huh? oh hey cutie whats up how ya been? this is a tickle fic for Batman, specifically based after the events of Batman: The Long Halloween, which is an amazing film! i hope you enjoy!! and no its not a year late, idk what youre talking about its 2024 bestie <3333
this is a fic requested by @ghostlee-activities!! thank you so much for the request <3333
this is for TKTober using the prompt list by @august-anon
The Long Laugh
Words: 3,371 Pairing: Lers!Alfred and Selina with Lee!Bruce Wayne! Warnings: couldn't help but put some romantic tension between Cat and Bat Prompt: Costume
The grandfather clock in Wayne Manor struck one in the morning, its chime muffled by oak doors and stone walls. Bruce hardly noticed. He sat hunched at his desk, the light of a single lamp catching the edges of open files, scattered photographs, and his own tired features. His tie hung loose around his neck, his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and the bags under his eyes were deep enough to betray how many nights he'd repeated this same ritual.
Holiday was finished. The killings had stopped. But the echoes still lingered: the unresolved questions, the mistakes he'd made, the lives that had been lost. He told himself it wasn't an obsession, just due diligence. But the lines between those two things blurred hours ago.
The steady scratch of a pen across paper was broken when his butler entered, soundless as ever until the polite ahem of his presence announced him. He carried a silver tray with a cup of steaming tea, setting it down at Bruce's elbow without invitation.
"Master Bruce," Alfred began, voice clipped but not unkind, "it has not escaped my notice that the clock has turned past one. Again."
Bruce didn't look up. "One more lead. Then I'll stop."
"Yes, I recall you saying that four leads ago." Alfred's hands folded behind his back, posture ramrod straight. He tilted his head, observing the mess of notes, the exhaustion carved into Bruce's features. "And unless my eyes deceive me, even the world's most persistent crime-fighter is not immune to gravity. You appear on the verge of collapsing face-first into your paperwork."
Bruce gave a dry exhale, something halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. "I've been worse."
"Indeed. Which is rather the problem, isn't it?" Alfred lingered a moment, then let his gaze wander deliberately across the room. "You know, I happened across the trick-or-treaters in the city this evening. Gotham's children seem particularly enamored with bats this year. Costumes everywhere; tiny fangs, little paper wings, the works. Quite endearing."
Bruce's pen stilled for the first time. He glanced up, one brow raised. "Is that so?"
"Mm. It reminded me," Alfred continued smoothly, "of another child who once fashioned wings out of bedsheets, demanded to stay up until impossible hours, and insisted he was far too old for bedtimes."
Bruce sighed through his nose, setting the pen down at last. "You never let me win that argument."
"Correct." Alfred's expression softened, the faintest ghost of amusement tugging at his mouth. "And yet, here we are again. Same stubborn boy, only now dressed in Kevlar."
The silence stretched, filled only with the distant rumble of Gotham's storm clouds rolling in. Bruce rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, but when Alfred gestured toward the untouched teacup, he didn't move.
"Alfred," he said firmly, though his voice lacked real force, "I can't afford to stop. Not yet."
Alfred exhaled, long-suffering but patient. "Very well, sir. I shall attempt persuasion. Though I warn you, I have other means if you remain obstinate."
Bruce didn't answer. He'd already turned back toward his notes.
Alfred remained standing behind Bruce's chair, the tea cooling on the desk beside him. His patience was legendary, but it was not infinite.
"Very well," Alfred said at last. "We'll start with reason, then? Your body has endured no less than three consecutive nights of late patrols followed by obsessive casework. You've eaten... once in the past twenty-four hours, and it was cold soup at that. If you don't sleep, Master Bruce, you will cease to be the world's greatest crime-fighter and become the world's most exhausted invalid."
Bruce didn't look up from the evidence photo he was studying. "I'll manage."
"Mm, I see." Alfred's tone didn't shift, though the edge of sarcasm sharpened beneath it. "Perhaps I should begin drafting a new epitaph: 'Here lies Bruce Wayne, savior of Gotham, slain not by villain but by stubbornness.' Quite inspiring, no?"
A flicker of amusement ghosted across Bruce's lips, but he masked it quickly, burying himself in another file. "Dramatic, even for you."
Alfred leaned forward slightly, his shadow stretching across the desk. "If logic won't sway you, perhaps a reminder of your public persona. Wayne Enterprises cannot be captained by a man with raccoon eyes and a permanent slump. Even billionaires must at least pretend to sleep."
That earned no response either, only the sound of pages flipping.
Alfred exhaled quietly through his nose, as though bracing himself. "I did warn you, sir. There remains one final measure. An option I vowed I would never again resort to, but desperate times call for desperate means."
That caught Bruce's attention. His head lifted slightly, brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"Ah. You don't remember." Alfred moved with deliberate calm, circling to Bruce's side. "When you were a boy, Master Bruce, and your nights stretched too long into fantasy crusades, there was one tactic that never failed to secure compliance."
