knocks on the front door. He knows it’s late, or early depending on how you look at it, but he can hear footsteps. Before he can knock again, the door swings open.

“Detective.” He remembers the soft sound of Bex’s voice when he interviewed her, but her voice sounds sleep rough now. Her hair is tousled around her head, and she’s only wearing a loose tee shirt and shorts. He clearly woke her up, but her eyes seem alert.

“How are you, Miss Cavanaugh?” The left side of her lips tilts upwards, and Jim takes note of her stitches. Still in good shape. The bruises on her face are still dark, but some of them are starting to turn a sickly green color. It might not be pretty, but it means she’s healing.

“I’m doing alright, but I don’t think you stopped by for a house call. Is everything okay, Detective?” She leans her shoulder against the doorway, and he didn’t realize how short she was. In the oversized shirt, she looks tiny. Fragile. He eyes the shirt, measures the length and the width of the shoulders, and realizes why he came to her apartment.

“There was a shootout earlier this evening.” Her brows draw together, an obvious look of concern and alarm, and she straightens up a little.

“You look whole though,” she says slowly. Her eyes quickly run over him, but he’s in one piece. Still a little shaken up, but he always feels like that after Zsasz aims a gun in his general direction.

“Four men are dead, and I suspect that Victor Zsasz was hit as well.” Before she can say anything, he continues. “I saw him in your hospital room. You do realize what kind of man that he is?”

“Just a man,” she shrugs. A part of him respects her for not denying it, but he still doesn’t understand how someone who looks so sweet and innocent could be involved with Gotham’s top assassin.

“Don’t suppose you’d tell me where he is?” She blinks as she looks up at him, and he can see the fingers of her uninjured hand tapping against her thigh.

“Probably getting patched up somewhere.” Jim knows there’s doctors that operate outside of the hospital, but he’s got a gut feeling that Zsasz isn’t with any of them. He can’t prove anything though, and he has a feeling that if he pushes the issue he won’t live to see the sun rise.

“Call me if you need anything.” He turns to walk away, but he stops when he hears Bex quietly call his name. He doesn’t turn completely around, but he turns enough to meet her eyes.

“I know what people think of him, and they’re not completely wrong. That doesn’t mean they’re right either.” Jim doesn’t know what to make of that, especially not after the night he’s had, so he just nods and moves back to the elevator. He hears Bex’s door close before he steps onto the elevator, and he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He needs to sleep. He’ll think over everything after some shut-eye.