Bruce blinked, tired and irritable. "Alfred, I don't-"
He cut off abruptly as Alfred's hands descended, not roughly but with precision, pressing gently into the space between Bruce's ribs and sides. The contact was startling enough that Bruce jerked upright, eyes going wide.
"Alfred," he warned, voice sharp.
"Yes, sir?" Alfred replied evenly, as though they were discussing household chores. His fingers shifted, light and deliberate.
Bruce stiffened. His breath caught. He bit the inside of his cheek, determined not to give an inch. But the sensation wriggled through him, sparking through nerves dulled by exhaustion. He clamped his jaw shut, the corners of his mouth twitching despite his iron discipline.
"S-stohop-" he ground out, his voice low and as commanding as he could muster.
"Ah," Alfred said mildly, continuing the motion with clinical precision. "So you do recall this particular deterrent."
Bruce twisted in his chair, trying to shrug Alfred off without outright flailing. He'd faced killers, monsters, maniacs of all stripes, and yet somehow, this indignity unraveled him faster than any of them. His lips pressed tighter, but the chuckle that burst through betrayed him.
"A-Ahahalfred-!" His warning dissolved into a sharp bark of laughter, cut off as quickly as he fought to rein it in. "Ihi'm- hahaaha! S-seheherious!"
"Yes, of course you are, sir." Alfred's tone didn't budge. His fingers traced across Bruce's ribs, methodical as a surgeon. "You're always serious. That's half the problem."
Bruce squirmed, gripping the armrests of his chair as though he could anchor himself in stoicism. His shoulders hunched, his teeth gritted, but the laughter was building, bubbling past his control. Finally, it spilled out in a helpless wave.
"Al-AhAhahahhahalfrehehehed! S-Stohohohop iihiHihit!" His laughter rang loud, echoing in the cavernous study.
"Regrettably, I cannot comply until you agree to retire for the night," Alfred replied calmly, like someone negotiating a treaty. "Standard procedure."
Bruce twisted again, nearly tipping the chair in his struggle. He caught Alfred's wrist, but even his considerable strength couldn't quite focus through the tremors of laughter shaking his chest.
"Thihihis- hhahahahaha! Thihihis iIhihiHis Rihihihidihihculous!"
"Yes, sir, quite ridiculous. Yet remarkably effective." Alfred's expression barely shifted, save for a faint upward curve at the corner of his mouth. "A shame, really. If Gotham's rogues ever discovered your Achilles' heel was so... domestic, my workload would quadruple."
Bruce's laugh cracked into a wheeze as Alfred found a particularly sensitive spot along his side. He writhed, head dropping forward, dark hair falling into his face as his composure shattered completely.
"AhahaHAHall RihiHiHight! Hahahahhaha! Ahahahall rihihihight!" He gasped between spurts of laughter, chest heaving. "Ihihihi'll- Ihihihi'll gohohohOHo!"
Alfred slowed, then withdrew his hands with the same precise calm he'd begun with. He adjusted his cuffs as though nothing had happened.
"Excellent. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Master Bruce."
Bruce slumped in his chair, breathing hard, face flushed with equal parts exertion and humiliation. He shot Alfred a glare that carried little actual venom.
"You will never speak of this," Bruce muttered.
"My lips are sealed, sir," Alfred said smoothly, though the glint in his eye betrayed his satisfaction. "Now then, up with you. Bed awaits."
Bruce grumbled but rose, straightening his shirt. Alfred collected the untouched tea, balancing the tray effortlessly as he escorted Bruce toward the grand staircase.
As they climbed, Alfred allowed himself one last remark, light as air. "Some things, it seems, never change."
Bruce's only reply was a tired, resigned chuckle.
High above the study, where the shadowed beams met the vaulted ceiling, another pair of eyes had been watching. Selina Kyle lounged on the narrow lip of the window frame, her silhouette cloaked by the storm-dark night. She had slipped into Wayne Manor with the ease of long practice, steps silent, presence invisible, until she had stumbled upon something far more entertaining than she'd expected.
She had come for him, of course. She always did. A part of her enjoyed prowling the halls of his home when he didn't know, leaving faint traces of perfume or a claw mark in the wood just to remind him she could. But tonight? Tonight, she had been gifted with something better.
Her lips curled upward as she watched the scene unfold below: the Dark Knight of Gotham, the immovable Batman, reduced to writhing laughter under the unyielding hands of his butler. She had seen him corner crime bosses, intimidate monsters, walk through fire with grim determination, and now, she'd seen him beg for mercy at the simple touch of Alfred goddamn Pennyworth.
Selina pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her own laugh, shoulders shaking silently. The sound of Bruce's laughter carried up to her perch, sharp and unguarded, and it was all she could do not to purr aloud at the sheer absurdity of it. "So that's your weakness, Bats," she thought gleefully. "Not kryptonite. Not some chemical cocktail. Tickling."
The possibilities unfurled in her mind like a cat stretching luxuriously in a sunbeam. She could already imagine Bruce's face if she so much as brushed her fingers along his ribs. The mighty Batman, undone by something so utterly human~.
When Alfred finally led Bruce upstairs, Selina lingered only a moment longer, savoring the emptiness of the study. Then, with the grace of the thief she was, she slipped down from her perch and padded noiselessly toward the open window.
The storm outside had grown heavy, rain hissing against the stone walls, but she paid it no mind. She leapt out into the night with the ease of a cat, landing lightly on the slick ground below. A grin stretched across her face, the thrill of discovery buzzing through her veins.
"Oh, Bruce," she murmured to herself as she vanished back into the dark. "You have no idea what you've just handed me."
And with that, she melted into the storm, already plotting how best to use her newfound knowledge.
The storm had been raging for days, turning Gotham into a smear of black streets and silver rain. By the time Batman pulled the Batmobile into the manor's underground hangar, his cape clung heavy with water, his cowl dripping trails onto the stone floor. He stripped the gloves off with practiced precision, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. The night had been long, too long, and though he had put another gang back in their place, he carried exhaustion around his shoulders like a second cape.
Thunder rolled as he made his way upstairs. He was already bracing himself for Alfred's inevitable lecture when he reached his bedroom door and pushed it open. Instead of Alfred, however, a different figure greeted him.
Selina Kyle was stretched across his bed as though she'd always lived there, wrapped loosely in one of his shirts, the storm casting silver light across her legs. She looked entirely at home, one hand idly tracing circles on the comforter, the other propping up her head. Her smile was equal parts warmth and mischief.
"Well," she purred. "Look what the storm dragged in~. You're soaked, darling."
Bruce sighed, tugging his cape free and letting it fall over a chair. "Selina."
"You sound surprised." She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "Don't tell me you weren't expecting me. I practically live here more than you do."
He didn't bother arguing. His chestplate came next, the clasps clicking free with familiar weight. "It's late. You should be home."
"This is home." She sat up, curling her legs beneath her. "At least, when you're not brooding all night on rooftops. Honestly, Bruce, you look like you've been through a washing machine. You're gonna burn yourself out one of these nights."
"I'll manage."
"Where've I heard that before..." Selina mumbled to herself under her breath.
Bruce unbuckled his utility belt and set it down carefully, then reached for the cowl. His hair was damp and unruly beneath it, his face drawn with fatigue.
Selina's smile softened for a heartbeat. She reached out, catching his wrist before he could turn away. "You don't have to manage everything alone, you know."
His eyes flicked to hers. The weight of their unspoken history hung in the air for a moment, trust and betrayal, affection and defiance all tangled together. Finally, he sat on the edge of the bed, boots heavy on the carpet.
The silence lingered, filled only by the storm pounding at the windows. Then Selina leaned in, gently massaging Bruce's tired shoulders, humming a little at the feeling of him relaxing under her hands. Her grin curled slyly once more. "So," she said lightly, almost offhand, "are you ticklish?"
Bruce froze, halfway through untying one boot. He turned his head toward her, expression flat, voice cool. "No."
Selina's smirk widened. "That was quick."
"Because it's true." He tugged the boot free, focusing on the task with soldier-like intensity. "I'm not ticklish."
"Mhm~." Selina shifted closer, her voice velvet-soft. "You said that with such confidence, anyone else might believe you. I might have even believed you." She let her eyes narrow, her tone a purr. "But me? I know you're bluffing~."
Bruce straightened, leveling her with the same stoic glare he used on mob bosses and mad clowns. "Selina."
"Bruce." She leaned in until her lips nearly brushed his ear, his breath warm against his skin. "If you're really not ticklish, you won't mind if I test it~."
For a heartbeat, the Bat and the Cat stared at one another, the storm hammering at the glass behind them. His jaw tightened, every line of his body radiating control. But Selina saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, the tiniest crack in the mask he wore even here.
Her smirk turned feral. She was going to enjoy this.
Bruce had only a second to brace himself. One moment, Selina was smirking beside him, the next, she launched forward with the fluidity of a predator, all claws and grace.
"Selina-!"
Her laugh was rich, triumphant, as she tackled him back onto the mattress. He rolled with the motion, instinct taking over, and for a breathless beat, they scuffled. Bruce caught her around the waist and flipped her beneath him, Selina twisting like a ribbon, legs hooking around him before he could fully pin her. He grunted, muscles straining, but her flexibility outpaced his brute strength. In seconds, she had wound herself around him like ivy, snug and smug, leaving him too tangled to shove her off.
"You... fight dirty," he muttered, breath rough.
"It's my best quality," she purred. Then her hands darted to his ribs.
The effect was instant. Bruce's body jerked, his breath catching sharply in his throat as Selina's fingers pressed and danced along his sides. He clamped his jaw, muscles locking with soldier's discipline, but the cracks showed almost immediately. His shoulders hunched, his chest shuddered.
"Ohhh, there it is~!" Selina cooed, her grin wicked. "I knew my eyes weren't deceiving me!"
"Selihina- d-dohohon't-!" His voice wavered dangerously.
"Don't what? Don't find out your little secret~?" She teased, pressing harder, scrabbling playfully along his ribs until he squirmed in earnest. "How could you hide this from me? I'm honestly shocked I haven't discovered it sooner, Bats~!"
The first laugh broke out of him like a crack in armor, low and unwilling. He bit it back immediately, but Selina only laughed.
"Oh, this is golden~!" Her hands slid lower, spidering over his stomach. Bruce twisted, muscles rippling under her touch, but she held fast, every movement precise and relentless. His composure unraveled further, breath hitching into ragged bursts, laughter spilling out despite his every effort.
"Selihihina! Stohohohp ihiht-!"
"Hmm, no~," she said sweetly, brushing her nails along his sides. "This is far too much fun~!"
She shifted her weight, straddling his hips now, free to torment without worry of him dislodging her. Bruce writhed beneath her, trying to buck her off, but every twist of his body only gave her more opportunities. She dragged her fingers up his ribs again, delighting in the way he jolted, then tested his lower sides. His laughter cracked higher, more frantic, when she brushed a sensitive spot near his hip.
"Ohhh, interesting~!" She leaned close, lips grazing his ear as her fingers pressed there again. "So that's another good one~. You're just full of surprises, aren't you~?"
"Sehehehelihihinahahahaa!! SeheheliihIhiNaa EnohohOhoUgh!"
She grinned, ignoring his plea, her hair falling into his face as she wormed her hands higher, sliding along his ribs, then down again to his stomach. Every pass made him jolt, every poke or squeeze drew another helpless burst of laughter. She was merciless; playful, yes, but without Alfred's restraint.
"You know," she teased over the sound of his laughter, "all that brooding, all those shadows, and underneath, you're just a man with the cutest weakness I've ever seen. Gotham's Dark Knight, helpless to a little tickle-tickle-tickling~!"
Bruce twisted again, his chest heaving, his laugh rough and helpless now. "SeehEHehLiHihNa, IhIhIhI sWhehehEHAR!!"
"You swear you'll... what? Arrest me~?" She gave his side another squeeze, making him yelp. "Good luck writing up that report, darling~! You'll have to tell Gordon about how you let yourself get captured, Giggles~!"
Despite his protests and struggles, there was no malice in the exchange. Selina's eyes sparkled with genuine delight, her laughter mingling with his, and Bruce's defenses crumbled until he was laughing openly, fully, the weight of Gotham gone from his shoulders in that moment.
And for her, that was the real victory. Not that she could tease him endlessly with this discovery (which she will), but that she had pulled the Bat out from behind the cowl and found Bruce, the man, alive, vulnerable, human, and laughing beneath her claws.
She slowed finally, letting her fingers linger lightly against his sides, tracing lazy circles. "There now~," she purred, smirking down at him. "Doesn't that feel better than brooding~?"
Bruce lay breathless, glaring up at her through his disheveled hair, his cheeks flushed and chest still shaking with the aftershocks of laughter. "Y-youhuhu're insuhuhufferable."
"Mm~. And you love it." She bent down and kissed his cheek, victorious.
The bedroom door creaked open, and in stepped Alfred, balanced as ever with a silver tray and steaming coffee. His gaze flicked over the tangle of limbs on the bed without so much as an arched brow.
"Well," he said evenly, "how nice to see Master Bruce in such... spirited company. Must have been a funny story you recounted, yes?"
"Sure." Selina looked up with a smile. "Evening, Alfred."
"Ms. Kyle," he returned smoothly, setting the tray down. Then, with a glint of deliberate innocence: "If memory serves, sir's back was always his greatest weakness."
Bruce's eyes widened in horror as Alfred exited, perfectly composed.
Selina's grin sharpened, wicked delight flashing across her face. "His back, hm~?" she echoed, voice dripping with glee. "Thanks, Alfred~!"
"S-Selina, don't-" Bruce warned, already twisting, but too late. She shifted her weight, sliding nimble fingers across the muscles of his back. The reaction was instant as Bruce's deep, uncontrollable laughter burst free, muffled by the storm rattling the manor's windows.
"Gotcha~," Selina purred, digging in mercilessly as Bruce writhed beneath her, caught between helplessness and amusement.
His protests drowned under the sound of laughter echoing through the halls, proof that, for tonight, the Cat had conquered the Bat.
